Wind River Refuge Juniper Grove Book Blast

Source: Wind River Refuge Juniper Grove Book Blast

Wind River Refuge Book Tour

Source: Wind River Refuge Book Tour

The hazards of time travel..

 Have you ever run into an epic storm, been injured, and awakened in a strange place? A lot of folks experience confusion when reality finds them in a hospital, but Chris’s medical aid is not what you would expect.Riding LightningRiding Lightning

Chapter One

A lightning flash followed by the earsplitting sound of an exploding electrical transformer jolted Chris from her slumber. Now, bolt upright in the passenger bucket seat of the one-ton Ram crew cab, she turned toward the driver. “Where are we?”

“Damned if I know,” her gray-haired boss growled in frustration. “I can’t see a worth spit in this deluge. We may have missed our turn off. The GPS is worthless, and all I can get is static on the CB.”

Chris gave her iPhone a try. “No cell reception either! Can’t we stop until the storm eases up?”

“Don’t you think I would if I could find a spot to pull this rig off the road?” He had to shout to be heard over the thunderstorm and the CB static. “See if you can raise someone on that thing. Could be there is a place close by that we can put up for awhile.”

Chris unbuckled her seat belt to reach the unit, which was positioned closer to the driver’s side, and was occupied checking the bands most used by truckers when she heard Mr. Russell curse. She glanced up, but could barely discern the red hood of the pickup, let alone the road in front of it. Then a flash of lightning revealed a semi coming toward them. It was straddling the centerline, or where she estimated it should be. The driver of the oncoming eighteen-wheeler corrected his path at the last moment to avoid a head on collision.

The monstrous vehicle missed the cab, but ripped the side of horse trailer open. Above the sounds of the storm, crashing metal, and shattering glass she heard the screams of the three horses they were hauling. Then she was tumbling through the air. Chris felt an excruciating pain knife through her head as she impacted with a hard rocky surface.

It was difficult to determine the passage of time as she dialed back into reality. Pain was playing around the edges of her slowly functioning mind. How long had she lain in the rain? The fog was lifting from her mental process, but the downpour obstructed her vision. Still groggy, she attempted a sitting position only to fall onto her back. She made a valiant effort to call out to her companions, but nearly choked on the persistent rain. She slowly rolled onto her side and called out again, but her vocal cords refused to co-operate.

Chris couldn’t hear a thing other than the raging storm. Thunder echoed in her throbbing head. She felt warm breath on her face and in her ear. Someone was checking her out, but she couldn’t hear a voice.

Frustrated with her lack of response, he nudged her back. She groaned, so he stepped back, and waited for her to acknowledge him. She rolled onto her back, once more. Still, Chris had failed to speak to him, so he nudged her shoulder a bit harder. She screamed in pain; her eyes flew open. She had startled him. Backing away, he kept a watchful eye on her,

Chris was challenged to focus on the immediate area; it was very dark. She wondered if night was falling or it was the total lack of sunlight. Someone was out there, but she was unable to see. She figured since she was able to shriek like a banshee, she could try calling out once more. “Who’s There?” No reply. “Mr. Russell? Karen?”

Hesitant footsteps crunched over the rock-strewn ground; a twig snapped under his weight. Chris’s nerves were raw. She could feel his presence, but he kept silent. Suddenly, lightning lit up the darkness to reveal his huge form standing over her; another flash allowed her to see his big brown eyes as he kept his vigil. Her left arm was closest to him, but it hurt like hell and was essentially useless. She spoke to him in a calm voice. “Was that bump to my left shoulder really necessary?” She reached out with her right hand, slowly, so she wouldn’t startle him again.

He responded to her outstretched hand. When Chris made the connection he pulled her to her feet. The pain as he hauled her to a standing position threatened to return her to the void she had so recently escaped. She wrapped her good arm around his neck and leaned against his muscular chest; the move kept her from falling flat on her face. She feared losing consciousness, figuring that if she did she would never wake up. He stood, patiently, waiting to see what she would require of him.

“Well, handsome, let’s see if you and I can locate the others.” Each step was torture, but the fear of the others being in worse shape drove her on. She picked her way toward where she thought the road should be located. Flashlights and headlights lit the mangled remains of their rig.

When they’d started the short, but painful walk back toward the scene of the wreck he’d walked with her, and allowed her to use his body to support herself. Chris felt him hesitate. The odor of burnt tires, spilled diesel, and blood caused them both to momentarily lose sight of their purpose. They resumed the small climb back up to the highway when a huge sphere of lightning struck sending a charge through them both.

The storm had eased to a light rain as dawn broke. Boomer scanned the immediate area. He was hungry and thirsty, but he didn’t want to leave Chris. She was sprawled at his feet quiet and unmoving, but he sensed that she was alive. He was still standing guard when she, finally, opened her eyes. They heard voices. He waited to see if she would call out, but when she didn’t he remained silent. He was more focused on the dog-like creatures skulking in the trees below them.

Chris listened to the unfamiliar dialect as the voices drew nearer. She couldn’t find the strength to call for help, and prayed Boomer would do something to attract their attention.

“Don ́ think those folks are from these parts, Billy Jo.” The voice sounded young, to Chris—perhaps a teenage boy.

“Na, Travis. ‘Taint seen ́em ́afore.” The second person sounded much younger, and Chris was having trouble following his speech pattern. Then, it became eerily quiet.

Travis winced as he passed by the broken remains of the man and woman in the road; the horses were ripped open, and it appeared wolves had been at all of them. Their belongings were strewn over the road and the side of the mountain below it.

“Ana ́ thin ́ good?” Billy Jo inquired as he spotted some interesting debris further off the road.

“Not much. Some blankets, pots, an ́ a stick or two of furniture that ain’t busted. The rest is kindlin ́—Billy Jo, hold up, don’t go off on your own.”

Furniture? What furniture? Chris couldn’t figure out that comment, unless the truck that hit them had been a moving van, but her memory was vague about the rain-shrouded truck. The last clear memory she had, before dozing off, was the detour on I-40. Traffic had been rerouted, and she never got the chance to ask Mr. Russell if they had made it to I-75 before the accident. She listened to the boys argue, as they drew closer.

Billy Jo ignored his brother’s warning. “Trav! Somfins ́ stirin ́down yonder.” Chris could here the mud and rocks moving as the boy hurried toward them. She feared they would all be buried beneath a rockslide. Boomer snorted at the careless boy. Travis was in hot pursuit of his reckless little brother. He skidded to a stop, raised his rifle, then lowered it, and stood as transfixed as his brother.
Before them stood a beautiful blood bay stallion. Large blotches of mud covered his hide, but where the rain had washed it away his coat glistened in the morning sunlight. He stood his ground while he assessed the threat level of the new arrivals. Travis was doing much the same. He had seen plenty of horses; they were prevalent on the farms and plantations before the war, but he’d never encountered one like this. The horse was unusually marked: no leg markings, a star dead center of his forehead, and his eyes were ringed with white. The white around his eyes would have been enough to unnerve most grown men. It was common knowledge when you could see the white of a horse’s eyes you had trouble. They were either terrified or mean as hell, but this one only stood watching them. Travis heard a soft groan. The horse responded by lowering his head to inspect the limp form in front of his mud-covered hooves. A hand reached out to stroke his muzzle; he nickered softly, and then looked at the boys again.

Boomer backed away as the boys approached Chris, but watched them closely for any sign of trickery. The older boy bent down and leaned over Chris.

The person on the ground was small—not much larger than Billy Jo—and covered in mud. It was obvious to Travis, based on the trousers, short hair, and strange-looking puffy vest, the injured person was a young male of indeterminate age. “Can you move?”

“No,” came the hoarse reply. “The others?”

“All dead,” he replied to the frantic question, as if it was an everyday occurrence to run across dead bodies scattered on the road.

“I think lightning hit me last night, and I can’t seem to move. My arm hurts, and my head feels like it is going to explode.”

Travis sent Billy Jo home on the old mule, they’d ridden to the scene of the wreck, to fetch their mother. “Go get Maw and the wagon. Looks like he’s hurt pretty bad.”


Travis was trying to figure out the strange question. Then the horse stepped forward a few steps. Maybe that was the horse’s name. Travis was afraid to move the injured person, and didn’t know how to render aid. So he sat next to the prone figure and talked. “Is Boomer the stallion’s name?”

“Is he injured?” Boomer was supporting her when she felt the charge flow through her.

“A few scrapes, bout all. The horse belong to you?” No answer. Travis examined the stranger’s face. The eyes were closed, and he was barely breathing. He wondered, for the first time, whether he should have sent his brother to fetch their mother; the stranger would probably be dead before they could come with the wagon. He scrutinized the strange markings on the horse that stood watching his every move. For the first time he noticed the white frosting on his hips. “You’re a strange lookin ́ nag! Put together nice, ́cept for those danged scary white-rimmed eyes. Could still be able to get a good price for you, if your friend goes on to meet the maker.”

Chris awoke in a strange bed, totally disoriented, and only vaguely able to recall the accident. Everything else was a jumble of nightmares and hallucinations. She scanned the dimly lit, sparsely decorated, room. Considering her battered condition, splitting headache, and the pain shooting through her left arm, a hospital was the most likely scenario.

On her next waking, Chris deleted any thought of having made it to a hospital or clinic. Well, I’m not dead she thought. She didn’t figure dead people felt the immense pain that wracked her entire body. She’d heard there were places in the Smokeys where time seemed to have stood still, but this room was extremely backwoods, and didn’t bode well for her level of care. To top everything off, she didn’t recall where her identification and medical cards were. Probably in her handbag, which had been in the cab of the pickup last she could recall seeing it.

“Good morning!” a cheerful voice greeted Chris, its owner tied back the thick drapes.

Chris squinted at the sudden intrusion of sunlight. “Good morning.” Her voice sounded as painful and raspy as it felt.

The woman halted midway across the room and looked at her askance, before hustling to close the door. Her bright warm smile had turned into a worried frown as she approached the bed; she seated her large frame on the side of the bed, and patted Chris’s hand. Then she proceeded to place her other hand on Chris’s forehead. “Fever is gone.”

Her nurse was comforting, and Chris hoped she would answer some of her most urgent questions. “Where am I?”

“You don’t know?”
“No. I can’t remember much after the accident.”
Her mocha complexion deepened as a frown increased the worried expression in her dark eyes. “Folks here bouts call me Hester. You remember your name?”

“Chris.” Her name came out weak, barely above a whisper.

“Child, tell me you ain’t a Yankee!”

“Does it matter?”

The folks in this here house don’t take kindly to Yankees. They’d like as not throw you back down the mountain.”

Chris filed away Hester’s reference to a house, not a hospital or clinic. “Terrific! Just what I need at the moment—people who don’t know that stupid war ended a long time ago.” Chris sighed deeply and closed her eyes against the pain behind them.

“Tell me, Little Miss Yankee, who won our stupid war?”

Chris’s eyes popped open to the sight of a tall, lean, blonde woman standing in the doorway. She was austere. Her hair was tied back in a tight bun, and her high necked long cotton dress was covered by an off-white bib apron. The forty something newcomer appeared to have stepped out of another century. Chris wondered if the person who was standing at the foot of the bed, peering at her with the intense blue eyes, also wore bloomers.

“I take it you aren’t willing to share the outcome with us?”

Oh boy, she thought, how do I answer that? “I’m sorry,” She choked out, “what did you ask?”

“Who won?” Her voice turned more hostile.

“No one.” Chris felt that imparting the outcome to this woman was not in her best interest.

The newcomer stood glaring down at Chris. Then the frightening woman crossed her arms and struck a more menacing pose. “You telling me the war comes down to a draw?”

“No, I only meant no one ever wins in something so destructive.”
“Hester, fix our guest some broth.”
Chris noticed the subservient way Hester curtseyed to the other woman. “Yes ́um.”

“And Hester, not a word about our guest being a Yankee.”
Hester nodded, and gave Chris an encouraging smile before retreating and closing the door behind her. Chris felt like Dorothy in the presence of the Wicked Witch of the West.
“Do you feel up to some conversation?”
More like some interrogation Chris thought, but maybe her interrogator could also supply some information. “I suppose so. How long have I been here?”

“You’ve been flat on your back since Travis, Billy Jo, and I carted you home four days ago,”

“The others?”

“We buried what the wolves left.” Tears rolling down Chris’s face onto the pillow that cradled her head prompted the next inquiry. “Were those folks your kin?”

Chris struggled to control her voice. “No. I worked for them. They were good friends,”

The older woman eyed the frail girl skeptically. Perhaps she was an indentured servant. “Where were y’all going?”

Chris struggled to rid her mind of her grief, and control the increasing pain within her body. Thinking and talking were fast eluding her, but she attempted to answer. “Home.”

“Where were you coming from?”

Chris made one last attempt to comply with her inquisitor “Raleigh, North Caro….” Her voice faded as she lost consciousness.

Hester tended Chris. She fed her, bathed her, saw to the changing of her bedclothes, and even helped her relieve herself. Chris found the whole process extremely embarrassing, but Hester seemed to enjoy her assigned tasks and brief conversations with her patient.

Hester’s hefty, big-bosomed, form and sunny disposition were an immense comfort to Chris. Her nurse was the one constant as she drifted between murky oblivion and moments of clarity.

She had more lengthy visits with Hester, and vaguely recalled return visits from the scary blonde woman. Her surroundings continued to confuse her, but her nurse dismissed her disorientation as due to the effects of the laudanum that the sawbones who’d set her arm had prescribed. Hester’s reference to the doctor as a sawbones didn’t do a lot to relieve her patient’s mind.

Somewhere between worlds Chris began to have horrendous nightmares. Whenever she was alone during her wakeful periods, she would try to piece together what had happened.

Chapter Two will be posted next Thursday.

In the meantime here is the book trailer for “Uncharted Storms” which includes Riding Lightning.

E-books: Smashwords:

Autographed paperbacks:

Janton’s Square Market Place:

Can a tortoise rise out of the ashes?

shutterstock_244672861 copy“A Phoenix rises from a pile of ashes, Trudy, to become a beautiful new bird. You can begin a new life as a beautiful bird and stop hiding from the world at every little upset, like a tortoise.”

I hate my grandma’s use of metaphors, but I try to visualize myself as the mythical bird as I greet my companions for the trek over to the football stadium.

Bang, three more in rapid fire succession. Pavement pealed away skin as I dove for cover and prayed what I heard was only the back fire of a truck. How do I explain my strange behavior to my new friends who were looking at me as if I was an escapee from a mental ward.

I apologized for the concern evident on their faces. “Sorry, tripped over my own feet. I’m a bit of a klutz at times.”

Lindsay extended her hand, “are you hurt, Trudy?”

“I’m fine.” I assured her as my battered self rose from the walk.

“We need to get a move on,” Kyle grumbled, or we’ll be late for the kick off.

Not an auspicious start for my first game at Berkshire High. Lindsay was in many of my sophomore classes, but Kyle still belonged to the population at middle school. Tim, their older brother was a senior on the Hornets defensive squad. The two younger siblings resembled their mom’s oriental heritage, but Tim acquired the broad shoulders and the look of this Irish dad.

A bit of a mismatch, if you ask me, but my light mocha skin, hazel eyes, and black shoulder length hair only hinted at my mixed parentage. I use a quick pit stop to pull the tattered edges of my cool back in place. Lindsay touched up her already flawless face while I pretended to relieve my bladder.

“Hey, Lindsay, over here!” Paula waved her hands as she stood to gain our attention. Her blonde curls bobbled around her face.

I followed in the wake of my friend as she worked her way toward the saved seats half way up the bleachers on the fifty yard line. Kyle was already in his seat and resolutely ignored us.

My eyes roamed the crowd looking for potential threats.

My dad had always stressed to my brother and me. “Keep your eyes open and watch each other’s backs.” I wiped my eyes with the ripped sleeve of my hoodie.

“It will be okay, Trudy, we have plenty of time to win this.” Lindsay mistook my tears as a result of the visiting team’s touchdown. I forced a smile and tried to focus on the game.

I hope my grandmother is happy. “You need to get on with your life, Trudy. Go to the game with your friends.” My friends are in short supply these days. Shrinks tell me that I have PTSD as a result of the drive by shooting that took my mom and little brother from me.

Pain shoots through my arm as the wind kicks up, and the crowd around me roars their approval of something on the field. A small tremor begins in my stomach working it way to a full blown quake by the time it reaches my outer shell.

I try, but the vibrations of the stomping feet and defining noises have me retreating inward. Utterly alone in a sea of humanity, my rational side loses, as I make like a tortoise. I guess the whole rising from the ashes will have to wait a bit longer.

Story by Jackie Anton.

Check back for Trudy’s on going attempt to fit in and leave her nightmares behind her.


River of Hope

River of Hope by Jackie Anton

He searches the wind trying to catch a whiff of the threat that woke him from his doze.

Small animals scurry through the underbrush in a state of panic.

He lifts his head higher as an acrid sent fills his nostrils.

The midnight sky has turned orange and red urging him to rouse his family.

Mares, yearlings, and foals follow his trumpeted orders.

Black as night, he usually fades into the darkness.

ShadowOne quick look to the west, his eyes glow like the embers lighting the treetops.

Shadow drives his small band toward the east.

He knows there is water east, but traffic is heavy.

Every living creature is running from the inferno with the same destination.

A roar of deadly intent precedes the monster’s increased speed.

Flames lick at their tails while the hot breath of the beast nips at small heels.

Shadow bellows encouragement above the roar of the fire.

“Run babies, run for the river!”

Pitfalls of Story Telling……

Your manuscript is complete. Now what?

 Sox_Diary page breakIf you’re blessed with a few good beta readers use them, but make sure to give them a brief letter of points to help you out.

The following questionnaire was sent out to my beta readers of a soon to be released book.


Dear Reader of my novel Cassandra: Night Shades,

What does an author expect/hope for from a beta reader? The story resides in my mind for so long that I reach a point when I need readers to tell me if I’ve said what I think I have. You are a very important part of the editing process. If you feel your suggestion can make the book better, easier to read, and more understandable, please elaborate.

You may answer under each question and post additional comments on the book. Then attach it to an email to: insert email

  1. Did the prologue and/or first chapter make you want to read more?


  1. At the end of each chapter, were there unanswered questions that made you want to flip the page and keep reading?



  1. (a)Did you relate to any of the characters?

(b) Did you stay interested until the end?

(c) Where did your interest lag?


  1. Did you find a place where you were confused? Help me find and fix that.



  1. Did the ending give closure? Do you feel it satisfied the needs of the story?


  1. Is this a book you could recommend to your reading friends?



As a beta reader, try to look at the big picture. If you see typos, feel free to note them, but don’t worry if you miss them at this stage of the game. Your input will help as much as the final edit.

Thank you. You are valuable and I appreciate you.


          I have learned to send this thank you letter and book questions in a word format. All the reader has to do is write their answers in the blank spaces, save it, and e-mail the form back to me.

Your questions will vary depending on subject matter. Next step set the book aside while you wait for your betas. I like to review my draft each time one of my forms comes in. Try to look at your manuscript with the beta reader’s eyes. Don’t change anything yet, unless you find errors or typos, make notes of this person’s comments. I like to color code these areas with a separate color for each reader.

All your readers forms are back, and I’ll bet you had to remind them a few times that you have a deadline. Assuming that you had four beta readers and three out of the four had a problem with the same passage. Now is the time to clear that up. Time to send the new draft to a good proofreader. They will find issues that spellcheck and online auto checkers didn’t.

Next come the edits. I try for three rounds of edits using at least two editors. Note: pay attention to typos, misused words, punctuation, and sentence structure. Now the tricky part, don’t let anyone change your voice. This is your vision.


How this author has dealt with a few pitfalls:

I had no idea the issues with publishing e-books at the time I named this blog. It is my habit to publish my e-book and assess it before sending the manuscript in for print publication.

Approaching a book in this manner makes it easier to send it out to reviewers and selected readers. Then I can pick an excerpt or two for the back cover. The e-book is an easier fix if you missed something in your final revision.

In the beginning I used Librarything to offer free e-books to readers. I only picked up a few reviews for my efforts. However, I have gained a couple of loyal fans. These days I have a better following and choose who I send offers to via my email newsletter.

I used to worry about negative reviews, but the folks who get up on the wrong side of the bed and out to trash someone are just the facts of life as an author. Positive reviews from readers far out weigh the bummers. Truthfully, the one or two star sprinklings only lend credibility to the four and five star reviews.

Even the four and five star reviews can throw an author a curve. “Good plot, great characters, a real page turner, but could use some editing.”

What? I went through all the previously mentioned steps. How can this be?  Off I go to check the submitted manuscript. It is correct. Recheck the e-pub it’s okay. Smashwords sends the e-pub to it’s distribution network, so it is my first check. Second the PDF, again from Smashwords. I no longer bother to check Amazon on my Kindle. I still review books for other authors who gift me an e-book through Amazon, but the books are such a mess, mine included, that I can not tell with all the added spaces and messed up paragraphs if the book actually was submitted as such.

The gal who does my e-book formatting is excellent and in no way responsible for the Kindle nightmares. That said, I have no way of knowing what form the other e-readers take or how they look.   Smashwords way out sells Amazon with my e-books and the bulk of the sales are with Apple and the iBook, which is e-pub.

The bottom line is, once others get their hands on your book just remember the old bumper sticker “S— happens!”

The excellent editor who helped me with my two award winning children’s chapter books told me. “I’ve recently finished the latest book by SK and was amazed at the number of typos in the finished book.” His advice rings in my ears whenever I get stressed about striving for perfection. He told me I had a wonderful story and not to obsess about being perfect. I still try for perfect, but there is a point where you have to just go with it,

Jackie (J.M.) Anton

Jackie Anton 2015author photo  2

I am hoping to get my computer overhauled and to purchase a program that will let me format my own print books.

My next blog will tackle the issue of self-publishing.



My book market:




Interview of Characters from the Troubles in Love-Land Series

Melinda Potter

 “Give our readers a feel for who you are Miss Potter.”

                        “You know very well who I am and so do your readers, or you wouldn’t be interviewing me. I  really get tired of these Society Page blurbs. Do you have any idea what it’s like whenever one of these articles gets published?”


“No. Why don’t you tell me?”

             “Suddenly, I am inundated with new, want to be, friends. An unbelievable number of investment solicitations, and marriage proposals from complete strangers flood my email.”


“As a member of the 2011 graduating class, what do you plan to do?”

             “Well, I am not going to Disney World, if that’s what you mean.”


“Melinda, you have invested nearly five years of your life earning a degree. What are you planning to do with it?”

             “For now I don’t plan to do much with it. I plan to take a long vacation and forget about it, and my interfering, over protective family.”


“Do you have destination in mind?”

“Sure, but I am not going to tell you. I might as well blab it to the world! The whole point is to get away, far away, where people don’t know me. Where people don’t know that I am the daughter of Benson Potter.”


“How soon are you planning to leave Ohio?”

                        Not soon enough! My parents have a big graduation party scheduled at their country club. Oh! Here comes Lexie, if you want an interesting story, you should interview her. She will be traveling with me when I make my escape.


Meet Lexie by clicking on the Romance selection at the top of this blog, and selecting “Fateful Waters” Book One of the Troubles in Love-Land Series Published by Half Appy Press.


Interview with Maria Rodriguez


“Share some of your impressions of Alexandra Parker with us, Maria.”

             “Cutter hauled her home on the back of his horse one stormy night. He dumped the half dead mud covered waif on me.”


“You don’t sound happy about the chore thrust upon you to aid Lexie.”

             “I didn’t have an issue with the girl at that time. I even sent for the doctor. It wasn’t until she returned from a hospital stay that problems arose.”


“You didn’t approve of Lexie’s handling of the books for the ranch?”

             “She turned out to be a big thorn in my butt! It was down right disrespectful the way she talked to Cutter. Also, she was always sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong. I nipped that in the bud and sent her packing,”


“What did Cutter Ross have to say about her departure?”

             “Cutter isn’t the talkative sort, but he hasn’t spoken to me in weeks. He took a plane to Ohio the other day. Business, he told my husband Jim. I have a sick feeling that he went to retrieve his blonde witch of a bookkeeper. He can’t seem to see past her pretty face and big blue eyes. Mark my words: if Cutter brings her back here, it will be the ruination of our peaceful existence.”


Will Lexie return to Texas? Don’t miss “Panhandle Mayhem” Book Two of the “Trouble in Love-Land” series.

Paperback release by Half Appy Press by September 15, 2015.

E-book will be available at Smashwords, Barnes and Noble, Apple, Kobo, and Amazon.

 Jackie Anton 2015author photo 2

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Emma’s unique path to conquering dyslexia

Step one: At her grandmothers direction, Emma begins to keep a diary. A tough task when words scramble on a page.
Step two: Read allowed. Find an ear not as intimidating as Grandma or her tutors.
Step three: Thinking outside the box.
Dyslexia is a tough learning disability to overcome. Things have come a long way since this author was a child. The early detection and intervention of specialized educators have lessened the stigma once attached to this disorder. Unfortunately, those who enjoy the, not so subtle, act of bullying have not. Now they can spew their meanness in cyberspace. Is it any wonder that children who are a bit different become recluse and antisocial?
Emma finds a special friend who turns the page for her. Excerpts from her diary will help  young readers to understand a very special relationship.
Sox grows from a foal to a colt and eventually a gelding. As time goes by, both horse and child have much to learn and share with the other. Growing up is not always easy…
Despite the odds, both Sox and Emma dare to be different and eventually overcome their challenges!
Sox finds himself in an alien world the night he is born. His mother is there with him and he quickly adapts. His Mom answers all his questions about his new environment. She explains things, and reassures him when he wonders why his one leg isn’t the same as the other.  Sox decides early on little Emma is his best friend. She is living with her grandmother until her mother returns home from deployment. Emma isn’t used to living in a rural area, she is very lonely.  Little Sox brightens up her world and a life long bond is formed.
Sox and Emma’s tale made a Smashword depute last week. The 2015 E-book version of Backyard Horse Tales: Sox 2nd Edition is available for all e-readers and in PDF for your computer or tablets.
Do you know a child who could use an uplifting story? Take a look at Sox and Emma’s adventures. Here is Sox’s direct link:
Sox cover with seal MCA 12015 Version
Author Links:
Purchase Autographed Books from author at
Autographed covers for online and e-book readers:

My Worst Nightmare By Jackie Anton

Until this hellish bout of terror my worst nightmares were occasional out of body experiences that left me disoriented but relatively unscathed.

Writing in the wee hours of the morning before dawn even considers brightening the new day is commonplace for me. Inspiration often comes to interrupt my slumber, and I fire up my computer or latch on to the notebook kept on the nightstand. I jot it down before the brilliant revelation escapes.



Trapped in a cold dark prison!

Many of my works have a paranormal twist woven into the plot, but I don’t write horror.

I woke in a cold sweat and realized the room was like a deep freeze as well as black as pitch. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. So I reached out in the direction of the nightstand to flick on the small lamp.

“What the hell?” I scrambled to my feet from where I assumed I had toppled from my bed. Must be a power outage, flitted through my still foggy mind. My bare toes were getting numb, and then I realized I wasn’t standing on the plush warm carpet of my bedchamber. The surface beneath my feet felt like frozen cobblestones.

“Tom?” I called out to my husband. No response.

“Kaila!” My large black German Shepherd slept at the foot of my bed and should have been at my side once I fell out of bed. Or Did I?

My heart was bruising the inside of my ribcage and I was beginning to feel lightheaded. The thought occurred to me that I was still asleep and suffering a heart attack. I pinched myself, hard. “Shit!” that hurt, but didn’t alter my reality.

The air was getting foul. It was the odor of urine; I vividly remember that smell gagging me when I would walk the halls to my mom’s room in the nursing home. Was I in one of those places, and if so how did I get here? Perhaps the fright had caused me to loose control of my bladder and the odor was coming from me.

I began to hope that I was dead and residing in purgatory. That scenario was definitely more appealing than being blind and confined in a nursing home, or being locked away in a cold dark prison by a maniac.

“Okay. God, where the hell am I?”

I heard a door slam and the reverberations traveled across the floor and up my legs, similar to aftershocks from a major earthquake. I heard my mother’s voice tell me “I thought you were smarter than to cuss when you’re talking to God.”

“Mom, are you here too?” No answer. It was probably my subconscious merely tapping into my memory of her voice. Then a heavy breathing filled the room. I covered my ears to block out the sound which brought to mind the heavy breathing of a phone stalker, but amplified a thousand times. Again the huge metal sounding door slammed and the awful breathing stopped.

“Hello, is anyone there?” Nada! Zilch!

I decided to pray, a bit more respectfully, that I would once more see the sun rise and not be trapped here until I died, or if I had already left the earthly plain that I wouldn’t be stuck here for eternity. “Lord, I mean, I wasn’t that bad. Was I?”


Author’s Note:

The above blog was a writing challenge that came my way via the promocave podcast to write something that makes you uncomfortable. A subject that you have never tackled previously.

Comments on this post are most welcome.


Author Website:


Jackie Anton at Loganberry Books’ Local Author’s Fair

AuthorAlley-art-2015-mAuthor Alley will be part of the annual Larchmere Festival, a community street fair that will also include special sales of antique, vintage and art items by Larchmere merchants, friends and residential neighbors.
Loganberry Books
13015 Larchmere Blvd.
Shaker Hts., OH 44120

Uncharted Storm FINAL    Author Anton will join other local authors from 12noon to 4:00pm to greet fair goers and book enthusiasts. Authors will be signing their books selected by     Loganberry for this event. Jackie Anton’s Ya to Adult short story collection in “Uncharted Storms” will be available for purchase. Bookmarks will accompany each copy sold on Saturday during the Larchmere Festival.

Uncharted Storms

Make sure to get your “Loyalty Card” from Jackie to be eligible for free giveaways.Wind River Refuge Cover 4613Wind River Refuge is the adult novel selected for Author Alley.

This mystery thriller with a paranormal twist and a turbulent love affair won the Next Generation Indie Book Award in the Romance Category. Early reviews are exciting:

5 Star review By Jack Magnus for Readers’ Favorit:

Wind River Refuge is a romantic suspense novel written by J.M. Anton. It’s 1973, and Jax is on her way home for Christmas break to Wyoming, from the east coast where she attends college. She’s expecting her friend Dexter to be picking her up from the airport in Denver; however, a call to her step-mother Maggie reveals that the dark and brooding Garrett McBride, Dexter’s cousin, is waiting for her at the airport. The two are instantly at odds with each other: he doesn’t approve of her behavior and language, and she doesn’t trust his flying abilities or the plane he came in. Garrett is suffering from PTSD after his service as a helicopter pilot in Vietnam. Jax was orphaned and abused as a child by her foster-parents. The two are definitely wrong for each other, but somehow sparks keep flying.

J.M. Anton’s romantic suspense novel, Wind River Refuge, is fast-paced and exciting. The setting in Wyoming is stunning and beautiful, and the descriptions of the horses and cattle herding are marvelous. I particularly enjoyed the psychological thriller aspect of Wind River Refuge, and Anton’s original take on the police procedural genre. While this book is classified as a romance, the underlying suspense plot is strong and flows throughout the story. I also enjoyed Garrett’s Native American ancestry and the involvement of his relatives from his mother’s side. Anton creates a lively and plausible world in Wind River Refuge, peopled with real and compelling characters. It’s an enjoyable and suspenseful romantic thriller and is highly recommended.

Comming Events:

Book two of the “Troubles in Love-Land” Series has completed its final revision following the editing process and multiple proof reads. We are awaiting the cover to publish the e-book. Look for release date on this blog within the next two weeks.

Cassandra: Night Shades is slated for release August 31. 2015 at your favorite e-book place of purchase. Smashwords will have it first.


I have a request in for a booth at the Medina County Fair August 3 – 9, 2015. More on this later.

Have a terrific Fourth of July.

Stop by at Loganberry if you are able. Click on their link above to find out more about this fascinating bookstore.

Book Links:

Wind River Refuge:

E-book Uncharted Storms:

Print Book for Uncharted Storms:


Jackie’s Square Market Place:

Author Website:

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