Thursday, October 24, 2013
Leave No Book Behind: [New Post} Blog Tour/Giveaway- Chasing Serenity By...
Leave No Book Behind: [New Post} Blog Tour/Giveaway- Chasing Serenity By...: Title: Chasing Serenity Series: Seeking Serenity series, Book #1 Author: Eden Butler Genre: NA Contemporary Romanc...
[New Post} Blog Tour/Giveaway- Chasing Serenity By Eden Butler Review+Excerpt+Teaser Post
Title: Chasing Serenity
Series: Seeking Serenity series, Book #1
Author: Eden Butler
Genre: NA Contemporary Romance
Release Date: October 11, 2013
Cover Designed by: Steven Novak: http://www.novakillustration.com/
Cover Reveal Organized by: As the Pages Turn
Purchase Links:
Amazon: http://amzn.com/B00FUQ6580
Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00FUQ6580
Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/366463
GoodReads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18513705-chasing-serenity
Declan Fraser hates her ex as much as Autumn does, but the last thing she needs is to put her trust in the hands of another man, especially one like Declan: his hard body and lulling Irish accent makes more than few girls weak-kneed. The talented rugby player is rude and sarcastic, with tattooed, muscular arms and a cocky attitude, but he's the only one who can help Autumn win an ill-advised bet that, if lost, could cost her more than she's willing to pay. The reluctant alliance between Declan and Autumn stirs up cravings she doesn't want to admit, but Declan is a hard man to resist.
Just when Autumn starts letting down her carefully constructed walls to the sexy bad boy, he betrays her when she needs him most. Autumn suspects Declan has secrets, and she is determined to uncover what drove him away from her, even if that means fraternizing with the enemy. But will the truth return Declan to her arms or add to the scars on her heart?
Basement Excerpt I:
“What do you play?” I ask and he stops for a moment, notices me staring at his hands.
“Wing. Well, normally I’m wing. Tucker’s convinced Mullens to set me as scrumhalf.”
“Ah, so that explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“Why you hate Tucker.” He doesn’t respond, just returns to the bookshelf to grab another box and my gaze follows him, takes in the rigid set of his shoulders. “He’ll be gone at the end of the season, you know.”
“Hmm. If I’m lucky,” he says.
“Mullens is a good coach. I’ve known him forever and he’s friends with Ava.” A wrinkle forms between Declan’s eyebrows. “Dr. Winchell.”
“Thick as thieves with the president, aren’t you?”
“No. Well, yes, but it’s not what you think. She was my mom’s best friend. They’d known each other since college.”
He opens his mouth as though he wants to say something, but then just nods before he clears his throat. “Sayo mentioned it was a car crash?” When my eyes narrow, he shakes his head as though I shouldn’t be angry. “That was after she and the other two barked at me forever. Told me what an arse I was, how rude I was, how you didn’t deserve to be disrespected.” I relax and he continues. “You were hurt?”
“Yes.” My hands shake, tremble as they rest on the box in front of me and I can see myself bloody and still in the car, remembering the pain, the suffocating feeling of my mother’s loss. A breath tamps down the burn of tears in my eyes. “Three broken ribs, a completely busted up leg, and a lacerated abdomen. I had more scrapes and bruises than even you’ve probably had.”
“I’ve had many. Loads of scars as well.”
I don’t know what possesses me to do it, perhaps some subconscious need to prove how tough I am, that I’m not some sniggering girly girl, but I lift up the side of my shirt and show Declan the top of my incision from the surgery. It’s a horrid, long line still pink that runs from my hip to just below my bellybutton.
“A steel rod from the truck that hit us pinned me to the seat. Seven hour surgery.” Declan winces. The scar had faded and the doctors told me that over time it would continue to diminish, but it would never disappear completely. Five months on and it’s still quite disgusting.
Seemingly without thinking about it, Declan reaches down and rubs his thumb against my scar and at his touch, my stomach flips. I know he can see the light hairs on my stomach stand on end and how my skin covers in goose bumps. He looks at my face again and once more his eyes linger too long in my eyes, then down to my lips. But then he breaks contact and unbuttons his shirt.
“I’ve got a few nasty ones as well. See this?” He lifts his undershirt back over his left shoulder and I nod, curious of his point, his intentions. “Rory McDonald pushed me straight through the rusty, broken uprights when I was fifteen. Twenty-nine stiches that ached like a bugger. And here,” he lowers his shirt then pulls up the hem to show me a smooth gash just below his bellybutton. “Mickey Douglas forgot to ditch his watch during a practice match when I was eighteen. Fecking thing nearly ripped me in half when he lined me up and smashed me as I went for a try-scoring pass.” The scar is faint, barely noticeable and doesn’t register really as I am distracted by muscles so taut that I can see the lines across his stomach. There is a long trail of black hair below his navel that disappears beneath his belt and I can’t help the wild dip of my stomach as I watch his bare skin.
“That’s um, yeah.” I swallow against the dryness in my mouth and Declan steps closer, his shirt still raised. Again I feel him watching me, and I don’t realize how close we are standing until he drops his shirt. There is no smile on his face, no condescending little grin that tells me he thinks I’m an idiot.
I don’t react when Declan reaches for my face or when his hand cups my cheek. The tips of his fingers are smooth, not like the rough callouses on the tops and palms of his hands. I’m about to speak, say something glib, sarcastic, but just then Declan rubs his thumb across my bottom lip, a mimic of what I’d done to him Thursday night on the sidewalk. I can only manage to watch his head lower until his lips are at my ear. When he whispers, his voice is low, a soft rasp that nears a growl and instantly makes my body ache.
“Like what you see, love?”
He steps back and the crackle present in the air, the one I’d forced the other night, returns, collects into the stillness of the basement. The seconds stretch, he moves forward, and the only sound I can hear is the low hum of the lights overhead and my own heartbeat thumping in my ears.
“Yes….um, no…it’s not like that.”
“Liar.”
Excerpt II: Fubar’s
She leaves me standing alone on the dance floor, but I don’t mind. The air from the vents is cool on my hot skin and all around me are willing, completely unfamiliar strangers who handle me this way and that, take turns grinding against me. I stumble once, then recover by skidding away from my random friends and am nearly to the bar when a large hand grabs me, pulls me close to his thick chest.
Declan’s body is solid against mine and that masculine, outdoorsy smell of his wafts into my nose, makes my stomach twist pleasantly. I start to pull away, my anger at him a bit stronger than my buzz, but he stops me, wraps his large hands on my waist.
“Be nice,” he says and nuzzles my neck.
That rational part of my brain that tells me to walk away, to get as far from this caveman as possible, seems to be sleeping. I’m too focused on the way he feels, how tight he holds me, how his breath warms my neck as he pulls me against him. I don’t care about the blonde he just left, don’t mind that his hands are on my waist, that I can feel the strong contours of his chest as we keep a slow, close rhythm.
But I can’t take the heat in his eyes, how dark they’ve become, how intensely his gaze eats away at my features. I turn, my back to his chest, my head rests on his shoulder and Declan settles his hands around my hips, guides me as we dance. The sputtering of my heart is fast. My head rolls to the side and his bourbon and beer mixed breath fans over my face. My body responds to the way he feels against me, how his hands slide up my arms, my hips, how warm his breath feels on my skin. When his arms tighten around my waist and he kisses my neck, I lift my head to the side and watch him.
“What are you doing?”
“Can’t you tell?”
“This is more of that too much friendliness behavior we talked about.”
He moves me to face him, holds my cheeks in his hands. His pupils are wide, the green in his irises shining bright and I’m sure he’s likely as drunk as I am. But he smells sweet, he feels sweeter and I forget to care about our drunkenness or that he pissed me off earlier.
“I’m not your fecking friend, McShane.” And then his mouth covers mine, searing, certain. This isn’t like the simple peck that he gave me last night. It’s firmer, more severe and heated than even our first kisses in the basement. His kiss is deep and long and when I try to pull back, afraid his tongue will make an appearance, the pressure on my face increases. He breaks away from me, but his arm curls tight around my body, at the curve of my lower back. Through the haze of drunkenness and that left-unfilled pulse against my clit, I forget my earlier declarations, ignore the fact that he isn’t right for me or that I’m being irresponsible. I kiss him back, let my tongue slide across his bottom lip. His low growl vibrates against his throat, makes my stomach flutter and I’m instantly caught up in the need and want of him. Declan moves back, kisses my neck again, lets his mouth leave cool tracks of moisture in its wake and then he whispers in my ear. “Come with me.”
Drunk and swaying, I follow Declan to the back of the bar. There are couches and chaises in a semi-circle and a row of plush chairs pushed back against the wall. We never make it to any of them. It is late, the crowd has thinned and Declan finds a small, dark alcove illuminated only by the slight red light of the exit sign. He pulls on my hand, pushes me against the wall and spends five full seconds staring at me, no smile quirking his lips, as though he’s giving me an out. When I pull my bottom lip under my teeth, Declan’s nostrils flare and his hands cradle my face, his mouth returns to mine.
His tongue slips between my lips, so simple, so effortless, as though that is where it was always meant to be and I moan as he cups my ass. He pauses, a wicked smirk on his face. “Not going to knee me again, are you?”
A quick smile twists across my lips before I grab his hand and lead it back onto my body. “Do it again.”
We become a flurry of motions. He lifts me up, grip tight on the backs of my thighs. I pull on his hair, yank his head back to expose his neck, nibble on the skin and by the shake of his body, by how tight his grip is on me, how thick he feels against me, I know that Declan is as desperate for more as I am.
He stops as though he’s fighting for control and then his eyes are searching mine. He worries his bottom lip. “My God, I’m dying here.” He moves in close to breathe against my neck, his mouth just near the shell of my ear. “I want to be inside you,” he whispers, then rests his head on my shoulder, his breathing a hard pant. “But I’m drunk. You’re drunk.”
Whatever I thought I might say becomes a blur. I want to continue, I want him back at my apartment, in my bed, but my head spins and the lights and sounds around me twist my stomach into knots. I push him back, make him stop and he gives me little resistance.
“Shite, don’t get mad, McShane—”
I grab his collar and close my eyes. “Shut up, Declan. I’m not mad. I’m just…I’m going to be sick.”
Excerpt III: Bathroom
Scene
I run the tap and splash water on my nape not really paying attention as the door swings open. When I return to the mirror, Declan stands behind me.
“I really don’t have time for this.”
“No, you don’t. Uppity bollocks is waiting for you.” The heat from his chest warms me, settles into a hum that shoots straight to my stomach. He watches my reflection, eyes down cast, cool. I don’t like that expression or how his indifference seems to be forced.
“What happened to not reliving the past, McShane?”
I wad up the paper towel and toss it in the trash, glaring when Declan traps me against the wall. “Please leave me alone.” He doesn’t speak. When I move to the right, he follows, arm stretching out to stop me. His fingers trace the high arch of my cheekbone, down my chin to rest at my bottom lip.
“You can’t go with him.”
“Why the hell not?”
Declan’s forehead rests against mine. He’s so close that I can see his throat working, the pulse speeding on his neck. When he doesn’t answer, I push him away, intend to leave, but his hand slams the door closed. The lock clicking sounds against the cold tile floor.
The wall against my back is cold, uncomfortable, and I grope for the lock, eager to escape the imposing way Declan watches me, absorbs my features. When I touch the door, he reaches out, one arm on each side of my head. “He’s not the one, love. You know that. Deep in your gut, you know it isn’t Tucker.”
“Then who is it?” I can’t help saying. “It’s not you. You’ve told me that a thousand times. This…thing, this whatever we had, is over.” He starts to argue, but I stop him with a quick shake of my head. “No, Declan. It was your choice.” I want to know, God how I want a plausible excuse for his rejection. Was everything I felt between us a lie? Was I misguided in thinking every touch, every kiss was forced, not at all real? His collar is stiff with starch when I curl it in my hands. I inch my fingers up to rub against his bottom lip and notice his chin shake, the quick blink of his eyelids.
There is a moist gleam in his green irises that I know comes from more than just the beer he drank. “I wanted you so badly. I still—” when my eyes slam shut, Declan inches forward, his fingers fanning down my neck. I stretch, pull back from his touch, but he’s so close, his breath a warm hint over my collar. “You rejected me. I’m not going to play games with you anymore.” “I can’t…if you knew—” There it is again. The long withheld mystery that he can’t talk about. His “not a wife, not a family, not dying” secret that isn’t his to tell. I won’t let him keep doing this to me. “Help me understand then.” An inhale against my shoulder as he rests there and the tremors in his hands, his shoulders move me back into the wall. “You don’t know how hard this is for me.” His hair brushes my cheek when he raises back up. “I want you. God, do I want you.”
“Declan. Please. You have a girlfriend. You shouldn’t say things like that when you have Heather.”
“How do you know about her?” he asks, refusing to budge when I push on his chest.
“Was I not supposed to find out? She threatened me to stay away from you.”
Declan rubs his shoulder and I instantly miss the heat from his chest. The break is momentary. He adjusts his stance, returns his hand to the side of my face. “We’re not together. I don’t want her, Autumn.”
I try to leave again, but his grip is unyielding and my efforts to walk away are weak at best. I could leave. I could easily slip from him and he’d likely let me go. But his eyes have me locked, frozen to my spot. His gaze goes everywhere; on my mouth, staring, as if he wants whatever mad things he’s thinking to break free from his mind. But I’m not a mind reader and I can’t do this. Not anymore.
“Tucker’s waiting for me.”
“No.” He slaps his palm against the wall next to my head and leaves his hand there. “Don’t leave.”
I stare at the sharp point of his nose, the small frown that parts his mouth, anywhere but in those brilliant green eyes. When he doesn’t budge, the anger bubbles again. I am frustrated and eager for him to understand how much he has hurt me. Tucker hasn’t tried touching me, not since that first date weeks ago, but Declan doesn’t know that. To his eyes, we are together. That unsettles him. I won’t tell him the truth; it’s a commodity that we both use in this push and pull game. I’m not stupid. I know whatever Tucker is holding over Declan is the reason he walked away from me. Still, I want Declan to hurt, to suffer like I have, to understand what it feels like when I think of him with Heather. It’s a small lie, but cruel enough to make Declan’s heart quake, an echo of the pain he’s caused me.
“I’m going with him, Declan. I’m going out with Tucker. I’m going to have dinner with him. I’m going to dance with him. I’m going to let him hold me.” His eyes flash and he pulls his hand away from me. “And when the night is over, I’m going to let him kiss me, let him touch me if he wants. I’m going to do all of that because he wants me and he isn’t afraid to show me how much he wants me. Because he isn’t a coward.”
Declan slams his fist against the wall and I don’t even flinch. I knew it was coming. I take a step away from him and he reacts instantly. His hand on my arm, pulling, my shoulders back against the wall, his voice angry, deep. “Does he touch you like I do?” He presses against me hard and I close my eyes, inhaling to settle my pounding heart, to ignore the way my body aches, how everything in me tells me to hold tight to him. “Does he kiss you like I do?” Declan doesn’t wait for an answer. He takes my face again and kisses me. His tongue slips into my mouth, and I let myself enjoy the feel of him against me, the sound of his moans vibrating in his throat. He won’t give me space, even as I angle my face away from him. His body is firm over mine and in that moment, I hate him. I hate the way his arms cage me to the wall. I hate how my heart races, how my body throbs with his scent, with the taste of him. When I close my eyes again, another attempt to block out all the sensations he raises in me, Declan grabs my chin. “Look at me,” he says, his voice firm, even lower than moments ago. “Fecking look at me, Autumn,” he whispers.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Book Tour+ Review + Giveaway StillWell: A Haunting On Long Island By Michael Phillip Cash
Stillwell: A Haunting on Long Island by Michael Phillip Cash
Virtual Book Tour: 9/23/13 - 10/21/13
Genres: Paranormal, Thriller, Romance, and Suspense
Blurb:
Paul Russo’s wife just died. While trying to get his family’s life back in order, Paul is being tormented by a demon who is holding his wife's spirit hostage on the other side. His fate is intertwined with an old haunted mansion on the north shore of Long Island called Stillwell Manor. Paul must find clues dating back hundreds of years to set his wife's soul free.
Excerpt:
It was just before two, and Paul knew he had to be home for Stella’s bus. There was no time to stop at the library, so he swung the car onto Route 25A and headed for the Stillwell estate. Route 25A was a state highway on Long Island. It served as the main east-west route for most of the North Shore, running for seventy-three miles from the Midtown Tunnel to Calverton in Suffolk County.
The route was known for its scenic path through decidedly lesser-developed areas such as Brookville, Fort Salonga, Centerport, and the Roslyn Viaduct. It was known by various names along its routing, the most prominent of which included Northern Boulevard.
He wanted to walk the grounds before he met with Melissa tomorrow. He felt outside his body, as if he was moving in slow motion. He knew that he drove but didn’t feel the passage of time. Still on autopilot, he was in a strange, suspended kind of state where things happened by rote. They got done, but he just couldn’t recall how. He reached out to the seat next to him and caressed the worn leather. It was Allison’s seat. His soul mate. She would know what to do with Jesse. His hand met empty air and closed into a tight fist. “Get your shit together, Paul,” he told himself. Hesitantly, he turned on the radio and felt a sense of relief when he heard Elton John singing “Yellow Brick Road.”
He pulled into the overgrown driveway surrounded by tall pine trees, just off the main road. Huge old gates that had rusted over years ago and were left unguarded Stillwell. Paul remembered they never closed them; they were broken at a wild party in the last century, by ancestors of the current owners that lived in the house. He had researched today on the Internet, learning the house was built by a prosperous farmer during the 1700s. This landowner was the first Andrews to arrive here from England. Craig had an attic filled with clothing belonging to different eras. Paul loved a Revolutionary War drum they had found there. Craig had made a wedding present of it and gave it to Paul and Allison when they married. He treasured it, and although it was buried under paper in his office, he liked to clean it off and bang on it with the children.
The house had a sorrowful reputation. Nothing tangible, just an overall aura of sadness that was often the subject of newspaper articles. He couldn’t recall any of the stories, only that there was something sad associated with the house. As if that wasn’t enough, now it could add a murder-suicide to its history, just for atmosphere, he thought ruefully.
At the end of a two-mile gravel driveway, the house stood proudly, surrounded by ancient trees that were lush with the beginning of fall colors. It was a two-story colonial, seventeen bedrooms, he recalled, and with seven or eight bathrooms. Maybe more. There were parts of the house he had never seen. There was a ballroom and a servants’ wing. It was locked up. A lone band of ripped yellow police tape floated on the crisp early fall air; it was attached to one of the wrought-iron railings. The word “caution” on the police tape waved on the breeze as if beckoning him to enter. He had no key, so he parked the car on the top of the gravel driveway and walked through the dense overgrowth toward the back terrace. He’d have to tell Melissa to have a gardener clean it up. It was silent there. He couldn’t hear any traffic from the main road, only the gentle chirping of birds and the trees swaying. There was a wall of French doors. It was beautiful. He knew the ballroom was here. A lone dove called gently for her mate, breaking the silence. Overhead two Canadian geese honked loudly, flying low. He recalled that they mated for life and found a well of jealously rearing its ugly head. He had mated for life. What do they do when one partner is taken away?
The terrace red bricks were broken and sprouting weeds poked through. Walking slowly, he peeked through one of the many panes of wavy glass at the light blue ballroom. Counting three Schonbek chandeliers, he calculated their worth, whistling softly.
He passed the big room and realized it was the family’s library. Still packed with books, it would be a nice touch for the open house. A roaring fire would really help when he did the showing. Pictures hung on green, blasé walls; overall, there was a feeling of faded wealth. Here and there were empty spots on the wall where he supposed Craig and his brothers took a family memento or portrait.
He sat abruptly on the first step, tears welling in his eyes. The bleakness of his life stretched before him as anger surged through his veins like hot lava. “You left me alone,” he choked to the empty yard. “I don’t want to do this,” he whispered, feeling so small, adrift, and unhappy. His thoughts wandered to his kids again, and an overwhelming feeling of helplessness surrounded him.
Sighing, he wiped his cheeks, ashamed of the tears and surprised he had this incredible supply of them, and ambled over to the last set of French doors. The bedroom. The master bedroom. It was the crime scene; he had read the report on his computer. He saw the dusty outline of the grand furniture and wondered how well they were able to clean it. He rubbed a small circle in the glass, pressed his eye, and blinked.
“Oh my God!” Bile rose to burn his throat when he saw the carnage inside. Guts and gore splattered the room. Streaks of blood and holes from the shotgun pellets peppered the white walls. Bits of brain and decaying flesh decomposed on the floor.
A chair was overturned, its brocade drenched with stains of violence. The carpet was black with dried blood. A lone slipper, a pink thing doused in blood, lay abandoned by its wearer on the floor. Reeling away, he wondered if Melissa knew it hadn’t been cleaned yet.
He started to run and fell into the bushes vomiting what little he had in his stomach. How was he going to look at that room with Melissa tomorrow? Stumbling to his car, he knocked over a planter with a dead bush. His breathing sounded harsh in his ears; he fumbled for his phone and dialed Melissa, his fingers shaking. It rang four or five times before she answered.
“Melissa?” His voice sounded strange to his own ears. “Have you been to the house?”
“Paul? Are you OK? Why?”
“I thought you said they cleaned it up.”
“They did, Paul. I inspected it yesterday. It’s all good, I promise.”
“Um...you sure?” He blinked hard.
“Yes. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He dropped the phone in his pocket and sat in the car, stunned. Putting the keys into the ignition, he thought to drive away but stopped. He got out and warily went into the yard again. Wanting another look, now that he calmed his beating heart, he saw the small circle he’d cleared on the window earlier. Tentatively, his heart started pounding again as he approached the doors. Stupefied, he peered in and saw a stripped bed, wooden floors, and pristine walls. He shook his head then left quickly, wondering what the hell had just happened to him.
MY THOUGHTS:This was the second novel I have read by author Michael Phillip Cash, the first being Brood X. One thing I can say about this author is that he really knows how to draw you into his stories. With Stillwell you get a love-story wrapped up in a family tragedy that snowballs into a paranormal event. What I loved about this story was that it had so many layers to it. You start off with a very loving and devoted husband(Paul) trying to cope with his grief over the loss of his wife(Allison) to brain cancer. Before this Paul had taken a leave of absence from where he worked as a salesman to take care of his wife as she went through treatments. Paul starts to become deeper and deeper in debt and chooses to go back to work. A friend has a house their trying to sell, that is rumored to be haunted and was the site of two horrible accidents, but Paul takes on the challenge of trying to get it sold anyway. This is where things start to become strange. I don't want to give to much away so you will have to read to find out all the exciting details and how the story unfolds!! This author really knows how to pull a story together, the ending was very unexpected and didn't go where I thought. This book was extremely thought provoking and interesting. I would recommend to anyone looking for an exciting read!!! I gave this book 5 stars!
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Gennifer Albin - Author: #JoinTheAgenda Winner & Final Challenges!
Gennifer Albin - Author: #JoinTheAgenda Winner & Final Challenges!: And the Winner Is... The Pin It To Win It winner is M. A. Patterson and his board ! Congratulations! You did an amazing job. Special ...
Friday, October 18, 2013
Leave No Book Behind: Feather Light Blog Tour Review+Highlight+Giveaway
Leave No Book Behind: Feather Light Blog Tour Review+Highlight+Giveaway: Feather Light: Parker Davis has conquered three major American cities and is the new ‘it’ man in massage. He earned the nicknam...
Feather Light Blog Tour Review+Highlight+Giveaway
Feather Light: Parker Davis has conquered three major American cities and is the new ‘it’ man in massage. He earned the nickname ‘Feather Light’ for his sensual touches, tender caresses, and soft voice eliciting an almost orgasmic release. Clients from all over clamor for his services, and his clientele is growing by the minute. Business is at its peak, which makes Parker a busy man who has no time to deal with problems, let alone dwell on his blindness. With his declining vision, Parker has to accept his limitations and the changes brought forth by this disease, but he is not ready to relinquish the last control he has left. He is still the master in his bedroom.
Kelly Storm, a Hollywood actress, will do whatever it takes to get some much-deserved peace. Being famous has its perks, except the little privacy her popularity afforded her is slowly eating at her. With the paparazzi hounding her every minute of the day and her personal life under constant scrutiny, Kelly wants a semblance of normalcy wherever she can get it. Under the urging of a close friend, she agrees give Parker a try.
Their first meeting is nothing she expects. Kelly finds comfort in his gentle probing and the spellbinding experience guaranteed to keep her coming back for more. Parker knows the woman on his table is special. He feels her vulnerability with his fingertips, and her smooth curves leave a burning ache inside him.
One night of steamy passion is all it takes to know that they wanted each other in more ways than one. Kelly hides in heavy disguises, making it impossible for Parker to know her true identity. What secret is Kelly keeping, and will she trust Parker enough to tell him the truth? Will Parker see beyond Kelly’s lies to show her what a future with him holds?
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Author Spotlight / Interview & Giveaway Streaks Of Blue By Jack Chaucer 10 / 17 - 10 / 29
Q # 1- Where did you grow up and in what ways(if any) did it impact your writing?
A: I grew up on Chaucer Drive in North Kingstown, R.I., and that's how I came up with my pen name of Jack Chaucer.
Q # 2- When did you first realize that you wanted to be a writer?
A: When I was 7, I launched a little Chaucer Drive neighborhood newspaper that we wrote by hand and passed around to all the parents at the block party every August. I think we did that from 1979 through 1984 and I still have the copies somewhere in the house. I also still work at a newspaper (in Waterbury, Conn.)!
Q # 3- What was the inspiration behind Nikki's character?
A: She's not based on anyone specifically. I just wanted her to be a good, deep-thinking teen who wants to do the right thing, but she gets frustrated and scared like anyone else would in this extraordinary situation she finds herself in. I always pictured her with streaks of blue hair, right from when I was conceiving this novel. I was amazed when I was able to tie that in with the mountain climbing theme I wanted for the book, too. The streaks of blue paint marking the trees up in the White Mountains of New Hampshire do in fact exist. And the streaks/tears of blue we're all feeling in the wake of all these senseless shootings just tied everything together.
Q # 4- Who is your all time favorite author and Novel?
A: I remember as a kid being blown away by Mark Twain and Harriet Beecher Stowe, but right now it's hard to top what George R. R. Martin is doing with his Game of Thrones series. Awesome world-building, an amazing array of interesting characters, gutsy plot shifts, masterful storytelling/writing and a mind-blowing HBO series to top if off. If you're looking for a new, relatively unknown standout writer, try England's Harry Nicholson and his historical fiction masterpiece, "Tom Fleck," which I reviewed on my blog last year.
Q # 5- What would you say influences your writing style the most and why?
A: I would say that my style is unique and still under development, but I know my approach involves trying to visualize each scene and chapter like a movie. And I try to really hook the reader at the end of each scene to get him/her to keep reading, keep guessing. I also try to be unpredictable. I definitely err on the side of a quick pace and quality over quantity. That's why my two most recent novels are both just over 50,000 words -- taut and engaging throughout, hopefully. I think that's important in this fast-paced, short-attention-span world. We've all got long TBR lists. The writer needs to get to the point, get the message across and step aside. Except for George R.R. Martin. He can write all the 1,000-plus-page epics he wants.
Q # 6- If you could change one thing concerning the world today, what would it be?
A: This is a question that hopefully my book attempts to address. It's an epidemic that begins in school and only seems to get worse from there in this American society. I would like to see people change from labeling and rejecting their peers because of differences to an attitude of accepting and embracing their peers because of differences. Every person is unique and special despite his/her socio-economic background, popularity, mental/physical disabilities or whatever. There needs to be a complete attitude change in this country, a new level of mutual respect. Until that happens, we can argue about gun control and mental health all we want, but it won't make a damn bit of difference. The basic relationships between people, starting when they're young, need to improve drastically or we're going to continue to see those who have been cast aside and rejected walk into schools, malls and government buildings and blow people away. It's a very American thing. You don't see people in Japan and Sweden and Canada and South Korea doing this sort of thing every other week.
Q # 7- What would you say your favorite genre of writing is?
I definitely prefer fiction because I like to tap into my imagination and not be limited, but it really depends on the project. I like to try to push the limits of certain genres. With my previous novel "Queens are Wild," it's an adult thriller, but it's also political science fiction. With "Streaks of Blue," it's YA, but it's also very relevant and realistic. Some bloggers have even wondered if it's based on a true story. Sadly, it is. It's based on Columbine, Sandy Hook and every other shooting we've suffered through over the past couple of decades.
Q # 8- Streaks Of Blue is an amazing novel, do you have any book ideas your working on now or in the near future?
First, thank you for that awesome compliment. I never get tired of hearing it. Second, after four novels in four years, I'm taking a break for a while. I need to recharge my creative engine. But I would like to tackle a trilogy at some point. I want to do something involving the dualistic power of water and how, with the effects of global warming really ramping up and being unleashed over the course of the 21st century, this critical source of life could, in the end, literally drown us. The best novels and characters involve great change. Well, Earth is about to undergo huge changes and, as a result, so are we. I have a feeling there's a "Mammyth" story for me to write about this subject at some point and I look forward to it when the time comes.
Q # 9- For all the aspiring writers out there, do you have any tips or ideas that could help with the whole writing process?
Write one scene or one chapter, preferably by hand (too much time staring at a computer is no good in the early stages of a novel), and you'll be amazed at how many more ideas come flooding into your brain in the hours following that initial writing session. Not every concept will work. I've abandoned several, believe me, and you'll know that pretty fast. But when a concept does begin to come together, that's when the magic happens. And when that does happen, you have to immerse yourself in it and write nearly every day or you'll lose the momentum. I wrote the first drafts of my last two novels in three months each. I never really had writer's block. My pen couldn't move fast enough. Unfortunately, after the first draft is written, then the real work begins: revisions, editing, polishing, packaging, marketing, etc. In short, you have to be passionate, persistent, creative and a little crazy.
Q # 10- Do You Have Any Questions For Me?
Please rank your three favorite scenes, situations or conversations in "Streaks of Blue?"
Answer: There are so many to choose from so I will go with my absolute favorite one, While Nikki was camping she has a very realistic dream, in which a little girl named star asks her to go with her to her classroom, {Which is outside} This is when she is told about Adam, and that he is planning to do something horrible, and he needs her help. I liked this part for two reasons, #1) this scene gave the story an paranormal feel to me, like something bigger was in control and was trying to intervene behind the scenes. #2) I liked that the little girl's name was Star, and that the way she showed up seemed heavenly!!! Thanks for stopping by and have a great day!!!!!!!
That was fun. Thanks for your great questions, Billie Jo!!! :)
Monday, October 14, 2013
Chasing Serenity By Eden Butler "On Sale For $0.99" Get Your Copy A.S.A.P
Title: Chasing Serenity
Series: Seeking Serenity series, Book #1
Author: Eden Butler
Genre: NA Contemporary Romance
Release Date: October 11, 2013
Book Blurb:
Graduate student Autumn McShane has had her share of heartbreak. She’s been abandoned and betrayed and she lost her beloved mother in a tragic car accident five months ago. That loss damaged her body and fractured her spirit but she’s learning to recover, until her ex-boyfriend returns to town, intent on making her life miserable.
Declan Fraser hates her ex as much as Autumn does, but the last thing she needs is to put her trust in the hands of another man, especially one like Declan: his hard body and lulling Irish accent makes more than few girls weak-kneed. The talented rugby player is rude and sarcastic, with tattooed, muscular arms and a cocky attitude, but he's the only one who can help Autumn win an ill-advised bet that, if lost, could cost her more than she's willing to pay. The reluctant alliance between Declan and Autumn stirs up cravings she doesn't want to admit, but Declan is a hard man to resist.
Just when Autumn starts letting down her carefully constructed walls to the sexy bad boy, he betrays her when she needs him most. Autumn suspects Declan has secrets, and she is determined to uncover what drove him away from her, even if that means fraternizing with the enemy. But will the truth return Declan to her arms or add to the scars on her heart?
(Review) Streaks Of Blue By Jack Chaucer
DESCRIPTION:Adam Upton and Thomas "Lee" Harvey are plotting the next big school massacre at their New Hampshire high school. Nicole Janicek, who knew Adam in elementary school, tries to reconnect with the damaged teen at the start of their senior year. She risks her life and reputation to save the lives of her schoolmates, including the ones who question her sanity and taunt her for hanging out with “trailer trash.” But will Nicole’s attempt to befriend the would-be killer disrupt the plot and turn Adam’s life around before the clock strikes 12:14?
HALF OF THE PROCEEDS FROM THIS BOOK WILL BE DONATED TO THE NEWTOWN MEMORIAL FUND. For more information, visit http://newtownmemorialfund.org/
Chris P. Bacon By Len Lucero, Kristina Tracy, Chris P. Bacon
My Life So Far…
by Len Lucero
and
Kristina Tracy
Chris P. Bacon is one lucky pig. Born with malformed hind
legs, he was taken to a vet with the request that he be
euthanized. The veterinarian, Len Lucero, took one look
at the little guy who appeared generally happy and
healthy and vowed to keep him.
Chris went home with Dr. Len and within a matter of weeks became an internet sensation and media
darling when Dr. Len, now his “adopted” dad, posted a video on YouTube of tiny Chris learning how to
use a cart made out of toys, which got 1.4 million views. This determined piglet soon mastered the
device and was rolling to interviews across the country. With over 80,000 fans on Facebook and
comment interaction in the thousands, Chris P. Bacon “Pig on Wheels” is a hit! Here, in his first book,
this inspiring little guy tells the story of his life so far and how being different is super cool!
About the Authors
Len Lucero, DVM, is a veterinarian who lives in Sumterville, Florida,
with his wife and two children. Growing up on small ranch in New
Mexico, Len always loved animals and dreamed of becoming a
veterinarian. His dream came true, and he now owns and operates
Sumter Mobile Veterinarian where he takes care of animals both
large and small. One of those small animals came into his life to
stay—and that is his little friend and companion Chris P. Bacon.
Kristina Tracy is a writer, mom, and many other things (wife, gardener, decorator, horseback rider).
She lives in Olivenhain, California, with her husband and two children, Ava and Dane. She is the author
of nine children's books, written in collaboration with the best-selling authors Louise L. Hay, Deepak
Chopra, Christiane Northrup, M.D., Dr. Wayne W. Dyer, and Doreen Virtue.
Chris P. Bacon, the pig in a wheelchair who quickly became
a YouTube sensation in early 2013 with over 1.2 million views, is setting out to teach children
about compassion, acceptance, and loving your imperfections. Chris P. Bacon was rescued by
his veterinarian Dr. Len Lucero after a young woman reluctantly dropped him off to be
euthanized because of a congenital defect that affects his rear legs. Dr. Lucero gave Chris a
second chance at life and with two wheels strapped to the rear of his body, he is now a perfectly
healthy and happy piggie on-the-go.
Hay House, the world’s largest self-help and motivational publisher has signed a three
book deal with Chris P. Bacon, his dad Dr. Lucero and co-author Kristina Tracy, who has
worked on children’s books with Wayne W. Dyer, Dr. Christiane Northrup, Deepak Chopra and
more. The first book, geared towards children ages 4-10, will launch in Fall 2013.
Chris P. Bacon shares adorably witty updates from his daily life in Florida on his
Facebook and Twitter pages. He’s also no stranger to media! Chris P. Bacon has made
appearances on TV shows like Anderson Cooper and TODAY show! The world has fallen in
love with this charming pig who is teaching us all a lesson---When life throws you an obstacle,
strap on your wheels and face it head-on.
To learn more about Chris P. Bacon, please visit the following sites:
Website: http://www.chrispbacon.org
YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Z-uO5TPQfM&feature=youtu.be
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CPBaconWheels
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ChrisPBaconPig
Press Contact: Richelle Zizian, rzizian@hayhouse.com, 646-484-4954
REVIEW:This was such an inspiring and heartwarming read, Chris P. Bacon is a great book for children and adults alike, this book really touched my heart. Fun and entertaining from start to finish.I read this to my daughter and she just adored it!! This is a fantastic way to show children that just because someone is different, doesn't mean they can't do something.The underlying message I took away from this wonderful book was that, you must never give up!! Great Job, Looking forward to reading more from this author and continuing the journey with Chris P. Bacon
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Spotlight&Excerpt:Urdaisunia By Kyra Halland
Available from:Amazon | Barnes & NobleApple | Kobo | Sony
Smashwords
CreateSpaceAll Romance Ebooks
Prologue:There was no moon that night. From the ledge where she sat, halfway up the north face of the Mother’s Mountain, Rashali could see the dull reflection of starlight on the sluggish, nearly-dry rivers to the east and west. The broad floodplain, which would be transformed the next day into a killing ground, lay dark between the two rivers. At the north end of the plain, the great city of Zir was a faint smudge against the sky. Eruz, she thought, her heart breaking yet again. Beyond each river, faint flashes of starlight revealed the armies’ movements as they prepared to cross the rivers. In a hidden valley of the Mountain, Uruku and his band of Scorpions would also be getting ready to move.
Behind Rashali, the cliff rose a sheer thirty arm-lengths, unclimbable except with the rope ladder, which Uruku and his followers had taken with them. In front of her, the ledge gave way to a hundred arm-lengths drop to the rocky base of the mountain. There was no way off the ledge except for the fatal drop, unless Uruku came back for her—and then she would be as dead as if she had jumped.
Rashali stretched her cramped arms and legs and set again to rubbing the ropes around her wrists against the rough piece of stone that protruded from the cliff behind her. Her arms were raw and stinging from her efforts to free herself; the ropes must be soaked with blood by now. She gritted her teeth against the pain and continued scraping her bound wrists against the rock. Though only death awaited her, and though everything she loved, everything she had hoped for, would die the next day on the battlefield below, at least she would be free as she watched her world end.
Monday, October 7, 2013
Release Day Blitz For Unwanted By Alivia Anders
![Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000040_00005]](http://www.yanovelreader.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/UNWANTED_final_cover1.jpg)
Title: Unwanted
Author: Alivia Anders
Genre: NA Dystopian
Author: Alivia Anders
Genre: NA Dystopian
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Waterborn By Kimberly James Book Blitz Sept. 24-30
Waterborn by Kimberly James
Publication date: September 6th 2013
Genres: Fantasy, New Adult, Romance
Synopsis:
“You don’t have to choose. You can be both. The girl with the charm, the girl without. They both suit you.”
Caris Harper lives a charmed life. Literally.
When her dad offers to take her to the Emerald coast of Florida for summer vacation, Caris jumps at the chance. The chance to get answers to questions she’s always been too afraid to ask. The chance to be normal. Isn't that what her dreams have been telling her, that here in the place of her birth she can be normal? But from the first moment the wind caresses her face and the sun touches her skin, the charm begins to fade, revealing a girl Caris never knew existed, one that is anything but normal. The long-buried Song that awakens is only the beginning of a transformation that will challenge her ideas about loyalty and family.
Noah Jacobs is a waterbreather—a species of human fully adaptable to life in the water. Like his older brother Jamie, Noah wants to prove they can use their abilities and be heroes in service to their country. When a simple mission goes wrong and Jamie goes missing, Noah exiles himself to the Deep in a desperate search. MIA is a classification Noah is not ready to accept. But instinct can’t be ignored. Not when he hears her Song. Caris is not what he expects and Noah is determined to get her out of his head. Instead he finds himself acting as her mentor and the more time they spend together, the more Noah realizes he just wants Caris.
When a startling truth threatens their newly formed trust, Noah straddles the line between love and obsession while Caris struggles to find a balance between the girl she thought she was and the young woman she wants to be.
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