It's Release Day for Heritage Avenged: Enchanted Bookstore Legend Two!

The big day is finally here! The second of my Enchanted Bookstore Legends has released. Heritage Avenged continues the epic fantasy romance between Lyra and her wizard lover, Cullen. 

Lyra McCauley receives an alarming letter from the coroner who evaluated her deceased aunt, originally thought to have died of cancer. The news causes Lyra to take leave from her job and travel from sunny Tampa to the frozen island community in northern Michigan. Questioning whether Dragonspeir magic was responsible for her aunt’s death, she resolves to learn the truth and accepts the Imperial Dragon’s appointment into the Alliance sorcery training. 

Additionally, becoming proficient in magic craft is the only way she can bridge the gap between her mortal human world and her lover’s. Cullen, a 220-year-old wizard, is dependent upon his Dragonspeir magic for immortality. He is her only family now; she cannot lose him.

Evil forces block her and try to steal her inherited scribal aura. Riding a stealth dragon, a cloaked rider pursues Lyra. Both the Alliance and Dark Realm alchemists lay tricks and traps. Her aura equals that of the first and most powerful Scribe, but will Lyra’s novice training allow her to discover the truth? Will she be able to be with Cullen, or will the Dark Realm keep them apart?

Purchase at Amazon

I'm visiting a few blogs this week, talking about Heritage Avenged, so here's where to find me: 

Today, I'm at Darkling Delights with my good friend, Pamela Turner.  I'll be talking about the magical gemstones used in Heritage Avenged. 

I'm also getting back to my duties at a group blog, Ravencraft Romance Realm, with a post about how I use the mystical powers of jade as a tool between my lovers Lyra and Cullen from the Enchanted Bookstore Legends. 

Wednesday has a real treat for me. I'm being interviewed by one of my critique partners, Lori DiNardi at her blog, Lori's Lane.

Thursday, I'll be a guest at Seeing Night Reviews, sharing information about the evil dragons in Heritage Avenged. Also, there will be a giveaway contest for a free copy of the book!

~ ~ ~ Marsha A. Moore is a writer of fantasy romance. The magic of art and nature spark life into her writing. Read her ENCHANTED BOOKSTORE LEGENDS for adventurous epic fantasy romance: Book One, SEEKING A SCRIBE, and Book Two, HERITAGE AVENGED. She has also authored the Ciel's Legacy series, with fast action mermaid/pirate storylines: TEARS ON A TRANQUIL LAKE and TORTUGA TREASURE.  For a FREE ebook download, read her historic fantasy, LE CIRQUE DE MAGIE, available at Amazon and Smashwords.

Sea Glass and Sand Memories now has a cover!

Sea Glass and Sand Memories, my June 1st paranormal erotic romance short story release from MuseItHot publishing now has a cover! Credit goes to artist Delilah Stephans for her work. I especially like how the text she created resembles sea glass. The setting, in the dunes area of Lake Michigan is a favorite spot of mine, having many childhood summer vacation memories. I'm glad this story is being published, as a tribute to those wonderful memories.

Blurb:

Looking forward to a relaxing week at a Lake Michigan coastal resort, Kate finds much more than the picturesque dunes she intended to paint.

Adventures start when her requested room is switched beside an unusual couple – a witch and her lover, a ghost.

During her stay, the handsome ghost, Anson, tries to ensnare her into helping him escape the witch who killed him and then enslaved his spirit. The witch holds him captive on the property of his mother’s resort. Anson wins Kate’s heart and loyalty; she goes to great lengths to free him.

Warning: This story contains paranormal sex, pagan abuse of a ghost spirit, nightmares, and happy family memories.

Magical Monday: Marrying your lover’s corpse--only in Key West!

Carl von Cosel

While in Key West on vacation just before Thanksgiving, my husband and I went on a ghost tour. It was some good, creepy fun.

WARNING: The following story is grotesque, so I advise to not eat or drink while reading.

The first stop along our lantern tour involved a story about a man named Carl Tanzler, a German-born radiologist who also went by the name of Count Carl von Cosel. During a trip to Germany, von Cosel claimed to have been visited by visions of a dead ancestor, Countess Anna von Cosel, who revealed the face of his true love, an exotic dark-haired woman, to him. After her received this prediction, he left his wife and children behind in Zephyrhills, Florida, taking up residence in Key West to work in the local hospital. He believed he’d find his love there.

While there, von Cosel met Maria Elena Milagro de Hoyos, a local Cuban-American woman, there for a medical examination. Von Cosel immediately recognized her as the beautiful dark-haired woman who was his soulmate. Reportedly, she was admired by many for her beauty.

Eventually, Hoyos was diagnosed with tuberculosis, communicable and fatal in that day. Von Cosel attempted to treat her, passing himself off as a physician, in order to be close to her. He used a variety of treatments, including radiation. He showered her with gifts of clothing and jewelry, professing his love for her, although no reciprocation from Hoyos was known.

Despite his best efforts, she died in 1931. Von Cosel paid for her funeral. Afterward, with permission of her family, he commissioned the construction of an above ground mausoleum in the Key West Cemetery and visited her remains almost every night. He said she would often tell him to take her from the grave

The corpse of Maria Elena Milagro de Hoyos encased in wax and plaster circa 1940.

One evening in 1933, he crept through the cemetery and removed her body from the mausoleum, carting it through the cemetery after dark on a toy wagon, transporting it to his home. He attached the corpse's bones together with wire and coat hangers, and fitted the face with glass eyes. As the skin of the corpse decomposed, he replaced it with silk cloth soaked in wax and plaster. As the hair fell out of the decomposing scalp, he fashioned a wig from Hoyos's hair that had been collected by her mother and given to him not long after her burial. He filled the corpse's abdominal and chest cavity with rags to keep her original form, dressed Hoyos's remains in stockings, jewelry, and gloves, and kept the body in his bed. Von Cosel also used lots of perfume, disinfectants, and preserving agents, to mask the odor and delay the effects of the corpse's decay. However, his colleagues questioned the putrid smell about his body. Obviously, he slept with the rotting corpse.

(I warned you this was gruesome! And it gets worse, so hold on.)

In 1940, Elena's sister heard rumors of von Cosel sleeping with the disinterred body of her sister for the past seven years. She confronted him and found her sister’s remains in his home.

The authorities were notified and he was arrested but released after being found mentally competent to stand trial for maliciously destroying a grave. Our guide reported that the charges were dropped because he produced a marriage license between himself and Hoyos. Seems he married the corpse, and there was proof on her remains the marriage had been consumated. Some called it necrophilia with a corpse. The evidence: two physicians (Dr. DePoo and Dr. Foraker) who attended the 1940 autopsy of Hoyos's remains reported a paper tube had been inserted in the vaginal area of the corpse that allowed for intercourse.

(Ewwww! If you just spewed your diet Pepsi, I warned you!)

Hoyos's body was eventually returned to the Key West Cemetery where the remains were buried in an unmarked grave, in a secret location, to prevent further tampering.

Separated from his obsession, von Cosel used a death mask to create a life-sized effigy of Hoyos, and lived with it until his death in 1952. It has been recounted he was found in the arms of her effigy upon discovery of his corpse. Another account, the one our guide attested to, stated that he secretly had the bodies switched, with Hoyos’s remains returned to him, and he died in her arms.

Eccentrically romantic or gruesome beyond imagination? Lots of strangeness in Key West!

This is cross posted at Southern Fried Gothic, so drop by there for a visit if you'd like.

Wolves howl, kitties prowl when the Moon is full....

FULL MOON

Full moon

So bright and serene

Keeps me awake.

Letting its stillness

Soak my being

I look up,

Joyfully certain

Moon dust sprinkles

You, too, Love,

Caressing you

This silvery night

~Yldan

I spend a lot of time reading about fairy and folktales of many cultures. While the most well known come from Europe and North America, I have amassed a decent collection of these writings from Russia, Romania, India, Japan, Africa, Australia/New Zealand, and the Caribbean. I collect rare references of folklore because I enjoy seeing the different cultures within stories which originated as oral tradition. Weaving bits of these time-honored tales into my fantasies brings me pleasure to continue their passage.


This writing research for a current work in progress took me to discover interesting lore and fables about the various full moons. I have always been intrigued by the mystique of the full moon, conjuring both fantasy as well as eliciting romance and passion. Those who know me understand my attraction to this symbolism; the genres I blend are exactly those, fantasy and romance/soft erotica.
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Tall nettles cover up, as they have done
These many springs, the rusty harrow, the plough
Long worn out, and the roller made of stone.
Only the elm butt tops the nettles now . . .
This corner of the farmyard I like most,
As well as any bloom upon a flower
I like the dust on the nettles, never lost
Except to prove the sweetness of a shower.

~Edward Thomas

The Buck Moon

The next time the full moon will rise is on July 26th (1:38 GMT). This cycle is given the name Buck Moon because it is in July when new antlers of buck deer push out of their foreheads in coatings of velvety fur. Another name for this lunar event is the Full Thunder Moon, owing to the fact that thunderstorms are most frequent during this month. It is also called the Hay Moon because farmers hold to the rule that grass crops should be sown at this time to insure the hay will dry quickly. Other common names for the July moon include the Crane Moon, the Claiming Moon, Mead Moon, Oak Moon, Wort Moon, Moon of Blood (because of mosquitoes), Blessing Moon, and the Summer Moon.

 Many cultures rely on this moon to mark their celebrations. In Japan, the July moon is the time of the O-Bon, or Festival of Lanterns, a three-day celebration of Buddhist and Shinto beliefs honoring the dead. Homes, tombs, and grave markers are cleaned. Altars and shines are decorated. Gardens are hung with lanterns so the dead may find their ways to join families.  

The Egyptian New Year also occurs in July, as does the Opet Festival, which commemorates the marriage of Isis and Osiris. Their sexual union is supposed to bring good luck to all people. In Rome, the love of Venus and Adonis are celebrated at this time of July’s full moon. 

Correspondences of the July Moon:

Nature Spirits: hobgoblins (small grotesque but friendly brownie-type creatures), faeries of the harvest crops
Herbs: honeysuckle, agrimony, lemon balm, hyssop
Colors: silver, blue-grey
Flowers: lotus, water lily, jasmine
Scents: orris, frankincense
Stones: pearl, moonstone, white agate
Trees: oak, acacia, ash
Animals: crab, turtle, dolphin, whale
Birds: starling, ibis, swallow
Deites: Khepera, Athene, Juno Hel, Holda, Cerridwen, Nephthys, Venus
Power Flow: relaxed energy; preparing; succeeding. Dream-work, divination, and meditation on goals and plans, especially spiritual ones

On Sunday evening be sure to pause and enjoy the simple pleasures of the beauty of the Buck Moon.

Art: Angela Jayne Barnett

Reference: The Months of the Moon

Visiting exotic Persia with my work in progress, Illusions of Intimacy

My work in progress, Illusions of Intimacy, is a time travel erotic fantasy involving eight exotic settings. This is a true delight for me because I love creating magical worlds.

The hero and heroine are lovers joined by a bond of their souls. When the pair come together, their combined magic is so intense it commands notice from all, both good and evil. Dark powers seek to possess their unique bond and cast the couple asunder through tragic injury or death. Break their love and the magic is for the taking. Yet, their souls hold fast across many reincarnations into new mortal bodies. Foiling the forces of darkness, so they may remain beside each other, becomes their quest.

In my writing progress, their present generation lives in ancient Arabia, traditionally called Persia. The inherent mystery of the sea of sand provides the perfect backdrop for entrance of the first villain.

As I create an atmosphere I enjoy researching culture – architecture, clothing, art, folklore, music, dance. I take those components and flavor a unique fantasy setting.

I’d like to share some entertaining finds I made while conducting that research. Here are two videos of Arabian music, both enticing and alluring as they illustrate romanticism of that culture. The first is entitled Arabian Waltz, by The Silk Road Ensemble with Yo-Yo Ma as their guest. The second, filled with lovely landscape images, is Sufi music performed by Omar Faruk Tekbilek.

Selecting a pen name

I recently decided to swap my real name for a pen name to use in my fiction writing. With some research I discovered my own last name lacked author appeal, being difficult to spell.

I considered usual suggestions for writer's pen names: short; easy to remember; easy to spell; not overused by other authors; avoid end of the alphabet names or be lost at the tail end of bookstore displays.

Since I write fantasy romance/soft erotica I thought for half a second to use a genre appropriate name, something slinky like Jasmine Allure or Sultry Shadows or Smoky Embers. Those weren't me. My writing style is poetic, far more sensual than sexual, conjuring a three-dimensional romantic world rather than mere lust between characters.

The rhythm of the syllables and mouth feel when sounding vowels and consonants were my next considerations. References suggested a two-syllable first name paired with a one or two-syllable last name, to elicit the grand appeal of Stephen King or JK Rowling.

With those guidelines in mind, I tried on one name and then another. Much like selecting a clothing accessory such as a hat, purse or watch. Each one shaped my personality in a unique manner. It wasn't a devastating struggle akin to trying on swimsuits, but none felt like me. I couldn't connect my writing to the wrong name. I needed to feel comfortable in my own skin, or own name.

I almost gave up on the idea. Then, one hit me so squarely I wondered why I hadn't thought of it first - my mother's maiden name. Moore. Marsha A. Moore. It's short and recognizable. Adding the initial for my middle name Ann, which I was purposely given to share with my mother, allows me some peace-of-mind I will not be confused with another Marsha Moore. I like the sound and hope it has an author quality to readers' ears, not to mention agents' and editors' as well. But, best of all the name makes me smile inside and out. I love my mom dearly and to embrace a name that was hers is more than comfortable . . . it warms me all over.

References: Jamie Hall, “How to Use a Pen Name” ; “The Writer's Relief”

A living fairy tale for my muse

Most muses expect to be fed occasionally. Some whimper for chocolate, others demand shopping sprees. Mine usually is satisfied with a pot of special blend white tea, kept steaming on a warmer for the evening of writing. But, once in a while she begs for an outing to someplace exotic. Lush settings captivate her. While taking lit classes in college, she prodded me to read every 19th c. novel she could find. That included the entire collection of Thomas Hardy, whose settings of mist-shrouded moors covered with purple heather in Wessex are every bit as memorable as his romantic characters, Tess and Angel, Bathsheba and Gabriel. She balks at workshops on world-building, maintaining a keen eye and an overactive imagination serve better. Nothing pleases her more than an afternoon at the beach. Once my toes are wiggling in sand beyond the towel's edge, she skips my pencil across pages at lightning pace.

Last Saturday I took my muse on a new adventure to the local Renaissance festival. I hoped she'd like it, since unnaturally cool Florida winter weather precluded beach days. And she did.

A curious array of earthy scents greeted us: fresh-milled wood chips underfoot; vendors newly-tanned leather vestments and boots; toasting cinnamon-dusted nuts; spirals of sandalwood incense. Visual delights also intrigued her. The grounds lay amid a grove of gnarly trees draped with Spanish moss. Their swags swayed with magic around tents belonging to tarot readers. Street performers and festival goers alike dressed in costumes, a variety of old world fantasy mixed with buccaneer accoutrements. Diaphanous layers of ladies skirts flowed like dreams. Coins adorned hats, headdresses, belts, wristlets, and necklaces – catching dappled sunlight and jingling with each step. I expected something of a pirate theme, following from the popularity of the Gasparilla festival, a pageant given by Ye Mystic Krewe in honor of their captain, Jose Gaspar. The result – a surreal tapestry.

Enchantment and swashbuckling in every direction. A human chess game and giant sand castle thrilled imaginations of young and old. Druids lay half hidden, clinging to tree trunks. A pickle vendor alerted me to fairies climbing in branches above, planning mischief. Celebrators extended cordial welcomes to all. The eclectic merriment painted an unwritten scene from Alice in Wonderland. My muse drank in the splendor of that living fairy tale.

In the days since, I felt her scrambling for characters to add to the new world. When finished, she hands me a complete setting and characters, detailed with personalities and attire. If she enjoys the characters enough she will lend a hand with plot. Then, my muse rests and sips tea until impatient with my plodding for months over what she created in days. I'm always behind, thankfully. She plays hard and works hard, never leaving me with writer's block. But the best gift is seeing the world through her eyes. A writer's blessing.

To Be Lovers

What does the term 'lovers' mean today? What connects lovers? As a writer of romance/erotica, the etymology baffles me. Some friends of mine recently brought up a conversation which showed my usage of this word flawed, quite a surprise for me, since I spend plenty of time pondering the meanings of romance, intimacy, love, lust, passion . . . for a few intriguing story ideas, and to understand life.


In modern life, being lovers doesn't necessarily imply love or caring; it's loosely used as a pretty term for sex partners. In my Swedish friend's native language, the word 'lovers' is considered ambiguous, and other terms are used to better define the extent of the emotional bond. In comparison, English seems limited. I wish I had words to describe various involvements: people partnered primarily for sex; a couple whose fondness, caring and sexual interaction are equally important; and a pair united by their sexuality, as natural extension of their souls being deeply bonded by love. I need more words.


In my fiction I expect lovers to care for each other and their sex be an intimate extension of that. Their bond may be threatened by evil characters seeking to come between, by perilous sword and sorcery adventures separating the pair, or by magical and natural physical impairments. In response, I want my fictional couple to demonstrate emotional upheaval when forced apart. The extent of their anguish is a measure of the depth of their feeling for each other.


This is, perhaps, in contrast to reality. Seems sad. Wouldn't it be wonderful if all lovers truly cared for and about each other? The element of friendship transforms sex into intimacy, an ember fanned into flame. Most likely, physical urges cry so loudly, even an ember satiates our bodies, while our minds still yearn for the flame. That all humans long to be deeply admired I accept as a premise, supported by Maslow in his psychological hierarchy of needs. Possibly meeting a person who can help us discover intimacy occurs so infrequently we hold the goal as an ideal. Our thirst for what appears beyond reach fuels our interests in romance stories. If so, fictional lovers MUST be more than sex partners. Otherwise, as I write I need to define the term 'lovers' more carefully, or switch to Swedish, or coin a few new English words.  What do you think?

Colors of Love

I am orange today. A statement of mood through expression of a color, trusting known connotations. Lately this seems to be a trend. Perhaps, a result of character limitations on tweets or status updates. What kind of love do cerulean, fuchsia, or aubergine bring to mind? As a writer of romance and erotica, I ponder such amusements.

A cold and isolated relationship is white, barren of everything, sterile. Be warned, icicles from that lover may impale you at any instant. Only the most colorful personalities feel welcomed. Ivory love, demure like a fragile parchment, kisses softly over the hair, the brow, the nose, before brushing lips. Its distant cousin, charcoal, seeks a stormy union. While the lovers' dedication may be as solid as granite, their passion transcends tumultuous fog, rain, wind, and snow. Thunder sparks intense passion. Values darker, a blackened heart grieves for what will never be, yet clings to remnants of broken beauty. His mysterious elegance draws many, yet fulfills none, instead appreciating their oppression, delighting in macabre.


That thirst for blood and hunger for life, heightens passions. Lovers slake their own desires for claret. Ropes bind the skin, cutting a sanguine trail. Stilettos and stockings lie tossed aside while she reclines; he is already gone from her bed. Crimson lips on his starched shirt bring a memory of the conquest. At his own door, he interrupts his daughter and boyfriend in a goodbye kiss, both blushing. The pinkness of young love. Inside at the dinner table he looks upon his wife, trying to recall that same tenderness. She is too aged; he cannot. But, her smile pours orange warmth across his heart, a glimpse of the sunshine which fascinated him when he proposed. He twirls his band of gold, wondering . . . his desire to provide for her transformed into a vicious drive. Their love once yellow, hers shone like the sun, while his reached toward succeed. As she gave birth to their children, her harmony glowed verdant and fertile. However, he became green with greed, darkening his heart by degrees, until compelled to satiate his ravenousness with that carmine mouth.


Sadly, like him, few discover the most blissful colors. The azure of tropical waters soothes the soul. Nothing is more important than time spent on carefree caresses, part of an everlasting vacation for those who are so lucky. Such tranquility, together gazing up to stars twinkling against sapphire is appealing, but I prefer to blend it with a quantity of passion – purple, my choice for amour. Hearkening back to chivalry, honor, and valiance, when nobles dressed in violet, I swoon from the romance. Amethyst love potions intoxicate with spells from which I never wish to turn away. Tiptoeing through patches of lavender and heliotrope while gathering armfuls of lilacs, his love seduces me with heady fragrances. This is the color of my love.


Do you agree with my color associations?  I'd like to know your thoughts.