IndieWritersReview Music Monday Spotlight! Alternative Rock Artist City and Colour

Happy Music Monday everyone! Today I wanted to throw the spotlight on Alternative Rock Artist City and Colour (a.k.a. Dallas Green).


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City and Colour




There’s a line that I’m trying to find, between the water and the open sky,” sings Dallas Green on “Friends,” the penultimate track off of his fifth release as City and Colour, If I Should Go Before You. For someone like Green, it’s hard to imagine that there’s much left to search for – he’s traversed the globe on tour, released numerous albums (one most recently as You+Me with Alecia Moore, aka P!nk) and collected scores of accolades. Though Green is a musician, he doesn’t make a show of things: that’s the songs’ job. Thus he’s done this all quietly, intentionally, still looking for the next answer or dog-eared chapter each record holds. And this time, on If I Should Go Before You, he once again uncovered something new: a certain kind of family in his bandmates.

“It’s been a very special two years for me,” says Green, about the period since the release of 2013’s The Hurry and the Harm, which has seen him touring with the consistent ensemble of Dante Schwebel (guitar: Dan Auerbach, Rumba Shaker), Doug MacGregor (drums: Constantines), Jack Lawrence (bass: The Raconteurs, Dead Weather) and multi-instrumentalist Matt Kelly. “They inspired me to want to create new music, just to create it with them – I don’t think I wrote these songs for the band, per se, but I certainly wrote them because of the band.”

Green had always been an introspective, solitary writer, demoing songs in his basement, working up every instrumental part by himself. But he considers If I Should Go Before You to be a band record, where the input of these trusted comrades was of the upmost importance. Even more pivotal was trying to capture the essence of their live show symbiosis in the studio; which comes through with an undeniable force. For a project that was very much about the inner world of Green, these relationships have morphed City and Colour into something with more emotive power than ever before: the layers go beyond just music and lyrics, into the people creating the songs themselves.

“Anybody who has seen us play will understand that this is the best representation of what we do live that we have ever recorded,” says Green. “I was so excited about being able to make and record an album with these guys that it just flowed. I felt so confident about their abilities to make all of my ideas come true.”

But there was one thing that Green did want to do himself this time: produce the record. He returned to Blackbird Studios in Nashville, where The Hurry and the Harm was made, but decided to take the production reigns himself, with the help of friend Karl Bareham as his partner and engineer, along with the masterful mixing skills of Jaquire King (Dawes, Kings of Leon, Tom Waits). Everyone who had a hand in the making of the record was or became part of the City and Colour family. Green’s songs have always had a striking, visceral feel that pumps through the veins like oxygen, and, this time, it became a sort of translatable DNA.

Along the way, Nashville has come to be a special refuge for Green – it’s a city he’s gotten to know for several years now while not in his native Toronto, Canada, and he even recently purchased a home in the town. “In Toronto, I think of what I have to do,” he says. “In Nashville, I think of everything I have done.”

Indeed, it’s a perfect time to think of everything he has done – and If I Should Go Before You is a celebration of that. With instrumentation recorded live off the floor, it comprises every part of the person Green has become over the years: chugging ballads that tug at the gut, aching confessionals set to slicing guitars, little licks of pedal steel for his new southern-swept soul, moody distortion from punk rock roots. Though he’s recorded in many incarnations, If I Should Go Before You acts like a roadmap through all of them, showing that none of these were simply “projects,” but they were part of the same whole.

The album opens with the sweeping, “Woman,” a track that very well could be a surprise to those who might expect a simpler, acoustic-based entrance gate. At over nine minutes long, it’s a sultry and dynamic ode to everlasting love expressed through a powerful, layered build of sounds and emotions like a complex sweep of watercolors – a percussive heartbeat, echoing riffs, Green’s grounded yet ethereal falsetto. You can almost picture the stage lights spiral across a crowded auditorium; it moves with a life outside just the studio walls. Rare does a record strike a perfect balance between the live sound and studio magic; but this is one of them, that captures the synchronicity of Green and the band at its best both at the controls and on stage, through songs like the deconstructed waltz of the title track, a devastating request to a cherished lover.

“It’s about the idea of loving someone so much you want them to move on if you were to go, but loving them so much you wouldn’t want to if they did,” Green says. “But, in my head, it also says, ‘if I were to go, I give you this record to listen to.'” It’s a sentiment that expresses just how strongly he feels this album is a key to past, present and future. That’s further evidenced in “Friends,” written as a heartfelt ode to his new musical family, set to a pedal steel that sounds like it’s weathered too many winters, but finally feeling the melt; or the razor cuts of “Wasted Love,” where the confessions of a failed romance are echoed by licks of visceral guitar that plays in wordless response.

Green began recording as City and Colour in 2005, with Sometimes, followed by 2008’s Bring Me Your Love and 2011’s Little Hell, and has experienced huge success both on the charts and the road. All four previous studio albums have achieved platinum status in Canada, while Little Hell is also now Gold in Australia. The Hurry and the Harm debuted at #16 in the USA on the Billboard chart, # 1 on Canada’s Top 200 Chart and #4 in Australia, as City and Colour’s highest debut. He also released four records as part of Alexisonfire, which have all received Gold and Platinum certification in Canada, as well as 2014’s rose ave. as You+Me with P!nk, which made its entrance at #1 on the Canadian Albums Chart, # 4 in the USA, #2 in Australia and #6 in Germany .

On If I Should Go Before You, Green may have found one answer to what lies between the water and that open sky: it’s the people we hold close, and the art born out of friendship. But he will always be searching; and thus, there will always be more songs. Though this time, when he’s ready to share them again, he’ll know exactly who to turn to.

As he sings on “Northern Blues,” “I’ve got too much in front of me. I didn’t leave enough behind.”

IndieWritersReview Welcomes The Firstborn Trilogy by Raine Thomas! (Kindle Sale!) Check out the Estilorian Video Trailers!

Happy Friday Guys! I have a TREAT for you, I promise no TRICKS! Lol get it? *cough* well okay, Lol Check out the awesome deets below!:)

“The Firstborn Trilogy by the awesome Author Raine Thomas is fantasy done right!” Get all 3 books PLUS an exclusive short story for $0.99 thru 10/28!

Amazon –
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DEFY (Book 1)



SHIFT (Book 2)


EDLER (Book 3)


IndieWritersReview Welcomes Blessed Are Those Who Mourn by Kristi Belcamino! (RAVBT Tour!)

Happy Wednesday Everyone! Today I’m very excited that IndieWritersReview will host Blessed Are Those Who Mourn by Kristi Belcamino! Guys please check out the awesome excerpt from the new release and also enter the Raffle-copter for your chance at e-book copies of (BLESSED ARE THE DEAD, BLESSED ARE THE MEEK, BLESSED ARE THOSE WHO WEEP). 

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Mystery / Detective
Date Published: September 29, 2015
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers

San Francisco Bay Area reporter Gabriella Giovanni has finally got it all together: a devoted and loving boyfriend, Detective Sean Donovan; a beautiful little girl with him; and her dream job as the cops’ reporter for the Bay Herald. But her success has been hard-won and has left her with debilitating paranoia. When a string of young co-eds starts to show up dead with suspicious Biblical verses left on their bodies—the same verses that the man she suspects kidnapped and murdered her sister twenty years ago had sent to her—she begins to question if the killer is trying to send her a message.

It is not until evil strikes Gabriella’s own family that her worst fears are confirmed. As the clock begins to tick, every passing hour means the difference between life and death to those Gabriella loves…


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Kristi Belcamino is a writer, photographer, and artist. In her former life as a newspaper crime reporter in California, she flew over Big Sur in an FA-18 jet with the Blue Angels, raced a Dodge Viper at Laguna Seca, watched autopsies, and interviewed serial killers. She is now a journalist based in Minneapolis and the Gabriella Giovanni mysteries are her first books. Find Kristi on Facebook or on Twitter @KristiBelcamino


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Chapter 1


The setting sun turns my family into dark silhouettes as I step onto the warm sand. The beach is nearly deserted, except for a lone figure walking north of us along the sand where the waves are crashing in from the Pacific Ocean.

A cool breeze makes me glad I trekked to the car to retrieve my daughter’s little lavender parka. We promised her we’d stay until the sun set.

Donovan’s back is turned, phone held to his ear. He’s pacing in his bare feet, his jeans rolled up, a scowl on his face from what he’s hearing. A murder. Every once in a while he glances back at Grace kneeling in the sand playing.

Grace has dug deep channels with a small red shovel, chatting to herself, weaving tales about mermaids and sea creatures and fairies. She bounces a plastic dinosaur along the sand, a prize won in kindergarten for reading two books in one week.

Everything I’ve ever wanted is on that beach—Donovan and our daughter, Grace. My own little family. My life.

I’m still far away, closer to the parking lot, when I see the figure walking along the shore is growing closer. It’s a man. His shadow, with its elongated arms and legs, stretches across the beach until it seems to take on a life of its own. Something about his movements seems angry and frenetic—instead of the wandering gait of a casual sunset stroll—and sets off  small alarms in my head. I walk faster, the sand seeming to reach up and grab at my ankles, slowing my progress.

Donovan’s pacing takes him in the opposite direction, away from Grace. He’s not paying attention to anything besides his phone call. The man is now closer to Grace, who seems alone on the beach, although Donovan is twenty feet away. Donovan squints up into the pink and orange clouds, raking a hand through his perpetually spiky hair.

The man’s path takes him straight toward Grace. My heart races. I can’t tell for sure, but it seems like he’s watching her. He walks at a determined clip, covering ground much faster than me in my flat, strappy sandals. I lean over in mid-stride and rip a sandal from one foot without stopping. Then I scoop up the other in one fluid motion.

Still, each step feels like my bare feet are being sucked into quicksand. I hurry, but feel like I’m moving in slow motion.

“Grace.” I shout, but my words are carried away on the wind. I’m breathless from fighting the sand tugging at my feet. The breeze, which has grown stronger in the past few minutes, whips my hair. Grace’s brown ringlets bob as she hops her plastic dinosaur around, not noticing anything else.

Donovan isn’t far from Grace, but now the man is closer.

At the same moment Donovan turns and sees the look on my face, the man reaches Grace. His long shadow falls over her small figure. She looks up with a smile and starts chatting. He leans down. His hand reaches toward her, his fingers millimeters from her arm. A wave of dread ripples through me. My feet feel cemented into the sand. My mind screams, but no words come out of my open mouth. Inside, I’m flailing and thrashing to get to Grace, but on the outside, I’m struck immobile.

The man reaches down and grasps Grace’s arm, turning her toward him, and the spell is broken. I’m on wet sand running, the scream caught in my throat coming out as a birdlike garble. I scoop Grace up onto one hip and take a step back. I gasp for air, but I can’t breathe. My heart is going to explode in my chest.

The man looks at me with surprise and for a split second, there is something in his eyes that sends panic racing up into my throat, but then the look is gone, as if I imagined it.

“Gosh. I’m so stupid,” he says in a nasally voice. He wipes his palms on the legs of his jeans, as if he is sweating even though the temperature is rapidly dipping along with the sun.

Donovan is at my side. “Gabriella, is everything okay?”

He’s used my full name and he’s looking at me instead of Grace in my arms. Guilt flicks through me. I’m not acting irrational or hysterical. A strange man walked up to our daughter and grabbed her arm. Any mother would react the same, wouldn’t she?

At first glance, the man seems boyish with his bowl haircut, baggy jeans, and sneakers. Up close, a few crow’s feet shows he is older. Maybe even my age—thirty. He has feminine pink lips, and piercing blue eyes, the color of the arctic sea. The collar of his black jacket is pulled up. His smile is all “gee, golly, shucks,” abashed and embarrassed but doesn’t reach his eyes. He paws at his jeans with his palms. He’s done that twice now. He’s nervous.

When he meets my eyes again, I realize that something about him seems off, something about his eyes, more than just their intense color. One eye is close to his nose and the other set far apart. It’s jarring and somehow unsettling to make eye contact.

“I’m so sorry,” he says in that same stuffed-up sounding voice. “What a knuckle-headed move. I should know better than to walk up to someone else’s kid like that.”

Donovan grips my arm.

“What’s going on here?” His words are clipped.

I’m panting, but finally able to catch my breath. Still, the words will not come.

“Your kid is so darn cute. She looks just like my little sister used to look. I just wanted to say hi to her and didn’t even think that was a total bonehead move to walk up to someone else’s kid when her parents weren’t around.” He gives an odd smile as he says this.

“We were around.” Donovan says in a monotone, staring the man down.

The man looks down at the sand.

Grace is kicking and trying to get down. My knuckles are white gripping her.

“Ow, mama, you’re hurting me,” she says and tosses her curls in irritation.

Donovan shoots a glance our way before turning his attention back to the man.

“You live around here?” Donovan asks, seemingly casual, but the muscle in his jaw is working hard. His dark eyes under thick eyebrows have narrowed and hold a glint of menace. In a second, it alters him from the man on the cover of the “Sexiest Bay Area Cops” calendar into something feral and dangerous.

The man meets Donovan’s eyes and for a second it looks like he is challenging Donovan to dispute his story, but then he looks down again and digs a sneakered toe into the sand, reinforcing my impression that he’s a kid not a man.

“Marin. Meeting some friends here in the city for dinner. Was early so came here to kill some time.  I didn’t mean to cause any problems. I just wanted to say hi to her. Maybe you’re over-reacting a bit.”

Donovan runs a hand through his hair. His posture relaxes. Instinctively—or luckily—this man has honed in on Donovan’s Achilles heel. We’ve talked at length about our tendency to be overprotective parents because of our jobs, me as a crime reporter, and him as a detective. Donovan has argued we can’t let this affect Grace’s childhood. We need to protect her, but let her grow up carefree. I agree. But it’s easier said than done.

We’ve, also, talked about my irrational fear that something will happen to Grace.

This man may not realize it, but he’s instantly off the hook with this one simple word—Overreacting.

“Why don’t you go head on out,” Donovan says, dismissing him.

“My bad, really. Wasn’t using my head. Have a nice night,” the man says and turns to leave.

I set Grace down and Donovan wraps his arm around me.

“You okay?”

“I don’t know.” I don’t tell him that it felt like I was having a heart attack, that I couldn’t breathe or move. A stranger walked up to my daughter and I stood there, weak, helpless, frozen.

Donovan gives me a look before we both turn and watch the man’s figure growing smaller. We watch without saying a word. We stand there until the man turns and heads toward the wooden boardwalk bordering the road. He never looks back.


Blessed Are Those Who Mourn

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IndieWritersReview Welcomes Author Identity by Publisher/Marketing Coach Angie Mroczka! (Amazon Sale!)

Happy Monday everyone! Today I’m very excited that IndieWritersReview is host for Author Identity by Publisher/Marketing Coach Angie Mroczka!

Amazon Promotion Dates

Free Promo: 10/18 – 10/19

$0.99 Sale: 10/20 – 10/26

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Are you a published author who dreams of escaping your ‘day job,’ but feel discouraged by royalty payments that won’t even cover a cup of coffee?

How do you get readers to buy your books, day after day, after the excitement of the launch has waned?

And how do you attract new readers who aren’t in your current circle of influence?

This concise and action-oriented guide was created as a roadmap to help authors tackle the daunting process of zeroing in on their Ideal Readers, as well as directing and growing their brands.

As an author, the concept of being seen is both delightful and terrifying. There is comfort in anonymity, slipping into the background and letting the words on the page speak for us.

Branding yourself as an author requires you to step out from behind your book to fully engage your audience and develop relationships. This can be a daunting proposition, especially if you are an introvert.

Through featured brands (including Michael Hyatt, Jeff Goins, Anne Rice, and more) and her own experience coaching writers to become better marketers, Mroczka will show you how branding allows you to set yourself apart from the crowd, positioning yourself as an authority and trendsetter.

This book equips you to begin building your author brand through:

  • Four shocking truths behind commonly held branding myths
  • The simple, but often-overlooked equation to selling books
  • Practical tips for defining your brand through your books, website, marketing, and on social media
  • Actionable advice at the end of each chapter, along with a workbook and bonus checklist to walk you step-by-step through the entire process

Follow the advice in this book and not only will you become three times clearer on the needs of your audience, but you will also begin to attract the kind of readers who will stick with you through your writing career.

What’s stopping you from having a tribe of loyal readers, eager to consume your next book?

Quit trying to herd cats and stop being a wallflower! Finally be seen by your ideal audience.


Author Bio

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Angie is a certifiable geek and publishing expert who helps self-published authors use technology to build sustainable writing careers.

She has worked with dozens of authors like Laura DeLuca, Kris Oster, and Andrew P. Weston to bring their titles into the world, publishing over 93 books that have sold more than 75,000 copies in the last four years.

With a background that includes a unique mixture of art, design, marketing, and business, Angie has the skills that help writers overcome their technical challenges, sell more books, and recover more of their precious time.




IndieWritersReview Spotlight! Cogs in Time 3 Anthology Dymphna’s Dance at the Twilight Circus!

RELEASE DAY October 07th, 2015



***99 Cent Anthology Release***
Cogs in Time Volume Three
Take another turn in the cogs!
Gear up for an adventure with the first two anthologies.
Cogs in Time: Set

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Anthology Contribution


by Michelle Cornwell Jordan

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My short story Dymphna’s Dance At The Twilight Circus included in the Steamworks Ink Publishing’s upcoming Anthology Cogs In Time 3, is a Steampunk Circus tale with a horror/paranormal bent. The story is set in my dystopian world of Athol which had been featured in previous works such as my self-published Race For The Moon novella and The Others, a short story included in Steamworks Ink’s anthology Tales of The Fairy Volume 2:Steampunk Fairies. It’s set in a Western setting where I focused the tale based on the Victorian Circus.
I loved the gritty eeriness of the Victorian Carnys’ and thought it a perfect setting to tell the story of a young dancer with the ability to soothe the tortured souls of humans, as well as draw their basest natures to the forefront. In the story my main character Tristan a.k.a. Trouble and his friends come across tickets enabling them to gain entrance into the special performance where Dymphna’s Dance forces each to face the their truest natures and in doing creating life and death challenges for each boy!

I conducted on-line research as well as gathered information from hardbound resources such as Crime And Criminals In Victorian Kent by Adrian Gray and What The Victorians Did For Us by Adam Hart-Davis. Using tidbits such as the Velocipede which is the forerunner of monowheel, the unicycle, the bicycle, the dicycle, the tricycle and the quadracycle. Here is where I gained inspiration for one of the characters “Pedal Walker” which plays a significant role in the story!
Although research and these other elements were included, steampunk with the robotic Security Clown Bots and Monkey Droids is what Dymphna’s tale is all about!:)

Check out the excerpt below!
16+ New Adult
“Awww wat a purdy face,” the Dolly said as she rubbed her body up against mine. Her breasts strained at the cheap material of her dress and looked as if spillage would happen at any minute.
I flinched at her touch, hoping to avoid further contact. “Um, no. I’m okay.” I pushed the woman away as the scent of perfume and body odor assaulted my senses and caused my stomach to churn.
“Ahhh, it’s yurn birthday, ain’t it? I can show yer a right good time!” she said as she moved close again and gyrated against me.
Disgusted by the desire that flared alive in my body, I closed my eyes, attempting to shut out the greedy cravings that hounded me daily.
Opening my eyes again, I could see the others watching in amusement. I took a deep breath to steady myself and said, “Go!” I pushed her again and felt ashamed when she stumbled backward, looking surprised.
The prostitute regained her footing and anger flashed across her face. She straightened her dress and looked down at my pants with a smirk, and I quickly placed a hand in front of myself in a feeble attempt to hide my body’s betrayal.
She snorted and said, “Yer wouldn’t be no good anyway!” She spat out a glob of spit that landed near my shoe, glanced around our group with a lipstick-smeared sneer, and flounced out of the alleyway, careful not to let the bally see her.
“Awww yer such a meater. Just a wimp, Trouble!” Bae howled with laughter, slapping his thigh, which caused him to lean haphazardly on the pedal walker. “I knew he wouldn’t go through with it! I called it. Right, Gripper?”
I watched as my supposed best friends got a kick out of what they liked to call my “delicate condition.”
Gripper snorted and shook his head as he raised a tattooed hand to scratch his cheek with an uneven nail, and then continued counting red and gold Atholrus bills as he said, “Watcha waiting for, Trouble? Yer an aright looking mug, I s’ppose. I mean, not as purdy as me,” he chuckled, “but enough to get half dem Judys itching for a taste!” He shoved the wad of bills into his back pocket.
We rounded the corner after leaving the alley and followed the growing crowd down a dirt path. Lights beckoned us to the multiple red, yellow, and blue tents anchored in McGruyer’s Field. The chime and tinkle of carnival music filled the air, and from the tents, the scent of roasted meat and vegetables drifted to me on the evening breeze. My stomach grumbled, distracting me from thoughts of Fiona.
I shrugged, not sure how to explain that I wanted to wait for the right girl. That’s a lie. I’d found the right girl. Well, a woman—a married woman, Fiona Ramsey.
“Awww, guys, let it go! Will ya? It’s not a big deal!” I said, irritated with being called out.
Bae said, “Really? Nothing to be ashamed of? Think how it feels for us to be friends with the feller who’s still a virgin at nineteen. No, sumthin’s gotta be done. I know yer all hot for that…”
He paused when I gave him a pointed stare. “We don’t need to mention her.”
He smirked. “Yer needs to get over this. Yer can’t keep sniffing after some married woman as if she’s a heifer in heat. It’s not right. Yer shoulda let me set ya up wit that Ladybird. Betcha she’d make yer forget yer problems,” he hooted, and his voice echoed, causing many heads to turn our way.
Bae hopped off the two-wheeler and grabbed me in a headlock. We broke into a good-natured wrestling match with Gripper laughing on the side watching us. Just then, a carnie security bot rolled over, dressed as a clown to match the circus theme. The steel features and black orb eyes peeked out from under the eerie clown makeup and curly yellow wig that sat slightly askew on its head.
We broke apart when it stopped in front of us.
“Please desist. Please desist! Quiet please. Please quiet!” it said before turning to head back to the entrance.
“Yes, sir!” Bae gave a mock salute to the bot.
“Ssssh, Bae, lower your voice. I ain’t going to the brink because of you tonight.” Anger tainted my words as I dusted off my leather pants and shirt.
Bae followed my example, but before he hopped back on the pedal walker, he reached down and picked up a stone, throwing it in the direction of the bot. The rock, thankfully, fell short, although the robot stopped and turned towards us. He gave a blank look in our direction and headed back towards the main entrance.
“Bae!” I hissed.
He ran a hand over his short, red buzz-cut hair, chuckling while he climbed back on the two-wheeler.
I shook my head and said, “Really? And as far as embarrassment goes, who are you guys to talk? At least I worked this summer. What have you done, huh? Bae, I’m surprised you have money to pay for me to get laid. But you should use it to fix that.” I pointed towards the pedal walker. “You’re so lazy. How many times have I said to fix the damn Penny? One of your front wheel spokes is bent, and there’s a dent in the steam pump, so it won’t work either.”
I watched as small thin streams of steam puffed sporadically through the brass pipe attached to the back of the bike. I’d been on him to get it fixed, but like with everything else, he never got around to it.
“If you’d fix the steam casing, then you wouldn’t have to pedal!” Aggravated, I tried keeping my voice low. I knew I shouldn’t let their jibes get under my skin.
The other boy grimaced sheepishly and sniggered. “I’d get the money from Gripper.”
Still irritated, I turned to my other friend. “How did you get the tickets? They cost a nice chunk.”
Shrugging his shoulders good-naturedly, Gripper said, “I had a new snide come in. Good stuff. Stolen from only the best houses. Got a good price on the market for the whole kit. And the tickets, I found them in a dandy’s office in one of the houses I rolled. I mean, I knew yer birthday was coming up, and we’d all wanted to go. So I thought, hey, why not? I couldn’t resist nabbing them on the way out.” He chortled.
I stopped. We were almost up at the bally’s stand, and I turned looking at my friend, my mouth hanging open. “You stole them?”
Bae had started walking beside the pedal walker, pushing it slowly as beads of sweat covered his forehead. “Ssssh. Hey, cut it, guys! Don’t want that freaky bot coming back, yer guys. Keep it down.”
Ignoring Bae, I said, “I can’t believe you did that. You’re such an arse.”
Gripper’s gray eyes flashed. “What are yer, my mother? I was tryin’ to do sumthin’ nice for yer.” He stopped and looked at me with a hard stare. Normally easy-going, when riled, he could be as deadly as a rattlesnake.
But I didn’t back down. “You know there might be some kids missing out! This show only comes through once in a moon. Just I feel bad, that’s all.”
My friend frowned and shrugged, apparently not seeing the point of fighting over the issue. He started walking ahead, his hands in his back pocket with an effortless slouch, while Bae and I caught up. We’d joined the crowd at the bally’s stand, where an older man dressed in trousers, a long-sleeved white shirt, and pinstriped vest stood on the platform. His top hat rode low, almost to his eyes. He walked to the microphone.
I heard Gripper quietly say, “Take a look at the ticket. They weren’t for no kids.”
I glanced over at him as he stared straight ahead with a ghost of a smile on his lips. I reached in my back pocket, pulling out the ticket Gripper had slapped into my hands when arriving at my house earlier in the day. It looked worn and creased at the edges, but still said clearly: Good for One Admittance to The Greatest Show Side-Show and Carnival. A Special Invite: Twilight Midway Feature of Dymphna’s Dance.
I paused and re-read the ticket. It couldn’t be! I’d heard about the Greatest Show every since I was a kid, tales of exotic animals and the newest steam invention exhibition. My Grandfather also told stories of a beautiful girl’s dance. I’d heard other stories as well—darker ones, when spying on my brother. He and his friends blathered on trying to one-up each other with anecdotes about the girl who danced with monsters.
Fear and excitement coursed through my body at what lay behind the tent door. Best birthday gift ever. The thought flickered through my mind while I pushed away the guilt of how we’d gotten the tickets.
The bally started his pitch as I leaned over and whispered, “No, definitely not for kids.”
We laughed, and as I shoved it back into my pocket, I looked over to where the clown bot stood holding a bunch of balloons. It handed one to any small child brave enough to come near. I’m not sure what caught its attention, but without warning, it glanced up and pinned us to the spot with its black glare.
“It’s watching us. No, it’s watching me,” Bae said in a low voice, sounding nervous. But just as quickly, he laughed as if everything was normal, although he eyed the robot across the lane.
I started to protest and to tell my friend just to forget the bot, except, when I turned my head, I saw it glaring at us while letting go of its bundle of balloons. It lifted its arm, pointed in our direction, and smiled, showing rows of sharpened steel teeth.


Michelle Cornwell Jordan Author Picture

Michelle Cornwell-Jordan is a New Adult/Young Adult Author, who enjoys writing Paranormal, Dystopian and Dark Fiction. She is also the producer (and one of the Hosts) for the online radio segment IndieReview Behind The Scenes Internet Radio.



IndieWritersReview It’s RELEASE DAY! Cogs in Time 3 Anthology Steamworks Ink Publishing! @SteamworksInk

Guys it’s RELEASE DAY for Cogs in Time 3 Anthology released by Steamworks Ink Publishing! My Steampunk Horror short Dymphna’s Dance at the Twilight Circus is included in the anthology! I’m so excited! So make sure to head over to Face Book and join the party that kicks off at 6pmcst/7pmest! There’s plenty of games and prizes!

Click to join! Book Release Event for Cogs in Time 3 :O)


***99 Cent Anthology Release*** Woot It’s release day guys!!

Cogs in Time Volume Three Steamworks Ink
Take another turn in the cogs!
Gear up for an adventure with the first two anthologies.
Cogs in Time: Set
Another turn of the cogs brings you the third installment in the Cogs in Time Anthology collection. Inside this full-length collaboration, the magical meets the mechanical, traditional meets new age, and all things are possible if you believe. Returning favorites and brand new authors have come together to carry you away into the past, off to faraway lands, and into brand new worlds. Meet surprising characters along the way as you discover places where steam driven machines, cog-powered humanoids, clockwork miracles, and paranormal magic thrive and inventors, dreamers, and revolutionist rule over all.

a fun plus 105