20 October 2015

Blog Hopping with Paranormal Love Wednesdays

There is a blog hop dedicated to the paranormal romance lover (or lovers of paranormal with romantic elements, or romance with paranormal elements, or any other combination). It's called Paranormal Love Wednesdays and you can read more about the hop over at the blog, but, basically, in four paragraphs or less a participating writer gives the reader a peek into their story or novel.

As my latest novel Witchlight definitely fits the category of paranormal with romantic elements, I thought I'd give it a go:

The blurb: Holly has been mortal all her life. Now at thirty-eight, her fairy godfather arrives to tell her she’s a witch, and suddenly she's having to come to terms with the uncertainties of an alarmingly magic-fuelled world. Magic is not like it is in the books and films, and Holly starts to doubt whether her fairy godfather, Partridge Mayflower, is the fey, avuncular charmer he appears.When appearances are magically deceptive, Holly cannot afford to trust those closest to her, including herself. Accidents start to happen, people die, Old Magic is on the hunt, but in the age-old game of cat and mouse, just who is the feline and who is the rodent?

A Review: "Witchlight is an enchanting read that will tickle the reader with its humor and adventure." San Francisco Book Review

An Excerpt:    Twenty seconds after the cat vacated its spot in the darkest and most secluded part of the field, a blob of pale turquoise light appeared a metre or so above the grass, expanded in volume and brightness, and then disappeared with a barely audible poof! leaving in its place a short, dapper man in well-washed blue jeans and an extremely bright and ever-so-slightly twinkly turquoise shirt. He patted himself down, smoothed his already immaculate auburn hair, and walked across the closely cropped combination of grass, thistles, and nettles towards the back of the houses overlooking the field. His intended destination was the somewhat rampant looking garden at the back of number sixty-six Basingfield Lane in which Holly Jepps, the owner, was currently attempting to tame some long-untended grass.
                         Holly remained unaware of her impending visitor until he leaned over the back fence, coughed politely, and in distinctly over-emphatic tones said, “Hi Holly, good to meet you. How’s it going?”