Write to Rescue Anthology
Published By- SideStreet Cookie Publishing
Publication Date- November 1st, 2014
Rescue animals need love too. That’s why these nine authors got together to write stories that will warm your heart and entertain. All proceeds will go to animal shelters to help take care of and save the lives of the animals that may become your next family member. There’s a little something for everyone.
Taisheena Rayne - Win, Place, or Show
Shauna Wilhelm - Fostering Hope
Allana Kephart and Melissa Simmons - The Disturbance
Karli Rush - Nine Lives
Carolyn Wolfe - Miracle Paws
Emily Walker - Cats
Miranda Stork and Trish Marie Dawson - A Tale of Two Kitties
Laura DeLuca - Nine Lives
Michael Williams - The Pride
About the Authors-
Michael G. Williams is the author of numerous novels (Perishables, Tooth & Nail, Deal with the Devil) and such short stories as "The Several Monsters of Saint Sara-La-Noire" (ThemeThology: Invasion) and "Daddy Used to Drink Too Much" (Wrapped in Red), "His Shrine to Santa Muerte" (Wrapped in White), and "Stories I Tell to Girls" (Wrapped in Black), a trilogy published across three Sekhmet Press anthologies. Michael lives in Durham, North Carolina, with his partner and two ridiculously spoiled rescue cats.
Laura “Luna” DeLuca lives at the beautiful Jersey shore with her husband and four children. In addition to writing fiction, Laura is also the editor of a popular review blog called New Age Mama. Her works include romantic thrillers, paranormal fiction, contemporary romance, and young adult.
Let me know if this is okay. Should have the edits back to you by tomorrow.I did go through and accepted all your changes but I want to read it through one more time for type-os and I have to wait until the kids are in bed :)
Karli Rush was born in the heart of Cherokee Nation and lives in its capital. Her Native American heritage holds sway over her writing in many ways. She has the patience of a brain surgeon operating under fire in a war zone. You can chalk that up to her being the mother of an autistic kiddo. With the passion of a starving artist, she writes. The obsession to tell her tales have led her to write novels in the worlds of Dark Paranormal, Romance, Dystopian, and Vampires. She walks in two worlds, one grounds her and the other frees her imagination.
Allana Kephart and Melissa Simmons
Allana Kephart has been making things up and bending people to her will from a very
young age. She loves animals and reading and spends a large amount of time thinking
up ways to torment her characters. Melissa Simmons is an avid reader who married her
soul mate and is the proud mother of a spoiled cat. She spends her days helping promote
independent authors and doing what the voices in her head tell her to. They share a brain, a
love of coffee and the color purple.
Emily Walker loves creating worlds and stumbling around in them. She is constantly losing her chap-stick, and has an obsession with the color pink. Currently a resident of the mountains and loving the view she writes mostly paranormal fiction, and horror. Her small family consists of her red bearded other half, a rat terrier named Rebel, and a cat called Mr. Creepy.
Miranda Stork and Trish Marie Dawson
(A Tale of Two Kitties)
I live in the middle of a forest in North Yorkshire, spending my spare time as the wild woman of the woods, scaring small children and upsetting the sheep. On the days that I feel like being civilized, or I haven't got any unicorns to ride, I sit down and pour the tumbling thoughts in my head out onto digital paper and turn them into paranormal/gothic books. I like taking the classical myths and monsters and giving them a new, contemporary twist, then make them into something that readers can lose themselves in.
Trish was born and mostly raised in San Diego, California USA. She lives there now with her family and furbabies. When she's not homeschooling or pretending to do chores, she's reading and writing.
Writer of Fantasy Fiction, Paranormal, YA/NA, Mystery, Horror...
The Find Me Series and the Station Series are available online at Amazon, B&N, Kobo and iTunes, as well as The Well Collector and the collaborative anthology, Once Upon A Twisted Time.
Carolyn Wolfe is a free-lance writer, published poet, and author of eight books, which range from poetry to fantasy and includes children's literature. Her body of work includes writing articles for newspapers and newsletters, and hosting poetry events in the Winchester,VA area where she lives with her photographer husband, Scott and her house full of animal companions.
(Win, Place or Show)
I am a koala bear sleeping between 18 to 22 hours per day, just ask my (grown) kids.
I have always loved to read. I love how you can be in another world, where heroes always succeed and romance blooms.
Now I create my own worlds where heroines can save the day, love survives and maybe just maybe, dragons are the good guys.
Shauna grew up always liking to write, even doing a program in high school called power of the pen called power of the pen which was a competitive creating writing group. After that she mainly just wrote poems, which was an outlet to express her emotions to everyday situations rather than keeping them bottled up inside. This is the first time she has branched out into writing more than a poem and it is also the first time she is sharing her work for someone to read.
Allana Kephart and Melissa Simmons
“Okay, now, listen you," I say to my new friend. I have taken it upon myself to mercifully rename him. After a thorough search of the victim’s home, it was discovered the dog’s owner, Mr. Terrance Hendrick, had cruelly named the magnificent beast now sitting in the backseat of my granddad’s ancient Chevy Fluffy…Fluffy! Who would do that to any animal—especially a male one—that weighed over twenty-five pounds? So, I dug through my memory bank and remembered my mother teasing my father and younger brother at one point about getting a dog, a giant police dog, and naming him Angus. I’m not sure it will help me convince Dad to let him crash on the sofa or not, but I figured tugging on Mom’s nostalgic heartstrings couldn’t do any harm. “My dad is under the impression that I signed you off to those oafish animal control ghouls. We’re already skating on thin ice, alright? So here’s the house rules—no barking, no rubbing your fur all over the furniture, and absolutely no peeing. Understand?”
Angus blinks at me silently, like I’m speaking Klingon. His tail is thumping loudly against the leather seats, so I have to believe he understands something I’ve told him. I can’t imagine my dad will be thrilled about this… He’s a big bad police officer, yes, but the man will crawl up on a table and scream bloody murder at the sight of a teacup Chihuahua.
Well… Maybe he’ll take kinder to larger dogs, I tell myself. I let out a sigh and open the door, stepping out of the car. Angus leaps in the front and follows out after me, rushing around and between my legs excitedly. I pull in a deep breath and lead him to the front door, hissing, “Heel. ’Kay?”
He makes what I’m going to call a sound of agreement. I nod and push the front door open, feeling the bottom drop out of my stomach when I see my dad leaning back in his favorite recliner, watching the news on the television. I knew I had to face him, but I thought I’d have the chance to steel myself first! “Hey, Dad,” I say carefully.
“Adam,” he says in greeting, not looking up from the TV. “Can you believe this? It’s been a couple hours and that murder vic you found is all over the news! Surefire way to chase the suspect out of—Why is that thing in my house?”
Completely ignoring the fit he was about to throw about Mr. Hendrick’s murder on every Illinois news feed, I plaster on the biggest smile I can and say, “Dad, meet Angus. Angus, meet my dad, JJ Emerson,” in lieu of explanation.
My dad is not a small man. He’s almost six-four and looks like all he does is pull-ups and jumping jacks. Sure, he has a bit of a potbelly coming in from age, but he is truly the most frightening man this side of Chicago. So seeing him pull his feet up on his recliner like a little kid is nothing short of hysterical. “Adam James Emerson,” my dad says. "Why is that dog in my house?”
“There’s a perfectly logical explanation for this,” I tell him.
“Is that so?” he grunts. “I’m listening.”
I scratch my head, stalling for time. Angus plants his fluffy bum on my foot and tilts his head back to look at me. Then an idea strikes. “He’s a witness!” I cry.
“A witness?” my dad repeats, sounding exhausted already.
“Of course!” I continue. “And he might be in danger.”
“I’m serious! I mean, think about it, Dad, this poor creature witnessed his owner being brutally murdered, his own father. I cannot even imagine the emotional trauma he must be in,” I say seriously. “Our murderer was clean, didn’t leave a single print, but he also didn’t think about eliminating a key witness—but I promise you, if I had let those terrible people from animal control take Angus here, our killer would have struck again.”
“You named it…” my dad sighs. He puts his feet back on the floor and drops his head in his hands, groaning in frustration. “Adam, the dog cannot stay here.”
“Aww, come on, Dad,” I plead. “Look at this face. Look at these big, sad eyes—how can you throw this poor baby out on the street?”
Angus whines and drops his ears, lying down on his stomach and pulling himself toward my father with his front paws. I see every muscle in my father’s body tense, but he retains his girlish screams of panic. “Very easily.”
“What’s going on in here?” my mom asks, sneaking in from the kitchen. My dad opens his mouth to explain, but before he can my mom squeals. “Oh my goodness! Who is this?”
“Mom, this is Angus,” I say with a barely contained smirk.
“Angus!” she cries, her eyes widening in thrill. She drops down on her knees and Angus throws himself into her waiting arms, rubbing all over her as she coos and pets him.
“Faye,” my dad begs, a blush creeping up his neck over his wife’s automatic acceptance of a giant creature in the living room.
“Whose is he?” my mom asks me.
“His owner was killed.” My dad’s eyes grow comically wide and he promptly makes a slicing motion across his neck, knowing where I’m going with this. He puffs out his cheeks and mimes punching himself in the face, shooting himself in the mouth, stabbing himself in the gut and even hanging himself, each action followed by a subtle point in my direction. I blink at him innocently and shrug one shoulder, pretending I don’t know what he’s trying to tell me, and say, “He’s homeless, Ma.”
“Oh, that just won’t do!” my mom says, shaking her head. “Not when we have this big pet-free house. Right, John?”
“Faye, I don’t know…”
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of this dog,” she says. Angus rolls off of her and barks at my dad. Mom and I pretend not to see him flinch, and Mom scoots closer to him and puts both her hands on his knee. “Please? What harm could it do?”
My dad’s resolve visibly cracks under Mom’s doe-eyed stare and he bites down on his lower lip, shaking his head as he tries to come up with a way to deny her this wish. My mom is a petite little thing, with a head of auburn hair and giant brown eyes that have always been able to crack through my dad’s spiky exterior. I am pretty sure he’s never been able to say no to her.
“Fine,” my dad groans out like the word physically hurts him. “Fine, fine, we can keep him…for now…”