Thursday, January 26, 2017

Wallowing is how negative energy keeps us lost and confused. Wallowing keeps us stuck, unable to let go, unable to forgive others. But we must also love ourselves just as much, forgive ourselves, which we often find so much harder to do. When we let go, we go forward. This way, we remove the dam to our emotions and allow our emotions to flow through us, the way it was meant. Emotions are meant to move, the way the river moves. Life is not meant to be stuck, like a pool that becomes stagnant. When we let go, we remove the burdens that wear us down. We release the past. And, in doing so, we release the heavy, dead energies that keep us tied down and prevent us from feeling the pure joy that is our birthright. ~Lenore Wolfe

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Even death couldn’t keep them apart…


It was a chilly, rainy night. The rain pelted his windshield so he could hardly see two feet in front of his car—even with the wipers as high as they would go. Wolfram O’Connor was high up in the Smokey Mountains, and perhaps if this had not been his first time up here, and then to have done so in the dark, it wouldn't have felt so—well—paranormal.
That was putting it mildly.
It had started with the mist, which had settled into the crooks and crannies of the mountain. But that was the nature of these mountains. Then, the rain had come. But, again, sooner or later, it always rained. That was mother-nature.
No. It had been the shadows, which seemed to follow him as he drove along, that had finally done it for him.
Wolfram didn't spook easily—actually, it was pretty difficult to scare him at all, raised as he'd been on the streets of Chicago. But this place was giving him the creeps. He preferred the back alleys, on any dark night in the city—to this. Wolfram didn’t play around. He knew his sheer size and strength gave him his confidence—well, and his willingness to throw down when it was warranted. He easily admitted, though, that knowing how to fight dirty sometimes gave him a false sense of security. It really didn’t matter how big you were—with the right enemy. And he didn’t know the woods—he knew the streets.
On the street—he was equal to the task—no matter the enemy. He’d had to be from the time he’d been a kid when he’d had to protect his little sisters from the gangs.
Here—well—he didn’t know the woods. He’d rather face a gun any day—than a cougar.
He wouldn't have been here at all if it were not for the plea he had received in his email—from a very old friend. He had almost dismissed it—but he'd been curious. This was a girl he’d never been able to get past. And he couldn’t understand that when all they’d ever done—was fight. And not your run of the mill yelling, type fighting either—but more of the knock-down, drag-out type of fighting.
Even their fucking had sometimes been violent.
He wished he had left the whole damn business alone. If he were honest, he’d known as soon as he’d seen the email that he should have left it alone. The only thing that made him feel anything, at any given time, for as long as he could remember, was rage and sex. She had fueled both, like gasoline on brittle tinder. All he ever want to do fuck her—or hit her.
He winced, remembering a time when he'd come out of a white-hot rage, only to find himself holding a glass candle like he'd intended to cave in her head—she'd been looking him right in the eye, her light blue eyes staring hard into his dark ones like she was daring him to do just that.
He wanted to kiss her, to see her creamy white skin against the darkness of his own. He wanted to beat her beautiful ass, see his hands against her flesh. Even when he beat her, he wanted to take her with violent need. And he’d never understood it. Other women pissed him off—but none had created such violence within him.
When he finally reached her mile-marker, he could barely see through the rivulets of rain that streaked his windshield. The black, glassy sheen of the pavement, damp from the dark of the storm, and the dim shine of his headlights didn’t help. So he wasn’t that surprised when he ended up passing up her driveway. Scowling, he managed to turn the car around—in spite of not being able to see where the damned ditch was in the rain. He congratulated himself on doing so without some car coming around the bend and plowing into him.
The driveway was worse. Google hadn't told him that she was a half-mile off the road. The road was soft beneath his tires. If he got stuck up here—well—she just better damn well make it worth the effort it had cost him to get here. Not that he was trying to think of her in that way.
He was a scoundrel—but she was still his friend. And they had put each other through too much already. Who was he kidding? He’d never been able to keep his hands off of her.
They hadn't exactly become fast friends. Actually, they had, in a way. But it had taken years. At first, they had always been too busy loving and—hating one another. But all that had changed when he’d had tried to live without her.
He hated that—hated that he missed her—hated that he might have needed her in any way.
He had tried to hate her too—tried damn hard, in fact. He’d said a lot of mean things. Hell. He’d done a lot of mean things to her. But he hadn't truly been able to hate her at all—not from the first moment he'd laid eyes on her. Perhaps that was the thing that had driven him.
What was she doing up here anyway?
He squinted through the pelting rain. He thought he spotted a light way up ahead and didn’t try to hide his elation. He was just feeling relieved when something gray screamed and landed on the hood of his car.
He nearly drove the car into a tree. He sideswiped that tree and came to rest on a much smaller one. Adrenalin shot through his veins and fueled his fury.
He jumped out of his car—enraged—ready to beat whatever it had been that had scared him into oblivion—all of his senses telling him that he had not just seen what he thought he had. He’d nearly convinced himself—when that same something landed square in the middle of his chest, driving his large, muscular frame backward with a strength that amazed him, knocking him flat on his back and stealing the wind from him.
He froze at the sight of the face just inches above his own—eyes so pale, they nearly blended with the whites of her eyes, stared back. He didn’t move—didn’t breathe—didn’t blink. He knew it was female by her long, white hair—at least he hoped it was female. He had no idea what difference it made. But somewhere in his mind—it made a difference. Cold, gray skin hung from her bones. Her nose was more like two holes in her face. She poked at his face with fingers so long—they couldn't possibly be real.
But then—none of this was real. Was it? Nothing on the streets had prepared him for this. Did these things only live in the woods?
She leaned in. She was so close that her face was a mere two inches from his. She sniffed. His throat ached. His body screamed for air, but he had the sensation that if he moved even a hair—even flinched—she would tear his limbs from his body. Call it self-preservation, but he didn't move. She sniffed again—then opened her mouth to reveal razor-sharp teeth.
This time he did shiver.
She immediately leaned in closer. Then her pale eyes centered on his—and she stopped. She sat like that for a long moment—her gaze not wavering from his own. Then she put her head up, and she screamed. Wolfram had never heard anything like it before in his life. It sent shivers up the spine.
And suddenly he was free—
She moved away from him, towards the shadows of the trees—took one more look back at him—then melted into the shadows.
Wolfram had never in his life moved as fast as he did now, skidding in the mud as he ran for his car. He slid alongside the door, went down like a baseball player sliding into home, and banged his elbow on the car as his whole body went sideways. His right hip hit the ground hard.
He slipped, again, trying to get up. Taking a deep breath, keenly aware his terror was making him clumsy—he forced himself to slow down. He got up and fumbled for the door. Once inside, he quickly locked it—then checked the backseat for good measure.
“What the hell was that!?” he shouted at no one in particular. That no one was around to give him an answer—but it made him feel better. He cranked the engine—relieved when it started—but when he shoved it in reverse, the tires spun.
He slammed it in drive, then reverse, rocking it back and forth, slamming it into drive and reverse, alternatively. He had to do this several more times before the car got enough traction to move away from the tree and back up into the drive.
He stared in the direction of her house. Every sense in him told him that he should get the hell off of this mountain….
But he wasn't enough of a coward to leave anyone—especially not an old friend—and especially not her—at the mercy of whatever the hell that thing had been!
No—most especially not her!
He tore down the rest of the drive, spitting pebbles as he pulled up next to her house. It was dark. He was cold, wet and covered with mud. He looked at the house. He knew there was no one home.
He would know if she were there.
He hit the steering wheel. And then he hit it again. After a long moment, in which he fought his usual round of temper and cursing, he resigned himself to his fate.
Wolfram settled down to wait for her to return. At least there was a yard light in the front drive. He noticed that there was apparently another one in the back. If were not for the lights—he swore that he'd have left her to fend for herself. He turned up the heat on full bore—and then he turned on the radio. He started to feel a little better. Light, heat—sound.
But fear still tasted bitter on his tongue.

After a while he turned off the car, still peering beyond the edges of light for anything that moved. Finally—exhausted—he fell asleep.

-To be released January 31, 2018

Tuesday, December 27, 2016

Overcoming Crisis

Seven years ago, I was in crisis. I had just left my eleven-year relationship. I felt like my world had ended, and to make matters worse, I had allowed myself to be severely abused in the relationship in every way, physically, emotionally, mentally. I hadn't left myself any reserves to overcome such a crisis.

I slid downhill at a dangerous speed, going from panic attack to panic attack. I had always imagined that losing your mind would send you into oblivion. A few times, I had even welcomed that oblivion. But this wasn't oblivion. This was terror. This was the most horrible nightmare imaginable.

I didn't want to die, but I couldn't imagine living this way. In the middle of my horror, I would unravel, feel amazingly terrified of coming apart and reach like a drowning victim for anything that looked like a lifeline.

I had never liked drugs, and I'd made the mistake of self-medicating with alcohol once before in my life. I knew that it would only make matters worse. So, I reached for anything but drinking to help me feel better. The doctors gave me Xanex, but even a sliver of one made me feel strange. So I did the one thing I had learned in my Shamanic studies instead. I headed for the river, often several times a day.

I did so every single time it got too much to handle. I would sit on the rocks by the river and stare at the world around me. I couldn't imagine how grief could turn everything around me technicolored. It was like all the color had been sucked from my world. I would pick a rock, and I would let all the terror and horror that had happened flow from me into that stone. And when I didn't have a drop left inside me, I would let the river have my grief. Every day, I did that. Over and over again, I did that. Until, slowly, ever so slowly, the pain became just a little less. It would be a long, long time before I would begin to feel right--but it was a beginning.

Tuesday, December 20, 2016

Where do you go from here?

You might be asking, where do you go from here? How do you get better, when all you want to do is crash and burn.

When my world fell apart, I spent nearly every minute of every day keeping myself from driving my car off the cliff, into embankment that met the Mississippi river. When people asked me what it would take to make myself feel alive again, I contemplated trying to swim from one bank of the Mississippi to the other, to force myself to fight for my life. Taking my life was not the legacy I was about to leave my children, and it wasn’t that I truly wanted to die. I just wanted the pain to stop. So, I threw myself into writing to survive. I had already written a historical romance, and while I revealed a pale version of something inside me, buried within that fictional story, I wanted to write something paranormal so I could reveal even more.

Stephen King said that fiction is the truth within the lie, and I began to put those hidden kernels into stories that were otherwise completely fantasy, but I didn’t stop to do much in the way of marketing. Oh, I tried. I went on Facebook and Twitter. I went on Goodreads and other places like Goodreads.

Eventually, I burned out, disappearing from online, but kept writing. I would write, put them up, and write some more. It's how I survived. My health suffered severely from the state I was in, and I ended up in front of doctor after doctor. I was diagnosed with Ehlers Danlos and Barrters Syndrome, both things that are genetic, and I was born with, but now these things that had always given me symptoms went into full swing. I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia and suffered body aches that constantly made me feel like I'd been beaten, but also made me feel like I always had influenza. I was diagnosed with POTs where my blood pressure fell below 70 while my heart rate skyrocketed, which explained why I always felt lightheaded and wanted to pass out. My heart was always irritable and threw PVC's, but now often felt like it would completely stop and start again from the complete lack of electrolytes I was losing, and I landed in the ER with bigeminy heart rhythms. I had less that one mg of Magnesium in my blood, and the ER doctor told me I likely had less than that in my cells. I was put on potassium-sparing diuretics and potassium packets. I was put on high doses of magnesium, and while I improved, there was still something missing. Recently, I was put on a medication for the POTS and it was like the lights came back on. And while I still have constant flare-ups with the pain, and I still want to pass out when I stand up, my head actually feels normal.

I never thought I would feel this way again.

It’s been a long time, but slowly I've recovered myself, first mentally and emotionally, and now physically. I've healed the devastation that drove me over the edge in the first place, and I will share that story over time, and while I may not be healthy, I feel like I stand a decent chance, where I can now live with my physical symptoms, instead of just survive them. I’ve been doing more than writing to survive myself. I am marketing again. And while I have a lot to overcome with my books, with the mistakes I've made with them, I'm in a place where I can actually enjoy the journey, mistakes and all.

I will share my journey with you, and that’s what my first non-fiction book is about, Reclaiming Your Sacred Woman. I hope you will join me as I figure out how to share my story, and not just bury pieces of my thoughts and beliefs in my fictional stories. Don’t get me wrong, I love my stories, and feel this amazing elation when others share my joy, and I love them even when others don’t. I look forward to meeting any who would like to join me, and I can’t wait to find out what happens next, as I figure out where I’m going from here. I look forward to getting to know you all, and I hope those I built friendships with before I disappeared, will forgive me. I tried many times to come back on here and do the work I wanted to do, but I just couldn't at that time. Now, I can:)

Thank you, friends.

Monday, December 19, 2016

I release my books for only .99 cents the first two weeks. Subscribe to receive updates on these new releases and giveaways during each book launch. Also, do you love receiving Advanced Review Copies (ARC's)? I am looking for over 100 readers to receive ARC's for 2017 of Witch Fantasy and Witchy Cozy Mysteries. If this is you, please sign up on my website Author Lenore Wolfe and click CONTACT from the drop-down menu so that I can contact you. In your email, let me know which lists you would like to be added. Be sure to subscribe to my email list to the right to be kept up-to-date. I am also putting together a street team who will help me tweet and get the word out on launch days. I will be giving away lots of swag for your help:) Lastly, I am looking for good Beta Readers. These readers will receive rough drafts for your feedback and will receive free copies of my other books of your choice. So if you would enjoy being part of any of these, please let me know. Thank you so much! I look forward to hearing from you.


Tuesday, December 13, 2016

ARC's for 2017

Do you love receiving Advanced Review Copies (ARC's)? I am looking for over 100 readers to receive ARC's for 2017 of Witch Fantasy and Witchy Cozy Mysteries. If this is you, please sign up in the comments below, or better yet, email me at the contact above so you can give me an email address so I can contact you. In the contact, let me know which lists you would like to be added. Be sure to subscribe to my email list to the right to be kept up-to-date. I am also putting together a street team who will help me tweet and get the word out on launch days. I will be giving away lots of swag for your help:) Lastly, I am looking for good Beta Readers. These readers will receive rough drafts for your feedback and will receive free copies of my other books of your choice. So if you would enjoy being part of any of these, please let me know. Thank you so much! I look forward to hearing from you.

Faerie in Ravenwood Book Launch!

Thanks for being a loyal subscriber. I am launching Daughters of the Circle, Faerie in Ravenwood and appreciate all the sharing my subscribers have done for this launch. Please feel free to tweet or Facebook this book launch on your favorite social media and/or share this email with any of your friends you feel would enjoy this series. Plus,
send me a screenshot of your share and I will send you this book for free on release day!

Thank you so much! And happy reading!
Sincerely, Lenore Wolfe

To be released January 17th!

Wednesday, December 7, 2016

Snippet from Daughters of the Circle, book one, Shadows in Ravenwood

Clarie ran out onto the front lawnShe knew the Gargoyle statue wouldn’t be there—but still. She stared at the empty spot where it normally stood. It was still gone. She turned around, staring at the things around her like that would make a difference. But the gargoyle statue remained gone.
So, now, that made it official. Their grandmother had been right. The Gargoyle statue had shape-shifted.
She’d known her Grams was right, but it’s hard enough to imagine a real shape-shifter, she sniffed, more-or-less one who could shift back and forth from stone.
Even knowing magick, she still couldn’t get use the differences in what people considered to be real—and what she’d come to know as real.
How was all this possible? How could people live their lives oblivious to everything around them?
It’s true, Claire thought. All things were possible with magick. She’d always known that. She’d seen enough of the little things happening around her—to know. She’d seen, first hand, what her grandmother could do. She’d heard her say exactly that often enough. Hadn’t she learned what magick could do as a teen, when she’d studied with Grams?
Still, she could hardly believe magick could go this far—that magick could account for this. She believed in magick—she did—but this seemed beyond the realm of possibilities. She knew her Grams hadn’t lied—what her Grams said in the attic was real. She realized now, she got through to her. She just didn’t want to think about it, when her grandmother spoke of the Gargoyle, because it made her head hurt.
Like she’d deliberately not made the connection between the winged man—and that stone beast in the yard. Could he take that form too, in life? Like the one in the stone?
People often did that, didn’t they? When they saw something, they couldn’t explain away. They’d block it out, or make up an excuse for it, in their mind. Didn’t they do that, so they didn’t have to look too close? So, they didn’t have to acknowledge the world around them—often had more to it than met the eye.
Claire felt Morgan come up beside her. She eyed her sister, who stared at the empty place where the gargoyle statue once stood.
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me someone has stolen the statue….” Morgan said.
Claire shook her head, watching her sister’s face.
Morgan’s brows shot up, and her lips pressed together for a long breath of a moment. “Ummm. And I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me you had it moved,” she said.
Claire smiled and reached out to take her sister’s hands. “Nope.” She gazed up at her. “Besides, do you think I could have moved it, without a freaking crane…?” She grinned.
Morgan didn’t smile. In fact, she was quite serious. “So—now you want me to believe it moved on its own.”
It hadn’t been a question, and Claire couldn’t help but to chuckle at the teasing sarcasm in her sister’s voice, even if she hadn’t intended it.
Claire saw dawning realization come over her sister’s face.
“This is what Grams had meant by the Gargoyle shape-shifter,” Morgan said.
Claire nodded. What more could she say? She couldn’t add anything, other than what she’d witnessed thus-far. Morgan saw that too—and nothing prepared Morgan for such a thing.
Morgan shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “And this is who keeps coming to our rescue?” Morgan said.
Claire bit her lip. “Apparently,” Claire agreed.
Morgan released Claire’s hands, took a step towards the empty square spot, where no grass grew—hadn’t for more than a hundred year.
“On top of all the other stuff—we now have magickal creatures haunting us,” Morgan said.
Claire gave a laugh that sounded on the edge of nervous—even to her. “Well—if it makes you feel better—we know he’s not haunting us,” she said.
Morgan eyed her, a questioning glint shown in her dark green eyes.
“He’s what Grams said—is a guardian.” She glanced up at Morgan. “A Gargoyle, here, protecting us, chasing that shadow away from us.”
She watched Morgan. She knew that knowing that didn’t make them any less afraid of him.
Morgan sighed. “I guess I always kind of knew that. Like it explained why he never truly felt threatening—even when we were kids,” she said. “The shadow—the warlock—must have been the evil who scared us so bad. We just took it for granted it was the winged man.”
Alex came up beside Morgan. “Like I told Morgan before, he seemed upset that he’d frightened us the way he did that day.”
Claire’s gaze, which had been on her sister, now jerked over to him. “What do you mean?”
Alex put an arm around Morgan and pulled her close to him. “I mean I remember feeling his emotions—his sorrow at having frightened us he way he did.” He stood watching Claire for a long moment, but she could see his thoughts had turned inward—to that day long ago when they’d been children. “When I crawled into bed that night, I remember feeling awful—terrified for Morgan—and you. And bad for him.”
“Because of what you’d felt from him—that he hadn’t meant to alarm us?” Morgan said, leaning back so she could look up at him.
He nodded.
“And what do you feel from him now?” Claire asked.
“Sorrow,” Alex said. “I think he feels we’ve misunderstood who he is. I think he meant to show us something—but we only saw a beast.”
“Like Beauty and the Beast,” Claire teased.
Alex made a face at her. He clearly didn’t like being compared to that.
“I’m sorry,” Claire said laughing.
Alex scoffed at her apology, saying, “You sound sorry.”
Claire grinned at him, as Morgan smiled and spun around in his embrace to hug him, and soothe his ruffled feathers.
Still chuckling, Claire left them alone, so she could go head back to their guests to tell them goodnight—and so Morgan could work her own magick.

Thursday, November 17, 2016

  On Amazon for only .99 Cents right now!
Volume One out on Amazon now!
To be re-released in mid-December!

I will be launching this book for only .99 cents for the first two weeks!
At Amazon for only .99 cents!

PDF's I have coming out soon!

Coming out in January 2017

Sign up for updates, and I will keep you updated:)

Sunday, November 6, 2016

Shadows in Ravenwood is only .99 cents!

Daughters of the Circle, Shadows in Ravenwood is currently discounted at Amazon. Don't miss out! Grab your copy for less than a soda:)

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

It's the night before Thanksgiving and all is quiet. Things have been tough lately, but what can you do. I keep plugging onward. That's the best medicine anyway. Isn't it?

Monday, November 16, 2015

Days Of The Week Comments
Magickal Graphics
I woke this morning with that old saying in my mind--cry if you must but don't you quit. I've been working on better ways to structure my day since I have split my two loves, writing and sculpting, and I can't seem to give up either one of them. 

I'm working on finishing up Cat People and She Comes From Ashes. I have placed both of these under my fantasy work, Nora Wolfe, although She Comes From Ashes will only have paranormal overtones that some readers might see as a ghost, and others might see these same apparitions as a part of her revisiting her from her own past.

Which brings me to why I've split up my writing. Recently, I broke apart Lenore Wolfe, to include Nora Wolfe, so that those who love my Historical Western Romance can easily know that's exactly what they will find when they see Lenore Wolfe--and those who love my fantasy novels will easily know that's what they will find when they see the name Nora Wolfe. Since my own name is Lenora, these are both names I've known, growing up, so I've stayed close to them. So when I began writing in yet another genre, I went with an old family name,  my great-grandmothers, and wrote these under Nora Donnally. Writers often take a page from their experiences when writing almost anything, but the stories told under Nora Donnally have a fairly solid foothold in some truths in my life. But back to my great-grandmother. She was born in 1886 and she use to tell me old stories from her childhood when I was a young girl. I still miss hearing them. 

Also, I will be coming on here to give regular updates as to what I'm up to, what I'm writing--and what is happening in my life.

Speaking of which, I've struggled to keep exercise in my tight schedule--so wish me luck:)

This was a birthday present for my oldest son. He has a love for the jaguar. 

 I'm currently working on a Christmas line. I'll post pics of some of these soon. I won't get very many done this year, but I'll be doing a Winter line next, then Valentines and Easter, etc. I'll let you know how these go:) They're designs by Lenore, lol, Imagine that <g>

Monday, September 28, 2015

Deep in the woods, where the forest is our church and spirit is found in all living things, you will find four friends who begin to put together the pieces of their shattered lives to find out what this means for them. These novellas tap into this realm. A realm that brings to life the world of the Land of the Fae, where magickal beings really do exist, and you can come to visit for awhile....

In book One of this deeply mystical fantasy, ongoing novella, Morgan lost her memory, and her family, while playing with magick as a child when she called out the shadow. Now, disconnected from her future--and unable to resolve her past--she learns that she's inherited an Old Gray House. Yet the moment she spots Ravenwood manor--even though she doesn't remember how she came to leave there as a child--or that magick that took her away--some part of her knows the key can be found up in the attic--if she can only overcome her fear to search up there for her answers.

Her sister, Claire, remembers everything. Though she and her aunt were torn away from years, to look for her missing sister, they never found her. Now, when her grandmother passes away--just like that--Morgan reappears.

Claire knows she and her sister are born witches--and before her grandmother died, she taught Claire that she must gather the Daughters of the Circle--before it is too late....

Tara, Sophia and the boys also lost their friends that fateful day, when Morgan disappeared and Claire left home to search for her. Now, fate has stepped in to bring them all home and each of them battles their own hidden traumas in searching for the truth that once tore them all apart.

Friday, May 22, 2015

On the writing road....

Days Of The Week Comments
Magickal Graphics

Thank you so much for stopping by! If you sign up for my newsletters, I'll be starting to send them out in June:) 

I'm still writing and editing pretty hard, trying to keep up with deadlines. Today is a very hard writing day. As soon as I get past a couple of these, which will be next Thursday, I'll stop and let you know what I have in the works, and when they're due out:)