[Blog Tour] The Gateway Chronicles/ Book #5 The Scroll By K.B. Hoyle

Summary for The Gateway Chronicles:

At the age of thirteen, Darcy Pennington found out the world in which she lived was only one of many, and that the existence of other worlds meant she was far from ordinary. Her destiny, along with the destinies of her five best friends, is entangled with a realm called Alitheia. She journeyed to Alitheia for the first time, armed only with the knowledge that she was destined to help expel an evil Shadow from the land and she would someday be queen. Darcy never could have guessed how deep the rabbit hole would take her. Now, at the age of seventeen, Darcy finds herself thrust into a position of uncertainty after four extraordinary trips to Alitheia, each fraught with drama and adventure. Gifted with elemental magic and with an uncanny ability to get herself into trouble, Darcy has always managed to make it through, but when her heart is on the line, the stakes are higher than ever. Great hope, great joy, and great love have always been tempered by great sorrow and great loss in Alitheia, and Darcy wonders if the trials she is about to face in her latest trip will break her, and the land of Alitheia, beyond repair.



Book Blurb:
Darcy Pennington may once have been an average teenager, but not anymore. Living each year twice, once in her world and once in Alitheia, has made her into someone who cares little for normal teenage activities. She’s got more important things to do, like save the mythical, magical world of Alitheia. But this time, Darcy can’t save Alitheia until she saves Tellius, the love of her life.A window between the worlds allows Darcy to see Tellius from her home in Chicago. But, far from being reassured, she plunges into despair when she sees Tellius captured, imprisoned, and tortured. All her plans for her future life in Alitheia are put on hold as Darcy faces a singular goal: save Tellius, even if it means giving Tselloch something in return.
Intrigue is high upon her return to the castle, where old friends tell new lies, best friends hide crucial secrets, deceptive apparitions roam the halls, and betrayal lingers around every corner. The only way to unravel the mysteries and protect Alitheia is to bring Tellius home, but Darcy lacks the necessary magic for that.
As time runs low, Rubidius keeps to himself, and even Sam has her own secret this year. Darcy wonders if anyone else cares the way she does, and why it’s always a fight to get anything done. Still, she’ll do anything to rescue her future husband, including surrender herself to the fate she knows is coming anyway. Now, if only The Six could unveil the scroll, they might learn the greatest secret of all, before everything burns to ashes around them.                                                                                     My Thoughts/Review: I have never read a series that compares to "The Gateway Chronicles". Many people have compared it to the Harry Potter and the Narnia series, I have to say in some ways I understand how they could see it that way, but this series has taken me on a journey that I can not compare to any other. I feel like I have grown right along with the characters as the story progressed. K.B. Hoyle has drawn me into this whole new world with her fantastic writing skills and I'm so glad that I was able to tag along on this incredible journey. The characters were so fantastic and felt like family after awhile, I was sad to see them go. I give this series 5 stars but it deserves so much more. I'm looking forward to the next installment {Please say this isn't the end} I would recommend this series to anyone looking to leave this world behind and experience a new and exciting place filled with wonder!!! Great job!!!!             Author Bio:

K. B. Hoyle has been a classical educator for several years. She is a wife to a wonderful husband and mother to three rambunctious little boys. Her favorite literary genres have always been Young Adult Fantasy and Science Fiction, so that is where her journey began. At a young age, she knew she wanted to write stories that would inspire people, and she wrote her first fantasy novel at the age of eleven. Her goal as a writer is to take a look at existing truths in the world around her and repackage them in new, exciting, and fantastic ways.

Blog Tour Schedule:
10/14- http://www.firstpagetothelast.com/10/15- www.girl-who-reads.com- review
10/16- peddlerofdreams.wordpress.com- review and guest post
10/17-http://yogateachertrainingjourney.blogspot.com-excerpt
10/18- http://Strohschein.wordpress.com
10/19- http://paperbookprincess.com/- review and guest post10/20- cafeartspace.blogspot.com
10/21- www.girl-who-reads.com- guest post
10/22- http://sunshineandmountains.wordpress.com- review and guest post
10/24- http://fveslibrary.blogspot.com
10/31- http://arraabella.blogspot.com/- soundtrack
11/1- http://arraabella.blogspot.com/
a Rafflecopter giveaway

[Release day Blitz]An Ice Princess Heart (A Shard Of Ice Novella #1)By Alivia Anders

When a string of men vanish without a trace along the coast of France, Lilix Morgan seeks to uncover the source of the mysterious deaths. Aided by four other immortal Originals, they comb the coast, only to find out the horrible dark truth; one of them is the culprit.             Goodreads link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/16051634-an-ice-princess-heart

[New Post] Blog Tour Last Call/ Sneak-Peek Excerpts

Blurb:

“You are cordially invited…”

Four words that spark the fear of God into any gently bred, single southern woman.

When Savannah Guthry receives an invitation to her cousin’s wedding back home in Charleston, South Carolina, her first thoughts aren’t of flowers and dresses. Instead, she's reminded of the groom: her first love and the reason she ended up at a college 500 miles away from home.

Determined to show up and dazzle not only her ex but her spoiled cousin too, Savannah allows her friends to set her up on a series of dates looking for Mr. Right.

Wrapped up in her memories of the past and the drama of her new romances, Savannah doesn’t see the dangerous threat to her life coming…

She might not land her Prince Charming before her Last Call.

**This book is a New Adult Romantic Suspense. It is intended for mature (17+) audiences due to sexual situations and mild language



Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18216345-last-call      

                                                                About the author:

Michele is the author of the Amazon bestselling Coming of Age Fantasy- Never Let You Fall, The Prophecy of Tyalbrook Series and the New Adult Romantic Suspense, Last Call. She is currently working on the second book in The Prophecy of Tyalbrook Series, Never Let You Go.

Having grown up in both the cold, quiet town of Topsham, Maine and the steamy, southern
hospitality of Mobile, Alabama, Michele is something of a enigma. She is an avid Yankees fan, loves New England, being outdoors and misses snow. However she thinks southern boys are hotter, Alabama football is the only REAL football out there and sweet tea is the best thing this side of heaven and her children’s laughter!

Her family, an amazing husband and three awesome kids, have planted their roots in the middle of Michele’s two childhood homes in Charlotte, North Carolina. 

Email: authormichelegmiller@gmail.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorMicheleGMiller

Twitter: https://twitter.com/chelemybelles

Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/chelemybelles/

Website: http://michelegmiller.blogspot.com/
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Michele-G-Miller/e/B00CLRE0B0/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6975382.Michele_G_Miller

Excerpt from Last Call:


Friday - April 12, 2013

Nine Weeks until “The Wedding”

Get Your Freak On



An hour later, stuffed with ice cream and parmigiana chicken, the three of us were lounging in the living room when Candace finally got up the nerve to ask about the invitation. I’d allowed them to take a peek at it when they first came home, but neither of them had said anything about it until now.

“So, do you have to go to the wedding?”

“Hell yes she has to go! What would Mary Anne and the rest of those little debutante brats think if she didn’t?” snarled Sara, her eyes flashing in anger at the mention of the word debutante.

“You forget - I was one of those debutantes.”

Derisive laughter bubbled up from Sara as she pulled herself up in her chair; sitting on her feet. Yoga really did her body good. “Savannah, you are no more a debutante then I am. I know you did all that stuff back in the day, but it was solely at the urging of your mommy dearest. You’re so not the ‘only wear white after Memorial Day, clutch-my-pearls, and never leave-home-without-makeup’ type anymore.”

“This is true,” I agreed. My girlfriends really were the best medicine ever.

“So, you’re going then?” Candace asked again.

“I have to. Could you imagine my mother’s reaction if I tried to skip out?” I shuddered in faux fear. “Besides, I don’t want Daniel or Mary Anne to think they’ve hurt me. If I don’t go, everyone will assume I’m not done nursing my broken heart.”

“Over that pretty boy? Whatever,” Sara protested.

I refused to jump at her bait. Sara liked her guys rockabilly, and the more James Dean-like they were, the better. I was pretty sure the only reason she ended up in school in Nashville was for the music scene and the rockabilly hunks.

I rolled my eyes at my eccentric roommate and leaned forward to pour the last of the white wine in my glass.

“I forgot to tell y’all that my mother is already trying to wrangle me a date for the happy event.”

“Oh good lord, who?” coughed Candace, clearly as amused with my mother’s antics as I was.

Sara butted in, “You need to find some hot, tattooed bad boy to walk in on your arm, Savannah.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I need, Sara. My poor mother would die of a heart attack.”

“Wait a minute.” Candace popped up, her eyes bright with excitement. “Lord help me, I’m going to say it.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Sara may be on to something.”

“Yes,” Sara squealed with delight. “Hot bad boy to the rescue.”

“Nooo, thank you. I’m not interested in a bad boy toy.”

“Boy toy. Even better, Savannah,” Sara teased; rubbing her hands together evilly.

“Shhh. Would you two be quiet? I’m not talking about a bad boy or a toy. However, we could find you an amazing date for the wedding.” Candace smiled my way, adding, “One that will dote on you all weekend, and show those Charleston socialites that you are doing perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

Sara hissed out a very enthusiastic “Yesssss” while exchanging high fives with Candace. Their eagerness to help me was touching, but misplaced. I didn’t need a date for this wedding. I would be fine.

“Put your little black books down, ladies. I’ll be perfectly fine attending the wedding by myself. I couldn’t invite some random guy to a family event anyhow.”

“Like hell you can’t,” growled Sara. “Girl, this is the wedding of the couple who humiliated you your senior year of high school. They are the reason you don’t go home for the holidays. You damn well can and will show up for that wedding with a slamming dress and a gorgeous accessory on your arm.”
Excerpt II:

I shook myself out of my memories until I was back in the present. “You two are right,” I spoke, my voice unnaturally loud.

“Tattooed boy toy?”

“No,” I grumbled, throwing a pillow at Sara. “You’re a pain. But I do need a date for the wedding. A good one.”

“Well it shouldn’t be too hard to find you a perfect date. You’re smart, sweet, sexy and stacked,” Sara teased; holding her hands to her chest like I was Dolly Parton.

“Good lord, Sara. How much did you drink tonight?” barked Candace, rolling on the floor in a fit of laughter.

“Not enough.”

“Okay, so I need a date, girls. Problem is, I haven’t dated. Ever.”

“We know,” chimed in my best friends.

It’s not like I didn’t want to date, but after nursing my heart through the drama that was Daniel and Mary Anne, and then weathering the aftermath of Spencer Alexander, I couldn’t stand the thought of opening up to another guy. I’d left home for school to get away from all of the people I’d grown up with and to make new friends. However, once I got here I just ended up immersing myself in my classes and school clubs, and never made time to actually go out. Sara called me a homebody. Candace called me picky. I called myself scared.
Excerpt III:

Date number three in as many days. All I really wanted to do tonight was veg out in front of the television and read a good book. Two bad dates in a row was enough for one week. To make matters worse, it was seven-fifteen before my date showed up. He was forty five minutes late. Then he waved at me and pointed to the restroom. What the hell? I seriously contemplated just walking out of the bar, and went as far as to slide off the stool, when a husky male voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Tom Collins?"

Sigh. That accent could melt the panties off a girl. I was sure it had happened many times. Surprised, I met his warm brown eyes and asked, "You know my drink?"

"It's my job to know what the regulars prefer."

I shook my head immediately. "Oh, I'm not a regular."

He chuckled. That same deep chuckle I remembered hearing the night I left Mark at the bar. "My apologies, three nights in a row…I mistakenly assumed you made this a habit."

"Whoa, what do you mean this?" I asked. I felt my cheeks begin to burn. He actually thought I was trolling for men! I suppose it did look like that to the casual observer. Oh, snap. I didn't want to look easy.

"This? Picking losers for dates - that's what I meant," he stated smoothly, his arm waving about the bar. He turned his back and grabbed a glass and ice. I watched as he made his way around the bar and effortlessly poured the gin, lemon and simple syrup into the glass.

"On the house." He winked and walked away.
Excerpt IIII:

“Hey Savannah, what can I get for you tonight?”

A voice I recognized stopped me from gawking at the scene down the bar. Noelle, a girl from a study group I’d been in, placed a cocktail napkin in front of me and waited expectantly for my order.

“Oh.” I jumped, startled at the sudden interruption. “Hi Noelle. Um…my friend is waiting at the bar.”

“Honey, it’s gonna be a while by the looks of things.” She laughed. “What do you want, and I’ll go grab it?”

Thankfully, Jax looked over and saw us talking. I waved my hand, signaling him to come over as he wound his way to us. Suddenly my nerves started to get the best of me as I focused on his tall frame. This was starting to feel like a date. Crap.

“Wow. He’s a hottie, girl,” Noelle cooed as she watched Jax. “You two on a date?”

Damn, my cheeks were burning. “Simma down, girl. We just met.”

“Hi there, I’m Noelle. What can I get you?” she purred when he finally arrived at the table.

Her voice and attitude were confident. Of course they were. She had on the requisite skin tight, black, low slung jeans and second skin tank top that were required for all of the female staff here. She was a sexy girl and she knew it.

“Rum n’ Coke for me please, and a plain Coke for her.” His eyes dipped to the creamy flesh flashing above her v-neck tank for a quick glance. I couldn’t fault the guy for taking a peek at what was freely being offered in front of his face.

“Actually that sounds good - add rum to mine too,” I interjected, wanting to calm my nerves a little.

“Sure thing.”

With another quick glance at Jax, she scooted off to get our drinks.

[Blog Tour]New Post:Review/Excerpt: Night Chill By Jeff Gunhus Tour Dates 9/30/13 - 10/28/13 Supernatural Thriller/Horror and Giveaway

Night Chill by Jeff Gunhus

Virtual Book Tour: 9/30/13 to 10/28/13

Genres: Supernatural Thriller, Horror


Buy Links:

Amazon Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/Night-Chill-Jeff-Gunhus/dp/0615828388/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1380034971&sr=1-1


Amazon Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Night-Chill-ebook/dp/B00CRKPTL6/ref=la_B001KH8TKU_1_1_title_1_kin?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1380034971&sr=1-1
Blurb:

Jack Tremont moves his family to the quiet mountains of Western Maryland hoping to leave behind a troubled past and restart his life. Instead, he finds himself caught up in a nightmare when his daughter Sarah is targeted by Nate Huckley, a mysterious and horrifying stranger driven by a dark power that will stop at nothing to possess Sarah. When Sarah goes missing, suspicion falls on Jack and he must uncover the secrets of the small mountain town of Prescott City and face the evil secret hidden there. As he digs further, he learns the conspiracy reaches more deeply than he could have imagined. Finally, he will have to face the question, What is a father willing to do to save his child? The answer? Anything. Anything at all. 

Direct Link to Goodreads Book: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18040325-night-chill?ac=1

MY THOUGHTS/REVIEW: Night Chill was an amazing book, as soon as I set eyes on the beautiful/creepy cover I was hooked. This was the best supernatural/Thriller I have read this year. I was completely immersed in the story from the first few pages, and I finished in just a few hours. Jeff Gunhus has such a magical way with words that you are completely captivated and become oblivious to the world around you while reading. I was drawn into the lives of the characters and felt as if I was along for the journey. All of the characters were written with so much detail and care that they come across as very realistic. As a reader you will feel every ounce of terror!! This story is guaranteed to keep you on the edge of your seat and guessing til the very end. I would recommend to anyone looking for something new to chill you to the bone!! 5 Stars!!!!
Excerpt:

ONE

Nate Huckley leaned forward against the steering wheel, eyes searching the colorless brick buildings that slid by on either side of the street. He glanced at his watch and shook his head. He couldn’t believe he was spending valuable time, time he didn’t have, looking for a hardware store in this backwoods, one-factory, Pennsylvania town. 

Huckley spotted the store. The boy back at the gas station had stuttered like a moron, but his directions had been good enough. Huckley pulled into the small gravel parking lot next to the concrete tilt-up building on which the last remnants of the word “Hardware” clung in tall, flaking letters. The lot was empty except for a beat-up VW Bug, more rust than metal, squatting in the far corner. Huckley checked his time and felt the anger churn harder in his stomach.

Grabbing the roll of tape, he marched through the parking lot, the hard soles on his leather boots crunching the small rocks into the dirt. Like stepping on bugs, he thought. He smiled and started to twist his foot on each step and stomp down a little harder. By the time he reached the double-wide glass doors that faced the street he felt a little better. Until he saw the sign.

CLOSED.

Bullshit. Huckley pounded on the glass door with the tape. He leaned down, opened the mail slot with his forefinger and shouted, “Hey! Get out here. I know you’re still there, Godammit! I can see your car.”

He stood up and kept beating the door until he saw a light go on in the back room. A smile spread across his face. He always got his way. Always.

The door in the back opened, and Huckley saw the outline of a person walk down the aisle. Huckley grinned a little wider. He’d expected an old man, but it was a young girl who came to the door. She squinted at him through the glass, twisted the locks, and stuck her head out toward him.

“We’re closed,” the girl said. She rolled her eyes in case her tone hadn’t made her annoyance perfectly clear.

Huckley looked the girl over. Dark circles ringed her eyes as if old layers of eyeliner had melted into her skin. Her cheekbones stuck out like there wasn’t enough skin on her face to go around, giving her an emaciated, hungry look, like a stray dog who thinks a wrapper with grease on it is a meal. Black roots a few inches long told the world her bleached-blonde hair was more bleach than blonde. The girl was a mess. Huckley couldn’t believe his luck.

“Well, hello, sweetie. When’d you start working here?”

The girl ignored the question. “Mr. Cooper left me to close today. Told me not to let anyone in.”

“That’s what Mr. Cooper said, huh? Well, I’m sure he didn’t mean me.”

The girl looked up and down the street. Huckley already knew there wasn’t anyone there. He had checked when he first saw that it was a young girl coming toward the door.

“Look, I’m new to this town, mister. I don’t know who you are. So I think you’d better go now. Come back tomorrow.”

“C’mon now, it wouldn’t hurt to talk to me a little.” Huckley smiled as he concentrated. The girl’s mind was an open book. He pushed a little and the pages tumbled open, images dancing free form, garbled and non-linear. Hers was the kind of mind that used to confuse him, but that was a long time ago. Now it was easy. With a little concentration he could find out everything he needed to know. Like how the girl was a druggie, a loner, picking up a few bucks before moving on. How she was frustrated the owner hadn’t trusted her with the cash register yet. How the first time he did, she’d take the money and be gone. And there, amid all the adolescent self-consciousness and emotionalism, was a burst of sexual images. Many partners. Some for money. Some for drugs. And blazing out in front was an evolving fantasy with Huckley himself.

Ahh, young hormones, he thought. Little teenage girls could never resist his looks – white skin unmarked by any blemish, blonde hair combed back flat against his scalp, lips dark red as if he had spent the day sipping wine, eyes squinted half shut as if he held a secret too valuable to share. Although he appeared to be in his thirties, it was always the young ones who found him most attractive. And they were always so eager to prove they were women by following him to whatever bed, car seat, or back alley he chose.

He left the girl’s sexual images behind and sifted through her thoughts until he found the right information.

“Your name’s Doreen, right?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

He smiled at the girl. “I just guessed. You look like a Doreen.”

“Is that a good thing?” she asked, tugging on a few strands of her blonde hair and twirling it over her ear.

“Sure, pretty name for a pretty girl.” God, it was so easy. Huckley moved a step closer to the girl and inhaled through flared nostrils. Cheap high school perfume mixed with cheap high school marijuana. He smiled. That’s my girl.

“So Mr. Cooper left you all alone, huh? Surprised your father let you work a job like this. What are you, seventeen?”

“I’m eighteen,” she lied. “Don’t know who my daddy is. Even if I did, I wouldn’t let him tell me what to do.”

“I see. But you let this Mr. Cooper tell you, huh?” Doreen shrugged. Huckley held up the roll of tape, “Listen, I really need some duct tape. This stuff doesn’t work for what I’m using it for.”

“I’d like to help, mister. I really would. But the register’s closed and emptied out for the day so…” Doreen started to smack the chewing gum she’d been hiding in her mouth.

“No problem. I’ll just leave some money and you can put it in the register tomorrow. I’ll be in and out of here. Let you get back to your own business – if you know what I mean.” Huckley raised a hand to his lips and took a drag off an imaginary joint. Doreen broke eye contact and stared at the floor. Huckley smirked. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with it. Lord knows I’ve smoked my share of weed.”

Doreen smiled self-consciously. “You smoke?”

“Are you kidding? My generation invented the stuff.” He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “In fact, I wouldn’t mind a hit if you have any left. I’ll pay you a little extra for it.”

She hesitated, looking up and down the street again. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”

“All right. I understand. Maybe you’re too young for me to be talking like that anyway. I’m sorry.” Huckley turned to leave.

“I’m not too young. I told you I was eighteen.”

“Yeah, that’s what you told me.”

Doreen bit her lower lip, then moved to the side to let him in. “I don’t believe I’m doing this.”

“That’s a good girl. You know, I was really lucky you were here.” Huckley smiled. “You have no idea how much time you’ve saved me.” He leaned in to her as he passed. An electric jolt moved through him as his arm rubbed against her breasts. Huckley curled his hands into fists and rubbed them up and down his thighs. He knew he had to wait until she closed the door behind them, but this was his favorite part. He could hardly contain himself. He smiled at his good fortune. He was back on schedule.     Reviews for the Book: 

Gunhus deliver a taut supernatural thriller...the powerful Nate Huckley terrifies, and the assorted cast of human antagonists add to the white-knuckle tension. All the chops of an action-packed horror tale. - Kirkus Reviews 

Night Chill Book Trailer: 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oXH5AY2EWa8  

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 

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?  
    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. 

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!

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 ...

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?

Author Spotlight / Interview & Giveaway Streaks Of Blue By Jack Chaucer 10 / 17 - 10 / 29

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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!!! :)

BOOK BLITZ / EXCERPT & GIVEAWAY FOR ACCIDENTALLY IN LOVE WITH...A GOD? BY MIMI JEAN PAMFILOFF 10 / 29 - 11 / 1

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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/