A seance with cocktail weenies? Why not?

My new short story "Dance With the Devil" has been unleashed in the Haunted Mansion Project: Year Two anthology! An excellent collection of stories from horror writers inspired by the Haunted Mansion Project, purchase your copies today! Paperback | Ebook | Kindle
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Excerpt:

“Get the lights, Betsy.” Marge needed her ambiance, she also needed a vodka martini but the chance of getting that with these gals dwindled with each serious look and dewy bosom attributed to the excitement of raising the dead. Marge suspected it was due more to the heat and lack of oxygen in the room than nervousness since Bernice hadn’t stopped smoking her Lucky Strikes after seeing that ad with Sophia Loren. Now the woman tramped around the room in low-cut gowns pretending to have an Italian accent. 

The Girls' Ghost Hunting Guide Summer Spooktacular book giveaway

Shew. You try writing that title over and over again, I'm ready to call it GGHGSS and be done with it.

Summer is an excellent time to try your (and your kids') hand at a little investigative handiwork and fire up the deductive reasoning skills over lemonade. To spur on the sleepovers, I'm giving away one signed copy of The Girls' Ghost Hunting Guide! To enter, please visit its webpage and let's get crackin' on what's raiding the fridge at night. The deadline is June 5th so shake what your mama gave you and enter!

It's getting all renegade-y up in here.

Dear "Sculpt Sexy Arms" article that half-promised me Michelle Obama arms by July: I'll have you know

that the "Renegade Row" push-up/arm torture has left me with a sore core, aching wrists, and frightened 7-year-old when she saw how renegade-y I was by the end of the reps. I think the swearing may have something to do with it. My dogs, however, would like to thank you for the chance to nip at my posterior while in the aforementioned "Renegade" position. They're lucky I was too busy trying to ignore the hand cramps as I clutched the dumbbells and tried to remain in the push-up position and not collapse on the floor. What sweet hell have you wrought, Women's Health?