**Cover Reveal** Of River and Raynn – The Catalyst

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Have you met River and Raynn yet? 
It’s time to get lost in a new world.

They found me when I was five; a little girl sitting on a bench in Grand Central Station, soaking wet, asking about the rain.

I remembered nothing about how I got there, or who my parents were. I couldn’t even remember my name. I was tagged, labeled and doomed to cycle through state care for the next twelve years; moving from one family to another. They all rejected me as the dreams began to come, the memories began to return, and things around me began to explode.

Now my mind is full of a world of shadows, things that my heart pleads with me to be true, that I hope are only fantasy. That the disturbing past I see is not mine.

When I sleep I hear whispers of magic, and of evil queens, and a world that exists alongside our own. Things that could never be. But, there is one thing I know to be true. That there was a boy who was torn from me. A boy that I know means more to me than a brother, or than a lover. But what he is to me, I am not sure. I hear him cry for me in my dreams, I hear people call him The Catalyst.

I know I need to find him.

I wouldn’t have tried, if I would have known that finding River, would have made all my dreams turn into a haunting reality.


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Rebecca Ethington is a story teller and author from Salt Lake City, Utah. She has been telling stories since she was small. First, with writing crude scripts, and then in stage with years of theatrical performances. Rebecca’s first stint into the world of literary writing, The Imdalind Series, was released in October 2012 and since its release each book has been found in several top 100 lists on Amazon. Rebecca is a mother to two, and wife to her best friend of 14 years. Her days are spent writing, running, and enjoying life with her crazy family.

Website † Facebook † Twitter † GoodReads

Rebecca Ethington is also a featured author at Chapter by Chapter BookRave in NY on September 20th! YA BOWLING, ADULT/NEW ADULT Mingling party! Get your tickets today! Book Signing FREE and open to the public. 
For the full author list visit: www.cbcevent.com

Stop the Epidemic!

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Lately I have been talking to a lot of authors – wait – let me expand on that.

Lately, I have been talking to a lot of depressed authors, authors who have had their souls crushed and their imagination shattered into a million pieces.

I am not saying that I am not one of them, because I am, but that’s a post for another time.
What I want to talk about is the epidemic, a virus, that has infected dozens, if not hundreds, of amazing, talented, authors. A debilitating illness that has crushed souls and stopped stories from flowing.
A virus that is spread, grown, and flourished by four little words…

“I read this review…”


Hold on, let me put on my disease preventing mask.

Okay… all better.

Now, I am not going to drag on this tirade too long… but here is the thing.
I, my friend, was once just like you. I read reviews, I basked in the five stars and cringed at the four stars and kept swimming in my pool of blissful ignorance until that first one star came along (which was actually on Eyes of Ember, surprisingly enough) and with that one little star – my world shattered.
But I couldn’t look away.

It was like I was cursed.
My eyes stuck open as I stared wide eyed at the text. At each review that came in, my fingers clicking and clacking as I sought out the one stars, trying to understand what I could work on… what I could improve on…

It wasn’t until I was huddled into a corner, shaking and sobbing, that I realized something – these reviews aren’t meant to help me, they aren’t meant to constructively criticize – and in many ways they were written with the sole intent to tear me down – to turn me into the puddle of goo that I had become.

Reviews are not for me.

Reviews are readers – they are for the people who are looking to buy your book your product to decide if they want it or not.

That is all.

Lets use an example – Say you want a new lamp for your office. It need to be tall, it needs to be bright, and you would like it to be able to tilt at the head.
So you head over to Amazon and you start to look, you start to search. And you have narrowed it down to five that seem like they would work.
Well, how do you narrow it down from there?
You read reviews.
This one has a few one stars that say that the head doesn’t bend for easily and tends to slip after its placed – so that one is out.
This one has a few one stars that’s ay that even though the picture and the measurements say it one height, it is actually quite a bit shorter.
This one has a few one stars that says even with high wattage bulbs its just not the bright.

We have widdled down our choices… by looking at one star reviews.

You see – reviews are NOT for the author, for the manufacturer, for the company – they are for readers.
And what is more…

Not every product, every book, is for every person.

This is so important – let me repeat it.


Got it?

It’s just like the lamp. I wanted something bright, tall, and flexible and by looking at reviews I found that.
Just like if I am looking for a book – but I HATE Vampires, cliché plotlines and mediocre writing – by looking at reviews, specifically those overly critical one stars – I can find out if a book is for me.
And if its not – I pass.

You can’t please everyone.

And trying to please everyone is only going to lead to ulcers.
Besides, those pesky one stars – they will help people who LOVE your genre to find your book too.

I know it’s hard… but its time to stop the epidemic. It’s time to stop reading your own reviews. Bad reviews are a fact of life, they have been around as long as books have– but it doesn’t mean a book is bad – just that it is not for that one person.

Don’t measure your self worth by stars.

Edited to add: If you are need of critique for your work or are looking for a way to improve, step away from the reviews. Find a beta group, a writer’s circle, or a structural editor. Find a group of peers that will build you up and help you become a better writer.

Of River and Raynn – An Update –

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So River and Raynn has been live for almost a full month now… and can I say that this has been one of the greatest experiences yet?


I am absolutely in love with this project, with the characters and with the amazing new way of story telling that we are getting to utilize.
Now, I am sure that a few of you are scratching your heads, looking at the computer screen and saying to yourself “What in the world is she talking about?” And that’s okay, this project was so different, so new, that I think I scared a few of you away.
So I am here to chase away the confusion and get you thoroughly addicted.

That, and starting on June 21st we will be cross posting the River and Raynn updates over here twice a week and I want to limit the amount of spoilers you have…

A Nathan Fillion Gif??? HECK YES!!!

Yeah… we don’t want any of that.
We want this…

So, without further ado lets delve into the world of River and Raynn – this is going to be the crazy fast abridged version… (If you want the full version you can read it all, from the beginning, HERE – and this page is updated with each new post – so make sure to bookmark!)

So Meet Raynn….

Now Meet River…

In case you didn’t catch that, when they were kids they were found with no memories in train stations across the country. Raynn was soaking wet asking about the rain.
River was wet, but also covered in blood, asking about where the river went.

Hence their names.

Well they lived together for a time, but government pulled them apart because they weren’t really related. And now, they spend their lives looking for each other… Raynn spends as much time as she can in Grand Central Station, in the same city River searches for her. So close, but with a giant city separating them.

A huge city… but different lives.


Raynn is “graduating” from state foster care, alone and family-less


River works in a career path that was chosen for him, a career path that lets him use his full abilities.

Screen Shot 2014-06-24 at 11.31.43 PMBut still they search… 


And search


But they also have a secret… A secret you would never guess… that even they don’t understand.

NOTE: Watch these videos, all the way through and in order… trust me… you won’t regret it..

Want more? Need more… need to understand?
Follow the story online. Follow the characters… and get lost in the story before the book released on August 12th

Oh… and there is an app too….

Now, head on over to RiverandRaynn.com and get lost in the story from the beginning.

The Kiss of Fire AudioBook

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Is starting production soon and the rights holders to this amazing project is seeking the perfect female vocal talent. We already have our guy… and I ain’t spilling on who it is yet… and yes, he will blow you away. But now we need our girl.

I am reposting this here just in case any of you of you are in the Salt Lake Area – or know someone who is.

People Media and Imdalind Press, an audio book producer located in Salt Lake City, Utah is seeking a local female vocal talent for an upcoming project.

Talent must be available in the afternoon hours for the next few months on a consistent basis. All recordings take place in the Salt Lake Area.

All candidates may be considered for other roles, and have the option to be cast as full time staff.

To be considered please send your resume along with a recording of your own voice reading two of the following sides to Daniel@Imdalind.com

Side One:

We entered an upper hall where Ryland’s bedroom sat, the door just ahead of us on the left. I kept my eyes looking straight ahead, smiling until an unusually short man in a three-piece suit with a thick, neatly-trimmed beard turned the corner to face us. I jumped behind Ryland, not needing his arm to move me there. I knew that man, and I hated him.

Timothy Vincent was the Vice President of Ryland’s family’s company, Imdalind Forging. He was responsible for the metal-forging method that had made them their millions. Timothy was also the man who reprimanded my mother on a weekly basis about my continued relationship with Ryland. He caught sight of us and moved forward quickly, an even angrier scowl than usual carved into his face. Timothy always made me uncomfortable, even on his best days.

“Ryland, we have been looking for you.” My heart sank. We. That could only mean one thing.

A deeper gait entered the hall, and I moved further behind Ry. I didn’t have to see Edmund LaRue to know what he looked like. In many ways, Ryland could be described as his father’s clone, but instead of the mop of loose curls Ryland had, Edmund kept his hair short and slicked back in a gentle wave. Where Ryland’s eyes were the warm and welcoming color of the depths of the ocean, Edmund’s were as cold and distant as the polar icecaps. They always cut into me with a frigid, poisonous edge that made my insides repulse.

I sank into Ryland’s back, my face pressing against his polo shirt in an attempt to hide. His muscles were tensed and strained.

Ryland’s hand reached back and found the tips of my fingers that stuck out from the cuff of my hoodie. He squeezed my fingers between his in an attempt to reassure me. As always, his touch warmed my body, the tingling warmth shooting right to my stomach.

“Ryland! I am so glad we found you. I would like to move our lesson to an hour after dinner.” Edmund’s voice was laced with a false endearment that shook my bones. His statement was not a question, but a command.

Ryland had been taking lessons with his father since he was twelve. Ry had always insisted it was some fencing thing, but the way they talked about it always made it seem so sinister, like they were going to take over the world. Who knew? Maybe they were. Corporate drama was a little out of my league.

“Yes, Father, that’s fine. I will meet you in the court.” Ryland’s voice was distant and diplomatic. When he talked like this, he reminded me of the heir to the multi-million dollar company he was, not my energetic, fun-loving best friend.

“Ryland,” Timothy spoke slowly, dragging out his syllables, and I knew he was going to address our friendship. I shifted my weight, cursing the dark hoodie that stuck out from behind my hiding place. “I am so glad to see you have taken our advice about your choice of friends.” Timothy’s voice seemed hopeful, odd, seeing as how I stood right here.

I attempted to draw the fabric closer to my body. Being so close to both of them made me almost, dare I say it, scared.

“I have expressed my opinion on this multiple times, Timothy. Please do not make me repeat it.” Ryland stood a little straighter as he attempted to end the conversation.

“Now, now, Ryland. We don’t need any of that.” Edmund’s voice lacked any warmth. “After all, I would hate for your attitude to be the cause of a downfall.”

I cringed. Was he talking about me, or about my mother? Edmund had never before said anything so bold when I was within ear-shot; it was almost like he couldn’t see me. That, in itself, was a ridiculous thought; Ryland wasn’t enough to hide behind, even with all his muscle.

“You know my terms in regards to that, Father.” I could see Edmund’s expensive penny loafers slide against the white carpet. I shifted my weight, scared he was moving to get a better look at me.

“So it would seem. Well, at least now I won’t have to dismiss her mother, or worse. We just can’t have anything spoiling my perfect son, now, can we?” I saw his body shift as if he were moving closer. Ryland’s fingers pressed harder against my own.

“No, Father.” There was a pause and then Edmund’s shiny leather shoes stepped away from us down the hall. Timothy’s shoes followed Edmund’s hesitantly, like they were waiting for something else to happen before he turned the corner.

We moved the last few steps quickly, darting into Ryland’s spacious room before either of them had a chance to return.

Ryland’s bedroom was roughly the size of my entire apartment. The giant rectangular space was separated down the middle on the left side by a long wall that housed a kitchenette on one side and Ryland’s massive entertainment system on the other. The right side of the room contained his oversized bed that still sported the colored blankets we had used to make forts when we were little kids, while the entrance to his bathroom lay beyond the bed. Behind it all was a closet the size of a small motor home, containing far too many clothes for someone who went to a school that required uniforms.

I went to the high cabinet next to the entertainment center where he kept the chocolate before plopping down on his bed to enjoy a Mounds Bar. Ryland locked the door behind him, just in case his father or the servants decided to get nosey, and turned on some brainless TV show as he went.

“I hate them, you know. Hate,” I spat sourly, ripping the wrapper off the candy.

“That’s a strong word, Jos.”

“I know, but don’t you think they deserve it? Saying all that about how I am going to ruin you, talking about me like I was not even there. It’s like they couldn’t even see me.”

“Maybe they couldn’t,” Ryland said almost inaudibly.

“Ha, ha, ha, very funny, Ry.” I paused at the curious glance Ryland gave me. “They wouldn’t hurt anyone because of me, would they?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Ry grumbled as he leaned against the wall his TV was mounted to.

My head jerked up. “They would?” Not cool.

“Don’t worry so much, Jos. I wouldn’t let them, even if they tried. If I could get them to be nice to you, I would, but I can’t. Either way, I won’t let them hurt you. Besides, you don’t need to worry about it. You only have to deal with them for the rest of the year. I get him for my entire life.”

I could only roll my eyes, but then the candy bar fell untouched to my lap. I didn’t like the daily reminders that Ryland was leaving overseas for college in just a few months’ time. Oxford, a huge giant ocean away. I tried to push the information to the back of my mind. I would be lucky if I ever saw him again.



Side Two:

My body was entangled with Ryland’s as we collided with the wall, but I wasn’t there for long before Ryland grabbed me and shot me away from him in a surge of wind and energy. My body slammed into another wall, and I felt my back pop. There was no agony with it, so I stood, thankful that it had not broken again. I steadied myself just as Ryland landed in front of me, a wave of energy slamming into my stomach. I felt no pain; only pressure as the energy surge pushed me back, trapping me in place.

“Hello again, little pet,” Ryland sneered as he walked toward me, his black eyes shimmering wickedly as he laughed. I cringed away from his advance, but my body was restrained again by his magic.

“Not going to try to attack me with your weak magic?” Ryland was right in front of me now. He leaned intimately close to me, one hand resting on the wall beside my head. I could feel his breath against my face; feel his hip as he pushed it against me. He smiled wickedly, and I felt the bile rise dangerously in my throat.

“That’s okay; I have another idea.” His voice was a sickening purr.

His hand moved into my line of vision, his fingers twiddling together, small sparks flashing from the surge in his magic. The sparks he produced continued to grow as his fingers rubbed together wildly. In only a moment, a small dagger appeared in his hand, the small silver blade glinting wickedly in the magical light that flashed and pulsed around us.

“You love this body, don’t you, little girl?” He smiled wickedly. I couldn’t look away from the dagger that spun between his fingers. “You love the way it looks, the way it makes you feel.” He pushed his hip further into me; I gasped in pain at the pressure.

“Well, this body, it loves you, too.”

The dagger stopped spinning and my eyes flew to his with a glimmer of hope. It was pointless.

“But I don’t,” he said.

I didn’t even see the movement; I was too consumed with looking at his face. One minute there was no pain, and the next, the pain had moved beyond me. I screamed as the tiny dagger began to dig its way into the skin that covered my heart. I felt the warmth of my own blood drizzling down my chest as the dagger slowly worked its way into my chest, deeper and deeper, toward my beating heart.

“That doesn’t hurt, does it?” Ryland’s voice was so joyous; he enjoyed watching my agony as he tortured me.

“Ryland!” I screamed his name, my voice finding form as the pain grew. “Fight him, Ryland!” The evil imposter who restrained me only laughed as he dug the knife deeper into my skin.

“Sad. I don’t think he can hear you.”

“Ryland! It’s me. It’s Joclyn. Snap out of it, please!”

He only laughed with increased malice. I screamed again, feeling the blood pool around the waistline of my tight pants.

“Ryland!” I panted between screams, calling to him, desperate for him to make a connection. “Remember the tree… the old guard… at the hospital… Remember when we… ran away…” I screamed and panicked as the pain increased. He only laughed as he looked at me through the depthless pit of his black eyes.

“Remember when you kissed me…” I tried one last time before my voice broke; my mind too dizzy and confused to focus properly. My head slumped down; I focused on my own heartbeat, hoping that Ilyan would find me, that someone would see me, before it was too late.


My head rose slowly to see him—Ryland, blue eyes and all—looking at me. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything; I just looked at him. His eyes looked me over, stopping in a panic when he saw the dagger that still remained in my chest, his hand and my skin covered with wet, sticky blood.


Of River and Raynn – A New Post

Rebecca EthingtonWhat's AheadLeave a Comment

So, the Of River and Raynn project is officially in full swing. Each of the characters have posted quite a bit online and a few little snipets of information has made its way to the readers through blogs and video.

And Today… It’s Raynn’s turn again.

If you haven’t been following along, make sure you head to their website to watch the story unfold from the beginning.

But…. if you have been following along… here is today’s post!


May 30th



I had a meeting with my caseworker today. Old bat that she is gave me the final death blow to my foster care career, not that I was surprised. I had been expecting it for some time. After all, everyone gets older, everyone ages out of the system. Well, everyone that grows up in the system, moving from home to home like I have.

Now, I guess, it’s my turn to take that next step.

You would think, having been expecting it and all, that I would have handled it better. That I would have been able to put on the sour face that has become so conducive to what everyone knows of me or thinks they know of me anyway.

I could have buried my heart and feelings away, never to feel as I always have. Instead, with those few words, all the cursed emotions came back. Five little words that punched me in the gut and brought back every time I was turned away, every time some guy that I had hoped would be ‘Dad’ turned into a monster instead.

I felt the sting as their words echoed through my mind, as they called me possessed, crazy, destructive, petty, needy, a run away, schizophrenic.

The labels had been piled on me for years, and as much as I tried to say they didn’t cut deep, they did. And right then, I felt the depth of them.

I felt them as an ache deep down inside my bones.

They all came back, loud and angry, and it was all I could do to keep them inside of me. Not to show Reeves how much of a wimp I was.

My spine shook and curled as I fought the emotion, fought the tears that wanted to flood out of me. I hadn’t cried since that very first day, and I wasn’t about to show the depth of my weakness right then. Not to her. Not to anyone.

“You have been selected for trial placement,” Ms. Reeves had said in that soft, sweet voice that was so familiar, but right then, it sounded dead and cold against my skin.

“I guess the state wants to keep you a bit longer,” she had said with a smile as she tried to put a Band-Aid on what she was really saying.

I barely heard anything she said after that. It was all a buzz of white noise. My fingers curled around the iPod I held, the one I had gotten from the Christmas donation pile a few years ago. My body twitched with a need to place the tiny nubs back in my ears, to flood my mind with the music that I had on a constant stream, but I couldn’t make the move. So I sat still, everything feeling heavy and numb as I listened in a dumbfounded stupor while Ms. Reeves’s voice burst around me like angry soap bubbles. That was until the date pulled my attention.

June seventeenth.

“June seventeenth!” I had practically screamed at her. It was less than three weeks away.

She only smiled at me with that pitying look she always gave me and then went back to shuffling papers, making it clear there was nothing I could do.

June seventeenth. The date repeated itself through my mind.

That’s my last day in the room I had grown up in, the group home that had tried so hard to be a home. Even if it doesn’t feel right, it’s still home. It’s still the place I go at the end of the day, the place I end up after another family turns me away.

While most kids my age are heading off to their senior year of high school or their freshman year in college, I’ll be forced into a small apartment, education and any form of a future ahead of me slaughtered. I guess it could be worse, most foster kids are shoved onto the street. In some ways, trial placement isn’t as bad as it could be. It still doesn’t change what the future holds for me.

That’s how it was when I left her office, my hands shaking as I replaced the ear buds.

It was the end.

Everything felt different when I got back to my room. I don’t know why, but it felt foreign, hazy, distant. It was like I was looking through the world with a fish-eyed lens no one had cleaned in a while.

I let the 30s swing music flood through the ear buds as I started packing on instinct, throwing the few belongings I had into the thick, black trash bags I had been sent home with so many times before. It seemed fitting that every time I was sent away from a foster home, sent home like an unwanted piece of trash, I held these bags in my hand, symbols of the trash I am. And now, I will take the same bags away from here to what, in many ways, will be my final destination.

I opened the first drawer on the communal dresser that was also used by the three other girls who shared my room. My name had been on the drawer front for so long that most of the ‘y’ had wiped away, revealing the ‘i’ beneath it. I ran my fingers over that letter, trying to remember why I changed the spelling in the first place when the room flashed with a bolt of lightning, the bright flash pulling my attention from the silly, meaningless letters to the rain that splashed against the tiny window above me.

It seemed fitting it would rain now, that the water would come and make the world grey and gross. At least that’s what I told myself. Both the rain and I knew that I liked the way it made the world glimmer and smell like spring, but I could never say it aloud, not with who I was and what I was known for. I had been named Rain for a reason, after all, and I’d changed it for the same.

I pulled the ear buds out of my ears, listening to the gentle patter of the rain against the glass for a moment.

“If you are going to tell me who I am,” I whispered to the rain, “Now is the time because it appears I am out of it.”

I had said the words aloud, as if the water could respond. Part of me prayed the streams of water flowing over the windowpane would spell out some magic answer. Yet I know they never will.

They never have after all.

So I filled the trash bags anyway, my heart pulling me toward the only home I had left.

I only hope I can find him.