Ellie Potts's Blog, page 41

One Week by Zoey Derrick Blog Tour!

Title: One Week

Author: Zoey Derrick

Series: Stand Alone

Genre: BBW/BDSM/Erotic Romance

Publisher: Self Published

Release Date: July 29 2014

Edition: eBook & Paperback

Blurb/Synopsis:

ONE WEEK is all it will take…

A week in Las Vegas and she will feel better about herself. At least that is what Dacotah Miller is hoping will be the case.

Left at the altar, heartbroken and ashamed, Dacotah takes the opportunity offered by her girlfriends – the chance to get away. The opportunity to escape her mundane life in the middle of nowhere Wisconsin.

But what Dacotah doesn’t know is that lurking in Las Vegas is the chance of a lifetime, a dream come true, in the form of Derek Hunter.

Derek, in town on business, can’t seem to focus on his purpose once Dacotah walks into his field of vision.    She beautiful and just what he needs to cure his desire for a good woman in his bed. Only she presents a challenge to him unlike anything he’s ever experienced before.

Dacotah will be wrapped up in a whirlwind of unexpected events that will force her to make a decision, life changing choice. Does she get on the plane back to boring Wisconsin and wonder what might have been? Or will she step on board a private jet that promises to take her on a journey she will never forget?

***** Content Warning *****

This book contains explicit sex, language and an indecent proposal from a billionaire. Story contains strong BDSM themed scenes and is not recommended for anyone under the age of 18.

Book Links

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Giveaway!!!

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/54e9c425139/

Author Information

Best Selling Author Zoey Derrick comes from Glendale, Arizona. She was once a mortgage underwriter by day and is now a paranormal, romance and erotica novelist full-time. She writes stories as hot as the desert sun itself. It is this passion that drips off of her work, bringing excitement to anyone who enjoys a good and sensual love story.

Not only does she aim to take her readers on an erotic dance that lasts the night, it allows her to empty her mind of stories we all wish were true.
 Her stories are hopeful yet true to life, skillfully avoiding melodrama and the unrealistic, bringing her gripping Erotica only closer to the heart of those that dare dipping into it.

The intimacy of her fantasies that she shares with her readers is thrilling and encouraging, climactic yet full of suspense. She is a loving mistress, up for anything, of which any reader is doomed to return to again and again.

Author Links

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Excerpts

There are a few couples, walking hand in hand, and my stomach turns. A feeling of emptiness washes over me as I remember the way Jason and I were together back in our prime. We were always hanging on each other and we were never more than six inches apart when we walked anywhere.

But my musings about being lonely and single are cut off when a very well dressed man comes into my line of sight. He’s wearing a gunmetal grey suit, black shirt and silky black tie. His hair is dark brown, long and pulled back. His eyes are the same brown as his hair. He has a well-kept goatee, and a physique that makes my mouth water. I feel Rachel and Mandy nudge me, vying for my attention, but I can’t seem to pull my eyes away from him. Then he looks at me. Square in the eyes and I’m transfixed further by what I see. He’s not disgusted that I’m staring at him, actually there is a hint of intrigue in his eyes, but Rachel breaks it by pulling my arm. “Our table’s ready.”

I finally blink, breaking the trance and I know I blush as red as a cherry. I’m thankful for Rachel’s distraction.

Once we sit down, Mandy is quick to point out my distraction. “What was that all about?” Her question makes me blush again and I find myself hiding behind my menu. “Cotah?” She says like a mother scolding a child.

“Nothing, it was just…” How can I even describe the Adonis that I just saw?

“Him?” I look out from behind my menu at Rachel, who is looking toward the bar. I follow her line of sight and sitting at the bar opposite of us is him and I want to run away.

“Can we go eat somewhere else?” I breathe.

Olde School by Selah Janel!

Olde School by Selah Janel

Book One of the Kingdom City Chronicles

 

Available at:

Kindle       Amazon Paperback   Amazon UK  Nook    B&N Paperback     Kobo

Genres:

Cross-Genre: Fantasy, Fairy/Folktale, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy, Horror

Blurb:

Kingdom City has moved into the modern era. Run by a lord mayor and city council (though still under the influence of the High King of The Land), it proudly embraces a blend of progress and tradition. Trolls, ogres, and other Folk walk the streets with humans, but are more likely to be entrepreneurs than cause trouble. Princesses still want to be rescued, but they now frequent online dating services to encourage lords, royals, and politicians to win their favor. The old stories are around, but everyone knows they’re just fodder for the next movie franchise. Everyone knows there’s no such thing as magic. It’s all old superstition and harmless tradition.

Bookish, timid, and more likely to carry a laptop than a weapon, Paddlelump Stonemonger is quickly coming to wish he’d never put a toll bridge over Crescent Ravine. While his success has brought him lots of gold, it’s also brought him unwanted attention from the Lord Mayor. Adding to his frustration, Padd’s oldest friends give him a hard time when his new maid seems inept at best and conniving at worst. When a shepherd warns Paddlelump of strange noises coming from Thadd Forest, he doesn’t think much of it. Unfortunately for him, the history of his land goes back further than anyone can imagine. Before long he’ll realize that he should have paid attention to the old tales and carried a club.

Darkness threatens to overwhelm not only Paddlelump, but the entire realm. With a little luck, a strange bird, a feisty waitress, and some sturdy friends, maybe, just maybe, Padd will survive to eat another meal at Trip Trap’s diner. It’s enough to make the troll want to crawl under his bridge, if he can manage to keep it out of the clutches of greedy politicians

 Excert:

It was an out-of-the-way location for a diner. It sat tucked between the western edge of Thadd Forest and the lazy flow of the Glass River. The view was picturesque and sweet wildflowers and healthy grass filled the meadow, but the area was not the bustling center of Kingdom City proper. The Diner sat in range of the suburbs and growing communities that were springing up around the city limits, though not many of the new transplants came through the door. Trip Trap’s wasn’t the kind of diner most residents in Kingdom City would bother to eat at unless they really wanted to be there, no matter how pleasant the staff or tempting the menu.

This suited Trip Trap’s patrons just fine.

The building was similar to a lot of Kingdom City architecture: built from tan chalk rock, it was lined with wooden accents and featured a wraparound roof made from shake shingles cut into jagged shapes. The front picture window was framed by branches, and the wild bushes planted along the walkway gave Trip Trap’s a rustic and homey feel. It wasn’t the appearance, the location, or the menu that subtly discouraged patrons, though. It was rather the steady noise of hooves and bleating that slowly drove clientele out of their minds unless they had grown up around the clatter. Needless to say, it was a popular gathering spot for shepherds and trolls.

At a table that was tucked a distance away from the front window but close enough to the shining wooden counter, two of the regulars opened the lunch menu.

“Same old, same old,” a voice like a devoted smoker grumbled.

“Yes, but at least it’s better than those chain places springin’ up everywhere,” rasped the older troll, the aural equivalent of dead leaves and dried lizard scales. “Y’never know what you’re gettin’ there.”

Uljah Toothgnasher sighed and thwapped his menu face down on the marginally sticky table top. At only three hundred and ninety-seven he was more or less middle-aged for a troll, but had kept his lack of looks through the passing of time. His body was bony, all knobs and limbs that protruded every which way like a confused spider, but his head was wide and his face pleasantly bulbous, made even more substantial looking by his long, black matted beard and important-looking unibrow. His clothes were of the more traditional variety, and the grain sack shirt and fur-and-skin kilt overwhelmed his lanky frame, though both pieces were quite useful for smuggling extra food and the occasional “special interest” magazine past his wife. He dragged a long nail over his scalp and a thin shower of dandruff flaked onto his shoulders. “True, true. Anything’s better than going to Magic Porridge Pot for the thousandth time, though the wife keeps telling me I should pack my lunch and save the coins.”

Bio:

Selah Janel has been blessed with a giant imagination since she was little and convinced that fairies lived in the nearby state park or vampires hid in the abandoned barns outside of town. The many people around her that supported her love of reading and curiosity probably made it worse. Her e-books The Other Man, Holly and Ivy, and Mooner are published through Mocha Memoirs Press. Lost in the Shadows, a collection of short stories celebrating the edges of ideas and the spaces between genres was co-written with S.H. Roddey. Her work has also been included in The MacGuffin, The Realm Beyond, Stories for Children Magazine, The Big Bad: an Anthology of Evil, The Grotesquerie, and Thunder on the Battlefield. Olde School is the first book in her new series, The Kingdom City Chronicles, and is published through Seventh Star Press. She likes her music to rock, her vampires lethal, her fairies to play mind games, and her princesses to hold their own.

 

Selah’s Links:

Blog – http://www.selahjanel.wordpress.com

Facebook author page – http://www.facebook.com/authorSJ

Twitter - http://www.twitter.com/SelahJanel

Amazon Author Page – http://www.amazon.com/Selah-Janel/e/B0074DKC9K

Goodreads –  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5622096.Selah_Janel

Wicked Game} Short Story

Mark stood there, face drawn in shock, his large brown eyes staring straight ahead. The barrel of the gun stared at him like a giant eye. Grey smoke rolled, twisting out of it, moving to the ceiling reminding him of his own cigarette smoke. He felt numb as the smell of gunpowder stung his nostrils. She stared at him, eyes filled with madness. Why had she done this? What had he done to deserve this? Slowly, like a dream, his body became heavy. He leaned against the wall, his legs unable to hold the weight. His hand went to the spreading wetness on his shirt.

He’d met her at the mall. She was coy and bright, with blond hair and lively blue eyes; a creature totally different than what he was used to. She smiled a shy, yet welcoming smile when they were introduced. Cassie was a few years younger but that didn’t stop her from flirting. She laughed at his jokes, and he smiled and listened to her talk about her young life, her plans and expectations, which seemed to be nothing but leisure.  And before he knew it, they had a date.

He slid to the floor. Cassie dropped the gun and now sat before him. Her knees drawn to her chest as she hummed a song. He knew that song. What was the name of the song? It sounded so familiar, but everything was fuzzy. He reached a wet red hand out to her. She just watched, humming, and then she started to rock herself. What was that song?

Their first date: cotton candy, rides, popcorn, and a long first kiss. Their second date: fun, burgers, fries, and making out. She had a way about her that drove him crazy. Their third date: she sat on his lap, hidden, shirt off. He loved touching her, kissing her, exploring her soft skin. Her smell seemed to daze him. He wanted more. Her touch lit a fire in him. She was wild, untamed. He needed more, had to have more; he needed all of her.

He felt cold, shivering, his teeth clicking together. That song irritated him. He knew the song, a goofy song she had penned their song. Lame in its own way, yet, it was their song. And it irritated him as she kept repeating it over and over again. He opened his mouth, but only blood out. It felt like a warm drool leaking onto his cold skin. He coughed it, tasted it. The copper taste mingled with the gunpowder still lingering in the air and in the back of his throat. He wanted a blanket. Why wasn’t she helping him?

She would do stupid shit. He loved her, but still. It started with small hits. She would do something silly, and he would lightly smack her. She laughed, thinking it was a joke. And then she started messing up. And the hits got harder. Blows that made her cry out, and of course he felt bad, but she had to learn. Everything would be perfect if she learned the proper way. When he thought she had finally learned her lesson, she slipped again.  He broke a rib, a fall the paper at the hospital said. He would see the bruises she hid, and he would feel slightly uneasy. But she had to learn.

He raised his hand to her again. Why would she not come to him? Anger swam through the haze that threatened to take over. He wanted to hurt her. He wanted her to get off her lazy, fat ass and get him some help. He needed help, and all she wanted to do was hum. He tried to move, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. He wanted to speak but couldn’t. He wanted to wrap his hands around her throat and strangle her. He wanted to watch her eyes bulge with panic as she struggled to breathe.

Black eyes, hidden under cover up, were usually the worst marks he made visible. All the rest were in places no one would ever see. She had started to displease him at everything, even sex. He would abuse her: beating along her back, biting her skin until she bled and cried out. And then she was ready to please him. The drinking saved him some sanity, but her stupidity about daily chores drove him beyond anger.  If it had not been for the stupid dog, he might have killed her. Might. But then seeing her bloodied and bruised, he loved her.

Heavy and tired. The coldness spread to every limb, finger and toe. He watched the red pool he sat in get larger and larger. Cassie continued to hum that irritating song and rock back and forth. Was that a siren he heard? He couldn’t tell; the room was fading. He felt so tired. He wanted a blanket. A beer. Sirens? The world around him grayed until it finally turned black, but he still could hear the irritating humming and the sirens.

Cassie stopped rocking as the blood soaked into her pants. Her hands reached down, touching the cool dark copper-smelling liquid. Mark lay against the wall in front of her. Quiet. Sleeping? The humming stopped. Her hands played in the liquid like a preschooler finger-painting. She brought her hands up to her face, staring at them. She touched her face. The last time she would be so close to him. Her face now coated with a thin cover of crimson, she sang their song, “The world was on fire and no one could save me but you. It’s strange what desire will make foolish people do. I never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you. I never dreamed that I’d love somebody like you. I don’t want to fall in love.”

He heard the loud sirens,  cars screeching to a halt. Shouting, knocking, more shouting and the sound of the door being kicked in.

Cassie looked over to Mark, really seeing him. What had she done? She saw his chest rise. The cops will save him, and then he would come after her. He wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t let him live, she just couldn’t. But seeing his blood pooled on the ground around them made her chest hurt. The pain, did she really love him? After all the abuse? No. But if he lived, he would kill her; she knew it. Her hand felt the sticky ground, coming into contact with something hard.

“Ma’am, put the gun down,” he heard the cop shout.

Mark heard nothing from Cassie. “Ma’am, I said put the gun down!”

The shots echoed through the room. He tried to count them, but his brain couldn’t.  He tried to open his eyes to see what had happen. But instead, the sounds started to fade, and he knew  he was dying. His last thought was of that crappy song, “This world is only gonna break your heart.”

The Crying Stranger) Short Story

A luminous glow radiated around the silent figure. Her white skin untainted by the sun’s harsh touch, as her eyes twinkled like fiery green emeralds. Her straight, calf length auburn hair flowed around her like a red veil. Her naturally crimson lips moved as she sang to herself. The song seemed so right on this dark dreary night.

She walked through the darkness unafraid of anything around her. She had no worries. The millions of stars burned brightly above her small head. Her feet, bare amongst the new spring grass, made her feel almost alive. She stopped. Bending her head slightly to the left, she listened. The small night sounds were so crisp to her elfin ears. She listened through the sounds until she heard it. The call.

Turning, she let her feet guide her to the town of Naveret. It had been weeks since she had visited the small town, but knew the way in the pitch darkness that surrounded her. She quickened her pace. The foul smell hit her almost immediately after entering the town. Her small pointy nose wrinkled as she drew closer to the smell of death.

She stopped in front of a small, rickety cottage and looked inside the window. The thin pale curtains were open enough so she could peer inside. She saw the sick man dying in bed. His time had finally come, and the urge to cry made her vibrate where she stood.

A small hand touched her back. She turned. Her tattered, earth brown dress swirled around her. A small, brown haired child looked up at her with curious hazel eyes.

“You have come for papa?” she asked, with a small touch of sadness in her voice.

The stranger had forgotten children could see her. They still believed in fairy magic.

“I have,” she said, her voice sounded as any other human woman, yet she wasn’t.

“Will papa feel better?”

“Soon he will.” She didn’t lie; she always told the truth.

The child nodded. “I hate to see papa so sick. Can I talk to him before you cry?” The stranger felt a twinge of regret. Why had she been placed in this job? She was not as cruel as the folklores implied. She nodded, watching the child run inside. The stranger peered back into the dusty window. The child sat talking to her father, as her mother silently wept by the bedside. The feeling to cry came. She struggled to push it back down into the pit of her stomach.

The child stopped talking and looked at her through the window. She gave the stranger a small smile, but held her father’s hand. Forgive me, the stranger thought. Her mouth opened. A hum, so quiet at first, started and then grew and grew until it became a shrill, shriek that filled the night air. Large tears ran down her pale cheeks as she watched the child kiss her father’s lifeless hand. The cry, loud and piercing, continued on.

Finally, when she was sure his spirit had flown, she closed her mouth. The night became quiet again. She turned. Away from the window, away from the child. She walked silently but swiftly from the town. Another death needed to be announced. She hoped it would be of old age. Those were easy to deal with because their time was up. They knew it too and were ready to leave this world. It had always been the deaths of the sick or the young which affected her the most.

The stranger disappeared into the forest, her bare feet guiding her to the next town. She needed no map or light. Even the light her body gave off was not needed. The dying called. The long night weighed heavily on her as her melancholy cry sounded.

Take those fantasies and turn them into books.

Have you ever just had a dream or fantasy and thought man that would make a good book? Ever thought you just wanted to try to write something? Stop thinking about it and do it. Push all the well I suck at grammar and spelling and all that negativity strapping you down from doing it. Outline and summarize your story. Even if it is short story.

Do it, write.

Don’t stop to reread.

Just do a little every day even if it is just a page. Write. Write until you are satisfied it is done. You write for yourself, not for fame or fortune, but to get the demons at bay. You write to help you cope with the boring 8-5 job. You do it because now you get to take that story you had inside, that fantasy and put it there so you can reread. It will not be easy, you will hate it, you will argue, you will get mad. But don’t give up, because you never know what you might have. You might even be a bestseller.

So DO IT or don’t.

There is no trying. Trying just leads to the darkside :) , but in truth trying makes it easier for you to give up.

Do it.

Talk about execution (of projects ☺)

So yesterday I talked about my book bible. Which I a main part of the execution of my projects. So first I go with the story that screams to be made, second I map it out and come up with characters, third I put it all together in my book bible, fourth I write when I can, fifth I finish and put it aside and do something else for a while. Then I go back through and edit it.  Sounds easy right? Not so much.

Book Bible…

For each book I create a book bible. Which is usually a note pad or binder depending on the story or if it is a series. The first part has the blurb, synopsis and plot likes and notes I would like to see in the next chapter. The next part is character sheets. Main characters in the front all the way to characters who are just there. In there I like to describe them, relations, jobs and ambitions in the story. As the story moves along I note their changes. The third part is places and things. In the book bible for Space Rebels I have marigold, the moon, mars, moons, asteroid belts. In The Unicorn and The Serpent I have medieval jobs and names and of course the place. So pretty much part three is the world building section. Part 4 is usually a writing diary. Date and word counts and things to remember for editing. Everyone has their little thing.

So tell me do you have a niche to help you start a story?

Worst writing habit…

There is this point when I am writing that seems I dislike a small plot twist or a character’s action and I want to stop. I get mad at myself sometimes because it also feels like I am not getting what I see in my head on the screen. Usually these draw backs make me take a step back and cause me to walk away from the project for a while. I can tell you it is much easier to come up with story ideas then it is to actually write them out and continue writing them. When it comes to that I tend to spend some time doing something like writing or extra reading. Sometimes I need to take a break and come back when it is all fresh in my mind. I usually do this for editing as well. Start on something else so I can come back and see it with fresh eyes. So what is your worst writing habit?

Blogging/promo opportunities for writers/bloggers

I have some fun blog opportunities for my writer/blogger friends.

In September I am doing a fall theme so if you would like to do a fall guest post let me know. This can be anything Fall related. Favorite thing about Fall, writing in fall, favorite recipe, ect. Word count should be around 1200 to 1500, pictures are okay, I will need bio and picture if you want to add it, stalker links, and of course if you want to add your newest project whether it is out, just released or is coming out soon. Cover, small blurb and buy links.

In Halloween I will be doing a 31 days of Halloween on my blog. This is open to anyone for guest blogs. This can be anything related to Halloween, short stories, poems, favorite things about Halloween/October, recipes, arts & crafts, TV shows, movies, books, and whatever you would like. Again word counts around 1200 to 1500 (short stories posts can be longer), pictures okay, optional bio, bio picture, stalker links, and of course new project info is always good to add in. Cover, blurb, and buy links.

If interested or have any questions please contact me: eclecticellie@gmail.com .

Writers Block…

For those who have dealt with it you know what it is and for those who haven’t writers block is that evil feeling when you are trying to do a project and for some reason the instructions were printed upside down or in another language. There are many things that cause writers block some of them are our own doing while the other things are just normal life. Now knowing some of it is my own doing I have steps to overcoming it mostly. 1. Write every day no matter what. Even if you can’t work on your current project look out the window and write the scene you see. Create a flash fiction. 2. There are other creative things around to learn pick up a new hobby or restart an old one. I like to knit. It clears my head. 3. Stop over thinking  I worried no one would like what I write, but no negativity has been said so no more worry. I might never hit the New York Times Bestsellers but at least I get to see something I poured myself into out there to be shared.