L.M. Wasylciw’s goal is to empower women and advocate for human rights through literature. When she is not writing she is helping fellow authors get their books published.

As an author, publishing consultant, and writing coach,

Linda is intrigued with human behaviour

– providing her with a great source of material for her books.

Linda delves into societal issues, shedding light on authentic problems when crafting enthralling fiction about thought-provoking issues.

She hopes her stories will resonate long after reading.

As Professor Scry, Linda takes young readers beyond the imaginable, opening their psychic eye to explore subconscious thoughts.

“I believe:

in the power of stories and get carried away when spinning perfectly crafted sentences,
good writing is developed from a combination of intuition and skill, and creativity and craftsmanship; exuding strength, clarity, authenticity and character,
in treating others with kindness, honesty and respect.

Keep reading and writing, they are the best gifts in the world.”

Excerpt from the novel

‘LOVE NEVERMORE ’til death do us part’

NEWLY PUBLISHED

This is one book so many fans have been looking forward to reading.

Goose bumps rose along my arms and a trickle of sweat ran down my back, more aware than ever that in times of danger the senses were enhanced. I looked around, trying to get my bearings. When Steve suddenly stopped walking, I stumbled into him. He handed me the spade and ordered. “Now start digging.”

Although I was expecting this, I stared at him in disbelief. It was all too clear. I had been ordered to dig my own grave. The lazy fucker wouldn’t even do that! This whole thing was mindboggling. I felt as though I was living a tale written in novels or seen on television. Horrified, I stared at him, refusing to obey. I would rather he killed me where I stood than to do as he had ordered. I took one step backwards, held my hands firmly by my sides and thought, ‘He can dig his own fucking grave.” In my mind I saw it as a job that went with the killing.

Steve saw my defiance and wondered where I had found the backbone to challenge him. He threw back his shoulders, smiled, then took a step towards me. I cowered.

‘Fuck, I hate myself for my cowardice. Fuck, I hate you, Steve Schofield,’ I thought.

“Hard at hearing, woman?” he snarled and swung the spade, spraying twigs and dirt at me. “I’ve had enough of your fucking bull-shit. Now, dig.”

Quivering in fear, I imagined the side of the spade against his skull. Uncertain what to do, I looked around, searching for a way out of this ghastly situation. Seeing no alternative, I took the spade and pressed it into the ground, slowly picking at the earth, hoping to buy time, to come up with an escape plan. All things considered I was the one with the weapon. All he had was a bottle of whiskey! However, he did have one big advantage and that was his strength. I couldn’t compete with that. I had to use my wits. There was no way I could outrun him but maybe I could outlast him. The longer it took me to dig the more booze he would consume. I wondered if I could overtake him if he were drunk!

Seeing no alternative, I took the spade and pressed it into the ground. Once again, I was the meek person he had created.