So long, farewell. 2015 was a crazy year. SO many firsts for me and so many bookish things happened in my life. I went to ALA. I released my first full length novel. I released another horror anthology. I wrote more than I ever have in my life on personal, collaborative, and fun projects. I read more than ever. I have exciting news and details to come, I pinkie swear it! As we kick off the new year, one thing became obvious to me… With the release of my debut novel HARROWED, the release of my newest anthology HALLOWEEN NIGHT: TRICK OR TREAT, the announcement of my new call for subs for a YA pizza anthology (yes I’m serious because pizza), my lifestyle and body-positive blog the Shine Bright Gang debuting (you can download the first magazine for FREE here or read it on Issuu), and my ever amazing horror blog The Midnight Society growing leaps and bounds, I realized something…I need a break. I want to be able to truly enjoy 2016 and get back to my roots, writing when and what I love, when I want to write it. Seriously, I am the worst at that. I hate saying no. Sometimes, it’s hard for us writers to admit we need to step away from a project. Running Pen & Muse alone has been fun. Believe me. I love being able to do whatever I want and talk about writing and fun things. But it’s also been tiring. So I’ll be taking a break until later in 2016, when I plan to come back refreshed and hopefully spilling over with good news and fresh new ideas, thoughts, experiences, and more....Read More
Welcome to the Night Harvest. For the entire month of October, we’ll be featuring scary stories and illustrations from talented authors and artists around the globe. I hope you stay awhile. After all, the Night Harvest is quite a scream. You can see the live list of participants and their posts dates on this link. Follow the buzz on twitter using the official hashtag #NightHarvest. Oh, and don’t forget to scroll to the bottom of this post for a giveaway! The Girl in the Tree by Colleen Britton The trees cast no shadows with the setting of the sun, a wan, white disc that was neither bright nor warm. Mist wove through the trunks and beaded on the fingertips of the branches and along the apple skins. It was the eve of November, and the harvest was about to begin. A girl sat in the crook of a tree, kicking her feet and blowing on cold hands. Her breath whistled through her fingers like the cry of a mourning dove. She wore her hair in two braids over her shoulders, and her clothes were a rumple of patchwork. A coarse cloth bag hung at her waist. A lantern hung from the branch above her. It glowed brighter and more brilliant as darkness descended, casting a golden pool on the beaten grass beneath the tree. Shadows appeared, crawling out from unseen places. But the girl was not afraid. She was waiting. She had been waiting an entire year for this night, just as she had waited every year, for many years. The people in the village beyond the trees used to wait, too. Once, they would have lit fires and sang songs...Read More
Welcome to the Night Harvest. For the entire month of October, we’ll be featuring scary stories and illustrations from talented authors and artists around the globe. I hope you stay awhile. After all, the Night Harvest is quite a scream. You can see the live list of participants and their posts dates on this link. Follow the buzz on twitter using the official hashtag #NightHarvest. Oh, and don’t forget to scroll to the bottom of this post for a giveaway! Shine On, Harvest Moon by Emily McKeon The moon rose orange behind the farmhouse. A Harvest Moon, bathing the cornfields in an amber glow. Far off in the distance, laughter and music filled the silence as the town gathered for the annual Harvest Festival. In the cooling night, a breeze kicked up. The sudden wind rustled the cornstalks, making them whisper to the darkness and the great pumpkin moon overhead. “Jerry.” The voice was soft. Brittle. The first words spoken by someone who long ago had forgotten how to. “Jerry.” Inside the farmhouse, Jeremiah Dunne sat at his kitchen table. Across his lap lay the shotgun he knew would do no good. On the table, clutched in his fist, was half a tumbler of whiskey. His own brew from last year’s harvest. “Jerry.” He swigged the last of his whiskey and slammed the glass down on the table. He dared not refill it. He foolishly left the bottle on the counter and would have to stand to reach it. Standing led to walking. Walking led to answering the call. Answering the call led to…something he’d rather not think about. God, he could use another drink. “Jerry.” The voice grew stronger. A...Read More
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