Sneak Peek at GHOST DANCE

A little taste of Ghost Dance. For those who have read the Time Walkers series, you know I tend to cross over with characters in my books. Ghost Dance is the first book in the Time Dance series, so be prepared for a lot of new characters and adventures…oh, and of course, a hefty dose of romance thrown in there.


The Battle of Bloody Run

James River Falls, 1656


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A bike for Dominic

Remember when you were a kid and you hopped on your bike for a ride? You probably rode it a few houses down the block, jumped off, dumped it on a neighbor’s lawn, then ran off to play with your  friends.

Or how about helping your daughter take off those training wheels and ride on her own, barely daring to take a breath as you watch her because you are afraid she might fall? Somehow she doesn’t fall, and next thing you realize is that she’s going to need a bigger bike now.

Riding a bike is an amazing part of growing up. Watch this video of a very special young man to see what riding a bike means to him.

How can you help? Skip that $8 cup of Starbucks today, or pack a lunch instead of paying $20 at the fast food place. I did, and you can too! Give a few bucks today towards a gift that will change the life of this awesome young man.
Every little bit helps — and just think of the smile on his face when he gets on that bike.


Sneak peek: Ghost Dance

E.B. Brown

A little taste of Ghost Dance. For those who have read the Time Walkers series, you know I tend to cross over with characters in my books. Ghost Dance is the first book in the Time Dance series and tops out at 120K words, so be prepared for a lot of new characters and adventures…oh, and of course, a hefty dose of romance thrown in there.


The Battle of Bloody Run

James River Falls, 1656


HAD HE KNOWN what was to come, would he still have traveled that same path? Not only for knowing that it would end, as all lives do, but for the when and how of it? For truth, it was a tricky question since he was privy to the history of time before it happened, yet despite that unfair advantage, Daniel knew the answer in his heart.


Even as his face…

View original post 1,490 more words

Yes, I can spare a square

seinfeldspareasquareb1Apparently the re-post(FB) I made about bathrooms was so offensive to a person that she felt the need to slam my inbox with multiple messages and threaten me in several ways, including boycotting my books, because she claims I am a pedophile supporter (HER words). I guess I have to clarify my position if I want to get any work done today.

1. If you don’t like what I post, then stop reading and delete yourself from my personal page. Pretty simple. If you want to complain, put it on my fan page, where you may or may not be filtered.
2. I don’t care who is sitting in the bathroom stall beside me.
3. I don’t know what bathroom stalls you people use, but any stall I’ve ever used in a public place pretty much kept me from seeing the genitals of the person in the stall next to me. I mean, if I squinted real hard and looked through the crack in the corner, I could probably see a flash of skin, but I can’t recall ever routinely witnessing anyone waving a penis around like a banner when I happened to accidentally glance in that quarter inch gap in the door.
4. If someone is waving a penis around in the women’s restroom or made a move to assault me (if I’m there with my daughter or not), then I know I have every right to call the police. Just like I would if it happened in a dark alley or broad daylight. Do I think that sort of behavior is done by a specific group of people? YES, sexual predators. Are all priests sexual predators? No. Are all black people criminals? No. Are all gay people fashion savvy? No. Are all cops racist? No. Are all rednecks gun-toting vigilantes? No. Are all transgender people pedophiles? NO. I judge people as individuals, not as the sum of a label of which they have no control.
5. It’s none of my business what equipment is between the legs of another person. I have personal opinions about the subject, but this isn’t about what I believe or don’t believe about the mechanics/dna/physical state/psychological state/morality/or religious interpretation of transgendered citizens. My bottom line is that I believe in live and let live.  If man, you feel like a woman, sing it loud & proud, be happy, & live a good life. That’s the same thing I wish for anyone, so interpret that however you will.


6. I feel fortunate to live in a country where so many people spend time complaining about who is peeing in the stall next to them. I’ve been to other countries where my only option was to pee in a hole in the ground with a toilet seat on it, while in a row of ten with NO toilet paper….and the chick next to me offered me some of her leaves.
Was she transgendered? I have no clue. I smiled and took the leaf she offered and I didn’t think to look between her legs.

Seriously, people. Spare a square.


How having fun on FB can make an impact on your marketing

So today I have a message from another author in my personal FB inbox — you know, that weird secondary box they give us where people who are not our friends can message us. (FB calls it message requests, so check it out, I’m sure you’ll be amused.) In all fairness, the person didn’t actually say he was an author, but I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume he was because I can’t imagine why anyone in any other profession would be worried about how many Facebook fans I have or how many of my fans are actually buying my books due to Facebook.However, the individual brought up a few questions that inspired me to post, so here ya go!

FAQ: Does Facebook really help sell books?

Sure it does. Or it doesn’t. Yes, I know that’s not a straight answer, but it’s the best I’ve got. Ask me something that I can answer, because when authors ask me that question I truly cringe. I can’t tell you that if you post your book ten time a day on Facebook that you’ll sell more books. I can’t tell you that if you spend $5/day on Facebook ads that you’ll sell books. I can’t even assure you anyone will want your books if you give them away for free on Facebook.

What I can tell you is what has worked for me and why I consider Facebook one of my top marketing tools — with or without running ads.

When I started this gig, I was already very active on Facebook with my personal account HERE. So when I started my Fan Page HERE, I already had some idea of what sort of online presence I wanted to have. I made some decisions early on that have affected how I interact on social media, and if you are just starting out, I suggest you consider these questions as well:

  • Am I using a pen name, or my real name?
  • Do I care if fans discover my real name and connect it to my personal page?
  • Will I allow fans to friend me or follow me on my personal page?
  • Am I going to be myself online, or am I going to project a different persona to my fans? (And why would I want to do that?)
  • Will I use my fan page to only connect with readers about my books, or will I interact with readers and use it the same as I would my personal page?
  • Do I have a professional image that might conflict with my author image?
  • Would I care if my co-workers found out I am an author, or if they follow me on social media or want to read my books?
  • Would my behavior on social media impact my family or my job?

It’s a good idea to think about these things before you begin. If you have a career outside of writing (and pretty much all of us do, at least when we start out), you need to consider how your new life as a writer will impact your current professional status. You need to decide if you are fine with both worlds colliding, or if you’d rather they remain completely separate. It is possible to have a pen name and keep it hidden from anyone until the end of time; however, this is the age of the internet and just be aware that curious fans are the best detectives. If you want to be anonymous under your pen name with no ties to your personal life, be mindful of how easy it is to link email addresses and social profiles, and how things like pictures you post can become a link. You might be surprised how a simple Google search will link it all together for anyone on the web to see.

In my case, I decided that I was going to treat my fan page pretty much the same way as my personal page, minus a few of the swear words. Yeah, I do tend to swear a bit in real life, and people who know me in real life know that part of me. I tend to laugh at inappropriate things, I make stupid jokes, I am like an emotional boomerang most days, and I’m always wearing this pathetic excuse for a heart like a banner on my sleeve. Those who know me already know that. Yet how exactly was that going to translate to my author profile? Well, I’m too lazy to be anything except myself, so I carried on my usual hi-jinks and it just works. I already enjoyed Facebook and loved chatting and being silly with my friends. My fan page is just an extension of that — and a very valuable extension to my business.

FAQ: So how does goofing around on the internet help you sell books?

It doesn’t help me directly sell books. What my FB presence (and any social media presence) does do, however, is lead people to my door. I’m not any different or any more fabulous than any other author out there. I don’t have a secret ingredient, I’m not writing some blockbuster NYT bestseller, and I’m not the best writer in the world. But the reason I write books is because I love doing it, and I want to get paid for  doing what I love. Getting paid for doing what I love means getting people to buy my books. Getting people to buy my books means finding a way to get noticed by strangers. (‘Cause let’s face it, my mom buying my book is not helping me pay my bills!) How do we get noticed by strangers? Use the internet.

Leading them to my door is not always a direct sale, but the impact of every connection is more complicated than that. So I keep trying to have fun on my pages and new people like a silly post or picture. Maybe they share that picture, and then a half dozen of their friends share it. Maybe some of them click on my page, wondering, “Who the hell is this EB Brown chick and why are people sharing her stuff?”. It’s the cascade of connections that matter here, not just the initial interaction. On my pages, you will see a wide variety of inspirational quotes, funny pictures, political musings, personal rants, relationship woes, and weekend party escapades (with pictures, until I delete them the next morning). I talk about my Great Danes and my past as a BMX champion. I post pics from when I rode horses and pics of all my travels. Why? Because someone who likes Great Danes will click that pic and become a fan. Because someone who used to race BMX bikes will get a kick out of that pics & tell their mother to read my books. I’ve attracted people within those niches who’ve become some of my most loyal fans. It’s all part of the big picture. Someone might hate a political post and complain about me to ten friends, and then maybe one echoes the complaint to a friend who gets curious and buys a book. Another person might love the hell out of every inspirational post I put up, share it with hundreds, and send more readers my way.

It’s the organic reach that I look at when I’m checking my Facebook stats. I want to see how many people are sharing, liking, and interacting. It just tickles my jimmies when I get a notification from two years ago from a post of mine that is still circulating, and someone new comments (on that 2 year old post!) that they just picked up my book — and that’s what a cascade of connections is all about. Sure, I run FB ads when I need to promote, but if you don’t yet have organic reach, I think your time is much better spent cultivating that before throwing money at ads.




I don’t have anything too enlightening to share regarding social media, but there is one thing I know for sure — I’d rather be really loved, or really hated. No one remembers mediocre people. As an author, I want people to tell their friends how bad my stuff sucks, or rave about how my book changed their life. That’s how I lead people to my door. If you like it, you are welcome to stick around. If not, well, don’t let the door hit ya in the arse!

So have fun, be yourself, and build your little army fan by fan. Post pics of your dog or 612q9obgkhl-_sy600_funny cat memes. Makes jokes. Vent. Be human. Soon you’ll see that like minded people gravitate towards you, and you’ll be well on your way to building your own loyal fan base.

Thanks for reading. Sometimes I write books, too.  If you’d like to be notified of my new releases, sign up for my mailing list at or follow me on my Amazon Author Page HERE.

Readers can find E.B. online at:
TWITTER: @ebbrown_




This is not how my fairy tale was supposed to go

I don’t know about you, but I know this isn’t how my story was supposed to end. I’d like to think it’s the writer in me that keeps that big, sloppy heart perched on my sleeve, but I’m still not sure that is truly the reason why I’ve ended up in this place. Blame it on the author? Sure, I can dig it.

On my 37th birthday, I had it all. A loving spouse, a beautiful daughter, a big house on a hill. Now as I sit here on the eve of my 42nd birthday, I’m looking back and reflecting on it all and wondering just what the heck I have learned as I sit here in 40-something singlesville.

  • Disappointment? CHECK
  • Heatbreak? CHECK
  • Grief? CHECK

I think we all grow up with some sort of vision of how perfect our future will be. Some days I wonder if Disney princess moves shouldn’t be banned, because fuck if there is any happily ever after fantasy out there. I mean, really, can we talk about dating at this age for a second? The difference between dating at 20 and dating at 40ish is that by now we’re all already damaged in some way. The twenty-somethings are pre-damaged. They haven’t lived enough yet to get all bruised and jaded, and they’re young enough to think they have plenty of time to find that fairytale. Me — not so much. I’m painfully aware that my clock is not just ticking, it’s on a full-fledged freakin’ suicide sprint towards being a lonely cat lady sitting on my front porch yelling at the neighborhood kids to get off my lawn.


And then the internet dating thing. Wow. I can’t even begin to understand it. It seems to work out great for some of my friends, but my very limited foray spawned enough crazy stories to fill up a book. Which is kinda funny, because if I think it’s book-worthy, you know it’s that bonkers.

  • Give up on internet dating. CHECK

Meeting someone in real life the old fashioned way (like at a dive bar) isn’t a sure fire way to happiness either. Throw back in that whole we’re old and damaged thing, and lemme tell you…the heartache is even tougher to push aside. Sad thing is that some people are afraid to leave the comfy confines of the old wounds they’ve lived with for years. I supposed that’s one way of staying safe.

So despite the roadblocks, I keep on writing. Maybe that’s both my salvation and my downfall, because when I am immersed in telling a story I am filled with hope. In my brain I know that the characters & romance I create doesn’t exist, but I guess the little princess heart in me still wants to believe it might.


  • let good things happen
  • keep writing
  • trust the journey
  • enjoy the beauty in my life

Yes, a lot of time I feel jaded, but it comes and goes. I’ll make myself chuckle by posting something sarcastic. Sooner or later it catches up with me and the idealistic Beth returns full force, reminding me that I’m too damn stubborn to give up on my future.

Gone is the marriage and the material things that went with it.I’ve fallen in love again since then and been broken, but I have to believe that it  wasn’t the end to my story. What remains is that I still have a loving family, it’s just a little bit smaller. I have a circle of great friends and an amazing life anyone would be lucky to have. I’ve turned into a different sort of woman, I think, one that has very little patience for wasting any more time in life. I’ve moved forward the best I could, sometimes stumbling like a fool through this being an independent woman thing.  Someday, my prince will ask for directions and find his way here.

No, my life certainly didn’t turn out how I thought it would. The cool thing about life, though, is that my future is what I make of it — and I am going to patiently wait for it. In the meantime, I’m gonna keep living the good life and enjoying each day as it comes.77d88c5b32aec73412a24073448cd58a I am okay with building happiness on my own, in my own skin. After all, the only one who can create my future…is me.


Thanks for reading. Sometimes I write books, too.  If you’d like to be notified of my new releases, sign up for my mailing list at or follow me on my Amazon Author Page HERE.

Readers can find E.B. online at:
TWITTER: @ebbrown_

Sneak peek: Ghost Dance

A little taste of Ghost Dance. For those who have read the Time Walkers series, you know I tend to cross over with characters in my books. Ghost Dance is the first book in the Time Dance series and tops out at 120K words, so be prepared for a lot of new characters and adventures…oh, and of course, a hefty dose of romance thrown in there.



The Battle of Bloody Run

James River Falls, 1656


HAD HE KNOWN what was to come, would he still have traveled that same path? Not only for knowing that it would end, as all lives do, but for the when and how of it? For truth, it was a tricky question since he was privy to the history of time before it happened, yet despite that unfair advantage, Daniel knew the answer in his heart.


Even as his face pressed into the sodden earth and he tasted the muddy grit on his tongue, his answer remained unchanged. The trickle of warm blood seeping into the corner of his eye would not sway him, nor the scent of his enemy’s rancid breath upon his cheek.

Yes. I would do it again, he thought. For what am I, if not a spawn of two worlds, a man beholden at once to all and to none?

Blows from a club rained down on his back, taking the last of the breath from his lungs. Beneath his ribs, down deep in his belly, his muscles spasmed and he could no longer draw air when he gasped. He could not see his enemy but he could still feel the presence of the man with the club, and although the attack had ceased, Daniel knew there was little time to catch his breath before it would resume.

Totopomoi – the Pamukey Chief – was dead. Their English allies deserted them like cowards, fleeing from the battlefield as the bodies of Pamukey warriors fell to the muddy earth.  Had Colonel Hill ever meant to stand beside the Pamukey, or was it his plan all along to run, leaving the Pamukey to fight the Ricaheerians alone?

It no longer mattered. The Ricaheerian with the club standing above him would not spare him, and Daniel knew he would soon join his companions.

“Is he dead?” one of his enemies asked.

Daniel winced when the tip of a foot jabbed into his ribs.

“Not yet,” another man answered. “Leave him. This is the one Wicawa Ni Tu wants. Let our Chief have the honor of ending his life.”

The men laughed to each other as they walked away, their voices echoing through Daniel’s skull and pounding in his ears. When he was certain they were gone, he buried his fingers in the damp ground and moved to raise his head. With all the damage done to his body it was no easy task, and it took a few moments before he could lift himself enough to look around.

By the tears of the Creator, he had never seen such a sight. Was this the Hell the Christian Englishmen spoke of? Only a few paces to his side lay dozens of fallen Pamukey braves. Limbs were twisted, heads bloodied. A man Daniel had stood with at Colonel Hill’s side was propped up, run through with a spear that impaled him to the tree at his back. A lanyard of eagle feathers around his neck fluttered in the wisp of a breeze, tangled in long dark strands of the warrior’s hair. Daniel did not want to look at him, yet he could not look away. The man’s eyes stared straight ahead, an empty chasm, and for a moment Daniel swore his dead lips moved.

“Run,” the dead man whispered. “Hurry.”

So he did. Daniel forced the remnants of his strength into his limbs, clawing at the dirt until he started to move. He darted a glance over the bodies of the dead and saw no enemy near, yet he could hear them in the distance and he knew they would return for him. When he gathered enough purchase to rise, he crouched on one knee with his hand over his belly, the burning taste of bile searing his throat. The river was close; he could smell the dampness in the air and hear the rush of the water nearby.

It called to him, and he obeyed.

A Ricaheerian bellowed a joyful war cry, and it was then that Daniel knew he was the last one left alive. He scrambled down the steep sandy bank and slid into the cold water, stumbling through the shallow stream bed until he reached a deeper spot. He tried to steady himself but when he waded deeper the force of the current struck him like a barrel in the chest, and for a long moment he clutched the slippery root of a tree.

Death was assured if he stayed, yet fleeing could give him no certainty of survival. The sounds of war cries echoing through the trees drew closer and Daniel looked down at his fingers entwined in the tree root.

He let go.

The frigid water took what was left from him, welcoming him, and he did not object this time as the current pulled him away from shore.

It was not long before numbness settled deep into his bones. Even in his dreams, he had never felt so peaceful, so weightless. The gentle lapping of the current rocked him and washed over his wounds, licking them clean and taking away his pain.

If this is the afterlife, he thought, then perhaps I have nothing to fear.

Every few moments he reminded himself to raise his head and open his mouth, taking a breath of air into his bruised lungs as he was carried downstream. A part of him realized he could not stay submerged for too long and that he must make an effort to float, but another part of him wished to simply give in. Let the water take me, wherever I am meant to be.

Water flowed over his open mouth and filled his lungs. He choked it up by pure reflex, past caring to fight it any longer. In the murky depths of his scattered thoughts, visions of his fallen companions spoke to him, taunting him as he drifted farther away from the carnage. He could hear the voices of the dead call to him over the sound of his own ragged breaths.

“Go,” the ghosts commanded. “Live!”

 He listened to them as best he could until the current slowed and his legs found purchase in shallow water once more. Although he much preferred to remain floating, the Creator had a different plan for him. It was with that assurance that he left the water and made his way onto a quiet sandy bank where the only sign of life was a pair of spotted-back turtles resting on a patch of tuckahoe. Loose pebbles shifted beneath him when he crawled out of the creek and he felt the quick rush of a cold breeze take the air from his lungs as he gasped and coughed.

The panicked cries of sand gulls protested his intrusion and he could hear the flutter of their wings above him in the trees. His breath left him in a groan as he pushed himself up on one arm. He stilled for a moment, cocking his head slightly to the side. He was not yet too far gone to ignore the new sound coming towards him, the creeping echo of something walking through the brush that he was certain was no animal.

Yet when he raised his eyes and the last glimmers of amber rays from the fading sunset blinded him, the shadowed outline of a woman breached his weary sight. There, in front of him, she stood like a messenger from the Creator, her illuminated form taking the very breath from his weary chest.

Daniel squinted, raising his hand to shield his gaze. Was this the one meant to take him from this time, sent to guide him on his final path? She was not as he expected. Not with her honey-colored hair streaming free over her shoulders, nor with her pale face defined by the glow of the setting sun.  Perhaps the Christians were right about death, and this was one of their angels sent to gather his soul. He shook his head as if the motion might clear his vision, but when he opened his eyes again and she remained, he knew what to he must do.

He reached for her, his hand slipping down past her dress to settle around one bared ankle.

“Take me home,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I am ready now.”

Instead of the comforting embrace he expected, she leaned forward and peered down at him. In her hands was an odd shaped flintlock pistol, smaller than those the English used, and as she raised it up in her fisted hand he wondered why a spirit guide might have need of such a weapon.

“Christ!” she hissed. “Not today. I am not doing this bullshit today!”

He had no time to wonder over her strange reply before she struck him with the weapon, smashing it into the side of his head. Darkness exploded around him. His hold on her ankle slipped away, and he sighed as the blessed sanctuary of the afterlife swallowed him whole.

~ end excerpt ~

TD_1I hope you enjoyed this preview of Ghost Dance. If you’d like to be notified of the release, sign up for my mailing list at or follow me on my Amazon Author Page HERE.

Readers can find E.B. online at:
TWITTER: @ebbrown_