Melissa Snark's Blog: The Snarkology, page 16
December 31, 2015
Your Writing Journey by Jay Swanson (Contest) @Goddessfish #SciFi #amwriting
Any good journey requires a tattoo. Tattoos require ink. Sometimes you can’t find good ink on your journey, so you’ll have to do your best with memories alone and hope that they don’t fade before you find yourself in a place with better supply lines.
Spoiler: don’t get tattoos in the Congo.
When I started writing my first book I was in the process of selling everything I owned and moving to South Africa to work on the world’s largest private charity hospital ship. I started that first book on one continent and finished it on another, a pattern I would somehow maintain for the three books that would follow.
For me, a writing journey isn’t so much about learning to love stories, reading voraciously, starting to write, and stumbling into my first novel. Writing is an outpouring of everything I’ve seen, every place I’ve been, and everything that has happened to me in the midst of those experiences.
You can’t travel and not be changed.
We like to think we enter the world to change it, but it is the world that changes us. This is one of the most challenging aspects of losing our pride, which is a greater hindrance than most would like to admit. We are so very small, and that’s ok. Perspective changes not who we are, but how we relate to everything around us (which, in turn, does change us foundationally).
I wanted to save the world, but the world has been the one to save me far more frequently.
My journey is encapsulated in my latest story in the same way that everything I write holds some part of me – but Into the Nanten holds much more. It’s the story of a man who has been exiled into the world’s most hostile jungle in search of a man that he hates, a man exiled there 20 years before him. It’s the story of a man wrestling with the consequences of his passion, with the loss of those he should have loved, with the murder of those he did.
And in the midst of all that, it’s the story of his unblinding. It’s the story of his self-realization, of understanding just how little he truly understands. Knowing how much more there is to know.
Marceles na Tetrarch enters the jungle much as I entered Western Africa: duty-bound and under orders. Marceles and I both fled our failures; we both hoped to return better men. Yet somehow in the midst of that, there is a realization that better men may not exist – the distinctions begin to fade. The surety of what we want and who we want to become dissolves before the strangeness of the ‘other’ we discover.
The world is not as we always imagined it to be. Those we meet do not hold to the same ideals, nor do they see ‘good men’ as the ones with the same traits we would uphold. Whose good is better? Whose right is right?
At a foundational level, Marceles and I both want what is good and right, and I think we both understand that such things do exist. There is Truth with a capital “T” out there, but we mistook our lenses for the world beyond them and in the process called them “Right.”
As we both have learned, the warrior and the writer, often ‘right’ is exactly what you must let go in order to discover something better. Truer. Nearer the mark. Sometimes the ink you find is better than the ink you knew, even if it doesn’t meet the standards you always held.
Let’s hope we both survive long enough to arrive at the place and peace we seek.
Moving along the soil is the quickest way to die; for Tolly to survive she must learn to stay silent. Life on farms like hers was difficult enough in the face of plague and a decade of drought, but something worse has come to the foothills under the Highridge Mountains. Something that will destroy everything she loves.
Mere miles away, Vanig’s search for water to revive his farm is cut short when soldiers arrive bearing dark news of disaster striking farms throughout the region – and they suspect he is the root cause of it all. Those suspicions spike when a disheveled warrior appears hundreds of miles from home and takes Vanig hostage.
Death looms in the shadows of the Highridge.
Buy Links:
Excerpt:
“Farmer.” Gaptooth grabbed Vanig by the shoulder and turned him. “We ain’t walkin’ no farther. You do your thinkin’ on the way back.”
“Do you think I came out here to ruminate?” Vanig was shocked at how the anger boiled over, but he followed it.
“To rumiwhat?”
“I need to make a survey of these draws.” Vanig shoved the soldier’s hand off his shoulder. It felt good. “Take measurements. Draw. No amount of thinking will move it without knowing just what I’m moving it through. You think because I live out here that I’m some stupid mystic. Sacrifice a goat and maybe this time the rain gods will bless me with abundance? Well they won’t. Gods and man have abandoned this place all the same. It’s a waste; and without someone like me to change that, that’s the way it will stay.”
Crooknose stepped forward to speak, but Vanig held up his hand.
“I need an hour. Give me that. Go drink your fill and sit down to rest. Gods know you both need it.”
Crooknose shoved his finger into Vanig’s chest. “Listen here you goat lovin’, dirt humpin’, ignorant piece of shit. We’re leavin’, and we’re leavin’ now.”
“We are not,” Vanig growled. “So get your finger off my chest.”
“Don’t move. Any of you.” All three of them jumped at the sound of the voice. A new voice, one they didn’t recognize. “I mean it! Don’t move. Take one more step and you’re all dead.”
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Jay Swanson is the creator of Into the Nanten, the world’s first real-time fantasy blog. He is also author of a spin-off novel, Shadows of the Highridge, the standalone short novel Dark Horse, and the Vitalis Chronicles trilogy. Jay grew up in Washington State, and has lived all over the world since then. Jay served for three years with Mercy Ships, a medical charity that runs the world’s largest private hospital ship, the Africa Mercy. In each country they visit, Mercy Ships donates free surgeries to the world’s forgotten poor, alleviating the suffering that so often accompanies a lack of access to medical care. He started in IT, then worked as the editor for their international Creative Pool, and finished as the on board Media Liason.
Paris will always have a place in Jay’s heart; he lived in France for two years, but he’s currently working in the US as a consultant on electronic medical records. Basically, he lives on planes.
Jay has a background in design and video production which have been instrumental in his self-publishing endeavors. Jay was telling stories from an early age, and latched on to video as soon as he discovered he could borrow people’s cameras. The stories that would one day become the Vitalis Chronicles began to take form in Jay’s head as movie ideas while he was still in college, and he began writing them down when he realized that they might make good books as well as films (and that if he died in Africa, there would be nothing left to prove they ever existed). He started writing White Shores in May of 2010 and finished on Christmas day of that year in Applesbosch, South Africa.
LINKS:
https://www.facebook.com/jay.swanson.author
https://twitter.com/jayonaboat
GIVEAWAY INFORMATION and RAFFLECOPTER CODE
Jay Swanson will be awarding an e-book of Shadows of the Highridge to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
December 27, 2015
Book Two of The Musketeer Series: A Sexy Rendition of Classic Characters
You are blood of my blood. Flesh of my flesh.
Sometimes kingdoms fall not by war but by beauty—wrapped in silk, drenched in sensuality, and smelling of honeysuckle. The Comte de la Fere longs for a love more fulfilling than youthful sin. The new sovereign finds his match in a mysterious woman, Anne, who beguiles him with her poetic intelligence. Setting aside good judgment, the young Frenchman marries her, despite many sinister undercurrents. Her temptation is too great.
“Athos & Milady: In the Beginning” chronicles the early heart-breaking story of Milady de Winter and Athos before their paths cross in “The Three Musketeers.” Definitely not a book for school-aged readers, this novel is a sexy re-imagination of two characters from the classic novel by Frenchman Alexandre Dumas. It claims its French-ness in many poetic, passionate scenes of longing, woven together by imagery from the Book of Genesis.
EXCERPT:
The silence of the sanctuary made Athos pause. He listened to his breathing and inhaled incense and exhaled potential. Heading toward the priest’s study, a cold chill blew from the direction of the confessionals. He strained and heard a door click shut. Aware it might be the priest, he walked over and found the hem of a silvery fabric protruding from a closed confessional door. Someone rustled inside.
He stepped up to the door, but the priest’s booth was empty. A voice from within the next compartment stopped him from knocking.
“Delays, delays.” Followed by a long sigh.
Athos froze. It was Anne.
She started humming, a nocturne or a hymn. It was lovely, the pitch and the drama, like she was purring the notes in secret contentment. The hum deepened. He knew if he made any sound he would give himself away, and part of him wanted to. The other part was fascinated by the cat in the cupboard.
A minute passed and the notes from her lengthened until she wasn’t singing. Her tone imparted animalistic pleasure, the kind from a cat of bigger size. He’d hear an mmm and an umh while the fabric of her dress shifted inside the cramped, wooden box. Her hands were making long passes across the fabric—Where would that place them now? Her breath hitched and resumed, heavy with need. The movement sounded like swirls of an autumn breeze, fanning her body. Dramatic rests interspersed her music. She was holding her breath. Longer and longer. The fabric rubbed in rhythm. He nearly spoke, taking the words right out of her mouth, his own lips pressed moistly to the door, at the moment she peaked: Oh God. The air rushed out of her, and the stray hem of the skirt slipped inside at the vibration.
All the wind left him, too, though under tight control. He laid his palms silently on either side of the door and dropped his head. Air, I need air. He tried to collect himself and move. His body was rigid. All that separated her from him was a slat of wood and a metal swivel. In every other way, they were on the same plateau.
“Excuse me.” The voice hit him from behind like a splash of frigid water. Athos buckled and straightened as quickly. Father de Breuil stood at the centre of the pews, leaving several rows between them. “May I help you?”
Buy Book Two, Athos & Milady, on Amazon
Buy Book One, Blood, Love and Steel, on Amazon
About Jennifer Fulford
Lover of all things Musketeer, Jennifer Fulford became fascinated by The Three Musketeers after watching the Alexander and Illya Salkind movies from the late ‘70s. She was particularly taken by the character Athos, who was played by a smoldering Oliver Reed. Later, she read the classic novel by Alexandre Dumas and loved the story much more. She decided Reed’s character, Athos, had more life to live, so she jumped from journalism to fiction and learned the craft as she wrote. Fond of poetry and handwritten letters, she uses both forms in her novels to heighten the passion and romance. She doesn’t consider herself a genre romance writer, so readers may find her novels less formulaic. She writes and lives in western North Carolina and loves correspondence from readers, either online or by mail. She rarely throws out cards and letters but tucks them away to savor for years. She is partial of the Pacific Northwest (her adoptive home), the Great Smoky Mountains, and a good bottle of gin. If she had time, she’d learn to fence.
Connect with Jennifer
Her blog, www.LivingOnInk.com
Her series, www.TheMusketeerSeries.com
Her freelance side, www.JenniferFulford.com
On Goodreads
On Amazon
On Facebook
On Twitter
On GooglePlus
New Siqdor by Stephen J. Carter @Goddessfish #SciFi
The environmental stilling on the planet of Nebura escalates, threatening to advance even beyond the world-girding storm ring. Meanwhile, Levrok’s plan to arm a resurgent Siqdori Empire with a tulvar arsenal nears completion, and his departure off-world is imminent. Two survivors’ groups join forces as events spiral out of control.
“NEW SIQDOR” is the 2nd book in the “Zero Point Light” SF series, and delivers a thrill ride of untold mayhem, hair-raising escapes, space colonization gone awry, and a descent to the ocean floor and beyond!
EXCERPT:
A still night river scenery. Full moon reflects on calm water, and the fog is flowing in the chilled night air.
Mick and Turok had been resting at the bottom of every second chamber. Mick’s worry over their exhaustion had receded. They both got their second wind. As his state of mind eased, his enthusiasm and interest revived. They were lying on a membrane from which they could just make out a slight difference in the distance above them. Mick felt sure it was only three, at most four, chambers to the surface. More importantly, the inky opacity of the ocean beyond the column wall had finally begun to lighten. They were at a depth of almost two hundred feet. Turok again swiveled his arms and hands, lifting his upper body away from the membrane, then kicked lightly and was off again. Mick sighed inwardly and followed.
The ambient light outside the column seemed to increase with each scissor-kick, a welcome change. Mick was puzzled by what then came into view. It was like walking along a path through a park lit by moonlight. Outside the column the ocean on all sides was visible for maybe a hundred feet, but in the next chamber comparable visibility doubled. The world beyond the column had suddenly broadened out with alarming speed. Moreover, directly above they could make out what looked like a bright terminus to their column. Surrounding that, however, was a much larger and perfectly circular, anti-corona of darkness. Outside that was the surface of the ocean itself, gradually increasing in brightness, though still dimmer than the top of their column. Mick suddenly realized they were looking at the undersurface of the seaport. Approaching the membrane they were surprised to see a large hole in the wall in the next chamber, opening up the column all along one side. As they passed through the water was suddenly much warmer,
and the water pressure was almost unbearable. Ocean water had obviously filled the damaged chamber long before. Visibility was worse than in the column water. After rising about twenty feet the wall’s damaged section was within arm’s reach.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Stephen J Carter is a Canadian writer living in Chiang Mai, Thailand. He completed a PhD in Social and Political Thought at York University in Toronto in 1997. This led to an 8-year period of teaching at universities in South Korea, Taiwan, and Thailand. In 2006 he settled in northern Thailand, and began writing fiction full-time in 2007.
In his early years he made several short-term forays into film and video production while involved full-time in academia. Along the way he tried his hand at writing non-fiction in and out of academia, and 8 years ago finally committed full-time to writing fiction.
For Stephen there is something about this northern Thai city that makes it a perfect place to write. His preferred genres to date have been horror and science fiction. On the one hand, he sets his horror novels in Thailand because Thais have such vivid customs that touch the supernatural. On the other hand, disheartened by the cultural Marxism that dominates social discourse now in the West, he feels drawn to writing science fiction for the rational optimism over possible futures it affords. Approaching SF formerly as pure escapism, he finds in it now a source of hope and forward thinking that can be very inspiring.
Stephen looks forward to writing several more novels in his two current series, Zero Point Light and Z Inferno.
LINKS:
http://www.amazon.com/Stephen-J-Carter/e/B00IUPJIP0
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/872381.Stephen_J_Carter
https://twitter.com/stephenscifi
https://www.facebook.com/stephenjcarterauthor?fref=nf
http://www.stephenjcarter.com/
GIVEAWAY INFORMATION and RAFFLECOPTER CODE
Stephen will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner, and a Digital copy of New Siqdor from Amazon to another randomly drawn winner; both prizes via rafflecopter during the tour.
December 17, 2015
Fallen angels don’t belong on trees: PROPHECY #99cents sale
Centuries after the fallen angels left heaven to live among humans, their Nephilim descendants dwell in secret, hidden from the modern world. Once, a charismatic leader known as the Phoenix led their people, but he vanished centuries ago. The few surviving Great Houses are in decline, bickering over petty rivalries while a handful of faithful warriors battle to keep the forces of evil at bay.
Eighteen-year-old Aiden McLachlan devotes her life to her studies and pursues her lifelong goal to become a full-fledged Watcher. But everything she knows of her life is a lie and everyone a liar. Through a strange twist of fate, she finds herself caught up in an ancient prophecy.
The stars predict the rebirth of the Nephilim leader, but the mystery must be unraveled or the Phoenix cannot rise. With a soul-eating demon, a coven of ancient vampires, and a hardheaded Celtic warrior competing to subvert the Phoenix, Aiden doesn’t know where to turn or who she can trust.
December 16, 2015
Moon Dark by Patricia Barletta (Contest) #Historical #Romance @Goddessfish
Lady Sabrina Dunfield is desperate. Widowed and destitute, she must rely on the dubious benevolence of her secretive uncle, an art collector living in Venice. Determined to make her way and provide for her young son, Sabrina is forced to take on clandestine and 
dangerous errands for her tyrannical relative. But when a mysterious shadow man saves her from an assassin’s blade, she knows she must do everything in her power to keep her son safe.
Alessandro D’Este, Prince of Auriano, is cursed. Doomed to live a life half in shadow, he is determined to free himself and his family from the evil that stalks them. When Alessandro saves the English woman’s life, he is captivated by her beauty and shocked at her ability to touch him in his shadowy form.
When Sabrina meets Alessandro in his human form, heady attraction sparks between them. She has no idea he is her shadowy savior, and she wonders what her life might be like with this charismatic man. Alessandro has never met a woman who affects him this way. Although life has taught him to trust only family, Sabrina might be the key that could deliver him from the diabolical darkness.
Buy Link:
Excerpt:
Venice, 1797
Someone—something—was following her.
Lady Sabrina Barclay hurried between the close-set houses of the humble sestiere of Santa Croce. She caught movement from the corner of her eye—down that narrow alley to the right, another to the left, even across the slippery tile rooftops. The motion was too quick, too nimble for a human. A shuddery twinge tiptoed down her back.
The alley opened into the Campo di Rigali, ringed by the plain stucco walls and dark windows of the houses. She halted in the shadows. Her destination was the chapel across the tiny square. Anxiety gripped her as she thought about crossing the open space to get there.
She peered into the deepening twilight. Nothing moved in the dusk. A line of laundry strung between two windows hung motionless. She could see no one lurking in the shadows. Of course she was alone. Everyone was out on the canals or celebrating in the Piazza San Marco. This was the time of the spring Carnevale.
Sabrina picked up her satin skirts and hurried across the cobbles, past the carved stone well. At the chapel’s wooden door, she glanced over her shoulder. As she did, her half mask caught on the hood of her black wool cape. She wanted to pull off the frippery of green velvet and yellow feathers, but instead, she pushed her hood back. No one went unmasked during Carnevale, and she had been told to remain anonymous. If anyone learned her identity or discovered the purpose of her errand, her son’s safety, her entire world, would be in peril.
Something skittered in a dark corner. Her hand tightened on the door pull of the chapel, the decorative ridges digging into her palm. She peered into the shadows. Only a rat. She grimaced in distaste.
An olive oil lamp flickered on in one of the small windows. Its pale light cast the animal carvings on the stone well into relief and threw the well’s shadow across the paving stones. She pressed back against the door and hoped no one could see her. With a click, shutters closed over the light. Stillness. Gloom. Yet she sensed eyes watching. Not from the windows. From somewhere else. She glanced up to the roofline of the houses but saw no silhouette against the dark, ethereal blue of the Venetian sky. An owl winged silently away into the night. The distant snap of a Carnevale firecracker startled her, prompting her to move.
Uneasy, she slipped into the chapel and leaned against the plain wood of the closed door. The sense of watching eyes receded, and she forced a breath into her lungs.
The chapel was small and dim and appeared to be deserted. The backless benches marched in formation to the sanctuary, where the carved white marble altar and the altarpiece behind it seemed to be waiting in holy repose. The sanctuary light glowed like a benevolent red eye. But she felt no sense of peace.
Gathering her courage, she pulled up her hood and hastened to a bench halfway down the aisle. Her soft dancing slippers made no noise on the marble floor. The muted swish of her satin skirt and petticoat sounded loud in the quiet. She had dressed as if she were attending a ball. Instead, she was here in this dark chapel on an errand that she had to complete.
The scent of incense and beeswax hung heavy in the air, still chilly despite the warming days of early summer. She shivered and hugged her woolen cloak closer as she sat. Pulling off her gloves, she folded her hands in her lap, bowed her head, and pretended to pray.
Her errand was to be conducted in secret. If someone followed her . . . No, she would not think of that. She must focus on what she had to do: Retrieve the note. Deliver it.
But first she needed to be sure she was alone. She listened for a footstep, a whisper, a breath—anything that would indicate another’s presence in the shadows. She heard nothing.
Sabrina glanced around in the dim light. The chapel was tucked into a quiet, working-class corner of Venice. No songs of gondoliers, no greetings of acquaintances passing on the canals, no shouts of Carnevale merrymakers reached her here. The silence was unnerving, but it assured her of solitude. A bank of votive candles cast a soft glow to the left of the altar. Shadows flickered along the frescoed walls and made the saintly figures portrayed there appear to dance. The stained glass windows, which would have sparkled like jewels during the day, were dull and dark, foreboding. Instead of safety and refuge, the dim chapel held an air of menace.
She turned from those unsettling walls and windows to the altar and the crucifix hanging there as if she were beseeching the Almighty, but no prayer formed on her lips. She waited, forcing herself to be patient, her fingers curling into her skirt. She just wanted to be done with her errand. Furtively, she glanced left and right. She saw no one.
She ran her fingers beneath the rough wood of the bench until she touched a small piece of folded parchment affixed to the underside. Prying the small square from the wax, she rolled it into the palm of her hand. Her errand was almost complete. She released a silent breath.
About to bow her head again, she saw the candle flames jump from a draft. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Someone else was here. She sensed a presence that curled icy tentacles around her heart. A presence that triggered a frail wraith of memory: Evil.
Run. The word exploded in her brain.
She gasped, snapped her head to the right. A shadowy black figure stood beside her. Before she could move or think, it lunged and shoved her off the bench. She cried out as she landed with a teeth-jarring thud on the marble floor. The breath in her lungs whooshed away.
A stiletto skimmed past her ear and thunked into the bench before her. It quivered in the wood, mere inches from her nose. The metal blade gleamed black and menacing. She scuttled back, only to be blocked by the bench behind her.
The dark figure had moved to the aisle and seemed to hover inches above the floor. It was a human-shaped shadow, but more—denser, blacker, canceling all light within its outline. Its eyes glowed like molten gold. They stared directly at her, and for a moment, she could not move. Could not breathe. Those eyes were frightening. Beautiful. Hypnotic.
She tried to suck in enough air to scream. Only a whimper emerged from her throat.
The figure pointed to the door. Run. There is danger here. The words growled loudly inside her head.
With a leap, the figure rose into the darkness of the vaulted ceiling and disappeared.
Sabrina gaped up and blinked. Shock froze her. She tried to gather her wits, blinked again. That shadow thing had pushed her aside, saving her from the deadly blade and certain death. Her blood went cold.
Run. The shadow’s voice jabbed through her head again.
As she scrambled up, she realized she had dropped the message. Frantically, she searched for the little white square. She had to retrieve it. She shook out her skirts, skimmed her shaking fingers beneath the bench, over the cold marble of the floor.
Nothing. The note was gone.
Abandoning her search, she picked up her skirts and fled to the door. Behind her, she heard a strangled cry and a sickening thud, like a body hitting the floor from a great height. Then silence. The sense of evil snuffed out.
She escaped into the deep twilight of Venice. The sky still glowed cobalt, but the city was dark. The sliver of moon shed little light. Shadows were deeper, blacker. Sabrina rushed back across the square and entered an alley so narrow that the stucco walls of the houses were barely far enough apart to allow two people to pass each other. She checked over her shoulder. Someone could easily trap her. She hurried on, wanting only to reach her gondola.
In this modest part of the city there was little Carnevale celebration, so no one strolled the alleys, no old men sat outside to chat. She was alone. The solitary patter of her footsteps seemed much too loud as she hastened to the canal where her gondolier waited. The relative safety felt very far away.
Somehow, someone had learned of her errand. The errand that was to be performed in secret—to collect the note and deliver it to the uncle of her late husband. She had failed him. He would be displeased. Sabrina didn’t want to imagine what form that displeasure might take, but she would do everything she could to protect her son from him, the man who allowed her to live beneath his roof.
And she would protect her son from the person—the evil—who had tried to kill her.
But someone—something—had saved her life. A shadow with eyes of molten gold who could speak to her inside her head. The creature intrigued her, awed her, captivated her. Frightened her with its strangeness.
Her stomach lurched. Fear from what was behind her overcame her apprehension of the scalding reprimand that lay ahead. Damning her voluminous skirt and petticoats, she raced the rest of the way to her gondola.
Book review by Melissa Snark
Moon Dark’s lovely cover was the first thing that caught my attention, but the story proved to be every bit as engaging as the heroine’s gorgeous red dress. Patricia Barletta is an excellent writer and an equally wonderful storyteller. Moon Dark pulled me right in and captured my attention in a way that kept the pages turning. I loved Sabrina and Alessandro, and the pair has great chemistry together. Because it’s a historical, I was able to enjoy the hero’s cocksure masculinity without my inner feminist getting too riled. (Always an issue with contemporary romance.) But all else aside… OMG, the Italian hero of Moon Dark will just curl your toes. He’s delicious. I hardly ever give a book 5 stars, but I am this time. A page turner for fans of historical romance.
I received the review copy as part of a book tour.
GIVEAWAY INFORMATION and RAFFLECOPTER CODE
Patricia will be awarding winner’s choice of an ebook from Lachesis Publishing to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Patricia Barletta always wanted to be a writer. That was right after she realized that becoming a fairy ballerina or a princess wasn’t going to happen. But being a writer meant she could go places in her head and be other people as much as she wanted. She could even be a fairy ballerina or a princess!
As a native of the Boston area, Patricia has been inspired by its history, which influenced her stories, and probably had an impact on her decision to become a high school British Literature teacher so she could pay the bills. She received a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing degree at the fabulous Stonecoast program in Maine. And now she’s an author writing about dark heroes, feisty heroines, magic, and other fantastical things.
Find out more about Patricia Barletta and her books on her website: www.patriciabarletta.com
Connect with Patricia Barletta on facebook: Patricia Barletta on facebook: https://www.facebook.com/patricia.barletta.3?ref=br_rs
December 15, 2015
A Snowy White Christmas by Josie Riviera (Contest) #Romance @Goddessfish
Margaret Snow doesn’t believe in fairy tales, but as a devoted mother she’s determined to give her five-year-old daughter a Christmas filled with heart-warming memories.
The once successful LA swimsuit model returns to her small upstate New York town to buy back the foreclosed trailer she once called home. Her menagerie of rescue animals travel with her.
She doesn’t expect to see her former high school sweetheart, the athletic, ever-popular, and decisive Fernando Brandt.
Sparks fly when she realizes that the teenage hockey star is now a successful Realtor who is also interested in her dilapidated trailer for reasons of his own.
But can she resist the handsome, charismatic Prince Charming a second time?
And can she surrender her insecurities and accept the true gift of Christmas, finally feeling worthy of unconditional love?
Excerpt:
All the poise and modeling classes were forgotten in the space of a second.
Fernando. Fernando. Fernando. It couldn’t be, not after all these years. She drew in a breath and held it.
He brushed a hand through his dark hair, dampened from the icy weather. “I heard you were back in town.”
She swallowed. How did a man look so put together in this type of weather? Her voice returned and matched her shaking body. “You live in Owanda?”
“I thought I did, although you’re making me question it.” He looked around, a slight smile gracing his mouth. “Remember we lived two blocks from each other?”
Except she’d lived in the double-wide trailer at the edge of a trailer park and he’d lived in a cozy bungalow with white shingles and a red front door. She looked off for a moment, needing to focus on something else, anything else. Grumpy appeared to be sleeping.
“How could I ever forget?” she asked.
Fleeting hurt dimmed his gaze, but the smile remained. “You forgot quickly, actually.” He took a step forward, seemed to think better of getting closer, and halted. “I’ve missed you.” He glanced at the parrot. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. He’s blind.”
“Deaf.”
“Does he talk?”
“No, but sometimes he sings off-key.” She looked pointedly toward the street. “Probably because he’s speechless at the terrible weather.”
Fernando laughed. “It’s not so bad here. Summers are very pleasant.”
GIVEAWAY INFORMATION and RAFFLECOPTER CODE
Josie will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour, and a $10 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn host.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Amazon Bestselling Author, Josie Riviera, is a member of Romance Writers of America (RWA). She writes contemporary and historical sweet and Christian romances. She’s a transplanted New Yorker now living in the sunny Carolinas. She has three grown children and shares the empty nest with her husband and the family dog.
Josie’s an expert at board games and a compulsive reader of every genre, especially romance. In her spare time, she eats Peppermint Patties because they’re lower in calories than other chocolate candy.
You can email her at josieriviera@aol.com
She ALWAYS answers.
Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/Josie.Riviera
Tweet me at@Josieriviera
Visit my blog, The Italian Blog, for recipes and updates at josieriviera.wordpress.com
Other Books by Josie Riviera:
Seeking Patience (Regency) http://tinyurl.com/a9nnbwy
Seeking Catherine (Tudor Novella) http://tinyurl.com/9cka84m
We’d Rather be Writing http://amzn.com/B01638N5PO
Lightning Strikes http://amzn.com/B0090MXP0Q
December 14, 2015
The Hunter’s Moon (Book 1–Secret Warrior Series) by Beth Trissel @Goddessfish #Fantasy #Romance
Seventeen year old Morgan Daniel has been in the witness protection program most of her life. But The Panteras have caught up with her and her younger brother. Her car is totaled, she’s hurt, and the street gang is closing in when wolves with glowing eyes appear out of nowhere and chase away the killers.
Then a very cute guy who handles a bow like Robin Hood emerges from the woods and takes them to safety at his fortress-like home. And that’s just the first sign that Morgan and her brother have entered a hidden world filled with secrets.
Available from:
Excerpt:
Oh, no. Was the wolf hit? Morgan prayed not. She sensed him trying to protect them, and couldn’t imagine why, or why he seemed like ‘her wolf’.
Cries, like the shrieks of a panther, carried through the trees. A chill crawled down her spine. Were the woods filled with creatures she thought long gone from these mountains?
More wolfish snarls erupted and snapping, tearing. Good. He lived. She nudged Jimmy. “Can you see anything?”
He craned his head around the rocks. “Not through the smoke and fog.”
Eerie howls rose from the surrounding woodland on every side. A whole pack must be gathering. Morgan wasn’t certain whether to be frightened, fascinated, or hopeful of rescue. Still light-headed, not sure she even saw clearly, she watched the black wolf reappear; with him, a great white wolf whose green eyes shone like starlight. The most extraordinary yet. Together, the two loped after the brown and gray one. Judging by the high-pitched calls, there were more wolves out there. And panthers, or were they mountain lions?
Snarls, growls, and the shrieks of enraged felines ripped through the smoky shroud. The pack wasn’t after her and Jimmy. Not now, anyway.
GIVEAWAY INFORMATION and RAFFLECOPTER CODE
Beth will be awarding a $30 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour, and a $15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn host.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Married to her high school sweetheart, Beth Trissel lives on a farm in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia surrounded by her human family and furbabies. An avid gardener, her love of herbs and heirloom plants figures into her work. The rich history of Virginia, the Native Americans, and the people who journeyed here from far beyond her borders are at the heart of her inspiration. She’s especially drawn to colonial America and the drama of the American Revolution. In addition to YA fantasy romance, she also writes historical, time travel, and paranormal romance, plus nonfiction.
For more on Beth visit her blog, One Writer’s Way, at: https://bethtrissel.wordpress.com
Connect with Beth on Facebook: Author Beth Trissel:
https://www.facebook.com/bctrissel?fref=ts
At Twitter: https://twitter.com/BethTrissel
Visit Beth’s Amazon Author Page where all her books reside: Amazon Author Page
http://www.amazon.com/Beth-Trissel/e/B002BLLAJ6/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1435416800&sr=8-1
December 12, 2015
Available for pre-order: GENESIS BOXED SET #Urban #Fantasy @PureTextuality #99cents
Genesis [jen-uh-sis]
Definition: an origin, creation, or beginning.
From demons, weres, and vampires, to dragons, shifters, and angels, GENESIS is the ultimate must-have boxed set for any urban fantasy & paranormal romance fan. GENESIS brings you eight new worlds to sink your teeth into. From some of the genre’s brightest talent, each title in this boxed set is the first installment of the authors’ respective series.
Featured in Genesis:– The Devil You Know by J.M. Gregoire
– Ghost of a Threat by Beth Dolgner
– Everlasting Hunger by Brandy Dorsch
– Fallen by Julie Morgan
– Spark by K.C. Stewart
– The Mortal One by Shannon Bell
– Valkyrie’s Vengeance by Melissa Snark
– Juan by Crystal Dawn
Dig in your claws and hang on as these eight authors take you on a wild ride in GENESIS!
December 9, 2015
Going forward or More On Writing Goals #amwriting
I’m engaged in two goal planning activities right now. One is heavily focused on identifying and overcoming all the obstacles facing romance authors (KU, gaining visibility, the expense and effectiveness of advertising.) The other is a getting motivated and writing course. (What we authors sign on for, right?)One of the things I almost never see talked about by romance authors is the price inelasticity of our product. Demand is huge but readers have become to be so accustomed to free to 99 cents that the curve drops off dramatically once prices are raised to non-sale/”normal” levels. And I always think…is it really the normal price is no one is buying it at that level?
In other genres, my impression is that readers expect to pay somewhere between $5 to
$8 for a full length, well written ebook. This is entirely subjective. I know I don’t mind spending money on books so long as the value is reasonable. I want my favorite authors to earn a living so there will be another book next year. Every now and then I pick up a deal or a freebie, but the stuff I really want is almost never free or that deeply discounted. And THAT is the crux.
I chased this whole thought process around the track last summer when I produced my first two SciFi shorts. (For those wondering why I’m writing in that genre, consider this… Professional markets for SciFi, horror, and fantasy pay 6 to 12 cents PER WORD. At six cents, that’s $60 for one sale on a piece that may take only a couple hours to write and edit. Some months, that’s more than I make on Amazon.
Of course, there’s the old caveat that sales aren’t guaranteed. Competition is fierce. Yada yada. Yeah, well, sales aren’t guaranteed in romance either and competition is fierce. All things being equal, I’m inclined to chase the rabbit that could at least theoretically put dinner on the table. I have two boys entering college in the next few years, and I really don’t want to return to the 8 to 5 slog. So yeah, I want my writing to produce a viable income.
A lot of other factors play into this decision. There’s Passion… Science fiction is my first love as a reader. Has been since childhood and it’s a lifelong passion. I adore fantasy also and I like to write long, so I have no intention of giving up my urban fantasy novels. There’s also ability, which brings me to the realization that I have an underdeveloped set of muscles when it comes to writing short.
So a new high-priority goal for me in 2016 will be honing my short story skillset.
More on this later as I figure out how to go about accomplishing that…
December 8, 2015
New Year’s Writing Goals Check #amwriting @melissasnark
It’s a bit early but I’m auditing a goal setting class so here goes… My preliminary 2016 goals look something like this:
Edit and publish Blood Brothers. Paperback release by August. Ebook release by September.
Finish one more 30K part of Viking Love Slave. Edit and publish–the sooner, the better.
Complete the first draft of Moon Snatcher.
Various novellas: VLS 5&6.
Begin a hard science fiction novel based on Going Viral.
Toward mid-year, reassess my priorities. Miss Bear will be entering first grade and my oldest son will be heading for college. Finances are probably going to require me to return to work outside the home.
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