Lit Genius Extraordinaire! — With The Lovely Ms. P.


Hi there. Yeah, you! Like fantasy? You do? Well, check this out I have a new book. A timeless fantasy. Warriors, death, fear, and everyone seems to dig this blood-thirsty unicorn army. I’ve made a quick A-Z list of keywords that may just pull you in enough to make Livian your next read! Scroll all the way down for information on how to possibly win an ebook of Livian! Here we go…..

Alpha- Leaders of a tribe or race.

Brutes- Name for the strong magical beings known as Elf.

Crawlers- the vast array of spiders that spin mazes of webs in the woods.

Dreamers- The Gods. The Creators.

Elsa- The only female role model Livian has known. She is a tender hearted fairy, sweet on Inennious.

Fairy- Winged Beings known as warriors

Greenery- Nasty meals needed to keep the bowels from exploding, according to Inennious

Healers/Horned Ones- The Unicorns

Inennious, Keeper of the Dragons and caretaker of Livian…

Judgment, this book covers lots of political and social issues through fantasy eyes.

Kindle & Arson- two young rowdy fire-breathing Dragons

Livian- the half-breed fairy/elf that is wingless and powerless- The Main Character!

Moons- A world with the sky lit purple beneath the tri-moon orbit showing each night.

Nolo- The cavern home of the hidden Dragons.

Orphan- Livian struggles with the lack of knowing anything about her parents.

Periplus- a flying Dragon, the oldest known Dragon.

Questions- Something Livian has an endless amount of about her existence.

Revenge- A child years for revenge against the killers of her parents, and the cause of her secret existence.

Soil sifters- The Dwerger residing underground.

Tantrums- Livian has plenty.

Unicorns- Once the healers of the world, now possessed evil creatures hungry for blood.

Victory- there can only be one winner in the battle against the Horned Ones.

Wingless, Livian

Xylotomies. the preparation of transverse, tangential, or radial sections of wood for examination under a microscope. (This has nothing to do with Livian, but I struggled and figured I’d share a word instead.)

Yolk- a needed part of a Dragon egg

Zero reasons to not read this book now. So purchase LIVIAN now! Thank you!


FOR A CHANCE TO WIN an ebook edition of Livian, click and like my facebook page and post a comment saying you came from this blog. Even if you already like the page, comment saying you saw the contest on this blog and if you are a page liker, it will count!

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A very special thank you, Valarie for allowing my shenanigans on your blog today! You are one of my favorite authors. I feel like a fan girl as I type this! Ha!


Shadow Dancers


We are here, behind the curtain.


You see our shadows, dancing.

We’ve shown up, put on our costumes.

We look just like you. You, who get to dance on the other side of the curtain; the side with the bright lights.

But we aren’t just like you.

We are different: we dance with chronic pain. We dance with chronic illness.

We smile and arch our arms, though our insides ache in misery.

Twirl. Our muscles contract and shudder. We hide the limp; turn the stumble into a pliè.

Our breath comes in harsh, heavy gasps. The wheezing cannot be heard over the blaring of the music.

We drop. The hardwood is cool against our feverish skin.

From the audience, it appears a graceful movement, part of the dance.

Struggle to stand on pointe. Our lungs heave with effort.

But we balance.

Careful. Concentrate.

Exhaustion fights us, threatens to drag us down. Heavy eyelids, unfocused.

We argue: I can’t give up. I have to do this. I will succeed.

We are dancers.

We win the battle, but are left with dark bruises. Scratches.


Tears form a drowsy trail down our faces.

It’s okay though. Nobody can see our streaked makeup, back here behind the curtain.

The tempo has slowed.

Our bodies are battered, worn, and aching to rest.

Drenched in sweat.

I can’t do this. It’s too hard. It hurts.

Ah, but we must.

And then…then they come.

Pirouetting .

Closer and closer.

We link together. Arms crooked, elbow in elbow.

Together, we stand.

Together, we bow.

And we continue to dance, here in the shadows.

It is beautiful here, on this side of the curtain.

Never Forgotten.


Yesterday, so much of social media was filled with various pictures and posts asking for us to “Never forget,” or if we remembered what we were doing that day, the day the world stopped.

I will never forget.

Of course I remember that day. The day before had been my husband’s birthday. We hadn’t been able to celebrate it, because I’d been at the hospital. I was pregnant and overcome with hyperemesis gravidarum, and had spent the day before getting fluids through an IV. We’d gotten our 6-year-old daughter off to morning kindergarten, and I was taking a shower when my 4-year-old daughter ran into the bathroom screaming. I grabbed a towel and followed her out.

“Daddy says come! Daddy says come out!”

My husband was pointing at the television. The notice had come across while the children were watching “Franklin”, he told me. So he’d switched it to the news channel, and footage of the first plane smashing into the World Trade Center held us mesmerized. My stomach heaved. My husband handed me a bucket.

I vomited. Again.

Then, the second plane.

Quickly following was the news about the Pentagon.

Over and over and over, the photos flashed.

We curled up on the couch, my little girl and my one-and-a-half year old little boy. I held a hand protectively over the growing life in my belly.

We cried.

We wondered if we should get our daughter from class early. The sky, the roads, even her school…everywhere felt so unsafe.

Every backfire of a vehicle seemed a gunshot.

My parents stopped by to give my husband a birthday gift. He opened it and thanked them, but there weren’t many smiles. It seemed strange to wish him a happy birthday.

We tried to talk, but there was an odd buzzing static in our guts and voices.

After several hours, I changed the channel to old “Golden Girls” reruns. I just couldn’t take it anymore.

I wanted to make it a dream.

My daughter came home from kindergarten, and the shake in her voice reminded me of the day I was in first grade, watching on our grainy little class television set as the space shuttle took off.

And exploded.

No. I will never forget September 11, 2001. I still get violent chills and a sickening feeling fills me whenever I think of that day.

And I will never forget the violent chills and the taste of vomit in my mouth that shook me on April 1, 2009.

My father’s open eyes, staring. My mother, frantic and screaming. Me, lying on the floor of their garage, crying for my Daddy.

Sitting in my SUV with my little boy, watching as the ambulance bounced up and down, up and down.

One, two, three, four, five, pause, one, two, three, four, five, pause…

Paramedics doing their best at what we all knew was a lost cause.

And I’ll never forget July 27, 2013.

My beautiful sister was so thin. Eighty pounds, maybe. Even on morphine, the obvious struggle to inhale even the tiniest breath of air was a horrible amount of work. Her beautiful long hair was gone, replaced by the bright chemo scarves I’d sewn to cover her bald head.

Sometimes, she woke up and knew us. Sometimes, she woke up and didn’t.

Sometimes, she woke up and cried.

And then she was gone.

My heart, my soul was shaken again; broken into so many pieces, I never thought I could find them again, let alone put them back together.

I will never forget.

September 11, 2014.

I didn’t attend the local remembrance ceremony, but I know the lives that were lost will never be forgotten, and will serve as a reminder for generations to come as absolute heroism.

Instead, I dug around in my yarn stash and came up with some white, and a little blue-green baby yarn.
And I made a hat.

It wasn’t a fancy hat by any means. Just a regular little baby hat, with a teensy bill and a fluffy pom-pom on top.

I finished it just in time to make me late to the restaurant where I met with my sister-in-law, my mother, and my nephew’s girlfriend.

I shook a bit inside as I hugged her, and felt the roundness of her belly.

I swiped a tear as I handed her the baby hat.

It won’t be much longer before my great-nephew makes an appearance, and I love him like my own, already.

His name will be Emmett.

Had my sister lived, he would be her first living grandson. (Her first passed away last year, before we ever got to meet him.)

His middle name will be after my father.

When I hold him in my arms, I will look at him and see hope for tomorrow.

For my future. For his future.

Grief doesn’t go away, really. We are shaken by it, and think we cannot possibly go on. We wear it as an extra layer of skin, a reminder of what we have survived. It changes us, certainly.

But we cannot remain stuck in it. We cannot let it hold us still.

For the ones who were lost, wanted to live.

And for them, we should.

For them, we must.

We have to keep going.

For the Girls.


On the first day of kindergarten, my daughter was given a poem.

The poem’s rhyming ability rivaled Geisel, and it was filled with promises for the future, and how she would hold the world in her hands once she could count to 100 and learned to read.

I was given a poem as well, about her tiny fingerprints leaving smudges on clean windows, and how quickly time would fly and I’d be missing them when she was gone.

Thirteen years later, I still remember what she wore that day: a white, button-down shirt with red roses embroidered on it. Red buttons. Denim capris with matching red roses embroidered at the hem. Ruffly white socks. Navy blue Mary Janes.

I’d wanted to arrive at the school early on her first day, but was running behind because I’d been awake all night, worrying and vomiting. Vomiting and worrying. I was pale and sick and thin, and a few months along in my fourth pregnancy in five years. There was a PICC line in my arm and liquid nutrition in a backpack I carried continuously, my unwanted extra appendage.

Between the worrying and vomiting and little ones crying and making sure my daughter’s pink Barbie backpack contained every item she needed for lifelong success, I brushed her hip-length blonde hair and styled it into a ballerina bun atop her head.

It was a late August morning filled with sunshine. A bright promise. All the hope in the world for every great thing that ever could be, wrapped in a tiny pink pack on the back of my fifty pound little girl.

She was excited and happy and worried, because going to school meant she was big and she loved words and wanted to learn more of them, especially the kind with more than three letters.

She was worried because she was always worried. She worried about sickness and bad things and bad people and sad things and sad people. The sky falling and the earth opening and tornadoes and fluke blizzards and the gas tank running empty.

She held my hand as we walked to her classroom. The room was cheerful and filled with vibrant colors and letters on the walls and the incredibly loud echo of laughter and sobbing of both children and parents. We looked for the space at one of the tables with her name on it. Olivia. We found it. She sat in the tiny seat and stood back up again, quickly. She walked around the room, running her still-babyish hands along different objects. She paused at the elderly black piano and considered it, soberly.

Over and again we heard the shutter of cameras. Smile for Mommy! Isn’t this exciting?

I slipped out through the sea of people and waited in the hall, peeking in at my daughter through the door window every few minutes. She sat so still in her seat, hands folded on the table in front of her; white, ruffly-socked ankles crossed politely. Back impossibly straight. Eyes trained on the teacher.

I sat in the parking lot for several minutes, crying and worrying. What if she didn’t make any friends? What if I’d done the wrong thing by not sending her to preschool? What if she was behind and it was my fault? What if there was a bully in her class who made her cry? What if she forgot where the bathroom was and wet her pants?

My hands shook as I drove home. She seemed so small and fragile to leave on her own with a teacher we didn’t know and a classroom full of kids twice her size.

She’s like a little mother.

That’s what the kindergarten teacher said of my daughter that first week of school. She’d been tying shoes for kids who didn’t yet know how, opening tricky bags of animal crackers for friends, patting heads and whispering encouraging words to children who sat on the floor crying, missing their mamas.

~ *** ~

It was an early September morning filled with sunshine. A bright promise.

Her tanned legs appeared especially brown against her white denim shorts. She wore a navy blue tank sporting the familiar University of Michigan logo.

She’d just dyed her blonde hair to a dark auburn color, and wore it in a long braid that hung over her shoulder and down the left side of her chest.

Anxiously, she jangled her key ring. This was it then, her dream. Studying psychology at her top choice

One more time, we went over the rules:

Park near the doors in the parking ramp.

Stay with a buddy while walking on campus.

Remember where the blue emergency phones are, if you need to call security?

Request an escort to your car if you’re leaving at night.

She nods. She remembers the rules. We’ve discussed them several times over this summer.

I check her pink backpack to make sure she has sharpened pencils and a bottle of Ativan, just in case she needs it.

On the first day of college, my daughter was given a rape whistle.

Author Guest Post With Frantiska “The Texan” Oliver.

This novel blew me away. It’s unique and exciting: shape shifting and revenge combine to draw the reader into a story that immediately puts you on the side of right, hungry and drooling for justice until the very last page. I’d be happy to read more from this author!

Meet Haven, the Shifter prowling for revenge against child predators.
I See You
By Frantiska Oliver


With shape-shifting abilities, Haven sets out on a path of revenge against child predators, while she searches for the monster who ripped away her innocence, murdered her trust and abused her body. Hoping one day she will come eye to eye with the man who stole from her the only thing that cannot be given back or replaced. But, when she discovers Cassidy and her mysterious Uncle Bryce, Haven’s world of secrecy is exposed. Her solitude life is challenged and the protective walls she built around her scarred heart begin to crumble. Tossing her into uncharted territory and reminding her of forgotten dreams. Struggling with the haunting memories of her past, the inability to trust and the hideous reality of abuse, Haven is thrown into a battle she never expected to fight and feelings she didn’t want to face. But, one question remains. Can a damaged shifter learn to trust and love again? Or, will it destroy what little is left of her shattered heart and allow the shadows of her past the control they relentlessly seek?

Title: I See You
Author: Frantiska Oliver
Genre: Young Adult Paranormal
Paperback: 216 pages
E-Books: 568 KB
 Publisher: Twisted Core Press (July 31, 2014)
 Language: English
 ISBN-10: 069222324X
 ISBN-13: 978-0692223246

Prologue (Haven’s introduction):
Wounds that cut so deep they leave a scar, those are the hardest ones to overcome. I’m not talking about the cuts and scrapes that mar your skin. I’m talking about the ones that embed into your heart and haunt your every dream—the kind that cause you to snap awake from a deep sleep with tears. They leave you gasping in fear, constantly dredging up the horrible events from your past. Persistently reminding you that they follow your every step and no matter how fast you run, or how far you travel, you can never leave them behind. Ones that sneak into your daily life and attempt to rob you of your happiness and peace, dreadful memories that, if given the chance, you would erase and never think of again. You know the ones I’m talking about. The aching pain that resides inside your heart, the way a simple word or phrase can stir it awake. How it eats away at your mind and tries to destroy your world with every bite. Memories so strong, you can close your eyes and relive every agonizing second as though it was happening again. The stalkers of your mind, thieves of your heart, and destroyers of your happiness… sometimes even your life. Those are the wounds I’m speaking of. We all have them, in one way or another. Nightmares from our past, heartaches from love, regrets for one reason or another, and then there’s mine.
Thieves steal for profit or greed, but what do they gain when they rob a child of their innocence? Murderers kill for money, jealousy, power or religion, but what can the slaughter of a child’s trust offer them? Abusers mistreat for dominance, possession, or pleasure, but how can they be satisfied by beating away the child’s self-worth? All these questions, and then some, cross my mind as I stare into the eyes of the guilty and seek revenge against the monsters who created the deepest of wounds in an innocent child. I’m hoping one day I will come eye to eye with the one man who stole from me the only thing that cannot be given back or replaced. The monster who ripped away my innocence, murdered my trust, and abused my body.
I have been called by many names over the years but, my birth-given one is Haven. One I choose not to use, at least not until I fulfill the revenge I originally set out to seek.

I See You… is more than a damaged shifter seeking revenge, it is also about Haven’s battle within herself to love and trust again.

I nodded my head and closed my eyes, hoping tears wouldn’t spill down my cheeks. “You know, there was a point in my life where I wondered what it would be like to kiss a guy willingly. To actually want to taste his breath and feel his lips against mine instead of being forced into it by someone I hated. To welcome him into my arms instead of cringing with disgust, to savor his touch and not have bile burn my throat. I wondered what it would be like to smile every time I caught him looking at me. For my heart to beat with excitement instead of fear every time he was near.
“There was a time when I wanted to feel the spark that I saw twinkle in my dad’s eyes as he hugged my mom. Experience the quirky, silly smiles they shared with each other from across the room. To hear the whispered words only lovers share. To know what it was like to actually trust someone with all my heart and soul. But, things happened and over time, those thoughts and dreams… they vanished.” I opened my eyes and looked at Bryce. “Then, I met you and they all came flooding back.”
“Well, I’m not going to lie to you, Haven,” Bryce said, softly cupping my face in his hands before I could look away. “I’m glad meeting me brought those thoughts and dreams back.”
“I’m willing to bet you know the answer,” Bryce smiled, slowly leaning into me. Stopping when his forehead touched mine, he whispered, “Do you want me to stop?”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, “Yes.”
When Bryce’s hands slid away and his breath no longer caressed my face, it felt like they took my heart with them—leaving behind a blazing trail of tears spilling down my face. He really did stop. I thought, covering my face with my hands and allowing my sobs to break loose.
“Please don’t cry,” Bryce whispered, wrapping his arms around me and holding me close.
I felt weak and fragile. Like a love sick fool, sobbing over a broken heart. But, the harder I tried to stop, the faster my tears flowed. Digging my fingers into Bryce’s back, I buried my face into his neck and I clung to him with all my strength while my tears soaked the collar of his shirt.

It took several minutes for my tears to dry and when they did, I pulled away from Bryce and mumbled, “I’m sorry.”
“For what,” Bryce asked, tucking a tear-soaked strand of hair behind my ear.
“For…” I looked up and when my eyes met his, I could not remember what I was going to say. My entire mind just shut down. The words kept ducking and dodging my grasp as I sank into the warmth of his eyes. With an urge so powerful and strong sweeping over me, I began leaning towards Bryce. “Please don’t close your eyes,” I whispered. My heart pounding and body trembling as I pressed my lips against his.


Frantiska Oliver currently resides in Texas with her husband, Billy, and their two children. Along with being a wife and mom, she is a full time author and part-time veterinary technician. Her love for fantasy and science fiction books inspired her to write her first debut novel, Never Forget the Past. She has written I See You and two short stories for 7DS anthologies; Ashton’s Promise in A Man’s Promise and Rashmi in the soon to be released Dragon Scales and is currently working on the sequel to I See You.
To learn more about Frantiska, please visit

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