Isabel Roman's Blog, page 33

Blast: The Soul Within

About Nancy:
Nancy’s addiction for a good trash novel began in her late-teens when her grandmother gave her a bag of Harlequin Romance books. She was hooked and spent the next few years lurking in the dark corners of used bookstores searching for her next fix. Until, one marriage and two kids later, her own ideas had her jumping up at 3 am (much to her husband’s annoyance) and typing them into her laptop. Beside her husband and children, Nancy has three passions, rearranging furniture, buying bed linens and, of course, writing. Nancy lives in Eastern Ontario with her family and two over sized lap dogs. 
How to find her:Email addressFacebook
Author Page  
BLURB:
Alex’s body is in a coma. His soul, however, is not. Desperate to become whole, he must first convince stubborn beauty Evening Sinclair that he is not dead.
For generations, the Sinclairs have been healers. Using a gentle touch to heal the body and a soothing word to heal the soul, Evening Sinclair is no different. Yet despite her secret abilities, Eve has a somewhat normal existence. She enjoys her small physiotherapy practice, dotes on her eight-year-old daughter and occasionally helps souls get back into their bodies-that is until Alex, with his brooding good looks and glowing eyes, appears in her kitchen.
Alex is desperate to get back into his body-two innocent lives depend on it. His only obstacle is Eve and her stubborn fear. Unfortunately for Eve, Alex is ruthless and just as stubborn. He will do whatever it takes to get what he wants. He will not 'go away' and no matter how much Eve tortures him with her lush body and perfect mouth, he will not change his mind. Eve will merge him, and if it takes him haunting her day and night, she will merge him back with a body-any body.
Excerpt:
 “Go. Please,” she implored again. The look on her face caused him to frown. Not because she had recited those words, yet again, to him but because he was actually considering giving her what she wanted and leaving her alone. He wished he could give her that, but he wouldn’t. Besides, he didn’t like it when people lied to him and she was lying. She was capable of putting him back into his body—he read it on her face, in the movement of her hands and body.
The Guardian Project had spent long hours and millions of dollars teaching their soldiers how to read and interrupt body language. After all, if the people he hunted were on his kill list, they’d been good enough to avoid traditional police and military forces and he had to be better in order to stop them.
Deep in his gut he knew there was more—she wasn’t telling him the whole truth. Shit she wasn’t really telling him anything. It didn’t matter—he would not walk away just because Eve was scared. He would not let Miles kill Jillian. She and her baby would live.
He shook his head. “No.”
She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “I won’t help you.”
 “Yes you will.” He took a step closer to her. “And I’m going to haunt you until you give me what I want.”
 “Haunt me.” Her eyes grew wide as a shiver shook her from head to toe.
 “Mmm.” He winked. “I’m not leaving your side until you put me back in my body.” Heavy footsteps echoed on the front porch.
 “No,” she whispered, her eyebrows pressed together. “I won’t help you.”
 “Yes. You. Will.”
Where to buy:
All Romance
Amazon
Total-E-Bound

Heroes Live Forever, Medieval Knights, and Love

About Chris Karlsen:
I was born and raised in Chicago. My father was a history professor and my mother was, and is, a voracious reader. I grew up with a love of history and books.
My parents also love traveling, a passion they passed onto me. I wanted to see the places I read about, see the land and monuments from the time periods that fascinated me. I’ve had the good fortune to travel extensively throughout Europe, the Near East, and North Africa.

I am a retired police detective. I spent twenty-five years in law enforcement with two different agencies. My desire to write came in my early teens. After I retired, I decided to pursue that dream.

I currently live in the Pacific Northwest with my husband, four rescue dogs and a rescue horse.
Chris Karlsen
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Chris will be giving away a digital copy of her thriller, "Golden Chariot" to one randomly drawn commenter at every stop, and a $50 Amazon gift card to another randomly drawn commenter during the tour.
BLURB: Elinor Hawthorne has inherited a house haunted by the ghosts of two medieval knights, Basil Manneville and Guy Guiscard. Basil is the man of her dreams, her knight in shining armor. She falls in love with him and he with her. Basil soon realizes she needs to live a normal life, a happy life with a mortal.
A lifetime later fate intervenes. Basil, still in love with Elinor, is told her spirit lives on in a young woman and he is given another chance at life to find her.

Excerpt:

At the top of the stairs, goose bumps suddenly dotted Elinor’s skin and the hair on her arms stood on end. She glanced back, but didn’t see anything strange, or more to the point, Lucy’s ghost knight.

Amazon
Barnes and Noble

K. Victoria Chase, The Santiago Brothers, and Christian Romance

From childhood, bestselling author K. Victoria Chase enjoyed writing stories and plays and reading Christian romance. She received degrees in Criminal Justice and Diplomacy and worked as a federal law enforcement officer for several years before deciding to try her hand at writing a complete novel.

Serial Games (Virginia Justice Book One) is the third completed work and the first published by Desert Breeze Publishing. Book two of the series, Marked by the Mob, will be released in November 2012. She has recently signed with Astraea Press for the first in her Santiago Brothers series, the Amazon bestselling Rafael.

Until she can make writing a full-time venture, K. Victoria Chase continues to work in the field of counterterrorism, identifying potential terrorists that threaten the United States and the world. She currently resides in Leesburg, VA and writes both clean and Christian interracial romance.

Website

Blog

Twitter

Facebook
Goodreads

K. Victoria will be awarding a $10 Amazon GC to one randomly drawn commnter during the tour

Blurb:

The last time Detective Genie Green let a man humiliate her was her college sweetheart—never again. Yet, when former high school lothario Rafael Santiago returns to town as the consulting detective on her case, Genie’s rule of never allowing another man to best her is challenged. Can she trust him long enough to solve this case and get the glory?


Rafa can’t seem to outrun his delinquent past. When The Snakes, a criminal organization he used to belong to, begin murdering people from his hometown, he has a chance to right some of his past wrongs. Will arresting the murderers be enough to redeem him, or will a certain beautiful detective pay the ultimate price instead?

A Christian interracial romantic suspense.

Excerpt:


Rafa pinched the space between his eyes. He had been on hold for the last five minutes waiting for his contact in San Diego’s FBI White Collar Crime Department to answer the line. It was almost five in the morning on the west coast but Rafa knew the man got an early start to the day. Rafa clocked in around six, not wanting to be outdone by Genie, but when he arrived her chair sat empty. As the minutes ticked by, cups of coffee added up and Rafa grew more and more irritated. Not so much at Genie for taking her sweet time to come in, but at the slow progress on the case. He dismissed the fact he had only been here a day.


A whiff of sweet perfume drew his mind away from the dry music on the phone to a female figure passing by his desk. Genie. She didn’t acknowledge him when she sat down until after carefully placing her purse underneath her desk, moving the mouse to wake the computer, and glancing around the top of the desk. She raised her eyes to his. The dark brown depths were strangely intense. Before he could mouth a hello she smiled. Her eyes softened and her mouth formed the silent greeting.


“Rafael? Rafa are you there? Rafa I can hear you breathing.”

Christy McKee, Travelling, and Maybe too Good to Be True

Isabel,


Thank you so much for having me on your blog today. Travel is my favorite thing to do so this was a fun post for me.

Christy

I hope everyone will leave a comment. I’ll be giving away a free copy of Maybe Too Good to Be True at each blog stop. You must include your email so I can contact the winner. At the end of my month of touring I’ll be giving a $30 Amazon gift card.
About Christy:My addiction to reading emerged when I was ten and down with measles. My mother, trying to keep me entertained, brought home a stack of Trixie Belden and Nancy Drew books. Within days, I’d consumed them all and asked for more. That’s when it truly began−the pleasure of reading which would eventually lead to my writing.

I can’t pin point precisely when I knew I was different from everyone else−at least from my tight group of hometown friends. Didn’t everyone have movies playing in their heads starring beautiful characters leading adventurous lives in exotic places? NO—they did not. Did that mean they were normal and I was the odd, slightly wacky duck? My answer to that conundrum came when I attended my first writer’s conference in Savannah. Nervous about being on my own at the crowded event, a kindly writer from Texas took me under her wing and introduced me to at least a dozen writers. Surrounded by so many writers who were so like me, I fit right in. I wasn’t an “odd” duck after all; I’d simply been in the wrong pond!
As a result of that conference, my desire and conviction to write blossomed. Still working a full time job at a Louisiana cancer center, I carved out time to write every night and on weekends. My first manuscript went through four incarnations, and a year under the bed, before success came knocking.

Today my family and our two Labs—Lambeau, the Green Bay Packers unofficial mascot and Gracie, who is just plain, sweet Amazing Grace—live in a picturesque little town in Ohio wrapped around a lovely town square with an intricately carved gazebo where weekly band concerts take place all summer long.

Christy McKee
And Christy's Blog
Be sure to follow her on Twitter!
Best Vacation Ever
My favorite vacation was a trip with my husband and another couple to the British Isles. We’d done Alaska the year before and had such a good time together; we decided we were ready to venture farther afield to England and Scotland. For me, planning is half the fun of any trip and our friends seemed to be fine with that. It was to be a castle, genealogy and pub tour. Our friends did have one request. They wanted to see Princess Diana’s childhood home.

My husband was determined to rent a car for the England portion of our trip and was willing to do all of the driving—the rest of us had adamantly refused. The car we had reserved was too small for our luggage so we had to rent their biggest car which took up entirely too much room on the very narrow streets. The minute we pulled out of Gatwick airport, we were fed into a whirling roundabout. I knew we would all be killed before we’d even seen our first castle.

Before going in to London, we spent a few days in the country, visiting Hever Castle, childhood home of Anne Boleyn, a distant relative. Outside the bedroom that was said to be hers, was a letter encased in glass that Anne had written to her husband Henry while she was held in the Tower of London awaiting her execution. It was both chilling and painfully sad to read.

We moved on to London and visited the Tower, Trafalgar Square and finally Westminster Abbey. It’s steeped in centuries of hanging banners, burial place of kings, queens, princes, poets, authors and hundreds of royals. The tombs of Elizabeth I and her sister, Mary, were my favorites. At the time of our visit, there were elderly men walking about in long, black robes— looking like our judges— who were available to answer questions. I asked one of them where Oliver Cromwell’s burial site was. The man told me that Cromwell had been buried in Westminster in 1658 but in 1661, when Charles II returned to the throne, Cromwell’s body was ordered to be removed. He was then hanged and later his head was put on a pike in front of Westminster Hall. I was weak with relief that I hadn’t told the man, I was a descendent. He might have booted me out.

Before heading north on the train to Scotland, we travelled to Althorp House, the childhood home of Princess Diana. At the time, the house and exhibition were only opened July to the end of August and you had to buy tickets in advance, which I had done. The house was beautiful with original furnishings, and family portraits lining the stair cases. What I found interesting was the condition of the house; it looked like a family lived there—which they did and had for five hundred years. I remember walking through one of the large rooms and, there in the midst of valuable antiques and treasures, stood a portable Sony television. It looked so out of place but it made me smile. A family definitely lived there. It might look like a museum, but it was also a home.

The stables—more luxurious than any you would see in Lexington or Louisville, Kentucky—were home to Diana’s exhibition. There were continuous movies of her as a child growing up. Several of her gowns were on display and also hundreds of condolence books from all over the world. Not far from the house is a lovely lake with an island in the middle. This is where Princess Diana was buried. It was so peaceful; you could just imagine a little girl and her brother playing around the lake. It’s one of the most serene places I’ve ever been.

For the last leg of our trip we took the train north into Scotland and checked into our small hotel in Edinburgh. I’d been there about seventeen years before and had fallen in love with the ancient city and was anxious for my husband and friends to explore it. Sitting on a bench in a large, shady, treed park is perfect for seeing Edinburgh Castle for the first time. Perched atop a craggy mountain, it looks like an impregnable fortress. In the same park is the famous flower clock.

Jenners is the oldest department store in Edinburgh and a short walk from the park. My husband and I decided to explore a little and separated to look on our own and search for a few souvenirs. First let me say that I collect Lladro figurines and most of them are gifts from my husband. When we met outside Jenners an hour later, my hands were empty and he had a large shopping bag and seemed exceptionally proud of his purchase. Together, we walked back down to the park to wait for our friends.

My husband said, “I told the sales lady in the china department that this one purchase I knew I wouldn’t be returning.” He handed me the bag and I pulled out a large rectangular box with a color photograph on the side. It was Lladro, a woman with two bunnies. I must have sighed out loud.

“Don’t you like it?” He frowned.

“I love it.” That restored a smile to his face.

“And I loved it when you gave it to me last year on my birthday.”

Christy, Thanks for sharing about your trip! I absolutely love this story, it's perfect.

BLURB:


Gabrielle March is summoned to an oceanfront estate in Massachusetts by the matriarch of Atlantic-Hastings International where she is presented with a hefty block of shares as amends for a crime committed against her family. The stock—worth several million dollars—can give her the means to make her dream come true if only she can muster the courage to break free from her past and believe in her unique creative talent.
Pierce Hastings, son of Gabrielle’s benefactress, grudgingly agrees to take her under his wing and acclimate her to Atlantic-Hastings. Never one to mix business with pleasure, Pierce stuns himself when he ignores his own self imposed rule. Gabrielle’s complete lack of artifice, unvarnished honesty and quirky sense of humor are intoxicating to him―and he’s rapidly becoming addicted. He’s blindsided when Gabrielle confesses that, in spite of her growing feelings for him, she will never fit into his world of power and privilege and has no desire to try.

Excerpt

“The fact is, Mr. Hastings, it is not a reporter’s job to be favorable. They are in the business of finding and reporting the truth.”

"Nobly put, Miss March.” The woman certainly didn’t pull any punches.

“I hope this will put you at ease, Mr. Hastings. I own the newspaper. It’s been several years since I single-handedly set out to ruin anyone.”

Sarcasm, even with a lovely Southern accent, was still sarcasm.

"I see.” Pierce sounded duly impressed. “That’s certainly an accomplishment for such a young …” He froze when her eyes narrowed. What the hell was wrong with him? He careened from one blunder to the next.

"Tell me, is it my age or the fact that I’m a woman that bothers you?” Her face was considerably more colorful than the rest of her and he knew it had nothing to do with the heat.

Pierce was no chauvinist and certainly had no prejudice against successful females. After all, he’d been married to a talented trial attorney. Hadn’t he put his wife through law school? Hadn’t he supported Glenna in every way until she made partner in her firm and then announced that she’d changed her mind about having children and, by the way, she didn’t want to be his wife anymore either.

"I didn't mean that you weren't responsible.” His eyes returned to the very entertaining Miss March who had just snapped up the ball and was ready to run with it.

"What would someone like you know about responsibility anyway? You've probably never put in an honest day’s work in your entire over-privileged life. Flying around the world trying to stay one step ahead of reality. One of these days you’re going to have to come down to earth and see what it’s like in the real world.”

Where did the woman get her information? She’d obviously pegged him as some sort of wealthy derelict. Fired up, she was something. Misinformed maybe, but she had balls of steel. "For a newspaper woman, you’re lacking in your facts, Miss...."

Amazon

Five minutes a day

I've long known that massive cleaning isn't my style. Things build up...and up...and up. And then they're really big. Case in point: the 3 unpacked boxes from my  move. Which was 3 1/2 years ago. Yup. Still in the basement, still in boxes. What's in there? Papers I probably don't need and can be shredded. Do I unpack them? Nope.

About a month ago, a close friend decided to spend 45 minutes a week doing something. Cleaning, paperwork, shredding, whatever. Great idea!

So I decided 5 minutes a day. It averages out to longer than 45 minutes a week, given that I do one task until it's finished no matter how long it takes.

Sunday I finally put away some Fourth of July decorations and rearranged the living room to the way I like it pre-Fourth of July party.

Monday was a wash. I wrote then crashed.

Tuesday I went through mail. Now this was harder than it sounds, because my puppy does not like the sound of ripping paper, the letter opener on envelopes, or piles of paper. She really hates the shredder! Tries to rescue the paper from those evil shredding depths.

I ended up opening and sorting about 4 weeks worth of junk mail. I always put the bills aside and pay those immediately, so no fear of lateness. But the rest is so tedious to sort through! I now have a massive pile of shredding and have dumped my recycling into the proper bucket.

Wednesday I did shred--see Tuesday & puppy. Didn't make it far, that pile still looks slightly intimidating, but it's a start, right?

And that's my goal. No matter how long it takes me to finish a project, by doing one task a day I plan on slowly sorting through the piles and piles of stuff I normally shift from room to room. Because when you have extra room, you have to fill them with that you don't want!

Lady Paisley Kirkpatrick and her first release!

Today I'm so pleased to welcome my dear friend and fellow Scandalous Victorian. Lady Paisley has her first release out this week, a wonderful western I absolutely loved! Check it out. Buy it. Read it.

William Blake (1757-1827) (English poet, painter and engraver) is one of the earliest and greatest figures of Romanticism. He emphasized individual, imaginative, visionary and emotional creativity. He privileged imagination over reason in the creation of both his poetry and images, asserting that ideal forms should be constructed not from observations of nature but from inner visions. He declared in one poem, “I must create a system or be enslaved by another man’s.”

When I read William Blake's statement it rang true with me. As authors we draw from our inner vision, or as we refer to it, our muse. Our imagination gathers information from which we draw our ideas and create our plots. People often ask where I get my ideas. I really have no idea. They just seem to pop into my head and I put them on paper.

I started writing to accomplish a dream -- to write a story. All of the rest has been the cream on top. I am now on my fifth story, and much to my amazement and delight my first story will be published on the 21st of August. Yes, with a lot of hard work and a bit of help from fate, dreams do come true. Mine just happened to have happened on Christmas Eve last year. I always thought I would scream and dance, but no, I sat frozen instead. All I could say was "WOW" in stunned amazement. My husband was asleep, and we never wake a sleeping bear. My critique partners live across the country from me and would probably have been happy to be awakened to hear my good news, but I just couldn't do it at 2:30 a.m. on Christmas morning. Now that I think back on it, having those special moments to myself might have been a good thing. It gave me time to reflect over the last years of working toward this moment.

Paradise Pines Series: Night Angel

Sassy Amalie Renard, a poker-playing saloon singer, shakes up Paradise Pines, a former gold-rush mountain community by turning the saloon’s bar into her stage. Her amazing voice stirs the passions of the hotel owner, a man who anonymously travels tunnels at night providing help to the downtrodden as the mysterious Night Angel.

Declan Grainger agrees to subsidize the building of a music hall to fulfill Amalie's dream, but a bounty for her arrest could spoil his plans. Distrust and jealousy stir flames of malice and revenge threatening to destroy their town. Drawing from past experiences, Declan and Amalie turn to each other to find a way to save the community.

All Romance
Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Dessert Breeze

About Paisley:
My husband of 43 years and I raised two daughters. Now that he's retired I am working at my chosen profession of author. It's great that he supports my love of writing and lends a comment every now and that helps with plots. We have been fortunate enough to travel -- his favorite place is Germany and mine is Scotland. I have been a member and on the board of the Sacramento Valley Rose Chapter of RWA for 13 years, and online chapters From the Heart, Hearts Through History, and Celtic Hearts.


Website

Guest: Elane Cantrell

Today's guest is Elaine Cantrell and her latest release, Never Trust a Pretty Wolf.

Elaine was born and raised in South Carolina. She holds a Master’s Degree in Personnel Services from Clemson University and is a member of Alpha Delta Kappa, an international honorary sorority for women educators. She is also a member of Romance Writer’s of America and EPIC authors. Her first novel, A New Leaf, was the 2003 winner of the Timeless Love Contest and was published in 2004 by Oak Tree Books. At present she teaches high school social studies.


Where to find her:
Website
Blog
Facebook
Twitter
Pinterest

Elaine will be giving away  a $25 Amazon gift certificate to one randomly drawn commenter, so be sure and mention you were here and follow her tour!

My Bucket ListBucket lists are so interesting. I think they reveal a lot about a person’s life and values. That being said, I hope you think my list is worthy of completion.  I’d love to hear some things from your list. Do leave me a comment and tell me the number one thing on your own bucket list.  I’m truly interested in what you have to say.
 A great many of the items I’d like to put on my list are truly impossible, though.  For example, I have a grandson with autism.  If I could, I’d find out what causes it and how to cure it.  It’s too late for Simon, but I’d give almost anything to spare others from the pain of having a child with autism.  It’s one of the most dreadful things I’ve ever seen.   But I can’t do that.  At present no one can, so my list is going to focus on things that I can do. 
First, and this is really important to me, once I retire I hope to become active in animal rescue.  My own animals are all rescues or strays, which amounts to the same thing.  At present, I use my Facebook page to hopefully educate some thoughtless people about the correct way to treat animals.  I’d tell you what I saw on vacation, but it would break your heart.  No, come to think of it, I will tell you.  There was this woman who had a little dog with her on the beach.  The temperature that day was 103.  People were yelping and running as they crossed the beach to the water because their feet were burning.  My own feet felt like they were on fire from the heat trapped in the blazing sand.  The woman laid out a blanket and put up a tent, but she wouldn’t let the little dog on the blanket.  He whined and shifted from foot to foot and tried to get off the sand, but she made him stand there.  Once I saw what was happening I jumped up to go and probably start a fight, but it was too hot for her, and she left the beach.  What cruelty!  No doubt she didn’t see it that way, but how could she not?  If the heat was too much for her, didn’t she think how it would affect her pet?  See, I’m very passionate about this cause. 
Too cruel! I can't believe she wouldn't let the dog under the shade! As a dog owner myself, I can't understand that. My corgi doesn't like the heat but she does want to be with me wherever I am, so I've had to retrain myself to spend more time indoors with her. I also have a cooling bed for her and always make sure her water is very cold with ice cubes, which she loves!
Second, I want to master my photo editing software.  I’m told it’s a top notch system, but I can’t use it.  I can’t even understand the words in the instructions.  I know some people won’t understand this.  My sons were raised in the computer age, and they seem to instinctively know how to use almost any program.  Well, I was raised in an era where primitive computers took up a gigantic room and people fed them information using punch cards.  I’ve tried to figure the software out on my own, but it’s no use.  I’ve got to go and take a course somewhere.
Youtube. That's where I learned a lot about it! :)
Last, I’d like to see New England in the fall.  I’ve seen so many pictures, calendars, and cards with picturesque churches, Rockwell type villages, and lovely leaves that I want to experience it firsthand.  It seems as though something inside me instinctively yearns toward New England.  Maybe some of my ancestors came to the New World and lived in New England.  Maybe this yearning is some kind of racial memory.  And maybe I’ve just seen a lot of pretty pictures.   
Sounds lovely! 
I’m a fortunate person in that I’ve been able to achieve a lot of my dreams, not the least of which was becoming an author.  I wanted to write from the time I was a little girl, and I’m grateful that I gave it a try even though I had no idea if I could do it or not.  
Isabel, thank you so much for letting me come to your blog.  I’ve enjoyed talking to your readers tremendously, and it was fun to actually nail down my bucket list. I love reading others' lists, I think it helps me add to mine and it shares a bit about the author. Thanks so much for stopping by!
Okay, readers, it’s your turn.  Give me the number one item on your own list.
B LURB:
Liesel Wolf has a secret, a dangerous secret she’ll go to any lengths to conceal. When she’s paired in a charity game with sexy marshal Andy Bryce, a man with secrets of his own, her carefully constructed world comes crashing down, and Liesel’s on a collision course with her past.

Excerpt:
The minute the blue Mustang came to a halt, the valet hurried to open the car door for the newcomer. A pair of long, shapely legs unfolded from the car. Andy’s mouth went dry as his eyes traveled from her legs to her face. He had discovered a goddess. An overworked cliché perhaps, but he knew of no other words to describe her.

The goddess had Titian hair which begged him to run his fingers through it, freeing those glorious curls. Even from where he stood, her eyes glowed with an emerald fire. Her skin looked as if it would put satin to shame. As he stared at her mouth, a bolt of fire stabbed him right below his belt. He could only imagine how it might feel to kiss and taste those lush, red lips.

She sashayed up to the porch and held out her hand to Melton. “Good evening, Thomas.”

Melton was having a hard time getting his voice under control, but he finally stuttered, “Welcome, L… Li… Liesel. It’s great to finally meet you in person. This is your partner, Andy Bryce. Andy’s a United States Marshal.”

The light left her face. She shot Andy a look of what he swore was dislike, even though they’d never met. “Oh, but I thought you said the mayor was my partner.”

Melton nodded. “He was. But something came up, and his brother’s filling in for him.”

She didn’t want to be his partner. Andy knew it as surely as he knew his own name. He wondered if she had heard about… Yeah, she could have. The story made most of the big papers. The Marshals had trained him to read people, so he knew Ms. Wolf didn’t like him.

Where to buy:
All Romance
Amazon
Astraea Press
Barnes and Noble

Blast: Shewanda Pugh and interracial romance

The blurb sounds fantastic here, I love interracial romances. I think this one will be an excellent read! Shewanda will be giving away a $10 Amazon gift card to one random commenter so be sure to comment!

BLURB:
When an insecure, bi-racial woman begins a cloak-and-dagger love affair with a Japanese American man, she is intent on keeping her bigoted family in the dark—albeit with devastating consequences. On the night of her brother’s murder, Deena Hammond stumbles upon Takumi Tanaka, lost and on the wrong end of a .32.

After rescuing him from the certain fate driving through the hood in a Porsche will bring, a sweet kind of friendship begins. A balm for her grief. Maybe, Deena likes to think, it happened the day her white mother killed her black father. Or maybe, it was always a part of them, like DNA gone bad. Whatever the case, Deena knows that her family would never approve, hell, never acknowledge her fast-growing love for Takumi. And had he never made love to her that way, in that unraveling, soul-searching sort of way, she could’ve done the same.

But love’s a devil that way. So, their game begins.

One where they hide what they are from everyone. Anyone. And Tak understands this—for now. After all, Deena’s career hinges on the favor of her mentor and boss, his hard-ass of a father. And the Hammond family is already stretched thin with grief. Yet, each step Deena takes toward family and career brings her closer to an acceptance she’s never had. And away from him.

Excerpt:
“I wish that I didn’t want my family’s love so bad. I wish I could be one of those people who wore leather jackets and didn’t give a damned.”

Tak shot her a look. “You’d be musty if you wore a leather jacket in this heat.”

Deena grinned. “You know what I mean.”

He shrugged. “Who doesn’t want a decent family, Dee? It’s not much to ask for.”

Tak paused to pluck a seashell from the sand. Chipped and polished by time, it shone under the glint of a fast setting sun. “I don’t know the answers,” he said. “But they seem to be in things like this,” he held up the shell.

She frowned. “I don’t follow.”

He shrugged. “Well think about it. What’s a shell? It’s just a—a hard, protective outer layer.” He hurled it in the ocean. “The same is true with family. They’re an outer layer, a protection from the world. At least that’s what they’re supposed to be.” He paused. “Think about what happens when you screw with an animal that has one of those hard shells. What does he do?”

“He goes into it.”

“Right. He retreats.” He thumbed the shell thoughtfully. “Now imagine if you were to rip the shell off a turtle and expose him. What do you think you’d find?”

Deena cringed. “Something soft and hurting.

“And dead, if not close to it. So, our hypothetical turtle, who’s able to stand our shell transplant, needs another shell, another form of protection. And so do you.” Tak handed the grooved and sand-polished subject to Deena. She looked down at it.

“So, how’ve I been surviving all this time? What’s my shell?”

Tak grinned. “Tell you what. I’ll let you know when I crack it.”

(Copyright by Shewanda Pugh)


About Shewanda:
Shewanda Pugh is a native of Boston’s inner city, though she now lives in sunny Miami, Florida. She has a bachelor’s degree in Political Science from Alabama A&M University and a Master’s in Writing from Nova Southeastern University. Fueled from a young age, her passion for crossing societal boundaries like race, class and culture, is the inspiration for both her cluttered bookshelf and her writing. When she’s not busy obsessing over fiction, she can be found traveling, nursing her social networking addiction or enjoying the company of loved ones.


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Blast: Kele Moon and star crossed hotness

I love the concept of this book and might just have to find myself a copy!
Heavyweight UFC fighter, Romeo Wellings comes from the hard streets of New York where his family ties to the mafia cause him nothing but pain. His life takes a surprising detour when he crosses paths with the twin sister of his long time enemy. After a steamy one-night stand, he faces the fight of his life, but it’s not in the cage. The secret relationship that blooms between Romeo and his real life Juliet has him battling his family and a dark past rather than let her go.
The only lawyer in her hometown of Garnet, Jules Conner is also a volunteer Sheriff’s deputy and co-owner of a successful MMA training center. Strong and dependable, Jules is always there for those who need her. Until one forbidden night in Las Vegas with Romeo leaves her feeling so alive she can’t stop reaching out to the sexy, bad boy of MMA, even knowing the forbidden love affair could jeopardize everything.
As the tide rises against them and the people they love work at keeping them apart, Romeo and Jules hold onto a dream for a better life together and vow to go down fighting rather than accept a tragic ending.

Excerpt:
“Got enough bags?” asked a warm, sexy voice behind her, amusement laced thickly in his New York accent. “Don’t they teach those country boys manners? They got you carrying everything. I guess chivalry’s officially dead.”

Jules turned around, giving Romeo a look of horror. He just smiled in response, bold and cocky as ever. She wasn’t sure why she was surprised. She glanced back to Wyatt, seeing that he had indeed heard Romeo and was now glaring in their direction as he waited for their tickets.

“Wellings,” she said coolly, despite her pulse picking up and her body responding to him being so near. “Strange coincidence running into you.”

“Not that strange. We all got places to be.” He stepped closer, invading her personal space. Jules jumped when Romeo reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it in his larger one. His thumb swept over the top of it as he leaned in and whispered, “If you were on my team, I’d carry all those bags for you.”

Jules jerked her hand out of Romeo’s embrace, turning around to make sure Wyatt hadn’t seen. Feeling very self-conscious, she snapped, “I’m a capable woman. I don’t need anyone to carry my bags for me.”

“Maybe you do, and you just don’t know it yet.” Romeo’s smile grew broader. “You ever think of visiting New York?”

“I’ve been to New York,” Jules said, unable to resist a teasing smirk. “I ain’t all that impressed with it.”

Romeo laughed. “That’s ’cause you haven’t seen my New York.”

Wyatt came up before Jules could respond. He handed her the new ticket, saying, “They fixed ’em.” He grabbed Clay’s carry-on off Jules’s left shoulder, all the while glaring at Romeo before he managed a tense greeting. “Wellings.”

“Conner,” Romeo responded, all good humor gone from his voice.

It was an awkward moment. Jules was just pondering how to break away without being too rude to Romeo or too obvious to Wyatt when one of Romeo’s brothers, who lingered near the sliding glass doors, waved him down.

“You coming or what?”

Romeo waved back, looking irritated at his brother before he gave Jules a look: longing, regret, sadness. She wasn’t real sure what it meant, and she didn’t have time to analyze it.

He turned to leave with a clipped, “Later.”

“Okay,” Jules said softly, trying to sort out her own feelings. That seemed like too humble a good-bye for what they’d shared, but she found herself echoing his words. “Later.”

Where to buy Star-Crossed

All Romance
Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Loose-ID

About Kele: A freckle-faced redhead born and raised in Hawaii, Kele Moon has always been a bit of a sore thumb and has come to enjoy the novelty of it. She thrives on pushing the envelope and finding ways to make the impossible work in her story telling. With a mad passion for romance, she adores the art of falling in love. The only rules she believes in is that, in love, there are no rules and true love knows no bounds.

So obsessed is she with the beauty of romance and the novelty of creating it, she’s lost in her own wonder world most of the time. Thankfully she married her own dark, handsome, brooding hero who has infinite patience for her airy ways and attempts to keep her grounded. When she leaves her keys in the refrigerator or her cell phone in the oven, he’s usually there to save her from herself. The two of them now reside in Florida with their three beautiful children, who make their lives both fun and challenging in equal parts—they wouldn’t have it any other way.
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Guest: Justin Ordonez

Today I'd like to welcome Justin Ordoñez and his fabulously titled, Sykosa...
Justin was born in Spain, raised in the mid-west, and currently lives in Seattle. He's nearly thirty years old, almost graduated from the University of Washington, and prefers to wait until TV shows come out on DVD so he can watch them in one-shot while playing iPad games. For fifteen years, he has written as a freelance writer, occasionally doing pieces as interesting as an editorial, but frequently helping to craft professional documents or assisting in the writing of recommendation letters for people who have great praise for friends or colleagues and struggle to phrase it. Sykosa is his debut novel.
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Justin will be giving away a $50 gift card to one randomly drawn commenter at the end of the tour so don't forget to follow the tour and comment!



Best Vacation Ever.

A few years ago, my buddy Jeff and I decided on a road trip from Seattle to his hometown, the silicon palace itself, Los Angeles. The first thing you have to know about Jeff and I is that we’re great friends, but ideologically different. When Jeff was young, his father sat him down and said, “Jeff, in this family, we’re Democrats and we’re atheists.” Conversely, I was raised attending Catholic services every Sunday, attending CCD (Community of Catholic Doctrine) classes, and my parents were about as big a fans of Ronald Reagan as a person can be before crossing over into the completely irrational. In life, I’ve distanced myself from the church, and ended up being politically moderate, but Jeff remained an unapologetic progressive, and he is an atheist.




Knowing this, perhaps you can understand how, shortly after setting off in a too-packed Mazda 3, a harmless five minute conversation about Guns n’ Roses long-awaited release Chinese Democracy morphed into a three-hour intellectual battle-royale over the ethical development and application of stem-cell research. There was shouting, insults, extremely liberal and lengthy use of profanity, which ended in a border city in Oregon, where Jeff had recruited some family members to put us up for the night. As we drove through this pitch black neighborhood, niether of us smart phone owners so we couldn’t GPS our way there, we found our destination, 615 Charlie St. Jeff’s family had promised to stay up until we arrived, so it was a bit odd that all the lights were off, but we hauled our way to the door, knocking loudly three of four times. We then proceeded to argue and joke with each other, then knock some more, and maybe we even shouted, “Open the door! Open the door!” Totally unaware, inside this house was not Jeff’s family, but a frightened old women who had been peeking through her curtains, terrified that these two huge men, one of whom only dresses in black, were about to break down her doors and murder her.




“Don’t you worry about me, dears. IMMA STAND MY GROUND!”


Turns out, there’s two 615 Charlie St addresses in this neighborhood.


Having put the fear of God in an old lady, and in several of the drivers who had to dodge our car when our arguing made our driving erratic, we were tired and happy to find the correct 615 Charlie St. Our next day is spent traveling through northern California, which is a mixture of anti-evolution signs saying, “Is someone trying to make a monkey out of you?” and cow farms that leave a methane stench so thick you’d swear lighting a cigarette would result in nuclear detonation. Reaching the Los Angeles city limits, I joke to Jeff, “You know, I’ve never experienced an earthquake before.” He joked back, “Well, they happen here all the time. You’ll get one, for sure.” Fifteen minutes later, we had lived through four earthquakes. (I kid you not). Slightly freaked, but excited, we turned in for the night, and over the next week, we did the whole of Los Angeles.


We visited the Santa Monica peer and saw its famous Ferris wheel. We stopped off in Studio City, Hollywood, and Brentwood to see the OJ Simpson/Nicole Brown Simpson murder condo. Beverly Hills was when the celebrity sightings started. Sandra Bullock was in a shop wearing big bug glasses, avoiding my gaze with tense shoulders like, “Oh my God, he thinks if he introduces himself I’ll fall in love with him…” and, at lunch, Sarah Jessica Parker walked right by us. We didn’t pay her much mind. She was clearly agitated by it, as she made a point to walk by us again for no good reason. She seemed quite satisfied when our heads turned. One of the most beautiful stop-offs was visiting Jeff’s father in Malibu. He lives at the top of a very large hill overlooking the ocean, (side note: they live above Mark Hamill, who played Luke Skywalker in Star Wars, so we drove by the place where Hamill wrecked his Ferrari and his face in the 1977.)




Beneath this backyard, sometime on January 11th, 1977, the force was not with Mark Hamill.


Jeff’s stepmother, Judith, also lives at this Malibu house. She found out that I’m a big Lakers fan. It so happened that the Lakers were about to start the Western Conference Finals, where they would attempt to reach the NBA Finals for the second straight year. Like some kind of dream, Judith, who spent her life doing something in the music industry so a bunch of seedy millionaires owe her favors to stave off the tell-all to end all tell-alls, had comped us tickets to 100 level seats for Game 1.


It was the best surprise a guy like me could get.


We set off for the Staples Center, where the Lakers play. It’s a modern arena surrounded by an ESPN Zone bar, some restaurants and a few shops. It’s also located in downtown Los Angeles, which being a major center city with tons of sky scrapers, my initial conception was that it’s a bit like the New York of the west coast—affluent, multi-cultural, unique. Turns out, it’s the exact opposite. During the day, this busy metropolis houses some of the biggest companies in the world, but at the first sign of dusk, its occupants flee like refugees do a crazed dictator. Downtown Los Angeles after sundown is so crime filled, so violent, and so ludicrously so that Artie Lange, a comedian from Howard Stern fame, once noted in his autobiography, Too Fat Too Fish, “[Downtown Los Angeles] is the kind of place where you can fire a bazooka and the cops wouldn’t know about it for three days.” I was a bit worried, as I wasn’t so confident I could survive a drive-by shooting like I could an earthquake, but the police presence for the game was dense enough to provide that safe, internment camp feel.

The stadium atmosphere was surreal, and informative as to the culture and drive of the area. Los Angeles’s big industry is show business—music, movies, tv, theater. If it involves a stage and an audience, this city has it in spades. It so happens the Lakers are also known as Showtime, so believe me, a Lakers game is more a three ring circus than a sporting event. At any given moment, thirty non-basketball related activities are going on. As well, the place is stuffed with A-list movie stars. When you find your seat, you’re feet away from Justin Timberlake. Denzel Washington gives you the “prepare to die, motherf***er,” look after you cut him off at the urinal. And when you sneeze, Dustin Hoffman says, “God bless you.” Jeff and I didn’t fully understand this, so imagine our surprise to find, when entering the 100 level in our Laker shirts and hats, we totally didn’t fit in. What was before us wasn’t a basketball audience, it was a club. A sea of mega-rich men, in sleek suits with tanned faces, who were trying to forget their wives, and that wasn’t difficult being surrounded by wannabe starlets who were all in five-inch heels with skirts so short it made the Laker Girls dance squad look like prudes. None of these people watched the game, they just mingled and socialized and moved about, and should they incidentally see a big play, they wouldn’t cheer unless it involved Kobe Bryant.



Imagine this, only the guys are scheezier and the women never stop checking their phones.

Speaking of Kobe, he ended the night with 40 points, 4 assists, and 6 rebounds. I left the stadium totally charged up, shouting, “Layyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy-KERS!” at the top of my lungs, tens of people around me chanting back. That said, Jeff and I didn’t linger. We made sure to be far away before the police packed up and we found ourselves kidnapped and enslaved to one of the city’s sweat shops (a real problem for Los Angeles).




On our final day, Jeff and I made our way to Six Flags Magic Mountain. (Don’t know what Magic Mountain is? Yes, you do! It’s Wally World from Chevy Chase’s Vacation. This is an interesting element to Los Angeles. Literally so many tv shows and movies are shot there that, if we air dropped you into the city with no clue as to where you were, it’d take three blocks before you’d say, “I recognize that from CSI! Am I in Los Angeles?”) Magic Mountain is the Cedar Point of the west coast. It’s got 10 or 12 roller coasters that’ll put the fear of God in you. It’s also way out there in Valencia, and because it was late May, which meant school was still in session, and it was a Wednesday, which meant kids should be there, Jeff and I figured we’d be able to do the rides quick and easy. It turned out to be Senior Day and the place is packed with maybe 40 school buses full of seventeen year old boys and girls. In the case of the girls, based on how underdressed their bodies were in correlation to how much make-up their faces wore, you’d swear they were at least nineteen or twenty year old coeds if they didn’t have braces and walk in that bow-legged way girls do before they finish puberty. If you want to feel like a pervert, try being a guy over twenty-five even standing coincidently near a pack of these girls.



Trust me, they’re not whispering about how cute you are.


We did the park, anyway. Standing in lines, pretending the kiddies weren’t there, and making Viper our first coaster. Like a pro, Jeff kept his video camera on for the whole ride. It had been a while since he’d last been on a coaster, and should you feel like some comedy (warning: if you are offended by the f-bomb, don’t watch the video. We’re not trying to be jerks, we’re terrified), you can watch Jeff and I losing it during the ride (http://youtu.be/R2dbi0seiag). The day turned out awesome. We got most of the major coasters done, and we were debating heading home when I noticed a huge wall fashioned like a giant rock. I’ve seen it two or three times as we’ve crisscrossed the park, but it wasn’t until we stepped away from it that I saw the massive writing chiseled into it, spelling Goliath. It wasn’t only a big decorative wall, it was a ride, and as I read this, a pack of those teenage girls appeared from behind it. They were clearly shaken, as if their souls had been hollowed out, their perfect hair frazzled, and their pointer fingers frantically wiping under their eyelids, trying desperately not to run their make-up.
Five minutes later, another pack of girls exited like this.


Five after that, another pack.


We had to know what this ride was about. Come to find out, it’s got a fake wall because it was hiding its super-long line. In fact, it needed several fake walls, each making you think when you pass it, you’ll find yourself close to the ride itself. What felt like four hours later, we were loaded up onto a rather pedestrian appearing ride. I couldn’t understand why all these girls were acting so dramatic. The cart itself was kinda retro, really smoothed out, and the support bar holding you in place didn’t have shoulder restraints. There wasn’t even a place to grip your hands, how scary could it be? Two minutes and 235 feet in the air later, I discovered what terrified these girls. I was about to straight vertically drop, the angle so close to ninety that I couldn’t see any of the carts in front of me, and one-fourth of the way down, I discovered why they didn’t bother with hand grips. The centripetal force was so incredible, my hands were immobilized into my chest, which was probably for the best, as who knows what limbs I might’ve lost trying to stop my face from being ripped off.


It’s okay. The doctors fixed it.



I’d recall the rest of the ride for you, but I either blacked out or totally repressed it.


The next day, we took our satisfied selves back to Seattle, where we went back to work and back to normal life, in general. For the next week, I wrote several drafts of emails resigning my job, then got close to almost sending one while I sat around day-dreaming of running off to LA where I would become a big movie star, or failing that, a scheezy old guy dating gorgeous college drop-outs with no concept of reality. The desire was so intense it took several months for me to stop seriously considering it. It was one hell of a fine vacation, though, and I’d do it again in a heart beat.


In fact, I did.

Jeff and I did repeated whole thing the next year.




Hey! Justin Ordoñez wrote a book called Sykosa. It’s about a sixteen year old girl who’s trying to reclaim her identity after an act of violence destroys her life and the lives of her friends. You can find out more about Justin at his blog, http://sykosa.wordpress.com. You can also find Sykosa, the novel on Amazon.
BLURB:



Sykosa (that's "sy"-as-in-"my" ko-sa) is a sixteen-year-old girl trying to reclaim her identity after an act of violence shatters her life and the life of her friends. This process is complicated by her best friend, Niko, a hyper-ambitious, type-A personality who has started to war with other girls for social supremacy of their school, a prestigious preparatory academy in the Pacific Northwest of the United States. To compensate, Sykosa has decided to fall in love with her new boyfriend, Tom, who was involved in the act of violence. Propelled by survivor guilt, an anxiety disorder, and her hunger for Tom and his charms, Sykosa attends a weekend-long, unchaperoned party at Niko's posh vacation cottage, where she will finally confront Niko on their friendship, her indecision about her friends and their involvement in the act of violence, and she will make the biggest decision of her life—whether or not she wants to lose her virginity to Tom. YA fiction for the 18+ crowd.





EXCERPT:


Everything is too complicated. It should not have to be. She goes behind the chapel. He goes behind the chapel. They make out. Simple, right? It’s not. Regardless, if even that must be complicated, then certainly the concept that she wants to go to Prom, thus he should ask her to Prom and then they should go to Prom is simple, right? It’s not. You see, he has this best friend, this confidante, this main focus, this everything—and her name is not Sykosa, but Mackenzie.


Or as you will soon find out: “M.” That’s what he calls her.


So, every day, she faces the fact that they are merely acquaintances. Two pigeons in a flock of nine hundred who dress the same, talk the same, and act the same. That’s okay. Pigeons are only pigeons because conformity is only conformity. It’s okay to be like everyone else so long as she is always herself. And that is the reason, because there is no other reason, why she makes out with this boy. Other than she likes it. Kissing is fun. She’s lying. There is another reason. Another trivial teenage doodad—when she talks to him, lame as it sounds, she feels like she is being herself.


Tom’s never understood this. He sees no issue in how she feels like a phoenix, but is only regarded as a pigeon—and not only a pigeon, but one pigeon in a flock of… Never mind, conformity sucks!


REVIEW SOUND BYTES



"… gritty, intense and definitely not a book I'll forget anytime soon! It was so differently written. I wouldn't have expected to fall in love with the writing style but I did. It practically made me get under Sykosa's skin despite getting a dose of the perspectives of the other characters and there were parts that were so lyrical." ~ On Books






"Justin Ordonez’s debut novel, Sykosa Part 1: Junior Year, disproves the old saw that youth is wasted on the young. He adroitly delves into the minds and social lives of his titular sixteen-year-old protagonist and her peers, showing that young people wrestle with tough decisions just like adults do." ~Clarion ForeWord Reviews






"Sykosa makes for some compelling reading. Older teens and adults alike will enjoy Ordoñez's tale for its humor, realism and relatable protagonist."


~ Kirkus Indie Review