Samantha March's Blog, page 6
November 17, 2014
#99CentSale Plus #ChickLit #Giveaway! Dangled Carat by Hilary Grossman
My fabulous friend Hilary Grossman is having a big 99 cent sale for her fictional chick lit title DANGLED CARAT, and giving readers an awesome giveaway to go along with it! Be sure to snag your copy at the discounted price, and enter to win yourself some designer perfume!
About the Book
For every girl who wondered if she should love him or dump him…..
For every girl who listened to her heart instead of her friends advice….
For every girl who l wondered if she was wasting her time dating that guy….
meet Hilary….
She had gotten used to dating the commitment-phobic Marc, thirteen years her senior. They had a great relationship–why rush into things? She saw no need to pressure him for marriage, believing that when the time was right, he would propose. But after they had been together for four years, their friends decided to take matters into their own hands, pushing Marc to propose and making Hilary realize how much she really did want to marry the man that she loved. Unfortunately, Marc still wasn’t ready–and their friends’ meddling in the form of a faux engagement party led to a disastrous New Year’s Eve that brought their relationship to an inevitable turning point.
For anyone who has ever dated a commitment-phobe, who has found their patience wearing thin with the one they love, or who has sat around wondering if he is ever going to pop the question while trying to remain the very picture of patience and grace, Hilary’s humorous and honest story will hit home.
About the Author
Hilary Grossman dated a guy so commitment-phobic that she was able to write a book about their relationship. She has an unhealthy addiction to denim and shoes. She loves to find humor in every day life. And she likens life to a game of dodgeball – she tries to keep many balls in the air before they smack her in the face. When she isn’t writing or blogging she is the CFO of a beverage alcohol importer. She lives on Long Island.
Hilary Grossman dated a guy so commitment-phobic that she was able to write a book about their relationship. She has an unhealthy addiction to denim and shoes. She loves to find humor in every day life. And she likens life to a game of dodgeball – she tries to keep many balls in the air before they smack her in the face. When she isn’t writing or blogging she is the CFO of a beverage alcohol importer. She lives on Long Island.
a Rafflecopter giveaway
October 29, 2014
CLP Turns 5 Plus Huge Giveaway Ending This Week! #ChickLitPlus #Giveaway
Grab your party harts, people, Chick Lit Plus is turning 5!That’s right, my little book blog that I started in October of 2009 is celebrating the big 0-5 this month. That’s the second longest job I’ve ever held in my life 
I’m so proud of this milestone, and still pretty amazed at how my life changed by the one small decision to buy my first laptop, hire a blog designer, and talk about my love of books. Now books are my full-time career, and I am loving every minute of reading, writing, and talking books.
To celebrate, I have some amazing sponsors who are donating some seriously sweet prizes for you to win. There will be 8 winners total, and the prizes are detailed in the widget below. Please use the Rafflecopter to earn you entries, and support all the fabulous sponsors! Thank you to everyone for all the support over the years. A blog can’t survive without readers, and I am so appreciative and grateful to my loyal readers. Thank you! And good luck 
a Rafflecopter giveaway
October 24, 2014
Please, Pretty Lights Author Ina Zajac Talks #WhyIStayed
#whyIstayed is a popular hashtag these days. I commend those who are sharing.
I’ve been asked often since the release of “Please, Pretty Lights” the same question. Where did you come up with this story? I know what they are really asking. “Have you been beat up?” I like to remind readers that it’s fiction and not memoir. Still.
I have never been slapped or hit in the face. He skipped that part. He went from shoving to attempted murder. He never hit me though. The progression of domestic violence isn’t always so predictable as people like to think.
That was many years ago. We had been out at a sports bar. He had been furious with me. I can’t even remember why. He had been drinking—a lot. On the way to the car he shoved me so hard I ended up sitting on my ass on the sidewalk, my dress grimy from the wet asphalt. I had braced my fall with my hands, so they were bleeding. Just a little. Someone came over and asked me if I needed help, but he stood in their way saying, “She’s fine, her heels are just too high.”
“I’m fine, thanks.” I told the guy who knew otherwise. He shook his head at me and walked away. I didn’t want help. I wanted the nice guy to just go away because I was embarrassed. Back in the day, embarrassment used to override every other emotion for me: including fear.
Embarrassment made me want to work it all out in my head somehow. Maybe these shoes are kind of high? The pavement is slick. It’s so much easier to have that be the story instead of the truth: the man who is supposed to love me and care for me is treating me like trash. But that night, something just clicked inside my head. As I stood up and picked the bits of cement out of my palms, I decided I’d had enough, though I was too afraid to tell him so. On the ride home he spoke the words that I used in Please, Pretty Lights. “I’m sorry you made me do that, but you just make me so angry.”
The next day I returned to my childhood home and confessed the awful truth to my mother. “I’ve made a terrible mistake,” I told her. She lovingly took me in, just as I knew she would. I begged her not to tell a soul. I was one of the lucky ones. I had a job, a college degree. I had a place to crash. So many women don’t have that luxury.
A few weeks later, he came over and pounded on my mother’s front door in the middle of the night. She was a nurse and worked the graveyard shift., meaning I was alone. As I went to the door, my heart felt like it was trying to escape my body by way of my throat. I looked out the front window and saw the neighbor’s lights coming on. He was screaming and threatening to kick the door in.
And then I did the most idiotic thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. I unlocked the door and let him in. I had to calm him down. His cursing was reverberating through the cul-de-sac. Everyone would know. I had, after all, chosen this man. Built my life with him.
He had been drinking. A lot. He came at me, grabbed me and started shaking me. The light above my head finally clicked on. He wasn’t fucking around. He was going to hurt me, maybe kill me. I considered screaming, but STILL feared having my private life cracked open like a piñata. I didn’t want my neighbors – the same folks who gave me candy on Halloween and cookies at Christmas – to know I had chosen to fall in love with this crazy man. Instead I ran for the phone. This was before cell phones, and the phone was attached to a wall in the kitchen. Until he pulled it out of the wall, that is.
He didn’t look like the man I had known for three years; the romantic man who wanted to cuddle, who wanted to marry me. Tonight, he was a man who wanted to kill me.
It was time to scream.
He backed me up against a large second-story window that looked out to the back yard; the back yard where I had played as a kid. Where I had laid out in the sun as a teenager and dreamed of falling in love someday. He told me he was going to push me through, and down onto the concrete below. He wanted to break my neck. He pushed, but I pushed back. I pushed against him with everything I had, while a swirl of questions rushed through me. Would the window hold? Would the hard concrete kill me? Why had I let him in?
And then an officer came upon us and pulled him off me. Another officer took me into the living room. I heard sirens. I looked out to see three squad cars with lights flashing across the faces of my neighbors, who lined the sidewalk.
They witnessed my darkest moments. They watched as the police dragged him to a squad car as he yelled, “I’m going to fucking kill her!”
I was shaking uncontrollably. An officer put a blanket over my shoulders. I was too shocked to cry or speak. I was embarrassed, but I just didn’t care anymore because, god dammit, I was alive.
He did 10 days in jail. He did counseling. He’s made amends. He still isn’t legally allowed in my home state, which works for me.
An important quote in Please, Pretty Lights is “remember who you are.” They are the last words a young girl ever hears from her mother, a long-suffering victim of domestic abuse. It is my hope that readers will take these words to heart.
For information about support services and counseling, call the National Domestic Abuse Hotline at 1-800-799-7233.
Ina Zajac is an experienced journalist, avid people watcher, and lover of quirk and contrast. She holds a bachelor’s degree in journalism from Western Washington University and a masters in mass communication, with a emphasis in women’s studies, from Arizona State University. Zajac’s fiction writing is heavily influenced by her fascination with music, art and her hometown Seattle. Her debut novel, Please, Pretty Lights is on sale now.
About Please, Pretty Lights
It’s September when good girl Via Sorenson stumbles into a Seattle strip club, drunk and alone on her twenty-first birthday. Matt and Nick—best friends, bandmates, and bouncers—do their best to shield her from their sadistic cocaine-trafficking boss, Carlos. They don’t realize her daddy issues come with a forty-million-dollar trust fund and a legacy she would do anything to escape.
She is actually Violetta Rabbotino, who had been all over the news ten years earlier when her father, an acclaimed abstract artist, came home in a rage, murdered her mother, then turned the gun on himself. Young Violetta was spared, hidden behind the family Christmas tree, veiled by the mysticism of its pretty lights whose unadulterated love captivated and calmed her.
Now, desperate to shed her role as orphaned victim, Via stage dives into a one-hundred-day adventure with Matt and Nick, the bassist and drummer of popular nineties cover band Obliviot. The rock-and-roll lifestyle is the perfect distraction—until she is rattled by true love. As Christmas looms closer, her notorious past becomes undeniable. How will she ever untangle herself from her twisted string of pretty lights?
Social Media Links:
Website: http://www.inazajac.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/InaZajacWrites
Twitter: @InaZajac
Find the Book!
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22585226-please-pretty-lights
Amazon: amzn.to/1rDB4hv
Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/please-pretty-lights-ina-zajac/1119984959?ean=9781620154588
October 22, 2014
CLP Blog Tours: Interview, Guest Post & Excerpt: Crisis of Serenity by Denise Moncrief
**Interview**
What are 5 items you never leave home without.
My cell phone, my purse, my keys, my debit card, and dental floss
For your own reading, do you prefer eBooks or traditional paper/hard back books?
I love the feel and the smell of traditionally published paperbacks. There’s nothing like turning real pages that an e-reader just can’t copy. With that being said, I read 99% of new books I buy on my Kindle. The truth is that I ran out of room in my house for another bookshelf, and carrying a whole library around is a lot easier on a Kindle. Plus, every time I bought another book I thought I could hear the trees groan.
What is your favourite color?
Red
What advice would you give to aspiring writers?
Never stop writing. Never stop researching and studying the art and craft writing. Engage in conversations with other writers. Pay attention to what readers say about what they like and don’t like. No matter how much a writer loves her book baby, publishing something no one wants to read is discouraging at best and depressing at worst. No matter how successful a writer becomes there is always something that can be added to the writer’s set of writing skills.
Which writers inspire you?
I have a great amount of admiration for writers who have consistently produced published works for years, whether the writer is published by a big house, a small press, or is an indie. Releasing books year after year takes a lot of persistence and courage, because the publishing industry can be hard on the ego. Right now one of my favorite writers is Heather Graham. The success of her Krewe of Hunters series encouraged me to start a series of paranormal romantic suspense books.
Do you have a favorite snack/drink while you write?
Coffee, coffee, and coffee. And when I run out of coffee, I make another pot.
Do you write in silence or do you have background noise?
My family makes a lot of noise. I’ve learned to tune out the distractions. I don’t intentionally listen to anything while I write, but there is always noise in the background. Someone is playing a video game or watching NCIS or listening to music. As I write this, the dishwasher is churning. There is always white noise in this house.
If you met the characters from Crisis of Serenity do you think you would be friends or foes?
Definitely friends. I think I’ve created likeable, easy to get along with characters. Tess is the kind of person I’d love to know, and Jake is the kind of man that could easily become my hero.
**Guest Blog**
Ten Things That Might Surprise An Unpublished Author
You should have heard me squeal when I got the email offering my first publishing contract. There is nothing more magical to an unpublished writer than the words, “If your story is still available, we would like to offer you a contract.” My family thought I’d found a snake in the house…again.
Before my first release, I didn’t know much about becoming a published author. I thought all I had to do was write a great story. Silly me! After two years, I’m still finding out what it means to be published. Here are a few things I’ve learned along the way.
Hiring an agent is not like hiring a plumber to fix your sink. — Because there are so many unpublished writers wanting access to the big publishers, agents can afford to be choosy about whose work they represent. One doesn’t hire an agent. An agent hires a writer.
People can be blunt, thoughtless, or even mean-spirited when reviewing a book. – It is easy to be harsh hiding behind the Internet. Sometimes reviewers forget there is a human being with real feelings behind the book. The key to understanding the reviewer is that she considers the review to be her review of your book not your review of your book.
Books do not sell themselves. – Readers will not automatically know a book is available for purchase. Promotion can be both time-consuming and expensive, sometimes with very little return for the effort, but there is nothing more satisfying to an author than the words, “I bought your book and I loved it.”
Readers have certain expectations and some of them will get testy when those expectations are not met. — An author’s vision for the book is useless if no one is interested in the premise or the way it’s delivered. A writer must be familiar with generally accepted expectations for her genre and remember to give the reader what she wants.
Most authors will support you instead of treating you like the competition. – There is a definite vibe of “we’re all in this together” running throughout most of the writing community. Some of a writer’s best friends are writers she’s never met face-to-face.
Unless you make time for it, there will be less time for writing. – Promotion can consume a writer’s every waking thought if she lets it. If a writer does nothing else to further her career as a writer, she should make time to write.
Writers leave gaps in their stories and don’t realize it. – A writer’s mind will fill in plot gaps because she knows the backstory, the details, and the reasons for her characters’ behavior. A writer should ask people she trusts to read her work, people who are willing to tell her when her story is missing something. Which leads me to my next thought…
A good editor is priceless. I’ve had some good editors, and I’ve had some less than stellar editors. If a writer is lucky enough to acquire an editor who knows what she’s doing, she should make sure she lets her know how much she appreciates her.
Success will not come overnight for most writers. – What writer doesn’t dream of being discovered and having her book baby turned into a movie? The truth is that most writers will never make a living from being published. A successful writer has committed to a long-term publishing career, sticking with it until she has an established fan base. Which leads me to my last thought…
Once a writer is published, it’s too easy for her to forget why she writes. — Being a published author can be the most rewarding thing in the world for a person who loves the power of the written word, but a writer can lose her joy if she becomes bogged down in everything that comes after releasing her first book. The writer should never lose her focus and remember every day why she began writing.
Why do I write? It’s a compulsion. If I can’t write, I might as well not breathe. I promote what I write because I want someone to read it.
**Excerpt**
With my purse strap crossed over my body, I ventured out my front door, but not without drawing in a quick breath of bravado and glancing right and then left. No one seemed to be lurking in the shadows, waiting for me to make a dumb move, like leave my apartment to do my laundry. The weight of the .22 caliber handgun hidden in the depths of my purse bounced against my ribcage. It wouldn’t do anyone much damage, but maybe it would injure a bad guy enough to slow him down for me to get away.
I winced. The rhythmic pounding of the gun on my chest would probably leave a nice purple bruise. When I approached the entrance to the small Laundromat on the grounds of the apartment complex, I shifted the basket to my hip and then pushed the door open with my butt. Before I could take another step, the basket slid out of my arm.
Anger shot through me. So much of my paycheck had been surrendered to retailers who sold me towels and underwear. No one was going to take my laundry. I turned to face the thief, ready to yank my weapon from where I had concealed it. My hand stalled when it should have kept moving. I froze as I stared into the eyes of Iverson.
He passed me and entered the small coin-operated laundry, then deposited the load on a nearby washer before turning to me, a smirk of pure delight covering his handsome features. I never understood how someone so good looking could be so heart ugly. He seemed to be waiting for me to speak first. I bit my lower lip to keep from blurting what I was thinking. My thoughts had to do with him and the fires of hell and how I might help him make his journey there, but he was still law enforcement, and there was nothing I could do to speed his journey that was even remotely legal.
Finally, he took a step toward me. I remained frozen, still propping the door open with my backside, my hand clutching the shoulder strap of my bag, fingers twitching and itching to dig inside the purse’s depths to retrieve the gun. I refused to run like a scared little girl. I’d faced off with the coward before; I could do it again. He didn’t scare me…much.
“So, Tess…” He smiled, a wicked glint in his brown eyes. “Can I call you Tess? Or have you assumed a different identity again?”
I closed my eyes, hoping Iverson was only a nightmare. When I opened them, he was still standing two paces away from me.
“You know what name I use or you wouldn’t be here.” I glanced at the nametag above his left breast pocket. It appeared someone besides me was using a false identity. “Officer Jacobs.” Our eyes met, understanding passing between us like a bolt of electricity. There was no way his presence in Gatlinburg was a coincidence. I stepped closer to him, the door bumping my butt as it shut behind me. “I’m a live and let live sort of girl. You live your life and I’ll live mine, and let’s don’t get in each other’s way. Agreed?”
He laughed. “You’ve always had more guts than someone in your position should have.”
I groaned. I’d heard that before from his partners in crime. No one had been able to tie Iverson to the killings, but I was certain he had played a part in the double murder of Les Corona and Mark Padget, as well as the stabbing death of Anya. Both Iverson and I had left the shadow of those crimes behind in Colorado.
He glanced up and down my body, causing me to shiver with disgust. Why did men like him always look at me that way? I studied my reflection in my full-length mirror every morning. I wasn’t what anyone would call hot. Not by any definition. Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t have body issues. I was fine with me the way I was. Always had been.
I had changed my appearance so many times over the years when I was running from the law and the bad guys that it was satisfying to look like me for a change. My dirty blonde hair was long and unruly, tied in a ponytail at that moment. My hourglass figure was bottom heavy, accentuated by the tight pants I was wearing. A man once said I had a bubble butt. Height-wise, I probably came up to the shoulder of Iverson’s six-foot frame. My proudest feature was my trim waist. I was what the fashion industry derisively called a plus size. An insulting label, since I was a size 10.
“Do the local cops know who you are?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Do the local cops know who you are?” I countered with just as much scorn.
A mischievous fire glinted in Iverson’s eyes. “I’ll stay out of your way and you stay out of mine.” I didn’t believe he meant to leave me alone. He closed the final step between us, so close I could smell his cheap cologne and the sickly sweet scent of chocolate-covered donut. “But if you cross me, Tess…” His eyes shifted over my shoulder. From where he stood, there was a clear view between buildings 8 and 9, straight across the street toward the side of Joyce’s daycare center.
I narrowed my eyes. In that moment, Iverson and I had a moment of total understanding. His threat to Joyce snatched my breath from my lungs. My knees wobbled a little. I was afraid I’d go down if I didn’t say or do something quickly. I sputtered the first thing that came to mind. “Leave her alone or I swear I’ll kill you.”
Author Bio:
Want to know a little bit more about Denise? She’s a Southern girl who has lived in Louisiana all her life, and yes, she has a drawl. She has a wonderful husband and two incredible children, who not only endure her writing moods, but also encourage her to indulge her writing passion. Besides writing romantic suspense, she enjoys traveling, reading, and scrapbooking.
Accounting is a skill she has learned to earn a little money to support her writing habit. She wrote her first story when she was a teen, seventeen handwritten pages on school-ruled paper and an obvious rip-off of the last romance novel she had read. She’s been writing off and on ever since, and with more than a few full-length manuscripts already completed, she has no desire to slow down.
You can connect with Denise at
http://www.denisemoncrief.com
http://www.facebook.com/DeniseMoncriefAuthor
http://www.twitter.com/dmoncrief0131
http://www.amazon.com/author/denisemoncrief
October 21, 2014
CLP Blog Tours Interview & Excerpt: The Tantalizing Tale of a Bitter Sweetheart by Jessica Ashley Dafoe
**Interview**
When did you know writing was for you?
Writing has been a passion of mine from the time I was a child. I found joy in creative writing and would cheer when the teacher told us it was creative writing time in school. Even on my free time at home I would work away on stories. My mom would then take my hand written stories, type them up on her type writer and make book covers for them with a label indicating author and title, as if they were published creations. Story-telling through the written word has always been in my blood.
Why was The Tantalizing Tale of a Bitter Sweetheart a book you wanted to write?
After living in Toronto, Canada’s largest city for 7 years, a city that can be unforgiving to the determined, career-minded single woman, and after experiencing some of the turmoil (some in hindsight, quite entertaining) first hand, and also hearing about stories from friends and acquaintances) I just began to want to scribble down a confessional that I intended to be partially autobiographical. My own narrative voice began to get lost as I found myself meshing circumstances together and combining my own experience with friends’ experiences. I suppose I was always meant to write fiction. I scratched the autobiographical genre and allowed the fictional voice to take the lead. Portia was born and I had never even expected her!
I love your cover! Can you tell us who created it and how much input you had?
I am extremely pleased with the cover and how it was developed. I knew that seeing as the Parisian visit is the pinnacle of the story and involves a huge transition in the plot, I wanted the Eiffel Tower somewhere on the cover. I bought the rights to the sketch from an online stock photo artist. The original was in full colour. I sent it off to Friesenpress and they worked their magic. My request was to leave only the flowers and her lips in colour and for the rest to be made black and white. I wanted to visually meld the transition in Portia’s life, from dark and uncertain, to a glint of brightness and cheer on the horizon. I also requested the textured border and a smudging of the line between the border and the sketch to give it an original and eye-catching appeal. The Friesen design team was on point and I couldn’t be happier with the results.
What is the hardest part of the writing process for you?
I am a bit of a perfectionist so often times get hung up on editing all of the formatting and the grammatical correctness while I’m generating the first draft. I wish I could just let it go and focus purely on the story then worry about that all on second or third revision. Sometimes I feel that this interrupts my ideas and train of thought.
What are your favorite genres to read?
I absolutely love the classic romances. Jane Austen tops the chart, obviously. I also enjoy historical fiction, but after reading such complicated novels during my English Literature degree days, lately I prefer to read purely for entertainment. I love to laugh and therefore enjoy humorous women’s fiction. I suppose that’s why I have chosen to become an author of the same genre. I seek to entertain and make people laugh.
What do you want readers to take away from your story?
In all honestly, I simply want women (and maybe some men) to be able to identify with the characters and become inspired by the eventual tenacity and change that occurs in a few of the characters’ circumstances. Mostly, I just want readers to be entertained by the fun and frivolity of it all.
How important do you think social media is for authors these days?
It is paramount. Promotion tools are right at our fingertips and it makes connecting with readers so much simpler.
What would be your advice to aspiring writers?
You’re not a writer if you’re not actually writing anything, so write! Just put pen to paper or open up that lap top and you’ll be amazed with the stories that will take hold of you.
**Excerpt*
“Portia!! Portia!! Get up already! You’re about a zillion minutes late for your first day. Come on you lazy imp!”
Oh, I hate being torn out of a lovely slumber when I’m in the middle of the most wonderful dream; woken up by the horrendous bellowing of none other than my meddling, unbearable roommate, Minnie. The dream was perfection, and waking to a reality that can only be described as the exact opposite of perfection, is highly undesirable, yet this similar feeling each morning as I come to, has been my lot in life.
I slowly open one eye to see a familiar, thin, curly haired red head glaring at me from my bedroom doorway. I quickly shut it and feign being back in a deep sleep. Why oh why can’t I wake up to a dark haired, charming and handsome man as opposed to this?
“I saw that, Portia Delaney!” she sounds frustrated. “Not only are you late, but you’re making me late too, because I’m doing my duty as your friend and roommate to be sure that you don’t screw this one up! Now get on with it! Up, up, up!”
At this point she has found her way to the bottom of my bed and is now dragging me by my perfectly pedicured feet, because you never know when you may end up on a date with a gentleman who is won over by a well-cared for set of tootsies, (although I haven’t been on a date with a “gentleman” in over 6 months), and has just about gotten me to the point of full on bailing off the bed when I give in.
“OK! OK! You maniac! I’m up and I can be ready in 5 minutes flat, so get your skinny rear out of my room and let me get myself together. Thank you and please be on your way now.” I quickly jump to my feet after Minnie has unhanded them, and sternly guide her out into the hall slamming the door behind her. “Have a lovely day!” I manage to say in a sharp and clearly irritated voice.
Minnie is a workaholic, freakishly organized, highly paid executive at an ad agency. Why she still wants or needs a roommate is beyond me. I suppose it’s because work is her life and any ounce of energy she has, she wants to be poured into her career, not her home life or even love life for that matter. Minnie is the power-hungry career oriented woman who honestly, no word of a lie, could not give a damn whether she ever marries or has a family of her own. Sometimes I wish I had that mindset, because I, Portia Delaney, am ever hopelessly focused on finding that one soul mate
Now what? Dressed, yes I must choose an outfit for the first day at yet another mind-numbing, low paying office job at yet another medical office. I really want to be styling the rich and famous, not to mention designing clothes that are intended to be strutted down the runways of Paris and Milan; not to be stuck in a dead end job that has me working for pompous and self- absorbed doctors, who get to drive off in their luxury cars and head home to their glamorous trophy wives not to mention who give absolutely no notice of the front desk help. Why didn’t I listen to my heart instead of my nagging parents?
Alright, outfit, yes outfit. Well this is the most inexcusable tidbit of all. I’m here selecting an outfit for a first day at a job where my only selection can be from an assortment of various coloured scrubs, when I want to be making a selection between Gucci and Versace. Lavender it is, I suppose. With that disgruntled decision made, I reach for my terribly ordinary lavender scrubs, quickly pull them on, jet into the bathroom and whisk a brush through my hair while applying a pinch of foundation and blush. A bit of tinted lip gloss and a quick once over with the toothbrush and I’m set to go. Yes to go to my …well…bore of a career. Pay increase or not, just the thought of getting compensated to give up my dreams on a daily basis makes my stomach turn, and anxiety take over.
“But enough of this negativity Portia Delaney” I say out loud to my reflection in the hall mirror, “You are a successful, adorable, intelligent, creative and inspirational woman with amazing potential. For you nothing is impossible!” Ok, so do I actually believe this bunk… not a word. My shrink surely is trying to make me think I do, but let’s face it I’m at rock bottom with S.O.S. carved in the sand and flare guns blazing.
I suppose, however, there is nowhere to go but up. Work is blah, love life is blah, family life is… well, is what it is. My friends are mostly amazing, but sometimes having great friends, who seem to have it all together, just help to highlight everything lacking in your own life. With that summation of my view on my life circumstance, I slip on my god awful, yet comfy crocs, grab my Mark Jacobs purse, because I must still demonstrate some good taste in my daily wardrobe, and strut out the door while working those lavender scrubs to the max.
Author Bio:
Jessica Ashley Dafoe resides in Toronto where she is an educator by day and a literary enthusiast and writer by night. She attained her BA in English Literature at The University of Ottawa and her B Ed at Brock and Queen’s University.
When Jessica does not have her nose in a book or is not scribbling out her ideas for her newest tantalizing tales, she’s most likely keeping busy trying out various exciting activities and delicious cuisine that the great city of Toronto has to offer or planning her next getaway to her immediate destination of choice. The travelling bug bites her often.
A romantic comedy addict to the core, she enjoys all things silly, frivolous and emotionally endearing which is the reason she writes stories that encompass all of these qualities.
Connect with Jessica!
Google + is https://plus.google.com/u/0/117399747869953006853/posts
Twitter is https://twitter.com/City_Rhapsody
Linkedin is https://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=349932591&trk=spm_pic
Goodreads is https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8419937.Jessica_Ashley_Dafoe
Buy the Book!
Amazon: amzn.to/1sWNBYZ
October 8, 2014
Travel Tales: Green Bay, Wisconsin
If you follow any of my (multiple) social media accounts, you’ve probably seen by now that I was in Green Bay, Wisconsin last week for a Packer game. Since I started a new category on here titled “Travel Tales” I of course had to share my experience!
To give some background, my husband and I are huge Packer fans. We are also owners (we bought stock a few years back and proudly have the certificate framed and hanging in our home) and love everything GBP. Now, before you ask, I was a Packer fan before I married or even met my husband. My family is also a bunch of cheeseheads, and my stepfather has a giant G logo painted on his basement wall. We are Packer family, and after dating Cowboy and Bears fan throughout the years, you can imagine my excitement that I finally found my guy who happened to be a Packer fan himself. Whew. If only we could agree on baseball…
Different topic for a different time. Back to Green Bay – this was going to be our first game in Lambeau (though not our first Packer game) and the excitement was really freaking high between the two of us. The game was on a Thursday night against the division rivals Minnesota Vikings, and we were pretty convinced it was going to be a competitive game since their new young quarterback played well the week before and the weather called for drenching rain. We bought ponchos and prepared ourselves for a wet and wild game.
To our somewhat surprise, the game didn’t turn out anything like what we expected. Drenchbowl 2014 was no such thing, as the rain was never “drenching” and stopped completely by the second half. The game was a blowout, with the Packers winning 42-10, and the backup quarterback for the Vikings played because of an injury. We saw offensive and defensive touchdowns from the Packers, saw the defense get interceptions and sacks, and danced to the touchdown song so many times I lost track in the 3rd quarter. Lambeau is an amazing stadium. I was shocked that I didn’t have to wait once to use the bathroom. The people – both Packers and Vikings fans – we’re fantastic and friendly. The tailgating was such a fun time, and we even won free scratch tickets from the Wisconsin lottery and won on those!
Looking back, I feel like the game passed in the blink of an eye. But my pictures are proof of what an amazing time I had. I’m not even smiling in the majority of the pictures, my mouth is wide open because I was having the time of my life there. Our first trip to Green Bay will most definitely not be our last, and I can’t wait to visit again!
September 26, 2014
Happy 1st Birthday Aries!
I had planned this week to write a post for my authors helping authors section, but then I remembered a very important event happening this week – my pup is turning one! That’s right, Aries is going to hit the bit 0-1 this Friday And since we all know I am “that person” with my dog, I knew I would need to write this post.
We haven’t had Aries quite a year yet (we got her in November at 8 weeks old) but to think that she’s already turning one is pretty surreal. My husband and I love to look at old photos of her or watch videos from our first weeks together. One 
of our favorites is her trying to climb the stairs in our house – slowly, one at a time – and when she got to the top it was like it was such an accomplishment. Now, she takes the stairs three at a time going up and going down – I swear she just flies.
She had truly proved the “velcro vizsla” tag, always wanting to be not just by us, but on us. She used to share my office chair with me when she was a tiny pup, and even now at 45 pounds she insists on sharing it with me still. But let’s be serious, most times I have half a cheek on the chair while she snoozes comfortably. At night, she falls asleep on my husband’s lap while they watch TV together in his chair, and when you say “bedtime” she 
races up the stairs and crawls right into our bed (and most nights under the covers).
Irecently started The Cheeky Chicks with my bestie Holly, and we joined in the #petsloveusdoingyoga challenge through our Instagram page. Basically, each day you do a new yoga pose with your pet. Holly and I both have dogs and switch days or sometimes we get to post together, and this has been an abs
olute blast and allowed me to get some gems of Aries. I typically have to use the self-timer on my camera unless my husband is home, and the beeps of the timer fascinate her. If you don’t follow my Facebook page, I suggest you do, because I post almost all of them there. But I’ll share a few here too Is she not hysterical?
So Happy Birthday to you, the one and only Aries J. My best friend, my yoga partner, and first fur baby. You’ve brought so much joy to my life that I couldn’t begin to imagine when we first started talking about getting a dog. And I’ll share this quote that I read once and it meant so much to me as a dog owner: “She might be only a part of your life, but for her, you are her everything, the only person in her whole life.”
September 18, 2014
CLP Blog Tours Spotlight and Excerpt: What I Really Learned in College by Addison Winters
Addison Winters is on tour now with CLP Blog Tours and What I Really Learned in College. Keep reading for an excerpt from the book, and be sure to enter the giveaway to have your named appear in a future book from Addison!
**Excerpt**
We spent the next several weeks until the end of the semester continuing our naughty little tryst on the afternoons after class. We would disappear to my house four days a week and play for hours. I had turned into the instructor and Mason my willing and eager student. And as time went by, he stayed later and later, under the guise of studying. At least until mid-May, when he mentioned to Max that he had played on his high school baseball team as catcher also. After that, Max was sold. As soon as he’d come home after school, he’d have Mason outside practicing. It wasn’t long before Max had invited him to watch his practices which, of course, led to Saturday morning games.
Lisa and Kim had gotten used to his presence and had stopped teasing me about my beanie boy, at least when he was around. However, the other moms . . . they were a problem. It was bad enough, in general, I was an easy ten years younger than the vast majority of them. Most were successful career women or die-hard stay at home moms. They viewed Lisa and me as social pariahs and a threat to their happy little lives. The married ones felt threatened that we’d flirt with their husbands and the divorced crones hated us for having something akin to a social life. The sidelines at any junior league sporting event reminded me of being back in high school it was so cliquey.
And the majority of these women were vicious. If their husbands so much as spoke to us, their claws came out. It was common to see any one of these women casually waltz over to her husband’s side, place a hand on his arm—a clear claim of ownership, and smile through her fangs as a warning. It was pathetic how sad these women were. They might as well pee a little circle all around their husbands cause that was exactly what they were doing. And the divorced ones were even worse. They truly considered us their competition if not their enemy. They envied our energy and our age. There was an invisible line drawn on every set of bleachers regardless of the sport.
Now, they wanted to begrudge me Mason. I could hear the whispers behind my back about his age, how they called me a cougar when they thought I couldn’t hear them, or the looks of disapproval they would glare at me whenever I looked their direction. I knew they were jealous. There was no way in hell these ladies could ever have a twenty-one year old cabana boy as sexy as Mason.
And it didn’t take long for word to spread. Memorial weekend, I was getting breakfast ready while the boys, Mason included, were playing X-box when my cell phone rang.
“Hello,” I answered without looking first at the number and immediately regretting it.
“Good morning, doll. How are you?” A familiar voice greeted me.
“What do you want Danny?” Annoyance immediately took over. “You know I got Max a cell phone so we don’t have to have these pleasant conversations.”
“I called to talk to you. I have been hearing some interesting things about you lately and I was curious. After all, I am concerned about my boys.”
“Good grief, Danny. What do you want?” I flipped the blueberry pancakes and leaned against the counter.
“I heard you were having a naughty little affair with the paper boy,” he said, trying not to laugh.
“What? Who told you that?” That was the very last thing I expected to come out of his mouth.
“A little birdie told me.”
“Imagine that.” Max must have told him about Mason helping him with baseball and how much time he was spending over here, even after our class was done.
“So, how old is this kid anyway?”
“What I do or who I do is none of your business, Danny.” I tapped my fingers on the counter.
“It’s my business when he’s spending so much time with my sons,” he countered.
“You gave up that right when you gave me sole custody and decided to move across the country. You have no right to say anything about what I do. I would never do anything inappropriate around them, in front of them, or anywhere near them. You know I wouldn’t. Don’t you give me any shit. God only knows what you’re doing down there.” I walked out onto the back deck so no one would hear me.
“Geez, Alex, don’t get your panties in a bunch. I was just teasing you.” He laughed. “Seriously, though, how old is this kid?”
“That’s none of your damn business.” He’s such an ass.
“Oh come on, I’m only playing. What happened to your sense of humor? You used to have one.” He chuckled.
“I don’t know, maybe it went away when my low-life of a husband cheated on me?” I stated flatly.
“Ouch, you might want to get that checked soon. Alex, or you could turn into a real bitter bitch.” His laughter made me wish I could slap him across his smug face.
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait, Alex. Seriously, Max told me you were happy.” His laughter died away. “He said you try to play off that you two are only friends but he knows there’s something going on between you two. He said he can tell by the way Mason looks at you that he’s in love with you.”
“Max told you that?” I turned around and looked at my back door half expecting Mason or Max to be standing there.
“Yes, he told me that last night. So why are you trying to hide your relationship from the boys? You obviously like this man,” Danny inquired.
“Jesus, Danny. Really? Why do you think? Mason is younger than me.” I sighed audibly. “Okay, a lot younger than me. He’s twenty-one.” I closed my eyes and waited for that to sink in.
“Good Lord, Alex. He’s a child! What the hell are you thinking?” He laughed again. “When Max said younger than you, I was thinking he was twenty-six or twenty-eight, not twenty-one!”
“It’s just a fling, Danny. That’s all.”
“Does he know that?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly.
“You may want to tell him before this kid gets too attached to you or the boys to him,” he pointed out. I hated him for actually acting like the responsible adult when I should have been.
“I know,” I whispered. “I will.”
About the Book
Alex Rose is a 32-year-old divorced mother of two, looking for a better life for her and her sons. In search of answers, she returns to college to finally get that degree she’s always dreamed of. What she finds is something she wasn’t even looking for.
Mason Brooks is every girl’s dream: 21 years old, tall, with dirty blond hair that curls when it’s wet, sea-blue eyes, and dimples. Hot, sexy…and deliciously naïve and innocent.
Enter a tantalizing world where an average soccer mom utilizes her newfound knowledge of psychology to make life just a little more interesting. Follow along as Alex educates Mason on the art of seducing and pleasing a woman. Take notes as she introduces him to a whole new level of intensity and sexual pleasure. Study the sensual art of tantric sex as Alex creates her own style of silk and lace female dominance.
This little tryst will never survive past college–but Alex is determined to enjoy it the fullest while it lasts.
Author Bio:
Addison Winters graduated from Indiana University Purdue University Indianapolis with a BS in psychology. She loves music, can be found “dancing” around her house when no one’s home, and is notorious for blowing the speakers out on her car. She’s been known to surprise her children with Jell-O balloon fights and to pull “devious” pranks on her friends. Addison enjoys playing basketball and softball and is proud to be the team captain for the Happy Hooters in the Striking Out Cancer, annual Ladies Softball Tournament. She is also an avid reader and enjoys spending time in her gardens and with her family. She and her husband, Monte, have three children, three puppies, and an oversized cat. They reside in Indiana.
Connect with Addison!
https://www.facebook.com/AddisonWintersAuthor
https://twitter.com/sexyaddison
Find the Book!
Amazon: amzn.to/1oXJJrn
Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1119956811?ean=2940149823727
GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23123044-what-i-really-learned-in-college
a Rafflecopter giveaway
September 17, 2014
Upcoming New Blog Series: Authors Helping Authors
I’m thinking about starting a new series on my blog, hopefully posting once a week (or so!) for maybe two months and calling the feature Author Tips or Author to Author, something along those lines. I get a lot of emails, tweets, Facebook messages, etc from other authors asking questions: should I make my book 99 cents or free for a limited time, do Facebook ads work, what is BookBub, how do you format books, how can I make my book an audio book, etc. I love helping other authors. Am I know it all in the industry? Not even 
close. For one, I’m simply not and can never pretend to be, but also, this industry is always changing. Was it a year ago, maybe just a bit more, that making your books free on Amazon was the thing to do? Not so much anymore! It’s all about the quick 99 cents promos. Goodreads had authors turning away the past few years, they are slowly gaining back their popularity. So it’s ever changing and can sure be a struggle to keep up. I also enjoying helping for a different reason – five years ago when I was first starting out, I asked a lot of questions, to a lot of different authors, and it was rare if I didn’t hear a response back. They were so helpful! And authors are busy people – we’re trying to write, we’re trying to edit, and more importantly – we’re trying to market ourselves. So to have so many authors get back to me and want to help me and want to see me succeed – I just want to keep that circle going.
So I have a few common questions that I’ll start out with (hopefully next week!) but if you see this post, please either comment or find me all over social media and ask a question and I’ll either expand on it in a blog post, or I’ll get back to with my answer! The author community is a special one and I’m proud and thankful to be a part of it!
September 1, 2014
Vegas Trip – August 2014
Yep, this post is all about Vegas baby! Oh my gosh, our recent trip was such a blast. When I heard a few authors from BookTrope were going to be doing a book signing out there, I knew I wanted to go. My husband and I thought it would be fun to have a little mini-vacation, and since we’re busy the weekend of our one year anniversary, I thought it would be the perfect way to get a little celebrating in since it would be just the two of us. We left Des Moines Friday afternoon and landed in Vegas that afternoon (yay, time difference was in our favor!) and then once we got our shuttle and checked into our resort (Harrahs) we literally dropped our bags and hit the Strip. We walked through so many of the resorts, stopping at a few casinos, just looking around, peeking into shops. After a few hours we were pretty ravenous, especially with the two hour time difference, and we stumbled into Bubba Gump Shrimp and had a seafood dinner, which was delicious and actually reasonably priced being on the Strip and all. After dinner, we just went back to the Strip and walked through some more resorts like Paris and Planet Hollywood, and then we ended up at Flamingo’s for most of the night at a really fun blackjack table. We didn’t get back to our room until two, and we might have ordered room service because I decided I was starving. Yeah, that happened.
Saturday morning I was up at 730 thanks to the time change again. We left Harrahs probably at ten or so, and took a right out of the hotel this time instead of left and hit the holy grail – food! McDonalds, Panda Express, pizza by the slice, $2 foot long hot dogs. What??? I was so upset we hadn’t found that sooner. I know Vegas is kind of known for the buffets, but I don’t eat that much at one time so buffets are kind of lost on me, and for $30-50 a person….eesh. After a quick stop for some McDons breakfast we went through resorts such as the Venetian, Treasure Island, I think the Mirage. Then it was time for the BookTrope book signing, so we kept walking to the Palazzo, which is seriously such a beautiful (and big!) place. The signing was at Bauman’s Rare Books , and if you are a book nerd like me and in Vegas, you have to go here. It was so amazing to see all these incredible books, and I’m so glad I was able to experience it. There I got to meet Ina Zajac and Shari Ryan, who were signing their books, and also Jen Gilbert, who is a book manager like me with BookTrope.
That night we also had a BookTrope dinner at The Sugar Factory, which is in Paris, and Marni Mann from BookTrope came along as well – oh, and our husbands of course (check out that photo!) and dinner was just incredible. When you work with people on a daily basis but only over email or phone or Skype, it’s kind of surreal to be able to meet them in person. Especially when you speak the same language. I love my friends, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not sure anyone quite understands what I do, or what can get me really excited, and these women could. That experience alone made the Vegas trip priceless to me. The night went way too fast, but we turned in fairly early that night after what was a crazy long day.
The next morning we headed back to The Sugar Factor because I realized (the horror!) I didn’t get anything sugary from them. Say what? So I had (see photo) an ice cream sandwich for breakfast. Yep, I sure did. When in Vegas, right? And then it was just back to the hotel to pack and check out and catch the shuttle to the airport! Quick trip, but such an amazing one! I loved being able to get an escape just me and my husband, and we had such a fun time together. I worried because I thought Vegas would be more of a party atmosphere and we might be crazy going just the two of us, but it was awesome. The perfect mini-vacation before we hit a particularly crazy stretch of weddings. And getting to meet Marni, Ina, Shari and Jen…incredible. I could have talked all night with these ladies, and I am so ready for our next BookTrope get-together.
Now it’s just weddings, weddings, weddings, and the start of football season. Go Pack Go!
