ŷ������

TWISTED WEBB RADIO��is up and running!
Anyone interested in booking an interview and book reading, please Email me [email protected] can also be messaged via social media sites.Twitter, Facebook, ŷ������, SheWrites
Shows are being lined up now for the next six months, so��Book Yours NOW!
If Email is unavailable for you, feel free to leave me a message at662-574-8502and I will do my very best to get you scheduled
Looking forward to getting back to the business of Books!CK WebbHost Twisted Webb Radio

Heroines With Heart is a massive blog tour that runs throughout 2013, that features books with strong female protagonists. We have authors from several different genres, including young adult, mystery/thriller/suspense, romance, sci-fi/fantasy, and Christian fiction. We are also giving away fun digital prizes and sharing new and noteworthy books throughout the year. Want updates?For readers: ����For bloggers: For authors: ��This week's selected feature is:
��Payne & Misery��All that glitters is not gold for Christine Sterling.The luster of her shiny Golden Years dream fades when Christine’s newly retired husband, Jesse, becomes obsessed with a hobby requiring extra time away from her.Christine develops a bad reputation for conjuring wild tales and being chief complainer. Then she meets someone who has true reason to complain, if anyone does.Lila Payne’s life is the mirror opposite of ideal. The plight of this seemingly abused woman gnaws at Christine, but the authorities turn a deaf ear to Christine’s pleas for help on Lila’s behalf. Spurred into action when her beloved dog Molly and Lila both disappear on the same night, Christine dives into a scary pool swirling with muddy secrets and misery. Sensing God at work in the situation Christine continues to search and pray, but even with God’s help, can they save Lila and Molly before it’s too late?Excerpt #1: Chapter 1Dark—the word fit him like a bad guy’s black hat—complexion, glasses, expression, knit cap pulled low over his ears, tufts of curls poking out underneath. I concentrated on memorizing his suspicious features as I observed him through the plate glass window of the Humpty-Dumpty Restaurant where my husband Jesse and I often ate brunch after Sunday morning church. The man’s lurking worried me.“Maybe he’s an Arab.�� Not that I’d know an Arab if I bumped into one on the streets. Except for Hispanics, Grass Valley, California, maintained a mostly snow-white population, much like most small towns in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.Around us, flatware scraped stoneware, glasses clinked, voices swelled and ebbed interspersed with occasional laughter swirling through the appetizing breakfast smells, but I couldn’t pry my eyes oð the shady man in the parking lot. Nevertheless, I would guess Jesse didn’t so much as look up from his breakfast when he answered. “Who?”“Out there.�� I jabbed a finger toward the culprit. “Where?�� I let out the anxious breath I’d been holding in and pointed again. “See the man hiding behind that forest green car?”Jesse frowned as he chewed a few more bites of chili bean omelet. “Honestly, Christine. If he’s behind a car, how can I see him?”“He keeps popping up. There he is! Look, look. Now.”Jesse dutifully followed my pointer and then sustained a long stare before turning his attention back to his food. “Okay, I see him. So?”“He staked out that car. He’s been waiting the whole time we’ve been here. He paces behind it, trying to stay out of sight. When the driver comes back, he’ll jump out and mug her—take her cash and jewelry and who knows what else. Bet he has a gun or a knife in that pocket where his hand is. Watch him.”Jesse rolled his eyes. “Give it up, will you? You’re jumping to conclusions again. How do you know a woman drives that car? Even if there is a man driver, maybe he’s in a hurry to get home and his wife is taking too long in the restroom.”“Then why doesn’t he unlock the car and get in?”Jesse stopped chewing and blinked. Ha! I got him there. I went back to studying the perpetrator, in case I got called on to identify him in a line-up.Jesse’s delayed answer mumbled out between chews. “Maybe his wife has the car keys.”After being married to this man for thirty-five years, I should expect Jesse’s reaction to my gift of observation. He never took it seriously. “You’re going to be sorry when you read in tomorrow’s paper that some poor woman got murdered in the Humpty- Dumpty parking lot while you gobbled down a chili omelet.”Jesse didn’t look up, just harrumphed and kept on eating.I returned to surveillance, thankful for last year’s laser surgery, which had given my vision razor-edge clarity. The man stood in the shadow of an overhanging oak, but from the direction of his head, I could tell his eyes remained fixed on the front door of the restaurant. My stomach knotted into a pretzel. Danger! I narrowed my eyes. Would Jesse run out to save the woman when the man attacked her? Jesse, my hero, the love of my life. I’d be right behind him, swinging my heavy purse.Just then, a woman in a leopard-print Spandex dress exited the restaurant and minced across the parking lot toward the man. I held my breath and then whispered, “Jesse!”Neither of us moved while the woman’s rectangular bag flopped from side to side on its thin strap in rhythm with her swaying hips. Like a lamb to the slaughter, she sauntered closer to her fate without a trace of fear in her walk.
A gasp escaped my lips when the dark-complexioned man popped from the shadows directly in front of his victim. After a short verbal exchange, the woman opened the door of the green sedan and slid in. The mysterious villain hurried to the other side and settled in the passenger seat. Back-up lights flickered. The automobile reversed out of the parking space and sped away.Without so much as a punch or a yell. He didn’t even grab her bag.I leveled my gaze at Jesse and blinked. He opened his mouth. I held up one hand. “Don’t say it.�� Instead, he shook his head and grunted again before returning to his omelet. I gulped coffee and fidgeted with my napkin. “He did look suspicious. You can’t deny that.�� Jesse buttered his biscuit, took a big bite, and chewed. I felt the lecture building in his brain like a sudden summer thunderstorm. He stared at me with a curious expression—as if I’d grown a second head—swiped his mouth with his napkin and sighed. “You never give up, do you? There’s something sinister happening everywhere we go. Face it, Chris. This is an ordinary small town in northern California. Good people live here. Bad things don’t happen. That’s why we retired here. Remember? Extremely low crime rate. But you insist on seeing evil everywhere we go. You won’t stop snooping into other people’s affairs. Looking for …�� His shoulders sagged and he waggled his head once more. “If it wasn’t so sad, it would be funny.”“Funny? What would?�� Do I dare ask?“Your imagination.�� He leaned forward and pointed his fork in my face. “Someday, that wild imagination of yours is going to get you into real trouble.”����EXCLUSIVE BLURB:����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������
Catherine Leggitt is the author of the cozy mystery novels, “Payne & Misery,�� The “Dunn Deal,”and “Parrish the Thought.�� She is also an inspirational speaker presently residing in northern California. During her first career–after raising children and before caring for her aging parents–Catherine worked as an elementary school teacher, where she developed her flair for playacting and storytelling. ��Struggling with retirement, Catherine needed a distraction. She found it at her keyboard.In addition to writing and speaking, Catherine is the mother of three brilliant children who have collectively produced six incredible grandchildren. An avid Bible student, she sings in the church choir. Catherine is passionate about reading.��“Payne & Misery,�� a Christine Sterling Mystery, won second place at the Orange County Christian Writer’s Conference in 2010. “Parrish the Thought�� made the quarter finals in the 2011 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Contest before Ellechor published the the trilogy starting in 2011. The remaining books, “The Dunn Deal�� and “Parrish the Thought,�� were published in 2012. Also, visit her at .����

ATTENTION READERS:
In appreciation for all of your support of Cruelty To Innocents & Collecting Innocents, we are introducing...
'THE AVENGING INNOCENTS FIRST KILL COMPETITION'
What we want from you-
--An original character with unique, quirky, or creepy characteristics
*this includes: name, skin, eye, and hair color, and any backstory that is specific to that character*
��--A great tagline for your character (good examles are '"I'll be back!"and "They're Here!")
Participants will need to submit their entries to me at [email protected] OR via the 'contact' page on The Innocents website
��WHAT THE WINNER GETS:
�� --Your character will replace our already-dead first kill, which is set up and carried out in chapter 1!!!
�� --We will include your name and your winning character in our acknowledgements, on our dedication page.
��--Your character and their tag-line, will go in the synopsis for the book on the back cover!
So, that is all there is to it... ��WINNING CHARACTER DIES FIRST!!!

Reprinted by arrangement with Viking, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., from There Once Lived a Girl Who Seduced Her Sister’s Husband, and He Hanged Himself by Ludmilla Petrushevskaya, selected and translated by Anna Summers. Copyright © 2013 by Ludmilla Petrushevskaya. Translation and introduction copyright © 2013 by Anna Summers.


�� This is what happened. An unmarried woman in her thirties implored her mother to leave their one-room apartment for one night so she could bring home a lover.�� This so-called lover bounced between two households, his mother’s and his wife’s, and he had an overripe daughter of fourteen to consider as well. About his work at the laboratory he constantly fretted. He would brag to anyone who listened about the imminent promotion that never materialized. The insatiable appetite he displayed at office parties, where he stuffed himself, was the result of an undiagnosed diabetes that enslaved him to thirst and hunger and lacquered him with pasty skin, thick glasses, and dandruff. A fat, balding man-child of forty-two with a dead-end job and ruined health—this was the treasure our unmarried thirtysomething brought to her apartment for a night of love.�� He approached the upcoming tryst matter-of-factly, almost like a business meeting, while she approached it from the black desperation of loneliness. She gave it the appearance of love or at least infatuation: reproaches and tears, pleadings to tell her that he loved her, to which he replied, “Yes, yes, I quite agree.�� But despite her illusions she knew there was no romance in how they moved from the office to her apartment, picking up cake and wine at his request; how her hands shook when she was unlocking the door, terrified that her mother might have decided to stay.�� The woman put water on for tea, poured wine, and cut cake. Her lover, stuffed with cake, flopped himself across the armchair. He checked the time, then unfastened his watch and placed it on a chair. His underwear was white and clean. He sat down on the edge of the sofa, wiped his feet with his socks, and lay down on the fresh sheets. Afterward they chatted; he asked again what she thought of his chances for a promotion. He got up to leave. At the door, he turned back toward the cake and cut himself another large piece. He asked her to change a three-ruble bill but, receiving no reply, pecked her on the forehead and slammed the door behind him. She didn’t get up. Of course the affair was over for him. He wasn’t coming back—in his childishness he hadn’t understood even that much, skipping off happily, unaware of the catastrophe, taking his three rubles and his overstuffed belly.�� The next day she didn’t go to the cafeteria but ate lunch at her desk. She thought about the coming evening, when she’d have to face her mother and resume her old life. Suddenly she blurted out to her officemate: “Well, have you found a man yet?�� The woman blushed miserably: “No, not yet.�� Her husband had left her, and she’d been living alone with her shame and humiliation, never inviting any of her friends to her empty apartment. “How about you?�� she asked. “Yes, I’m seeing someone,�� the woman replied. Tears of joy welled up in her eyes.�� But she knew she was lost. From now on, she understood, she’d be chained to the pay phone, ringing her beloved at his mother’s, or his wife’s. To them she’d be known as that woman—the last in a series of female voices who had called the same numbers, looking for the same thing. She supposed he must have been loved by many women, all of whom he must have asked about his chances for promotion, then dumped. Her beloved was insensitive and crude—everything was clear in his case. There was nothing but pain in store for her, yet she cried with happiness and couldn’t stop.

Reprinted by arrangement with Viking, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., from There Once Lived a Girl Who Seduced Her Sister’s Husband, and He Hanged Himself by Ludmilla Petrushevskaya, selected and translated by Anna Summers. Copyright © 2013 by Ludmilla Petrushevskaya. Translation and introduction copyright © 2013 by Anna Summers.���� This is what happened. An unmarried woman in her thirties implored her mother to leave their one-room apartment for one night so she could bring home a lover.�� This so-called lover bounced between two households, his mother’s and his wife’s, and he had an overripe daughter of fourteen to consider as well. About his work at the laboratory he constantly fretted. He would brag to anyone who listened about the imminent promotion that never materialized. The insatiable appetite he displayed at office parties, where he stuffed himself, was the result of an undiagnosed diabetes that enslaved him to thirst and hunger and lacquered him with pasty skin, thick glasses, and dandruff. A fat, balding man-child of forty-two with a dead-end job and ruined health—this was the treasure our unmarried thirtysomething brought to her apartment for a night of love.�� He approached the upcoming tryst matter-of-factly, almost like a business meeting, while she approached it from the black desperation of loneliness. She gave it the appearance of love or at least infatuation: reproaches and tears, pleadings to tell her that he loved her, to which he replied, “Yes, yes, I quite agree.�� But despite her illusions she knew there was no romance in how they moved from the office to her apartment, picking up cake and wine at his request; how her hands shook when she was unlocking the door, terrified that her mother might have decided to stay.�� The woman put water on for tea, poured wine, and cut cake. Her lover, stuffed with cake, flopped himself across the armchair. He checked the time, then unfastened his watch and placed it on a chair. His underwear was white and clean. He sat down on the edge of the sofa, wiped his feet with his socks, and lay down on the fresh sheets. Afterward they chatted; he asked again what she thought of his chances for a promotion. He got up to leave. At the door, he turned back toward the cake and cut himself another large piece. He asked her to change a three-ruble bill but, receiving no reply, pecked her on the forehead and slammed the door behind him. She didn’t get up. Of course the affair was over for him. He wasn’t coming back—in his childishness he hadn’t understood even that much, skipping off happily, unaware of the catastrophe, taking his three rubles and his overstuffed belly.�� The next day she didn’t go to the cafeteria but ate lunch at her desk. She thought about the coming evening, when she’d have to face her mother and resume her old life. Suddenly she blurted out to her officemate: “Well, have you found a man yet?�� The woman blushed miserably: “No, not yet.�� Her husband had left her, and she’d been living alone with her shame and humiliation, never inviting any of her friends to her empty apartment. “How about you?�� she asked. “Yes, I’m seeing someone,�� the woman replied. Tears of joy welled up in her eyes.�� But she knew she was lost. From now on, she understood, she’d be chained to the pay phone, ringing her beloved at his mother’s, or his wife’s. To them she’d be known as that woman—the last in a series of female voices who had called the same numbers, looking for the same thing. She supposed he must have been loved by many women, all of whom he must have asked about his chances for promotion, then dumped. Her beloved was insensitive and crude—everything was clear in his case. There was nothing but pain in store for her, yet she cried with happiness and couldn’t stop.
��
��

A Southern Haunting
True Hauntings of the South
By: CK Webb


Tuscaloosa, Alabama


With the college football world, and of course my state, still buzzing over Alabama’s win in the BCS National Championship game, I couldn’t think of a more suiting place to explore for ghosts than Tuscaloosa, Alabama
The University Of Alabama
Situated in the heart of Tuscaloosa is the beautiful campus for the University of Alabama.



Established in 1831, the university catered to around 100 students at its inception. With the strain of the civil conflict looming and the inevitable coming of the Civil War, the university saw its share of conflict. Discipline and student behavior was a major issue at the university almost from the day it opened. Early presidents attempted to enforce very strict rules where conduct was concerned. Students were prohibited from drinking, swearing, making unauthorized visits off-campus, or playing musical instruments outside of a one-hour time frame. Even with all the rules, riots and gunfights were not an uncommon occurrence. To combat the severe discipline problem, President Landon Garland lobbied and received approval from the legislature in 1860 to transform the university into a military school. As such, many of the cadets who graduated from the school went on to serve as officers in the Confederate Army during the Civil War. As a result of that particular role, Union soldiers burned the college to the ground on April 4, 1865. Only four buildings survived the burning: the President's Mansion, Gorgas House, Little Round House, and Old Observatory. Though the campus was eventually restored to its former glory, ghostly happenings began to take shape, and the history of the university became ripe with, not only school spirit, but a few ‘ghostly spirits as well.
One of the more common ghost stories is that of a union soldier who was murdered while in the cadet guardhouse. The guardhouse, now known as Jason’s Shrine or The Little Round House, has had numerous reports from students and faculty who claim to have heard the young cadet wandering around in the room, only to have the sounds disappear upon their inspection.
Other ghostly reports include the feeling of being watched in the basement and a shadowy figure on the 13th floor of Tutwiler Hall. This ghost is said to be that of a female student who committed suicide by lighting herself on fire.
There are also claims of the sounds of horses and buggy, footsteps following behind, and even reports of people being touched by a hand that they cannot see. There have been voices heard and even desks scattered all around in the classrooms where a boiler exploded many years ago, killing several students.
The ‘Quad�� is also a hotbed of activity and many reports have noted seeing four confederate soldiers marching about, the sounds of cannon and gun fire and even voices shouting military style orders.


Denny Chimes on the Quad


I have seen these places first hand, and though I have never had any ‘ghostly�� experiences of my own while on campus, the long and rich history of the place makes it a prime area for residual and intelligent hauntings.
Old Bryce Mental Institute
Commonly called "Old Bryce", the institution was used for over one hundred years and is now in terrible decay. In the 1960’s it was shut down and almost everything was left behind. Today you can still locate old patient records, chairs, mattresses, wheel chairs and other medical medical equipment in the dilapidated building. Late at night, strange sounds can be heard such as footsteps when no one is there, and banging on the walls and metal structures. There are also several cemeteries that belonged to the hospital where many patients were laid to rest.


One of Bryce Cemetery Historical Markers
If you plan on going for a visit, it would be a good idea to get permission. The grounds and cemeteries are patrolled by security and Bryce is still considered ‘private property��.
The Drish Mansion
17th Avenue
Completed in the late 1830’s then transformed between 1860 and 1862 into a hybrid, bracketed Greek Revival Italianate Villa, the Drish Mansion is one the most unusual antebellum mansions around. After the Drish family sold the property, the mansion became a suburban focal point and was remodeled in 1887 and then surrounded by a traffic circle with wondrous views down each of the newly laid streets and avenues.
Dr. John Drish had originally constructed the home for his wife Sarah. When Dr. Drish died, Sarah burned candles in the upper room as he lay in state before his burial. After the funeral, Sarah put the candles away and requested that the same ones be used at her funeral. As Sarah grew older, it is said that she became obsessed with the candles being burned at her funeral and made friends swear to grant her last wish. But, after her death, friends and family were unable to locate the candles and Sarah’s last wish was never granted.
Shortly after her passing, the tower where Sarah had burned the candles for her husband spontaneously caught fire. But, when fire crews arrived, they were shocked to find no flames and no evidence of smoke or fire. The ‘ghost fire��, as it has come to be known, was reported several more times and many people wondered who or what could be causing the strange happenings. One night, after one of the fires was reported and then mysteriously vanished, the first ever sighting of the Sarah Drish ghost was documented.
Today the Drish Mansion is again in a serious state of disrepair and in need of a caretaker, but that has not stopped the reports of the ghostly figures and unexplainable fires. If you get close enough and look to the highest room in the tower, you can see the faint glowing reds and oranges of the ghostly flames flickering in the night.
With its long and vibrant history, the city of Tuscaloosa has some wonderful stories to tell. Though I have highlighted a few haunts from Tuscaloosa, by no means have I told all the tales that this college town has to offer. If you ever find yourself in Tuscaloosa, make sure you indulge yourself with some of the finest food in the South, visit the beautiful campus of The University of Alabama, stop into the Bryant Museum for a look at history and venture out into the lights, music and wine bars of the night scene. If you find yourself in Tuscaloosa and are searching for something on the darker side, take a detour to one of the fabulous places that I have told you about and test out your nerve.
That feeling of being watched or of that cold, unexplained breeze on the back of your neck may be just the thing you need to push Tuscaloosa, Alabama to the top of your favorite haunts list!
*Though I have highlighted several documented haunted sights from the city of Tuscaloosa, it is by no means all of them. Below is a list of a few more places that deserve recognition for their ghostly inhabitants and for the things there that go bump in the night.*


The Jemison-Van De Graff Mansion Tuscaloosa
The Jemison Center, Northport
Battle-Friedman House, Tuscaloosa
The University Club, Tuscaloosa
Maxwell Crossing, Tuscaloosa
The Amelia Gorgas Library and guard shack, Tuscaloosa

Cast your vote for WEBBWEAVER REVIEWS in the Independent Book Blogger Awards
These awards highlight the amazing talent in book blogging today.
You may vote once in each of four categories: Adult Fiction, Adult Nonfiction, Young Adult and Children’s, and Publishing Industry. Voting closes Monday, April 23 at 11:59pm ET.
http://www.goodreads.com/book_blogger_award?category=Adult+Fiction ��
WEBBWEAVER REVIEWS has been around for three years. In that time we have made a ton of wonderful friends, met some really great writers and picked up a few fans along the way. WebbWeaver is in the running for the Independent Book Blogger Awards on ŷ������ and we would love to have your vote!! There will be 15 blogs chosen for the semi-finals, but only 4 blogs will win. The winners will receive airfare, hotel stay and passes to Book Expo America!!! Those of you, who know us well, know how badly we have wanted to attend events such as this one and that DJ and I would be incredibly humbled to get your votes. Thank you for being such fabulous family, friends, colleagues and fans�� Win, lose, or draw we adore each and every one of you!!You have to be a member of ŷ������

to vote, but registration is simple��and quick!!!!

There are a million reasons why someone might want to come to the south and a million things to do, see and experience while you are here. There are beautiful cities, rich, wonderful foods and historical buildings and sites that mark major turning points in the history of the United States, but NOTHING seems quite as intriguing as the South's deep rooted love and connection with�� ghost stories. I have been asked dozens of questions about living in the south from the far-fetched (Do you have indoor plumbing?) To the truly absurd (Do you fry everything you eat?) In case you are curious, I do have indoor plumbing and don't actually know anyone who still uses an outhouse. I don't fry everything I cook, but if I could, I just might! The one question I have never been asked is, 'Are there really that many haunted houses in the south?' My answer to this would be a resounding�� YES!!!For the next several months I will be tackling as many of the local haunts as I can and delving deeply into their past to see just what we can uncover. For some of my visits I will be interviewing owners, curators and even those who believe they have seen a ghost in these famous or not so famous haunted places. I will also be sneaking out and trying to get a glimpse of these spectral beings and the properties they haunt and even snapping a photo or two to get you, the reader, a little closer to the south; a little closer to the place I call home.I set out to find as many haunted houses or buildings as I could and then narrowed it down to the ones with documented sightings. These included any photos of full bodied apparitions or unexplained orbs, any EVP's that were taken with clear disembodied voices and of course, any homes or buildings that are on the National Historic Registry and are open at any time for tours based on their individual hauntings. What I found was mind blowing. In Columbus, Mississippi (the town where I was raised) there are five documented cases of hauntings within private residents and ALL are available for tours in the early spring months and are registered as landmarks. My whole life I knew of only one, Waverly Mansion, and now I find four more have been there all along just under my nose.I could write for days and never come close to a complete listing of every haunt that I was able to find just in Alabama, Mississippi, Georgia & Louisiana! So, I have decided to find the ones that I hold particularly near and dear in my heart and share them with you.Just down the road from my current home in Alabama is a very famous haunt that boasts an extremely interesting story to go along with its very long history. Pickens County courthouse is located in Carrolton, Alabama in Courthouse Square. Easily one of the more famous haunted buildings from this area, the courthouse has seen its share of Ghost Hunters and ghost investigations. With a little digging on the Internet you can come across a ton of information as well as some pretty incredible EVP's (Electronic Voice Phenomenon) that are available from the investigations that took place there.The Pickens County Courthouse has a long history dating back to the early 1800's, but it would be November 16, 1876 that would change the town and add a harrowing twist to the courthouse's history. It was on this date that the Courthouse burned to the ground for the second time. The first burning had come at the hands of Union Army soldiers during the chaos of the American Civil War. Carrolton Courthouse was the pride of Pickens County during those years mostly because it had been rebuilt during the Reconstruction Era, a time when money and resources were scarce for all Americans. The locals became so outraged at the second burning of their beloved courthouse that they set out for some swift justice of their own. Although nothing was ever proven, the local people believed that a hooligan by the name of Henry Wells was the perpetrator of the heinous crime.Henry Wells was never given the opportunity to plead his case in court�� his would be a much more malevolent and infamous type of justice. As a black man during a very tumultuous time in our nation's history, a time when racism was rampant, Henry Wells quickly became an easy target. He was accused of burning down the courthouse and was arrested two years later in 1878 and charged with arson, burglary, carrying a concealed weapon and assault with intent to murder. He was whisked away and taken to the brand new jailhouse located inside the newly re-constructed courthouse. When word of his whereabouts spread, an angry mob was assembled and made their way to the courthouse.As the mob assembled at the base of the courthouse steps, Wells became afraid and (as the story goes) it was then that he began to shout: "I am innocent. If you kill me, I'm going to haunt you for the rest of your lives." Just as they were about to break through the doors and drag Wells from the courthouse, lightning struck and Wells was killed instantly. What remained behind was a permanent imprint of Wells face etched into the windowpane in the room where he stood as he died that night.No one in the town noticed the window until daylight broke and it was then, while walking past the courthouse steps, that locals looked up and saw the haunting image of Henry Wells looking down over Carrolton, Alabama.

That same piece of glass is still in the window to this day and no amount of washing, scraping or the passage of time can remove the stain.If you go to the courthouse in Carrolton you will find an old historical marker which reads:


If you walk just a few yards from that sign you will find a magnifying viewer that points to a lone window on the courthouse and for twenty-five cents, you can get a close up look into the face of Henry Wells.
Just remember, if you are ever in these neck of the woods, be sure to bring your camera and maybe, just maybe you might get a glimpse of this Sothern Ghost.By: CK Webb

A BIG, HUGE thank you to Kara for taking the time out of her busy writing schedule to share a wonderful post on writing a series. You can pick up a copy of��Kara's book TODAY and you can also leave any comments or questions you have for her at the bottom of her post.


There's no doubt readers love connected books. They become invested in a certain world and eagerly await each new installment. It's fun to revisit the heroes and heroines of former books, like spending time with old friends, and to anticipate the romances between characters you know you'll see starring in future books.
But writing a connected series is harder than it looks. It takes more than simply moving characters from one story to another. You have to plan, from the very beginning, where the series is going, and you have to plot at least three books ahead so that you can set up the stories you want to tell in future books. For example, you can introduce the hero and heroine for Book Two in Book One as secondary characters and show how sparks fly between them so readers are anxious to pick up that next book. Or, you can set up a mystery that carries over several books.
You also have to keep track of all the people, their ages and descriptions, the locations, and you have to establish a time line so if a character is pregnant in Book #2, you know how old the baby is in Book #5. You think you'll remember, but you won't. If you don't keep track of the details, they'll come back to bite you. I have the floor of an office building lobby as marble in one book, and wood in another. Dang it! (Now I keep a detailed "series bible" with descriptions of characters and settings, time lines, etc.)
Before I started Project Justice, my ongoing romantic suspense series for Harlequin Super Romance, I'd written several trilogies. I at first envisioned Project Justice as stopping at three books. So I created three heroes and three heroines, setting up a mystery that would carry over for all three books, and planting hints in Book One for the romance in Book Two, etc.
Then, after all three books were turned in, my editor said she wanted three more in the series.
I was jumping up and down with excitement �� at first. This was the first time any editor had wanted more of a series from me. But then I realized that I hadn't set up anyone else to star in their own books. I had to hustle up some heroes and heroines from the existing cast of characters to populate the new trilogy.
Book #4, which is the one that came out this month, Outside the Law, wasn't so hard. I already had introduced an evidence analyst from the lab in previous books and hinted that she might have the hots for a Cajun computer hacker, so it seemed natural to give them their own story. For Book #5, I still had Billy Cantu in my back pocket. He was one of the Project Justice investigators mentioned in passing in the earlier books. So I gave him a larger role in Book #4, and a starring role in the next book. I paired him with another minor character, a consulting psychologist who had appeared only in one scene, in the first book.
But, Book #6 had me stumped. Who was left?
Then, inspiration struck. The billionaire hero of Book #3 had a personal assistant, Jillian, who had appeared in every book. The problem was �� she was a bit of a pill. She tried to break up her boss's romance, and at one point she was even suspected of trying to kill someone. But I liked her; she was flawed, but real and fully formed in my mind. I just had to find a way to make her sympathetic and show that she was remorseful for her less-than-heroic behavior.
I did it by revealing that she'd been an overweight, homely teenager who had suffered a major humiliation at the hands of her high school crush. Then I made that crush her new boss. I also made it clear that she was trying to repair her reputation by working hard and being a good employee, despite the fact no one trusted her.
Finally, I gave her an admirer. Cranky Celeste, the septuagenarian office manager who seldom has a kind word for anyone, sees something of herself in plucky Jillian and takes the young woman under her wing. (The hero of this book, Hidden Agenda, is an entirely new character. It will be available in July.)
Now, my editor wants more Project Justice books. Having learned my lesson, I tried my best to set up characters for future books. I have at least one couple's story worked out, but books #8 and #9 are going to tax me. I'm in awe of the authors who plot out a dozen books from the very beginning. It's like playing chess, thinking ahead several moves, and I never was very good at chess. With each new book, the world gets more complex, the cast grows larger. More and more balls in the air to juggle
Still, I've had more fun writing these books (and more aggravation!) than any I've previously written. I'm looking forward to expanding the series indefinitely.
Kara Lennox

Please don't miss the Blog Tour on Twisted Webb March 13, 2012. We will have a wonderful post by Kara about writing a series, as well as a glimpse at her upcoming novel from Harlequin!!

Kara Lennox, a.k.a. Karen Leabo, is the award-winning, bestselling author of more than sixty novels of romance and romantic suspense for Harlequin and Random House. Currently she is working on the next installment of her romantic suspense series, Project Justice, published by Harlequin Super Romance. Also, several of her classic Bantam Loveswept novels (writing as Karen Leabo) are soon to be re-released in e-book form by Random House. Her novels have finaled in several contests including the Rita, the Reader's Choice award and the Holt Medallion. Romantic Times awarded her a Reviewers Choice Award.

Prior to writing romance, Karen was a freelance writer with hundreds of magazine articles published, as well as brochures, press releases, advertisements and business plans. Her former clients include Working Woman Magazine, Hallmark Cards and Marion Merrill Dow.

Karen has written ten screenplays, three of which have been optioned by Hollywood, New York and overseas producers. She lives with her writer/publisher husband and several pets in a shabby-chic (heavy on the shabby) Victorian fixer-upper in Southern California. When not writing or sanding floors, she loves bicycling, bird-watching, hunting for flea-market treasures, painting and making mosaics.