I Want To Thank:
Extasy Books for this opportunity,
Martine Jardin for making the cover,
my husband for making everything possible, helping me reach my dream and just being my best friend,
those who supported, encouraged and helped and those who have read or will soon read this book.

The story behind the story:
Welcome to the story evolved from a dream. The first par of the Touch of Earth Serial is titled The Cursed Hit. This was my third submission, acceptance and contract.

Dreamed of 1991 and finished in 1994, it was submitted, accepted and contracted in November 2005.The first part of Touch of Earth is titled The Cursed Hit. This story became what it is for the characters told it to through dream after dream. Each vivid three dimensional dream haunted me until I put it in words.

The reason this took so long is that I became overwhelmed with rewrites on a big serial (and you always follow through or lose what you are doing).  Due to that and the holiday rush, I had to ask the editor to pull it back in the line up.  For those who already read it and said they were waiting on the release, I ask your forgiveness.

This phrase came from this book and stuck with me:
If you listen with your heart, you can hear the ancient trees passing their legends to the saplings... or the melody of the four winds playing through the mountains... or the praises of the crickets and the prayers of the mantis. If you listen with your heart, you can hear Mother Nature singing a song of love for the Earth and all living things.

This is the dream that brought this story to life:
The scene is black, but I hear the coos of newborns, the gasps of children, and the wishful sighs of young people. I hear questions being asked by people that range from very young to not so old in voices I have no desire to silence. The blackness fades and I see a small campfire, its flickering light dancing with the shadows across faces I will never forget. Hearing a voice filled with ancient wisdom of time long past, I recognize it as my own. Following the voice to the face, I see the lines of time weathered seasons and realize I am a very old woman. Gazing at the youngsters sitting in a circle with me around the fire, I draw a breath and sigh, "I remember a poem written many ages ago." Suddenly shaking my head and frowning, "I can't recall the author's name," I study the fire, "but a particular phrase has stuck in my mind since the day I heard it as a little girl." Glancing at each face, I slowly recite the memorized words, "Water, water everywhere . . . and not a drop to drink." A tear trickles down my cheek, "At least there was water," I whisper.

It's a heartbreaking thought that someday there may be no water or sun or rain or perhaps even air. Sometimes I wonder what the future holds for us . . . or if there is one. I love my daughter, as I'm sure most parents do, and I feel it only fair to give her what my parents gave me . . . a chance. A chance at an earth to live on with air to breathe, sun to play under, rain to dance in, water to swim through, wind to listen to, and clouds to gaze upon. I want these things for my great-great-grandchildren, but I fear I may not even be able to give them to my daughter.

We've done so much damage to the world and, sadly, cannot replace such a precious resource. However, we can help Nature to heal the earth. We can make changes to alter most of the damage we've done and are still doing, but only if we all work together. Every person must be a member of the team with only one goal... to stop the destruction of the earth and life as we know it.

This is a poem I wrote one night after another vision of the horrifying dream that created this story. Please take the time to read the words and understand the impact of the meaning.

Dream A Dream
Listen little one and please do hear; Of the horror that we failed to fear:
There was oh so much waiting for you; And these are some I know to be true:
Before we brutally ripped apart; The mother we did love with our heart:
Listen close my precious little one; For this story has only begun:

These are the memories passed to me; From Great-Great-Grandmother who did see:
While she was just a small child your age; The beginning of a high tech rage:
When we stopped caring and oh the cost; Let us look back at what we have lost:
Now close your eyes love and dream a dream; Of these pretty things that were once seen:

There's meadows of white misted by snow; And oceans of green with waves a flow:
Majestic mountains near lakes of blue; And golden deserts with sand not new:
Of winding rivers flowing so deep; And plants growing high and some that creep:
Close your eyes darling and dream a dream; Of pretty things wishing to be seen:

Where the gentle rains so softly fall; And the wild winds whisper their call:
While the warm sun shines to make things grow; And the forest are absent of woe:
Of sunsets announcing days a new; Golden sunrises and sparkling dew:
So close your eyes dear and dream a dream; Of those pretty things no longer seen.

Story Introduction:
A bit about the story and characters.

The Hero:
Describe Ghost - Six foot six, a muscular build and burdened with a painful past, Ghost is a hitman with a dark tan complexion, pale violet eyes and shoulder blade length black hair.

The Heroine:
Describe Jasarah - At four foot eleven, petite, her past filled with horror, Jasarah is a thief-turned-mage with a pale complexion, ice blue eyes and shoulder length black hair.

Special Mention:
Bo Perkins for immeasurable patience, exquisite teaching, remarkable skill and extraordinary talent.
Melynda for being the reader who endured all.

What's Been Said:
Reviews
Readers

Log Line:
Take care of what you have for it may be the last.

Sexual Warnings:
This book contains the following sexual activity:
M/F straight sex, M/F oral sex.

E-Mail here Paula Calloway.