Ever suffer from friggatriskaidekaphobia? Me neither, but friggatriskaidekaphobia is a fear of Friday the 13th.  Frigga is the name of the Norse goddess for whom “Friday” is named and triskaidekaphobiameaning fear of the number thirteen.

Records of the superstition are rarely found before the 20thcentury, when it became common. So why do people think Friday the 13this a fateful day? It’s probably the combination of two older superstitions: thirteen is and unlucky number and Friday is an unlucky day.

In numerology, the number twelve is considered the number of completeness, the twelve months of the year, twelve hours of the clock, twelve gods of Olympus, twelve Apostles, etc. Whereas the number thirteen was considered irregular, breaking this rule of completeness. Another superstition, thought by some to derive from a Norse myth is that having thirteen people seated at a table will result in the death of one of the diners.

So here’s the thing, my birthday is on the 13th, though not on a Friday. I’ve always considered 13 my lucky number because I was born at 13:13 p.m., the 13thhour and the 13th minute of the 13th day. I also have five brothers and sisters who were all born on the 13th   day of their birth months. So the 13th seems like a very blessed number to me.

What’s your lucky number and are you superstitious about it? And more importantly, do you suffer from friggatriskaidekaphobia???

Twitter, Tweet, and Twit-Twat

Twitter, Tweet and Twit-twat
In this maddening world of author self-promotion something funny happened to me and I had to share the experience with you. If you are easily offended STOP READING NOW! NO keep reading, I’ll keep this PG-13.
I’m a writer and I use a pen name, and no, I didn’t pull the name out of thin air. I strategically picked the name based on several factors. After much thought, I decided on Elizabeth Marx. Now I didn’t go into this with blinders on, I searched for other authors with this name. I searched yahoo. What I didn’t do was explore Google, only the biggest search engine in the world.  A complete knuckle brained thing to miss, no scratch that–let’s call it a knocker-brained thing to do. You’ll understand why in a few paragraphs.
I downloaded my books at Amazon and B & N and all the various places Indie authors seek readers. A couple of days later my husband took me to lunch to celebrate this momentous achievement. During the course of our conversation he asked in a nonchalant tone, “Have you searched your name on Google?”
“No,” I replied. “Why?”
My husband raised his menu to hide his expression, when I pulled the menu down he was beet red, so I asked again “What happens when you do?”
My husband now used the menu to muffle his response, “Play date center field.”
“What the heck does baseball have to do with anything?”
“No,” he said, “I said, playmate centerfold.” He cautiously eyed the other patrons, as if wondering if I was going to go all Exorcist on him, spinning my head and spewing irate words like rancid vomit.
I had no other choice but to chuckle. I mean, it’s my own fault I didn’t search the largest search engine in the known universe. So I shrugged and asked, “What does she look like?”
He was beet-red from the top of his widow’s peak to the bottom edge of his goatee.
“That perky, huh?” I laughed again.
I went to my office and Googled my pen name and what came up in the results was a bodacious red head with a gorgeous rack. She’s twenty-five and she should possess a fabulous rack right? This is America and if she wants to reveal said rack to the world for profit well it’s her prerogative and the American way. I chuckled until the giggles took hold of me, and then I planned in secret that one day I’d make my Elizabeth Marx even more famous than hers. We all know books are way more important than boobs, right?
Fast forward a few months. My website is going live and I had to join Twitter so I could have the little bird listed on all my pages. I’m not a big tell-everybody-what-you’re-thinking-all-of-the-time kind of gal but I understand how the web is actually a web and everything has to be connected to everything else. Of course, as you can imagine, my name, Elizabeth Marx wasn’t available. Of course not, probably because she had taken it!  And because elizabethmarxbooks is too long, I settled on
I didn’t tweet a single word after setting up the account, but my phone started chiming right away and I checked my email and I had about 20 followers on twitter. I thought, holy crow this Twitter thing is incredible, cause I haven’t told anyone. How’d they find me?
The next morning I had 23 more followers, so I flew over to twitter to check out the phenomenon. I opened the profile of my first follower and her name was Kandi. Kandi, the name alone should’ve been the tip-off, but Kandi was a young woman who would be in the demographic of my young adult book All’s Fair in Vanity’s War and she looked like a high-schooler dressed in a private school uniform. I clicked on her picture and as it enlarged the first thing I thought was, why is Kandi’s sweater up around her navel? (I’m the mother of three daughters and none of them are going to school or anywhere else like that!) I thought why is Kandi wearing thigh high hose with lace edging? I thought, Oh My GOD, when I read Kandi’s web address:  (I’d love to see how many of you’ve clicked on this, but for the record, I mashed up a couple of different web addresses of the candy girls, but I’ll admit, it was difficult to find a website that didn’t actually work!)
I continued scrolling through the list of names. I burst out laughing because Andi, Judi, Juli, Mandi, Ricki, Suzi, and every other female name ending in an I that you can imagine was waiting for me to say something profound with only 140 characters. Then there was a Levinia, why Levinia hadn’t changed her name to Levi, or Ninni, I had no idea, maybe she didn’t get the monthly Porn Goddess Newsletter with the cover article: Porn Names for Profit. I went through their website addresses too and for the most part they ran from funny to vulgar, but mostly vulgar. But then I started wondering, why would they want to follow me?
The thought hit me like a lightning bolt, is awfully close to I mean the difference between the “k” and the “b” in the minds of these babes is minute. But to make matters worse, among these 7 lovely coeds they had over a 1038 followers and were following 1919 people, but the best part was the number of tweets: 17! I’ll do the math for you, 2.43 tweets each. They are no longer teaching spelling and writing in college, just how to market yourself on Twitter with 140 characters or less!
Granted, I was using Twitter for marketing too, but I was selling books not boobs. And books are more important than boobs, right? It could all be a coincidence, but it’s certainly funny that the God’s of advertising had gotten a hold of me.
If you’re wondering what twit-twat is, pull your brain out of the gutter I just submerged it in. Urban Dictionary defines twit-twat as those who use twitter in every aspect of their lives, endlessly spamming you until you snap and do something horrific to them.
I know most of you, and hits on skyrocketed! But you can follow me on twitter at
Happy Reading,
Elizabeth Marx


Looking for a short read??? Try this for free.
Okay, let’s start out by saying this book is a compendium, not a novel. I had no idea what a compendium was until my good friend Merriam Webster informed me. Compendium: 1) a brief summary of a larger work or of a field of knowledge; 2) A collection or compilation.
This is all the ExtraOrdinary knowledge I’ve collected and written down in the little black book Ilithyia gave me as a death-day present. The same night she gave me the spiel about the important purpose I’d serve as The Seer. I have more questions about the Order than I have answers for, but I’ve decided to serve my higher purpose by constructing this encyclopedia for the Ordinary world.
The Seer’s 7 Deadly Fairy Tales also includes a truthful account of what happened to me, and a peek into what transpired while Locke and I were sent away to Blessingston. It’s full of definitions, cool illustrations, and the first of seven fairy tales that will be told over the course of the series. If you’re dying to know what goes on behind the veil of secrecy Salem is shrouded in, feel free to read this compendium.
But beware, the Order has one rule about recording ExtraOrdinary events–it’s strictly forbidden. So just to be on the safe side, you might want to destroy this after reading it.
But don’t worry about me getting in trouble, I’m already dead!
The Seer
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Through the corridors of the Windy City’s criminal courts, single mother, Libby Tucker, doesn’t wonder how far she’s willing to go to save her son’s life from cancer. The undefeated defense attorney knows she’ll take her case all the way to the majors.

Libby pleads her case at the cleats of celebrity baseball player, Banford Aidan Palowski, the man who discarded her at college graduation, begging him to live up to his biological duty. Libby’s worked her backside bare for everything she’s attained, while Band-Aid has been indulged since he slid through the birth canal and landed in a pile of Gold Coast money. But helping her might jeopardize the only thing the jock worships: his baseball career.

If baseball imitates life, Aidan admits his appears to be silver-plated peanuts, until, an unexpected confrontation with the most spectacular prize that’s ever poured from a caramel corn box blindsides him. Libby reveals his son desperately needs him and it pricks open the wound he’s carried since he abandoned her.

All Libby wants is a little anonymous DNA, but Band-Aid has a magical umpire in his head who knows Libby’s a fateball right to the heart. When a six-year-old sage, and a hippy priestess step onto the field there’s more to settle between Libby and Aidan then heartache, redemption, and forgiveness.
March 12- Chick Lit Goddess- Review

March 15- The Hungry Bibliophile- Novel Spotlight

March 17- Handcuff Betty- Review

March 18- The Autumn Review- Guest Post

March 19- Turning the Pages- Review

March 20- Storm Goddess Book Reviews- Review

March 23- Chick Lit Plus- Review

March 24- Hannah Shelton- Review

March 27- Chick Lit Plus- Q&A

March 28- Madsheep Reading- Review

March 30- Jersey Girl Book Reviews- Review & Guest Post

March 31- My Life, My Randomness- Novel Spotlight

April 1- Lost in Literature- Review

April 2- East Village- Review


TODAY ONLY go to to download a free copy of my book To Breathe the Breath of Isis. If you like a historical story with a splash of adventure and a dash of romance this is the book for you.

To breathe the breath of Isis is to be reborn.
An Egyptian necklace disassembled because of the danger it poses to the queen who wears it. Its pieces scattered across the pages of time, like sand across the desert.
One woman destined to wear it over and over again . . .

Free Ebook Friday WLC Please share. Thanks.



THIS FRIDAY ONLY download To Breathe the Breath of Isis for FREE!  for Free Ebook Friday WLC

To breathe the breath of Isis is to be reborn.

Words whispered in Marguerite’s ear on her thirteenth birthday, as her father wraps her fingers around the nefret. But the Egyptian necklace piece, so easily concealed in the palm of her hand, bears a curse for any who wear it, and an undeniable allure for all those who see it.

Years later, Marguerite is a victim of a vicious attack. The resulting brain damage causes amnesia and the photographer’s memories are mere snapshots: a little girl with a piece of hammered silver jewelry, an angry man with a disdainful sneer, a sand-swept swashbuckler who takes her breath away, fire and blood melded together, and the wings of Isis trying to carry her away.

When she inexplicably appears in a tomb in Thebes, Marguerite insists she was coming to see Robert. Disorientated, destitute, and alone, she senses the necklace piece has led her to a time and place of its choosing.

Lord Robert Bruton, eminent Egyptologist, and possible King’s spy, has staked his career on finding the final resting place of an eighteenth dynasty queen. But he has never discovered anything quite as alluring as the young woman he recovers unconscious in a tomb on his firham. He wonders why the mesmerizing young woman possesses a piece of jewelry belonging to Queen Tiye. Is she a tomb robber? An American spy? Or a madwoman spouting fantastical stories about aeroplanes traversing the Atlantic.

Or is she the treasure he has been seeking his entire life?

Words Written, Memories Made

                The word that is heard perishes, but the letter that is written remains. Proverb

Words have always been important to me and my fascination with putting them together to tell stories is the reason I became a writer. In this age of emails, texting and 140 character counts between hashtags, thoughts scrolled across a piece of paper are a precious commodity. Throughout my life, I’ve seen how words can heal and I’ve tried to use my voice in the books I write to convey the depth of emotions I think possible in life.

About five years ago I started writing a book, Binding Arbitration. The son of the main character has leukemia and he needs a bone marrow transplant. The story is about a mother’s dogged determination to find a donor for her child, but in the background it’s about the treatment, outlook, and outcomes for cancer patients. It was a difficult book to write and publish because at its core is a sick child, but it’s also about the power of love to heal. It’s about words written in letters that were never mailed but finally delivered, and the power of those written words, that once read, were cherished. When I first wrote the book its theme was about the cycle of abandonment, but now its become so much larger than that for me. I’d been one of the lucky families that cancer hadn’t touched, but now my father-in-law is in his third round of treatments against this insidious disease and is undergoing a bone marrow transplant.

So life does have a way of imitating art.

One of my daughters came up with an unusual name for her grandfather when she was a toddler and somehow it’s managed to stick, we call him G-Pop. When G-Pop first got sick I knew my girls wouldn’t take it well, so as a way to cope I fell back on my written words and their power to heal. Each of my girls picked out a journal, one of the journals has beautiful blue birds on it and the other has whimsical owls. I told the Bluebird and the Owl to write G-Pop a letter in the journal and we would give it to him and then he would write the little birds back.

And so the journal entries ensued, but you have to understand, G-Pop was a college professor his whole career and he knows how to use words wisely. How many people have you encountered who are truly wise? Wisdom is a gift so few possess and so precious that I looked forward to what G-Pop wrote back in the journals as much as my Bluebird and Owl did. And I too learned new things about G-Pop that I’d never known.

Some of the questions Bluebird asked seem so mundane and yet G-Pop spun them into lessons every child should learn from the lap of a man so wise, kind and patient. Bluebird plays softball and she asked G-Pop what his favorite games were? G-Pop loves sports and both of his sons were collegiate athletes and G-Pop never missed a game they were playing in all the way through high school. But G-Pop didn’t mention any of that; he just talked about his love of baseball, but when he got to the close of that letter he said: “As for softball or whatever else you do, I really enjoy every moment of watching you. You remind me of your father. I see so much of him in you. If you believe in yourself like he did in himself you will have a wonderful future. Enjoy what you do and you will have a wonderful life. G-Pop”

Our family has been fortunate enough to travel quite a bit, so Owl asked G-Pop where his favorite vacations were. G-Pop responded with the trips he took with his uncle Firpo in his own childhood, and then the vacation he took G-Mom and his boys on to a ranch in Wyoming, and then some of the fabulous places he has gone to in his retirement, like Italy, England, Barbados, France, Hawaii and Poland. But he closed with this: “So picking one vacation is hard. They all provide me with wonderful memories, a greater appreciation that we really are all one people. We differ in appearance but we all seek the same things. We want to be happy, to be loved and to love, to be respected and to respect, and to be free of oppression and fear. We seek peace and prosperity. We find comfort in our families and try to enjoy things together. That’s what creates our special memories. G-Pop”

                Then Bluebird told G-Pop about her favorite things: her love of books (that she partially inherited from him) and about her favorite foods, meatballs at that time, and her favorite color which was purple. G-Pop wrote back about all the different books that offered him so much pleasure. He wrote that his favorite food was Italian and then he asked if wine was a food, because he liked that, too. Then somewhere in the middle of his letter he talked about his fascination with birds and bears and the collection of bears he had gathered from places like Colorado, Alaska and China and how G-Mom humors him by putting them on the mantle once a year. He said, Bears have always fascinated me—they are big, strong yet docile and funny at times. The instant I read those words I understood his kinship with the bear. G-Pop is a tall man, with silver hair as pure as a polar bears’ coat, he’s strong and yet the gentlest person I’ve ever encountered. In all the years I’ve known him I’ve hardly ever heard him raise his voice, but he is like the bear in his fierce regard for his children and grandchildren. Perhaps what makes him most like a bear is strength, inner strength. The bear doesn’t pick battles but when one comes looking for the bear you know he’ll fiercely fight it. And while he’s fighting his battle with cancer, this bear will take the time to look around the forest and call to his little birds, leaving them handwritten letters in books they’ll treasure forever.

                And so I’ll close with one of my absolute favorite quotes.

                How frail and ephemeral is the material substance of letters, which makes their very survival so hazardous. Print has a permanence of its own, though it may not be much worth preserving, but a letter! Conveyed by uncertain transportation, over which the sender has no control; committed to a single individual that may be careless or inappreciative; left to the mercy of future generations, of families maybe anxious to suppress the past, of the accidents of removals and house-cleanings, or of mere ignorance. How often it has been by the veriest chance that they have survived at all. Elizabeth Drew.

                When was the last time you wrote a letter worthy of survival? When was the last time you put pen to paper and wrote someone a note they will cherish forever?

Bluebird and Owl have a journal filled with letters written by the man with the strength of a bear, the wisdom of a sage and the heart of an angel. This first post is dedicated to G-Pop, Bluebird and Owl, and G-Mom too!

Elizabeth Marx