Guest Post & Giveaway: Jamie Schmidt, author of The Queen's Wings

The Queen's Wings: The Emerging Queens

by Jamie K. Schmidt 

(Entangled Edge)

Release Date: 5/27/14

Genre: Paranormal Romance


Long ago, the Cult of Humanity sacrificed the Dragon Queen, crippling the breeding process.  But now Carolyn hears the voice of that long dead queen telling her that she holds the key to breaking the spell that will free all the female dragons.


FBI dragon Reed’s disdain for humans can’t mask the magnetic attraction he has for Carolyn, but when she tells him she’s going to shift into a dragon he thinks she’s crazy. A female hasn’t been hatched, or shape shifted, in over a thousand years.


He’s proven wrong after Carolyn shifts and is named the new Queen on the block. A never-ending line of suitors forms, but she only wants Reed. Too bad he doesn’t want in on the competition. But when the Cult kidnaps Carolyn to sacrifice her in an effort to make the curse against the female dragons permanent, Reed must face his fears—and feelings, racing to save the woman he realizes he can’t live without. 

Amazon / B & N / Entangled Publishing


*Guest Post*



Dragons, Dragons, and more Dragons


Jamie K. Schmidt


May 27th is the release date of the first novel in The Emerging Queens Series from Entangled’s Edge line.  The Queen’s Wings is about a girl who knows in her heart she is going to shift into a dragon, but no one believes her.


Dragons have always been an obsession with me.  It started out with the gorgeous illustrations in Science Fiction and Fantasy Magazine.  Then in college we played a role playing game called Shadowrun, where the rules of being a shadow mercenary included “Never Deal with a Dragon.”  I like cute dragons.  I collect Real Musgrave’s pocket dragons.  I like scary dragons.  I went to GenCon one year where they had the head of a red dragon snarling malevolently out at the passersby.  He wouldn’t fit in my carryon, but I wanted to take him home anyway.  Throughout the years there have been dragon beanie babies, dragon T-shirts—I just wasted a half hour trying to find the shirt I wore to rags.  It was an orange dragon, clutching his teddy bear, while breathing smoke out of his nose—dragon ornaments, and a dragon incense burner.  Yeah, you could say I am a bit obsessed.


But unlike Carolyn, my heroine in The Queen’s Wings, I don’t wish to fly or become a dragon.  I’m awfully clumsy as it is and I can only imagine the destruction I would wreck flapping my wings or coming in for a landing.  I think the closest I’ll come to a dragon is a tattoo.  I’ve been thinking about getting one on my back and shoulder.  It would be a green dragon, sitting on a pile of books while knitting a long scarf.  The only problem about getting that would be I’d never get to see it unless I was looking over my shoulder in the mirror.


Besides, if you’re a dragon there’s always some knight who wants to slay you.  Or in Carolyn’s case, an evil cult wanting to eradicate all female dragons. It’s much safer to write about them and google search for a new T-shirt.


Here’s a snippet below from The Queen’s Wings:


     The wind caressed my scales as I banked toward the dawn. The chilly morning air woke up my tummy, even though the flock of sheep I had nibbled on at midnight had been really tasty and filled me up. I had covered miles and miles, just flying for the sheer freedom of it.

     As the sun rose, my eyes blinked. They were wind burned and sleepy. I wheeled and headed for home. Swirling my long green-and-gold tail around the chimney helped me steady my bulk on the roof. I let out a large yawn that shook the leaves from the nearby trees. Curling my forelegs underneath me, I rested my massive head on the shale of the roof and faded off into sleep.

     Much later, an icy blast of rain shocked me awake, and I nearly fell off the roof before scrabbling to get a hold on the wet bricks. I was on top of the house without any clothes on…again. Blinking tears and raindrops out of my eyes, I stared at my human hands. No talons appeared. I closed my eyes and grunted, trying to grow back the wings that I never saw while I was awake. Running my hands over my body, I checked for scales or horns but no such luck. I tilted my head back to let out an acid-breathing blast of air, but only collapsed into hacking coughs.

     Finishing with a tremendous sneeze, I sniffled and scurried down the roof and into my open bedroom window. I hoped the rain would keep Mr. Myers and Biffi the cockapoo inside today. I didn’t think he’d buy the new yoga technique story twice in one week.

     My bedroom floor was slightly soggy, and I closed the window before I had a major puddle. While pulling myself into a ratty, but warm, Turkish robe, I plodded over to the mirror.

     “I am a dragon,” I told my reflection. It seemed to be convinced, but the fever-bright eyes could have been a consequence of being on the roof all night without any clothes on. It would have been easier if I was crazy. Then I wouldn’t second-guess myself all the time. I would put on my tin-foil hat—or in this case my homemade wire hanger dragon wings, and skip merrily through life.

     “Shift,” I gritted out and pushed outward with all my might. All I had to show for it was a few burst blood vessels on my face and a doozy of a headache.

     Of course, the reflection didn’t remind me there were only five Queens in the world. The only one in North America was Esmeralda. I read up on her on the Internet before I went to bed last night. She was a violet Cuélebre—more snakelike than lizard, with massive wings. They called her the Brood Mother, and she lived in a rebuilt Mayan temple in Mexico, on sixty acres of rainforest. No humans allowed.

     A few male dragons who weren’t sequestered away into her harem were allowed to take pictures and do long articles on her power and beauty. Eighty percent of all the modern dragons on this continent were her sons. The other twenty percent were wild born, shifting into their new shape in their late adolescence. None were female.

     I was born to Bob and Mary Sue Donovan from Orange Grove, Florida. The most exciting thing my family ever did was go on Family Feud. We lost to the Santiagos when my brother botched a question. Name something you find in a gym. Sweat socks. Seriously?

     And that ended the Donovans’ fifteen minutes of fame.




About the Author:


Jamie Kleinkauf-Schmidt has over thirty short stories published in small press and ezines. She holds a Bachelor of Arts Degree from the State University of New York at New Paltz in Secondary Education English, which is a fancy way of saying she went to college to teach high school English. When that didn’t pan out, she worked as a call center manager, a Tupperware consultant, a paralegal, and finally a technical writer for a major conglomerate company. She is an active member in the Romance Writers of America (RWA), serving as the PRO liaison for her local chapter Connecticut Romance Writers of America (CTRWA).


When not writing, Jamie relaxes with a mug of hot tea and knits or makes beaded jewelry. She sells her handcrafted items at The Dudley Farm during the summer. A voracious reader, Jamie has a Kindle and is not afraid to use it.


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