Interview + Giveaway: Dare to Dream by K. Margaret

UFI welcomes Author K. Margaret. Thanks for Joining us!!

What can you tell my readers about yourself that they might not know from looking on your bio or reading in another interview?  

What you might not know about me is I work for a closing attorney firm for my day job. I’ve been in the real estate field for almost twenty years and I think one day I need to write about all the crazy things one can witness at a closing table.

What do you enjoy doing on your down time?   

In my down time I’m either reading or watching football, and if it isn’t football season I’m watching ESPN or the NFL Network. Lately, I’ve been teaching my sixteen year old how to drive. Not sure I can consider that down time since there isn’t a lot of relaxing involved!

What is your Favorite part of writing?  

My favorite part of writing is research. I never thought I’d ever say that, and my high school teachers would probably smirk at me if they ever heard me say it. I love getting to explore history, mythology, and even the meanings behind the names of my characters. While writing Dare to Dream, I got to explore Santa Fe, NM and its rich history. I learn something new every time I sit down at the keyboard.

Do you have any certain routines you must follow as you write?  

The only thing that is a must when I write, is coffee. I go through several pots while I write. I have a coffee maker in the kitchen, my office, and soon I’ll have one in my bedroom. That way, it’s never too far away. You might say I have a just a small addiction.

What are some of your Favorite books or Authors in the Urban Fantasy/ Paranormal Genres?  

Karen Marie Moning and Kresley Cole

How would you pitch Dare to Dream to someone who has not heard of it before?  

It’s a story about strength and resilience, but most of all it shows if you open your heart and your mind, you can achieve anything.  

Can you tell us a little bit about the world that the Dark Dream Series is set in? 

The Dare to Dream Series is filled with shifters, slayers (a group of all female immortal warriors), demons, demoniods, gods and witches. While most of the books will take place on the mortal realms, in cities we’ve heard of, the reader also gets to travel to Mt. Olympus, Gehenna, and other realms inspired by mythology.

Do you have a favorite scene in Dare to Dream?  

My favorite scene in Dare to Dream is the first interaction with Nellie and Nathaniel in present day. I love watching the two of them interact together; you can tell they’re best friends and they’ve known each other forever. Nellie refuses to take his crap, but Nathaniel doesn’t care and continues to poke at her. When Nellie tells Nathaniel about a possible ghost encounter she’s had, Nathaniel’s first reaction is to do a thorough pat-down of Nellie, just to make sure she hasn’t been possessed. Nellie is not impressed.

Which one character out of all your books was your favorite to write about? What about the hardest to write about?  

Empusa. Since the first moment I started to write this demoness, she instantly became my favorite. She’s cold-hearted, arrogant, sarcastic, but she is who she is and she doesn’t apologize for it. I never quite know what she’s up to, but I know I’m in for a ride whatever it might be. There is a saying when it comes to Empusa: What would Empusa do? Whatever the hell she wants. (and it’s true).

Krael is the character I have the hardest time breaking through the barrier he’s put up. He’s incredibly stubborn and tight lipped. I know he’ll open up to me when he’s ready, or I’ll have to break out the flamethrower and threaten him with it.

What Other Projects can we look forward to reading from you? 

 I am currently over halfway through writing the first draft of Dreams in the Dark, which is the second book in the Dark Dreams Series. I’m also editing Endless Nightmare: The Origin of a Demon, which is the origin story of Empusa. Readers will get to see why the demoness is the way she is and how she managed to get herself imprisoned in Gehenna. Both of which will be out in 2016.

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K. Margaret is a paranormal romance author living in Georgia. Her love for words, storytelling, and mythology started as a teenager and continues to grow. When she isn’t sucking down pots of coffee and writing, or hanging out with her teenage daughter, she can usually be found in front of her TV watching football, her other obsession.

Find K. Margaret and her books

Website / Goodreads / Twitter / Facebook

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Dare to Dream
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Nellie O’Malley has spent her afterlife hunting and killing demonoids. As a slayer she never faced one she couldn’t destroy, until now.

The hunter has become the hunted.

A nameless, faceless enemy stalks her every move. Nellie must find a way to stop the unstoppable before it kills her, or worse, goes after the one person she can’t live without.

He is her best friend, she is his soul.

Nathaniel Ogapoge has been in love with only one woman. Unfortunately, she sees him only as her best friend. With her life now in peril, he will stop at nothing to protect her. Even if it means putting himself in the direct path of evil and risking everything.

Excerpt:

“It is time for another,” Renata, the Queen of the Damned, announced as she straightened the flowing silk material of her silver gown so it draped perfectly around her. Perched on the edge of a reflecting pool high up in her tower in the middle of Gehenna, she glided her fingers over the surface of the water. The rippling effect caused the face of a young blonde female to come into focus. “She will be my newest creation and she will be perfect.”

Glancing away from the reflection, she peered up at Berith, Gehenna’s warden, who stood opposite her, hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans. His perpetual scowl present across his chiseled face, Berith’s eerily-glowing orange eyes narrowed on her with annoyance. Not that she gave him her full attention, her thoughts were still lost in the vision appearing in the water. She didn’t particularly care he was even in the room.

“Have you lost your bloody mind?” Berith questioned. “I mean look at her. She doesn’t look old enough to know how to use the rifle she’s holding, let alone be able to kill demonoids. Is this what you are left with then? Is this where your abilities have taken you? You now recruit scrawny females to do your bidding?”

Renata raised a brow, watching Berith jab an accusing finger at the girl’s reflection. Too many years had passed since she’d last been given a slayer, and at the moment she didn’t need to hear Berith’s opinion on the matter. While her husband, Buer, was in charge of capturing and keeping the deadliest of demons within the confines of Gehenna, it was her duty to keep reign on the demonoids.

Two types of demons inhabited in the world: the ones born that way and the ones who were turned into such. The most dangerous, however, were the ones created. Those creatures were known as demonoids.

Demonoids were contrived from the darkest of all human souls. Ones so beyond redemption their evil called to certain gods and demons. These gods and demons would feed on those souls, transforming what once was a man into the deadliest and most nefarious of creatures. The job of her slayers was to eradicate them; to make sure no demonoid remained on the mortal realm or any other.

Renata dismissed Berith’s comments with a flip of her strawberry blonde hair. “You know as well as I do I have no choice in who is brought to me. At this point, I would take a ten-year-old girl with bowed legs if that was my only choice. I haven’t received a soldier in over a century and my troops on the mortal realm are dwindling.” She glanced back down at the image in the water. Yes, the female was young and not the usual soul given to her, but she would make do. All her slayers were chosen for a reason and Renata would not question the decision. All she concerned herself with was whether her new slayer would be strong enough to kill the demonoids when they came at her.

The female about to become Renata’s newest slayer was not a warrior or a soldier as she was accustomed to. Those females were easy to convince to take on the duty of a slayer.

No, this female never fought a day in her life, but as soon as the breath left her body and her heart stopped beating, the contract of services would already be signed. She would belong to Renata until the day the Queen of the Damned decided to release her of her duties. As of present, not one of Renata’s slayers relinquished her duties.

However, the job of her slayers came with its benefits. Renata bestowed one power upon them. A power already lying dormant inside them. Upon their agreement of service, they would also gain the abilities of speed and strength. Abilities to help assist them in their tasks.

Berith’s low growl snapped Renata’s head up, scattering her thoughts. She didn’t need to ask what agitated with him. By the way he stood ramrod straight with a far off look in his eyes, she knew he held a conversation with another in his mind. Only one female could cause him to look both distressed and fascinated all at the same time. A demoness, who happened to also be the bane of Renata’s existence.

“Oh just go to her, will you? We both know if you don’t then you’ll become even more of an ass than you usually are. I have to concentrate on this, and apparently you need to find a way to lock the demon-whore up so she isn’t a constant distraction.”

The way Berith’s eyes narrowed on her, along with the slow curling of his lip and twitch to his left eye, proved her assumption on whom he conversed with. He hesitated for a moment, as if trying to decide whether he should stay or go. Just as he turned to leave, he crossed over and knelt down beside her.

“Don’t mess this one up, Renata. Make sure she knows what she’s getting herself into. I would hope you have learned from past mistakes.”

Renata refused to acknowledge the statement. She always knew what she was doing. Swirling her finger around in the water, she watched as the images rippled amongst the waves. This one here would do just fine, and judging by the progress being made, the time to meet her newest slayer neared. By the bright yellow sun rising in the horizon, Renata knew the female’s time grew shorter. It wouldn’t be much longer before her final breath escaped her lips. Renata wasn’t heartless though, she mourned the loss of such a brave girl, but she knew the ugliness of death must take place in order for others to be saved. That was the motto of her slayers - to protect and serve those who could not protect themselves.

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Guest Blog + Giveaway: Annabeth Neverending by Leyla Kader Dahm

UFI welcomes Author Leyla Kader Dahm. Thanks for Joining us!!

HOW IAN SOMERHALDER STALKED HIS WAY INTO MY HEART

AND MY DREAM CAST LIST

I’ve been writing screenplays for years, and an integral step in my creative process is compiling a dream cast list. Because my novel Annabeth Neverending is exceedingly cinematic, I decided to use the same approach.

Mentally casting the three leading roles was easy. Emma Stone had the spunk to go with Annabeth’s fiery red hair and freckles. Chris Evans had the breezy likeability I hoped to instill in C. J. And Ian Somerhalder—or, as I like to call him, “Ian the Smolder”—was perfect for the part of the devilishly handsome Gabriel.

When suffering a bout of writer’s block while working on Annabeth, I drove to Venice Beach to see my friend Kerry perform in a play. I didn’t have time to beautify myself beforehand, and wound up applying my makeup in my car. Well, my eye shadow migrated all over my under-eye area, making me look like a raccoon. I covered the botched job with large sunglasses and was on my way, figuring I could clean up at the theater.

I passed a vintage denim store along the way and felt drawn to it. Something MADE me walk inside, and to my shock, Ian Somerhalder was standing there, shopping. I lingered in the entryway, admiring him. He looked at me with a friendly, open expression on his face because I was clearly a fan, but I couldn’t speak. Instead, I panicked. I fled, circling the block while contemplating my next move.

I was furious with myself. How could I run away from Ian. From GABRIEL? When you create a character and live with him everyday, he becomes a part of you. I had to go back and see him. To my luck/dismay, Ian was now standing in front of the store! He was clearly making himself available in case I wanted to talk to him.

OMG, was Ian Somerhalder STALKING ME?

Although, I don’t think it qualifies as stalking if the stalkee is totally into it. I considered approaching him, but then I remembered my disastrous makeup—I didn’t want to get too close. By now the eye shadow had probably traveled all the way down my cheeks. The sun was disappearing fast and my sunglasses were starting to look a little suspicious in the face of the impending darkness.  So I made a run for it yet again.

My strangely coincidental noninteraction with Ian Smolderhalder gave me the motivation necessary to finish my book. It was fate, much like Annabeth Prescott finds her destiny in my book. Sometimes, life really does imitate art!

My dream cast aged out of their roles long ago, but they served their purpose by providing inspiration (especially Ian). And if they ever do make a movie of Annabeth Neverending, maybe come clever CGI could be employed to give Ian, Emma, and Chris the parts they were meant to play. Are you listening, Hollywood?

Readers, can you think of more age-appropriate choices for my dream cast?

A teen Emma Stone as ANNABETH

A teen Ian Somerhalder as GABRIEL

A teen Chris Evans as C. J.

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Leyla Kader Dahm popped popcorn and dreamt of a career in show business when working in a movie theater while in high school. The small-town Midwestern girl went another route and studied communications at Carroll College and Cornell University, but still found herself drawn to the big screen when a temp agency placed her in a production and development gig at Miramax/Dimension Films.
Dahm went on to work as a script consultant for numerous production companies. She appeared in the acclaimed spoken word show Sit ‘N Spin and had her comedy feature spec, Due North, optioned by Michael Levy Enterprises. She sold her pitch, Survival Instinct, to Nickelodeon Original Movies. Dahm lives with her husband, sitcom writer Richard Dahm, and her children in Los Angeles.

Find Leyla and her books

Website / Goodreads / Twitter / Facebook

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Annabeth Neverending 

Amazon

At first, teenager Annabeth Prescott thinks she’s found quite a deal when she talks down the price of an ankh pendant she discovers at a flea market. She soon wonders if the bauble is more than she's bargained for when she faints and glimpses images from a past life in ancient Egypt.

The discovery coincides with another new find: Gabriel, a handsome young man who takes an interest in her. When she meets his twin brother C. J. at a Halloween party, she realizes they look exactly like two boys who figure prominently into her memories.

Does C. J. share the heroic qualities held by his past incarnation Sethe, her bodyguard when she was Princess Ana? Does Gabriel possess the same evil powers he wielded as Kha, the black sorcerer who sought her affection?

Love meets the supernatural in this gripping young adult paranormal romance. Readers with an interest in reincarnation, as well as ancient Egypt, will be drawn to its mystical mixture of history and hesitation as Annabeth sways between the two brothers.

Will her reincarnated soulmate win out? Or will Kha finally find the way to her heart?

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Mrs. Lansing pulls her SUV into the dusty, unpaved lot, which is located behind two antique malls. I exit and unload her trunk, suppressing a groan as I hoist a heavy cardboard box and set it carefully on the dirt.

I take in the ramshackle affair. I’ve heard that the flea market is a popular meeting place for bargain hunters and collectors, and it looks as strange as its name sounds. There are rows of rickety wooden tables, and it’s surprising that none of them buckle from the sheer number of goods they hold.

“This is the Arundel Flea Market. It’s the hub of Maine’s secondhand economy,” explains my elderly neighbor, who now doubles as my boss and triples as my tour guide.

As we make our way through the helter-skelter maze of booths, the buzz of negotiation can be heard coming from every direction. I drag along the cart of wares, but stop when I’m seized by a sneezing fit, courtesy of free-floating dust and mold. When Mrs. Lansing offers me a handkerchief instead of a Kleenex, I’m made acutely aware of the fact that I’ve entered a new…er, different world.

Mrs. Lansing’s stooped over just low enough that her poor posture has probably cost her a couple of inches, but that doesn’t slow her down. She shuffles toward a vacant table nestled under the welcoming shade of a chalky-white birch tree.

Seeing that she’s claimed a prime spot, I follow her lead by setting out everything from orphan candlesticks to shell cameos to tin wind-up toys. Then, Mrs. Lansing adds a few eccentric items like yellowed tarot cards and an iridescent crystal ball to the collection.

“What’s the deal with this?” I ask while turning over the fortune-telling device.

“It reeks of mystery and the supernatural, which I love. Besides, the weird stuff always sells,” explains Mrs. Lansing, her eyes twinkling.

“So, who usually comes here?”

“Most of the sellers are serious dealers, but there are also everyday folk looking to earn extra cash. Usually by cleaning out their musty attics or basements.”

“I’ve never sold anything before. Not even girl scout cookies,” I admit.

“You’ll get the hang of it. Why don’t we try some role-playing?”

Mrs. Lansing lays down a parchment document with what looks to be a children’s book illustration of an old masted ship. This is something I’ve seen before. Many times. It’s a Mayflower Society certificate.

“My mom’s a member, you know.”

“Now that’s a great angle. The certificate’s going to be passed, in a manner of speaking, from one Pilgrim descendant to another,” states Mrs. Lansing, her voice crackling with wear.

“I’m not a blood descendant. I was adopted, remember?” I gently remind her.

She looks ruffled. Of course, the subject makes everyone feel awkward, especially me.

“Oh, that’s right. I’m so sorry. My mind isn’t the steel trap it once was.”

I shrug it off, not wanting her to feel bad when it’s a common slipup, and we engage in a marathon training session as we try to sell her product that goes on for hours and hours. In addition to the finer points of salesmanship, she fills me in on all the vital information I need to know regarding the current stock and teaches me how to handle the money that comes in.

While learning how to work the old-school cash register, my friend Bernadette, wearing a floppy straw hat and oversized sunglasses, steps up to the stand. She looks over the merchandise, with a mouth that’s either puckered in interest or disgust—I’m not sure which.

“Can I wait on this person I’ve never seen before?”

Mrs. Lansing nods and crosses her arms while standing back to observe my efforts.

“Miss, are you looking for anything in particular?” I ask in my most professional tone.

“Not sure if you noticed…all these things are used but still expensive,” Bernadette states, as though she’d doing me a favor by educating me.

“They’re antiques.”

“In that case, I’ll take none of everything.”

My lips tighten in displeasure.

“You sure about that?” I ask.

Mrs. Lansing chuckles.

“Annabeth Prescott, I’m impressed. Not every new employee cons a friend into acting like a fake customer,” she says with a smile so wide I can see all her dentures.

“You recognized me?” asks Bernadette, sounding genuinely puzzled. She pulls off her hat and glasses, revealing her delicate Asian features.

I sigh, disappointed that my plan failed so wretchedly. I should’ve figured that Bernadette could never fully disguise her…Bernadetteness.

“Shocking, I know. But it does show that you really care about this job, dear,” Mrs. Lansing says, before jotting something in her inventory log.

“Well, I better get back to work. Thanks for coming. Don’t forget to make a purchase before you go,” I say loudly and somewhat pathetically.

“I don’t think so.”

“If you don’t buy something from me, who will?”

“Excellent question,” she agrees.

“Please?” I ask, eyes pleading.

“Begging. Interesting strategy,” Mrs. Lansing says, pretending to mull it over.

“No offense, but I’m heading to the Kittery Outlets. Later!” Bernadette cries as she scurries off.

“Don’t worry. My associate, Gabriel, will help you refine your sales technique. He’s the master.”

I gaze around and notice an elderly army of gray-and-blue hairs surrounds me. I’m the youngest person manning a table by a long shot.

“So he’s…older, huh?” I ask.

    “Yes, you could say that. Of course, everyone seems like a baby to me. Now, let me give you some details about this Bakelite phone.”

I scan my surroundings some more and shake my head in hopes of clearing it. My waning attention must be obvious.

“All right, I’ve been doling out a lot of information. Why don’t you take a break? Walk around the market; get an idea of what the others have for sale? We can pick this up when you get back.”

“OK, but when I do, give me your worst piece of merchandise, and I’ll unload it,” I say with false confidence, hoping to salvage things.

“That’s the spirit!”

I peruse the market, and a strange sense of stillness falls. Brass wind chimes break the silence, eerily clinging and clanging as I wind my way through the many stands. I keep passing one table in particular. Though nothing interests me at first, I repeatedly find my way back to it despite myself. It’s as though I’m on autopilot.

I dig in and pick up a broken tassel necklace, which is entangled with several others. While trying to pry them apart, I knock to the ground a box chain holding a pendant. They’re both caked with grime. I bend down and grab the necklace. I look over the charm, which is roughly three inches long and resembles a cross with a loop on top.

My hands tremble. The wind whips through my hair and whistles in my ears. Are the northeastern breezes whispering to buy it?

I give the piece to the table’s merchant, a middle-aged Mainer in a threadbare brown overcoat and scuffed L.L.Bean rain boots. He turns it over in his stubby, chapped fingers.

“How much is this?” I ask nonchalantly, trying to hide just how much I want it.

“Uh, twenty dollars oughta do it,” he says, in a regional accent so thick it sounds like he has a speech impediment.

“Twenty? That’s kind of steep…I really shouldn’t…” I grumble sadly.

“Ten?”

***

I gleefully run toward Mrs. Lansing, hardly able to contain my excitement. But I manage to rein it in. Which is hard because I suspect that I’ve achieved a tiny triumph.

“Wait till you see what I bought!”

“I thought the point of this job was to make money, not spend it,” she replies tauntingly.

“I know, I know. But you’ll be happy to know that I totally haggled. And this seems…special.”

I give over the encrusted ornament to Mrs. Lansing, who offers to clean the piece. She takes out a cloth and some jewelry cleanser and polishes the necklace in a flash.

“This shape is an ankh. It’s an ancient Egyptian symbol.”

“Do you know what it means?” I ask, curiosity seeping in.

“I believe it represents some sort of key.”

Now that it’s been spiffed up, Mrs. Lansing and I admire my find, which sparkles in the muted autumn sun.

“Is it real gold?” I wonder aloud.

“I’d say so. In fact, this is the darkest, most beautiful gold I’ve ever seen. Just enough alloy was added to the precious metal to make it durable while maintaining its warmth of color. What did you pay for this?”

“Ten dollars.”

“Looks like somebody’s a born negotiator,” Mrs. Lansing states, with a hint of pride. “You got quite a bargain, kiddo.”

I take the ankh back into my possession and caress its cool, smooth surface. I feel everything around me go topsy-turvy, upside down and inside out…

***

I’m enveloped by heat stronger and more intense than any I’ve experienced before. Drops of perspiration tickle my skin as they run underneath my flowing linen gown. I feel arms clasping a chain behind my neck. My hands fly up to find the ankh resting on my collarbone, but I didn’t move them there. It’s as though I’m a mere observer, instead of a participant, when it comes to this body’s actions.

The man who has just bestowed the necklace upon me pulls away, and I’m allowed a good look at him. He’s a hideous fellow with bulging eyes, a hooked nose, and a shock of bright-red hair that peeks out from underneath a black-and-white headdress. His outfit, the way he has about him, makes him seem important. Is he a pharaoh?

He grins, semitoothlessly, and I feel myself smiling in return.

“This is all for you, to commemorate your sixteenth year, your entry into womanhood,” says the probable monarch.

“My gratitude runs as deep as the Nile,” I reply, in a voice that is not my own, in a language that is not my own, and yet I know exactly what I’m saying.

The man, who’s wearing a tunic covered with fringe, motions to a procession of beautiful objects, the likes of which I never could have imagined. Priceless treasures zoom past, carried by servants wearing loose shift dresses and stiff black wigs. Elaborately carved pieces of ivory and ebony furniture, lion and leopard skins, gem-encrusted gold jewelry in the shape of beetles and butterflies, and granite statues of animal-faced men and women are all presented to me individually. Clearly, these are gifts for a very privileged young lady. What I wouldn’t give to own them myself.

Another Egyptian, a young man who is ostensibly a prince, looks to be seething with anger. His arms are crossed, his face set in a scowl. He watches on in disgust as the gifts continue to appear.

“This show of generosity shall stir jealousy in her sisters,” he states venomously.

“I reserve the right to spoil my favorite daughter as I see fit,” replies the suspected ruler.

And now, the last offering, the one with the place of honor at the end of the parade, is finally brought before me.

A boy! Or is he a man?

“This prisoner of war is such a fine specimen, he would be wasted as a lowly house slave. He shall serve as your bodyguard,” announces the intimidating ruler.

“His name is Sethe.”

The captive has shackles on his hands and feet. I can even make out a brand upon his chest. It seems as though it’s still scarring over, which is understandable, since he was not born into slavery. Regardless, he looks like somebody who has done nothing but labor in the sun. His skin is bronzed, and his muscles are impossibly defined. He seems reluctant to look at me.

Finally, his gaze meets mine. I’m at a distance, yet I can still make out the flecks of gold that dapple his hazel eyes. For a blissful moment, I’m lost in them, swimming in their beauty, floating in their comfort.

***

I come to amid a background of concerned chatter and find myself surrounded by a crowd of curious onlookers…and a strange boy. His muscular arms are holding me tight, making sure I don’t RSVP to the gravel’s invitation. He’s impossibly good looking, with the palest-possible blue eyes and the darkest-possible black hair.

He couldn’t be less like the slave in my…hallucination?…but he’s just as handsome. Not like it’s a contest.

“You passed out. Good thing I was here to catch you,” says my hero, while wagging a pair of thick brows.

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