Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Merry Christmas

Wishing You And Yours A Most Merry Christmas And A New Year Filled With Hope, Happiness And Peace.

All good things to your corner of the universe.

Sarah, Kate, Acorn and Liberty

Thursday, December 04, 2008

Buy The Violin And Get A Chance To Win An Ebook Reader

Welcome to the wild and crazy, exhausting preChristmas shopping days. Well, here's a little something-something to gladden and warm your heart--an antiGrinch remedy, if you please. LOL.If you buy my book, THE VIOLIN, from Amira Press you automatically get a chance to win an Ebook Reader from my publisher. In fact, for every book you buy, you get another chance to win and, when you buy 10 books, you get the 11th book free no matter what.


THE VIOLIN by Sarah J. McNeal (Blurb)

Genevieve has dreamed about him all her life, but it isn’t until she buys his violin and finds the remnants of his life and the mystery of his death in 1927 within its case, that she makes a decision that will change her life forever. Is there a way to change the past and save the man who haunts her heart?

Excerpt:THE VIOLIN at Amira Press by Sarah McNeal

The couple was left alone in the living room. John’s hands seemed to burn into Genevieve’s. She wanted him to stay with her like this forever. Her heart ached a little and she wasn’t sure why.

“Are you really okay? She asked.

“Hell no, I’m not okay. I’m never okay around you.” He smiled charmingly. “Now that you’ve turned into a goddess with the help of my mother, I’m not sure I will ever be okay again,” he said and grinned.

Genevieve jerked her hands out of his grasp. “I don’t think your jokes are all that funny. You scared the life out of me,” she said angrily.

He reached around her and pulled his jacket from the back of the couch. “Come on, Genevieve, let’s get going.” He took her hand back in his firm grip and pulled her along behind him out the front door, off the little porch and across the yard to his motorcycle.

Genevieve skidded to a halt. “I’m not going to ride on that thing.” She felt the knot in her stomach form just looking at the motorcycle. What a dangerous piece of machinery it was.

“Yes you are,” John said determinedly.

“No I’m not.” Genevieve was obstinately determined that she was most certainly not going to get on that death machine. “I could get killed on that thing.” She looked at the Indian motorcycle as if it were a dragon seeking its next meal.From the back yard came a miniature explosion. Matilda’s little shriek cut the air followed by the laughter of Will and Jimmy.

John glanced at Genevieve and laughed lightly. “Well, looks like that cannon you bought Jimmy has gone over big.”

She scrunched her face into a frown not listening to a word he said. “I’m not going to ride on that thing, John.”

John turned to her and spoke in a low voice as if explaining something to a child. “Listen, honey, Sunbury is ten miles or more down the road. You couldn’t even walk the first two miles before those blisters would start to hurt again.”He guided her slowly over to the motorcycle. “Now see, I have this wonderful wheeled horse just to take milady conveniently and, without walking on sore feet I might add, to a wonderful restaurant I know in Sunbury.”He turned her around to face him. “Now we can stand here and argue all our time away on how we’re going to get there but, in the end little miss goddess of mine, you are going to get on this motorcycle if I have to drag you on it and tie you to me.” There was absolute resolution in his voice.

Genevieve knew she couldn’t win. John had to be the most stubborn person on the face of the earth. “Okay,” she relented barely audible, “I’ll do it but I want you to know I’m really scared. You better not get us killed.”

John threw a leg over the saddle of the bike and drew her on to the back where she sat with her legs tucked behind his. He laughed a little. “Don’t worry, honey, I’m not going to kill us, not on purpose any way.”

“Oh, that’s reassuring,” Genevieve snapped back sarcastically. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She wasn’t sure which bothered her more, riding on the motorcycle or John’s back pressed against her chest and her legs snugly folded next to his.

John reached back, took her hands, and wrapped her arms around his waist. “All you have to do is hang on tight and lean the way I lean. Got that?”Genevieve was shaking too much to answer so she nodded her head even though she was sure he wasn’t really waiting for her permission. Her stomach clenched with anxiety and fear made her hands tremble.John kicked the starter with his left heel and the engine sputtered into life. It sounded like a chain saw.Genevieve hugged John’s waist in a death grip and laid her face against his back as he drew on his goggles over his eyes. “Genevieve,” he yelled over the roar of the engine, “I have to be able to breathe, honey, not that I don’t love you holding me that tight.” He laughed and the motorcycle lunged forward onto the dirt road.

Genevieve watched as John squeezed the clutch with his left hand and reached down to change the gear with his right hand on the stick gear in front of him.“Aren’t we supposed to have on helmets? There’s a law about that,” Genevieve yelled into his back.

She felt the rumble of his laughter on her cheek.“I don’t think they have a law about that. We’re not going into battle; we’re just taking a ride.” He laughed out loud. “You might want to keep your mouth shut before a bug flies in it,” he shouted and laughed again.The engine whined a few seconds as John changed gears again. The machine hummed as they scattered rocks and dirt in their wake down the country road. The wind blew through his hair and Genevieve’s braid flopped heavily in the wind the bike created.

“I never saw a motorcycle with a stick shift on the body before,” Genevieve called out over the roar of the engine. “Isn’t there some kind of shift thingy on the handlebar?”

“That’s a mighty interesting question seeing how there is no other motorcycle anywhere. Indian is all there is and this is where the gears are.” John was silent a moment than added, “But now that I think about it, it would sure be more convenient if the ‘thingy’ was on the handlebar.”

Genevieve was beginning to loosen her grip a little as she began to grow calm. A little burn of fear still scorched her stomach though. “Does this thing have brakes?” she called out the question.

“You’ll be glad to know there’s two. I got one in my right hand and the other is located here under my right foot. You couldn’t be any safer.” He spoke loudly making his voice rise above the engine noise. “Isn’t this the greatest?” He was obviously enjoying himself.Genevieve wasn’t so sure it was the greatest thing riding wildly down a dirt road on a motorcycle. In her real life, she would never take such a crazy chance. But there was one thing she thought that made this dangerous and impulsive antic worthwhile. She got to hold John close to her until she could hear his heartbeat and the vibration of his voice through his jacket on her cheek. The time she spent with John was worth all the heartache that would come later.

The Violin is available in Print or ebook at the following locations:,,, or here on my website. Just click on the buy button which will take you straight to Amira Press.

And here is another cool deal. If you join Amira Press Reader's Group, you get my story, I PROMISE YOU, as a free read. Here is a blurb and excerpt for you.FREE READ Join the Amira Press Yahoo group ( today and get a free read courtesy of Sarah J. McNeal.

I Promise You

Gideon thought he had the perfect life as a musician with a beautiful model as his girlfriend, until he was diagnosed with breast cancer.Ashamed and afraid he may die, Gideon hits bottom when his girlfriend dumps him for a real man.Hope comes in the form of his father’s ghost and a person he has just met. Can he beat the odds and survive? And if he does, can he ever find happiness again?


By Sarah J. McNeal

Publisher: Amira Press

Available as a FREE READ

In a nonstop run of chatter in the “it’s all about me” world of Sylvia, she handed him the iced tea remembering, at least, to put a straw in the glass affording him the ability to drink. The tea was bitter without any sugar in it. He didn’t bother to ask for sugar, content to drink anything that would slake his thirst. Leaning his head back against the pillows and closing his eyes, he allowed her never-ending stream of words to wash over him. He didn’t feel much like talking any way being more absorbed in his own thoughts about his surgery, his therapy and his hope for survival.

Accustomed to Sylvia’s self-centered and relentless chatter, Gideon knew it wasn’t necessary to comment on anything she said. Sylvia was shallow but she was very entertaining in her own way and, oh, so stunningly beautiful. Gideon pushed the button in his hand that would bring him relief.

Maybe it was the morphine causing him to slip into some kind of hallucination or maybe he was just dreaming—or wishing. The room appeared filled with white fog so thick that nothing was visible beyond the bed where he lay. A fragrance drifted on the fog almost like a memory of forest, pungent cedar, rich, leaf-covered earth and sun warmed water.Gideon knew before the form appeared through the fog to stand at the foot of his bed that his father was near.

He closed his eyes against the visage yearning for it to be real and knowing it couldn’t be. His parents had died two years ago in a car accident. But, when he blinked his eyes open once again, his dad was still there a slim, tall man wearing waders and a fishing hat over his thick, silver hair. A narrow fringe of white mustache graced his upper lip as he smiled that lopsided way that Gideon remembered so well.He seemed so real that Gideon felt a lump of suppressed emotions form in his throat and wanted to cry for joy. All he could manage to say in a whisper was, “Pop? Is that you?”

The figure moved closer, sat gently on the side of the bed and took Gideon’s hand. His hand felt warm and solid in Gideon’s grasp. With a voice barely audible, filled with an aching, bitter need to clutch his father to him, Gideon asked, “Did I die? Am I in heaven now?” A tear slid down his cheek, not from sadness at the passing of his life, but with pure, unmitigated joy that his father was with him again.

His father shook his head. “No son. I heard you were in trouble and needed me.” The old man smiled and squeezed his hand the way he’d done a thousand times before. From scraped knees to his first broken heart, his dad had always been there to comfort, love and guide him.In truth, whether this vision of his dad was real or was brought about by the morphine in his veins, Gideon was glad he was there. Never had he needed his father more than he did right now.

“Pop,” Gideon spoke the one watery word like a prayer filled with despair and hope, “Please help me.”

“We’ll get you through this, Gideon.” His father’s image seemed to fade, blending into the chair where he sat.

To get this free read, join our group and email Dahlia at

I'll be chatting with you again soon. Stay tuned.Sarah McNealwww.sarahmcneal.comAuthor of THE VIOLIN (Amira Press)THE DARK ISLE (New Concepts Publishing)LAKE OF SORROWS (New Concepts Publishing)