I write in a number of genres, and have a growing list of books and anthologies where you may read my work.
They may seem somewhat unrelated to each other, but all of my writing has the theme of escaping the everyday - I take readers (and myself) on journeys back in time, forward into the future and sideways into fantasy worlds.
Time travel Romance
Druids Portal series - the first is on Amazon
Science fiction and Alternate history
Various genres and poetry
Rhetoric Askew Anthology 1: Mixed genre
Rhetoric Askew Anthology 2: Romance
Rhetoric Askew Anthology 3: Adventure
Tranquility and stress relief
5 Minute Vacations:
I trust that you will find something to enjoy!
I champed my gums, turnip surprise took some gumming when you are down to your last tooth. Suddenly something crunched, and with some effort I spat it out.
My last tooth. Must be the day for it, my last bra had given up, and I could feel my withered old woman breasts resting contentedly on my knees. I scratched my hairy chin, and reached for the scissors.
Magically growing hair is great in theory, but over the years I had stuffed my mattress, woven new curtains, a bellpull, and my clothes. I was too old to care now, and chucked it out of the window.
What did I care, I was still stuck in this damn tower, cursed since babyhood to wait for Prince Charming to climb my wretched hair and break the spell. I had outlived the witch who enchanted me, and she never did say why, curse her bones.
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair. How I had dreamed, my young girl dreams of romance, of excitement, then just seeing someone other than the witch and her servitor. Fortunately he still lived, or else I would have starved in this forsaken tower on the edge of the world.
Where did he go, my Prince? Did he vanish in the steamy swamps, eaten by hideous creatures? Get waylaid by werewolves? Beguiled by milkmaids made pretty by proximity, while I languished in my tower? I had a letter once, he was coming, but it too vanished one day, and my hopes with it. I withered with my hopes, and stared at the horizon, while around me my hair grew and grew.
Escape? Yes I tried, but this is a story of magic and enchantment, and escape by females is simply forbidden. I tied my hair around the bed and leapt out of the window, but magically looped around and re entered the tower. I did this for fun a lot after this, sometimes not even tying my hair. I could not escape the tower, and I didn't escape time either.
No young lass sits here now, waiting with heaving bosom for the Prince to call. A withered crone, in a story with no happy ever after. Where is he? I have long since stopped asking the question, yet tonight as the sea breeze wafts warm through the tower, I yearn as though I am 18 again.
‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,’ a voice quavers from far below.
I clutch my heart and breathe for a moment, I am a bit old for this now. I hobble over to the window and peer out.
'Yes?' I can't believe I am still hopeful, after so many times hearing this in my imagination.
I flip out my hair, magically long and plaited again, the long white rope trembles as for the first time in years someone climbed up.
A wizened old man climbed creakily over the window sill.
‘What the hell kept you?’ I shrieked. I hadn't thought it would be like this.
‘Sorry Princess, your note didn't mention the 800 other towers and that you were an entire continent away. And my horses kept getting eaten, I had to fight off milkmaids, werewolves... it took longer than I planned. Lucky I saw the pile of hair outside.' He grinned gummily at me, and I noticed the network of scar tissue that traced a map of battles past. His rheumy old blue eyes held me, and I felt 18 again. He held his hand out, and it suddenly didn't matter where he had been, he was here now.
We kissed an old people kiss, dry and gummy and smelling of liniment and incontinence. And the enchantment broke, and the magic lifted us up, still kissing, and now it was with fire and passion and youth. My hair swirled, red gold, my waist cinched in, and I could feel the flush of hormones racing through me- through us. A tall dark haired young man held me, laughing.
A portal closed for 2,000 years.
An ancient religion twisted by modern greed.
A love that crosses the centuries.
An ancient druid pendant shows archaeologist Janet visions of Roman soldier Trajan. The visions are of danger, death, and love – but are they a promise or a curse?
Her fiancé Daman hurts and abandons her before the wedding, her beloved museum is ransacked, and a robed man vanishes before her eyes. Haunted by visions of a time she knows long gone, Janet teeters on the edge of a breakdown.
In the shadow of Hadrian’s Wall and 2,000 years back in time, Janet’s past and present collide. Daman has vowed to drive the invaders from the shores of Britain, and march his barbarian hordes to Rome. Trajan swears vengeance against the man who threatens both his loves - Janet and the Empire.
Time is running out - for everyone.
Lightning cracked across the storm-dark sky and the wind rose, heavy with the promise of snow. Janet and Hugh dodged around the massive oak trees in the museum grounds, crashing through the shrubberies and garden beds. Their lungs heaving, they reached the end of the gardens and crouched behind a gnarled old tree. Oak leaves tore across the sky, swirling across the wide granite steps of the museum. The robed man they followed had reached the top of the steps, and Janet squinted as the lightening flashed brightly. For a moment, the wind whipped the leaves into a barrier around him, and she heard him curse as he wrestled with robes wrapped tight as a shroud.
Janet and Hugh watched as the man they had followed across Newcastle fumbled at the heavy doors. ‘Look, he has a museum key!’ Hugh said, as the tall, carved wooden doors creaked open.
‘I don’t care if he has a key to the city,’ snarled Janet, her dark blue eyes smoldering as she watched the man. ‘He’s a thief, and he’s in my museum!’ She jumped up and bolted toward the entry steps as the doors slammed shut.
Janet pounded up the steps and fumbled in her pocket for her keys. Entering, she pushed the doors shut against the wind, then looked around the foyer, checking the familiar glass cabinets. The red night-security lights gave a semblance of life to the long-dead stuffed animals, and a blood-stained aura of menace to the weapons and skulls. On the floor was an oak leaf, and she picked it up, showing Hugh. ‘It’s damp. He must have gone this way, into the Hadrian’s Wall exhibit.’ She raced down the corridor. From the tall arched windows lightning flashed on the modeled Roman soldiers, their swords glinting as though they still stood guard against the enemy.
‘There he is—we’ve got him now!’ Janet’s red plait flew out behind her as she panted down the familiar corridors and zig-zagged around display cabinets of broken pottery and remnants of leather sandals. She could hear Hugh clumping along just behind her, his massive boots bouncing echoes into the cathedral ceilings. ‘He’s not going to get away this time,’ Janet gasped, ‘It’s a dead end up ahead.’
They ran into the Celtic gallery, catching sight of the robed figure near a low glass-topped cabinet. Around him the figures of wild Celtic barbarians with blue painted faces glared defiance from their pedestals. In the far corner, a display of dark- hooded Druids raised arms to a painted moon, their crescent-shaped bronze knives gleaming. The man glanced at Janet and Hugh as they ran into the room, but his face was hidden by the cloak he wore. The glass lid creaked as he reached inside and grabbed a golden casket.
‘Hey, get out of there!’ Janet jumped as lightening lit up the room. ‘That belongs to the museum!’ Thunder boomed, and she jumped again as the windows rattled like a volley of gunshots.
Hugh stood in the doorway, his tall muscular bulk barring any escape. He drew out his police service revolver. In the silence after the thunder, the release of the safety catch made a menacing, metallic click. ‘Step away from the cabinet, and put your hands in the air . . .’ he started.
The man ignored them both, tossing the golden casket onto the floor. In his outstretched hand dangled a chain with a large gold pendant. He started chanting in an unknown language, and a weird hum filled the room, echoing as if it came from a place far distant.
Hugh held onto Janet as the windows banged open and a gale tore through the room, heavy with the scent of forest loam, oak leaves and thyme crushed underfoot. Above the man, a black shadow gathered, silver sparkles gleaming in its impossible depths. Janet shook off Hugh and edged closer, trying to convince herself the ceiling was only a few feet above the void.
The blackness slithered down in long tendrils, and as it reached the man’s hands, Janet leapt forward, catching hold of the pendant. Startled out of his chant, the man held the chain tight even as the dark void began to swallow him.
Janet staggered as the pendant was released. Hugh pulled her backwards as the man cursed them, the unknown words of power loaded with rage and venom. Through the fading blackness of the void, Janet glimpsed a horde of dark beasts, and felt the warmth of carrion breath. As the void faded into silver sparkles, the man’s curses became an incoherent roar of rage and anger, echoing into the distance.
And then there was nothing. The man had vanished.
Keen to read more?
Druid’s Portal preview:
Copyright © 2018 by Cindy Tomamichel. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed/formatted via Beacon
First Printing, 2018