Please NOTE: sUBSCRIBING TO MY MAILING LIST, YOU ARE AWARE THAT YOU WILL RECEIVE A NEWSLETTER ON THE 4TH OF EVERY MONTH, A rAFFLECOPTER REMINDER HALFWAY THROUGH THE MONTH, AND OCCASIONALLY, IF SOMETHING COMES UP IN THE MONTH THAT CAN'T WAIT UNTIL THE NEXT NEWSLETTER, I MAY SEND OUT A AN NOTE.
TGIF! Please welcome Mageela Troche to my blog today with her book, Claiming The Highlander. Mageela shares a most embarrassing situation that happened to her, and thank goodness, now she can laugh about it!
I’m not someone who embarrasses easily. But one incident that burned my cheeks is one I rather forget. It started off simple enough. I had to go to the grocery store to pick up a few things. I was in my PJs and changed into a t-shirt and my comfy camouflage pants that I had for almost ten years. I went to the store with no problem, and was returning home when I heard a teenage boy saying Excuse me I didn’t really pay attention but I heard those two words again so I looked.
He told me that my pants were ripped. I craned my neck and sure enough, there was a rip that ran along my right butt cheek and my underwear was on show for the world. Oh, yeah, my cheeks burned (pun intended). Luckily, my t-shirt was long enough to cover the split and I hurried home.
At least, I can chuckle about that event now but I really miss those pants. One day, the incident may work its way into a novel somehow...that’s if I can stop laughing at myself.
I think I died right along with you, Mageela! Red in the face for sure!
Tell us about your story, Claiming The Highlander.
Caelen MacKenzie married heiress Lady Brenna Grant in his youth for a large parcel of land and an earldom. Years later, Scotland trembles from the tales of the Viking Highlander yet Caelen must face his most challenging battle—returning home and to the past he ran from.
Lady Brenna loves her husband. As her loyalties are tested, the life she was reared to live is in jeopardy. She knows no other life but the one as Countess and wife to Caelen. Snagged in the power plays of men, she will do anything to save that life and the man she loves.
From the rugged western highlands to the glittering Scottish court, they must battle the machinations of powerful men scheming against them.
Will they be triumphant in this game and live happily ever after?
She reached the last step and halted. The smoke must have conjured images. Caelan stood at the end of the corridor. She blinked, believing the vision would vanish into nothingness. The arched doorway framed his muscular form, which was draped in plaid. His head hung down. His long locks draped around his face and blocked him from her view. Light flickered over his Viking blond hair. She blinked a few times, waiting for him to notice her standing here. She must have moved because his head flew up.
He faced her. A smile spread across her face and her cheeks hurt from it. She wanted to throw herself in his arms. Instead, she buried the urge. She even squeezed out a couple of tears.
Her feet skipped over the floor as she raced to him. She threw her arms around him and squeezed him tightly. She lacked the strength to hold him as she wished. Caelan was all hard muscle. He smelled of the outdoors—greenery, and of the fresh wind that whirled about him and caught in the weave of his plaid, along with a manly scent that was his own. She stroked her cheek against his plaid. The scratchy wool scraped her skin. An itchy tingle spread through her cheek.
She ran her hands over his thick arms. He had come for her. She linked her fingers with his. She leaned her head to the side to look at the shut chamber door. Last night had been a difficult one. The healers and servants had been going in and out through the night. Their muffled voices floated to her chamber along with the groans of pains coming from the laird—aye, the laird would be leaving this earth soon. Her smile dimmed along with the heady delight within her. “You have finally returned.”
Caelan arched a brow, revealing his blue eyes. She loved his pure, blue hue that shined bright with shards of white, unlike her plain, brown ones. He pulled his hand away. She tucked her empty hand within the pleats of her dress. This was not the reunion she had imagined since she learned he was returning home. Caelan was supposed to grab her in his arms and swing her about. After her holding her close for a drawn-out moment, he was supposed to slide her down his body, and then kiss her. After he ravished her mouth, he was to stare deep into her eyes. He might have even whispered tenders words. Instead, he stood there, his arms at his side. The man didn’t even reach out to her.
His sharp gaze slid over her. The heat of his inspection sent a flush through her. He no longer looked at her as a little lass. Caelan looked at her like a man to a woman. Pure heated desire that set her heart racing. The last time he saw her, he had treated her a like a child and shown even less interest. He no longer looked at her as a little lass. “You look well, Brenna.”
“You haven’t cleaned up from your journey.” His plaid was wrinkled and the pleats were flat. She brushed at a smear of dirt marring his leine. It was just a reason to touch him.
“Seeing my father was more important.” He peeked over his shoulder. “I should have been here earlier.”
She licked her lips. “Has the laird fallen asleep?”
“Nay, he…he started coughing.” He shook his head. The ends of his blond hair fanned out. The pale tips caught the amber light of the torches. His strong brow was more pronounced from the lowering of his brows.
“Last night was hard for him, but your arrival shall make him feel better. When I sit with him, he always speaks of you.”
When he hung his head, she wished she could take back her words.
“You sit with him often?” He pushed back his hair.
“Aye. Sometimes, we discuss you, and other times he tells me stories or curses the healers. It depends upon how he feels.”
His broad shoulders that seemed to be able to bear all of Scotland and England upon them, straightened. “I am here so I can see to the running of everything. You shall assist me.”
She rose to the tips of her toes. “Of course. I am your wife.”
What an interesting read! Thank you for sharing. Tell us a little about you!
An Air Force brat, Mageela Troche has lived throughout the world then landed in New York City. She wanted to leave the same day she arrived. Yet, with her stubbornness, Mageela learned to like the place and the libraries were the main reasons. Since she was a little girl, Mageela wanted to be an author and an actress, however, once in college, Mageela changed her life plan in the pursuit of money. After all, college loans must be repaid. At Syracuse University, she studied International Relations and Geography with plans to make the world a better place.
But after a tragic life event, Mageela put those plans aside and returned to New York City where she tried to find her way through life. After studying fashion design, working for various jobs, she decided to take a risk and do what she truly desired all her life–writing.
Mageela returned to writing and focused on the romance genre. Her first break came when she sold a short story to a magazine. She sold two more before the publication of her historical romance novel, The Marriage Alliance. She has gone on to write four more and a novella.
Mageela is currently writing in the cramped corner of her Big Apple apartment. She is the proud owner of a Black-masked lovebird named Boobula. She loves to hear from her readers and can be found online.
Website: http://www. MageelaTroche.com
Thank you, Mageela, for stopping by. I hope you have great success with your book.
If you are visiting, please leave us a comment and let us know you've stopped by. We authors love to hear from our readers!
Welcome to my blog today. My guest is Paul McDermott, with his book, Spear of Destiny. He shares with us a little humorous event that he eventually wrote into one of his books. Since I'm Irish, and my mother came from Ireland. I have to admit this tale did bring a smile to my face!
One summer in my misspent ‘yoof’ I spent travelling the back lanes and byways of rural Ireland with friends. We were without doubt a perfect model for the “long-haired friends of Jesus in a clapped out microbus” made popular in a song which was in the charts that summer (“Convoy” by B.W. McColl) Collectively we were a reasonably successful traditional folk group based in Liverpool.
Throughout June & July every village in Ireland has a music festival. As soon as people noticed the guitars in our luggage we were welcomed with open arms and rarely managed to pay for a drink ...
Pub licencing hours at the time were less ‘generous’ than they are today, and especially in England [‘Last Orders’ and closing time was 10.30 p.m.] One night early in our unplanned mini-tour, with the time approaching midnight, our Gallant Leader asked the Publican “When do you close?”
Mine Host solemnly looked at his wristwatch and replied: “September.”
With slight embellishments, this incident become a scene in an early chapter of one of my novels set in Ireland.
LOL, that's the kind of answer I like! Thanks for sharing. Now tell us a little about Spear of Destiny.
In 1945, U-boat Kapitän Herbert Nollau must deliver a weapon which will turn the war in Germany’s favour. His orders are delivered verbally. There will be no written records... and no witnesses.
Alone, far from home, hunted by the Danish Resistance and the might of the Allied Forces, he must obey either his final Orders…or the inner voice of his conscience.
Überlojtnant Herbert Nollau stood with his Zeiss nightglasses glued to his eyes, impervious to the rain whipped across his cheeks by half a gale. This howled almost exactly at ninety degrees to the tide, which had just reached the full but had not yet begun its retreat. His command craft, U-534, sat uneasily at anchor, dipping at bow and stern in the current, yawing appreciably as frequent Force Ten gusts buffeted her broad flanks. Low, heavy rainclouds hunkered closer, seeming to settle on the upper branches of the natural pine forest which spread untamed, unculled, across the low hills of Schleswig-Holstein.
An identical pair of black Opel staff cars bracketed a canvas bodied Mercedes half-track transport wagon, all three vehicles picking their way carefully along an unmarked country road. The headlights were taped down to the size and shape of a feral cat's vertical slits, acknowledging the strict rules governing all traffic during the hours of darkness. The road to the harbour just outside Lübeck was neither tarmac’ed nor enhanced with any form of lighting. The drivers were obliged to steer cautiously around every twist, using the gears and brakes more frequently than the accelerator.
"Amateurs!" he thought to himself, as the three sets of headlights crawled slowly closer.
He blanked the thought as soon as it intruded on his consciousness, forcing himself back into State-approved Wehrmacht thinking, based on purely practical matters directly related to carrying out current instructions, with maximum efficiency, without question. He pulled the collar of his oilskins closer around his throat in a futile attempt to prevent the rain from seeping through, soaking his uniform. Raising his night glasses once more, he cursed the weather, the Wehrmacht and the world in general, feeling more exposed and vulnerable with every minute that passed as he waited for the convoy of lights to crawl closer, carrying the equipment which he had been ordered to collect. It bothered him that he was expected to set sail immediately, and await orders concerning his destination by radio once he had cleared the bay and entered Store Bælt: technically, that section of the North Sea was neutral Danish waters, and if he were to remain on the surface for any length of time in order to receive orders …
As the lights snaked around another pair of curves and began their final descent to the shoreline and the jetty where U534 was waiting, Herbert Nollau realized that he had on board a much more powerful sender/receiver than any other U-boat: in fact, not just one but two radios equipped with the Enigma cryptographic programme had been installed, ostensibly for testing. With a sudden jolt, the deceptively young-looking Überlojtnant realized that this technology was far more sophisticated than that which had previously been regarded as the best in the world: apart from being guaranteed unbreakable as a code, it could also send and receive radio signals without his craft needing to surface.
He shook his head to clear the worst of the pools which had formed in the upturned brim of his sou’wester and made his way down the ladder bolted to the side of the conning tower, aiming to be waiting on the quay before the three vehicles wheezed to a halt. His mechanic’s ear analysed and diagnosed a list of faults he could clearly identify from the laboured chugging of each engine. Furious at this indication of inefficiency, a corner of his mind decided that he would have had the senior officer responsible for each vehicle court-martialled, if the decision had been up to him. In spite of the horrors he had witnessed in three years of naval warfare, he shuddered. His orders, distasteful though they might be, were crystal clear …
Two gaunt, silent shadows slid with simultaneous choreography from the rear seat of each of the Opels: their sleek black trenchcoats almost touched the planks of the jetty, glistening in the starlight as if the officers wearing them had been marching for hours in the rain rather than just stepping out of a warm, dry car. Nollau fired off his most formal salute: the four SS-officers responded with a world-weary, bent-elbow half-salute and pointedly refrained from returning Nollau’s “Heil, Hitler!” One detached himself for a moment and gave a hand-signal to the driver of the canvas-sided truck. The driver immediately hammered his fist twice on the bulkhead behind his seat. Four soldiers appeared over the tailgate of the wagon and began to manoeuvre something long and heavy out of the cargo space.
Turning to face his command meant that Herbert Nollau had to turn his back on the four staff officers. Somehow he managed to do this with an insolence which stated quite clearly that, as far as he was concerned, they were barely worthy of his contempt.
He placed a small, shrill whistle to his lips and blew, one long (but not overloud) blast. Within ten seconds, the deck was populated by about twenty matelots, standing at ease, who somehow contrived to arrive from nowhere and in total silence. Close to the bows, and just for’ard of ’midships , cables were deployed from two small jib cranes. Within seconds, the submariner crew were on the jetty, taking the unidentified cargo from the shoulders of the four soldiers and hoisting it with ease onto the foredeck, thence by some lightningfast legerdemain out of sight below decks. The crew had followed, leaving Überlojtnant Nollau as the only member of the Senior Service still on the jetty. At a silent gesture from one of the anonymous black trenchcoats the four soldiers climbed back over the tailgate, into the truck. After about four attempts, the driver managed to coax the engine into life and began to back and fill, facing back the way he had come.
As he completed the manoeuvre and gunned the engine to set off up the hill, the four SS officers opened their trenchcoats to reveal the muzzles of rapid fire MP40 machine pistols. With one accord they raised their weapons and sent round after deadly round of ammunition into both the cab and the rear of the vehicle, holding the triggers steady. Before the hail of bullets ceased, the fuel tanks of the wagon exploded, sending flames soaring high into the night sky, setting small fires in the tree tops as they lost their intensity and curled back towards the ground.
Suddenly, Herbert Nollau’s orders seemed fractionally less dishonourable.
Having emptied their weapons, the four executioners appeared to have rediscovered some of their habitual swagger and pride. Crashing the butts of the now-empty weapons against the rough wooden planking of the jetty they raised their right arms to the fullest, and screamed: “Heil, Hitler!” as their heels crashed together in perfect unison.
Sick to his stomach at the pleasure his countrymen took from the callous murder of fellow Germans, it was all Herbert Nollau could do to raise his arm, bent-elbowed, in the less formal salute he would never under normal circumstances have accepted from others nor used himself.
The Spear of Destiny is available at:
Paperback available at the Publisher’s website: http://www.classactbooks.com/component/virtuemart/historical-fiction/the-spear-of-destiny-detail?Itemid=0
I've a confession to make here. I have watched all the Nazi documentaries, trying to understand how the Germans were so taken in by Hitler that they committed these atrocities. Your story sounds like a great read, and I'll have to check this one out.
Born in the Year of the Tiger, Paul’s natural curiosity combined with the deep-seated feline need to roam has meant that over the years he’s never been able to call any one place home. His wanderlust has led him from one town to another, and even from one country to another.
“I can’t remember a time when I didn’t write - my father claims to possess a story I wrote when I was six, which filled 4 standard school exercise books! What I do remember from that time was being told off for doing the Liverpool Echo crossword before he got home from work!”
While Paul was living in Denmark, he allowed himself to be persuaded to write for a purpose instead of purely for his own amusement. Perhaps it was the catalyst of breathing the same air as Hans Christian Andersen.
Find out more about Paul at:
www.thewriterschatroom.com (Sundays & Wednesdays)
Thank you, Paul, for stopping by and sharing your book with us. I hope you have great success with it.
If you are a visitor, please leave us a comment and let us know you stopped by. We love to hear from our readers!
Today, let's welcome Izzy Szyn back on my blog during her blog tour for her release, Lizzy's Temptation. Welcome, Izzy, lets find out about this book!
Lizzy's Temptation By Izzy Szyn
Izzy is giving away a $15 Amazon Gift Certificate and 2 ebooks of the winners' choice from her backlist. Please use the Rafflecopter below to enter. Remember you may increase your chances of winning by visiting the other tour stops. You may find those locations here.
About the Book:
When Lizzy sneaks into an event where actress Ivory Rodgers was scheduled to appear, she gets more than she bargained for. Ivory Rodgers is hotter, sexier in person and takes Lizzy under her control.
âLooking for the Ivory Rodgersâ party?â asked a soft feminine voice behind her.
âYes,â answered Lizzy, turning her head. Holy shit, it was Ivory Rodgers. Just be cool, just be cool, she told herself.
âCome with me,â she smiled.
âOkay,â admitted Lizzy.
âIâm Ivory Rodgers,â she introduced herself, holding her hand out.
âLizzy Holloway. Itâs very nice to meet you,â she replied, shaking her hand. Damn, the woman was even hotter in person, tingles ran up her arm. Damn, sheâd never been this way with anyone before.
âI love your hair and dress,â complimented Ivory, walking towards a ballroom.
âThanks.â Self-consciously, Lizzy touched her hair, still getting used to the different shades of purple spiral curls hung down her back. âI just got it done today.â
âI like it,â smiled Ivory, her jet-black hair hung down the middle of her back. Her trademark hazel eyes, made it hard for Lizzy to turn away.
âThere you are Ivory,â said a man that seemed to command the room with his presence. Tall, elegant in a black suit. âWeâre about to start. Whoâs this?â
âMy new friend Lizzy Holloway,â introduced Ivory. âLizzy this is Spencer.â
âHi,â something about him told Lizzy he was used to commanding attention. That most people he encountered would do whatever he would say.
âIvory, I warned you about doing this,â he said to her, looking worriedly at Lizzy. âI told you this needs to stop.â
âWhy? When I can make new friends like Lizzy,â questioned Ivory. âGet something to eat, and Iâll be back soon. I wonât stay here long, then we can go somewhere quiet and get better acquainted.â
âMe?â Lizzy couldnât stop the shock from her voice. Lizzy wanted to get better acquainted with her?
âYes, you,â confirmed Ivory. âI canât wait until I get you alone.â
Why did it sound like sheâd been expecting Lizzy? Maybe she should leave? But then sheâd miss the chance to get to talk to Ivory. This could be a night sheâd never forget. Walking to the tables that lined the wall, she picked some stuff off the plates.
âDrink?â asked a waiter behind her.
âThanks, do you have any Pepsi?â she asked. Thinking it might be better to keep her mind clear.
âOf course,â he nodded, âIâll be right back.â
About the Author:
New York Times Bestselling Author Izzy Szyn was born in May of 2014 when a friend dared her to write. Born and raised in Detroit, Mi. Izzy now lives in Oklahoma City with her furchild Misty, the friendliest Chihuahua/Terrier you will ever meet. Currently works in a call center, where she writes in between phone calls. Izzy loves to keep in touch with her readers. Email her at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Find her on Facebook :) https://www.facebook.com/izzyszynhome/
Google Plus link: https://plus.google.com/100905614042668276073
Thank you Izzy, for stopping by. Hope you have great success with your blog tour and your book.
If you are a visitor, please leave us a comment and let us know you've stopped by. We authors are lonely people and love to hear from our readers!
Happy Tuesday everyone! Today, check out the humorous tale he shares with us, and read the excerpt from his book, Dragon. Welcome, James.
I used to work as a lecturer at a university in Taiwan. I need to be careful here not to name names, but it was in the prefecture of Taipei and the Chinese name of the town translates as clear water (in case anyone Is inclined to check it out). There was a head of department and an assistant head who ran things. The head was a large set, surly figure who lightened up outside of work with a beer in front of him, but was quite taciturn during work hours. I think it was because he was under a lot of pressure from the principal to constantly hit targets. Despite this though he was quite a pragmatic individual, and often used his common sense to ignore policies which were good ideas on paper but unworkable in practice. I remember him as constantly exasperated.
The deputy meanwhile was quite short but possessed a restless energy and enthusiasm which tended to irritate rather than inspire. Although extremely intelligent, he was of an academic turn of mind and constantly got into hot water with ill thought out ideas. One example I recall is him attempting to put on the musical Cats (after someone told him how good it was) and having flyers printed without checking out the logistics such as available student talent or even how to obtain a license to perform the musical. I hear Andrew Lloyd Webber is quite a litigious individual so who knows what may have happened.
Because of their differing physical presence and personalities, they made something of a comedy double act, especially when the assistant head was oblivious to how much he was irritating his immediate superior.
I finished a draft of my first science fiction novel, Dragon, when I was in Taiwan and submitted it to a now defunct publisher called Big Engine. The editor rejected the novel but was very complementary and gave me some helpful advice. One thing which was extremely useful was to make the characters as distinct from each other as possible. Considering this, I didn’t have far to look for inspiration and so Sillow, the small, hyperactive, nervy and impulsive elf and Brok, the surly, ill-tempered barbarian assumed their present characters and their dysfunctional interpersonal dynamic.
I should have dedicated the novel to them but somehow I don’t think they would have appreciated it.
LOL, I bet you had quite a challenge keeping a straight face!
Tell us a little about your book, Dragon!
As worlds conspire against each other, Gax, an insane warlord, stockpiles an arsenal of ancient technology in his attempt to rule known space. Less
Two ill matched and reluctant heroes stand in his way; Sillow, a neurotic and cowardly Sylvan and Brok, a surly and ill tempered Herkulun warrior. After a chance meeting in a seedy, mobster owned casino the two find their fates interlinked as they are propelled into a series of hair raising adventures that takes them from wanted smugglers to agents of a peace keeping alliance.
Asmara was a small desert moon orbiting its gas giant parent at a distance just great enough to put it outside the planet’s radioactive reach. It was a cold, dusty little place, barely capable of supporting microbic life. Yet it did have one thing in its favor, its location.Asmara was in the gray zone, an area of space almost central to the six worlds. None dared lay claim to it and consequently it was free of all outside authority. That was why the crime syndicates built their Pleasure Dome there, and in the two decades after the Dark Age Wars it flourished.
It was here, at one of the casino tables, the last three players of a merciless card game studied their hands. Two of them, a human and a reptilian Tuolon, were far from happy, glaring angrily at the third player as he whistled out a tuneless melody. If Sillow had been human, he would have been judged to be no more than fourteen. He wasn’t; he was a Sylvan, and his childlike face and adolescent build were quite normal for his twenty-five years.
As he looked over his cards from beneath a shock of dark green hair, only his large eyes were visible. It was just as well, for his lips moved frantically as he mentally played through the possible scenarios.
Finally he gave a little nod and placed his cards face down. He took his cigar from the ashtray and began puffing heavily on it. The human, a skinny man with pockmarked features, ran a hand over two day’s stubble,
“Make your damn move,” he growled. “If you’ve got the goods, show them.”
Sillow shrugged. “Hey, give me a break Garrick,” he replied in his soft, musical voice. “You can’t rush something like this.”
He looked at his cards again, studying them as he blew smoke rings in the air. His little feet tapped all the while on the hard marble floor.
His fellow players regarded him with extreme irritation, and the human cameto the decision the Sylvan was playing mind games with them. The truth though was far different. Sillow was scared and was trying to decide how best to safely extricate himself and the credits he needed from his present circumstances.
Although he couldn’t say why, he was certain now the Tuolon was a professional assassin here to kill him. His would be killer even blewhis ship up to stop him escaping.
Since then the little Sylvan had been busy at the tables making the money he needed to get a freighter off the Dome. There was a royal summons to answer and he’d delayed too long already. The message was just one word, Suleiman.
“Okay, ready,” he finally announced. “You want to see this hand it’ll cost you…” he paused for effect, “six more credits.”
The human thought hard for a moment, shook his head then threw the chips into the pot in the middle of the table.
Paperback from the publisher’s website: http://www.classactbooks.com/component/virtuemart/science-fiction/dragon-396-detail?Itemid=0
This sounds like a really great read, James. Let's see what we can find out about you, the author.
James Austin McCormick is a college lecturer from Manchester, England and his free time enjoy writing speculative fiction, mostly science fiction, horror and a little sword and sorcery fantasy. He is also a particular fan of classic Gothic and Victorian horror tales and is currently in the process of writing updated versions of these with a science fiction spin.
Find out more about James at:
Class Act Books http://www.classactbooks.com/index.php/our-authors/manufacturers/james-austin-mccormick
Thank you so much, James, for stopping by and sharing your book, Dragon. I hope you have great success with it.
If you are visiting, please leave us a comment and let us know you stopped by. We love to hear from our readers.
Happy Friday, everyone! Today I have Jeremy Higley visiting my blog with his young adult or teen fantasy story. He shares with us an email he received and what happened afterward. Can you only imagine what he felt like when he got this email?
I still remember the morning I received the email.
“Are you still interested in publishing with us?”
I went to work that day wondering if I’d read the email correctly. I read it again as soon as I got home. Even after I carefully crafted a response and received a confirmation email, it took me a few days to get comfortable telling people. It just didn’t feel real. In fact, it felt so much like a dream I wanted to try going to sleep and waking up again a few times just to make sure. I’ve had so many dreams where something amazing happens and I tell myself it’s real, only to wake up. Even then, it always takes me a few minutes to separate the reality I’ve just experienced from the reality I actually live in. Sometimes I cry.
But no, I’d been sending the first Darksome Thorn novel to publisher after publisher for months now. This was the moment of opportunity I’d been waiting for. I really should tell people, and I did. Eventually.
I wish I could say the anxiety came after the excitement, but they really did come at the same time. Years of waiting, and I was just as scared of messing things up and I was excited about getting them right. This would be the first big step of my writing career. I wanted everything to be perfect.
Well, that kind of emotional confluence is bound to give you nightmares. Yep. I don’t remember most of them, but my favorite sums up my feelings from that time pretty well.
In the dream, I’m on my computer looking for a review of my book from an established author who taught me at college. My excitement bubbles as he praises me from head to toe, only to pop as I realize the book he’s describing is nothing like the one I wrote. Somehow, he found the wrong book and had attributed it to me.
Disappointed and confused, I visit my Mom to tell her what happened. A copy of my book is sitting on the counter next to her as I express my frustration.
“Well, that’s probably for the best,” she says. “It wasn’t a very good book.”
I blink. She gives me an apologetic look as she explains.
“Way too dark and scary. I couldn’t finish it.”
Now, in real life, my Mom was the one who called me the moment she finished the book to ask what happens next. So there’s a dream I can dismiss as far inferior to reality.
Still, it’s thanks to dreams like that I was able to write this book at all. Nightmare after nightmare went into the writing of characters like Azmat and the Dun Ko. I wanted to capture that unpredictability, the way that dreams defy expectations. Dreams can push us into a story we would rather never enter, or else never leave. It’s as if an agency other than our own is at work, a Muse who can’t decide whether she loves or despises us and all our petty hopes and fears.
So, thank you dreams. You might kill me with fright someday, or make me cry with joy, but you’ll never be boring. What more can I ask?
Wow, Jeremy. Good thing you persevered! Tell us a little about the book.
A thousand years ago, the wizards of the Nynsa were tricked. They failed to follow the prophecy of the Darksome Thorn, and now the greatest evil of their time has survived into the next age. They will do anything to fix their mistake.
The Darksome Thorn, meanwhile, has revealed a new prophecy, and the very evil they failed to kill is working to use that prophecy to his advantage.
Forces of evil run rampant in the land of Duskain. Ancient powers are stirring. A greater darkness is imminent...
...and Skel, the foster son of an elephant herder, finds himself caught in the middle of everything...
Skel was running so fast as he went to warn Mynjar and Talon that the grass whipped at his bare legs like dull knife blades. As the tent loomed closer, he could already feel his movements slowing. His feet were starting to sink into the firm earth as if it were a sludgy bog.
The attack was beginning.
“Dun Ko,” Skel shouted, trying to rouse the Eltar in the circle of tents ahead of him. His voice sounded like a whisper to his own ears, but quickly he heard shouts in return. The tents went abuzz with the yelling of frustrated, terrified men and women struggling to rise from their own beds. Skel saw an Eltar woman leave her tent, scrambling with immense difficulty to get away from the camp with a
small child. Her child disappeared from her arms within moments, dissolving into a cloud of dandelion fluff that blew away on a nonexistent wind.
Skel tried to ignore her screams. There was only one child in any real danger tonight. The Dun Ko were simply trying to distract the rest of them, keep them occupied with nightmares and illusions while they sought out their true target. He spoke a few words to the wind. It pushed him faster with a strong gust, knocking over his foster family’s tent as he approached it and blowing it halfway over to the elephant herd. Mynjar, Talon, and their daughters stared at him in bewilderment as he ran past them to stand between the Dun Ko and their intended victim.
“Dun Ko,” he repeated, struggling to catch his breath.
“What’s going on, boy?” Mynjar shouted. “How would you know if the Dun Ko were coming?”
Lonmar and Konsa screamed as they watched their father’s arms suddenly melt off his body like grease in a fire, gathering in black pools at his feet. Talon ran to grab Pynme from his crib, but sank to her chin in the dirt.
“The Dun Ko want Pynme,” Skel tried to explain, but Mynjar was on his knees sobbing, and Lonmar and Konsa were crowding around him, aghast, trying to comfort him. Talon was screaming hysterically, calling for her baby, but Pynme wouldn’t wake up. Smyra was the only one who
seemed to still have her senses in spite of the Dun Ko’s psychic onslaught.
“Are you going to fight them?” she asked. She seemed surprised, but not impressed. She somehow managed to sound condescending, even now.
“I have to try—” Skel started.
“And fail,” Smyra interrupted, “but I’ll help you anyway.”
Publishers Website: http://www.classactbooks.com/index.php/component/virtuemart/cat-young-adult/the-son-of-dark-tales-of-the-darksome-thorn-book-1-detail?Itemid=0
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Son-Dark-Darksome-Thorn-Book-ebook/dp/B01IG983XC/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=U
Let's take a look at the YouTube trailer for this story!
Intriguing and scary! I love the video and the excerpt, I'll have to check this one out. Lets see what else we can find out about Jeremy.
Jeremy Higley was born in California but now lives in Arizona. As of 2016 he’s a graduate student working on a master’s degree in English. He’s also an instructional aide at a local elementary school, a novelist, and a contributing editor for a nonprofit student success company called LifeBound.
Find out more about Jeremy at:
Thank you so much, Jeremy, for sharing your story with us today. I wish you great success with the book.
If you are a visitor, please leave us a comment and let us know you stopped by. We love to hear from our readers!
Hello al! Welcome to my blog. Today I have Everly Rush visiting and she's featuring her book, The Tantric Therapist. This little tale about her visit with the towing company certainly made me smile!
Stuff that happens to me stumbles into my books even when I’m not trying. If writers warned people they’re fair game, they’d tone themselves down and life wouldn’t be nearly so much fun. This story actually happened years ago in Texas.
In the first chapter of TTT, Sarah runs off the road near a small town. She calls Bud’s Towing and is describing where she is by the mile marker, etc. He’s not getting it. Then, she adds, “By a small grove of deciduous trees.” Bud says, “Deci… what trees?” OK, I’ll give him that. Not many tow truck drivers are spare time botanists.
Bud arrives and he’s the picture of paunchly porkitude, stogie, cap on backwards, the works. He takes one look at the car mired in mud up to the hubcaps and says, “Well, y’all stuck or what?”
Sarah refrains from saying, “Captain Obvious to the rescue!” But, with apologies to Bill Engvall, there’s your sign. Word to the wise, don’t annoy the only tow truck driver for a thirty mile radius. That’d come back and bite you.
But in the real story, Bud listened to me speak and said, “Y’all not from around here, are ya?”
“No, I’m from Illinois.”
He knit his brow and said, “What state’s that in?”
I wasn’t sure how to handle that.
He paused a moment and added, “Aw, go on… that IS a state, ain’t it?”
I said, “No fooling you!”
Bud’s a sharp one.
Oh, my. That's hysterical. That reminds me of a time when I was dancing with a guy in Texas, and he asked me where I was from, and I said Michigan. He asked what part of Texas was that from......
Tell us a little about your book, The Tantric Therapist.
Award winning writer Everly Rush loves a good plot twist mixed with mystery and dotted with humor. She feels the greatest tales feature love at first sight and is devoted to writing about this most precious gift. In the Tantric Therapist the fictional world of Mallory University is where the inhabitants overcome real life personal struggles to find their true soulmate. The Tantric Therapist: Sid and Sarah’s Story is the first in this exciting new series.
“The Gazebo has a TV in the waiting area,” Sid said. “When business is slow, I often watch old reruns. One night, there was a wonderful episode on Twilight Zone. It was about an old woman who had once seen Death and spent her life holed up in a dark basement, never going out, nor allowing anyone in. A young police officer is wounded and asks for aid. Touched, the woman helps him in and soon finds out the building is to be demolished. The officer tells her to look in the mirror and he can’t be seen. To her horror, she realizes she has allowed Death into her home. The officer gives a profoundly beautiful speech reassuring her and saying it’s not a loss, but a passage and that it is no great tearing asunder from life. In the closing shot, they walk hand in hand into the light.”
Sid cleared his throat, clearly moved by the officer’s monologue. “Sarah, this woman tried to shut Death out, but she also blocked out Love. Her life was spent half buried in the dark because she feared the inevitable and missed everything that makes life most worth living. By never opening herself to the journey, she missed the precious opportunities life sends. She was still as frightened and naïve as an aged crone as she was when young.
“We don’t know who Esther’s Harris was, but it’s safe to say she embraced love in her life at some point. She seems like she grabbed it in a full body hug. Whether Harris was a hallucination or not, he was real to her and it’s all that matters. The love she still holds in her heart has given her peace at the end of her life when she needs it most.”
Buy links -
I’d love to give you those right now, but The Tantric Therapist is in Kindle Scout, where I hope it gets loads of nominations. The winners get an exclusive contract with Amazon. Interested readers can go to this link and if they like the excerpt, nominate it. https://kindlescout.amazon.com/p/1VSOVEEG7BXQ9
What an interesting excerpt! I'll have to check this out in more detail. Thanks for sharing. Lets see what else we can find out about Everly!
Nestled in her beloved Midwest, Everly Rush is
an animal lover, avid gardener, good cook and
yoga enthusiast. She is driven to create tales of
love and mystery with humor in the mix.
Follow Everly at:
Thanks so much, Everly, for visiting and sharing your book and humorous incident! I hope you have great sales with your story and look forward to reading more from you.
If you are a visitor, please leave a comment and let us know you stopped by. We love to hear from our readers.
Hello everyone! Welcome back to my blog. Today I have Linda Nightingale visiting and she is sharing an excerpt from her book, Four by Moonlight. Before we get to the book, she shares an embarrassing, yet comical incident that happened to her. I must say, my face got red for her!
This incident was as embarrassing as it was funny. Many years ago, I worked as an Executive Assistant to a Circuit Judge in South Carolina. Just as an aside, still in SC, judges of the highest court ‘ride the circuit’, presiding over different jurisdictions. Aside, aside, I accompanied a friend in a neighboring city to a restaurant to have a drink or two. Jan was a realtor and stopped to introduce me to a couple of her associates in the business. We were chatting happily…
Then it happened.
My lovely, frothy skirt suddenly dropped to the floor.
I was left with only a slip (and only then because the skirt was layers of transparent material). And there I stood, my face red, and my green, purple and blue skirt puddled at my feet. Jan made a valent attempt to divert attention, but, well, you know.
I ran for the bathroom and safety-pinned my skirt with the broken elastic back around my waist. Still, the Judge’s assistant has been seen moderately unclothed—and three realtors had seen some property that belonged to me.
OMG, Linda. I think I died right along with you!
Four by Moonlight
An anthology of love in the moonlight…in the paranormal realms...
Gypsy Ribbons – A moonlight ride on the moors and meeting a notorious highwayman will forever change Lady Virginia Darby’s life.
Star Angel – Lucy was stuck in a rut and in an Idaho potato patch. She’d seen him in the corner of her eye—a fleeting glimpse of beauty—now he stood before her in the flesh.
The Night Before Doomsday – All his brothers had succumbed to lust, but Azazel resisted temptation until the wrong woman came along.
The Gate Keeper’s Cottage – Newlywed Meggie Richelieu’s mysterious, phantom lover may be more than anyone, except the plantation housekeeper, suspects.
Red eyes watched from the grate as she slipped into the cold, empty bed. Simon should have been there to warm her rather than the dying fire. Not pursuing a dangerous dream. Too angry, too miserable to weep, she tossed and turned. The relief of sleep eluded her.
An icy breath whispered through the room. Tory snuggled deeper beneath the goose down covers. Had the weather made up its mind? Was Simon riding in ice and snow? She imagined white flakes in Goliath’s long black mane and on the highwayman’s plush velvet cloak. Poor darling, he would be cold. Tory slowly drifted to sleep unrelated thoughts scrolling in her mind. A soft sound snapped her wide awake. She sat bolt upright, tugging the covers over the breasts. The room was iceberg cold. The ghost.
“Not Simon.” She held her breath, ears stained for the horrifying, otherworldly whisper, a warning of imminent death. The sound came again, closer. A slow footstep creeping over the old oaken floor. Tonight, the ghost of Darby Manor wandered its dim corridors.
“No. No.” Tory squeezed her eyes closed and prayed, forgetting she didn’t believe in ghosts.
The footsteps halted. Tory’s heart stopped. She started to cover her ears, refusing to hear. The ghost breathed that heartbreaking sigh at her door.
Shuddering, she slid back under the layers of down. The warmth had no effect on her shivers. She folded into a fetal position. I’m no longer alone. Fear chilled her anew. Though she couldn’t see clearly in the dim light, she knew her breath puffed white clouds in the frigid air. Dread sank its wicked claws into her racing heart.
Publisher's website at http://www.classactbooks.com
WHOA, that sounds really spooky! I think I have to get this book! Let's look at the YouTube video.
Wow, what an excellent trailer! I love it. Haunting, beautiful. Thanks so much for sharing it. Let's see what else we can find out about Linda.
Linda Nightingale Bio:
Linda Nightingale is a native-born South Carolinian who has lived in England and Canada, and now resides in Texas. Before turning to writing, she bred, trained and showed Andalusian horses for thirteen years.
In 2012, her novel, Gemini Rising, was voted Best Mainstream Novel in the Preditors & Editors Readers Poll. Her vampire romance, Cardinal Desires won the Georgia Romance Writers Magnolia Award in 2013, and that was followed by her science fiction romance, Love for Sale, being awarded Best SF/Fantasy novel of 2015 by the Paranormal Romance Guild’s Reviewer’s Choice, and also voted one of the Top Ten Romance Novels of 2015 by the Preditors & Editors Readers Poll for that year.
Four by Moonlight is her first novel for Class Act Books. Its cover, created by son, Simon, was voted one of the Top Ten best covers of 2016 by Preditors & Editors Readers Poll.
Find out more about Linda at:
Linda, thank you so much for stopping by. Your son did a wonderful job with your book cover. I hope you have great sales.
If you are a visitor, please leave us a comment and let us know you stopped by. We love to hear from our readers!
Hello everyone, please welcome Kathleen Rowland to my blog today. She's sharing some tidbits from her release, One Night In Havana. Welcome, Kathleen!
Kathleen wants to share a funny incident that ended up in this book. This is the scene about a bilge pump on a sinking boat. Her date was so gallant, but his boat was sinking. And yes, it made her giggle.
She picked the setting of Cuba for a reason. She wanted to trap her proud Cuban professor there. He survives because of his flamboyant personality and opportunistic nature. Cuba is a fascinating mid-century time warp. The 1950s cars still run due to amazing mechanics. No matter how hardworking, Cubans exist under strict communistic rules such as the inability to move from one section of the country to another. Without free-enterprise they can’t make much money. If they do leave, they can only bring ten thousand dollars with them, but this would be a huge amount of money for most Cubans. Big business such as cigar manufacture is government-run.
A desperate competition and sizzling attraction leads to dangerous desire.
New York Marine biologist Veronica “Roni” Keane is attending the Havana Bay Conference in Cuba. Tomorrow only one grant will be awarded which will provide the winner with professional recognition, resources for a project, and living expenses for two years. She hopes to continue her deceased father’s work, but smooth operator, Carlos Montoya, has won many grants in the past.
Carlos, a freelancer for the Havana Port Authority, works to help protect Havana’s reputation as a bastion of safety. As international travelers flock to the island, attracted by its 1950’s time-warp and colonial architecture, the drug business is running rampant, particularly on Roni’s cruise ship. Something’s not right, and when her scuba tanks are tampered with, Carlos brings in the military police to investigate. For her safety, he keeps her close, but he craves her body.
Their attraction leads to a fun night with a bit of kink. But Roni finds herself in more trouble than she bargained for when the criminals blame her for alerting the military police and come looking for her. Can Roni trust Carlos to protect her? Will she stay in Havana if Carlos wins the coveted grant, or kiss her lover goodbye?
Excerpt-- Chapter One
“Why, Veronica Keane.” A voice heavy with a Spanish accent drawled from behind her. “A dive bar?” A taunting tsk. “What do we have? A slumming New Yorker?”
She stiffened and closed her eyes. She knew that voice and its owner, Dr. Carlos Montoya, a finalist like her, competing for the same damn grant at the biggest Cephalopoda conference of the decade. Her heart pitter-pattered against her ribs. To turn toward him would intimate distress, or worse yet, weakness. She wouldn’t fail to win this grant, not when she was a final contender. “I like this funky little place.” Sia Macario Café, smack in the center of Havana, allowed her to observe locals and their daily lives.
“You need to eat with all the mojitos you’ve downed.” The big tease wasn’t counting. This was her first drink, but his rumbling, sexy timbre hinted at all kinds of dark, hot promises. She’d rubbed shoulders with the Cuban scientist all week. This splendid specimen of Latin male brought on a physical ache that punched low.
A flare-up stirred fear. For her own good, she needed to resist. “I ordered camarones enchiladas.” By now she knew the menu on the chalkboard by heart. She tipped her head back to whiff grilled shrimp soon to arrive in sofrito sauce with fried sweet plantains.
“The flan is good. Just like my abuela makes.”
“I bet. Your grandmother would be happy to hear that,” she said, knowing he brought out the best in most people. Two days ago he'd invited her and a handful of others scuba diving. The chance to ogle him had been one of the perks. He’d worn nothing but swim trunks, his bare chest on display. Every glistening muscle was finely etched. Not a drop of fat on him. Since he’d not given her the time of day, she’d checked him out without him noticing.
The hard-bodied host had led the way toward habitats of soft-bodied creatures. To find where invertebrates lived was never an easy task. Octopuses squeezed into narrow passages of coral for protection and gave females a place to keep their eggs. She’d discovered the remains of a few meals nearby. Octopuses scattered rocks and shells to help them hide.
This grant meant so much to her and no doubt to him as well. Veronica mindlessly toyed with the gold necklace around her neck, but anxiety crackled through her brain. Unlike this man of action, she lacked the flamboyant personality necessary to talk people into things. Carlos had that ability. He'd made friends with judges on board while she’d conversed with an older woman about a box of scones made with Cuban vanilla cream.
That day the wind had picked up to a gale force, and this woman named Bela with Lucille Ball red hair needed help walking to her home. The half mile down the seaside promenade, The Malecón, had provided her with time to practice her Spanish. Turned out Bela was Carlos’s grandmother. She’d worked as a maid when the Castro government came to power. When private homes were nationalized, titles were handed over to the dwelling occupants. Bela owned a crumbling home in the respected Verdado district and rented out rooms.
What Veronica detested about Carlos was his abnormal level of talent for schmoozing. Not that he wasn't charismatic; he drew her like a powerful magnet with emotions hard to untangle. Why was a self-assured woman who ran her own life thinking about a man who commanded everyone around him?
She inhaled a breath and turned around on the barstool, caught fast by a gut punch of Carlos Montoya in the flesh. She sighed and surrendered to the tendrils of want sliding up between her thighs.
Tall and muscular, his lush dark hair curled to his collar giving him a wild, roguish appearance. His face was lean and chiseled. His mouth full and tempting. His eyes the smoky-gray of a grass fire and fringed with black lashes as dense as paintbrushes. He smiled. A faint hint of mockery curved his mouth, a sensual mouth she imagined to be either inviting or cruel. Or both at the same time when he leaned over a woman with a diamond-hard gleam in his dark eyes while she drowned with pleasure. She fought a fierce desire to run her hand across his broad chest, tip her face upward, and…
His breath tickled her face.
Not going there. She blinked and forced her mind to focus. Carlos Montoya was not the kind of man you lost focus around. But that image of putting her mouth full on his and peeling away his shirt once introduced in her mind was impossible to expunge. Pointless even to try.
He was an intimidating blend of intellect and sexy danger. Both qualities had her leaning back against the bar’s edge. If it weren’t for him, she’d have a chance at winning the grant.
His lips twitched. “You’re staying on one of the cruise ships, am I right?” He rolled up the sleeves of his linen jacket to reveal a dusting of manly hair.
”Yes." Her cabin served as her hotel room while attending the January meetings with perfect high-seventies temperatures. His eyes locked with hers. She willed herself to move and yet she remained seated, clutching heat between her legs, a wetness so intense that her breath stalled in her chest while her heart hammered faster. Soon she’d return to freezing New York City.
“So, Bonita, give.” He slid onto the bar stool next to her. “What brings you down from a lofty ship to grace us lowly Cubans with your presence?”
Bonita. Pretty lady was not an endearment coming from the mouth curved in a taunting smile, but not a slight either. Not with his deep, melodic voice speaking words as if he knew secrets about her. What secrets did he know? Would he pry into her personal life? She doubted this bad-boy college professor acknowledged boundaries.
“Just drinks and dinner.” She scrambled for composure. “Aren’t we attending a world-class conference? I find the local population to be friendly and kind. That’s not slumming.”
The bartender set down a saoco. “Hope you like it, senorita.”
“Gracias,” she said. “Very nice, served in a coconut.”
“Ah, the saoco,” Carlos said. “Rum, lime juice, sugar, and ice. The saoco,” he repeated, disbelief heavy in his words. “Um. Wow. Once used as a tonic for prisoners of the revolution.”
“Medicinal?” She couldn’t help it. She chuckled and sounded as if a rusty spoon had scraped her throat raw, but it was genuine. The warm glow in its wake was welcome and needed.
He leaned an elbow on the bar, his beer bottle with the green-and-red Cristal label dangling between his fingers. “Be careful with that one.” He dipped his head toward the front door as if he needed to go somewhere soon.
That fast, the glow snuffed out. She cleared her throat and gripped the fuzzy surface of the coconut container.
He placed a five-peso coin with a brass plug on the counter and whirled it. The spinning motion mirrored a dizzying attraction going on in low parts of her belly.
All buy links are right here:
Oh my. A sinking boat? LOL.
Your book certainly is intriguing and I look forward to reading it and I love the contrast between the man and woman on your book cover. Dark skin/light skin.
Let's find out a little more about Kathleen.
Book Buyers Best finalist Kathleen Rowland is devoted to giving her readers fast-paced, high-stakes suspense with an erotic love story sure to melt their hearts. Her latest release is One Night in Havana, #34 in the City Nights erotic romance series.
Kathleen also has a steamy romantic suspense series with Tirgearr Publishing, Deadly Alliance is followed by Unholy Alliance. Keep an icy drink handy while reading these sizzling stories.
Kathleen used to write computer programs but now writes novels. She grew up in Iowa where she caught lightning bugs, ran barefoot, and raced her sailboat on Lake Okoboji. Now she wears flip-flops and sails with her husband, Gerry, on Newport Harbor but wishes there were lightning bugs in California.
Kathleen exists happily with her witty CPA husband, Gerry, in their 70’s poolside retreat in Southern California where she adores time spent with visiting grandchildren, dogs, one bunny, and noisy neighbors. While proud of their five children who’ve flown the coop, she appreciates the luxury of time to write. If you’d enjoy news, sign up for Kathleen’s newsletter at http://www.kathleenrowland.com/
Thanks so much, Kathleen, for stopping by and sharing your humorous plight and an excerpt from your book. I hope you have great sales.
If you are a visitor, please let us know you've stopped by. Just leave us a comment, so we can talk with you. We love connecting with our readers.
Thanks, until tomorrow!
Welcome to Monday Morning! Today I have Jasper Trey on my blog with an excerpt on her book, Olivia. Check out this lovely book cover, the excerpt, and a little bit of info about Jasper.
Romance meets duty in this modern day love story. Can Dante convince Olivia to take a chance on a future with him, or will Olivia’s past hold her back?.
What happens when you’re made to retire long before it’s your time? For Dante it means flying halfway around the world to a beach where no one knows who he is. He must come home to his family and country and serve in a capacity he left ten years before, when he joined the military. What that capacity will look like, nobody knows, and he is given mere weeks to figure it out.
Olivia has no intention of starting an affair. She wants a beach, some sun, and the space to heal her heart. It’s been more than a year since her husband died and she hasn’t done much more than take care of their children in that time. This vacation is for her, but taking a beer to a stranger at the insistence of the staff, and making a five-minute friend? That won’t cut into her time to much, right?
Neither is looking for anything more than a friend in a remote land, but after spending a week together, will they really be able to walk away and find there happy ever after with someone else?
Dante turned the page of the sci-fi novel he’d checked out from the resort library. He 'd chosen it because it seemed an easy read, but the curvy brunette in the red bikini sidling up to the beach bar was winning the battle for his attention. He tried once again to concentrate on the book in front of him.
The beer filled his view shortly before the bronzed, bikini-clad body did. The beer slowly crossed his vision to be set on the table next to his chair. Then, with the grace of a yogi, the red bikini braced her hands on the arms of his chair and straddled his lap, ending with her mouth a scant half inch from his own. He could feel her breath on his lips, and was on the verge of closing that last half inch.
“I hear this is what you are drinking,” Bikini said, snapping Dante back to reality, and to the woman standing in front of him holding a couple of beers.
He really needed help if he was imagining strangers straddling him. He was really grateful to the book, as it hid his instant reaction to the thought of her straddling him.
Red Bikini continued. “I figured it was going to be Corona, and I’d have to decline the staff’s request to bring it over. But since it’s German, well, that shows good taste.”
The smile she gave him was slightly crooked, but Dante thought it seemed genuine. He reached for the beer.
“This will let me show the staff I can play nice,” she said. “Mind if I sit down?”
Watching her from behind his mirrored aviators, he gestured with the beer toward the seat next to his. As she turned to sit, he tried as discreetly as possible to adjust the hard on that his little fantasy brought on. But the slight smile she sent him as she sat and rested her elbows on her knees, let him know she had noticed.
Ooohhh, how intriguing, um, that she notice????? LOL, tell us a little bit about Jasper Trey!
Jennifer (or Jasper) Is a thirty something mother of two. She has a BS in Mathematics education, a Master’s in Business, a couple of certificates in wine making, a 200 hour certification in YOGA, and a love for LOVE. I have a tendency to live in my head and finally felt I had enough life experience to put one of my imaginings down on paper. I hope you find my books to be a feel good and enjoyable ride from start to finish.
Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.com/Jasper-Trey/e/B072TQYXFD/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1
Thank you so much, Jasper, for stopping by. I hope you have great sales with your book, and I'll definitely get this one on my TBR list.
If you're a visitor, please leave us a comment and let us know you visited. We authors love to hear from our readers!
Happy Friday! Today I have Sherry Derr-Wille visiting my blog. She is sharing a little humorous story about her pen pal from England and French Toast. She's also sharing an excerpt from her book, Blood Relatives, a Suspense Thriller!
As I was thinking about a funny incident, I remember when my pen pal from England, Frances Neal Calman came to visit us a year after we were married. I fixed French toast for breakfast. As slooked at the egg-dipped bread, fried on a griddle and served with syrup, she didn’t quite know what to say. She told me being British, she had never mixed sweets and savories. The sweet being the syrup and the savory the bread dipped in egg. Once she tried it, she fell in love. Many years later when I went to visit her, she requested I bring her a bottle of syrup.
In my book Mistaken Identity, I played out the same scene when Seth and Katelyn's four-year-old nephew makes Katelyn a breakfast of French toast. Her reply is that she never had it because her parents’ cook was very British and wouldn’t allow them to ever mix sweets and savories.
Whenever I read that scene, I think of Frankie and the first time she tasted French toast. We had a lot of laughs during that visit. Altogether Frankie and I have gotten together five times, two times when she came to visit us, two times when I went to London to visit her and once when she came to Chicago. We went down on the train to spend the day with her. We have a very special friendship.
That reminds me of something, Sherry. I remember going to Canada and ordering French Toast and they served it with an egg sandwiched between 2 french breads toasted! It's funny about different cultures, isn't it? Tell us a little about Blood Relatives.
Blurb: When Lissa Adams flew to Chicago to be with her father, she never thought she’d become involved in a vendetta between a mob family, the Chicago police force, and her cousin, Detective Paul Bastion.
Paul Bastion was in seclusion until his uncle suffered a heart attack. Once he came back to Chicago to be with his family, he knew he’d also be testifying against Antonio Vargas.
When Paul is kidnapped and Lissa badly beaten, he knows he’s living his last hours. The cost of his return is freedom for the drug lord. Even if Vargas is freed, Paul knows he’ll lose his life.
The parking garage for the hospital seemed to be deserted. Lissa was glad she was with Paul. Going to places like this by herself usually creeped her out.
Since their parking pass had been stamped, there would be no charge, allowing them to leave the parking area without having to pay. After they cleared the tollbooth, she gasped with shock as someone grabbed her from behind and put a knife to her neck.
She trembled as she heard the voice in the seat behind her.
“Just do as we say, Bastion, and the little lady won’t get hurt.”
Lissa blamed herself for what was going on. If she hadn’t been with Paul, he might have been more careful about getting into his car even though it was locked. He always prided himself on his ‘cop sense’. It was entirely possible the events of the last two days had made him careless.
“Everything is going to be alright,” Paul said.
She knew he was trying to put her at ease.
“Cut the chatter Bastion. Just drive,” the man in the back seat ordered.
Lissa could feel the cold blade of the knife pressing against her throat as Paul followed the instructions on where to drive. She watched the familiar streets give way to the countryside, and at last Paul was instructed to pull off onto a side road leading to a wayside by the lake.
In front of her, she saw a black SUV parked crossways the road so they couldn’t see the license plate.
“Now get out,” the man holding the knife ordered.
Paul glanced at her but was silent, his lips drawn into a hard straight line as he got out of the car and was met by two men wearing ski masks. It was then the knife was removed and duct tape was placed over her eyes.
“What do you want with us?” she pleaded
“Shut up, bitch, and get out of the car.”
Unable to see, she felt the cold air as the door was opened and someone roughly pulled her outside.
“You will go with us, Bastion, but not before you see what happens to your girlfriend.”
Lissa heard the thud of a punch being delivered to Paul’s midsection, at least that’s what she thought it was. She had little time to contemplate that as she was thrown against the car and her own beating began. One of the men hit her with what she could only guess was his fist, and she heard the bone in her nose break. Stunned, she could feel blood pouring over her lip before another punch, this time to her jaw, produced a pain like none she’d felt, even in childbirth.
Her last conscious memory was of Paul shouting, “Nooooo…”
Paperback exclusively from the publisher’s website: http://www.classactbooks.com/component/virtuemart/cat-murder-mystery-suspense/blood-relatives-8182017-06-14-21-49-06-detail?Itemid=
This story certainly has my interest. I'll just have to get it and add it to my TBR list. Tell us about Sherry!
Sherry lives in a mid-sized Southern Wisconsin with her husband of 46 years, whom she deems a saint for putting up with a crazy writer.
With three children, seven grandchildren, more book signings than she can sometimes handle, she puts out four to five books a year and loves writing in her hot pink office.
Sherry’s latest novel for Class Act Books is Blood Relatives, a suspense thriller.
Find more information about Sherry at:
Thanks so much for stopping by, Sherry. Your book certainly sounds great, and I hope you have great success with it.
If you are a visitor, please leave us a comment and let us know you stopped by. We love to hear from our readers!
Check out what I won at Kayelle Allen's RLF blog! Check out the tweets below!
Welcome to my Blog! If you are an author - I am always willing to post your promotional work here. I enjoy hosting new and veteran authors and look forward to having you on my blog. Please click on the link below and sign up!