D.E. Haggerty's Blog, page 37
August 7, 2017
I get it now! Why living in Holland doesn’t affect my writing #MondayBlogs #AmWriting
As I’m an American living in Europe, I’m constantly asked how living in Holland affects my writing. To be perfectly honest, I’m always making up some bullshit answer to this question because I have no answer. Why would living in Holland affect my writing? I still sit at a computer every day and agonize over typing out enough words to meet my daily minimum. What difference does where I’m living make?
[image error]But today I had an Aha! moment. I’m currently working on an historical romance set in Istanbul. I lived in Istanbul for two years, and I’m incorporating small cultural oddities in the novel to set the stage of the location. For example, the sound of the call to prayer, the lack of personnel on Friday after midday during the most important prayer time of the week. Today, I wrote a scene at a fish restaurant where my heroine is introduced to rakı. And as I described this ritual, I realized this is what everyone is talking about! This is why people wonder about how living in Holland affects my writing. They want to know about the cultural varieties, the strange rituals, the various rites of passage. Aha! I thought (and may have shouted at my computer before quickly opening another word document to type out this blog post).
[image error]So, here it is folks, the reason why I find the question about Holland affecting my writing difficult. Holland is home. That’s right. Home. I don’t see any daily rituals or cultural varieties as interesting, intriguing or foreign, because they aren’t to me. To me this is just how people are. We kiss three times when we meet friends. I find it weird when people want to hug me and have to psychologically prepare for it because to me hugging is weird now!
But now that I’ve come to this realization, I may be able to use my knowledge of Europe and its ‘oddities’ as an interesting background for one of my novels. I just need to look at things like an American. Not like me. (Yes, I realize how weird this sounds.) Can you hear the wheels turning? To be continued …
August 6, 2017
Read the first 2 chapters of Sin Eater #fantasy #paranormal from @The_GrayTower #giveaway
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Sin Eater
The Aria Knight Chronicles Book 1
By Alesha Escobar and Samantha Lafantasie
Genre: Fantasy, Paranormal
Aria Knight has an unusual set of skills: she will hold back the hounds of Hell so you can fly toward the Pearly Gates, and she will wipe your slate clean so that you don’t become karma’s bitch…for a price.
A Sin Eater has to make a living in today’s world somehow. But when she’s called in the dead of night to perform her rite for a recluse billionaire, she stumbles upon a murder scene, and the evidence points to her. In an attempt to clear her name and uncover the true culprit, Aria is forced to team up with a private investigator who’s possessed by three spirits, and a handsome wizard who would rather see all Sin Eaters like Aria go extinct. Aria knows her job is never easy, but now it’s become downright deadly. SIN EATER is the first book of the Aria Knight Chronicles by USA Today bestselling author Samantha LaFantasie and Alesha Escobar, author of the bestselling Gray Tower Trilogy.
**.99 on Amazon!!**
Excerpt
Chapter 1
AriaAria would die tonight.
If Hessa didn’t unlock her damn door and let her in, that would certainly be the case. Aria’s back stiffened when she heard the faint but distinctive howls from the Hounds of Hell. Their shrieks always struck her as a cross between wolves wailing at the moon and jackals whining into the night.
Hessa finally opened the door and stood at the threshold, sizing her up and taking a long drag from her cigarette. A tear, mingled with ruined mascara, trailed down her cheek. “Thanks for coming, Aria. This was the last thing Mom asked for, so…”
“I understand. May I come in?” Aria nearly knocked her over trying to slip inside. The howling grew louder. They were down the street, and Aria’s time was running out.
“Yeah.” Hessa rolled her eyes at Aria’s terse attitude, but she’d do the same if she could hear what came their way.
“You should place a ward around the house.” Aria speed-walked down the hall.
“Okay…” Hessa’s voice trailed off.
She wished she had been called sooner. If the hellhounds made it to the dead woman before she did, then she’d have to watch them tear the old woman’s soul to shreds before dragging her off to the abyss.
Aria wrinkled her nose at the smell of wet fur and garbage. A small dog somewhere in the house barked a few times. As if drawn like a magnet to metal, she guided herself to the last room, toward the deceased. A short, white-haired woman in a long-sleeved gown lay in repose on a bed. Her arms were crossed just below her chest, with her hands meeting in a clasp.
Aria’s lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t have time for this. She had told Hessa over the phone not to move or position the body. She quickly took the dead woman’s right hand and extended it, placing it to her right side. She did the same for the left hand, so that nothing sat on or near the deceased’s chest. She felt the moment Hessa cast her warding spell around the house. It felt like a stab of tension in her chest, the same type people felt when walking downstairs and missing a step.
“What was her name?” Aria asked, when Hessa joined her in the back room. She needed to know this in case she needed to grab the spirit’s attention.
“Lora.”
“Beautiful name. Do you have the bread?” Aria grabbed a rickety stool from the left corner of the room and brought it over. She sat down next to the bed. The hellhounds circled the house, probably salivating over their prey. Aria could hear their gleeful snarls at the prospect of devouring another soul. If she weren’t careful, they would tear into her as well. It wasn’t unheard of for them to go after sin eaters.
Hessa jabbed her cigarette into an ashtray on the nightstand and then unraveled a fresh-baked loaf of bread. Steam rose from the bread, and Hessa used the towel that was covering the small loaf to protect her hands as she transferred it to her mother’s chest.
As a sign of respect, and also as a way to mark the beginning of the Final Rite, Aria inclined her head in a slight bow, mentally offering up an ancient prayer of blessing. She was the very last call, the end of the line for many. Probably in some ancient desert Monastery or buried in the Vatican archives, there was a dusty old manuscript with a footnote, speaking of the loophole offered by sin eaters. Most would ask for her if they couldn’t reach a priest, or as extra “insurance” after receiving Anointing of the Sick.
Aria raised her right hand, palm facing forward, revealing the birthmark that identified her as a sin eater. She lowered her hand, but kept it suspended in mid-air just above the bread. She already felt the pulsating power of the S-shaped mark on her hand that begged to let the flame emerge. It happened whenever she began a sin eating ritual, and the first time her birthmark erupted into a large flame, she fell on her ass and tried to smother it with a handkerchief. Not exactly a move that would instill confidence in a client entrusting their loved one’s soul to her.
The flame meant there were sins that needed to be ripped away from a penitent Lora and passed on to Aria instead. Lora’s soul would be free to throw off any shackles burdening her and find peace, and Aria would know that she helped guide someone to paradise. There were also the perks of increased longevity for Aria, youthful appearance, and extra cash. Witching families paid well for this gig.
“Once I begin,” Aria said, watching the flame on her palm subside, “don’t interrupt the process.” She decided not to mention that hellhounds would make their way in within the next few minutes, seeking Lora’s soul.
Aria turned her attention toward the bread resting on Lora’s chest. She reached over with her right hand and took the small loaf, biting off a large piece and chewing it. The bread was plain and slightly salty, but what really made an impression on Aria was the rush of mystical energy that filled her from head to toe. All of her physical senses were amplified in that moment. The lights in the room looked brighter, the color of Hessa’s green dress and auburn hair were more vibrant, and the scent of wet fur and garbage returned with a vengeance.
And so did the howls of the hellhounds.
Aria almost felt buzzed by the sensations, but she had been sin eating for a long time, so she knew when to shove them aside and get to work. She motioned toward the nightstand. “The wine, or beer, please.”
Hessa blinked a few times in astonishment, probably wondering if her mother’s final request was some elaborate practical joke. With a little hesitance, she leaned over and grabbed a cup. She handed it to Aria and backed away, conveniently close enough to the door just in case she didn’t like what would happen.
Aria held the cup with a steady hand just above Lora’s chest. Inclining her head in a gesture of respect once more, she brought the rim of the cup to her lips and drank.
The beer traveled down her throat; it was cool and spritzy, with a surprising richness in body and a malty flavor. Now Aria’s spiritual senses were heightened. A burst of light temporarily blinded her, and when her view came back into focus, she saw Lora’s soul standing next to Hessa. Silver speckles of light adorned the elderly woman’s white hair, and her face appeared thirty years younger than that of her corpse. Aria grinned when she saw that Lora chose to wear a yellow evening gown reminiscent of the starlets of Old Hollywood.
Lora made a sweeping gesture with her hand, showing off her lean frame. “If I have to go, why not in style?”
“Agreed.” Aria took a final swig from the cup and placed it aside.
Hessa raised an eyebrow, and her gaze went from Aria and then across from her, where from her perspective, she was talking to an invisible person. “Aria? Is it working?”
“Shhh.” Aria kept her gaze on Lora. The entire room quivered as the hellhounds broke through Hessa’s protective ward, but only Aria felt it.
Barking erupted in the hallway, but this wasn’t the yapping of the little dogs in the house. Hessa couldn’t hear it, but Lora and Aria did. Lora’s expression fell, and she floated across the room, through her bed and body, and stood next to Aria.
“I’ll make it, won’t I? I know I’ve done some things terribly wrong in my life, but I’m a believer. Would’ve told Hessa to fetch the Padre, if my lungs hadn’t given out on me, but she knew that I also wanted her to call for one of you when it was my time to go.”
Aria stood and placed her hand on Lora’s shoulder. After imbibing beer or wine in her ritual, she could see, hear, and touch souls. “Of course. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
“Shit.” Hessa chuckled as she slipped another cigarette into her mouth and lit it with a snap of her finger. “If I’m forking over five hundred big ones for a dramatic act, I’m gonna be pissed.”
A gray portal that looked like a whirlpool of storm clouds appeared right behind Hessa. Lora stepped behind Aria, grasping her shoulders with trembling hands.
“Please, don’t let them get me!”
Aria cleared her throat. “Hessa, you might want to step aside.”
The other woman turned around, and upon seeing nothing out of the ordinary behind her, faced Aria and shrugged. “Okay, are you for real?”
“Too late.” Aria raised her right hand, letting her birthmark bring forth the flame that had ignited earlier.
In an instant, two hellhounds burst through the portal and passed straight through Hessa. She went rigid and let out a shriek. The cigarette fell out of her mouth and onto the floor.
“Oh my God! What was that? What just happened?” Hessa frantically patted her chest and torso. When smoke began rising from the floor, she screamed again and grabbed a nearby towel which she used to smother the flames from the carpet where the cigarette fell.
Aria ignored Hessa’s plea to stop the ritual. She wouldn’t, and she couldn’t. Besides the fact that she promised to help Lora, she now had to deal with two large, black, salivating hellhounds bent on dragging Lora’s soul away.
Their red eyes glowed with malice as they circled Aria and Lora. They had come for souls many times, and most of those times, sin eaters like Aria had repelled them. She swore to herself that tonight would be another victory.
As if reading her thoughts, the hounds unleashed deafening barks that echoed throughout the room. Hessa couldn’t hear them, but she did gag at the pungent odor that filled the bedroom. Aria wanted to vomit in response to the smell, but she quelled the unease in her stomach and swept her flaming right hand in an arc. A fiery circle enclosed itself around Aria and Lora.
“This penitent is under my protection,” Aria said in a clear voice. “She will pass on to the light, and I will bear the darkness.”
One of the hellhounds blew an ice-cold breeze toward the fiery circle, while the other opened its mouth and made a sucking motion. Lora squealed when an invisible force lifted her and started pulling her toward the hellhound.
Aria grabbed hold of Lora. “Uh, I don’t want to rush your spiritual enlightenment, but now’s a good time to let go of those vices.” She doubted Lora wanted to be swept away because she kept the flaws that had entrenched themselves in the depths of her being.
Lora gritted her teeth. The icy wind whipped her white hair in different directions. “I…don’t know if I can!”
No shit. This wasn’t like giving up ice cream or chocolate for Lent. If Lora couldn’t, or rather wouldn’t, peel away the slivers of corruption that still clung to her, then the hellhounds would claim their right to her and clamp down with their hungry mouths and drag her away.
“Lora, whatever’s in there trying to stick around, don’t give in to the idea that you can’t defeat it. We’re weak, yes, but you know what’s stronger?”
Lora looked over at Hessa, her daughter, and her expression of fear softened. The old woman’s grey-blue eyes shined, and a sense of confidence took hold of her. She turned and met Aria’s gaze. “Love. True Love’s light.”
Aria used her flaming hand to brand the “S” symbol, the same as her birthmark, onto Lora’s forehead. In that moment, they were bound together, and small black specks, the remaining sins and darkness in Lora, floated out of her and went straight into Aria. The old woman had finally let go of what held her down.
The hellhounds let out disappointed howls. They backed away with indignant whines. With a few threatening snarls, they turned and jumped back into the gray portal and disappeared. Once the portal faded, Aria released Lora from her grasp. The elderly woman slowly faded, but she wore a grateful smile. She was finally moving on to her next journey–sans the hellhounds.
“Thank you, my dear,” Lora said right before she completely disappeared.
Aria nodded in response. Her throat was on fire and her hands felt numb.
“Can I come in now?” Hessa’s voice carried from just outside the room.
Aria rolled her eyes and sighed. “Yes. It’s done.”
Hessa stumbled back into the room, trying to hide her shaking hands by smoothing her green dress, which had now lost its vibrancy. She placed her hand over her heart and eyed her mother’s body. “Whatever passed through me,” she said, taking in a deep breath, “it was horrible. But I felt Mom’s presence, and I just knew she was here.”
“She was, and now she’s moved on. She’s fine now.”
Seeing Hessa’s affection for her mother ignited a twinge of jealousy in Aria. She wished she had something like that with her mother, but the woman gave her up when she was just a baby. She had been told that her father, whoever he was, had passed away before she was born. She had always wondered if her mother, a witch named Clare, didn’t want her because she was born with the mark of the sin eater, or, if there was more to the story.
Hessa shook her head, still in disbelief at what she just experienced. She reached into her ample cleavage and pulled out a wad of cash. “I felt Mom right next to me, I swear it. I guess you earned this, honey.”
Ew. Sweaty boob cash. Aria pinched the roll of money and slipped it into her leather jacket pocket. “Thanks. You can call and have the body picked up now.”
She nodded. “Will you do me when I die?”
“Yes, good night, Hessa.” She acquired most of her clients through word of mouth or by them sitting through a sin eating ritual as a witness. Most of the world had forgotten that her kind even existed.
She left the room and headed down the hallway, but paused when the other woman called out to her. “Does it hurt when you do that?”
Aria turned and shook her head, her long, dark, wavy hair moving back and forth. “Does it hurt when you do your type of magic?”
Hessa’s eyebrows rose together in an expression that told Aria that she understood. “But, how come there aren’t more like you?”
Aria shrugged and gave a confused look, though in truth, she’d known the answer for over sixty years. Most of her kind had decided that they would rather die than go on absorbing the sins of a mankind that thought throwing innocent people into death camps was a good idea, or slaughtering innocents by the millions was acceptable. There were a few hundred sin eaters in the world, and only a handful left in the United States. She was the only one she knew of in Miracle Falls, California.
“Goodnight,” she said again with a little more agitation in her voice. The Final Rite had exhausted her, and the last thing she wanted to do was recall memories of the 1940’s.
As she went down the steps of the front porch and headed toward her car, she slipped her hands into her leather jacket pocket. A biting chill hung in the November air, but what caused a tremor in her fingers and her body to shudder was the effect of the ritual. It tired her out, making her feel like an athlete who had just passed her peak and was about to head downhill. She knew of only one solution to that.
She shoved those thoughts aside and concentrated on what she could attain immediately. She wanted a big ass glass of wine. She needed her nice, warm bed. And then, she needed to magically be prepared in the morning to serve as nanny to a mind-reading ten year old, and her awkward older brother who probably knew more about human history and magic than most scholars in the world.
Joy.
Chapter 2
HarryCurses were a funny thing.
They were like a chronic disease that just kept agitating you, breaking you down until it finally destroyed you. Truth be told, Harry would’ve preferred a quick death that night when he fought the wizard, Warren Bright. Instead of snapping his neck, the twisted bastard blasted him with an eerie force that seeped into his clothes, skin, and mind. Imperare, was what it’s called. To Harry, it was sheer hell.
Harry’s hands twitched as he let go of his steering wheel. He pulled his key out of the ignition and threw on his jacket. His stomach churned as he felt the familiar throb in his ears and as his eyesight blurred.
Not yet, he thought. I’m already here.
He got out and locked the door to his black ’77 Maverick. He didn’t like being out so late at night in this part of the city, but when the choice was between running into a few gang members and the occasional wino, versus loosing his damn mind and going on a killing spree, he’d gladly take his chances with the thugs. If he was lucky, maybe they’d put a bullet through his head.
He intentionally parked under the only available lamp light in the parking lot. He briskly made his way past the few cars occupying spaces, finding an odd solace in the gravel crunching beneath his feet. It made him feel like he was still in control of his body and mind, that he still had a physical connection to this world.
“You got an extra dollar, Harry?” Chad sat against the side of the building the parking lot was attached to. He probably hung out on this side instead of near the front because Mayra threatened to cure his alcoholism with an alchemical potion.
Harry’s hands trembled. Shit. He didn’t have time for this. “Not now, Chad. I’ve gotta see Mayra before she closes the shop.”
Chad flipped him off, his scraggly beard reeked of liquor and un-brushed teeth. “Harry…it’s only a buck! Come on!”
“Shut up, Chad.” He turned the corner and stepped onto the sidewalk, ignoring Chad’s insult that he was a selfish bastard.
He approached the front door of Gaia’s Apothecary and hammered on the door with a tight fist. The throbbing in his ears drowned out the sound of traffic from passing cars and the barking of a few dogs. He prayed Mayra had his potion ready. His nerves calmed a little when he saw the petite blonde woman approach and unlock the door. She flashed him a half-smile and ushered him in.
“I’ve got it ready for you, Harry. Don’t worry.”
He sighed. Good old Mayra. He could always count on her. Maybe if he found Warren, the wizard who cursed him, and forced him to undo it, he’d ask her out for coffee.
Mmmm…coffee sounds nice, a feminine voice purred in his head.
“Mayra, I can hear them! Give me the potion, now!” If he let it progress past this stage, the three spirits who swooped in and possessed him would overtake his will and assume command.
Coffee always gave me jitters and kept me up at night, a nerdy ass male voice commented.
Mayra nearly tripped as she scrambled to her counter and grabbed a small amber bottle with “Harry Storm” written on its white label.
“Stop talking, you hear me? All of you!” He snatched the bottle from Mayra.
You know what I want to do? a third voice, darker and deeper than the other two, asked.
“No!” Harry poured the contents of the bottle down his throat as if it were the elixir of life. He shut his eyes and gripped the bottle so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His entire body grew rigid, tensing up as if expecting a devastating blow.
Instead, the soft hand and lavender scent of Mayra’s perfume made contact with him and ignited his senses. His senses. He was still in control. The spirits did not overtake him.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I made you an extra bottle, in case of an emergency.”
Harry regained his composure, nodding slowly. “Thanks.”
She went back over behind her counter and grabbed an extra amber bottle from what must have been over a hundred filled potions. They were neatly organized on shelves by bottle color and size. She slipped the extra bottle into a paper bag, folded the top, and handed it to Harry with a worried expression.
“You should’ve come yesterday, Harry. If you push it this far again…”
He took out a wad of cash and offered it to her. Her touch lingered just a few seconds longer than usual as she took the money. She slipped it into her pocket.
“I’ll be okay, Mayra. Some snob hired me to keep tabs on the mayor’s chief of staff.”
“And?” She raised an eyebrow. When she wanted to, she could be intimidating. All five feet of her.
He shrugged. “I’ll follow the guy around, take some pictures, probably catch him with a whore…look, the point is, I’ll make enough money to buy some information. The right information I need to find Warren Bright.”
“Just be careful, Harry. And please, be here next Wednesday. Not Thursday.”
“I will. I have no choice.” He gave her a slight nod before turning on his heel and heading toward the exit. He breathed in the lavender scent of her perfume and glanced around the shop one last time, wondering if any of the medicines or potions could help lift the curse for good, and not just stave off its effects for a week.
He headed back outside to the parking lot, finally pausing to give Chad his weekly dollar. He knew the man would probably go buy wine, or something worse, if that was what he was into. He liked to think Chad maybe took it sometimes and got something off the dollar menu at a fast food joint. He bet it pissed these guys off that people didn’t think of giving a few extra cents to cover tax.
As he jumped into his Ford Maverick and started the engine, all he could think about was starting his new assignment. Make the money. Buy the information I want. Find Warren Bright. Rain hell down on him until he lifts the curse.
He’d work out the kinks and details as they came along, but it was as good a plan as any.
***
About the Author
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I’m a caffeine addict and chocoholic who enjoys reading and writing engaging stories, loveable (and not-so loveable) characters, and expressing my creativity daily. I write fantasy with intriguing characters, action-packed scenes, and always throw in a good dash of humor and romance.
Science Fiction and Fantasy are my favorite genres, but I also adore the classics (Shakespeare, Dante Alighieri, etc.) and I have a soft spot in my heart for Victorian poetry. You can geek out with me all-day every day over these
Some of my favorite contemporary fantasy authors are George R.R. Martin, Robert Jordan (rest in peace), J.K. Rowling, Neil Gaiman, Jim Butcher (Dresden Files made me love Urban Fantasy), and Ilona Andrews among others. I enjoy movies and shows like Sleepy Hollow, Supernatural, Arrow, The Flash, The Avengers…there are too many to name!
I want to read more comics and graphic novels, please shoot a recommendation or two my way (I LOVE the Hellblazer comics, by the way).
Please don’t be a stranger–I want you to kick up your feet, sip your coffee (or tea) and join in on my weekly rants, discussions, and updates.
Stalk the author!
Website * Newsletter * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram
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Giveaway
Four $5 Amazon gift cards
Follow the tour HERE for exclusive excerpts and a giveaway!
Enter HERE
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August 4, 2017
Looks can be deceiving ~ Tales of Uber drivers #ExpatLife #Iseecolor
[image error]I’ve recently been forced to discover the wonders of Uber. I was hesitant to use Uber as I’ve heard the horror stories from the US where the average Joe can drive a car and call it an Uber. As a lawyer, I had issues with the legality of using Uber as a means to avoid taxi regulations. Turns out that’s not an issue in the Netherlands. If you want to be an Uber driver here, you need to have a taxi license. That gave me the confidence to sign up for an Uber account. And thank goodness I did as I took a spectacular fall while running last weekend and ended up injuring my ankle. With the hubby flying in Turkey (or where ever he happened to be that day), I needed a taxi to take me to the hospital.
Now that I’m stumbling around on crutches, I’ve had to use Uber for a variety of trips in the past week. In addition to becoming a huge Uber fan, I’ve also unintentionally conducted a bit of a social experiment – on myself. It turns out Uber provides the name and a picture of the driver when you order the car. Each of my drivers have had foreign names. That doesn’t bother me. After all, I too have a foreign name, although I consider myself integrated into Dutch society. But it did give me a chance to observe a variety of ethnicities (and my response to them) while getting rides around The Hague.
What have I learned after having several not ethnic Dutch drivers? Once again, I’ve learned that no matter how much we try not to be prejudiced, we all carry with us preconceived ideas. For example, the driver who picked me up yesterday morning had the typical look of a devout Muslim complete with scraggly beard. I wasn’t excited with the idea of this man driving me. How wrong I was!
[image error]Although the man spoke with a bit of an accent, his Dutch was fluent. He was also helpful in getting me and my crutches in the car. Something I didn’t expect as I assumed he was a devout Muslim (because of his beard) and devout Muslims avoid touching women even in a non-sexual manner. Once we were situated in the taxi, we had an interesting discussion about integration and how learning the local language is paramount to such integration. It was a fascinating conversation with a virtual stranger who I had initially pegged as a person I wasn’t going to like just because of his name and his beard! *hangs head in shame*
The return journey yesterday was with another not ethnic Dutch man – a man of Turkish descent to be exact. He asked about my injury and I proceeded to fan girl over the awesome medical care in Holland. He agreed with me and went even further and said the Netherlands was well-organized and he wouldn’t want to live anywhere else! Now, this may not sound shocking to those not living in the Netherlands, but there has been a lot of tension between the ethnic Dutch and those of Turkish descent. Many Dutch believe that those of Turkish descent have not integrated and are more Turkish than the Turks in Turkey! It was uplifting to find that this belief is not always true. *hands head even further in more shame*
So, what am I trying to say with my taxi tales? It’s simple. You may judge a book by its cover (I’m talking literally about a book here), but don’t judge a person by their appearance because appearances are deceiving. You’ve heard it once, you’ve heard it a thousand times, but sometimes we need to remind ourselves. So here goes: I promise to try not to have any preconceived ideas about my Uber drivers with their foreign names and non-European looks. What about you?
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August 3, 2017
Read the first chapter of Weave A Murderous Web, a #mystery #thriller from @KenHicksnyc
Weave A Murderous Web is a mystery/thriller by Anne Rothman-Hicks and Kenneth Hicks. It is one of three books in the Jane Larson series, published by Melange Books.
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Title: Weave a Murderous Web
Author: Anne Rothman-Hicks, Kenneth Hicks
Genre: Mystery/Thriller
Synopsis
No good deed goes unpunished. When Jane Larson—a hot-shot litigator for a large firm in New York City—helps out a friend, she is sucked into the unfamiliar world of divorce and child support. Jane’s discovery of the deadbeat dads hidden assets soon unravels a web of lies, drugs, and murder that keeps getting more dangerous. Soon, Jane is involved in a high stakes race to recover a missing suitcase of cash and catch the murderer before she becomes the next victim.
Grab a copy!
Praise
“A sleuthing lawyer returns to the streets of New York in this mystery of drugs, murder, and financial skullduggery… the husband-wife team of Rothman-Hicks and Hicks has again produced a fast-paced, engaging story… overall, this is a satisfying read. An enjoyable romp involving a shady attorney and the mob that should make readers look forward to the next Jane Larson caper.” – Kirkus
“Weave a Murderous Web is an enthralling murder mystery. It gets your heart pounding with action and passion, while simultaneously entangling your mind with its ambiguity…. Engaging. Witty. Fast paced. As the plot progresses, the intensity heightens, catapulting you into a surprising twist, then plummets you into a sudden, yet satisfying end.” – 5 Stars, Cheryl E. Rodriguez, Readers’ Favorite
“Jane Larson is the kind of character that will be loved by many readers… The plot is well thought out and masterfully executed, laced with numerous surprises to keep readers turning the pages. This is one of those books that should occupy an enviable place in your shelf if you are into fast-paced thrillers and compelling investigative stories.” – 5 Stars, Ruffina Oserio, Readers’ Favorite
Excerpt
Chapter One
I was in my office at Adams & Ridge talking on the telephone when Francine entered. At the moment, my friend, Lee, was on the other end of the wire, yakking up a storm in my ear. Her rant covered already familiar terrain. My man, my David, was drifting dangerously away from me while I did nothing to win him back. As we say around the courts, Oy.
Francine tiptoed forward and placed on my desk a two-day-old copy of The Daily News opened to the item concerning Mark Samuels’ death.
“I gotta go, Lee,” I said.
While Francine waited for me, she had backed into a corner of my office, leaned against the wall, and tried to make her six feet of lanky body less noticeable. Two large metal buttons were pinned to her heavily braided cotton sweater. One read Stop Fracking New York and the other protested against the annual Canadian seal hunt with a scarlet X through an image of a baby seal whose brains had been battered to a pink pulp.
I pointed at the newspaper and gave her a questioning glance, but she quickly averted her eyes to stare at the floor.
“Have you been listening to me at all?” Lee demanded. Her voice rose to a kind of exasperated wail. “David has been dating someone. I think he may be getting serious.”
“David was born serious, Lee,” I said.
“Stop it, Jane,” she shouted so I had to hold the phone away from my ear. Even Francine raised an eyebrow. “You know what I mean.”
“I’m sorry, Lee.”
“I don’t understand why you’re taking this so nonchalantly. You know you still love him. You could get back together in a heartbeat if you’d just spend a tenth as much time on a relationship as you spend on your career.”
“I’m a lawyer, Lee. Not a—”
A sharp intake of breath followed. “Not a baby maker?” Lee demanded. Anger replaced the plaintive wail. “Is that what you were going to say?”
Would I ever admit that the word had been on the tip of my tongue?
“No. I was going to say, ‘not a librarian’, or the owner of some other nine-to-five job. The hours come with the territory, Lee. David knows that, but deep down in that wonderful heart of his, he also thinks the hours spent at the office are A-okay for the guy, but not for the girl. In any event, Martha didn’t raise her daughter to compete over a man.”
The sound of a whale breaching the surface erupted from the phone. “You’re maddening, Jane.”
“No, I’m busy,” I replied.
Lee sighed. “Well, I have to go too. Laurie is home sick and I’m taking her to the doctor. We’ll talk more later, Jane. I’m not going to sit back and let this happen to my two best friends in the world. I’m going to fight, Jane.”
“Goodbye, Lee.”
She disconnected.
Actually, I wasn’t busy at all, or I wouldn’t have spent even that much time on the phone being lectured by Lee. She’s an old friend from Columbia Law, but enough is enough.
A major litigation I had been working on had settled just a day before and the client and powers-that-be at Adams & Ridge were very happy with me—especially Seymour Ridge. The old man himself had hammered out the settlement shortly after I made the CEO of the party suing our client look like a doofus on the witness stand. So, I had some time on my hands until I was given another assignment.
More to the point, I wanted to know why Francine was still standing in my office, staring at the tips of her shoes. She was a legal assistant with the firm. I had gotten her the job. However, she didn’t work on any of my cases. That was a rule I had laid down from the beginning.
“Hello, Francine,” I said.
“Hi, Jane.” She looked up shyly, smiled her timid smile, gave a meaningful glance in the direction of the paper and resumed looking at her shoes. I had known her for so long that she was more like a relative than a friend, in the sense that one does not choose one’s relatives. She was really really shy but also effective in getting her way with me. I read the article.
It was as depressing as I had expected. Mark Samuels was a single practitioner who worked out of a small office above a bodega on 116th Street. He wasn’t married and had no family to speak of. The exact date and hour of his demise were uncertain. The body was discovered only after fellow inhabitants of his East Village apartment house reported a foul odor during the last week in June when a heat wave had sent temperatures rising into the high nineties. Those same conditions had made his remains swell like a balloon in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.
How can a person die without anyone knowing for a week or ten days? Did he have no friend or family member who cared to check on him? Were all of them as completely egotistical as he was?
The cause of death, however, was easy to determine. When the cops broke down his door, three short fat lines of cocaine were still in place on the old-fashioned hand mirror Mark used to chop the drug fine enough to snort. The coroner confirmed Mark died of severe heart arrhythmia, which is to say his ticker skipped a few too many beats before stopping altogether. Testing of the merchandise showed the stuff he’d inhaled had been nearly pure—several times the strength of what is normally available on the street. As the cops put it, either he had chosen to depart this green orb flying on nose powder or he was inordinately careless. I suppose it didn’t much matter which alternative was true. The result was the same. An overdose had killed him.
I looked up warily, unwilling to reveal I had the slightest interest in the entire subject.
“Why are you showing this to me, Francine,” I asked.
“Didn’t you know Mark when you worked for Legal Services for the Poor?”
Did she expect me to burst into tears?
“Yeah,” I said, “and he was just as big a screw-up then. They put him in the Family Law area because he could do the least harm there. At least no one could lose their apartment or get sent to jail because of him.”
Francine winced. You might think this resulted from a superstitious aversion to speaking ill of the dead. You would be wrong. Francine had an aversion to speaking ill both of the living and the dead.
“He kept doing matrimonial work after he left Legal Services,” Francine added. She nodded, as if agreeing with her own words, then fell into silence. Silence was her friend.
“And?” I said.
Francine pulled up her sweater, which was being dragged low by those protest buttons and exposing her collarbones and the top of her boney chest. Her stringy hair, a field mouse brown, had no discernible style. She had never chosen to master the art of makeup despite my efforts with pencil, rouge, and lipstick back when we were teenagers. The only jewelry she now wore was a pendulous locket with gold thread tying it together. She said she’d purchased it in a wild moment at an uptown thrift shop. Of course, those buttons and their slogans were a kind of jewelry, I suppose, in that jewelry also says, “Look at me. This is what I am.”
Francine smiled at her shoes and continued. “Well, he had a client, Gail Hollings, who is a very good friend of mine, Jane, and—”
Now I saw where this was going. “Would this friend of yours be in need of a lawyer?”
“She’s in an awful fix, Jane. She has a court appearance at two o’ clock this afternoon. She gave Mark three thousand dollars, which was all she could scrape together. She has no money left at all.”
“Ridge will be glad to hear that. No money. Great.”
Francine rummaged in the front pocket of her cargo pants, pulled out a wallet, and then drew from inside it a picture of a young child with long blond pigtails that dwarfed her diminutive round face but did not steal the scene from her toothy grin.
“She has a little girl,” Francine added, glancing from the snapshot to me and back again to emphasize her point.
“No money, no lawyer, and a kid. This just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?”
My mother, Martha, who insists I call her by her first name, always says Francine faces a bright future if Jesus’ prediction about the meek is really true. Believe me, the meek have power, especially over those of us with guilt. Martha would love that. Guilt. I was like a fish nibbling at a big juicy worm and getting closer and closer to the hook. Francine was the fisherwoman, waiting patiently for the slightest pull on the line.
“Look, you know I can’t take on this case, Francine. However, I have some free time today, so I can at least go down to court and adjourn the matter until we can find someone to help Gail and little…”
“Courtney,” Francine said with a rush of breath that made the name seem like a prayer. An expression filled her eyes that reminded me of an early Renaissance image of a martyr at the moment of supreme sacrifice, pain mixed with a kind of bliss that seems to make it all worthwhile.
The hook was set. That much was obvious. Francine had only to slowly reel me in.
I opened a drawer and pulled out a legal pad to record the names of mother and daughter.
“There’s just one thing maybe you should know,” Francine said.
My pencil poised in midair and then wrote “one thing” with an exclamation point. I still have that piece of paper in the top drawer of my desk.
“Yes?”
“Well, Carmen Ruiz has kind of taken an interest in this because of the women’s rights angle and what happened to Mark and all.”
“Carmen Ruiz? Last time I heard of her, she was spending time at a fat farm.”
This was code. Everyone knew that the ‘fat farm,’ as I had injudiciously put it, was also a place where people could lose other bad habits, such as drugs.
Francine winced again and swallowed hard. “That’s unkind, Jane.”
Chalk one up for the meek.
“You’re right, Francine. How is Carmen doing?”
“She’s got a new gig on cable. One of the local news stations.”
I nodded. I was safe from unkind remarks if I kept my mouth shut. At one time the cognoscenti had called Carmen the “female Wolf Blitzer” because she had enjoyed asking the hard questions, especially of men who were not used to being pushed around. The fact that she had the flashing good looks of a gypsy queen didn’t hurt, but now she was scuffling on cable news.
“She said she called you a couple of times.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been busy.”
I was on the verge of getting back the advantage, never easy in a conversation with humanitarian types like Francine, especially if your mother always places such types on a pedestal, a very high pedestal.
Martha has not been affiliated with any organized religion since her mind began to function at age eleven. Still, she shares Jesus’ distrust of wealth and is fond of quoting both his advice to sell all you have and give it to the poor and his adage that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.
“You don’t even believe in Jesus,” I argue.
“I don’t have to believe in Jesus as God to know he’s telling the truth,” she retorts.
When I had accepted the job at Adams & Ridge, Carmen had had some unkind things to say to mutual friends about my going for the gold. Her whole premise that Martha’s goodness had gotten lost in one generation to my grabbiness had cut a bit too close to the bone. I hadn’t forgotten.
“Carmen’s working on a series about children and the courts,” Francine said. “Kids falling into poverty are a very big problem.”
“I’m aware of the problem, Francine. I’ll skip over the question of what has made Carmen give a good hoot in hell about children all of a sudden. What does any of this have to do with that coke-head Mark?”
“Oh, nothing much. Nothing at all really.”
She was hedging, worried that the prospect of helping Carmen might have made me shut the whole thing down before it ever began.
“Go on, Francine.”
“It’s just… she knew Mark fairly well and doesn’t think his death was accidental. She says Mark did drugs too much to do something that stupid.”
“So she thinks he did it on purpose? Is that it? He committed suicide over the predicament of his client and child?”
“Not exactly,” Francine said.
In hindsight I can see clearly how nonchalant she wanted to seem, playing with the gold locket and dropping it inside her sweater, glancing in the direction of the window as if a pretty bird had alighted there.
“Carmen thinks Mark was murdered.”
About the Authors
Anne Rothman-Hicks and Kenneth Hicks have been collaborating on books for forty-six years. Their first joint effort was a student project while Anne was at Bryn Mawr College and Ken attended Haverford. Since then, they have written over twenty books together. They are members of International Thriller Writers. They live and work in New York City, where many of their books are set.
Their Jane Larson series of mystery/thrillers involves a high-powered New York City attorney with a penchant for getting involved in situations that she would be better off leaving alone. These novels have been praised by reviewers for their gritty portrayals of city life, lively characters, fast action, surprise endings and highly polished prose. Jane is cynical and rebellious, but she finds herself drawn to the simple life her deceased mother lived as an attorney who served women unable to afford legal services. The series includes Weave A Murderous Web, Praise Her, Praise Diana, and Mind Me, Milady.
Readers can connect with them on Facebook, Twitter, and Goodreads.
To learn more, go to http://randh71productions.com/blog/
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August 2, 2017
Spotlight on new #cozymystery Iced from Avery Daniels
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Title: Iced: A Resort to Murder Mystery
Author: Avery Daniels
Genre: Cozy Mystery
Published: May 24, 2017
Publisher: Blazing Sword Publishing Ltd.
~ Synopsis ~
Julienne has her ideal job as an event planner at a prestigious resort. During a luncheon event she coordinated, a renowned celebrity pastor is killed next to the buffet. All eyes turn to her as the suspect. If she wants to stay out of jail or even keep her job, Julienne needs all the help she can get to solve the crime.
She has her work cut out for her with a vengeful high school rival now reporter, the public demanding she be fired, plus family who knows what’s best for her, and a boyfriend who doesn’t understand her. She turns to friends and a new ally to uncover who wanted to put the pastor on ice.
Julienne goes undercover and investigates a local swingers group as she follows the trail of clues before they go cold. Can she gather enough suspects and motives to convince the police to widen their investigation? Can she do it before the killer sets his murderous sights on her? Will her personal life ever be as simple as unveiling a murderer?
Grab a copy!
Add to Goodreaders → here
~ About the Author ~
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Avery Daniels was born and raised in Colorado, graduated from college with a degree in business administration and has worked in fortune 500 companies and Department of Defense her entire life. Her most eventful job was apartment management for 352 units (plenty of fodder for stories there!). She still resides in Colorado with two brother black cats as her loving companions. She volunteers for a cat shelter, enjoys scrapbooking and card making, photography, and painting in watercolor and acrylic. She inherited a love for reading from her mother and grandmother and grew up talking about books and history at the dinner table. Her first try at writing a fully developed story was as a teen was a tale of a girl trying to nurse a fawn back to health and then release it into the wild again. She is plotting her next Resort to Murder novel and struggling over which Colorado resort should be her setting.
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~ Giveaway ~
July 31, 2017
Read an excerpt of the just released #romcom Links from @lisawbecker
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Book title: Links
Author: Lisa Becker
Genre: Romantic Comedy
Published: August 1, 2017
Synopsis
In high school, Charlotte Windham was a typical student going through an awkward phase — glasses and all. She harbored a crush on Garrett Stephens, the teen heartthrob everyone can’t help but fall for during that unfortunate ugly duckling phase of one’s teen years. Flash forward fifteen years later, and Charlotte and Garrett have a second chance encounter at a Los Angeles restaurant. However, this time around, Charlotte has leveled the playing field. She’s a bestselling novelist and no longer “Glasses,” the humiliating nickname Garrett called her in high school. In short, she’s a catch now and, thanks to corrective eye surgery, it’s not just her eyes that see better…so does her heart! Garrett hasn’t fared poorly either, transforming from teen heartbreaker to adult lothario. A now successful professional golfer, he’s recently suffered a major setback in the form of a possible career-ending injury. With the upper hand, can Charlotte forgive Garrett for his past ways, and for his more recent Don Juan lifestyle? Will she even want to? And, can Garrett change his ways for a second chance with Charlotte, who may just be the perfect fit for him?
Book Trailer
Watch it here YouTube
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Excerpt
I stand but hesitate when I see Tamika’s disapproving look. Fi notices as well. “It’s okay, T. I got this,” she says, motioning for me to follow her back. When we get to her small office, she closes the door and gestures for me to sit on a red vinyl chair, circa 1972. She stands in front of me, leaning against the desk, and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Spill!”
“Where should I start?”
“At the beginning.” She walks around to her chair behind the desk and pulls out a yellow legal pad.
For the next half hour, I go over my encounter with Garrett, from the moment we bumped into each other and he didn’t recognize me, to the embarrassment of being called ‘Glasses.’
Fi takes notes furiously on her pad and grins, nods, and cringes at all the appropriate times. When I finish, she puts her pen down and asks, “Do you want the ‘best friend experience’ or the ‘brilliant legal mind experience’?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Are they mutually exclusive?”
“They are,” she says nodding.
“Okay. I want the best friend experience.”
She rushes around from behind the desk, wraps her arms around me soothingly. “I’m so sorry, hon. That sounds just awful. Let’s go get margaritas tomorrow and drown our sorrows in tequila and lime wedges.”
“Thanks, Fi. You’re the best.”
“Anytime,” she says, rubbing my back. She pulls away and walks around to the back of her desk. She sits down and puts the legal pad to the side. I can’t help but notice the writing scrawled across it.
“Just for kicks, what would you have said if I had asked for the ‘brilliant legal mind experience’?”
“You sure you want to know?” Her lips pull into a grim line. Honestly, I’m not sure I do want to know, but curiosity gets the better of me.
“Lay it on me,” I say.
“You need to get laid. Not the kind of bland, missionary style sex you had with Alex. You need hot heat, sweating up the sheets, crazy animal sex.”
I bust out laughing. “That’s your brilliant legal advice. Crazy animal sex?”
“Yes. That’s my brilliant legal advice,” she says with complete seriousness. “Listen, hon, it’s been a year since that insecure jerk Keane dumped you. I have no doubt it’s been even longer since you’ve, well, you know.” She wags her eyebrows up and down. “Before that, you only seriously dated Travis the cheater and Alex who, let’s face it, despite being completely gonzo for you, was a cold fish and a bore. It’s time to stop comparing every man to this fantasy of Garrett Stephens and just do it with him to get it out of your system. He asked you out for Saturday night. Go! Enjoy!”
“I don’t compare every man to Garrett,” I snap at her.
“Don’t you?” she asks, looking down at me sternly.
“I’m offended you even suggested that.” She looks at me, her sharp eyes boring into me, like she can read my every thought and knows I’m full of it. I imagine this is how she bears down on witnesses on the stand. I don’t like being on the receiving end of that look.
“Even if that’s true,” I start and she nods her head, “and I’m not conceding it is.” I point my finger at her. “Even if he did mean to ask me out, there’s no way it’s a good idea. He’s a total player. It would only be one night of fun and I don’t think I could get over that kind of hurt.”
“Then you need to get over it now. Sorry for the tough love, hon, but you need to move past the fantasy of this man and find someone passionate and amazing who is deserving to love you for all of the great things you have to offer including your messed-up childhood and your incredible success today.”
About the author
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Lisa Becker is a romance writer whose previous novels include Click: An Online Love Story, Double Click and Right Click. The books, about a young woman’s search for love online in Los Angeles, have been called, “a fast read that will keep you entertained,” “a fun, quick read for fans of Sex and the City,” and “hard to put down.” The first in the series was optioned for a major motion picture.
Lisa’s writings about online dating have been featured in Cupid’s Pulse, GalTime.com, Single Edition, The Perfect Soulmate, Chick Lit Central and numerous other book blogs and websites.
As Lisa’s grandmother used to say, “For every chair, there’s a rush.” Lisa is now happily married to a man she met online and lives in Manhattan Beach with him and their two daughters. So, if it happened for her, there’s hope for anyone!
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Q&A with Lisa
Tell us about your newest release.
A light-hearted, second chance romance, Links explores what happens when nerdy girl Charlotte Windham reconnects with her unrequited schoolgirl crush, star athlete Garrett Stephens, 15 years after high school.
Did you have an unrequited crush in high school?
I’m not too ashamed to admit I had such a fierce crush on a boy, I willingly sat with him in the bathroom at parties while he puked up wine coolers, just so I could spend time with him. Thankfully, that soul-crushing time in my life in over, but I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if I came upon that secret crush today as a confident, successful woman.
Can you tell us more about the main character(s)?
Charlotte Windham was a typical ugly duckling in high school — glasses and all. Highly intelligent and immensely talented, she’s become a breakout success with her best-selling novel, The Crossing Guard. In school, she harbored an unrequited crush on Garrett Stephens, the teen heartthrob and star athlete who’s gone on to become a professional golfer suffering a possible career-ending injury. The book explores what happens when these two former classmates have a chance encounter in a Los Angeles restaurant, 15 years after high school. With the upper hand, can Charlotte forgive Garrett for his past ways, and for his more recent Don Juan lifestyle? Will she even want to? And, can Garrett change his ways for a second chance with Charlotte, who may just be the perfect fit for him?
Imagine Links would be turned into a movie, who would you cast for the main characters?
I would love to see someone with the emotional range and depth of Maggie Gyllenhaal to play Charlotte. I think she could make her come across as vulnerable, successful, intelligent and passionate. For Garrett, we would need someone who is classically handsome and oozes charm. Matt Bomer, who pulled that off perfectly on White Collar comes to mind. If he’s not available, let’s just say, I would love to be at the casting call for that role.
You have also published other books, can you tell us more about them?
I’m most known for the Click trilogy comprised of Click: An Online Love Story, Double Click and Right Click. The series follows a young woman’s search for love online in Los Angeles with the entire series unfolding in emails between our heroine, her friends and her hilarious dates. Fraught with BCC’s, FWD’s and inadvertent Reply to All’s, readers will cheer, laugh, cry and cringe following the email exploits of Renee and friends. And ultimately, they will root for Renee to “click” with the right man.
What do you have in the works?
I’ve just wrapped up a contemporary romance called Starfish, which examines the unlikely relationship between a regular girl and a touring guitarist in a band. When it comes to romance, you just can’t pass up the idea of falling in love with a rock star.
July 28, 2017
Read an excerpt of The Secrets of Islayne, #YAFantasy from @karilynnwest
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Title: The Secrets of Islayne
Author: Kari Lynn West
Genre: YA Fantasy
Published: June 30, 2017
Synopsis
A boy who can restore forgotten moments from the past unearths a secret that threatens his entire future. For centuries, the island of Islayne has given certain residents the ability to revive other people’s memories. These gifted individuals are known as luminators, and sixteen-year-old Ronan Saunders desperately desires to join their illustrious ranks. As he struggles against the prejudice of the old, powerful families who have an iron grip on the trade, Ronan falls under the tutelage of a reclusive luminator, rumored to be insane. Just when his long-desired future is within reach, Ronan and his three friends discover a deadly secret on the island. As they delve deeper into the mystery, what they find forces them to question their loyalties, doubt long-held beliefs, and wrestle with the dire consequences of revealing the truth. Ronan finds himself torn between everything he loves and the only future he’s ever wanted. The entire fate of the lumination trade hangs in the balance of his decision.
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Excerpt
Prologue:
Memories are sacred. Memories are sacred. Memories are sacred. The words kept flitting around his mind like insistent flies—inconsequential, but no less annoying—as he steered the small motorboat toward the mouth of the cave. That mantra was the foundational tenet of lumination; it had no place on his nighttime journey. Luminators lived to bring memories back from the brink of extinction. Never to push them over the edge. It was unthinkable; it was impossible.
More fool them.
The boat coasted up to the shore. It was dark, but he’d come prepared. He retrieved the book, flashlight, and battery-powered standing lamps and carried them deep into the cave. He wound his way through seemingly endless passageways, hearing only the fall of his footsteps and the far-away drip of water on stone. Finally, he turned the last sharp corner of the twisting tunnel and stepped into a large cavern. The flashlight cast a narrow beam of light, pale and weak, into the dark expanse, as if at any moment it could be swallowed up by shadow. During the day, the chamber was beautiful. There was no daylight now.
He walked to a long, high bench in the middle of the stone floor and placed one lamp on either side. He took a moment to gaze down at the book in his hands and trace the strange markings on the leather cover. Even though Classical Gaelic wasn’t something they taught at the Academy, he’d slowly deciphered the text. For years, he struggled against the power of those translated words; it didn’t matter in the end though. In an instant, desperation and grief brought a vicious clarity to his life, and the knowledge burrowed deep within him blossomed into something vital and beautiful. Why should he serve the cause of memories when they’d only ever brought him despair? Better to break them to his will.
He glanced down at his watch. For a moment, Elise’s smiling face rose up in his memory. He recalled her barely contained excitement as she placed the watch in his hands, eager to see his reaction to the birthday present. He pushed the thought firmly away. This wasn’t the time.
They would be here any moment. He waited, relishing the perfect stillness all around him. It wouldn’t last much longer. Soon enough, screams would drive out the silence.
About the author
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Kari Lynn West writes contemporary YA fantasy—normally while drinking far too much coffee. She likes to create character-driven stories that are set in the real world with a twist, weaving fantastical elements into everyday life. She lives in North Carolina with her husband and two daughters.
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July 26, 2017
Aspects to consider when pricing your eBook that no one talks about #WriterWednesday #AuthorMarketing #MarketingTips
When I first started publishing my writing, I wasn’t concerned with how I was going to price my work. I was just excited if someone actually read it! In fact, my first published novel, Unforeseen Consequences, is now permafree because of that philosophy. (Truth be told, that book probably should be free. Not trying to beg compliments here. Just being brutally honest.)
Anyway, when I realized that being an author was about more than writing books, I dove into researching all aspects of the writing profession from author platforms to marketing books to – wait for it – pricing your novels. If you do your research about pricing your novel, you’ll come across a whole bunch of headache-inducing graphs indicating which book prices sell the best. That’s one (of many) ways to price your work. I’m here to offer you another way or at least a bit of guidance.
Newsletter marketing. The vast majority of my sales are the result of newsletter marketing. Not my own newsletter – not by a long shot. No, I’m referring to professional newsletters such as choosy bookworm, the fussy librarian, book bub (although they like to snub me), etc. One requirement for nearly every newsletter worth its cost is sales point. Your book needs to be at least 50% off or free to feature. Personally, I don’t like giving my work away for free. It kind of offends me that people are willing to spend $ 4.50 for a Starbucks coffee but rail against spending more than 99 cents for a book. But a good bargain? Now that’s something I believe in. I now price all of my books higher than $1.99 to ensure I can use the majority of the commercial newsletter services without giving it away for free.
Amazon ads. Being totally honest, Amazon is the reason I started writing this blog. I went to KDP to start a new advertising campaign (I’ve been experimenting with several) and discovered I couldn’t make a campaign for Never Trust a Skinny Cupcake Baker because of its original price point. To be honest, I’m not sure if Amazon ads are worth it yet, but I’d like to at least have the option. (Stay tuned for more on Amazon ads. I’m currently running an expensive ad and watching the result with bated breath.)
Better bargains = more sales. One thing that is painfully obvious to most marketing gurus is that the larger the discount, the higher the sales. In my experience, this is true of eBook sales as well. My books that are priced above $2.50 make more sales when discounted to 99 cents than my books priced at $1.99.
Well, that’s my 2 cents worth of advice today. Go forth and sell some books!
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Read an excerpt of new #contemporaryromance Summer on Firefly Lake from @JenGilroy1 #giveaway @Barclay_PR
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Divorced mom, Mia Gibbs’ family is her life, but her world is turned upside down when she falls for her one-time teenage crush Nick McGuire, a workaholic lawyer who isn’t a family man. Fans of Susan Wiggs’ The Lakeshore Chronicles will love this heartwarming friends to lovers story releasing this summer from Grand Central – Forever.
Summer on Firefly Lake Blog Tour Giveaway:
Jen is offering one (1) lucky Grand Prize winner a $25 Amazon Gift Card and a paperback copy of both The Cottage at Firefly Lake (the first book in the series) and Summer on Firefly Lake. Five (5) runner-up winners will receive a paperback copy of Summer on Firefly Lake! This giveaway is open internationally. To enter, simply fill out the Rafflecopter below:
About Summer on Firefly Lake (Firefly Lake #2)
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Title: Summer on Firefly Lake
Author: Jen Gilroy
Genre: Contemporary Romance / Women’s Fiction
Release Date: July 25, 2017
Publisher: Forever – Grand Central Publishing
Series: Firefly Lake
ISBN: 9781455569601
Sometimes love is better the second time around.
Mia Gibbs spent her marriage putting her husband’s needs before her own. And now, after a painful divorce, she’s building a new life for herself and her two daughters back home at Firefly Lake. The last thing she needs is a man to complicate things. But former bad boy turned friend Nick McGuire has turned everything upside down.
Attorney Nick McGuire wasn’t meant to be a family man. His career has always been his focus, and after taking time out to help his mother, he’s ready to get back to the city…until Mia and her daughters arrive at Firefly Lake. Mia is beautiful and intriguing, and it doesn’t take long to realize being “just friends” will never be enough. As the summer nights turn colder, Nick will have to choose between the life he’s always wanted…and the woman he can’t live without.
Add to your “Want to Read” shelf: Goodreads
Available at: Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Kobo | iTunes
Praise for Summer on Firefly Lake:
“Has charm to spare…The delightful supporting cast…and expertly plotted story add depth and richness to this tale, leaving readers eager for another visit to Firefly Lake.” – Publishers Weekly
“Gilroy’s second Firefly Lake novel encapsulates the quaint, busybody small-town feel and the slippery slope of friends becoming lovers quite well…Engaging…(a) fast paced page turner.” – RT Book Reviews
Excerpt
“I want this.” Mia lifted her face to his as a cloud scudded across the moon. “I want you.”
Even if it could only be for tonight, she was Mia, not a mom, not a sister, and not a wife who’d been tossed aside for someone younger and curvier. For this one moment, she didn’t have any responsibilities except what she wanted and needed.
I want you, too.” Nick took her hand and led her toward the car. “A part of me has wanted you since I was fifteen and you hung out at the town beach in that green bikini with the white flowers.”
Her heart lurched. He’d noticed her enough to remember the bikini she’d hidden from her mom. The one she’d bought because she’d heard Nick say he liked green. “You were always with the guys by the life guard station.” Everything about him was a lot sexy and a little bit dangerous.
“I wanted to see you.” His smile was forced, like the admission cost him more than he wanted her to know.
Mia curved her cold hand into his warm one. She’d guessed she’d hurt him the one time they’d gone out, but until tonight she hadn’t understood how much. She couldn’t regret the past, and she couldn’t predict the future, but she could do something about the present. “I want to be with you. Even though we’re not teenagers anymore and I don’t have that green bikini.
Nick’s gaze skimmed her body from head to toe and lingered at her breasts. Then he gave her a grin that was pure bad boy. “I was always a lot more interested in what was underneath that bikini anyway.”
He opened the passenger door for her to slide in.
She looked at him from under her lashes and flirted like she’d wanted to do all those years ago but had been too shy. “You were, were you?”
“Oh yeah.” He shut the car door and, in the sudden silence, panic rolled over her again. Except, there was excitement too…
Copyright © Summer on Firefly Lake 2017 by Jen Gilroy
Other Books in the Firefly Lake Series:
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Title: The Cottage at Firefly Lake
Author: Jen Gilroy
Publisher: Forever – Grand Central Publishing
Series: Firefly Lake #1
Date Released: January 31, 2017
Genre: Contemporary Romance / Women’s Fiction
ISBN: 9781455569595
Some mistakes can never be fixed and some secrets never forgiven … but some loves can never be forgotten.
Charlotte Gibbs wants nothing more than to put the past behind her, once and for all. Yet now that she’s back at Firefly Lake to sell her mother’s cottage, the overwhelming flood of memories reminds her of what she’s been missing. Sun-drenched days. Late-night kisses that still shake her to the core. The gentle breeze off the lake, the scent of pine in the air, and the promise of Sean’s touch on her skin…True, she got her dream job traveling the world. But at what cost?
Sean Carmichael still doesn’t know why Charlie disappeared that summer, but after eighteen years, a divorce, and a teenage son he loves more than anything in the world, he’s still not over her. All this time and her body still fits against his like a glove. She walked away once when he needed her the most. How can he convince her to stay now?
Add to your “Want to Read” shelf: Goodreads
Book 1 is available at: Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Kobo | iTunes
Praise for The Cottage at Firefly Lake:
“Gilroy’s debut contemporary is packed with potent emotions…[the] protagonists tug at the heartstrings from the beginning of the story and don’t let go. Long on charm, this story invites readers to come in and stay a while.” – Publishers Weekly
“Memories, regrets and second chances are front and center in Gilroy’s fantastic debut.” – RT Book Reviews
About Jen Gilroy:
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Jen Gilroy lives in a small town in eastern Ontario, Canada where her Irish ancestors settled in the nineteenth century. She’s worked in higher education and international marketing but, after spending too much time in airports and away from her family, traded the 9-5 to write romantic women’s fiction to bring readers’ hearts home.
Jen likes ice cream, diners, vintage style and all things country. Her husband is her real-life romance hero, and her teen daughter teaches her to cherish the blessings in the everyday.
The Cottage at Firefly Lake, the first book in her Firefly Lake series, was a finalist for Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart® award in 2015. It was also shortlisted for the Romantic Novelists’ Association Joan Hessayon Award 2017.
Website | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads | Amazon
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July 23, 2017
Read an excerpt of Crime and Catnip #cozymystery from @RoccoBlogger #giveaway
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Title: Crime and Catnip
Author: T.C. Lotempio
Genre: Cozy Mystery
Published: December 6, 2016
Publisher: Penguin/Berkely Prime Crime
~ Synopsis ~
While catering a gala for the Cruz Museum, Nora Charles agrees to look into the disappearance of director Violet Crenshaw’s niece, a case previously undertaken by her frisky feline friend Nick’s former owner, a private eye whose whereabouts are also currently unknown. As Nora and her curious cat Nick pull at the string of clues, they begin to unravel a twisted tale of coded messages, theft, false identities, murder, and international espionage. Nora dares to hope that the labyrinth of leads will not only help them locate the missing young woman, but also solve the disappearance of the detective. That’s if Nora can stay alive long enough to find him…
Grab a copy!
~ Excerpt ~
I twisted the knob and the door swung inward, almost hitting another furry shape crouched behind it. The cat that charged at me out of the darkness had a white body and an orange and white face. It’s fluffy white tail waved like a flag signaling surrender. It landed on all four paws and stood, back arched, bright blue eyes glittering.
“Yowl!”
I looked at Nick who’d sat back on his haunches and was calmly regarding the newcomer. “Is this what you wanted me to find, Nick? You wanted me to let this cat out of here?” I made an impatient gesture. “I told you I had things to do.”
I could swear that Nick shook his head. “Meeoow,” he yowled.
The other cat turned around twice, echoed Nick’s cry, and then shot like a guided missile back through the door. I peered cautiously inside. The room beyond was black as midnight, and I had no flashlight – nor did I have the cat’s extraordinary range of night vision. I felt along the wall and found a switch, which I flipped. Illumination revealed a flight of steps leading downward into what was most likely a basement or a storage area. Nick and the other cat were halfway down the stairs. Both paused, turned and looked at me and meowed plaintively.
“I do not have a good feeling about this,” I muttered. I cautiously crept down the stairway, emerging into what appeared to be the museum storeroom, filled to overflowing capacity with boxes, cabinets and trunks of varying sizes. I walked over to one and read the white and red printed label:
PROPERTY OF MEECHAM EXHIBIT
“Oh great,” I muttered. This was obviously the place where the packing was stored for the exhibit articles. The cats were dashing madly around the room – off to a large trunk on the left side, then back to me, around in a circle, and then back to the trunk. The orange and white cat began to mew pitifully as Nick chased a few red threads on the floor. Fighting the tingling feeling inching up my spine, I moved forward and saw a black Mary Jane dangling over the side, partially obscured by a swath of red satin.
With a sinking feeling, I walked all the way around, stopped and bit back a scream.
Daisy Martinelli sat sprawled in the trunk’s center, her neck cocked at a rakish angle, the red scarf tied around it pooled like a puddle of blood in her lap. One finger was caught in the scarf’s frayed edge, almost as if she were pointing. Her sightless eyes stared straight ahead, and a little bit of drool trickled out of the side of her mouth. Her arms were tangled in the folds of a scarlet cape looped carelessly around her shoulders.
I didn’t need to feel her pulse to see that she was quite, quite, dead.
Rats.
~ About the Author ~
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While Toni Lotempio does not commit – or solve – murders in real life, she has no trouble doing it on paper. Her lifelong love of mysteries began early on when she was introduced to her first Nancy Drew mystery at age 10 – The Secret in the Old Attic. She (and ROCCO, albeit he’s uncredited) pen the Nick and Nora mystery series from Berkley Prime Crime – and the just released Cat Rescue Mysteries from Crooked Lane! The first volume, Purr M for Murder is out now! She, Rocco and company make their home in Clifton, New Jersey, just twenty minutes from the Big Apple – New York. Catch up with them at www.catsbooksmorecats.blogspot.com or at www.tclotempio.net
Stalk the Author
Website ~ Facebook ~ Twitter ~ Blog ~ Goodreads
~ Giveaway ~
Win a copy of Meow if its Murder or an Amazon gift card
