Tag Archives: Dead Demon Walking

Everybody else is doing it.

I mean, of course, blogging about traditional publishing vs self-publishing.

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Happy Father’s Day.

A kind and gentle man.

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England, my England.

I’m home!

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Going, going . . . .

Almost gone.

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I’m delighted to announce the winners of the Celebrate the Release of Dead Demon Walking contest!

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What Happened to Friday?

It’s cooooooming!

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Dead Demon Walking



Is anyone else and their sweetie whisked from a romantic getaway and end up in the J. Edgar Hoover Building in Washington DC? I don’t even get to show Royal my new sexy underwear.

The FBI think I’m a Medium. They want me to “communicate” with the victims of a particularly brutal murder. I have a hard time believing the Bureau would seek the help of a psychic investigator, let alone one from Clarion, Utah. I don’t think they’re being honest with me.

What I discover at the crime scene tells me the killer is not human. I’m surprised when the agents reach the same conclusion. Luckily, they are way off base.

I don’t expect to revisit old places, or see old faces who demand Royal and I quit the investigation. I don’t expect to risk losing everything and everyone I cherish.

And what is it with Jack and Dale Jericho?


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Never be without your beta

Beta readers rock!

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Linda D. Welch

I was born in Hampshire, England and after moving to the USA lived in Idaho, California and New Mexico before settling in the Wasatch Mountains of Utah. I now live in a mountain valley more or less halfway up a mountainside with my husband Tom and Scottish terrier Duncan. Unlike Tiff Banks, the heroine of the Whisperings series of paranormal mysteries, I am not tall and white-haired, do not see demons and haven’t seen a dead person for a while. I’m actually older than dirt, have the aches and pains which come with age and the cantankerous nature.

No, I don’t see dead people. Not a dead person in sight. What I do see are moose, deer, fox, raccoon, skunk, wild turkey, a huge wild bird population, feral cats (which I trap, have neutered and returned to the wild) and a ridiculous amount of snow. When not writing, and depending on the season, I’m usually tending to Scottie or husband (guess which one gets preferential treatment,) filling the bird feeders, futiley attacking the weeds in my much-too-big garden or shoveling out after a snow storm.