Saturday, March 31, 2018

Bookbub Special Price By S.C. Wynne

Good Morning!

The first book in my psychic detective series, Shadow's Edge, is only 99 cents right now, and will go back up on Monday. I wanted to give you a heads up in case you haven't had a chance to read book one just yet. Grab it while you can! 




Liam Baker can see things. Dead people like to visit him and tell them how they were wronged. Some might call it a gift, other’s a curse. But either way this ability makes him useful to Los Angeles homicide detective Kimball Thompson.

Some madman is slitting the throats of young male prostitutes and then dumping their bodies in the desert with vague clues of pink feathers and the number five. Usually Liam can talk to the spirits of the dead. But someone is blocking him. Someone is taunting him.

The case is rapidly deteriorating into a violent, psychic pissing contest and Liam can’t see far enough ahead to figure out who wins or who dies.


“Why do you always bring me to Sal’s?” I glanced around at the dark paneled walls and dusty Bud Light lamps hanging over the vinyl booths. There was a group of cops sitting at the bar, and the looks they gave me weren’t exactly welcoming. “Don’t you know any other bars?”

Thompson smiled and touched the small of my back, but then quickly pulled his hand away and said, “Sorry.” I wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for bringing me to this dump or because he’d touched me.
“Seriously, would it kill you if we talked about the case at an Applebee’s sometime?” I grumbled and slid into the usual dingy booth.
Thompson cocked his head, considering me for a moment. “You don’t like it here?”
“Are you serious?” I tilted my head toward his coworkers. “These guys think I’m a fake. You know that, right?”
He bugged his eyes. “Shut the fuck up. You’ve solved five dead files in the last three months. They don’t think that.”
I snorted. “They think it’s luck.”
“Nah. That’s just Perrell that thinks that.”
“No. You’re wrong.”
“Well, then they’re all crazy. Some of those cases were twenty years old. Why did the luck only kick in when you arrived on the scene?” He waved at the waitress and she made a beeline. He had a certain quiet authority about him that people seemed to respond to.
“Usual, loves?” Belinda asked, pulling out her pad. I suspected she’d been working at Sal’s as long as the grimy lamps had been here. In fact, I wasn’t sure the place had another waitress. She was probably only in her thirties, but she looked older, as if life had been rough and sucked a decade from her. I’d sensed a few abusive boyfriends and crying jags from her since we met. But I tried not to read her very often. It was too depressing.
Thompson nodded and then said, “Bring a couple of tequila shots while you’re at it.”
“My, my, someone’s having a rough night.” She sauntered away, wiggling her plump hips. I noticed Thompson’s gaze didn’t linger on her.
He laced his fingers together on the table. “So you think the perp is a psychic?”
“I know he is.” That signal had been as clear as a beacon. He’d wanted us to know, and that made me nervous. “He threw us a bone because we aren’t even close.”
“Why would he do that?”
Shrugging, I said, “He thinks he’s smarter than us.” I smirked. “He’s probably right.”
“Yeah, but giving us clues makes it more likely we’ll catch his ass.”
“He doesn’t see it that way.”
The drinks arrived and Belinda set my club soda in front of me with a wink. “Hope you’re not driving.”
I smiled politely. For the last three months, every time she’d set my nonalcoholic drink down she’d blessed me with a witty comment. I was used to people ragging on me for not drinking. But little did they know it was for their own good. I tended to get in arguments with my ethereal visitors when I had a few too many. And since I was a lightweight when it came to booze, one was sometimes too many.
Thompson pushed one of the shot glasses toward me. “Drink up.”
Scowling, I shook my head. “No.”
He leaned forward and his light gaze was serious. “One drink isn’t going to kill you.”
“Why do you want me to drink?”
He shrugged. “I want you to loosen up a little. You’re wound as tight as the queen at an IRA meeting.”
I laughed in spite of myself. “I’m not that fun when I’m loose. You need to trust me on this.”
“I’m not saying get wasted. It’s one shot.” His smile was warm and coaxing. He usually reserved that charm for reluctant witnesses and his captain. “Come on. I want to get to know you better.”
You do?
The cops at the bar were looking over and sniggering every now and then. I was surprised Thompson didn’t seem to care. Most hardened macho cop types treated me like I had cooties. None of them were in a hurry to go out drinking with me that was for sure. I was lucky if they didn’t glare at me when I arrived at a crime scene. I wasn’t sure why they seemed to dislike me so much really. It wasn’t like I was after their jobs. Maybe it was simply that the unknown bothered them because they didn’t understand it.
“Why?” I asked quietly.
His brow wrinkled. “Why what?”
I looked at the tequila shot and then back at him. “We’ve been solving cases together for three months. Why all of a sudden do you want to know me better?”
He sipped his beer and fingered his untouched shot. Then he said, “We work together.”
He shrugged and dropped his gaze. “Look, I should have taken the time long ago. But you’re kind of touchy and I didn’t bother for whatever reason.” He lifted his eyes to mine. “The more we work cases together, the more I realize I respect what you do. Because of that I want to know more about you. Is that a crime?”
His sincerity was like a warm blanket as it washed over and through me. I shivered at the intensity of the feelings it drummed up in me. Confused by the strange sensations I was experiencing, I grabbed the shot and took a sip, coughing as the bitter liquid slid down my throat.
He smiled and threw his shot back in one gulp. Then he licked his lips and that shiver rippled through me again. What the fuck was going on with me? My cock throbbed gently between my legs as he watched me intently. If I didn’t know better, I would say we were having a moment. A sexual moment. But this was Thompson and I didn’t have moments with guys like him. Or anyone for that matter lately.
“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked softly.
I just stared at him uncertain of what to say and hoping he couldn’t tell what was going on inside of me.
He leaned back against the booth. “Why do you suppose Samuel didn’t talk to you tonight?”
That was still bugging me too. “I’m not sure.” I touched my throat as I remembered the choking sensation that had come over me at the crime scene. It had almost felt as if the presence of the murderer was there instead of Samuel’s.
“Has that ever happened before?”
“You mean the dead person not talking to me part?”
“Sometimes if the body is moved from where the murder took place, it’s like the soul stays behind where they died.” I swallowed. “But from the amount of blood and…” I shook my head. “I think that was definitely the crime scene.”
“Me too.” He cleared his throat. “Have you always had the ability to talk to…?”
“Dead people?” I guess maybe he really was interested in who I was. “Yes. But it’s gotten stronger with age.”
“I hate to picture you as a kid seeing the gruesome shit you do.” He bit his lip.
“I didn’t. Well, at least not at first.” I swallowed hard. “I used to just get feelings about stuff. Like maybe someone was beside me when no one was there.”
“Yeah.” I sipped my shot some more, actually enjoying the heat that was settling in my stomach now. “Then I started actually seeing things that weren’t there. Or at least I was the only one who knew they were there.”
“Like what?”
I laughed. “There was this one guy, I think he was in a gang and his own guys popped him. He would hang outside the front of the Popeye’s Chicken in town, bitching about how he was betrayed and stuff. He was one of the first ones I really heard clearly.”
Thompson grinned. “Popeye’s Chicken is delicious. If I ever get murdered, that’s where I’m hanging out too.”
We held each other’s gaze, smiling a little longer than usual. I looked away first. “Anyway, I started noticing spirits more and more, especially the ones who died violently.” To be more accurate I should have said they started noticing me noticing them. It was as if the second they discovered I could see and hear them, they were desperate to tell me stuff. Sometimes I pretended I couldn’t hear them just so I could ignore them in peace.
“And you didn’t have to touch anything of theirs to hear them?”
I shook my head. “No. I think it’s because they’re reaching out to me.” I swallowed as I remembered the bloody visions of Samuel’s death that had come to me tonight. “I can also open my mind to specific things. Like this case. Since I want to see things connected with this case the information should funnel to me. I’m not sure why I couldn’t connect to Samuel tonight at the crime scene, but I should be able to see and talk to any of the future victims.”
He frowned. “I’m hoping we can stop this animal before there are others.”
“Of course.” I kept my gaze on the top of the table. Everything in me screamed there were going to be more.
“I think they’re going to lift at least one print off Samuel’s body since the murderer didn’t wear gloves.”
“But if the killer doesn’t have a record that may not be helpful.” I hated that what I was saying was making Thompson’s pretty mouth droop. “I’m sorry. I wish I was a mind reader.”
“This skill I have… it just comes and goes. I can’t predict when or where the next victim will be. It’s frustrating because it’s like I can see and hear just enough to be almost helpful.” I finished off my shot and bumped the glass down. “And in the meantime, these poor kids are being brutally murdered and all I can do is replay the horror of their death over and over in my head.”
“Shit, Liam.” He started to reach out, but he stopped himself. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you are helping. The first two victims gave you valuable info.”
“It doesn’t seem like it.”
“Well, we know victim number two was booked off of Craigslist for a ‘massage.’” He used air quotes on that last word.
“And that got us nowhere yet.”
“It will. Plus, thanks to you, we already know the murderer’s hair color and approximate age. At least you were able to tell us that.”
I gave a hard laugh. “Yeah, there are only about 2,000,000 blond guys in their midthirties in Los Angeles. That really narrowed it down.”
“Hey, you shaved off about 8,000,000 possible suspects.”
I didn’t smile and he sighed. “You’ve been doing this a little over a year counting when William was alive. I’ve been doing this twelve, and I know how frustrating this process is. Trust me when I tell you I’m happy to have you on board.”
I rested my elbows on the table. “I guess I’d feel even worse if I wasn’t at least trying to help you.”
He finished his beer and signaled Belinda. “You want another shot?” he asked me.
My muscles felt nice and relaxed from the first one, and I was tempted. “I probably shouldn’t.”
“Come on. Live a little.”
I snorted. “That’s funny considering I talk to dead people.”
He smiled and surprisingly my stomach fluttered. He had really nice dimples. I’d never noticed that before so maybe it was the tequila. And while he was rumpled, he had a sexy I don’t give a fuck vibe that was actually kind of attractive to me. Probably because most of the time I literally didn’t give a fuck about things. I knew he wasn’t married, but I wondered if he had a girlfriend. I couldn’t get a sense of anyone in particular in his life, although I did get a flash of a blue parakeet.
“Huh.” I gave a short laugh at the idea of him owning a bird. He definitely seemed more like one of those manly man type of dog owners.
He arched one brow. “What’s so funny?”
Belinda had arrived at our table to take our order. “Nothing.”
He looked skeptical, but he let it go. “We’ll have two more shots, and I’ll have another beer.” His voice was firm and his expression cocky with one smooth brow lifted. “If one drink didn’t kill you, two probably won’t.”
I straightened. “Yeah, no such luck.”
His jaw hardened immediately, and I flushed. It had been a stupid thing to say considering my past history, especially since he’d been present at my weakest, most pathetic hour. I bit my lower lip and dropped my gaze, aware of his stare.
After Belinda walked away, he spoke. “You want to hurt yourself, Liam?”
I met his suspicious stare, although it took willpower not to look away nervously. “It was a joke.”
“I didn’t find it funny.”
“I was kidding. I don’t want to die.” I could sense he didn’t believe me. And when the waitress brought the drinks, he slid both shots in front of himself, hunching over them protectively.
“Seriously?” I pointed to the tequila. “You’re going to drink both of those, another beer, and drive home?”
“I’ll take a cab. I should anyway.”
I put up my hands. “Fine. I didn’t even want another shot.”
He studied me silently for what felt like a full minute. “Is that why you aren’t eating or taking care of yourself? Because you want to die?”
I groaned and slumped back in my seat. “Thompson, for the love of God I was just kidding.”
He shook his head and then threw back one of the shots. I’d never seen him quite this disgruntled toward me. His gaze was guarded and his broad shoulders stiff. He pointed a long finger at me. “You and I both know there’s nothing funny about death. I’m surrounded by it day in, day out. Sometimes I feel like I stink of it because I spend more time with corpses than living people. So excuse me if I don’t find suicide amusing.”
He didn’t try and stop me when I grabbed the remaining shot. “Okay. I get it.” I held the little glass between my two palms.
“After all the dreary cases we’ve been through together, and you trying to hurt yourself, how can you even kid about shit like that?”
“Jesus, simmer down.” I sighed. “Look, yes, I wanted to die that night.” Remembering how distraught I’d been, I tried to swallow, but my throat felt like wool. “And if you want to know the truth, for a long time I hated you for interfering.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Oh, really?”
I leaned toward him my gaze hard. “Yeah, really.” I lifted the shot as if toasting him and then swallowed it, wincing as it burned a trail down my throat. My eyes watered as I stared at him. “But I’m better now,” I said in a raspy voice.

Hope you enjoyed that snippet, and have a wonderful weekend!

Friday, March 30, 2018

Happy Holidays! by Felice Stevens

Happy almost weekend! Tonight is the first night of Passover and I have been frantically cleaning and cooking all day. I cleared my cabinets of all bread and flour products and for the next eight days I won't be eating any  unleavened bread or products made with  wheat, soy, rice or any grains at all. In fact all the food I eat will have to be market Kosher For Passover on the outside label. Needless to say it isn't my favorite holiday.

 Dinner will be the traditional matzo ball soup, brisket, potatoes and some vegetable, probably broccoli. (You can find recipes for these and other holiday meals in Learning to Love).

The nice thing about the holiday is that it brings family together. With my son in China, it will be only my husband and daughter. My brother lives in Westchester, NY but he's religious and doesn't travel on holidays or on Friday night, when the Jewish Sabbath starts. 

For those of you interested in my traditional Mazto Ball soup recipe, which came from my mother, here it is:

Chicken Soup
A 3-4 pound chicken, cut into eighths
7 cups of cold water
2-3 large carrots, rough chopped into 1 inch chunks
2 stalks of celery chopped
1 Parsnip, sliced lengthwise
1 turnip cup in half
salt and pepper to taste
4-5 sprigs of fresh dill and fresh parsley
Bring water to a boil in a large stock pot. Put in cut up chicken and reduce flame to a simmer. Skim the fat and let cook for 30 minutes. At this point add all the vegetables, salt and pepper. Bring back to a boil, the reduce heat to a simmer. Cover pot halfway, and let cook until all the vegetables are cooked until soft, at least one hour. Take off lid, taste and adjust seasonings, add dill and parsley and cook uncovered for 10 more minutes.
Now you can let it cool, take out the chicken, the parsnip and turnip. Skim the fat off the top and throw away. Shred the chicken and add it back to the soup and reheat.
Matzo Balls
2 eggs
2 TBS of oil (you can use vegetable or even olive oil, which makes a smoother texture)
2 TBS of seltzer/club soda
1 tsp of salt
½ cup of matzo meal
Beat eggs in a large bowl, add in oil, salt and matzoh meal until mixed well. Then add in the seltzer and mix together until all the liquid is absorbed. It will not be smooth or liquidy. Cover with plastic wrap and chill in the refrigerator at least 20 minutes.
In a large stockpot, bring 6 quarts of water to a boil. Make small balls of the mixture but don’t make them too dense. Drop them in boiling water, reduce heat to a simmer, cover tightly and cook 30-40 minutes. They should be puffy. Add to your chicken soup and enjoy.

Thursday, March 29, 2018

Good morning!  This week for your enjoyment, narrator Nick J. Russo joins us along with his A.I. assistant to talk technology and the magic that is taco delivery. And where does he get all these wonderful toys?

A love letter to technology...

Oh gadgets and gizamatrons - how I adore you. You allow us to post everything our brains think of to be seen by the world. Be it our opinions, vacation happenings, political rants, pictures of  fancy desserts we’re about to eat, or videos of cats acting like they’re on LSD, the ease in which we’re able to connect with one another is nothing short of amazing.

Among its many marvels, it has allowed new and exciting businesses to be born. My wife and I are starting to become a little too addicted to Uber Eats - we can see exactly where the guy bringing us tacos is! Right from our phones! He’s right outside the house!

But above all else, my love for high speed internet, fast computers, and the Renaissance that is the modern internet always narrows to one thought in particular - I wouldn’t be able to do what I do for a living without it.

Twenty years ago, (or hell - even ten!), the idea of being a voice actor working from home living in Columbus, Ohio would of sounded like a pipe dream. A voice actor trying to score work in the midwest? Sorry, guy, try your luck in a city where the jobs actually are - Los Angeles, New York. Maybe Chicago? And good luck finding where to go when you get there - that’s what agents are for!

Not so much the case anymore. Thanks to a few major advances in technology like high end, reasonably priced recording equipment, file sharing services, and job sharing sites like ACX and Upwork, voice acting is now a dream attainable to anybody regardless of where they live.

It’s an exciting time to be alive to be sure. And with the rate in which it’s continuing to evolve, it’s only going to get better. Case in point, I’m now unapologetically addicted to anything Google tries to sell me. Especially Google Homes. To the uninitiated, Homes are personal assistants you can talk to, schedule appointments with, tell you any fact you ever want to know, and will probably be responsible for kicking off Skynet someday. I recently furnished my home with these little things, including my recording booth, and let me tell you - it’s changed the way I record any given chapter. Need to look up a word I don’t recognize? Translate a phrase an author wrote in Russian? Pronounce mantra?- (is it man or mon? I never remember.) Let me just talk to this inanimate clam shell shaped object for a quick second and find out!

- On a side note, I think I should now take the time to say this blog post is NOT sponsored by Google. This is not some shameless promotion. But it totally could be - Google, you have all my info. Call me! -

The point is, I absolutely love what I do for a living, and if were not for the technological advancements made over the past ten to fifteen years, it is almost a certainty that I wouldn’t be doing it today. I wouldn’t be voicing audio books, I wouldn’t know any of the incredibly talented and hard working people I’ve met in the industry, and I wouldn’t be concluding the final paragraph of this blog post I’m writing.

So in conclusion - thank you technology for being all that you are. You’re a heck of a guy, and I salute you.

And check out Nick's newest narration, "A.J.'s Angel," by L.A. Witt on Audible.

Tuesday, March 27, 2018

Happy Easter and Sale on Kiernan, BA, Julia, and Sean

We love y'all! Check out our .99 sales through the 1st and a 30% off coupon on our self pub stuff at



Visit our websites:

Sean's is

Julia’s is

BA’s is

Kiernan's is


Sean --

Julia --

BA --

Kiernan --

Saturday, March 24, 2018

Writing Mystery VS Romance By S.C. Wynne

Good morning, people!

I've been in heaven the last few days because we actually got some rain here in S. California. I know many of my fellow authors and readers are more to the east, and you guys get more than enough of snow and rain, but us S.Californians need the sprinkles from heaven so we can avoid another drought. Plus I just plain old love rain. lol

But I digress. What I actually was going to blog about today was how different it is writing mm mystery as compared to mm romance. I love writing both. I love writing many different things. I write mm romance, mystery, gay new adult, mpreg romance. I really just love all sorts of genres in books just like I do in movies and music. I've never been someone who just likes one thing. Which is weird, considering I hate change in my life!

Me and my hubby watch a TON of British mysteries. I adore Vera and Poirot. I can watch and re watch those shows over and over. I just love tagging along as they find the clues and grill the characters. I will say though, writing a quality mm mystery is a lot of work. It's a labor of love, but there is no question it's a little more challenging than writing an mm romance. For me. I should stipulate that I am talking about myself. Don't get me wrong, I love, love, LOVE writing mm romance too. But it takes a different thought process to write a mystery.

Of course you should always know where your story is going, but I definitely am more of a panster. But when you write a mystery there is no way to be successful without an outline. At least, not for me. Mysteries have so many moving parts that have to make sense when the dust settles. The last thing an author wants is our editor telling us our mystery makes no sense. In a romance, things need to make sense too, but it's not quite the same.

I have Book one of my next mystery series coming out April 3rd. It's called Strange Medicine and it's the first book in the Dr. Maxwell Thornton Murder Mysteries. My lead guy is a prickly doctor who comes from the big city to the small town of Rainy Dale, TX. He's not prepared for how nosy and quirky the towns people are, and the last thing he expects is to get involved romantically with the sexy sheriff. But that little romance hits a snag when a dead body turns up in Dr. Thornton's pool.

What about you? Do you like to read mm mystery and mm romance? Or do you only like one of them?


Friday, March 23, 2018

Retirement? by Felice Stevens

It's been one month now since I retired and it still doesn't seem real. I still wake up early, only now I make my coffee, not get it from Starbucks. Cha-ching! I can't help checking my watch at around 8 am and thinking I should be leaving the apartment. Instead, I stretch out on my sofa and keep writing (or chatting as most likely is the case). 
I've yet to settle into that routine I promised myself, of splitting my day between writing and cleaning up all the junk that accumulated. Nor have I gone to the gym as much as I thought-it's been the same as before. I prefer to think that it's this horrible weather which prevented me from doing that so far. 
But I'm cutting myself some slack, because...well, I can. These deadlines I've put upon myself are self-imposed. I don't HAVE to do things. But I know if I don't I'll devolve. So I make sure to get out of the house at least once a day. I've tried to lessen my time on social media, especially Facebook due to its constant outbreaks of drama. I left work to get rid of stress. I don't need it now.
I think it's important for all of us to give ourselves a break every now and then and step away. I don't mean for days or months, but if that's what's necessary, then it needs to happen. Burnout is a real thing and we can only keep up a punishing pace by allowing ourselves room to breathe.
So I'm going to the movies now and next week when it's supposed to be warmer, I talk a walk on the Promenade, or maybe the Brooklyn Bridge and take a look at the boats chugging along the river. After thirty years of spending my days locked in an office, I'm ready to take back my city and rediscover everything I've missed. I hope to take you along with pictures and maybe videos if I can learn to do that properly.

And maybe run into Gus, Matt and Beemo. Or Paul and Sergio. Or Matthew Sinnaeve. Hey a girl can dream!!
And before I forget, Last Call, the MMM I co-wrote with Christina Lee, is now out in audio narrated by the always fabulous Kale Williams. You can pick it up here:
Have a great weekend and happy reading!

Thursday, March 22, 2018

Just Call Me Uncle Tusky

Good Thursday to you, cafe-goers!  This week, narrator Andrew McFerrin talks about the process of creating unique character voices for narration, which may or may not sometimes involve research and vocal exercises and video games.  Also, orcs, a flock of seagulls, and pizza delivery, in case anyone's feeling peckish. Enjoy! 

When I tell people at parties what I do for a living the first question they ask, invariably, is this:


But that's not a very interesting question to try to spin off into a blog post, is it? Fortunately the follow-up's usually a bit meatier:

"Do you, like, do all those voices? How do you do that?"

In a party setting the answers to those questions tend to be "Yes" and "I moves my mouth and the soundses comes out" respectively. Because they don't really want an acting class on the spot, they're just making conversation in between rounds of shots in the kitchen and stage combat in the backyard.
I have interesting friends

But it's a good question, right? How do you voice ten, twenty distinct characters without wardrobe or lighting or makeup or crystal methamphetamine or any of the other tools actors on the big screen have at their disposal? Sure, accents are easy, but that only gets you so far. What if the story is set within the confines of a single family home? Or a mining colony on the dark side of Ganymede populated entirely by robots and clones? Or New Zealand?  We're talking about creating characters here, not caricatures.

You have to spend a certain amount of time thinking about what the character's actually like. Inflection's a big part of it. A younger, inquisitive character would tend to speak faster and pitch their voice up toward the end of phrases. Older and wiser? Kind of the opposite. Smarmy suck-up? Have I got the perfect slow, oily drawl for you...

But while it's tempting to make a laundry list of personality traits and assign a vocal component for each one, that still doesn't make a character. And trying to do it like that is a good way to drive yourself nuts. If you want to inhabit the character's attitude, then you need to understand how that character interacts with the world around them.

Let's say you have to voice a major romantic character who also happens to be an orc. Y'all have a pretty good idea what orcs are like, right? Big, gruff, tusks, muscles, usually green, um..."unconventionally attractive", totally within the public domain? Definitely gonna be a deeper voice, probably fairly gravelly, and you'll want to keep your teeth bared and nostrils flared because...well, tusks. Duh.

So we have established the quality of orc-ness. Now, to turn this collection of traits into a character.

How do we do that? We order pizza.

No really, go with it for a second. How would our orc go about procuring something which he wants, but has to rely on someone else to bring to him? How would our orc react to the pizza being delivered late? Is our orc a good tipper? Does our orc have coupons that he forgot to mention when he placed the order?

These sound like some unbelievably stupid questions to be asking, but they're really not. Of course orcs don't order pizza, orcs and pizza generally don't exist within the same literary universes. But you have presumably ordered pizza at some point in your life. You have direct experience of the entire gamut of human emotions involved in pizza-ordering. You have been hungry, too tired to cook, frustrated that it has now been 33 minutes AND OH MY GOD THEY'RE STILL NOT HERE YET. 'cause I know I have been.

Now our romantic lead orc probably will not be ordering pizza. But at some point in this story he will feel heightened emotion of some kind. He may not be frustrated about pizza, but he will be frustrated about his inability to connect on a deeper level with the sexy but emotionally distant werebear he's been kicking it with for the last 130 pages and don't even pretend you wouldn't read that book.

The idea here is that you use your own experiences and the emotions that come from them as a conduit to get you into the character's mind. In the booth, I'm not trying to sound like an orc—in that moment, I'm trying to BE an orc.

There is a little piece of my experience in every character I voice, even the ones who are nothing at all like me. I like to think that comes through. I hope it does, anyway.

Also, if anyone wants to author a story involving both orcs and pizza I would totally narrate that so hard.

Find Andy and Falcon Sound Company on Facebook,

And check out Andy's latest narration, "Prelude to Love," by Anne Barwell.

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

Sorry we missed this week! BA, Julia, Kiernan and Sean

Sorry y'all!

BA was in the hospital.

Check out the .99 sales until Easter at as our apology!


Julia Talbot

for BA, Kiernan and Sean

Saturday, March 17, 2018

Happy St. Patrick's Day! I Need A Drink! By S.C. Wynne

Image result for happy st patricks day drinks

Top of the morning to ya!!

I don't know about you, but I feel like my country has lost it's mind. Not the country so much as the "leaders" of our country. Today is St. Patrick's Day, so it's a nice excuse to tune out of social media and lift a pint, listen to some Irish music, and forget about all the weirdness of the world for one day.

I scoured the Internet for some delicious drinks that are St. Patrick's Day inspired! I love fancy drinks, sweet drinks and Guinness. I guess what I'm saying is; I enjoy drinking. Makes sense though, when you realize I'm Irish. But not just Irish, I'm also Italian, Scottish, French! So I guess drinking is  literally in my DNA.

Now here are some delicious drinks! I will try and make at least one of these tomorrow. How about you?

MUDSLIDE HOT CHOCOLATE (Not for the kids, folks!)

2 c. whole milk
2 tbsp. cocoa powder
1/4 c. sugar
1 tsp. vanilla extract
6 oz. chocolate chips
1/4 c. Baileys
1/4 c. vodka
1/4 c. Kahlua
Whipped cream, for serving
Chocolate Sauce, for serving
crushed oreos, for serving
Yes, please!!

Mudslide Hot Chocolate

BAILEY'S ESPRESSO MARTINI (Leave me alone! Mommy needs her num nums!)

2 oz. Baileys Irish Cream
1/4 oz. Smirnoff No. 21 Vodka
2 oz. cold espresso

SHAMROCK SOUR (Cuz sometimes ya just feel sour)

2 tablespoons lime juice

1/2 tablespoon lemon juice

1/4 cup simple syrup

2 ounces Irish whiskey

1 tiny drop of green food coloring

lime wedges for garnish

Have a wonderful weekend you guys! Sláinte!


Friday, March 16, 2018

New Audiobook Release by Felice Stevens

Sorry for this later than normal post. I was dealing with a doctor's appointment and then the time just got away from me. BUT in the meantime, Last Call, the MMM romance I co-authored with Christina Lee is now out in audiobook. Kale Williams, who is one of my favorite narrators in the genre, did a wonderful job giving Quinn, Gray and Emery such distinct voices. I hope you enjoy listening to their love story. Here is the link to Audible

Thursday, March 15, 2018

It's Not Easy Being Green.

Happy Thursday!  This week we learn a wee bit about the history of St. Patrick's day from that lucky charmer, narrator Dorian Bane. Here's wishing for a safe and happy holiday weekend. In the tradition of an Irish blessing, may the best day of your past be the worst day of your future!
Hello again!
It would seem that writing for a blog in general is a pretty straightforward exercise, that being said, I have been having a tough time coming up with topics for mine. (This is nothing new. I tend to be indecisive at best.) After wracking my brain attempting to come up with a viable topic for my post this month, I found myself at a bit of a loss. Finally, I struck on something, And by that I mean that I had an inspiring talk with friend and fellow Falcon Sound Company narrator, Rayna Cole.
After being briefly exposed to my whining about writers block and struggling to pick a topic, she very matter of factly, says “Its March and you're Irish…” and BAM! Just like that my problem was solved by a less indecisive person rolling a fun topic right into my lap. Thank you for the save Rayna! So, with March in full swing and St. Patrick’s Day fast approaching, I thought I might help to sort through the blarney and share a bit of Irish history.

Before I really get into the meat of this, I would like to clarify something to avoid confusion. I am, of course, an American first and can only claim Irish heritage.I am a classic American mutt, born of the vastly diverse melting pot that is our country. That being said I am proud of my family’s Irish ancestry and celebrate it daily. I have the honor of riding with an Irish heritage Motorcycle Club here in Ohio, and enjoy Irish history as part of that heritage. I am also not religious in any way, but this post will have quite a bit to do with religion, since Patrick was a saint and all.
So, where do we start? I would say it is best that we begin with Patrick himself and why St. Patrick’s Day, (referred to from here on as “St.Paddy’s Day”, as that is infinitely more Irish!) is even a thing.

Contrary to popular belief, St. Paddy’s Day is not actually about doing Irish car bomb shots and drinking green beer till your liver hurts. (Though I have been known to do both of those things on occasion). It is the day that marks the death of St. Patrick and is traditionally marked by an annual feast, But what exactly is being celebrated? And why is this Patrick guy a saint anyway?
Well, to answer those questions, we have to take a trip back to approximately 401 A.D. when a large fleet of Irish coracles (boats) moved up the western coast of Britain, seizing young prisoners by the thousands. One of these prisoners was a sixteen-year-old boy named Patricius. Patricius was a middle class, Romanized Briton who had a shot at a classical education and solid career track within the Roman Empire...until the Celt raiding parties changed all that.

Upon being captured, Patricius and the others were taken to a slave market in Ireland and sold.
Patricius found himself sold to a local “king” named Miliucc, who ruled over some hills in the Irish district of Antrim. Here he finds himself, “chastened exceedingly and humbled in truth by hunger and nakedness and that daily,” and begins to work as a shepherd-slave.His work as a shepherd was arduous and meant spending months at a time isolated and alone in the hills with only the companionship of hunger, nakedness and sheep. 
(No, I am not making a bestiality joke, just saying the dude was not in a good way socially and wasn't exactly equipped to be out in the elements.)  Even though he'd never been a religious man, Patricius did what many do in times of hardship, he began to pray.

“I would pray constantly during the daylight hours. The love of God and the fear of him surrounded me more and more- and faith grew and the Spirit was roused, so that in one day I would say as many as a hundred prayers and after dark nearly as many again’’

After enduring six years of shepherding in isolation and contending with the elements, Patricius had transformed from a scared and lonesome slave boy into an unlikely holy man. On the last night of his servitude as a slave, Patricius apparently had his first otherworldly experience. A voice said to him: “Your hungers are rewarded: you are going home. Look, your ship is ready.”
Now the farm that he worked on was pretty far inland, But as you may guess he followed this voice’s instructions, believing it to be God, and proceeded to walk approximately two hundred miles to find “his ship”. At first he was turned away, But then allowed to board by the Captain and crew of a ship laden with a cargo of Irish hounds. Apparently the sailors even offered their nipples to be sucked. (I know that sounds weird, But it was kind of like a trust thing, like our saying “kiss and make up”. I could have left it out, But it is Cafe Risque after all.) Patricius of course declined the nipple sucking for “fear of God”, But they accepted him aboard anyway.
There are a few stories of his time with the sailors that point to his rising sainthood, but for now we will skip ahead. After a few more years Patricius finally makes it home to Britain. His family welcomes him back and beg him to never leave them again. By this time though, Patricius was no longer a Roman teenager and had been hardened by experiences that others around him could scarcely imagine. Add to this the fact that he has missed out on his formal education and it is understandable that he would be restless in what is now a strange and foreign place to him. Patricius had essentially, become Irish.
Soon after, he is visited in a vision by Victoricus, a man he knew in Ireland, holding “countless letters”, handing one to Patricius. The heading read “VOX HIBERIONACUM,” the Voice of the Irish. During this vision it is said that he heard the voice of a multitude, begging him to return to Ireland. This was then reinforced by the voice he had come to believe was God.
Not long after this dream, he leaves and follows the voices to Gaul and ends up at the steps of an island monastery. There he petitions for a theological education and is eventually ordained priest and then bishop. It was here that Patricius became Patrick. Patrick then returned to Ireland in the year 432 A.D. teaching his gospel blended with the teachings of the Celtic Druids, aiding others and speaking out against slavery at every turn. He set about these works fervently over the next twenty-nine years of his life, spreading his good works throughout Ireland.

By the time of Patrick’s death in 461 A.D. his sainthood had been assured, and the peoples of Ireland honored his life and work with an annual feast and celebration. That is how a Roman Britain who became a Celtic king’s slave found himself changed by the land, peoples and experiences of an Irish life among barbarians, and, after escaping, returned to them a holy man able to blend Christianity and Druidic teachings, settled the Celts down a bit and became a saint in the process.
So there is your history lesson for the month I guess. I went on a bit longer than intended, But I certainly didn’t want to leave too much out. I would like to credit author Thomas Cahill, whose book, “How The Irish Saved Civilization,” was unfathomably helpful in writing this post, along with other research I have done for myself. I would certainly recommend it to anyone who has an interest in Irish history, culture or folklore.
I hope you all have a happy and safe St. Paddy’s Day and whether you choose to go out this year for St. Paddy’s Day or decide to stay in and get sloshed at home, remember that it is all thanks to a naked slave boy who heard voices and refused to suck the nipples of sailors for fear of God. Lol. Slainte! Drink one for me! :)
Till next time…

Dorian Bane

Find Dorian Bane and Falcon Sound Company on Facebook, or at

And, check out Dorian's latest narration, "Free Falling," by SE Jakes.