Linnea Tanner's Blog, page 38
March 25, 2021
Renee Yancy The Test of Gold Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour #HistoricalRomance #TheTestOfGold #BlogTour #CoffeePotBookClub @YancyRenee @maryanneyarde
It is my pleasure to feature Renee Yancy as part of The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour being held from March 15th – March 26th 2021. Renee Yancy is the author of the Historical Romance, The Test of Gold (Hearts of Gold, Book 1), which was released by Vinspire Publishing on March 15, 2021 (335 pages).
Below are highlights of The Test of Gold, Renee Yancy’s biography, and an excerpt from her book.
HIGHLIGHTS: THE TEST OF GOLD
The Test of Gold
(Hearts of Gold, Book 1)
By Renee Yancy
Raised in the shadow of a mother who defied convention, but won’t allow her own daughter the right to make the same choices, heiress Evangeline Lindenmayer has been groomed since childhood to marry into the British aristocracy.
When Lindy challenges her mother’s long-laid plans by falling in love with a poor seminary student, the explosion is bigger than the Brooklyn Bridge fireworks on Independence Day.
Buy Links:
Amazon UK • Amazon US • Barnes and Noble
AUTHOR BIO: RENEE YANCY
Renee Yancy is a history and archaeology nut who writes the kind of historical fiction she loves to read – stories filled with historical detail that immerse you in another place and time. When she isn’t writing historical fiction or traveling to see the places her characters have lived, she can be found in the wilds of Kentucky with her husband and two rescue mutts named Ellie and Charlie.
Connect with Renee:
Website • Twitter • Instagram • Facebook • LinkedIn • Pinterest • Book Bub • Amazon Author Page • Goodreads
EXCERPT: THE TEST OF GOLD
April 1897, New York City
Evangeline Lindenmayer slipped through the marble halls toward her favorite room at 660 Fifth Avenue. Somehow the library had escaped the lavish attention to detail Mama and her architect had opulently bestowed on the other 149 rooms in the chateau.
The massive oak doors opened on well-oiled hinges, and the papery scent of books and leather enveloped Lindy. Sunlight streamed through the leaded glass windows and sparked off the gold lettering on the book spines. Her shoulders relaxed, and she gave a contented sigh. Such riches! In a lifetime, she could never read all the books here.
Her copy of Robinson Crusoe lay in the overstuffed chair where she’d left it the previous afternoon. Her mother had summoned her just as Robinson had been enslaved by a Moorish pirate. And one didn’t disobey Vera Lindenmayer. Lindy had waited all day to discover his fate. Curling in the chair, she lost herself in seventeenth-century Africa.
Sometime later, she closed the book and sighed. “Is all well?” A tousled blond head peeked over the back of a leather Chesterfield sofa, and then a young man sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“Oh!” Lindy dropped the book and sprang to her feet, her hand at her throat. “Who might you be? What are you doing here?”
The man stood hastily and clutched a book against his black frockcoat. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I must have fallen asleep.”
“You did startle me, sir. And an unwelcome shock it was too!”
He reddened and took a step back. “Please forgive me. My name is Jack Winthrop.” He glanced at the bookshelves. “Mr. Lindenmayer has kindly offered me the use of his excellent library while I’m studying for the ministry at Union Theological Seminary.” He gulped and ran a finger around his collar.
“Oh.” That sounds like Papa, with his tender heart.
“I’m also taking classes at Columbia, where the new anthropology department has recently opened.”
Lindy’s mouth fell open. Not one but two colleges. Does the fellow even know how fortunate he was? Oh, to have been born a man. It isn’t fair.
“Please accept my heartfelt apologies for startling you, Miss…”
“Lindenmayer. Evangeline Lindenmayer.”
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Lindenmayer.”
“Winthrop, you said? Are you related to Reverend Joseph Winthrop at St. Thomas?”
The young man nodded. “He is my uncle.”
Lindy examined him a moment. The edges of his sleeves were shabby and his blond hair a trifle too long, falling over his collar, but something undeniably attractive about him telegraphed itself to her. “I recognize you now. You usually sit at the back of the church.”
Mr. Winthrop nodded. “That’s right.” He retrieved his hat off the sofa. “I’ll be going now. Sorry to intrude.”
Lindy laughed. He looks like a dog caught with the Sunday roast in his paws. “Don’t leave, Mr. Winthrop, you won’t be disturbing anyone. The only books Papa reads concern the care and breeding of horses, and my mother never comes in here. I’m the only one who frequents it with regularity. But aren’t you going to be frightfully busy with classes at two different colleges?”
His face brightened. “I thrive on it, actually. It’s a great privilege to attend both the university and the seminary. My uncle has generously made it possible.”
“Do you have other family besides your uncle?”
“My mother.”
“I don’t believe I’ve seen her with you.”
A shadow darkened his face. “She isn’t well. Not strong enough to attend the service on Sunday morning.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. And your father?”
Mr. Winthrop smiled faintly. “My father died when I was seven, and Uncle Winthrop took us in. My father was his younger brother.” He crossed the distance between them and plucked her book off the floor. “Allow me.” He glanced at the title before he handed it to her. “What did you think of Mr. Crusoe’s adventures?”
My, he’s tall. Lindy sank onto her chair as a qualm went through her middle. Mama would have a conniption if she knew a man like Jack Winthrop was given permission to use the library. Having a conversation with a man Lindy hadn’t been officially introduced to wasn’t done in society circles. But he’s not exactly in my social class, and he did introduce himself. Quite nicely at that. And I’m seldom able to discuss books with anyone. She pushed the thought of her mother firmly out of her head. “Won’t you sit down, Mr. Winthrop?”
March 19, 2021
#RRBC #MARCH” SPOTLIGHT” #Author, Robbie Cheadle @bakeandwrite @RRBC_Org #RRBCSA
It is my pleasure to feature the South African author, Robbie Cheadle, as part of the #RRBC #MARCH” SPOTLIGHT” #Author blog tour. Robbie Cheadle is the author of Open a New Door: A Collection of Poems. Below is her guest blog, youtube reading, book blurb, and author bio.
BLOG POST:
A sister is … is my first attempt at a metaphorical poem where every line of the poem compares the opening person or item to something else. I had great fun composing this poem about my sisters and our relationships.
About A sister is …A sister is… is the first metaphorical poem I ever attempted. My son, Gregory, learned about this type of poem at school and I watched him write his one for a school assignment with great interest. My sister’s 40th birthday was approaching at the time and I penned this poem to share at the event. It was a lovely way of expressing the conflicting thoughts and feelings experienced by four sisters.
A sister is …a thief, stealing attention that is rightfully yours;a port in a storm, when your house of cards falls;a fountain of knowledge – your problems, not hers;
a megaphone whose voice is louder than yours;an expert on everything you try for the first time;a comedian who’ll dance and make you laugh till you cry;
a clothes horse, ‘specially when she’s borrowed your clothes;
a home where your children are always welcome;a confidant with whom you share secrets and hopes;
a purse to help you out of a bind;a competitor who always shines brighter than you;
an advisor when your spirit is battered and bruised;a shoulder to cry on when life lets you down;
a beauty queen, who’s face is fairer than yours;a diary of shared memories, the old and the new;
a voice of reason, when yours has taken a day off;a provider of wine, in good times and bad;an embarrassment who recalls your drunken antics;
an artist, who’ll make up your face, if you beg;the best thing anyone could ask for.
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BOOK BLURB:
Open a New Door is a poetic peep into the life of poet, Robbie Cheadle, who lives in South Africa.
The book is divided into four categories: God bless Africa, God bless my family and friends, God bless me and God bless corporates and work. Each part is sub-divided into the good, the bad and the ugly of the two poets’ experiences, presented in rhyming verse, free-style, haiku and tanka, in each of these categories and include colourful depictions of the poet’s thoughts and emotions.
The purpose of this book of poetry is encapsulated in the following tanka and haiku poems:
What drives me to write?
To share my innermost thoughts
The answer is clear
It’s my personal attempt
To make some sense of this world.
Inspiration blossoms
Like the unfurling petals
Of the Desert Rose
AUTHOR BIO:
Roberta Eaton Cheadle has published nine children’s books under the name of Robbie Cheadle. She has branched into writing for adults and young adults and, in order to clearly separate her children’s books from her adult books, is writing for older readers under the name Roberta Eaton Cheadle. Roberta Eaton Cheadle has published two novels for YA and adult readers and has contributed to seven anthologies.
SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:
Robbie Cheadle
Thank you for dropping by to support Robbie along her tour. To follow along with the rest of her 7-day tour, please visit the “SPOTLIGHT” Author forum on the RRBC site and don’t forget to pick up a copy of her book above! Lastly, we ask that you LIKE and SHARE this post, as well as the “SPOTLIGHT” Author page, to your social media, to enhance Robbie’s support!
March 14, 2021
Cynthia Ripley Miller: A Sword Among Ravens The Coffee Book Club Blog Tour #HistoricalMystery #AncientWorld #BlogTour #CoffeePotBookClub @CRipleyMiller @maryanneyarde
FEATURED AUTHOR: Cynthia Ripley MillerIt is my pleasure to feature Cynthia Ripley Miller as part of The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour being held from March 8th — March 19th 2021. Cynthia Ripley Miller is the author of the Romantic Historical Mystery novel, A Sword Among Ravens (The Long-Hair Saga series), which was released by BookLocker Publisher on 9th December 2020 (267 pages).
Below are highlights of A Sword Among Ravens, Cynthia Ripley Miller’s biography, and an excerpt from her book.
HIGHLIGHTS: A Sword Among Ravens
A Sword Among Series
(The Long-Hair Saga series)
by Cynthia Ripley Miller
In a grave, on the edge of a Roman battlefield, an ancient sword has been discovered. Legend claims it belonged to King David of Israel and carries a curse—those who wield it will tragically die—but not the chosen.
AD 455. Arria Felix and her husband, Garic the Frank, have safely delivered a sacred relic to Emperor Marcian in Constantinople. But now, Arria and Garic will accept a new mission. The emperor has asked them to carry the sword of King David of Israel to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem where Arria will dedicate it in her murdered father’s memory.
As Arria and Garic travel into the heart of the Holy Land, they face many challenges and dangers. Their young daughter is missing then found in the company of a strange and suspicious old monk. A brutal killer stalks their path. And a band of cold-blooded thieves is determined to steal the sword for their own gains. But when Arria confronts the question of where the sword should truly rest—old friendships, loyalties, and her duty are put to the test like never before. At every turn, Arria and Garic find themselves caught in a treacherous mission wrapped in mystery, murder, and A Sword Among Ravens.
Buy Links:
Amazon UK • Amazon US • Amazon CA • Amazon AU • Barnes and Noble • Kobo
AUTHOR BIO: Cynthia Ripley Miller
Cynthia Ripley Miller is a first-generation Italian-American writer with a love for history, languages, and books. She has lived in Europe and traveled world-wide, holds two degrees, and taught history and English. Her short fiction has appeared in the anthology Summer Tapestry, at Orchard Press Mysteries.com, and The Scriptor. She is a Chanticleer International Chatelaine Award finalist with awards from Circle of Books-Rings of Honor and The Coffee Pot Book Club. She has reviewed for UNRV Roman History, and blogs at Historical Happenings and Oddities: A Distant Focus and on her website, www.cynthiaripleymiller.com
Cynthia is the author of On the Edge of Sunrise, The Quest for the Crown of Thorns, and A Sword Among Ravens, books 1-3 in her Long-Hair Saga series set in Late Ancient Rome, France, and Jerusalem. Cynthia lives outside of Chicago with her family, along with a cute but bossy cat.
Social Media Links:
Website • Facebook • Twitter • Pinterest • Amazon • Goodreads
EXCERPT: A Sword Among Ravens
Excerpt from Chapter XI: Two Are Better Than One
AD 455: PALAESTINA, Jerusalem
HE
(Nemesis)
He sat alone. On the tree branch above him, a tribe of sparrows twittered. Their lush, rust-brown feathers and freedom struck him as beautiful. He often wished he could catch a bird and keep one. When he was a boy, he once held a she-dove. The tranquil bird cooed softly. He had contemplated the dove’s lucky existence but immediately felt sad. Soon his sorrow turned to envy. Anger filled him, and a sudden and powerful urge overcame him. What right did the dove have to be at peace—when as children, he and his younger brother were made slaves to a patch of farmland as fickle as the weather and the world around them? His father, mean and ornery, spending what little they had on drink. His broken mother, taking her husband’s beatings, letting him beat them. Why should anyone feel happy when his life reeked of misery? Twist the dove’s neck, shut her up, a voice whispered in his head. And Nemesis obeyed. Snap. An unexpected satisfaction glowed inside him. It had been so easy.
He met a girl when he grew older. She also had a beauty about her; she reminded him of the dove. Soft with milky skin, her hair smooth and fine. He first noticed her on one of his trips alone to market. She stood behind a table, filling a basket with apricots from a sack at her feet. As he pushed his cart laden with turnips and leeks past her family’s fruit stand, he stole a glance and was smitten. That was a glorious summer.
Each time he returned to the market, he would look for her and nod as he passed by. A pink flush on her cheeks, she always smiled back. After selling his produce, he’d stow his cart behind a stack of boxes, not far from her father’s stand. Hiding, he watched her, sometimes for hours—as he did the birds. Her fragile bones and glowing skin, the way she turned her head on a long, slender neck, her vulnerability and innocence all consumed him. He wanted to speak with her, hear the soft tones in her words.
But people and merchants surrounded and kept her from him. Bitterness found a pit in his stomach. His heart seethed in the hollow of his chest. Once, he followed the girl home and hid in a line of bushes near a window. When night settled, he peered through the lighted opening. Her parents and brothers sat around her with happy looks on their faces. Envy smoldered in him, and he hurried away. Here was not the time or place. He would wait and watch.
One sultry morning, when she tended the fruit stand alone, Nemesis stopped and spoke to her. He acted the customer and bought her figs—no point in being noticed. But when she placed the fruit in his basket, he whispered that she should meet him outside of town, later in the afternoon when most everyone rested.
She blushed, her eyes shining, and nodded her acceptance. She met him as planned, and he talked to her sweetly and held her hand. He told her he had a secret place with a view beautiful enough to melt a heart. Would she see it with him? She agreed, and he brought her to the tall juniper tree at the top of a ravine where a river ran below.
The day glimmered with light and heat. The sky reflected the blue in her eyes. He made a blanket of ferns cut with his knife from the bushes around them. They spread out like a willowy fan. “My lady?” he said, smiling, offering her a hand. She giggled and cooed, “My lord,” and wrapped his fingers in hers.
They sat, and he pressed his mouth to hers. Her lips were warm and full, almost sweet to the taste, and she smelled of figs and brought him peace. She kissed him back.
But the memory of the dove rose in his mind.
His heart, a moment ago so full and open, snapped shut. Fear and desperation filled him. Nemesis grabbed the girl tighter. She squirmed against him, but he fought to hold her—to possess her and her tranquility. She twisted harder. Anger flashed through his body and throbbed at his temples. The voice inside whispered again. What right does this farmer’s daughter have to refuse you? He frowned. Why would she deny him a moment of joy found in his brutal world? A world sunk in poverty and ruled by a cruel father.
A dark and primitive growl rose in his throat. The blood in his veins boiled. Nemesis desired the farmer’s daughter, and he would have her. This time, he’d be the strong one. Dominate, possess something of his own—even if only a girl.
She clawed and fought against him. He grabbed her wrists and subdued her. The gentle dove cried out, but he pushed to his feet and pulled her fragile body with him. She almost struggled free, but he grabbed her from behind. Wrapping an arm around her neck, he locked her against his panting chest. A plaintive, agonized wail burst from her lips upward toward the sky.
He hesitated and took a breath. Resist! He thought. Stifle your anger—find mercy. Fight the voice inside. Let her fly away this time—and not die like the dove.
He dragged her to the edge of the cliff. As his arm grew tighter around her neck, she choked. He thought he heard her gasp, “Noooo . . .” It didn’t matter. Her savior, he lifted her like an offering, and with all his strength, he tossed her into the air. Nemesis waited for her to soar upward and glide on the wind. Instead, she plummeted downward like a wounded bird. Her arms stroked the air, her long, brown tresses rippled behind her. He turned away.
In a few seconds, a splash vibrated on the breeze. He kicked at the ferns, destroying their nest. A brooding disappointment welling in him, he walked back toward town. He had lost another dove.
Instagram: @coffeepotbookclub
March 8, 2021
LELITA BALDOCK WIDOW’S LACE COFFEE POT BOOK CLUB BLOG TOUR #HistoricalFiction #HistoricalMystery #WidowsLace #BlogTour #CoffeePotBookClub @BaldockLelita @maryanneyarde
It is my pleasure to feature Lelita Baldock as part of the The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour being held from March 8th — March 19th 2021. Lelita Baldock is the author of the historical fiction/mystery, Widow’s Lace, which was independently released by the author on 23 March 2020 (242 pages).
Below are highlights of Widow’s Lace, Lelita Baldock’s author biography, and an excerpt from her book.
HIGHLIGHTS: WIDOW’S LACE
Widow’s Lace
by Lelita Baldock
A hundred year old mystery, the widow left behind, a fallen soldier, the abandoned fiancée, an unnamed body and the young student determined to find the truth.
In 1886 famous English poet Edward Barrington moves from Derbyshire, England to a farm on the Finniss River, in South Australia. Two years later he disappears.
25 years later Archie Hargraves abandons his fiancée Clara and travels from England to meet with Edward’s widow, Rosalind. He plans to write a biography and make a name for himself, independent from his wealthy father. Returning to England in 1914 he abandons his work to join the war in Europe. His journal of notes from Australia is never released.
Ellie Cannon, a young PhD candidate at Sydney University, is writing a thesis on one of Barrington’s last known poems, The Fall. It’s not going well. Struggling with her relationship with her mother and loss of her father, Ellie is on the brink of failure.
Then a body is found by the Finniss River, 130 years after Edward’s disappearance. Could it be the famous poet?
The discovery draws Ellie into the worlds of Edward, Archie and Clara, taking her across Australia and England in her search for the truth.
Covering life in remote South Australia, the social pressures of 1900s Britain and the historical role of women, Widow’s Lace is an historical fiction, mystery cross-over dealing with themes of obsession, fear, love, inner-secrets, and regret. But also the hope that can come from despair.
Buy Links:
Amazon UK • Amazon US • Amazon CA • Amazon AU • Barnes and Noble
Is your book on Kindle Unlimited? Yes
AUTHOR BIO: LELITA BALDOCK
Lelita has a passion for stories, especially those with a dark undercurrent, or a twist to be revealed.
She hopes to tell interesting stories that people will find themselves drawn into. Stories that are for entertainment and escape, and hopefully a little thrill of the unexpected. She truly enjoys the experience of writing, exploring human traits and reactions as well as the darkness that can lurk unexpectedly inside anyone.
Born and raised in Adelaide, Australia, Lelita holds a Bachelor of Arts majoring in English and History from the University of Adelaide and a Bachelor of Education from The University of South Australia. During her twenties she worked as an English teacher in both Australia and the United Kingdom, working with the International Baccalaureate curriculum.
Now Lelita and her husband run a web development business, and she makes time for writing after hours and on weekends. It can mean long days and late nights, but she doesn’t mind, stories are her passion.
Lelita’s long term goal as a writer is to be able to publish her stories regularly and hopefully appeal to a wide range of readers.
Lelita currently resides in the United Kingdom with her husband Ryan and beloved rescue-cat, Jasmine.
Social Media Links:
Website • Twitter • Instagram • Facebook • Book Bub • Amazon • Goodreads
EXCERPT: WIDOW’S LACE
Part one: Edward
Chapter 8
Slithering, slippery mud peeks between the auburn.
Reveals the lie.
The Indian Ocean, 1886
Tick-tock, tick-tock, clicked gently against his consciousness. Edward rolled away from the sound, clinging to unconsciousness. Sleep his only sanctuary from the endless expanse of the Indian Ocean.
Tick-tock.
Travelling through the Suez Canal had provided some distraction, to see with one’s own eyes the immensity of the endeavour to carve out a passage between continents was truly breathtaking. But the knowledge that soon his horizons would widen again as they crossed the seemingly inexhaustible ocean, caused his skin to prickle. As the sails were hauled up for the run south across the Indian Ocean, that prickle had grown into a buzz of invisible pressure that enveloped his limbs.
Tick-tock.
Restlessness had overtaken his body. His nights spent tossing and turning, his days tense and tight. Even the daily walks Mary insisted he take around the ship provided no release. Other passengers seemed to have found a stride that simply eluded him; groups of young men set up cricket matches on the deck or played cards in the sunshine, lounging calmly. Edward felt he might snap.
Tick-tock.
He longed for the oblivion of sleep. Hours where the boat sailed on and he was floating in the dark, thoughtless, senseless, nothing.
Tick-tock.
It knocked against his mind more firmly this time, and he felt it, the shift between sleep and consciousness. It was subtle, but it was there. He threw the sheet off of his torso, seeking a cooling breeze to relieve his clammy body. But there was no fresh air to be had, the porthole windows firmly closed against the waves. Twisting about, his legs became entangled in the sheet, forcing him to kick and wiggle to free his feet, bringing himself fully awake in the process. He lay still for a moment, taking deep breaths, willing his eyelids to grow heavy, his mind dim.
Tick-tock.
No use. He tore the remaining entangled sheets from his legs and sat up on the bed. Lighting a candle, he checked the insistent clock beside the bed. 11p.m., he had not even managed an hour of rest since he had come to bed. Edward sighed. It was a silly time of night, one made only for rest. But his body and mind were not going to comply. He needed distraction.
He considered his options. He could light his desk lamp and work on his travel journal, or perhaps read. Both were heavy with effort. A hacking cough sounded from the next room. Even through the walls he could hear the solid wetness of the sound; death made manifest and soggy. He listened as Mary rose and shuffled over to his wife, the soft murmur of her soothing croon drifting to his ears. He longed to go in and care for his wife himself, but he knew Rosalind would only turn him away. Their pretence that all was well had been wearing thin this last few weeks.
He had to get out, to move. Hastily he dressed. Perhaps the saloon would still be open and he could enjoy a whiskey to dull his restless mind. Grabbing up his journal and pencil, he quietly exited the room.
The lights were still on in the saloon casting the ornate brass finishings of the room in a comfortingly warm glow. Strolling in he found the bar unattended. He waited a moment, hoping that the waiter had simply popped out briefly. In truth Edward had no idea of the schedule of the boat at large. When they first set out he had taken lunch in the restaurant with the other first class guests, but the constant enquiries after his wife had taken on the tone of gossip, driving him back to his rooms. The excuse of seasickness could only work for so long.
After waiting a moment more Edward sighed, he was clearly too late to be served. Surprised at the disappointment he felt at missing out on a drink, he turned to leave.
‘Ah, excuse me, Mr. Barrington?’ a gentle voice came from the side of the lounge. Edward glanced over. A man, younger than himself by a few years, sat in a plush armchair, book in hand. Edward swept his eyes over the youth, almond coloured hair and eyes glittered in the soft light as he crossed the space between them. He looked familiar, though Edward could not recall his name.
‘George Harbot,’ the young man supplied, smiling warmly, ‘we were at the same table the night before the Canal.’ He held his hand out in greeting. Edward took it, the warmth of the contact surprising him.
‘Of course,’ he replied.
George stood before him, awkwardly silent. The moment stretched and Edward, damning himself for leaving his rooms on this foolish quest, was about to wish him goodnight when, ‘You only just missed the waiter. 11pm is close. But, I’ve most of a bottle of wine left. You would be welcome to join me.’
‘That’s very kind…’ Edward began.
‘The company would be most welcome,’ George smiled again. An urgency came over his face as he did, giving his round, open features a sense of desperation. Despite himself, Edward found himself nodding his acceptance of George’s offer and made his way over to the table.
March 2, 2021
Vivienne Brereton Beware the Lizard Lurking The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour #HistoricalFiction #BlogTour #CoffeePotBookClub @VivienneBreret1 @maryanneyarde
Featured Author: Vivienne BreretonIt is my pleasure to feature Vivienne Brereton as part of the ongoing The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour being held from February 15th — March 5th 2021. Vivienne Brereton is the author of the historical fiction novel, Beware the Lizard Lurking (The House of the Red Duke, Book 2), which was released by Yuletide Press on 12th February 2021 (302 pages).
Below are highlights of Beware the Lizard Lurking, Vivienne Brereton’s author biography, and an excerpt from her book.
Highlights: Beware the Lizard Lurking
Beware the Lizard Lurking
The House of the Red Duke, Book 2
by Vivienne Brereton
Welcome to the candlelit courts of Europe!
Uninvited guests at a secret wedding.
A frozen River Thames.
May Day celebrations to remember.
The young Henry VIII, with the aid of his chief advisor, Thomas Wolsey, and against the counsel of Thomas Howard, the Earl of Surrey, is hellbent on a so-called holy war with France. This puts him at odds with his Scottish brother-in-law, James IV of Scotland, and his older sister, Margaret.
Both Tristan and Nicolas know that time is running out for them before they have to…enter the Church – and into an arranged marriage, respectively. In the meantime, they remain at loggerheads over pretty Ysabeau de Sapincourt, the spoilt young wife of the hapless Robert.
At La Colombe, near Ardres, in Picardy, spirited little Valentine is still making mischief as she sees fit.
Across the Narrow Sea, Cecily is perfectly content in her beloved Zennor Castle, in Cornwall.
None of them know what Dame Fortune has in store for them. Will she allow them to follow their own paths…or has she got other ideas?
Buy Links:
Amazon UK • Amazon US • Amazon AU
Author Bio: Vivienne Brereton
Born between historic Winchester and Southampton in the UK, Vivienne has been passionate about the Tudors for as long as she can remember. This led to a degree in Medieval History at university, and the growing desire to write a novel.
However, life took over somewhat and only after stays, short and long, in six countries she called home did she finally settle down to finish her novel.
Words have always played an important part in her life, whether it’s been writing, editing, teaching English, or just picking up a good book.
Having three sons came in very handy when she had to write about squabbles between the male characters in her novel. Not so handy when she took her boys to Hampton Court and one of them got lost in the maze!
Seeing ‘A Phoenix Rising’, the first book in the series ‘The House of the Red Duke’ in print for the first time was a moment of great joy for her. She very much hopes that anyone reading ‘Beware the Lizard Lurking’, the second book in the series, will enjoy the end result as much as she enjoyed writing it.
Social Media Links:
Website • Twitter • Instagram • Facebook
Excerpt 2: Beware the Lizard LurkingThe following passage opens Beware the Lizard Lurking.
Twelfth Night, 1513. Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey has got wind of a secret plot to marry off the daughter of the Duke of Buckingham, Henry’s VIII’s wealthiest subject and the only duke in England. This cannot be tolerated as the widowed Thomas Howard the Younger (a man of almost forty) is determined to have fifteen-year-old Lizzie Stafford for his bride, and not let her go to Ralph Neville, a boy of fourteen and her true sweetheart. Leaving behind the King’s Christmas court, the old Earl and his three sons make haste to the furthermost corner of England. Thomas picks up the tale.…
“The same evening.
Saint Michael’s Mount, Cornwall.
I’ve always believed in making a grand entrance. And I’ve made plenty of them in my time. On the battlefield, at court, in manor and at mass, at hearth and in harbour…in the bedchamber. Even the six chimes of the clock I can hear outside indicate wholehearted approval of our arrival. My time as a commander in battle has taught me that in order to defeat the enemy, a surprise attack is the best way to go about it. Catching someone unawares always gives you the advantage. Somewhere in the sea of faces in front of me is Edward Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, wealthy enough to turn the King of England’s face pea-green with envy. Will he be in the mood to parley or to fight? As we reach one quarter of the length of the candlelit great hall, I make a small motion with my hand for my three sons to halt. I need time to put the almighty fear of God into my audience. Before bringing them to their knees
It gave me great satisfaction to witness the scene before me: a jumbled, sprawling tableau of utter dismay if ever I saw one. Every man, woman and child turned to stone, caught in some act or other. Not a word spoken – certainly not one of welcome. My white-faced granddaughter, Mary, still had her mouth agape, the sweet notes of her unfinished song left hanging in the air. I noted a lute that had tumbled to the floor, sliding through guilty fingers, a thin sheet of music resting atop to keep it company, like a woman shielding her lover from a jealous husband, or an archer clumsily dropping his last remaining arrow. One man had a cup of wine suspended in mid-air betwixt hand and lips, and was staring at us as if the ghosts of all his ancestors had just slipped through the door. He would discover soon enough that we were flesh and blood. More than that, we were Howards. To my left, I could hear Thomas’s breathing coming fast and heavy; no doubt he was scouring the room for his stolen prey, intent upon ensuring she hadn’t been snatched from him forever by the Neville pup. On my immediate right, next to Edmund, Edward was very still, no sound coming from him at all. I guessed the place was bringing back memories of that girl who’d once lived over at the castle in Zennor.
***
It was certainly stirring memories for me. All of a sudden, I was twenty-nine again. Newly married and in love.
Only not with my wife
I’d bedded Lizzie Tilney with the due diligence of any bridegroom who wants to put a son and heir in his cradle as soon as possible. Now it was time for pleasure. The warmth of that summer of ’72 came flooding back to me: the scent of Damask roses filling my nostrils, a pair of sapphire blue eyes fixed on me, tempting me and taunting me in equal measure, followed by full red lips teasingly joined to mine. I could almost hear the wild laughter of Matilda Pendeen (or de Lacey, as she’d been when I first met her, the name I gave her ever after). I could certainly hear her outrageous taunts, encouraging me to behave with reckless abandon, knowing full well she was a woman who now belonged to another. “Little temptress”, I’d breathed when I pressed her up hard against a stone wall and lifted her velvet skirts to seek what she so willingly offered.
“Little witch, you mean”, she replied, one delicate eyebrow raised in mockery as she ran her fingers through my hair. I had no doubt she came from a long line of beautiful witches, with the ability to rob a man of his very soul if they so wished.
How could any woman ever compare to her? It was akin to arguing that a cheap red wine burning your throat and producing a coughing fit, was equal to one of the King’s finest Malmsey wines, shipped all the way from the Kingdom of Candia. She and I had certainly visited this place where I was now standing: a few lost August days when all the monks were absent – save a half-blind old brother, almost too frail to leave his chamber, let alone the Mount. I’d offered my services, assuring the Archpriest at the time that I’d willingly care for both the failing monk and the Mount in his absence. It was not such a bad idea. Only a year later, the Yorkist king, Edward, had to send an army to defeat John de Vere, the Lancastrian Earl of Oxford, who’d captured the Mount.
“I’ll take a few good men with me,” I told the Archpriest.
But, of course, I only took one person.
Matilda.
Blog Tour
February 26, 2021
Welcome to Day 9 of the 2021 RWISA “REVOLUTION” Blog Tour! @NonnieJules @RRBC_Org @RRBC_RWISA @Tweets4RWISA #RRBC #RWISA
Welcome to Day 9 and the conclusion of the RWISA “REVOLUTION” Blog Tour! We’d like to introduce you to an amazingly supportive RWISA member, Author, Nonnie Jules, who is also the Founder of RRBC & RWISA. Take a peek at her writing below…
I’d like to begin by thanking two of my fellow RWISA Authors who were also on this tour, Joy Nwosu Lo-Bamijoko and Linnea Tanner, who both had the courage to write about, or reference the ills of our world, that many would like to keep deeply hidden. I speak of hatred and systemic racism. Again, thank you both for your courage to write with such substance and I hope that it is still resonating with all who read both of your pieces. I am honored that your words are a continual ring in my ears.
The theme of this year’s REVOLUTION tour is A NEW YEAR – A FRESH START, and with that theme in mind, I’d like to share my thoughts on what a fresh start in this new year looks like for, and, to me.
My quote above, “A life isn’t worth living if not in service to others,” is what gives my life meaning and purpose. RRBC and RWISA came to be because I didn’t see enough service being spread around the web when I came aboard. I noticed a ton of selfish behavior, “me, me, and more me” attitudes, and a strong indifference to lending a hand to help the next person climbing after you, also reach the top. I felt myself drowning in an ocean of “gimme,” and surrounded by a nation of takers. In my mind, I had to do something.
With the inception of RRBC, the rules of the land were (and still are) that members support members. Some came aboard and quickly embraced the concept, either because it was inherently part of their makeup, or because they realized it was the fastest route to gaining support for their own agendas.
And then, there were the others – the takers and the ones from the land of “gimme.” They came aboard in droves – taking all that they could, and once they realized we were on to them, they quickly abandoned their squatter positions. By the way, we do so appreciate their exits as they made room for the uber-supportive members I’ll reference below.
The members on our roster who are constantly being profiled, promoted, pushed, and honored, are the members who show, by their actions, that they are living in service to others. They don’t make excuses, they make a way. They don’t see a tweet and merely re-tweet it, they click the link first to see how they can support their fellow members even more and even better. They don’t re-tweet only tweets with their Twitter handle included. They don’t show up only when they are the ones being profiled, interviewed or whose book is being discussed. And their social media feeds? Well, they are clogged with promotion of others!
Their support doesn’t stop there. These members consistently show up to support in a myriad of ways, including the following…
following along member blog tours, leaving comments and sharing the posts on social mediahosting fellow members on their blog tours, such as our “SPOTLIGHT” Authorssitting in the audience of member interviews on our RAVE WAVES shows,showing up to our book club discussions to support BOOK OF THE MONTH Authorspurchasing, reading and reviewing fellow member books from the RRBC & RWISA catalogssharing members’ RRBC AUTHOR PAGES and RWISA PROFILE PAGES to social mediasharing members’ books directly from Amazon, along with the purchase links and book coversvisiting members’ book trailers on YouTube, leaving comments and sharing to social mediafollowing members’ blogs and websites and ensuring that they are active in these blogging communitiesand even showing up to participate in club activities, to ensure that our organizations remain fluid and not stagnant and boring.These are but a few ways that the supportive and active members of RRBC/RWISA ensure that they are exhibiting a life of service to others, especially on social media. We are not an organization interested in supporting those who don’t support others. If you show me that I’m not that important to you, then why would I go out of my way to place you on my special pedestal of support? If you’re not purchasing, reading and reviewing member books here, then guess what, you will never find yourself in the BOOK OF THE MONTH hot seat. Why would we tell others to run out and support you, when you don’t bother to show up to support them? And by the way, showing up is more than just sending out tweets and re-tweets. It takes so much more than that to create success.
2020 was a hard year for all of us, but 2021 rolled right in, giving us a clean slate to write new, more positive chapters in our life stories. Lucky for us all, this new year opened the door wide for us to make positive changes.
So, today, I ask you, what kind of life are you living? When we drop by to support you and we peruse your Twitter feed, will we see that you are in love with you, OR, will we smile when we see how hard you’re pushing someone else? When we look out into the gallery of our RAVE WAVES shows and our monthly book club discussions, will we see your pretty smiley face, OR, will we see only the beautiful faces of those who typically show up with their amazing support? Will you be counted among the many (who do nothing to support others) OR, will you be proudly counted among the few (who do more than their share to push others to the top?) Where will you stand when the roll is counted? With the givers or the takers?
Yes, it’s a new year, and also the most perfect opportunity for a fresh start! If you have been straddling the fence, finding it hard to get down, take that leap of faith and jump right in … somewhere … anywhere you can make a positive difference in the life of someone else. When you support others, you are supported ten-fold within RRBC/RWISA.
Did you make a New Year’s Resolution on December 31, 2020? I didn’t. I made an Intention, and that is, I intend to continue sharing and educating as many as I can on the importance of living a life of service. Less selfishness and more selflessness will continue to be my mission’s slogan.
I’ll ask once more, which road will you take?
Did you enjoy Nonnie’s writing? Then please, help us support her and her work along this REVOLUTION tour! We ask that you click on the author’s RWISA Profile below and visit all of her profile pages – some offering more insight into the member and others showcasing the author’s talent.
Lastly, we ask that you support this member as well as the host of this blog, by sharing this page and the author’s profile pages across all your social media platforms.
RWISA ProfileWhat Nonnie has to say about RWISA…
Check out Nonnie’s book…
OPEN, SHUT
Have you written that book or short story you want the whole world to know about? Are you looking for a great way to promote your creative endeavors? Perhaps you’re seeking to add some prestige to your body of work! If this sounds like you, we invite you to come on over to RAVE WRITERS – INT’L SOCIETY OF AUTHORS, otherwise known as RWISA.
At RWISA, we invite and accept into membership only the very best writers the Indie community has to offer.
If your work is exemplary and speaks for itself, stop by the RWISA website today at RaveWriters.wordpress.com and find out how you can submit your sample of writing for consideration.
We’re an exclusive bunch but we’d love to have you join us!
NOTE: If you’re looking to improve your writing while taking another route to membership into RWISA, while you’re at the site, visit RWISA UNIVERSITY!
Thanks for dropping by and don’t forget to leave the author a comment below! To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the tour’s home page!
February 25, 2021
Welcome to Day 8 of the 2021 RWISA “REVOLUTION” Blog Tour! @KarensStories @RRBC_Org @RRBC_RWISA @Tweets4RWISA #RRBC #RWISA
WELCOME TO DAY 8 OF THE #RWISA “REVOLUTION” BLOG TOUR! #RRBC @KARENSSTORIES @RRBC_ORG @RRBC_RWISA @TWEETS4RWISA #RWISAREVOLUTIONTOUR
Welcome to Day 8 of the RWISA “REVOLUTION” Blog Tour! We’d like to introduce you to an amazingly supportive RWISA member and the 2nd graduate of RWISA University, Author, Karen Black. Take a peek at her writing below…
THOUGHTS ON TWO THOUSAND TWENTYWho could have imagined the changes that last year brought to us all? Like so many, I’ve read more than one book that told a tale of life during a pandemic. Scary stuff to be sure, I never expected that fiction would describe so much of that which became reality.
New Year’s Eve is my favorite holiday celebration; the end of a chapter and the start of the next one. It is the time to get over mistakes, mishaps, or misfortune that might have littered the past year, and plan for a positive future, with fresh energy and new goals. On December 31, 2020, I looked forward to putting the past year behind.
Like the dealer in a poker game, the universe has a deck of cards. Life deals us each a set of circumstances different from those of everyone else. Some of us are happy with what we face, and some of us aren’t. In 2020, we were all in the game, but against the odds, everyone got cards from the same suit, the pandemic. No one was happy about those cards, but we didn’t fold. Each of us is playing the hand to the best of our ability, with all of us pursuing a different goal on the road to individual victory.
As the new year got underway, and life as we knew it became more difficult, I thought about what two generations before me endured just to get through day-to-day living. From 1914 through 1919, World War I was being fought. As if the war wasn’t enough, the Spanish Flu arrived in 1918, and added to the misery. Back then, the recommendations were much the same as today: wear a mask, avoid crowds, stay home if you exhibit any symptoms, don’t get close to others, adhere to quarantines, etc.
Can you imagine going through the past year with limited medical treatment available, and without takeout, home delivery, curbside service, internet access and twenty-four-hour video entertainment? I can’t. Last year was difficult, but the conditions in 1918 were devastating.
The quarantines and shutdowns affected each of us differently, and we are all aware of the myriad of negative effects. But some good things have resulted, too. Hiking, bird watching, fishing or feeding ducks and squirrels are a few pastimes that took the place of a social network that was substantially diminished. Away from the office and into the outdoors, people found a new appreciation for parks and game lands and the overall benefits of being closer to nature.
With people spending more time at home, often alone, the pet adoption rate has risen. Many are experiencing the companionship of a furry buddy for the first time. They not only discovered the delight of a four-legged roommate, but provided homes for thousands of animals who might otherwise have died.
For some, socializing has been limited to those living in the same household, which means there is more interaction among family members. Rather than telling each other how you spent the day, you spend the day doing something together. Relationships are being rediscovered and people are getting to know each other a little differently.
What scientists learned about COVID and ways to protect against it will help in future research against a variety of diseases that find their way into our lives. Vaccines are becoming available, and before long will be easily accessible. The pandemic will pass, but I will remember that there was some good with the bad.
Looking forward to the new year, my goal is to dwell on the positive. I’ll keep looking for silver linings, even those that might be a bit tarnished. In the game of life, I think that’s all I’ll need for a winning hand.
***
Did you enjoy Karen’s writing? Then please, help us support her and her work along this REVOLUTION tour! We ask that you click on the author’s RWISA Profile below and visit all of her profile pages – some offering more insight into the member and others showcasing the author’s talent.
Lastly, we ask that you support this member as well as the host of this blog, by sharing this page and the author’s profile pages across all your social media platforms.
RWISA ProfileWhat Karen has to say about RWISA…
Check out Karen’s book…
“TREACHEROUS LOVE”
***
Now, we’d like to give you a chance at some of this awesome promotion for yourself!Have you written that book or short story you want the whole world to know about? Are you looking for a great way to promote your creative endeavors? Perhaps you’re seeking to add some prestige to your body of work! If this sounds like you, we invite you to come on over to RAVE WRITERS – INT’L SOCIETY OF AUTHORS, otherwise known as RWISA.
At RWISA, we invite and accept into membership only the very best writers the Indie community has to offer.
If your work is exemplary and speaks for itself, stop by the RWISA website today at RaveWriters.wordpress.com and find out how you can submit your sample of writing for consideration.
We’re an exclusive bunch but we’d love to have you join us!
NOTE: If you’re looking to improve your writing while taking another route to membership into RWISA, while you’re at the site, visit RWISA UNIVERSITY!
Thanks for dropping by and don’t forget to leave the author a comment below! To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the tour’s home page!
February 23, 2021
Welcome to Day 7 of the 2021 RWISA “REVOLUTION” Blog Tour! @pat_garcia @RRBC_Org @RRBC_RWISA @Tweets4RWISA #RRBC #RWISA
WELCOME TO DAY 7 OF THE #RWISA “REVOLUTION” BLOG TOUR! #RRBC @PAT_GARCIA @RRBC_ORG @RRBC_RWISA @TWEETS4RWISA #RWISAREVOLUTIONTOUR
Welcome to Day 7 of the RWISA“REVOLUTION” Blog Tour! We’d like to introduce you to an amazingly supportive RWISA member, Author, Pat Garcia. Take a peek at her writing below…
THE GOAL, THE PURPOSE, THE CONTRIBUTION, AND COVID19Among the books that I have placed in collection boxes on my iPad, Don Quixote by Miquel de Cervantes is sitting in my favorite collection box. I read it for the first time in the print version of my first year at University. It impacted my belief system, turned my way of thinking upside down, and challenged me to get my act together and do what I had been called to do.
Later, the song To Dream The Impossible Dream that is so widely well-known from the musical Man of La Mancha, based on the Don Quixote, had me believing that I could take my experiences and reach what I saw them as the impossible star after I had failed at that particular moment in my studies and had been put on academic suspension for a year after my sophomore year.
During the year of my expulsion, Don Quixote worked on my imagination. I saw windmills in the form of words pouring into stories even though I had entered the dark night of the soul––the unknowing of not knowing where I was headed. I got a job working for Gracewood State School and Hospital for the mentally and physically disabled. The children at Gracewood awoke that lively, precocious, impish, and headstrong child I had buried deep within me. Today, that child in me is still living. A year later, after my academic suspension, I returned to the University and completed my first college degree with honors.
My father asked me, after I had graduated, what took me so long? I never answered him because I didn’t know then, and I still don’t know.
I thought of this incident when RWISA extended to me an invitation to become a fellow member among such an elite group of writers.
My goal has always been to be the very best writer that I can be. To write all the books, I am carrying within me and leave behind a legacy for others brought up in environments like mine. To give them the courage to step out there and try to reach his or her impossible dream.
This is a long-term goal. It ends when I die. My purpose will be fulfilled, and the legacy must stand on its own. The plan I have keeps me faithful to myself. It can’t be broken down into one year, five years, or even ten years. It is active until I expire.
The long-term goal influences my daily interactions with people. Having been blessed to write fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and sing, I can help others. I’m not looking to get rich, but I want to be able to help children and women in war-torn regions. I wish I could sponsor them all, but that is probably unrealistic. So, I do what I can and support as many as I can. The sponsorships will grow as I grow.
As COVID19 started last year, the organization that I sponsor through expected me to stop the donations until COVID19 has passed over. I didn’t think that was the best solution and continued my sponsoring. Each month I get a kick out of knowing that I am making a difference even though it is small.
Another important thing for me is getting people to open their eyes to see what is real and not accurate. Especially in these times, we need to recognize in our hearts that the world is not black and white. It is multi-colored, and it was created that way. This is the generator behind my purpose. I write Romance, Romantic Suspense, and Women’s Fiction with a tad bit of fantasy. My characters are flawed, hurt, sometimes disillusioned, but they always find the connection to love and acceptance. They learn to cope with their idiosyncrasies and the idiosyncrasies of others without trying to change people.
Through COVID19, my characters are teaching me lessons that I am storing up for new books.
My two friends from my allegory, The Child and The Prophet, will tell you in their own words below.
The Child lay on the lily pad singing a song as the ocean waves quietly moved her further on her destination. She’d forgotten how long she had been trying to get to the white house where her car was park.
“Prophet?” she called out to the figure that had suddenly reappeared again. He was preparing her a delicious seaweed lunch.
“Yes, Child?”
“How long now?”
The Prophet glanced up at the sky. Dark, blue, the cumulus clouds were moving quickly above them. “Why do you want to know that, Child? Any particular reason?”
The Child’ frowned. “I just think it’s taking a mighty long time.”
The Prophet snorted. “Don’t worry, Child, you’ll make it. That’s undoubtable.”
“Prophet?”
“Yes, Child.”
“What does undoubtable mean?”
“That’s something you’ll find out later.”
RWISA ProfileWhat Pat has to say about RWISA…
Check out Pat’s book…
TURN THE LIGHT ON
***
Now, we’d like to give you a chance at some of this awesome promotion for yourself!Have you written that book or short story you want the whole world to know about? Are you looking for a great way to promote your creative endeavors? Perhaps you’re seeking to add some prestige to your body of work! If this sounds like you, we invite you to come on over to RAVE WRITERS – INT’L SOCIETY OF AUTHORS, otherwise known as RWISA.
At RWISA, we invite and accept into membership only the very best writers the Indie community has to offer.
If your work is exemplary and speaks for itself, stop by the RWISA website today at RaveWriters.wordpress.com and find out how you can submit your sample of writing for consideration.
We’re an exclusive bunch but we’d love to have you join us!
NOTE: If you’re looking to improve your writing while taking another route to membership into RWISA, while you’re at the site, visit RWISA UNIVERSITY!
Thanks for dropping by and don’t forget to leave the author a comment below! To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the tour’s home page!
February 22, 2021
Welcome to Day 6 of the 2021 RWISA “REVOLUTION” Blog Tour! @JanSikes3 @RRBC_Org @RRBC_RWISA @Tweets4RWISA #RRBC #RWISA
WELCOME TO DAY 6 OF THE #RWISA “REVOLUTION” BLOG TOUR! #RRBC @JANSIKES3 @RRBC_ORG @RRBC_RWISA @TWEETS4RWISA #RWISAREVOLUTIONTOUR
Welcome to Day 6 of the RWISA “REVOLUTION” Blog Tour! We’d like to introduce you to an amazingly supportive RWISA member, Author, Jan Sikes, who is also RWISA Vice-President. Take a peek at her writing below…
HOW BLOGGING KEEPS ME SANEAs with each new year that rolls around, I view it as an opportunity to start with a fresh perspective and clean slate.
When I looked back on my goals for 2020, I found with some sense of satisfaction, I had accomplished almost all of them, despite the pandemic.
Some goals remain the same from year to year, such as clean eating, exercising, practicing meditation, being kind, and gentle with myself and others. I classify those as my permanent or ongoing goals. They never change.
Setting expanded goals for 2021 was quite different. COVID19 has affected us all. Not only in the way we socialize, but also in every other aspect of life, from how we shop to the way we promote our books.
The necessity for self-preservation has catapulted us into a virtual world. We order groceries online and have curbside pickup. We now visit with family via Zoom calls, and so much for getting out and attending book festivals to promote our books. That simply isn’t going to happen.
So, when I took an elemental look at how to market my books in 2021, I realized I needed to harness social media’s power.
The most powerful tool I have for marketing my work is, hands-down, my blog. I am fortunate to have built a substantial following over the years, which works to my advantage now.
I want to share with you some of the nuts and bolts of this fabulous tool, as well as some of the things I’ve learned about the art of blogging. Hopefully, you will benefit from them as well.
One of the greatest joys in my life is promoting and uplifting others. Because of this, I am always happy to offer my blog platform to support others, whether they be authors or indie music artists. And each time I spotlight a new author or artist, I gain a handful of organic followers. It’s a beautiful equation that works every time. It is the classic win-win for everyone.
The first and perhaps most important aspect of a blog is the title you create. There are many reasons for this, but mainly it is because the title needs to be eye-catching. If it isn’t, many potential readers may scroll on by and never take a peek. I know this from experience. I subscribe to a lot of blogs, so my email inbox is flooded each day. The blog titles are how I decide which ones I will pass on or read.
Some of the best practices in naming your blog post are asking a question, offering a solution, a list of solutions, or just making it fun and quirky. One recent post I wrote for a blog tour was entitled “The 3 P’s of Writing.”
That title makes you wonder what the P’s could be. I had a lot of success with that post. Fun and quirky will get me every time. You can also offer a promise of something in your title, such as a “How To” or a giveaway.
Another super important thing to add to a title is your guest’s Twitter handle (when you feature a guest). Why? Because each time that blog is shared on Twitter, it will tag them. It serves as a timesaver, and keeps the guest in your loop. I have found adding that one simple piece to a blog title gets it shared at least fifty percent more than a title without a tag.
Hashtags are another great way to get more shares. For instance, when I post a blog advertising a new book release, I will add #NewRelease to the title, which increases exposure in the feed.
Whatever your subject is, try adding a few hashtags to increase visibility.
Another super important detail, as a member of the Rave Reviews Book Club and The Rave Writers – Int’l Society of Authors, includes adding those handles and hashtags to the blog title when the content is relevant to the organizations. Again, it is proven to increase visibility and sharing.
Blog content can be about anything. I have found my niche, and although it is broad, it works for me. I blog about every aspect of the craft of writing, books I’ve read, feature guests, new music from indie artists, and all things spiritual, from meditations and Tarot cards to Runes. Those define me and my interests.
It’s good to brand yourself. Make a statement as to what you are about through your blog posts.
Once you publish a blog post, I cannot stress enough the importance of engaging. When someone takes the time to comment on your blog, please respond. Just as it is rude to ignore someone who is speaking to you in a physical setting, it is rude to ignore blog comments.
When I host a guest, I emphasize the importance of engaging and responding to comments. If my followers and I are taking the time and effort to promote you and your work, the least you can do is engage and respond. Most authors are outstanding in this area. Music artists, not so much. No matter how many times I say the words, “You need to engage,” they don’t seem to get it. I think the biggest reason is the fact that many music artists hate computers and don’t have a lot of tech savvy outside the recording studio. Nevertheless, they miss out on potential new music followers when they don’t bother to stop by.
These are a few of the basics; things I’ve learned through my experience of blogging.
Facing an ever-growing reliance on a virtual world in the days, weeks, and possibly years ahead, by fully utilizing my blog site, I will continue to grow and flourish despite COVID19.
My blog is the compass, my North Star, which helps me navigate the turbulent waters of the world in which we live.
See you there!
RWISA ProfileWhat Jan has to say about RWISA…
Check out Jan’s book…
“GHOSTLY INTERFERENCE”
***
Now, we’d like to give you a chance at some of this awesome promotion for yourself!Have you written that book or short story you want the whole world to know about? Are you looking for a great way to promote your creative endeavors? Perhaps you’re seeking to add some prestige to your body of work! If this sounds like you, we invite you to come on over to RAVE WRITERS – INT’L SOCIETY OF AUTHORS, otherwise known as RWISA.
At RWISA, we invite and accept into membership only the very best writers the Indie community has to offer.
If your work is exemplary and speaks for itself, stop by the RWISA website today at RaveWriters.wordpress.com and find out how you can submit your sample of writing for consideration.
We’re an exclusive bunch but we’d love to have you join us!
NOTE: If you’re looking to improve your writing while taking another route to membership into RWISA, while you’re at the site, visit RWISA UNIVERSITY!
Thanks for dropping by and don’t forget to leave the author a comment below! To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the tour’s home page!
February 21, 2021
Len Maynard A Dangerous Life Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour #HistoricalFiction #Crime #BlogTour #CoffeePotBookClub @len_maynard @maryanneyarde
Featured Author: Len MaynardIt’s my pleasure to feature Len Maynard as part of The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour being held from February 8th — April 12th 2021. Len Maynard is the author of the historical crime fiction novel, A Dangerous Life (The DCI Jack Callum Mysteries, Book 2), which was released by Sharpe Books on July 28th 2020 (287 pages).
Below are highlights of A Dangerous Life, Ken Maynard’s author biography, and an excerpt from his book.
Highlights: A Dangerous Life
A Dangerous Life
The DCI Jack Callum Mysteries, Book 2
by Len Maynard
1959
A body of a man wearing theatrical make up is found hanging from a tree on Norton Common in Hertfordshire. He has been tortured and his throat has been cut.
DCI Jack Callum, a veteran policeman with his own rules for procedure, heads the investigation into this puzzling crime. The clues lead him close to the answer, but the solution remains elusive.
Why was the man killed? What were the victim’s links to London’s gangland bosses?
When an unsolved murder is uncovered that appears to be connected to the case, Jack realises he must use his team to their full strength to separate the innocent from the guilty.
Jack also faces a challenge he never expected as he is accused of an improper relationship with a young Detective Constable on his team, Myra Banks.
In a breathless climax, Myra puts her own life on the line to deal with a figure from Jack’s past, who has now become a lethal threat in the present.
Buy Links:
Author Bio: Len Maynard
Born in Enfield, North London in 1953, Len Maynard has written and published over forty books, the majority of them in collaboration with Michael Sims. Ghost story collections, the Department 18 series of supernatural thrillers, stand-alone horror novels, the Bahamas series of action-adventure thrillers, as well as a handful of stand-alone thrillers. As editors, they were responsible for the Enigmatic Tales and Darkness Rising series of anthologies, as well as single anthologies in the horror and crime genres. The DCI Jack Callum Mysteries are his first to be written under his own name.
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Excerpt:A Dangerous Life: The Second Jack Callum Mystery Excerpt No 3 – Len Maynard
WEDNESDAY MARCH 18TH 1959
“What do you mean, she won’t identify the body?” Chief Superintendent Henry Lane said as he paced back and forth in his office.
“Just that,” Jack said. “She can’t leave the house.”
“Well, that just won’t do. We need a formal identification.”
“She’ll get her doctor to write a letter of excuse if we put any pressure on her.”
“Excusing her for carrying out her public duty?” Lane said, a vein in his temple bulging ominously as his temper rose. “Never mind her duty as a wife.”
“She’s agoraphobic, sir,” Jack explained patiently. “She suffers from extreme panic attacks if she goes out into the open. Her doctor will confirm that, or so she says. WPC Banks is going to verify that on her way in this morning.”
“Never heard such rubbish,” Lane muttered and stopped pacing. “Well, what are you going to do about it, Chief Inspector?”
“His parents live in Shillington. I’m going to pay them a visit and see if they’ll oblige.”
“Yes, do that, and then we can move this investigation onto a more formal footing.” Lane sat down at his desk and picked up a pen that was lying on the blotter in front of him. He tapped it against his teeth and put it down again. “Nailed to a tree and tortured. What a way to go,” he mused quietly. “Do you think the wife had anything to do with it?”
“I’m not sure,” Jack said. “WPC Banks suggested the same thing.”
“Bright girl that one. Anything else?”
“Mrs Turner gave me a list of people who might wish her husband harm.” Jack took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and laid it on the desk under the chief superintendent’s nose. Lane glanced at it and then snatched it up and studied it more closely.
“I’ve heard of some of the names on here,” he said sounding appalled.
“There’s a couple I recognise too.”
“Our Mr. Turner could give Mussolini a run for his money in the popularity stakes. Are you going to talk to all of these people?”
“I’m certainly going to try.”
“Well, speak to the parents first. See if they can shed any light.”
Jack walked to the door. “I’ll get over to Shillington.”
He drove through the picturesque village of Shillington, tucked just inside the Bedfordshire border. He’d been here some years before when he was looking to make the move from Tottenham in London but had dismissed it as being too rural, too much of a departure from his urban roots.
The Turners lived in a bungalow situated at the blunt end of a cul-de-sac. The surrounding houses looked well appointed, with neatly cut lawns, tidy flowerbeds and clusters of trimmed conifers.
He walked up the gravel path and rang the doorbell, sheltering under the tiled porch from a thin drizzle that had started to fall from a leaden March sky. A tall man with short iron-grey hair and a military bearing opened the door almost immediately. His eyes narrowed as he peered at Jack’s warrant card. “You took your time,” he said bluntly. “After the Harpy’s call I was expecting you last night.”
“The Harpy?”
“The Franklin woman.”
“Your daughter-in-law?”
“Our daughter-in-law was Polly…the lovely Polly.” His voice caught in his throat. “But she was like a real daughter to us in so many ways. The Harpy took her place. She usurped her, damn the woman!”
“I gather that you two don’t get on. So why did she telephone you to say that I wanted to see you?”
“My wife took the call. I hardly ever see the Franklin woman, thank God.” He extended a hand. “Laurence Turner,” he said, stepping to one side. “You’d better come in.”
He led Jack inside the bungalow. It was modestly furnished with a three-piece-suite that was probably new just after the First World War, and had seen its own share of battles since then.
“I was hoping to speak to both your wife and yourself,” Jack said.
“Jean won’t see you. As I said, she took the ’phone call from the Harpy and after that she took to her bed, unable to face the fact that her son, her beloved Anthony, was dead. If she sees you it will make her face the reality of the situation and she’s not strong enough for that…not yet anyway.”
“Your daughter-in…Lois…told her the reason I wanted to see you?”
“You want me to stare at a body on a slab and confirm that it’s my son,” Turner said bluntly. “Yes. She told her, and no doubt derived a lot of pleasure in doing so.”
“They’ve taken him to North Herts Hospital. The mortuary there is…well, the staff…know how to handle these things sensitively.”
Turner flopped down on one of the armchairs and buried his face in his hands. When he took them away from his face Jack was expecting to see tears moistening the old man’s cheeks, but the cheeks were dry and the old man’s eyes had lost none of their disdain.
“Don’t expect me to grieve, Chief Inspector,” Turner said when he noticed Jack’s interest. “I’ll shed no tears for that one.”
“But he was your son, and the manner of his death was…”
“He was my son,” Turner interrupted, “but he was also an unmitigated shit, and I don’t care who knows it. He broke his mother’s heart, never visiting her from one year to the next. And as for poor Polly… That girl deserved so much more out of life. When she fell ill and needed her husband at her side she got nothing. While she lay dying my son was off, having it away with that American whore.”
There was sheer venom in his voice.
“We have a granddaughter, you know, who we haven’t seen since her mother passed away. Can you imagine how much that hurts us?” Turner said, his eyes tearful for the first time.
“I can imagine, sir,” Jack said gently.
“Can we go to the hospital now and get this over with?” Turner said, gathering himself.
“I can drive you there.”
“Let me go up and see my wife, to tell her I’m going to be out for a while. North Herts Hospital you say?”
Jack nodded.
“Bloody inconvenient,” Laurence Turner said sourly.
As they crossed the border back into Hertfordshire, Jack said, “Lois wrote me a list of names of the people who might have wanted to harm your son.”
“Did she? May I see it?” Turner said unemotionally.
Jack took a folded sheet of paper from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to him. For a short while there was no sound in the car apart from the steady swish of the windscreen wipers, the thrum of the Wolseley’s engine and Turner’s slightly stentorian breathing.
“It’s quite a short list,” Turner said at last. “I can think of at least three more names, not including my own.”
“Your son was really that unpopular?”
“It’s hard to credit isn’t it? Tony Turner, star of stage and screen. Loved by the masses, loathed by those who really knew him.”
Jack fished in his pocket again, produced a pen and handed it to Turner. “Just add the names to the bottom of the list, if you wouldn’t mind. Don’t bother to add your own.”
“As you wish,” the old man said.
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