Giveaway Winner: A Kiss at Vespers+Blue Diamond Delivery by Anne E. Johnson

Thank you!

We wanted to give a BIG thank you to Anne E. Johnson for being our Author Spotlight in July!

It has really been a pleasure to have you here with us at Rather Barefoot than bookless,

An on to one more funny thing..... Drumroll......

Giveaway Winners!

Congratulations to Marissa!

Congratulations to Stee-Venter!

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Author Spotlight: Giveaway+ Excerpt of A Kiss at Vespers

 

Author: Anne E. Johnson
Title: A Kiss at Vespers
Genre: Medieval Historical Romance
Purchase: MuseItUp Publishing

Blurb
In 1008 AD, Dublin is just a small town, newly opened to trade now that Viking violence there has died down. A young woman named Asta runs away from her boring life in Britain on one of her father’s trading vessels bound for Dublin, hoping that she and the sailor she loves can find a new life together. But when shipwreck takes him from her, her whole world changes. She is helped up the rocky shores of eastern Ireland by handsome and enigmatic Brother Martinus, who takes her to the Monastery of St. Luran’s to recover. Despite his vows of silence and chastity, Brother Martinus is entranced by the beautiful maiden who seems delivered to him by Providence. Their unexpected relationship causes both of them to rethink their concepts of faith and love.


Excerpt

A spritz of cold rain awakened Asta, who came to with her mouth against salty wood. She found herself clinging to a piece of the shattered ship that someone must have set her on, and which now bobbed gently against the rocky shore. Her bones ached with exhaustion deeper than any she’d known, but she fought to pull herself up. The tides in this place were unfamiliar to her, and as a shipper’s daughter, she knew that fast-rising waters could strand the unsuspecting.

Dragging herself up to hands and knees, she thought, “Thank Heavens I’m in a boy’s outfit, and not in a big, heavy dress!” She smiled at her good fortune, but then remembered all her misery. With the last of her energy, she used her arms to navigate to the rocky shore and drag herself onto an outcropping. Nestling in a crevice with her knees pulled to her chin, Asta wept.

She must have cried herself to sleep. The next time she looked down, the water was lapping only inches from her. Although she felt a little more rested, her tongue was feathery with thirst, and the salt dried to her lips only made it worse. She knew not to drink from the ocean, but couldn’t imagine how she would find fresh water before she perished. Climbing to the next rock up (she thanked fortune again that she was not in a dress) she looked out to the sea. Except for some wood caught against the rocks, there was no sign of the ship or its men. The wild sea had devoured them, a punishment for humanity’s pride in trying to tame it.

“Magnus,” whispered Asta. She closed her eyes. “Magnus, dearest love in Heaven, please help me.”

It might have been merely the crashing waves, but she thought she heard his voice, hoarse and tired, saying, “Climb. Climb. Climb.”

Despite her weakened limbs, Asta climbed, moaning each time she dragged her weight upward to a new perch. Every motion seared her to the core.

At one tricky spot she threw her weight forward to grasp a jutting rock a few feet away. Although she caught the upper rock, her foothold crumbled beneath her. As her hands barely held onto the outcropping, one foot swung loose and the other was starting to slip.

“Help me, God!” she cried.

She heard angels singing again.

“Why, Lord,” Asta prayed, “did You not drown me in the sea, if it is Your will that I die today anyway?”

The angels sang on and on, Latin chants unfamiliar to Asta’s ear. The priest and deacons in her church didn’t sound like this. But then, she’d never heard angels sing the chants before.

“Do You want me to let go?” she cried. “Is that Your will?”

She heard a voice. Not the distant angels or the great, booming voice of an omnipotent God, but the nearby voice of a child. He spoke in syllables she couldn’t understand.

“Hello?” she said, unable to look up from her perilous place. “Is someone there?”

The child spoke again. Asta heard footfalls crunching against the rock above, and felt two strong hands encircle her wrists. Although her legs felt leaden, she tried to help her rescuer by scrambling her feet against the rocks. It occurred to her that the little voice and the big hands couldn’t belong to the same person. Once they had pulled her up over the ledge, she found her head covered in a rank, scratchy brown fabric. For an instant, Asta feared she was being kidnapped by Vikings. That sort of thing happened to women all the time, or so she’d heard.

Struggling against her captor, Asta nearly fell backwards over the rock’s edge. A boy and a man, both in grayish-brown robes, lunged forward and righted her. At last she realized she wasn’t their prisoner, but had been covered in a fold of the man’s robe when he dragged her to safety.

“Oh, thank you,” she gushed. “Thank you both. My father has money, and I’m sure he’ll reward you handsomely for your…”

The man backed away, pulling up the cowl of his garment to cover his head. A large leather cross pendant swayed across his chest. Despite his tall, lean body, the way he hunched over made him seem smaller. Out of curiosity, Asta stepped forward and tried to get a good look at his face. He turned his hooded head in profile to her, eyes down, and she could make out only his pale skin and high, noble cheekbones.

More quietly, she spoke again. “Thank you, sir.”

“Thank you, sir!” Tugging at her hand, the little boy imitated her speech. Asta smiled in spite of herself. He was perhaps eight years old, the age of her brother back home, a brother she might never have seen again were it not for these two saviors.

The innocence in the boy’s round face so filled her heart that she fell to her knees and wept. He hugged her tightly. The maternal ache she felt was almost unbearable because she could not fulfill it, now that her betrothed was swallowed by the sea. Somehow the child understood her anguish.

The robed man, on the other hand, neither approached nor spoke a word. Instead, he turned and walked a few steps, disappearing behind a rock.

“Excuse me?” Asta called between sobs. “Sir, where are you going?” She turned to the little boy. “Where did he go?”

The lovely child seemed to understand her meaning, and used his sleeve to wipe her tears. Then he pulled at her hand and led her behind the same rock where the man had gone. Rough-hewn stairs carved into the yellow-gray limestone snaked through the outcroppings as far up as Asta could see. Since going down was impossible, there was no choice but to follow. But she was too exhausted to climb. After a few steps, she fainted.



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Author Spotlight: Excerpt from Ebenezer´s Locker

 

 

A hundred years ago, Corbin Elementary School's building housed Dr. Ebenezer Corbin's School for Psychical Research. It seems that a couple of old spirits are still wandering the halls. It's up to Rhonda Zymler to find out what they want.
Ebenezer's Locker follows the adventures of Rhonda, a sassy sixth-grader who's having trouble finding her place and identity. Getting to know these spirits becomes Rhonda's quest. The more she digs, the more perilous her task becomes, and to complete it she must take two trips back in time. This story blends the realities of an economically-challenged modern American town with supernatural elements. What Rhonda finds not only gives her life a sense of purpose, but changes the fortunes of her entire town.

 

 

Author Notes

Movies, TV dramas, reality shows, novels, non-fiction... Every type of media seems obsessed with the paranormal. But, while this might seem like a new phenomenon, it's only the latest of many times this craze has hit. When I was doing research for Ebenezer's Locker, I learned a lot about a previous period of spectral fascination.

In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, America was loony for specters. The ghost fans, called the Spiritualists, sought connections with the dead in the parlors of mediums. These were men and women (and even children, sometimes) who seemed or claimed to have the ability to talk to the Summerland, the world beyond this life.

In Ebenzer's Locker, Tallulah Radley is an older lady in the neighborhood who happens to be a psychic medium. The kids go to her for help when they realize that they're facing ghosts.

I had a wonderful time doing research about the old days of American Spiritualism. I filled Tallulah's home with the sort of equipment that would have been used at the turn of the century, as if she might have inherited it from a psychic ancestor. Most important for her is a planchette, a wooden device with a pen in it. Through the planchette, a spirit can write a message for the living.
Although American Spiritualism started because people believed in the afterlife and wanted to communicate with it, it blossomed because of its economic potential. People made a ton of money looking into the future or the past for clients. And, not surprisingly, the industry was rife with cheats. My research uncovered many faked, theatrical ways the so-called mediums made their connections with the other world seem more spectacular.

Excerpt

I packed all of these devices into a single, breathless speech by Tallulah, who would never do any of these disreputable things. In this scene, two of the girls are in a seance with Tallulah, trying to communicate with the ghost of Ebenezer:

Mica walked over to one of the two floor lamps in the room. “I should turn these off, right?”

“Whatever for?” said the medium. “We won’t be able to see.” She patted the back of the chair Mica was to sit in.

Mica didn’t budge, though. “Séances are supposed to be in the dark,” she said stubbornly, “or maybe with just one candle.”

I was glad she’d brought that up, since I’d been thinking the same thing. But Tallulah was not pleased. She didn’t sound like a cookie-baking grandma now. “Young lady, sit down this instant.”

Mica, looking as stunned as I was, followed the order.

“Dark-room séances are the last refuge of charlatans,” Tallulah said.

I didn’t get it. “The last what?”

She sighed sharply. “I’ll say it in simple modern words for you young people. Only phonies have to turn out the lights at séances, so they can cheat.”

“What kind of cheating?” asked Mica in a tiny voice.

Tallulah stood, her voice full of emotion. “Some cheaters have an assistant hide in a cabinet and tap on the wood, pretending to be a spirit communicating.” She drew her hands above her head in a circling motion. “Some have wire puppets draped in sheets that float across the ceiling.”

I thought she was done, but no. She seemed near tears. “I’ve seen phonies keep objects in hidden drawers under the table.”

“Why?” whispered Mica.

“So they can sneak them out as if a spirit made them appear. Some will hold a client’s sealed letter to their head and heart and pretend to absorb its meaning.” Tallulah mimed

pressing an envelope to her forehead, eyes closed, very dramatic. Then she opened her eyes wide and shouted, “But actually, they drip rubbing alcohol on it so they can read through the envelope. And you know what some fakers do to make it seem like a spirit has appeared in a darkened room?”

We shook our heads, afraid to speak.

“Well, I’ll tell you. They dip gauzy white cloth in glow-in-the-dark paint. And they hide the cloth…” She gasped, as if amazed at her own story. “Well, they hide it in their underwear, children! I will not be compared to these razzle-dazzle snake-oil salesmen.” She plopped down in her chair, limp and exhausted.

* * *

You can purchase Ebenezer’s Locker directly from MuseItUp Publishing, on Amazon, and on Barnes & Noble, as well as other online retailers.

Anne E. Johnson has published in a wide variety of topics and genres. She's written non-fiction books for children with the Rosen Group and feature articles for adults in serials such as The New York Times and Stagebill Magazine.

As the author of nearly thirty published short stories, she has won writing prizes for both children's and adults' short fiction.

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Author Spotlight: Interview with Anne E. Johnson

 

Trouble at the Scriptorium and its upcoming sequel, The London Hurdy Gurdy, are medieval adventure novels written for kids aged 10-13.

Blurb
In thirteenth-century England, Harley gets mixed up in an adventure with missing jewels, a missing monk, and a secret message hidden in a book of Gregorian chant. Good thing twelve-year-old Lady Margaret reads Latin, but Harley sure finds it hard to know how to behave around a noble girl.

Interview with Anne E. Johnson, author of Trouble at the Scriptorium.


1. Did you have any special reason to write this particular book?

I have a master’s degree in medieval musicology, and I taught music history for 16 years. Therefore it made perfect sense, when I started writing for kids a few years back, that I should try to funnel that knowledge and experience into middle-grade fiction.



2. What sets this book apart from other medieval historicals?

In terms of literature for kids, a medieval setting without any kind of fantasy or magic is not the typical approach these days. But I find medieval history so thrilling on its own that, for me, adding in dragons or fairies just detracts from it. I’m hoping readers will see what I mean.
Scriptorium is also different because the knights and swords are secondary to the art of music, yet this is still an adventure story. There’s both physical and intellectual adventure in this book, making it the kind of story I would have responded to as a tween.



3. What is the target audience for this book, and why is it appropriate for them?

The target audience is kids 9-12 years old, particularly those who are advanced readers and are intellectually curious. The story features two twelve-year-olds, and shows what life would have been like for those kids in the thirteenth century. It also introduces many elements of feudal life, monastic life, book-crafting, and music. But I worked hard to make it an exciting story first and foremost, involving interesting characters, suspense, and humor. The idea is for kids to learn something about the Middle Ages in a context that is nothing at all like a history schoolbook.



4. Why have two protagonists?

There are two reasons for this choice. First, it allows both a boy and a girl to work on the problem at hand, which I hope will broaden the readership of the book. Second, it allows for two social perspectives on the story. Harley is a servant and Lady Margaret is noble, so they counterbalance each other well, and their class distinction also allows for some interesting tension between them even as they work together.



5. What is the role of adults in this story?

Although it’s important for kidlit to feature kids, I love filling the character lineup with well-rounded, distinctive adults, who have specific and unusual experience or skills that can help the
kids in their quest. In historical fiction, the adult characters also have a function for the reader, allowing them to learn more about the historical world of the novel.
In Scriptorium, the three most important adults are all very different from each other, and therefore help Harley and Lady Margaret in different ways. There’s Martin of Hibernia, chief of the castle guards, who is physically brave and strong. There’s Brother Benedict, who is Harley’s uncle, a monk, and a trained musician. And there’s Professor Jabir Al-Zarkali, a Spanish Moor who works in the castle as tutor, adviser, and physician.



6. What’s next for Harley and Lady Margaret?

The sequel is written and with my publisher, hopefully ready for release by autumn of 2013. It’s called The London Hurdy Gurdy, and this time brings Harley and Margaret into the big city of London for a nail-biting adventure!



* * * You can purchase Trouble at the Scriptorium directly from the publisher, Royal Fireworks Press. Learn more about Anne E. Johnson on her website.

Anne E. Johnson has published in a wide variety of topics and genres. She's written non-fiction books for children with the Rosen Group and feature articles for adults in serials such as The New York Times and Stagebill Magazine.

As the author of nearly thirty published short stories, she has won writing prizes for both children's and adults' short fiction.

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Author Spotlight: Past, Future, Research, and Imagination: Historical vs Science Fiction

Past, Future, Research, and Imagination: Historical vs Science Fiction

by Anne E. Johnson

The signature on my emails and the profile on my Twitter account say I write “Historical and Science Fiction.” To some, these may seem like opposite genres. Historical fiction is about places and times that actually existed. Even characters and events might be drawn from factual research. Science fiction, on the other hand, is about futuristic worlds that can only be imagined. Right?

Not always, as it happens. Historical fiction can require a great deal of imagination, and lean more heavily toward fiction than history. On the other hand, science fiction can require a great amount of research, and I don’t mean just about science. And, while I’ve never tried it, it’s even possible to combine historical with science fiction (as the steampunk sub-genre often does).

Some historical fiction is so thorough in its use of fact, that author really is turning true history into fiction. A good example of this is Debra Brenegan’s novel Shame the Devil. Brenegan did scholarly research that could have led to a nonfiction biography of early feminist writer Fanny Fern. Instead, Brenegan wrote a “novel,” but it’s really a way of bringing the biography to life as fiction. She imagined the exact words spoken by the characters, but nearly every scene is based on research.
Alternatively, for my historical novel A Kiss at Vespers (due out July 19), I did basic research about Britain and Ireland in the early Eleventh Century, finding out things like what the Vikings were up to, which towns were central to trading, and how Irish monasteries were constructed. But all the details are invented. There was no St. Luran’s monastery on the east coast of Ireland at that time, and if there had been, I doubt they would have let a woman stay there, even after she’d been shipwrecked! I decided to let the needs of my story outweigh the force of the historical documents.

Research for science fiction can be just as intense. An excellent recent example is Debris Dreams by David Colby. That’s a near-future story about a teenaged girl living near the moon, and having to defend it by fighting in space. Colby did meticulous research about the physics of that scenario, in order to give a realistic picture of what life would be like if you’d never been to Earth but could see it. Many science fiction (and fantasy) authors also do thorough research about military organizations and the history of warfare and weaponry.

In complete contrast are the books of my Webrid Chronicles, Green Light Delivery and Blue Diamond Delivery. Everything in them is made up: the species, the environment, the physics. Factual research would have done me little good. However, just like in writing historical fiction, the science fiction author has to be consistent. Only, instead of checking everything against research, she checks against the details of her own made-up worlds. It’s important to keep copious lists!

* * * You can learn more about Anne E. Johnson at her website. Purchase Green Light Delviery and Blue Diamond Delivery at Candlemark & Gleam, on Amazon, or on Barnes & Noble. Purchase A Kiss at Vespers at MuseItUp publishing.

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BLUE DIAMOND DELIVERY ebook giveaway!

BLUE DIAMOND DELIVERY ebook giveaway!


Enter to win a digital copy of Anne E. Johnson’s humorous, noir-inspired science fiction novel, BLUE DIAMOND DELIVERY. 
Just leave a comment below, asking a specific question about the excerpt or blurb. 
To protect against spoilers, Anne won’t necessarily be able to answer all the questions, but she’ll give hints where she can.

The giveaway closes 21st of July. Good Luck!

Webrid is a carter. He’s also the savior of the world. Is it so much to ask that he get a break, and get to enjoy the simple things in life―like booze and babes―without being asked to drop everything and save the day? Again?

All Webrid has to do is make one simple delivery to prevent the planets of the Raralt Circle from cracking to pieces. How hard could that be? Unfortunately, to complete this “simple” job he has to drag his reluctant carcass to a mining planet with intense gravity, to the horrifically fashion-obsessed planet Prellga, and across the Redfire Desert on his home planet of Bexilla. All he really wants to do is sit at home on his couch.

Join Webrid, Stravin, and Zatell as they stagger into another nail-biting, spit-taking adventure to save the world, whether they feel like it or not.




Excerpt:

Ganpril Webrid woke up in midair.
“What the…?” He landed with a painful crunch, his wide shoulder wiping out his shelf of commemorative Valestin Hundred-Proof bottles (“Collect all twelve!”).
“Oof!” He pulled a shard of broken glass from his matted fur.
That’s when he noticed he was naked. Though at least he was naked at home. “I guess it wasn’t a bar fight,” he slurred, as surprised as his muzzy mind would allow.
Home or not, something was seriously wrong. Looking around, he saw that most of his meager belongings were capsized or shifted. “Damn. How much did I drink?”
Webrid figured that since he was on the floor anyway, he could think better if he stretched out on his back. That’s when he noticed the naked Entra lady suction-cupped to the ceiling.
“Drarra, honey? Is that you? What you doin’ up there?”
With a resounding pop! pop!, Webrid’s favorite paid companion
loosened her head from the metal ceiling plates and bent backward to face the floor. “Oh. You still alive?” She didn’t sound thrilled.
“What the hell happened?” Webrid tried to do the gentlemanly thing and look at her face while he spoke to her. He wasn’t having much luck, so he closed his eyes. “Were we attacked by Blennf initiates, or what?”
“Nice one, Web. Mocking people of faith. Very classy.” Her sigh seemed rooted in her lower guts, in that way Webrid had heard from so many whores in his time.
“Seriously, though, what went on here?” he asked again.
Drarra pointed across the room. “I went flying off the bed, same as you. Only I’m lighter and stickier, so I grabbed the ceiling instead of crashing into everything. Help me down,” she ordered, pushing a long, flexible limb toward him.
Webrid stood up in stages, fighting through aches in his hip and shoulder. “Grab hold, babe.” He reached up to get a firm grip on her appendage. “Here we go.” With gentle yanks, he unstuck her, cup by cup, pop! pop! pop!, until she was draped over his arms. “Flew off the bed, huh?” Webrid racked the one dusty corner of his brain that seemed to be working. “You’d think I’d remember sex that good.”
“Oh, please. What sex? You couldn’t manage anything but passing out when we got home last night.”
Webrid was hurt. “You gonna tell me how come we flew off the bed, or do I gotta read it in the paper?”
“It was a quake, I guess.”
Webrid picked some wax out of his ear. “You say quake?”
“Yeah, you know. Ground shaking? People flying off beds? Buildings collapsing, too, probably.”
Webrid rubbed his bruised shoulder. He vaguely knew stuff like that was possible, but it didn’t seem like the kind of thing they’d let happen in the city. “Quake. Weird. And listen to that.”
“What?”
“Outside.” Webrid was used to the sounds of downtown Bargival. He loved the wailing sirens and the vendors shouting at the honking commuters. The revving of engines was like a lullaby to him. But this morning sounded different. A whole new level of chaos. The screeching machinery sounded a lot bigger than usual, some of it hovering in the air. And more people were screaming louder. He’d have looked out the window if his tiny apartment had one.
“Sounds crazy out there.” He let Drarra drip onto the bed and started searching for his pants. “Never been a quake my whole life. And then, boom, there’s a quake? What’s that about?”
“How do I know? Something makes the rocks in the ground shift.”
Webrid, bending over painfully to look under a haphazard sculpture of piled-up furniture, turned his aching neck. “Why would the rocks in the ground shift?”
“What am I, a scientist now? It shakes, is all I know. Just look around you. This mess is your scientific proof.” Drarra slid off the bed. “I’m hittin’ the ladies’. Don’t bother me in there.”
Webrid dragged his gaze around his four dingy walls. “Too bad about my building.”
“What about it?” Drarra called from the bathroom. “It’s still standing.”
“Yeah. That’s my point. This lousy building stays upright, but I lose my Val-Hundred bottle collection. Where’s the justice, man?”
“Ha! You drink enough, you’ll have a whole new collection in half a moon.”
Webrid shook his head and pulled a glass shard from between two calloused toes. No point trying to explain to her that those were commemorative bottles. He’d have to deal with black market types to replace that set. Those Akardian salesmen made him cringe, skins covered in floppy lobes and tongues dripping with sweet lies. Webrid sighed. A quake. Whoever heard of a quake in Bargival?



* * * Didn’t win? You can purchase Blue Diamond Delivery from the publisher, on Amazon, and on Barnes & Noble. Learn more about Anne E. Johnson on her website.

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{Author spotlight} Allure of Sci - Fi by Anne E. Johnson

The Allure of Sci - Fi

I thought it would be easy to write about my choice to become a science fiction novelist. After all, I’ve been a fan of science fiction novels, short stories, movies, and TV shows for decades. But explaining why science fiction holds such an appeal for me is harder than I expected. Of course, there are all the usual responses to “Why do I like science fiction,” but none quite covers it adequately.
Science fiction does allow for a welcome element of hope. Humanity is pretty screwed up in many ways, and it’s wonderful to imagine there are other creatures out there who have a truly healthy concept of civilization and society. But, seriously, how many science fiction stories are about well-adjusted species? No, we prefer to read about creatures just as messed up as we are. So that can’t be it.
In the introduction to a recent edition of her masterful novel The Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula K. Le Guin says, “Science fiction is metaphor...If I could have said it non-metaphorically, I would not have written all these words, this novel.” Okay, I can buy that. Shall we say, science fiction is a more poetic, grander, more exotic, maybe more beautiful way of showing the human experience?
Aristotle said that drama was all about recognition. There must be an echo of real life. If you can’t recognize yourself in the story, you won’t be moved by it. That’s science fiction, wouldn’t you say? Obviously, sci fi needn’t involve humans. Or even biological beings. But those robots need to have emotions and behaviors that can be compared to those of humans, or the story won’t capture the reader’s sympathy.
Another standard reason sci fi fans give for our obsession is what I call universal loneliness. I feel this acutely, and it has nothing to do with personal loneliness. I simply don’t want humans to be the only species. I want a universe that’s packed with countless species, and I want them to interact. I want the officers’ club in Star Trek to be the way the universe is.
Oh, wait. I see a different kind of metaphor now. For the past twenty years, I’ve chosen to live in New York City. My daily existence is like the passenger list on the starship Enterprise, but for an endless variety of human types. So, maybe that life choice is a tiny version of the universal melting pot I want my species to be part of. Am I causing my life to imitate the art of my imagination?
Imagination! That’s it! That is why I want to be a science fiction author. Science fiction―in fact, all types of speculative fiction―are special among fiction genres for the manner in which they use imagination. These novels are full of make-believe presented as real, wondrous presented as ordinary, magical presented as scientific.
And if you think those flights of fancy are entrancing or diverting to read, you should experience what a treat it is to create and describe them. No doubt about it: the opportunity to use my imagination to write science fiction makes it a privilege to be a novelist.

*   *   *

Green Light Delivery Synopsis
Webrid is a carter, like his mother and grandfather before him. It's not glamorous work, but it pays the bills, and it gives him time to ogle the sexy women on the streets of Bexilla's capital. Mostly, he buys and sells small goods and does the occasional transport run for a client.
Then he gets mugged by a robot.
Now, with a strange green laser implanted in his skull and a small fortune deposited in his bank account, Webrid has to make the most difficult delivery of his life. He doesn't know who his client is, or what he's carrying, but he knows that a whole lot of very dangerous people are extremely interested in what's in his head. Literally. And they'll do whatever it takes to get it.
With the help of some truly alien friends, a simple carter will journey across worlds to deliver his cargo. And hopefully keep his head in the process.

Blue Diamond Delivery Synopsis
Saving the world? Eh, it’s a living.

All Webrid has to do is make one simple delivery to prevent the planets of the Raralt Circle from cracking to pieces. How hard could that be? Unfortunately, to complete this “simple” job he has to drag his reluctant carcass to a mining planet with intense gravity, to the horrifically fashion-obsessed planet Prellga, and across the Redfire Desert on his home planet of Bexilla. All he really wants to do is sit at home on his couch.

Join Webrid, Stravin, and Zatell as they stagger into another nail-biting, spit-taking adventure to save the world, whether they feel like it or not.

*  *  *  *

You can purchase Green Light Deliveryand Blue Diamond Deliveryfrom the publisherand at Amazonand Barnes & Noble.

Anne E. Johnson has published in a wide variety of topics and genres. She's written non-fiction books for children with the Rosen Group and feature articles for adults in serials such as The New York Times and Stagebill Magazine.
As the author of nearly thirty published short stories, she has won writing prizes for both children's and adults' short fiction.
Read more about Anne E. Johnson:
anneejohnson.com 

Goodreads 

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{Author spotlight} Doing it all wrong by Anne E. Johnson

Doing it all wrong

I know, I know. A writer needs a platform. Readers need to look at your name and think, “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of Anne E. Johnson. She writes [fill in the blank].” They should be able to imagine what your next book will be like.

Sorry, marketing gurus, but that’s just not me. I am the very definition of peripatetic. (Actually this is the very definition of peripatetic.) I wander and sample my way through life. I have what they call an “eclectic background,” which includes performing folk music, teaching classical music history, studying Greek and Latin in college, and apprenticing with a tap dance company. Therefore, I see no reason why I won’t have an eclectic future as well.

I’ve done all manner of writing over the decades: non-fiction books for kids about everything from British genealogy to the indigenous peoples of Indonesia; music journalism for the New York Times; a scholarly article for an encyclopedia in Germany. No wonder, then, when I started writing exclusively fiction a few years ago, my genre choices were all over the map.

It’s been my great fortunate to have published stories and novels for young kids, middle-graders, teens, and adults. The genres I work in include science fiction, historical fiction, paranormal, and romance. Within science fiction, I’ve written two humorous, noir-inspired novels but just finished a much more serious YA space adventure. Within historical fiction, I’ve written two medieval mysteries for tweens, but also have a sensuous (for adults but not ADULT) medieval romance coming out this month.

Not for one moment do I doubt the wisdom of the straightforward writer’s platform. That, without question, is where the money is. But here’s the thing: writing fiction full-time is the work of fools (that’s me, raising my hand). If I’m going to be a fool and put myself on display, I might as well give my whole self and be as foolish as possible. It keeps the joy in the process for me. I can’t change who I am, and I love being a crazy kaleidoscope of writers all in one person. I’ll take happiness and free creativity over marketing wisdom any day of the week.

Anne E. Johnson has published in a wide variety of topics and genres. She's written non-fiction books for children with the Rosen Group and feature articles for adults in serials such as The New York Times and Stagebill Magazine.
As the author of nearly thirty published short stories, she has won writing prizes for both children's and adults' short fiction.
Read more about Anne E. Johnson:
anneejohnson.com 

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{Author spotlight} Introducing Anne E. Johnson

After a few months of no Author spotlight we are now having an author with us again with a lot of fun posts to look forward to during the month of July. We think it is really important to support authors and especially authors who are not very big yet. By hosting Author spotlight we are, in a small way, helping authors to make them selves known to the world. During July you can look forward to seven posts by the author Anne E. Johnson.

Anne E. Johnson

Drawing on her eclectic background, which includes degrees in classical languages and musicology, Anne E. Johnson has published in a wide variety of topics and genres. She's written non-fiction books for children with the Rosen Group and feature articles for adults in serials such as The New York Times and Stagebill Magazine.

As the author of nearly thirty published short stories, she has won writing prizes for both children's and adults' short fiction. She has a series of sci fi/fantasy story trios for kids, Aliens & Weird Stuff, available as e-books from Amazon and Smashwords.
For a complete list of her publications, please visit her website, AnneEJohnson.com.

Anne lives in Brooklyn with her husband, playwright Ken Munch.

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