MY IMAGINARY SANDBOX

COME WITH ME AND LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT MY SANDBOX.

                                                                          

 I remember, as a child, playing in a sandbox with toy cars and trucks. Building ramps of piled sand for car crashes. I remember dressing my dolls in the utmost fashion and having long conversations with my other dolls about shopping, and having parties to invite noted celebrities. And, most of all, I remember my uncle Tommy who would sit with all the neighborhood children on our porch at night and tell us spooky stories that sent chills up our spines.

I guess I never really grew up. I’m still playing in an imaginary sandbox causing car crashes and with dolls mixing it up with handsome celebrities. I still love spooky stories. But, now I write all of them from my mental sandbox.

Speaking for myself, as an author, I love to create worlds where spine-chilling creatures roam in the present or far future. I love to create characters in everyday life that have thrilling adventures, ordinary people facing extraordinary events. They then become heroes, lovers, or villains. What a fun playground to write in.

And, I must admit, as most readers, I love escapism. I love walking in my character’s shoes as he/she struggles with life threatening moments, a good old fashioned brawl, or a lover’s spat.

Paranormal is a big trend in novels, TV and movies. Imagine meeting a vampire on a dark street. Is he a good vampire or bad? Imagine having a conversation with a newly deceased’s spirit to grant their last request. Would you like to have a dashing, new-age Indian Shaman channel your uncle’s spirit?

Yes, my imaginary sandbox has no bounds. I am not tied to the ordinary laws of our world. I can make my own world.

In “Gypsy Blood,” I have done just that. I took some gypsy mysticism and lore, stirred in a full cup of paranormal and added a dash of sexy romance.

I guarantee you thrills, chills, and a fast moving adventure. Come and meet Rita, my homicide detective who uses her mystical amulet from her Roma heritage to aid her career. Meet Matt who has followed a serial killer from New Orleans to Rita’s city. Read and let the chills begin.

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(Blurb)

Rita Moldova’s best-kept secret, a crystal amulet that shows her the last image a victim had seen when they died and has helped propel her career as a homicide detective – until prostitutes start dropping.

A ritual killer dubbed the Ripper by the media is terrorizing her town and it’s Rita’s job to help end his killing spree. The problem – Rita’s mystical amulet, passed down through her Roma bloodline, has failed for the first time in memory to do its job – and it’s making it a real bitch for Rita to do hers.

To make matters worse, the FBI has sent in hunky agent, Matt Boulet, to lead the case – and Rita finds herself attracted to him.

When Rita visits her mother – a gifted seer in her own right – and her uncle to glean what she can about the history of the amulet and the lore of their clan, she learns much more than she bargained for, and the truth is too much for her to swallow.

As the investigation continues, Rita learns she can’t deny the lore of the ancients, or her growing feelings for Matt Boulet.

 Excerpt

Detective Rita Moldova peeked around the corner to make sure the hallway was empty. Making a quick right turn, she slipped into the autopsy lab to have a few minutes alone with the body. She tucked her white shirt tighter into her jeans and zipped her windbreaker to stay warm in the chilly room. The harsh odor of formaldehyde hit her nostrils and stung her throat.

Her heart twisted at the sight of the young, auburn-haired woman lying on the stainless steel table. A white sheet covered her to the navel; bruises blemished the once pretty face. Contusions marred the pallid skin from elbow to shoulder. The gash on the front of her neck gaped, exposing open veins and torn tissue.

Rita flipped her thick, dark braid back over her shoulder, snapped on one latex glove, leaned over the corpse, and peeled back an eyelid. In her bare hand, she clasped a star-shaped crystal hanging from the gold chain around her neck, an endowment from her maternal Roma bloodline. The crystal heated in her palm, warm energy pulsing up her arm to her shoulder. The face captured in the victim’s eye coalesced and stared back. Rita drew in a sharp breath. Bobby Driscoll! She had known him since high school, and now he worked as a uniform in her precinct. What the hell was going on?

Buy site, Available  on Amazon.  http://www.amazon.com/Gypsy-Blood-Born-Romany-ebook/dp/B008190LLK/ref=sr_1_12?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1336600438&sr=1-12

Visit my website for more info and read my published works page for more of my stories. http://lorriejuly.blogspot.com/

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Bio

Lorrie Unites-Struiff is a native of West Mifflin, twenty minutes from downtown, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She writes short stories and novellas in different genres that have appeared in various publications, anthologies and E-readers. When she is not sitting in front of her computer, she’s often found checking out bookstores, leading her writing workshops, or having lunch with local authors.

 

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