I’ve always been a sucker for detective tales. Ten years ago, I decided a new story about a detective was in order, only this time, my guy was going to have quite the troubled past. His father was going to be a notorious serial killer. And the woman at the center of the grisly crimes he was investigating, was going to be a psychic. Of course, my detective, who doesn’t believe in that woo-woo crap, was determined to dismiss the wild testimony of this witness altogether.
What was going to happen next? Well…I finished the first chapter, put it on the back burner, and then the laptop I wrote it on bit the dust some years later. I hadn’t saved the chapter. I know, I’m an idiot. Fast forward to the summer of 2020. I got the bright idea it was finally time to finish this story. Taking bits and pieces of what I could remember of the original idea, I put a different spin on it, typed out a brand-new outline, and sank my teeth into it all over again. The new title, Killing Dreams was born as book one of the Sprit Walkers Series, A Romance/Mystery book. And what do you know, it had an ending this time.killing dreams trailer
Buried Alive was written as I waited for Killing Dreams to make its debut. I don’t remember the last time I did so much writing back-to-back. Wait. I’ve never done so much writing back-to-back. But this story wouldn’t wait to get written. The premise nagged me daily, until I finally sat down at my computer and typed the header for an outline.
What was the header? Book 2 of The Spirit Walker Series. What should have been the header? I’m being assaulted by ideas, and I don’t know what to do with them all. It is amazing how a story tells itself. That’s exactly what happened with Buried Alive. As I sat at my computer for a week straight working on the outline, Buried Alive (that had no title at the time) led me on an adventure that possessed me. Every chance I got I was parked in front of the computer. I even ate my meals sitting in front of it. My keyboard had enough crumbs to feed a mouse. I listened to my husband holler through the door of the back porch, where I constantly sat, writing, “Hey, honey. Are you ever coming to bed?” My response, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there in a minute.”
I don’t recall a time those minutes didn’t melt into hours. When the book was finally finished, I promised myself it was time for a break. Then the 3rd book, The Taken, came calling. Maybe I’ll rest when I’m dead.buried alive trailer
The third installment of the Spirit Walkers Series, The Taken, is the one story that is more dear to my heart than any of the others. Why? Well, because when I started this book, I decided to wrap the story around a subject that has always disturbed me on a deep level. The trafficking of humans has become the second most profitable criminal activity in the Untied States. It is also the fastest growing. Take a few minutes if you will, and let that sink in. I would say, my awareness was heightened on this subject some years ago while I was working as a news reporter for The Blue Ridge Tribune, and I covered the shooting of the human trafficking movie, Red Ridge, that was being filmed in the town where I lived.
As I became familiar with the producers, who I interviewed, their real-life stories of human trafficking that was taking place right here in the US, haunted me on a level I hadn’t anticipated before I began to cover the story. Most people don’t think about this atrocious crime. And the reason it’s not top of mind is because it doesn’t make headlines very often. But at the alarming rate it is growing, it certainly should.
So, I took a deep dive into the depraved world of human trafficking, did some further research, and watched a lot of documentaries. The truth is, I came out even more disgusted and enraged by the inhuman and savageness of this criminal activity by the time my research was complete. But I felt as if I needed to see the things I saw, and take in the things I took in, even if it was uncomfortable for me to do so.
Without those images forever burned into my mind, I would not have had a full understanding of how this wicked crime has affected so many innocent victims and the families who continue to search for them long after they’ve gone missing.the taken trailer
The story idea for Cunja - Romance/Thrller Book, originally titled, Twin Medallions, came from my mother. Being an avid reader all her life, she decided on a whim one day she was going to try her hand at writing a book. Mom is old school. Having come from a generation in which computers were not yet invented, she snatched up a spiral notebook and a pen and away she went. She spent her evenings writing, and every morning as we visited over a cup of coffee, she would read her story to me.
My mind wandered as she spun the tale of a little old lady in the bayou of Louisiana who stumbled across two mysterious medallions. I yearned to put a different spin on the story. A few years went by, and one day in casual conversation my mother’s story was mentioned, and I’d asked if she’d ever finished it. She told me she hadn’t. Once she revealed she had no plans to finish it, I jumped at the chance to take it off her hands. She handed me three spiral notebooks that had collected dust over the years, and I couldn’t wait to get home and incorporate my ideas into the story. And boy, did this tale of Cunja - Romance/Thriller Book mysticism take on a life of its own.Cunja trailer
Glass shattered somewhere in the distance, and a man’s gloved hand breached the gaping hole of the French door pane, disengaging the bolt.
The door swung open, hinges creaked, and the killer stepped inside, dressed in black. He carefully made his way into the living room.
He crept around to the kitchen with a knife clutched in his hand. Jenna’s breath caught the moment she realized the room he peered into was the same as the one belonging to the rental house. Oh my God, is he in here?”
Fear rained down on her. As much as she struggled to move, nothing happened, and it was a horrifying reality knowing until this vision played out, she wouldn’t be able to. He’s going to kill me right here while I’m helpless, and I can’t do anything about it. Please, somebody, help me!”
He turned into the hallway.
Now approaching the guest bedroom.
The killer stopped and peeked inside, then skulked past the bathroom, moving to her bedroom at the end of the hall.
In another minute he would be at her door.
At the same time a sharp intake of breath filled her lungs, Jenna’s eyes snapped open. Blackness surrounded her; panic set in instantly as soft whimpers set off a series of echoes. It took a moment for it to sink in the sounds were her own.
Raising both hands, her palms struck a hard object not a foot above her head. She slid her palms over a rough surface, searching, feeling across the top and down the sides of what felt like a wooden crate.
That embodied her like a tomb.
She let go a shriek, crying out in agony, “No! no! please, no!” There was no doubt she was in the very place that stoked the deepest fear in her heart. Just the way her vision forewarned. She was buried alive.
Her body reacted to the demand, even though her brain was caught up in a fog. She practically flew over the two steps and scurried across the patio, sharp rocks cutting into her bare feet. She didn’t care. She hit the lawn, forcing her legs to sprint so quickly her muscles burned.
Shouting fanned out among the group of men, and one voice overshadowed the others, “Get her, you idiot!”
Someone was huffing and puffing. The grunts of exertion were so close behind her it prickled the hairs on the nape of her neck. Whoever was back there was gaining speed like a rocket. She drove her muscles to the brink, but she somehow sensed it wouldn’t be enough.
She was snatched in mid-air and thrown to the ground. The feel of the earth against her cheek was a cold reminder these bastards weren’t ever letting her go. The recollection of Luisa’s words the day they’d taken her here hit her like a freight train. These guys are very good at what they do. No one will ever catch them. It was true. She did everything she could to escape the traffickers. But in the end, she was still their captive. Meredith was right. They owed her.
Trembling from head to toe, Pricilla took her first step and paused to see if her movements echoed throughout the room.
Not a sound.
Three more paces and a terrifying snarl resonated in front of her—louder, longer, and more menacing than before. For the love of God, the ferocious roar seemed much closer to her.
Wild, demented laughter rang out.
Intense horror shocked her system, as if she’d been electrocuted. She tore across the ceramic tile floor toward the bench, no longer caring about giving away her position. She wouldn’t have much time to snatch her bag if she managed to make it there at all.
The wheezing thing came after her, charging from the left side of the room. Each loud strike of its feet seemed to shake the surrounding walls.
She clutched the back of the bench and fumbled for the bag. Her fingers wrapped around the handles about the same time as something struck the metal bench. Its bolted legs pitched forward with unbelievable force. Screws wrenched from the floor, screeching in protest. The beast swiped at her face, narrowly missing her.