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Butterflies Wake 99 Cents Kindle Deal!


September 28th-October 4th

Butterflies Wake- an underground female mafia who rights the wrongs of an unjust society.

For seven days, you can download a kindle copy of Butterflies Wake via Amazon for only $0.99 in honor of my upcoming birthday!  Be sure to take advantage of this opportunity. 

If you already have a copy, feel free to post a review on Amazon and Goodreads.

The Butterfly Project

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The Butterfly Project was created with one simple question in mind. What would a female mafia look like? When we think of the word “Mafia” we think Italian men in designer suits, gold chains, chest hair sticking out of their open shirts, a toothpick between their teeth and a wad of cash in their inside jacket. We also think of gambling, extortion, money laundering, murder, betrayal and revenge. So to do what Hollywood does and just “insert female here” would not do it any justice.

I didn’t want another group of women in leather with guns, where they all know martial arts. I didn’t want it to be compared to Charlie’s Angels because the women I know would NEVER take orders from a man they never met, who communicates with them only through a speaker.

If women were to form a mafia (and many have, you just never hear about it or read about it) I doubt they would be that interested in monetary gain. For me, I think women would use their powers for good, not evil. (Most women). When I wrote “Butterflies Wake” I envisioned a large neighborhood watch that involved women taking out the bad guys themselves, because lets face it, the justice system has failed us. A piece of paper won’t keep a man from breaking into your house and beating the crap out of you, and a rape whistle on a college campus is a F***ing joke.

So after much thought and many volunteers, we put together a nice compilation of photos and a video (make sure you check out the you tube video at the bottom) showing what we think a female mafia would look like. Enjoy and share, these ladies did a great job! No men were hurt in the making of these photos. In fact, they are all awesome men who support feminism.

“Butterflies Wake” has launched!

Butterflies Wake

Butterflies Wake


Butterflies Wake– An underground female mafia rights the wrongs of an unjust society in this gripping story of everyday women taking matters into their own hands where the justice system has failed. For many years they have worked quietly and gone unnoticed by the world in which they live, until one of them goes missing. The wrong people start asking questions and before they know it, they are in danger of being exposed. How will they save one of their own without putting their organization in danger? Will they be able to remain a secret?

Now available on Amazon, Smashwords, Barnes & Nobles and more!

BUY NOW! >>>>


Lagos has written poetry, stage plays, screenplays and short stories for over 20 years. In addition to writing Butterflies Wake, she has also written the Beyond Earth Series, a science-fiction fantasy trilogy and has twelve short stories published in the Giant Tales anthology. Her new novel, Butterflies Wake, is now available in hardcopy and eBook. Lagos currently resides in Massachusetts with her husband and their daughter.


“Butterflies Wake” Novel Packs a Punch Without Chipping a Nail

Butterflies Wake

Butterflies Wake


The highly-anticipated novel, “Butterflies Wake” launches this June, and may very well find its way to the bestseller list before the end of the summer. The novel is about an underground female mafia that rights the wrongs of an unjust society.

Along with the book, I have put together a photo campaign that depicts vigilante women in positions of power, in an effort to go up against the mainstream depictions of women as victims of a domestically violent and rape-excused culture.

The messages the photos send are very clear, “We are not afraid” and “You are not alone”. For a fiction novel it seems to hit home, with many women often asking me, is it real? If so, can I join?

While my usual reply is that it’s just a tongue-in-cheek fiction novel, it does raise the question about whether or not its time for women to become more vigilant in their own protection against a culture that excuses such violence towards them.

Want an exclusive on the Butterfly Project with all the photos? Contact me at

Moving On


It was interesting to watch him. The way he sat in the darkness of the lonely, cold house that was once our home. The way he picked up pictures and held them to his heart, trying to work up tears; but we both knew it wasn’t love he felt…it was guilt. Guilt for the way he treated me, the way he hurt me countless times throughout our marriage. The physical abuse was one thing, but the mental abuse was enough to push a woman over the edge.

If only he could see me, see that I am happy now; that we were poisonous together. Maybe if he could just see that, we could both move on. Sometimes I try to make sounds, or chant, or do something to get his attention but nothing ever works. Now it was just the two of us occupying the same space, unable to communicate. I’m not sure which seems more impossible, that I can see him or that he can’t see me. It’s comical really if you think about it. We always both secretly wished the other would go away so we wouldn’t have to deal with the burden of divorce. But this scenario was almost too much to bear.

Something inside of me felt the need to help him move on. Even though he was a lying, cheating, physically and mentally abusive turd, I felt bad for him. Perhaps that was the victim in me. You spend enough time with someone and you start to believe the things they say. You start to buy into the idea that maybe you are nothing and so you embody that idea until you’re desperate and thankful for the few crumbs of happiness your master gives you on one of their good days. He was so powerful before with his wild temper, his rules and his iron fists. But now, he was pitiful to watch. He seemed so lost and broken. It made me sad even after everything he’d done.

This morning he got all dressed up and I thought that perhaps today was the day that he would visit the cemetery. If he did, I knew that hopefully he would finally find some peace. Luckily, it was in walking distance, since he couldn’t drive.

Approaching the cemetery, my stomach turned inside out. Even now, even after everything he had done to me, I wasn’t sure if I could allow him peace. If I could face the truth, if I could witness him face it.  But, I had to be there; I had no choice. Somehow, we were still bound to each other and would be forever unless I was able to help us rid ourselves of the skeletons of the past.

As we got closer to the gravesite, the memories came flooding back to me about that fateful night; the screams that rang out through the streets, his fist pounding on the back of my skull, over and over again. The blood spilling out of my mouth and nose, my face pressed against the floor, as I recall the gun that I hid beneath the bed.  He grabbed at my ankles in an effort to pull me out as I squirmed underneath for safety, almost avoiding the kick to my spine from Harold as I fumble to un-tape the 38 special from the bed frame.

The two of us struggling for control of the gun, shots being fired followed by the smell of powdery smoke filling the air. Then more blood filled the room as it fell silent. Time stopped as instinct set in. What had we done? Shrieks of horror precede madness. Then there was the clean up, the burning of the evidence, the dumping of the body in the lake nearby. The classic trash bag wrapped body with a cinderblock tied to the ankles, sinking to the bottom.

Looking down at the gravestone, tears filled my eyes as I read the etching.

Harold Waters 1968-2012, survived by his loving wife Linda. His face turned pale, his eyes filled with horror as he fell to his knees at the realization that he was in fact, the one that had died.  They never found his body and perhaps my punishment for committing such a horrendous crime was to be haunted by him for the past year.  Tears filled his eyes now and for the first time, they seemed genuine.

“I deserved it. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me Linda,” he whispered.

“I forgive you,” I whispered back.

That was the last I ever saw of Harold.


This short story is an entry into the October Skeletons contest for the Fiction Writers Guild on LinkedIn. The guidelines were 750 words that had to do with Skeletons, a tombstone and something impossible versus something possible. I hope you enjoyed it. You can read more short stories like this through our collection of works on Amazon under “Giant Tales Beyond The Mystic Doors” and “Giant Tales From The Misty Swamp”.  Our writers group is called writers 750 and the book is under the pen name of Professor Limn. There are between 15-20 authors with over 60 short stories per book. For more information, click on the short stories tab on this blog.

Giant Tales, Book I

Giant Tales, Book I

Giant Tales, Book II
Giant Tales, Book II

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