This morning, I made the first contribution from the royalties Quilting Cancer has earned–$250–to the St. Luke’s MSTI-Fruitland Respite House. From the St. Luke’s website: “Many of our patients and their caregivers travel long distances for cancer treatment… The Respite House will provide a safe and comfortable home away from home, helping ease some of the burdens of travel and allowing families to stay together.” Thank you all for purchasing the book and spreading the word! Also, Quilting Cancer will be featured in the April issue of Idaho Magazine. I was honored when the editor contacted me, and I’m so glad that Kelly’s inspirational message will reach a wider audience.
My family and I have been overwhelmed by the response to Quilting Cancer—thank you for the kind words, support, and enthusiasm. Kelly’s optimism, courage, and perseverance continues to thread people together and will have an impact for years to come.
But now I have a favor to ask… Everyone who has been touched by Quilting Cancer, the blog or the book, please take a few minutes to write a review–it only needs to be a sentence or two–on Amazon or Goodreads. Reviews will help Quilting Cancer reach a wider audience and make it available to a variety of promotional websites.
And, for those of you who purchased the Kindle edition, a new version is available on Amazon, with a Kindle table-of-contents, as well as other updates. If you sync your device, the updated version should automatically download.
I’m very excited to share the preliminary cover for my YA novel, Cloud Warrior, due out sometime this year from Saddleback Publishing. This is my first project with a hi-lo (high interest-low reading level) press, and I’m thrilled to be working in this niche market. I hope my story of a boy descended from the Chachapoyas (the Andean Cloud Warriors) and his bravery during a kayaking disaster inspires many non-readers to dive into the world of books
Title: Foolish Bride
Series: Forever Brides #2
Date: March 28, 2017
Sadly ever after . . . unless some dreams really do come true?
Elinor Burkenstock never believed in fairy tales. Sure, she’s always been a fool for love—what woman isn’t? But Elinor knows the difference between fiction and truth. Daydreams and reality. True love and false promises. . . . Until the unthinkable happens, and Elinor’s engagement is suddenly terminated and no one, least of all her fiancé, will tell her why.
Sir Michael Rollins’s war-hero days seem far behind him when, after one last hurrah before his wedding, he gets shot and his injuries leave him in dire shape. He wants nothing more than to marry Elinor, the woman of his wildest dreams. But Elinor’s father forbids it . . . and soon Michael is faced with a desperate choice: Spare Elinor a life with a broken man or risk everything to win her heart—until death do they part?
A tear escaped down her cheek. She dashed it away, and the anger replaced her sorrow. “I don’t want your money, Michael.”
Hands fisted at his side, he finally met her stare. “What is it then?” She approached him and touched his arm.
He flinched, but she refused to back away.
“I want to know why? I need to know if you ever loved me. I demand to know if everything you told me was a lie.” There, she’d said it. She dropped her hand away.
He was pale and thin. Little of his robust figure shone through the robe. “I never lied to you.”
He turned away again. “I would have thought your parents explained that to you already.” She kicked at the rug, unsure of how to continue.
“Didn’t your mother explain?” Anger rolled through his words like an army.
In all the time they’d courted, she had never seen any signs of temper from Michael. He’d always been kind and loving. Through her fear, her own anger pushed her on. She stood toe-to- toe with a clearly dangerous man. “I was told that our engagement was dissolved because you cannot father a child. I will admit it took my mother quite a long time to get around to explaining that much, and I do not actually think she knew any more. What I want to know is what that has to do with you crying off?”
Then he turned. “I did not cry off. You did.” “I did no such thing.” She stomped her foot. “Then your father did.” His tone had gone flat.
“He had no right. If you did not end our engagement, then why were we not married today?” She tried to sound sophisticated, but tears pushed to the surface. His attitude was so changed. She didn’t know him. Maybe she never had.
“Your mother explained that.” He lumbered across the room and poured himself a rather large brandy. The smooth glide that she always admired was gone from his step.
“So if we had married, then we found that I was barren, you would have tossed me over?” She was rather proud of how rational she sounded in spite of her sorrow and raging temper.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He swallowed half the glass brandy. His shoulders slumped. “Then why would you think that I would care?”
“You don’t understand.” The second half went down in one swallow.
“Clearly. Perhaps you can explain it to me.”
A.S. Fenichel gave up a successful IT career in New York City to follow her husband to Texas and pursue her lifelong dream of being a professional writer. She’s never looked back.
A.S. adores writing stories filled with love, passion, desire, magic and maybe a little mayhem tossed in for good measure. Books have always been her perfect escape and she still relishes diving into one and staying up all night to finish a good story.
Originally from New York, she grew up in New Jersey, and now lives in the East Texas with her real life hero, her wonderful husband. When not reading or writing, she enjoys cooking, travel, history, and puttering in her garden.
The email arrived on February 22, 2016—a time of sickness and worry; fear and hospital visits.
“Erin,” the message read, “I have to say, I profoundly enjoyed your story: your style, vision, and command of atmosphere, irony, and character are tremendously effective. It would be an honor to showcase your enormous literary talent in this year’s journal.”
The email, from Michael G. Kellermeyer, Editor of Oldstyle Tales Press, went on to say that my short story, The Demon Inches, had been accepted for The Yellow Booke, an annual journal of original horror, ghost stories, and weird fiction.
I was flattered, of course, by Mr. Kellermeyer’s generous words. He certainly knew how to find his way into a writer’s affections; particularly when most authors receive many, many (get the idea?) more rejections than acceptances.
But what Mr. Kellermeyer didn’t realize, had no way of knowing, was that his email would become a beacon, guiding me through a bleak landscape. It reminded me of literature’s unique power, how healing can be found through emptying oneself onto paper. And that by getting lost between the pages of a story, one might emerge a better person at the end. Books can be both escape and redemption, lifeboats for navigating the restless seas of time.
It also made me think of the unknown effect we can have on others. A smile or compliment, sincere at the time then forgotten, often imprints on another’s psyche. Or, as in my case, a particularly kind acceptance letter, despite the writer suspecting the editor of exaggeration, arrives at the perfect moment.
So now Demon Inches, my own form of speculative fiction, has been published. It’s a genre I return to again and again. My mind explores the remote lakes, woods, and mountains of central Idaho and northern Michigan, the two states I call home.
I wonder what waits at the end of twisting two-tracks, disappearing into dusk, or the secrets contained within the walls of an abandoned cabin. And, like in Demon Inches, I question what resides within the shadows of our minds, and where the line between reality and imagination splits.
My stories may be speculative, exploring a world of fantasy, but I never speculate about two characteristics—bravery and hope, inspired by the people who surround me and embedded in everything I write. Horror creeps up on us, in novels but also in life, and without these core traits, we might find ourselves blinded by darkness.
The literary landscape in which I navigate also reinforces my optimism, finding endless comfort in the written word. It illuminates everything I do and has become a lifelong travel companion, as a well-timed email from a kind editor reminded me not so long ago.
The Yellow Booke: Demon Inches, The Old House, The Little Madness: and Other Terrors
A compendium of original horror stories (some written in the vein of classic supernaturalists such as M. R. James, J. S. Le Fanu, H. P. Lovecraft, Ambrose Bierce, and William Hope Hodgson, others written to push, test, and redefine the boundaries of the postmodern horror tale) “The Yellow Booke” is an original publication from Oldstyle Tales Press, whose annotated and illustrated critical editions of classic horror have piqued international interest from fans and scholars alike. “The Yellow Booke” contributes to Oldstyle Tales’ mission of invigorating interest in the classial past of the horror genre, while inspiring and encouraging those who would participate directly in its future. In these pages you will find mystery, weird fiction, body horror, science fictions, ghost stories, dark fantasies, and other strange tales written by living authors — some professional, some amateur, and all deeply talented in conveying what Monty James called “a pleasing terror…” Featuring the imaginative, powerful talent of Ever Dundas, G. L. McDorman, Joseph Burt, Silvia Barlaam, Columbkill Noonan, David Groveman, Erin Fanning, Greg Howes, Thomas Olivieri, M. Grant Kellermeyer, Daniel Pietersen