K.F. Breene's Blog, page 7

The Mystery Prince, a novella by Mary Waibel

Buy: Amazon
K.F., thanks so much for letting me drop by to talk about my publishing experiences.
When I first began my journey on the path to being a published author, I considered self-publishing, but decided I'd give the traditional route a chance first. I queried agents with my first project. Of course, I sent it too early, and received nothing but rejections. Undeterred, I moved on to a new project. And, once that baby shone, I sent it off to a new round of agents. This time, I received a few nibbles, but no takers.
So, I went back to my first project, and revised, and wrote, until it barely resembled the original story I'd begun with. I thought about sending it to agents, but decided to try a different track, and sent to a few small publishers who took unagented submissions. I got two bites. Then I got an offer. And that started my publishing story.
With three stories at MuseItUp, and a new series releasing from BookFish books, I turned back to my thoughts of self-publishing. A control-freak at heart, this really seemed something I should try. I'd be in complete control of everything.
When the anthology I'd submitted a short story to seemed to be gaining no traction, I pulled my submission and got to work. I wrote, and edited, and sent it to CP's and Beta's. And I edited some more, taking it from short story length to novella length. I knew this would be the one I'd test the self-publishing waters with.
All books need a cover, so I contacted Charlotte Volnek (ckvolnek.com/cks-cover-designs1.html). I'd worked with her two times before and loved the way she captured my books. She sent me a sample. We tweaked it a few times, and then, BOOM! There is was. Something to look at and squee about and renew my sense of excitement about the story.
No story is ever complete without being edited. I contacted Judy Roth, my very first editor, (judy-roth.com) and she read and commented, and I polished and tweaked (and learned my newest writing vice!) With her help, life was breathed into my story, and the characters began to shine like I knew they would.
Next up was formatting. Not being one to do things the easy way, I read, and re-read Susan Kaye Quinn's chapter on formatting the hard way (from Indie Author Survival Guide- I totally recommend this book to anyone considering self-pubblishing) I read about HTML coding, and studied some of the books I'd downloaded to see just how they did that, and slowly my book took shape the way I wanted it to.
And now, it's been released out into the world for others to read.

Every step on my journey has taught me something new, and this is no exception. Reach for your dreams, work to achieve them, and you will find them in your grasp.





Book Blurb:Tristan enjoys being in the shadows as Prince Rand's bodyguard. Similar in looks, the two often exchanged places in their youth, but he never expected the king to order him to impersonate the heir to the throne in order to win the hand of a princess.
Princess Zoe needs to find a husband. After a year of searching with no success, her father insists on hosting a masquerade ball for the eligible princes of the nine kingdoms. Not one prince piques her interest, until she meets the mysterious stranger who won't tell her his name.

When Tristan meets Zoe he finds the girl of his dreams. The only problem? She's a princess and he's impersonating a prince―a crime punishable by imprisonment and floggings. Unable to tell Zoe his real name, he gives her a special navigation device. One that leads to the owner's true love. Will this magic device lead Zoe to Tristan, or will her true love forever remain a mystery prince?
Author Bio:


Mary lives with her husband, son and two cats. When she isn't twisting fairytales, she enjoys reading, playing games, watching hockey, and camping. Her Princess of Valendria series (Quest of the Hart, Charmed Memories, Different Kind of Knight) are available from MuseItUp Publishing and other major retailers.  Her novella, The Mystery Prince, is available at Amazon. Her Faery Marked (book 1 in the Faery Series) will be available from BookFishBooks this summer.
You can find Mary Waibel at:http://marywaibel.blogspot.comhttps://www.facebook.com/authormarywaibelhttps://twitter.com/mewtweety14

Surviving Love; Prologue

FREE READS!

I will be posting an unedited chapter a week from my new romance, Surviving Love. Now all of you can be beta readers :)
Feel free to leave comments, to speculate, or what have you. 
Please remember-- this is not edited. There will be mistakes. I hope you enjoy :)




~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Prologue
Mikey held up his hand, palm out. She put her palm to his and threaded their fingers together. Warmth seeped into her hand. Tears drowned her eyes.Mikey gave her a small smile. “This isn’t goodbye--it’s see you on the flip side.”“The flip side of what, Mikey? The moon? Don’t be weird right now, this is serious. I don’t have any friends besides you. Who’s going to come over when I have a crisis? Or when I’m freaking out and need a dose of reality?”He leaned closer. His face, thinner now that the baby fat of youth was burning away, came within inches. His breath splashed across her wet lashes, mingling with hers. His smell—the smell of comfort—washed over her senses. Another tear leaked out of her eye as a strange hum she didn’t understand started in the base of her stomach. They’d been friends since they could walk. Before that, even. She learned everything right by his side—faced her nightmares holding his hand. Eleven years of him only across the street; her best friend or worst enemy, depending on her mood. He was only a couple years older, and only lately a tiny bit more mature—she’d thought they’d be friends forever. And now he was leaving. Being ripped away by his family.  “Please Mikey, don’t leave me. Please,” she whispered with a quivering voice. “Stay here and live with me. My parents would take you. I know they would. Please don’t leave me.”“Only for now.” His lips touched hers, sweet and soft. His eyes sparkled as they delved into her. “Only for now, Sara, okay? Don’t forget about me. You’ll be in my heart always. In a couple years, when you get into your teens, we’ll figure it out. We’ll find each other, okay? I’m going to marry you.”She leaned into him, stealing as much of his warmth as she could. Trying to memorize his smell. Trying to figure out what she’d do when he left. “Mikey, let’s go!” his dad yelled, waiting beside the opened car door.Mikey’s gaze delved down into Sara’s, flicking away all her barriers and touching a place so deep, so hidden, that she barely knew it existed. A foreign stirring rustled butterflies up in her stomach. “Just for now, okay? When I’m old enough, I’ll look after you. I’ll have a great job, and a big house, and a car, and all that stuff, and I’ll take care of you.”“My parents can take care of me. I need my best friend.”“I’ll always be your best friend. And one day you’ll realize that you want someone to look after you. When you do, it’ll be me, okay?”“Mikey!” his dad yelled, a warning in his voice.“Don’t forget about me,” Mikey said one last time, the promise in his eyes sucking her in. With one last, slow kiss, he took his hand from hers and walked away. Got into his car with a helping shove by his father. The sound of the door slamming was like a shotgun blast.The last thing she saw was her best friend, face in the rear window, waving as the car drove away. Her tears overflowed. She was too young to realize that part of her drove away with him. 

Review: Fashionably Dead by Robyn Peterman

Fashionably Dead by Robyn Peterman

Genre: Paranormal RomanceReviewer: Sally Sparrow




Goodreads











Vampyres don’t exist. They absolutely do not exist.

At least I didn’t think they did ‘til I tried to quit smoking and ended up Undead. Who in the hell did I screw over in a former life that my getting healthy equates with dead?

Now I’m a Vampyre. Yes, we exist whether we want to or not. However, I have to admit, the perks aren’t bad. My girls no longer jiggle, my ass is higher than a kite and the latest Prada keeps finding its way to my wardrobe. On the downside, I’m stuck with an obscenely profane Guardian Angel who looks like Oprah and a Fairy Fighting Coach who’s teaching me to annihilate like the Terminator.

To complicate matters, my libido has increased to Vampyric proportions and my attraction to a hotter than Satan’s underpants killer rogue Vampyre is not only dangerous . . . it’s possibly deadly. For real dead. Permanent death isn’t on my agenda. Avoiding him is my only option. Of course, since he thinks I’m his, it’s easier said than done. Like THAT’S not enough to deal with, all the other Vampyres think I’m some sort of Chosen One.

Holy Hell, if I’m in charge of saving an entire race of blood suckers, the Undead are in for one hell of a ride.

Am I a star tramp? Do I give away the stars too easily? I debated on this one. It is tons of fun and well written, but it isn’t exactly The Great American Novel. It is light and fluffy. Reading it isn’t exactly a cerebral experience. I mean, I guess it is in that reading requires quite a bit of brain work, but the story itself doesn’t make you think. Do I give five stars because I really did love it, or do I give it four or four and a half stars because it is great but its no Alice Hoffman or Barbara Kingsolver novel?
Fashionably Dead begins at the funeral of Astrid’s beloved Nana, while she is sneaking a smoke in the graveyard. Later, as part of her grief and recovery, Astrid decides that she really will finally quit smoking. After every other method fails, she eventually finds herself at a hypnotist. From here the story takes such a left turn that I had to reread half a chapter because I was in such shock.
Reading the synopsis would’ve helped but I like to be surprised.
This book was so much fun. I know I said that before, but it was just so. much. fun.
For starters, Astrid is a self-proclaimed Prada slut. She starts out in vintage and several seasons-past Prada, but after she gets her inheritance she moves on to this-seasons’ offerings, and is later bribed with pre-release versions.
Then there are her living companions. We have: a guardian angel who looks like Oprah Winfrey and curses like a drunken sailor, a nudist fairy who looks and speaks like Arnold Schwarzenegger, three inch high “monsters” who live on her ceiling, and her very normal, takes-everything-in-stride BFF.
There’s also the standards: several super-hunky male characters, at least one insecure female colleague who resents the lead character, family drama, and somewhat explicit sex scenes.
What I love best, though, are the quality of lead characters. Strong-willed, intelligent women who don’t cow to anyone, paired with intelligent yet brawny men who appreciate female strength (both inner and outer). Add in the physical training and climactic battle scenes and it is a feminist’s delight.

I definitely recommend this book, although not to my mom. The sex scenes are a bit too graphic for me to share this with my mom.
Boom! 5 Stars!


KFB: Yeah--she called me a star Nazi. Don't think I didn't notice that. Hmph! :)

Lovely Bad Day

Here's the day I had...

I shipped my kid off to school. That went as it normally does. No big deal.

Logged onto the computer for a few hours, as I do. Nothing to report there.

But then it was time to get ready.

Did I mention I had a big meeting? No?

I had a meeting with someone from Apple today. You see, my Darkness Series is hardly preforming in Apple even though its doing awesomely in Amazon. I think its more the genre than anything, since Apple calls Paranormal Romance "Futuristic, Ghost, etc." The genre is suicide.

Not to worry--I will dazzle him with my numbers and sales and general know-how, I think. I mean, I usually do better in Apple than Amazon on average. And more people go on to read book 2 in Darkness than the book 2 in the other series.

Fool proof numbers. Apple dude, look, this is good news. Help me help you.

So I went out and bought a new outfit. Black shirt, light colored pants. Usually I wouldn't deal with light pants, since I usually stain light things immediately. This time, however, I wouldn't eat anything. Or touch anything. I'd put on my new clothes, my new shoes, and then I'd go.

Fool proof plan.

Well, then the day really started.

I fell down the stairs.

Yeah. I did. I walked down the garage stairs, in my new Coach shoes, which are a tiny bit too big, and...tripped over my own damn feet.

I'm athletic. Usually I can catch myself.

Not with light gray/white pants, apparently. I tried to step down to catch myself with my other foot, my shoe went wonky, and I was falling.

The only thing I could do was catapult myself so the car could catch me.

It did. My car caught me nicely.

By the face.

Immediately I bent down to assess the damage. No, not to make sure my legs were still straight and no bones were sticking out. Nope. To make sure my pants weren't ruined.

There was a scuff mark on my knee. How the hell I do these things to myself, I will never know. (And yes, Jessica Brodie got her fabulous grace from me. And yes, this will probably end up in a book.)

Day wasn't over.

I got to the meeting site only to realize it was one of their biggest days. Or something. I didn't get the specifics, nor did I ask why he gave me that day as a meet-up option. But I hear Apple has a fantastic eatery. Since it was mobbed, and there was nowhere to sit, I wouldn't know.

I wasn't really bothered by this, of course. Eating while trying to have a meeting weirds me out. Worried that I might get something all over my face, or stuck in my teeth, I was okay with going to a small, out of the way cafe and grabbing a yogurt. We then sat at a table and resumed the meeting.

It didn't go great, I won't say it did. He was basically going to try and coach me to get better results--but I already knew his "talking points". I didn't know the writers in the area, though--point against me for not networking. I wasn't going to the upcoming convention--but I really should. On and on--I won't go into the details.

We'll just say, I half wish I didn't bother. There's nothing worse than getting your hopes up, even when you try not to, and then getting let down.

Doesn't matter--I met him. At least I have that.

It wasn't until I got home, though, that another horrible situation presented itself. I had black smudges all under my eyes.

Being used to the 60 degrees of San Francisco, I didn't do an eye-wipe after standing outside in the heat of Cupertino, waiting for him. I didn't mind waiting--I read and played on Facebook. But... damn it--could I not have checked my makeup? How did I forget that necessary act of self-preservation??

In addition to unkempt with the scuffed pants (I didn't have anything else to wear), I looked like a clown face. An indy author with no real networking skills and a clown face.

Bloody super.

Do you know why my characters always wonder if the Cosmos are having a grand ol' laugh at them? This right here... I wonder all the time.

So it all kinda sucks. I feel like I let a huge opportunity pass with my ridiculous antics. Granted, nothing might've ever come from it. And maybe something still will, but I feel like one of those situations when you walk out of a job interview and know you effed up. You just have this sinking feeling in your gut that you're to blame for an opportunity passing you by.

Yes, I need a moment to be sad. And truthfully, I'll probably do a little crying to let the depression wash away.

And yes, I will bounce back and figure out another way. I won't give up just because I fell down some stairs and went masquerading as a clown.

 But that's tomorrow. Today, I'm going to blink into blank space with the knowledge that I am a little afraid of steps because I don't trust myself to walk down them without a parachute...

Grumpy Review: Finders Keepers by Linnea Sinclair

Finders Keepers by Linnea Sinclair

Genre: Sci-Fi RomanceReviewer: K.F. Breene




Amazon   |   Goodreads









Be careful what you wish for. You might get it... Her ship's in shambles, her boyfriend's dumped her and she's frankly out of funds. Captain Trilby Elliot hopes her luck has changed when a high-tech fightercraft crash lands at her repair site. Finders keepers. She can sell the ship as salvage, pocket the profits. Except for one small problem: the pilot, Rhis, is still alive and intent on commandeering her ship. And another much larger problem: someone very powerful and very important wants Trilby Elliot dead.



Well, I did it.
What did I do, you ask?
I finished the book, that’s what I did. I finished a book that only barely held my interest. If I wasn’t on a break from writing, didn't have the most boring job in the world, and hadn’t already cleaned the hell out of my house, I probably wouldn't have. I was so bored with life, though, that I plugged on.
Go me.
(Can you hear the boredom, and now grumpiness in my tone? I should go running or something to get some endorphin juice going.)

Anyway, back to the subject at hand.
I…do not care at all about this book. It is a classic romance with a deceptive Sci-Fi label. There was space, and ships, and unfamiliar terms, but that’s where the Sci-Fi ended. The brilliance that usually comes with Sci-Fi writers wasn't present. The tension and groin tightening angst that comes with a good romance wasn't present either.
For a science fiction romance, this can really ruin the outcome of the read, let me tell you.
What was it about? Who cares.
All right, all right, I'll stop being a bitch. Jeeze. (By the way, this person isn't Indy, and won’t see this post--I won’t post it anywhere but in my own little cyber café.)
It was about this dude who got caught behind enemy lines, stole a ship, and crashed into our heroine’s area. She saved his life. Then he immediately fell in love, even though that wasn't even remotely his character, and she braved her romantic problems of the past—often repeated in her thoughts—and slept with him. Don't get excited--the sex scene was boring. And then, as happens in these types of stories, they encountered a personal problem to re-create tension. Turns out the dude was Mr. High and Mighty of some ship. She’d gotten hurt by a high-and-mighty-type person in the past. She was a low and slum-ly.  Back and forth and back and forth and just let one of them die so we can end the story now.
But no. There were a couple close calls of death, for more tension, but everyone of note lived. Of course. Yay.
There was another conflict, on a larger scale, but it was background noise and not interesting.
Man, it just wasn't good. I always get really disappointed when a Sci-Fi book is terrible. I also rarely read to the end of a two-star book.
This is my own fault, that’s what you're thinking isn't it? Stop bitching, you moron, you’re the one that kept reading.
I know, I know. Maybe I’m just jaded with this overused ‘romance’ formula. It’s like a cookie-cutter cut-out. The structure that pays, huh? Maybe I should take a note and use it. But then I'd have to stab myself, which is counter-productive to mental health...
Bottom line, me no likey. What a shame.

Guys Don't Understand Chocolate

The other day I was at an office and asked an IT guy, who had come over to fix my computer, if he wanted a piece of chocolate. He said, "No thanks, I just had lunch."

Yesterday, I asked my husband if he wanted a bite of my chocolate cake. "No thanks, I'm full after dinner."

What is wrong with these people? Does having a penis mean you make no sense?

Wait...it probably does.

But still, who says no because they aren't hungry? The only time I eat chocolate when I am hungry is when I have absolutely no other choice. My stomach is growling, I cannot leave to go make/get something, I can't even scrounge up a morsel of bread, and the only option to keep myself from fainting due to low blood sugar is to eat the chocolate bar I had been saving for a special occasion.

(Special occasion = times when I am not hungry and need chocolate)

Eating chocolate when you're hungry takes all the fun out of it. You're not supposed to need chocolate, you're supposed to want it. And when you are older, and stressed, and probably overweight, it is when you override your logic, and your diet, and your good sense, and give in to the craving for it.

And let's talk about their complete blasé attitude to turning down chocolate. Chocolate!

When someone offers me chocolate, lately (since I am supposed to be dieting), I do turn it down as often as humanly possible. But it's always a fight, both with my inner chocolate demons, and with the offerer. Unless the offerer is a guy!

If that's the case, he'd probably ask if I wanted any. I'd say, oh no. No, I shouldn't. Then he'd say, are you sure? And I would say yes (although I wasn't). He'd leave it at that. And let's be honest--you kind of hoped he'd push so you could give in and label it his fault.

If a woman asked, however, she'd see the weakness. She'd see the desire, and sense the indecision, and she'd push. (I've been a pusher, I know!)


So my end of the conversation would sound like-- oh no, I shouldn't. No, seriously--honestly, I'm dieting. I really shouldn't--I know its just one piece, but honestly. No, no, it's okay. Seriously. No--haha! Yeah, dieting sucks. Nope, I'm good. Thanks.

After you successfully turn the asker down, you feel like you're letting the team down. Now she has to eat it, knowing she should probably refuse, too, lest another five pounds find her hips. But she wants that danged chocolate, and now you've just thrown her a side of guilt because you're not going to partake. It just breaks your heart, in addition to not getting to eat that chocolate.

The next time you are asked it gets slightly more intense. This time you'll have the chocolate! The pushers make sure of it. They try harder to break you. To get you on board. Because, yes, it is mostly worth it. And delicious--oh my god, how can you refuse??

If you can still refuse, somehow, you are cast away as a lost cause, thereby rendering you not totally a woman, and somehow not in the clutches off chocolate. This helps the guilt of those eating it, of course. I've also been there...


That is, until you slip that one day. That one day where your mouth sees that chocolate (a mouth seeing is only possible with desserts, of course), and starts to salivate, and you've been good all week, and you just want one little taste.

Game on!! If you can be swayed, your battle to refuse the next time turns way back up to critical level. You're screwed.

Through all this, though--this intense battle of chocolate desire-- the male counterpart in the room shrugs. Nah, he says, I just ate lunch, I'm good.

He just doesn't understand chocolate--that has to be the reason.

Sex After Kids

So many men complain that the sex goes away after marriage. Have you heard that? They bitch and moan about no more nookie for them—they got married.

Well. They are douches, number one. Number two, I beg to differ—it was kids that did it in for my husband and me.

Here’s some info you can’t unlearn: I have a healthy sex drive. When my husband and I were newly together, I was as gung-ho then as after we got married. I have sex toys, I have an open mind—when things got stale, I had a bottle of wine and accosted the poor guy. He was terrified with a smile. Yee haw!

And then I had a kid.

Something changed in our relationship after I had a kid. The love I had for my kid became the love for my family, which blanketed the husband. That love is a very different kind of love than lust. So I’d hang out with my kid and husband, with the stress and fatigue and all things that go with a kid, and then crawl into bed with the husband and try to switch gears back to lust.

Needless to say, I was a little weirded out by the whole idea.

Another thing you can’t unlearn: for me, sex actually got better, feeling-wise, after giving birth. My sex drive was cool, the feeling was cool…

I wanted to have sex, just not with my husband.

Sounds terrible, doesn’t it? But there you go. I wanted a stranger, who wouldn’t remember that those nipples had a baby at the end of them. I wanted a person who would think of my breasts as toys, and not used feed bags.
Also, with a stranger, there wouldn’t be that strange awkwardness of being so freaking intimate with someone…in a family way; the deep love, and not a fling-sex love. My husband saw the baby pop out—that is intimate knowledge! A stranger wouldn’t have that (probably horrifying) visual. Plus--no switching gears. No family-type love getting in the way--hell, no love period. Just take off your pants, close your trap, and let's get busy!


But alas, I’m married.
With my daughter getting older, though, I have sidestepped the above issues in many ways—date nights help: no baby and being out helps my brain wipe away the family love stigma and revs up the sexy-systems. Wine helps (I’m not gonna lie). But if I’m being honest, when my kid is stressing me out, and my husband isn’t helping like he should, and I have a million things to do and he only has three, and my resentment level is at an all-time high…

No, dude. I do not want to have sex with you. I’d rather kick you in the head--pay a bill once in a while, why don’t you! Grrrr!


That grrr was the sound of my super-bitch clawing out of my calmness. No fun for anyone. Stress turns me into a beast.

But even if I don’t want to throttle my partner, I'm tired. And lazy. I still have the sex drive, and the desire for…completion, but I don’t have the energy to make sure it gets done. To make sure Mr. Stud remembers the right buttons.

That sounds bad, too, doesn’t it? But seriously! He’s tired, too, and just wants to get laid. I get it. Plus, he doesn’t have sex as much post baby, so he’s so eager that by the time I’m warming up, he wants to cuddle.



No, I don’t want to cuddle. I want an orgasm. Excuse me while I go find some batteries.

Ha! Spilin’ the beans! But why not be honest, right? If I haven't shocked you yet, chances are this won't, either :)
There are just so many sexual landmines after kids, aren’t there? And you know what he’s going to do, and how he’s going to do it, but you’re too tired to mix it up. I’d rather just sleep a little longer…

Cover Reveal: The Dark Duet by KaSonndra Leigh

COVER REVEAL


BOOK & AUTHOR INFO:
The Dark Duet by KaSonndra Leigh
(A Musical Interlude #3)
Publication date: June 24th 2014
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance


Family. 
What does that word mean? 
Kindness. Generosity... Love?
None of that applies to mine. 
I think we should try vicious, corrupt... 
Deadly.
I am not an innocent. 
I do not believe in fate.
Revenge should have its moment to shine.
I’ve been a slave to circumstance...
A child of the shadows.
Now, I embrace the gloom and thrive inside it.
Revenge. Love. 
Vengeance. Salvation.
The battle inside me rages on.
At least it does until one day when... I find her.
I do not understand. 
I cannot allow myself to believe that...

There is light inside the darkness.
~Nikolai Belikov
  
** This novel contains mature content. It is intended for an audience at 18+ years of age.**

AUTHOR BIO:



KaSonndra Leigh was born in Charlotte, North Carolina. She now lives in the City of Alchemy and Medicine, North Carolina. She likes to write about people of all ages doing fantastical things in magical worlds. Her two sons have made her promise to write a boy book next.

She loves to play CLUE, Monopoly (the Indiana Jones version), and Pandora's Box (good writer's block therapy). She lives in an L-shaped house with a garden dedicated to her grandmother. It has a secret library complete with fairies, Venetian plastered walls, and a desk made out of clear blue glass.
Website  |   Twitter

The Baby Journey Begins

So, here’s where I’m at. I’m trying to have a baby.




And you know what I’ve decided—that was rhetorical—I am going to document the journey. Why? Because I am unclear as to why in thousands of years of evolution, Mother Nature couldn’t get it together enough to do some spot checking on Her fail-proof plan that is procreation. ‘Cause Lady, there are some quirks, that’s all I’m sayin’.

Here’s also where I’m at. I already have a kid. She’s three and pretty great. Going through some bossy, independent issues right now that make me want to throttle her, but most of the time, she listens, she’s tame, and she’s a love-bug. I got lucky with her.

Which means that if biology decides I can have another, I will spawn a hellion. Probably someone who has that Irish stubbornness from her dad, a terrible temper from yours truly, no patience (also from me), sullenness (her dad), and doesn’t listen at all (both parents). Worse, the child probably won’t be terrified of authority (unlike me, and absolutely like my mischief maker husband).





So, I might have that to look forward to...













I’m 35, and that’s prime baby years in my area of the world (yes, I realize in most other areas, that seems ancient--don't judge), so I’m not worried about my biological clock. But I am worried about both my social clock and my kids sibling clock.


My social clock: I don’t want to have a baby at 40. I just don’t. I want to enter my forties with my kids mostly self-sufficient so I can go back to working on me. You know—getting my body in shape, trying extreme remedies for stretch marks, bleaching my sun damaged face, etc. I want to try to erase this weird perma-scowl from stress, sleeplessness, and a husband who acts as old as my kid. Basically, I want to re-emerge from my thirties back into my twenties, but with better decision-making.

My kid’s sibling clock: I don’t want my daughter to be too old to play with a sibling. I want her to have a partner in crime, not an irritant. She’s old enough now that she’ll help if I get knocked up soon, but how long with that last? She gets a ton of attention, and random things bought for her constantly. She doesn't have to share. We are ruining her right now—she needs a sibling to fight with, and be forced to share with, and quick!

Great plan, I know. And that’s all well and good, but for some reason, pregnancy isn’t coming as quickly this time as it did last time. Last time I went off the pill, and two months later I was staring at a positive test, shaking my head.

It seemed so sudden.




There is nothing sudden about this time. I’m even monitoring ovulation times. I pee on a thing to see if I am a prime candidate for fertilization. Which makes me feel weird about the whole thing, I can tell you. Way to take the romance out of the thing, huh?
Terrible mood, tired, stressed--oh crap, I'm freaking ovulating.

In those instances, there's nothing else for it. I have to let the hubby know he's going to get "lucky", and then I proceed to play dead.


And the journey begins.

Book Blitz: Not Quite Dead by Lyla Payne

BOOK BLITZ Not Quite Dead by Lyla Payne 

Amazon  |  B&N  |  Goodreads

Book & Author Details:

Not Quite Dead by Lyla Payne
(A Lowcountry Ghost Story)
Publication date: April 1st 2014
Genres: Mystery, New Adult, Paranormal



A broken engagement sends Graciela Harper crawling back to Heron Creek with her tail between her legs, but finds the sleepy little town too changed to set her life right. Not even her budding drinking problem can obscure her Gramps’s failing health, or erase the mental picture of her first love happily married to her childhood best friend. To top it all off, she’s having a heck of time convincing the town’s dashing young mayor of her unfit-for-dating status.

When the ghost of 18th century lady pirate Anne Bonny starts insisting on a near daily audience, Graciela has to confront something else she never expected—being certifiably nuts at twenty-five years old.

Her brand new “I don’t give a crap” attitude makes it easy to dismiss the mysterious threats that seem to be tied to her search for more information on the long dead pirate, but when her family becomes a target, Gracie knows she needs to find out why the ghost insists on being a constant, reeking companion.

If Graciela can put aside her prejudice against people without a pulse, she may discover that Anne Bonny’s problems are intricately linked with her own. The past harbors answers could help the cantankerous spirit find closure, but she is, after all, already dead. If Graciela doesn’t move fast, she might find herself doing the haunting, instead of the other way around.
Excerpt


I ignore the hand, getting to my feet and brushing dirt off my dress before confronting its owner.
A man with an overly strong jaw and wavy, sun-kissed brown hair watches me with humor sparkling in his hazel eyes. Too bad he picked the wrong girl in the wrong year, because nothing about getting knocked on my ass strikes me as humorous.




Undaunted by the cocked eyebrow I shoot his direction, he keeps a hand out, now poised for a shake. "Beauregard Drayton."

"That’s a mouthful," I mumble, searching the ground for my purse. It’s lying in a puddle, which stirs up more irritation, as does the fact that he hasn’t moved. He’s tall, at least six foot three, and even under the blue pinstriped suit and red tie, there’s no secret why he felt like bricks. His face is hard, too—all rough angles and sharp cheekbones.

His eyes are soft, though, and the enticing mixture of green, blue, and gold still reflects amusement. "Well, what do you think?"

"About you?" I shrug, even though I didn’t mean to study him quite so openly. "Typical."

"Interesting."

"Actually, typical is the opposite of interesting." I shoulder past him and continue toward my destination, annoyance tightening my chest when the sound of expensive shoes clicks on the sidewalk behind me.

Beauregard Drayton catches up, then slows his pace to match mine. It would have behooved me to drive to the Wreck, apparently. Or skip it all together, no matter how the thought of their fish tacos makes me drool.

"You can call me Beau, everyone does," he comments, as though we’ve been carrying on a conversation.

"Thanks."

"What should I call you?"

It’s clear my rudeness isn’t going to make him go away, and the part of me that was raised below the Mason-Dixon Line blushes in shame at my behavior. Grams would tan my hide if she could see me now. The thought of her stern, loving expression makes me relent, along with the fact that my eventful morning has worn me out. I don’t have the energy to outmaneuver him.

"Graciela Harper."

"Lovely to meet you. Where are you going?"

The fact that he doesn’t comment on my different name moves him up in my estimation. Still, his nosiness makes me sigh. Loudly. "To get some lunch."

"Are you meeting someone?"

"Yes. His name is Vlad and he lives to drink the blood of persistent, well-dressed men, so I suggest you run along."

"Really? Dracula’s making a midday appearance in Heron Creek? Did you call the paper? Danny’s is going to be mad if he misses out on the interview opportunity."

AUTHOR BIO:
Lyla Payne has been publishing New Adult romance novels for a little over a year, starting with Broken at Love and continuing with the rest of the Whitman University series. She loves telling stories, discovering the little reasons people fall in love, and uncovering hidden truths in the world around us - past and present. In her spare time she cuddles her two dogs, pretends to enjoy exercising so that she can eat as much Chipotle as she wants, and harbors a deep and abiding hope that Zac Efron likes older women. She loves reading, of course, along with movies, traveling, and Irish whiskey. Lyla's hard at work, ALWAYS, and hopes to bring you more Whitman University antics and at least one more Lowcountry ghost tale before the end of the year.

Lyla Payne is represented by Kathleen Rushall at Marsal Lyon Literary Agency.

If you want to know more, please visit her at http://lylapayne.com

If you're a fan of Young Adult fiction--science fiction or otherwise--please check out her work that's published under the name Trisha Leigh. http://trishaleigh.com


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