D.E. Haggerty's Blog, page 51

Read an excerpt of Love & Famiglia from @layne_lyssa #contemporaryromance #giveaway

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Love and Famiglia

The DiDominzio Novellas

Lyssa Layne

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Date of Publication: 3/13/2017

ASIN: B06VVKY7DV

Number of pages: 400

Word Count: 157,013

Cover Artist: Amanda Walker

Book Description:

Meet the DiDominzio family—fiery, loud, Italian. Francesca, Antonia, Gianna, and Carmine were raised by their strict, old school Italian father. Each sibling has their own journey but how they find their happily ever after definitely isn’t easy.

The King and the Pawn – Francesca, the baby of the family, wants nothing more than to fulfill her dream of being a fashion designer. Unfortunately, Papa DiDominzio will stop at nothing to squash her dreams and lead her toward the traditional career of the women in their family. Francesca concocts the perfect plan to bring home a man her father will hate in hopes that he’ll make a deal so she can still reach her dreams.

Not in Love – Antonia, the sexy second to youngest DiDominzio, exudes nothing but sex appeal, especially with her non-traditional blue eyes. After dating one man after another, Antonia thinks she’s finally found the man of her dreams until she realizes the one she really wants has been right in front of her since they were children.

One Day as a Lion – Gianna, the eldest DiDominzio sibling, is the only one that has followed Papa’s wishes by marrying an Italian man and working in his restaurant. While her brother and sisters suspect something isn’t right with her marriage, none of them can prove any differently. However, there is one man that will do everything in his power to save Gianna from the man she calls her husband.

Destined For You – The only male sibling, Carmine is more like a second father to his sisters than their brother. There’s only two things that are important to Carmine-his family and his club. Keeping up with his sisters and running his successful business leaves him no time to find a mate. As luck would have it, fate falls into his lap, changing his world, in more ways than one… and not necessarily for the best.

Available at Amazon

Get the first book in the series,

The King and the Pawn,

for FREE at Amazon

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 Excerpt:

“But, Papa, this is the opportunity of a lifetime! Do you know how many aspiring fashion designers have the chance to build their own line of clothing at only twenty-four?”

Desperation. Yes, there’s definitely desperation in my voice, but there’s nothing left. I’ve begged, I’ve pleaded, I’ve cried, but nothing has broken my father’s old-school Italian demeanor. This is a last ditch effort to convince him to sign off on the trust my Noni DiDominzio left for me so I can fulfill my career aspiration of my own women’s fashion wear. My boss is moving to France and has offered me to take over his line, giving me free reign on designs. All I have to do is come up with three months rent and it’s mine.

“Francesca, in nine months, the trust will be yours to do as you please. However, I suggest you look at how your siblings used their inheritance. Their money was used to buy a house, a car, even start a business which is how Noni intended for you children to use it.”

I throw back my head and let out an exasperated sigh. Lifting my head up to look at my father, I take a deep breath, knowing that I’m walking on thin ice. My father, Andrea DiDominzio, is Italian through and through. He’s got the full head of dark hair, the olive skin tone, brown eyes, and the man sticks strongly to his Italian beliefs despite the change in times. My siblings and I look exactly like our father, except for Antonia, my middle sister, who has blue eyes. However, we all share the loud, feisty attitudes which we’ve inherited from our father, his father, and his father’s father. Being the baby of the bunch, I have to fight louder than the others to be heard, but it still doesn’t mean I get my way.

Speaking calmly, I nod, “I would be doing the exact same as Carmine. He used his money to buy the nightclub. I’ll be starting my career with Noni’s money. Papa, this is just the beginning of what I can do with my skills.”

Papa leans back in his plush leather chair on the other side of his desk, his fingers steepled together. He’s not smiling with his lips but I can see it in his eyes. “Francesca, you know I don’t agree with your choice of profession and I can assure you Noni wouldn’t either. When you turn twenty-five, the money is yours so you can do as you please then.”

“But, Papa, the opportunity will be gone by then and I’ll be out of a job!” I stomp my foot like a child not getting their way.

“Mia figlia, you know that you always have a job at the restaurant which would be an excellent place for you to meet a good Italian man to settle down with.”

He’s smirking. The man is seriously smirking at me while he stomps all over my dreams. I’m not even going to entertain his suggestion. Turning my back, I grab my jacket off the chair and mutter under my breath in Italian.

As I open the door, my father calls to me. “Francesca, ladies don’t speak that way. I’ll see you in a few days at our Christmas celebration weekend.

With a huff, I slam the door to his office and let out a scream. My father is infuriating but I’m not giving up on my dream. One way or another, I will have my clothes in a show in New York Fashion Week. Just wait, Papa, I’ll make you proud despite not having your blessing.

About the Author:

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Lyssa Layne is first, and foremost, the proud momma to her precious daughter, AR. In addition to working full-time and being a mommy to AR, she is also an avid St. Louis Cardinals fan, a runner, blogger, and an infertility survivor.

Having watched one too many medical dramas and being inspired by author Rachelle Ayala, who introduced her to the world of indie writing, Lyssa decided to try her hand at writing a romance story.

Her attempt turned into the Burning Lovesick series. You can find Lyssa’s own interests throughout her stories although all stories are fictional.

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Giveaway!

Kindle Fire with 7” Display, 8GB (US Shipping only)

2 signed paperbacks of the book (US Shipping only)

2 $5 Amazon giftcards (open internationally)

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Read an excerpt of Blood Shackles, #fantasy #paranormal romance from @RosemaryAJohns On #SALE for 99cents

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Title: Blood Shackles

Author: Rosemary A. Johns

Genre: Fantasy, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal Romance

Published: November 2016

~ Synopsis ~

What happens when SPARTACUS meets VAMPIRES?

In a divided paranormal London, Light is the bad boy vampire of the Blood Lifer world. Since Victorian times he’s hidden in the shadows. But not now. When he’s bought by his alluring Mistress, Light fights to escape. Even if he can’t escape their love. But if he doesn’t, he’ll never solve the conspiracy behind the Blood Club…

WELCOME TO THE BLOOD CLUB

Who are these ruthless humans? Who’s their brutal leader? And who betrayed the secret of the Blood Lifer world?

WHERE THE PREDATORS

London, Primrose Hill. Grayse is the commanding slaver’s daughter. She buys Light, like he’s a pair of designer shoes. So why does Light feel so drawn to her? Especially when his family is still in chains. Will he risk everything – even his new love – to save them?

BECOME THE PREY

Does a chilling conspiracy lie behind it all? A stunning revelation leads Light to an inconceivable truth. To the dark heart of the Blood Club. If he can face his worst terrors, he can save his family and his whole species from slavery.

Maybe he can even save himself.

Grab a copy now!

 Blood Shackles is on sale March 13th – March 17th for $.99 – Normal Price is $2.99

Amazon ~ Barnes and Noble ~ IndieBound ~ BookBuzz ~ BookLaunch

Other Books in the Rebel Vampires Series:

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Blood Dragons

Rebel Vampires, Book 1

Publisher: Fantasy Rebel Limited

Published:August  2016

Escape into a supernatural world of love, revenge and redemption, where vampires are both predator and prey.

There are three people in this affair…and two of them aren’t human. In a divided paranormal London, Light is the rebel bad boy vampire of the Blood Lifer world, with a photographic memory. And a Triton motorbike. Since Victorian times he’s hidden in the shadows with Ruby – a savage Elizabethan Blood Lifer. She burns with destructive love for Light. But he’s keeping a secret from her, which breaks every rule in Blood Life. When she discovers the truth, things take a terrifying turn.

 1960s London. Kathy is a seductive singer. But she’s also human. Light knows his passion for her is reckless but he’s enchanted. Yet such a romance is forbidden. When the two worlds collide, it could mean the end. For both species.

 When Light discovers his ruthless family’s horrifying experiments, he questions whether he should be slaying or saving the humans he’s always feared. What dark revelations will Light reveal at the heart of the experiments? Will he be able to stop them in time? The consequences of failure are unimaginable. Unless Light plays the part of hero, he risks losing everything. Including the two women he loves.

 A rebel, a red-haired devil and a Moon Girl battle to save the world – or tear it apart.

Blood Dragons is the explosive first installment of the new fantasy series Rebel Vampires from the critically acclaimed author Rosemary A Johns. Experience a thrilling new adventure with vampires, Rockers and dark romance.

 Excerpt

You grabbed my hand, dragging me after you down the warren of side streets behind the shops.

It was pelting down now. Even though I was soaked, I was still buzzing from the barney.

At last you stopped, shoving me up against a brick wall at the back entrance to a butcher’s.

‘Look,’ I said hurriedly, ‘I’m sorry about–’

‘Thanks.’

Questioningly, I tilted my nut. Your lips were close to mine. All I’d need to do was…

You pulled back (of course you bloody did), even if you were still clutching onto me, as if my body was yours.

Because no matter what other nasties you might do with it, you’d never kiss your slave, would you?

Then you suddenly hauled me closer, and we were snogging.

At that moment, none of it meant anything.

Slave or Mistress. First Lifer or Blood.

It never does when skin meets skin. It was just Light and Grayse.

So it was a good kiss. To me, it changed everything. But to you..?

‘If you would be so kind, some of us are trying to feed in peace.’ A nasal but polite Turkish Blood Lifer popped his nut up from further down the alley.

He licked down the neck of a twitching First Lifer bird, who was propped up against a skip.

When you shrieked and tried to jerk away, I held you still by the wrist.

I shrugged. ‘Yeah, my mistake.’

Your peepers were now flint.

I started edging you backwards out of the shadows. Now wasn’t the time to give you a crash course on Blood Lifer dinner etiquette.

It seems, however, that our Turkish friend was determined to educate me. ‘You know, young one, it is most inconsiderate to interrupt a fellow’s kill. I had no intention to do so with yours.’

 ~ About the Author ~

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ROSEMARY A JOHNS is author of the bestselling Blood Dragons and Blood Shackles – the compelling Rebel Vampires series. Blood Renegades is released June 2017.

ROSEMARY A JOHNS is a music fanatic and a lover of the anti-hero. She wrote her first fantasy novel at the age of ten, when she discovered the weird worlds inside her head were more exciting than double swimming. Since then she’s studied history at Oxford University, run a theatre company (her critically acclaimed plays have been described as “uncomfortable, unsettling and uneasily true to life”), and worked with disability charities.

When Rosemary’s not falling in love with the rebels fighting their way onto the page, she heads the Oxford writing group Dreaming Spires.

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How to do an author interview #WriterWednesday #AuthorMarketing #Amwriting

I spend time every day working on my Readsalot blog. I use the blog to help promote other (indie) writers. Part of that promotion often turns into author interviews. I am no way an expert on marketing, PR or any other field in which interviews would fall. I am, however, a big reader. Like, seriously, I average reading a book a day. What can I say? I don’t like television, and my husband lives in another country. I am always searching for another read. It’s second nature to me. Even if my Kindle is full of sample chapters and unread books, I’m checking out books and authors.

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I think this gives me enough authority to comment on what makes a good author interview from a reader’s perspective. (The last point below is probably more from a writer’s perspective, but we’ll just ignore that, shall we?) So, without further ado, here are my pointers on how to do an author interview:

[image error]Do not repeat your author summary. It’s absolutely shocking how many authors merely repeat information from their author summary in their answers. I’m reading this interview because I want to know more information about the author. If an author can’t bother to come up with original information for an interview, I have to wonder how original their novel is.

Do not repeat your answers. Over the course of your author career, you are going to do a lot of author interviews. Often, these interviews occur over the same time period while you’re promoting a new release. There’s nothing worse (okay, world hunger and slavery and all that is way worse, but you get where I’m coming from) than following a blog tour and seeing that every interview contains the same questions and answers. BOR-ING! Now I know a lot of bloggers have a standard list of questions, and these questions overlap with other bloggers’ questions. I also know that most bloggers provide a long list of questions and ask the author to answer at least five questions. Pick different questions! And make sure your answers vary! My favorite book is never the same.

Be fun or at least interesting. I’m probably going to piss off a few people here, but I can’t seem to help that (contrary to what people think I do not live to argue). Yes, being a writer is a business as well as a creative outlet. Being a business and trying to make money in the form of royalties is serious stuff. Still, nothing turns me off more than an interview that is super serious. Life is serious enough (and beyond scary at the moment). If you write non-fiction, then by all means, go to town with your seriousness. If you write fiction, on the other hand, there’s no reason to be somber. You don’t need to be funny (although that’s my preference) but interesting and definitely not dull would be great and will likely pique my interest in your book.

[image error]Don’t brag. There’s nothing worse for me than reading an author interview in which the author claims to have NEVER gotten a bad review. Seriously? I immediately jump to conclusions. Obviously, she doesn’t have many reviews. And all of the reviews must be from family and friends. Instead of going to Amazon to check out the book, I’m on there reading and analyzing the reviews. Is that a friend of family member who wrote that one? You might say I’m obsessed and you wouldn’t be completely wrong.

That’s it for now but y’all know I’ll be back in a few months with another ‘rant’ about author interviews. Live and learn and all that.

 

Read an excerpt of The Good Spy Dies Twice by @markhosack #thriller #giveaway @GoddessFish

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FacebookThe Good Spy Dies Twice

by Mark Hosack

GENRE: Thriller

BLURB:

“The Good Spy Dies Twice,” the cryptic final words from a condemned death row inmate draw Jake Boxer, the one-time king of cable news, out of retirement, setting him on a collision course with a deadly global conspiracy involving his secretive wife, a depraved New World Order, and the “guests” at a posh Alaskan ski resort. Everyone is a suspect. Part spy thriller, part whodunit, “The Good Spy Dies Twice” is the first book in Mark Hosack’s explosive new thriller series, Bullseye. Called “an undeniably spry and rousing espionage tale” by Kirkus Reviews.

Grab a copy now!

 ON SALE FOR $0.99 DURING THE TOUR.

Amazon ~ Audible ~ Barnes & Noble ~ iBooks ~ Kobo ~ iTunes Audible

Excerpt

Panting (he was an audio guy, not an athlete), Brody reached the fence. He put a hand on it and felt his arm spasm uncontrollably in one long, sustained, hot pulse.

The same type of electric shock that had knocked him off the second fence was once again rushing through his fingers and into his arm. He crumpled to the ground with a new, yet familiar, scream on his lips. Luckily, he fell backward, and the weight of his body jerked his hand away from the fence, breaking the electrical current.

Lying in the snow, his arm shook violently for several seconds, and Jesus, his heart—it was skipping beats like a rock skimming a lake. He looked back at the fence. It was just fifteen feet high, and slouching in parts where the support poles were bent, or in some cases missing. It was old, a relic of a bygone era. Totally unassuming.

Or so he’d thought.

Somehow, there was now electricity coursing through it, electricity that hadn’t been there when he’d first scaled it, just minutes earlier.

Someone had turned on the juice, and that meant someone was watching him.

When he first parked his car, he’d counted two fences from the road.

Two fences between him and the rumored Soviet installation.

No problem, he’d thought. The fences were falling apart—he could easily climb them. But now here he was, stuck in between them. Like a rat in a cage.

With his stomach in his throat, Brody cradled the audio recorder.

Okay, so he’d recorded a sound that just might change the world, but as several headlights appeared in the road just beyond the now-electrified fence, as dark silhouettes of bulky Russian men poured out of the cars and hurried through the snow toward him, he found himself asking a much more personal question:

Was it also a sound worth dying for?

About the Author:

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Mark Hosack is the author of THE GOOD SPY DIES TWICE (Book 1: The Bullseye Series), and IDENTITY (Simon & Schuster). He also wrote on the web series SEQUESTERED for Sony Crackle, the screenplay for GIVE ‘EM HELL, MALONE (Thomas Jane, Ving Rhames), and he both wrote and directed the award winning independent film PALE BLUE MOON. Mark lives in Los Angeles with his wife and a brood of gremlins that insist on calling him Dad.

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Giveaway

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Super easy blogging tip: Adding a Site Icon to your WordPress Blog #MondayBlogs #Blogging

I spend a lot of time reading and just generally checking out blogs from book reviewers and other writers. My husband probably thinks I spend what too much time on my WordPress app while those who are fervent believers in the so-called author platform would argue I need to spend way more time communing with my blogger brethren. But that’s neither here nor there.

I’ve recently noticed quite a few bloggers don’t have a Site Icon. Back up – I hear you shout. What’s a Site Icon (also known as a favicon)? I admit to having to look the term up. In my notes, I used the term ‘icon thingy’. Anyway, a site icon is the tiny image on the left side of your website title in the browser. If you use WordPress, but don’t add your own Site Icon, you’ll see a tiny image of the WordPress logo here.

It’s possible, with just a tiny bit of work, to add your own Site Icon. But why should you?

Professionalism – Having a site icon makes your website, and thus you, look like you’ve got it going on. Go you!
Recognition – If your author brand has an icon or image with which it is associated, using this image as a Site Icon increases the recognition of your author brand. Win! Win!
Visibility – Some of us always have like thirty tabs open (I closed a bunch of embarrassing tabs to take the picture below). If you use a Site Icon, your blog is easier to recognize. This also decreases the chance of accidental closure. Please tell me I’m not the only one constantly closing the wrong browser tab?

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Now that you’ve decided that Yes! You are going to add a Site Icon, you need to figure out how to do that. It’s easy. Seriously, I did it so how hard can it be?

Step 1. Make a favicon image.

Do you have an image with which you associate your author brand? I use the image from my Death by Cupcake series. It’s a knife stabbing a cupcake with some blood added in for effect. You’ll need to find an image that’s small yet detailed enough to be decipherable on a browser tab. According to WordPress, the image must be square and at least 512 pixels wide and tall. I used a rectangular image and WordPress helped me crop the image into a square.

Step 2. Add the image to your WordPress blog.

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If you’ve got your image figured out, this is the easy part. Just go to My site > Settings > General tab. Upload your picture, hit save settings, and voila! You now are the proud owner of a Site Icon. Go you!

 

 

Read an excerpt of Miracle Man from @MiracleManBook #Thriller #Giveaway

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 Title: MIRACLE MAN

Author: William Leibowitz

Publisher: Manifesto Media Group

Pages: 385

Genre: Thriller

                       REVERED     REVILED     REMARKABLE

The victim of an unspeakable crime, an infant rises to become a new type of superhero. Unlike any that have come before him, he is not a fanciful creation of animators, he is real.

So begins the saga of Robert James Austin, the greatest genius in human history. But where did his extraordinary intelligence come from?

As agents of corporate greed vie with rabid anti-Western radicals to destroy him, an obsessive government leader launches a bizarre covert mission to exploit his intellect. Yet Austin’s greatest fear is not of this world.

Aided by two exceptional women, one of whom will become his unlikely lover, Austin struggles against abandonment and betrayal. But the forces that oppose him are more powerful than even he can understand.

Miracle Man was named by Amazon as one of the Top 100 Novels of 2015, an Amazon Top 10 thriller, an Amazon bestseller and an Amazon NY Times bestseller.

GRAB A COPY
Amazon | Barnes & Noble
Excerpt

A tall figure wearing a black-hooded slicker walked quickly through the night carrying a large garbage bag. His pale face was wet with rain. He had picked a deserted part of town. Old warehouse buildings were being gutted so they could be converted into apartments for non-existent buyers. There were no stores, no restaurants and no people.

“Who’d wanna live in this shit place?” he muttered to himself. Even the nice neighborhoods of this dismal city had more “For Sale” signs than you could count.

He was disgusted with himself and disgusted with her, but they were too young to be burdened. Life was already hard enough. He shook his head incredulously. She had been so damn sexy, funny, full of life. Why the hell couldn’t she leave well enough alone? She should have had some control.

He wanted to scream-out down the ugly street, “It’s her fucking fault that I’m in the rain in this crap neighborhood trying to evade the police.”

But he knew he hadn’t tried to slow her down either. He kept giving her the drugs and she kept getting kinkier and kinkier and more dependent on him and that’s how he liked it. She was adventurous and creative beyond her years. Freaky and bizarre. He had been enthralled, amazed. The higher she got, the wilder she was. Nothing was out of bounds. Everything was in the game.

And so, they went farther and farther out there. Together. With the help of the chemicals. They were co-conspirators, co-sponsors of their mutual dissipation. How far they had traveled without ever leaving their cruddy little city. They were so far ahead of all the other kids.

He squinted, and his mind reeled. He tried to remember in what month of their senior year in high school the drugs became more important to her than he was. And in what month did her face start looking so tired, her complexion prefacing the ravages to follow, her breath becoming foul as her teeth and gums deteriorated. And in what month did her need for the drugs outstrip his and her cash resources.

He stopped walking and raised his hooded head to the sky so that the rain would pelt him full-on in the face. He was hoping that somehow this would make him feel absolved. It didn’t. He shuddered as he clutched the shiny black bag, the increasingly cold wet wind blowing hard against him. He didn’t even want to try to figure out how many guys she had sex with for the drugs.

The puddle-ridden deserted street had three large dumpsters on it. One was almost empty. It seemed huge and metallic and didn’t appeal to him. The second was two-thirds full. He peered into it, but was repulsed by the odor, and he was pretty sure he saw the quick moving figures of rodents foraging in the mess. The third was piled above the brim with construction debris.

Holding the plastic bag, he climbed up on the rusty lip of the third dumpster. Stretching forward, he placed the bag on top of some large garbage bags which were just a few feet inside of the dumpster’s rim. As he climbed down, his body looked bent and crooked and his face was ashen. Tears streamed down his cheeks and bounced off his hands. He barely could annunciate, “Please forgive me,” as he shuffled away, head bowed and snot dripping from his nose.

 About the Author

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William Leibowitz has been practicing entertainment/media law in New York City for a number of years. He has represented numerous renowned creative people and many leading intellectual property companies. William has a Bachelor of Science degree from New York University (magna cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa) and a law degree from Columbia University. He lives in the village of Quogue, New York with his wife, Alexandria, and dog, George.

William wrote Miracle Man because of its humanistic and spiritual messages and because he feels that in our current times–when meritless celebrity has eclipsed accomplishment and the only heroes are those based on comic books, the world needs a real hero–and that, of course, is Robert James Austin, the protagonist in Miracle Man.

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Giveaway

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William R. Leibowitz is giving away one autographed copy of MIRACLE MAN, 5 e-copies and 4 pens!

Terms & Conditions:

By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
Ten winners will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive prizes.
This giveaway ends midnight May 31.

Good luck everyone!

ENTER TO WIN!

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Read an excerpt of the just released If You Want It from @MsKathrynLively #ContemporaryRomance #Giveaway @bookenthupromo

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✰✰RELEASE BLITZ✰✰

Book Title: If You Want It

Author: Kathryn Lively

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release Date: March 10, 2017

Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions @bookenthupromo

#KathrynLively #HotRelease #ContempRomance #IfYouWantIt #NewRelease

#BuyNow

Amazon US ~ Amazon UK ~ Kobo ~ Smashwords ~ iTunes

#Giveaway:

Enter here ➜ ➜   http://bit.ly/2m4FxLj

Add the book to Goodreads ➜  http://bit.ly/2m5mCBE

#Synopsis:

The days when people called Winnie Segal “Sea Cow” are long over. She’s still a big gal, and everybody around her’s gone all PC and “Yay, body acceptance,” but once in a while something dredges up a bad memory. This time, the trigger is Cory Levane, former high school star quarterback and current NFL legend, former high school crush. After a triumphant career he’s come home to show off, so Winnie thinks. She’d rather design and sell her artwork than give a damn, yet the garden in which she grows her damns thrives.

After one month of early retirement, Cory is climbing the walls. He thought coming home would provide cheer and inspire him to plan his future, but people treat him like a celebrity instead of an actual person. He’s happy about one thing, though: Winnie Segal hasn’t changed—she’s still gorgeous and funny as ever, and talented. If he weren’t so damn tongue-tied around her he’d let her know.

The opportunity to work together on a project has Cory anxious to get closer, and leaves Winnie suspicious of his motives. Winnie doesn’t let comments about her weight get to her as much these days, and while Cory never made fun of her in school, he never attempted to start a friendship, either.

Winnie keeps a tight hold on her heart, and Cory knows it will take more than his football skills to get her to pass it to him.

#MeettheAuthor

Kathryn Lively has worked professionally as a writer and editor for over twenty years. She writes mystery novels, comic novels, romance stories, and suspense. She has also edited romance novels for several publishers and independent authors.

Things you need to know about Kathryn Lively:

I am the author of several novels and stories. Currently I self-publish and have works through Totally Bound and (later in 2017) Decadent Publishing.

I have edited stories and novels for various digital-first houses, including Mundania Press/Phaze Books, JMS Books, and the now defunct All Romance eBooks. I also work with independent authors.

I have seen every episode of M*A*S*H at least four times. I’ll binge watch it again, make no mistake.

My work in SEO began before Google launched. I have well over ten years of experience in online marketing.

I minored in German in college and continue to learn the language. I aim for fluency but will be happy with a strong reading knowledge.

I knit Doctor Who scarves. I am currently working on a fourth one.

I enjoy reading historical fiction and biographies.

I have seen Rush in concert ten times. Voluntarily.

I am working on my next book. Always.

I enjoy making lists.

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#Excerpt

“I hate that ringtone,” Winnie cursed. For the dozenth time in the space of an hour, her phone emitted a squeaky clown’s horn to alert her to yet more interference from Marcy in her personal life. She’d change the noise, but the other options programmed into her phone sounded equally or more annoying.

Besides, Zeppo preferred this particular tone over the others. To him, the brassy tootle of an incoming text probably resembled the call of an approaching ice cream truck. Even now, his floppy ears perked up and his attention diverted to the window.

“Zeppo, come here, boy.” She snapped her fingers and the beagle loped closer with a whine of disappointment. “I know, sweetie, but vet’s orders. No more people food.”

Zeppo settled on the area rug near her, and she checked her phone. Has he called yet? The question appeared in a blue speech bubble with a second one percolating underneath it. Marcy wanted to chat, never mind they parted company after the market. Winnie’s thumb hovered over the keypad before she changed her mind and set it beside her. What answer would satisfy her cousin? If she said yes it opened the door for Marcy to press for details—what did he say, are you going to meet, what will you wear? Telling the truth would likely lead to less gracious demands—why don’t you call him?

Because I just want to read my damn book and enjoy what was left of my Saturday. Winnie let the rest of her imagined conversation with Marcy play out into her head until she deemed herself fit to give the romance novel she bought yesterday her full attention. Two pages in, after she read the same paragraph twice, the paperback joined the phone in a growing “out of sight, out of mind” pile.

The same couldn’t be said for Cory. Winnie stretched with a loud, keening yawn on the sofa, curled to her side, and closed her eyes. Say she called Cory, then what? She’d bring up the children’s book and suggest a tweak to the plot line, and he’d return with oh, I wasn’t serious about that. I thought Marcy was kidding around. She’d feel like a jackass for wasting his time, he’d get her name wrong saying goodbye and hang up. The end.

Another honk, like a strangled goose calling for help, filled the silence. Marcy’s persistence baffled her. So what if she crushed on the guy back in high school? It didn’t mean Marcy had to scheme to get them together now. Cory’s presence in St. Florence was likely temporary, and Winnie had no designs to follow him anywhere. What was the point in that? She appreciated Marcy’s concern for her single state, but she’d done fine on her own all these years.

Since hanging her own shingle as a designer, she made enough to buy her home. Granted, real estate in St. Florence was much cheaper than in nearby Waynesboro and Charlottesville, and the house might double as a garage in a rich man’s backyard, but it belonged to Winnie Segal. She had a deed with her name on it and the freedom to hammer a nail in any of the walls enclosing her ample behind.

The face painting brought in income for guilty pleasures, like the occasional pair of strappy heels and concert tickets. Also books. Digital, discounted hardcovers, and recent arrivals at Between the Pages in “downtown” St. Florence—be the covers shiny and slick or tattered and curled from an avid reader’s love. But if Winnie harbored any guilt in that department it was overbuying mass market romances by the grocery sack before finishing what she’d purchased the prior week.

Guilt? Nah.

While she hardly burned up the social scene in Shenandoah, she refused to accept the spinster label. She dated once in a while, and just because the few men she’d seen over the years didn’t pan out into deeper relationships, she didn’t see her life as incomplete.

Lonely at times, sure, but she was holding off on ordering the cat lady starter kit until the new year. Of course, she said that last year.

Honk! went the phone. Up went Zeppo’s head, his eyes wide with hope.

Winnie sighed. Even Krusty the Clown gave the horn a rest. She snatched up her phone, mentally working out a tart response to her cousin when she noticed a different name attached to this text bubble.

Cory wanted to know, How are you, Winnie?

Good question. She waffled between the safe and brief fine and revealing how her heart rate shot from zero to sixty and her fingers shook to type one letter. She settled on the former response so as not to frighten him and processed this new development. This, she reasoned, served as the contemporary equivalent to receiving a note in class.

Thank goodness she was alone. If Marcy saw this text, the ensuing squeals would pierce her eardrums.

I was thinking about the book and I have a few ideas I’d like to run by you. Winnie waited a moment, and Cory continued texting about the Lost Girls Brewery near Crozet. Winnie knew practically every winery within a twenty-mile radius of her house, but in recent years Albemarle and Nelson counties boasted a fair number of craft brew houses, some of which served food along with their small-batch saisons and stouts. Since she had little taste for beer, she had yet to visit any.

The thing setting Lost Girls apart from other Virginia breweries, as the name implied, was the fact it was owned and operated entirely by women. Winnie heard an all-female motorcycle gang used the place as a front for a variety of dubious activities, everything ranging from adult video production to marijuana cultivation. Considering Marcy as her main source of information, Winnie took it all in with skepticism.

Eh, what the hell? How often did a nice girl from St. Florence get invited to a biker chick brewery? I can GPS directions. Twenty minutes okay? After receiving the yes, she swung her legs to the floor and slapped her thighs to alert Zeppo.

“Hey, buddy. Let’s go for a ride.”

Zeppo’s tail swished back and forth, and he jittered on all fours. She didn’t use her “off to the vet” voice, so he was up for anything.

Winnie grabbed her purse and the leash hanging from the coat hook near the door. She’d let Cory buy her first and only round and hear him out. Marcy could hear about this from somebody else.

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How living in the Netherlands has reduced me to poverty #ExpatLiving #FridayFun

Okay, that’s a complete lie. I’m not poor or anything. In fact, I continue to argue with Dutch people about how their definition of ‘poor’ isn’t correct because having health care, a place to live, food to eat, and being able to go on vacation isn’t poor. And there I go – off on a tangent again. (FYI: It’s nice out here in tangent land. There’s a purple sky and everything.) What am I really talking about? I am referring to the fact that living in the Netherlands – a country where I speak the language and nearly everyone speaks English – is resulting in my disposable income disappearing faster than a piece of chocolate cake at a birthday party.

Here’s my proof that living in the The Netherlands is way expensive.

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Just a small selection of books I’ve recently acquired

Books, books, books. My life is all about books – reading them, writing them, smelling them, and sometimes just holding them to cop a feel. Not only does every bookstore in the Netherlands have an English section (as well as French and other romance languages), the little kiosks always have English magazines and newspapers as well as English paperbacks of the current bestsellers. As if that weren’t enough to stretch my pocketbook, The Hague also has an American Bookstore chock-full of English books and a used book section. They should have never put those chairs in the used book section. I never want to leave!

 

[image error]Television. The Dutch only dub kiddie shows. All the American sitcoms and drama series are in the original language with Dutch subtitling. Even better? I can read Dutch so I can also watch the German krimis and French movies without taxing my limited vocabulary in those languages. All of this resulted in me getting an expensive television packet to make sure I got all of the good channels and had a huge hard drive to record tons of shows. I should probably be embarrassed over my excitement on having Discovery Science and the Travel Channel, but I’m not.

Social Life. Being totally honest here, I didn’t have much of a social life in Turkey. My hubby worked a ton of weird hours and getting around in the huge city was a pain in the butt for Turks and foreigners alike. You haven’t experienced traffic until it takes you three hours to drive 40 kilometers in the middle of the night. So now I’m living in a country where the beer is a reasonable price (in comparison with Istanbul), but I’m still spending more money because I can walk outside my door and be in the city center in twenty minutes – less if I take the bus (which – get this – comes when it’s supposed to).

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There’s a gala every year. Seriously.

Expats. I’m not an expat. Not really. My husband is Dutch, I have a Dutch passport, and we plan on settling here for the rest of our lives or until I …er… we get jumpy feet – whatever comes first. That doesn’t mean I’m not involved with the expat community. Living in a city like The Hague, which is filled to the gills with foreigners, it’s hard to avoid the expat community. And, let’s face it, it’s easy to make friends with the expat community. But there’s one big problem with the expat community – money. Expats have a better than average income to put it mildly, which means a lot of their activities are kind of pricey. And then there are the philanthropic activities. Apparently, expats do not adhere to the proverb – You can’t help everyone.

 

There you have it! Living in the Netherlands is expensive. And totally awesome. Don’t forget that part.

Read an excerpt of Lyrics Heart & Soul, #contemporaryromance from @AnneMarieCitro

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Title: Lyrics Heart & Soul

Author: Anne Marie Citro

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Published: November 14, 2016

~ Synopsis ~

One of America’s most reclusive rockers, Ryder Vaughn, gets an unusual sentence handed down to him. The judge, hoping to teach him the value of human life, sentences him to ten months of community service at Reach Within Centre for individuals with special needs. Ryder is convinced that, if he isn’t crazy already, he will be by the time his sentence ends. However, his only other option forfeits his band’s livelihood.

Five minutes after stepping into the centre, his entire life changes when he meets a gorgeous, little spitfire who will challenge everything he has ever believed about himself and the world around him.

Francesca’s devotion has always been to her family, friends, and the job she is passionate about. Her life hasn’t been easy. She sacrifices a lot for the ones she loves and for her dream to visit Italy. Then Francesca finds herself in a desperate situation, and the tattooed beast who is serving his debt to society must save the headstrong woman from a secret that could destroy her. In turn, Francesca teaches Ryder, if you love something enough, it’s worth fighting for.

Ryder knows he isn’t worthy of love, but this incredible beauty makes him want it.

Ryder can save Francesca from her secrets, but can she save him from his? Is Ryder strong enough to endure the kids she loves and her crazy Italian family?

Ten months can fly by or it can last an eternity.

 Grab a copy!

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~ Excerpt ~

“The bailiff asks everyone in the courtroom to stand. The court of the Second Judicial Circuit Traffic/Criminal Division is now in session. The Honourable Judge Linda Belmore will preside.”

The judge finished walking up to her podium and took her seat. “Thank you, bailiff. I assume all parties are present and ready to hear my sentence?”

“Yes, Your Honour,” replied the Crown, Matthew Fairchild.

“Yes, Your Honour,” replied the criminal defence lawyer, James Quinn.

“Then I will proceed. Let me start by saying I have closed this court to the public for obvious reasons. The accused would usually remain standing throughout sentencing, but I am going to ask all parties to sit. I have a few things I would like to say to Mr. Vaughn.”

Ryder Vaughn looked at his lawyer in surprise as he sat. He knew his fame wouldn’t help in sentencing. He had a feeling it might work against him this time. What was the worst they could do to him? Throw him in jail for a year or two? At this point in his life, he didn’t give a fuck if they locked him up and threw away the key.

“Mr. Vaughn, you have been charged a second time within a year with racing/stunt driving and dangerous driving. One is under the traffic code section 168 racing/stunt driving, and the other is under the criminal code offence 117 of dangerous driving.

“Sir, these are serious offences, and you obviously have not learned your lesson after just acquiring your licence back three months ago. Therefore, I had to think long and hard on what type of sentencing would make an impact on you. Mr. Quinn has argued that, because of your fame, it would be unadvisable to place you in the prison system, and regrettably, I agree. However, if you don’t agree to my terms, you will in fact find yourself incarcerated.”

She busied herself with looking over papers as she continued, “Your financial situation is so immense that a substantial fine under the laws I must abide will be no punishment. Taking away your licence has no bearing—you just hire drivers. So, sir, I have a very unconventional sentence to hand down to you.” To this statement, she finally looked up at him.

“I have researched the letter of the law on this sentence, and consulted appellate court findings on the chance you could appeal my sentence. I believe, without a shadow of a doubt, that it would be impossible to overturn. If you choose to go the other route, that is a criminal charge of ten years. Of course, you might get parole after serving one-third of your sentence. But with a criminal conviction, you would be unable to enter the United States ever again, which would not be good for your career or fans.

“Please keep in mind, if you choose that, I would have to place you in protective confinement because of your fame. You would only have access to the outdoors for thirty minutes a day, and no access to the gym. A third of your sentence will feel like thirty years. Or, you will take the sentence I have been working on and hopefully gain some insight.

“Mr. Vaughn, you have a blatant disregard for your life, and lack of judgment which, in turn, makes you a danger to yourself and possibly others. I came about my decision after reading the letters submitted for your character reference. The one that impacted me the most was from Sick Kids Hospital.” Now she flashed him a look that could only be described as regret or disappointment with a flicker of hope.

“I was shocked and instantly moved by the fact that you donated a million dollars a year for the last nine years of your career. Although that wasn’t what touched me the most—anyone with any wealth can donate to a hospital, if for no other reason than to get a tax break. It wasn’t until I read further and discovered that you donate your time—two weeks in the winter and summer—to teach sick children how to play the drums. I was also impressed you had a soundproof music room built for the hospital and furnished it with instruments.

“All of your donations of time, money, and equipment to the hospital has been strictly anonymous. I came to realize you have a deep connection with this hospital and its patients. I don’t know the reason, but I do applaud it. You help children you have never met, but you still have no respect for the life you were given.

“Therefore, my sentence is as follows. You are to report to Reach Within Centre for individuals with special needs for a term of ten months where you will volunteer and shadow a CYW—a child and youth worker.

“I understand you have a police check from the volunteer work at the hospital. It will start in September and will continue until June. You will not be teaching music; you will be in the classroom, working under the direction of Frankie Moratti, assisting students with life skills.

“I am very familiar with this facility and the work they do with exceptional children and adults. It’s a wonderful organization, and I believe they will teach you the value of life in every capacity.

“You will retain your anonymity since people don’t know your real name. You will work eight-thirty to three-thirty, five days a week. If you renege on this agreement, you will be incarcerated with the time you have spent deducted from your sentence and a criminal record will be instated. I will give you fifteen minutes to make your decision. Choose wisely.”

As the judge stood, the bailiff asked everyone to stand as the judge exited the courtroom.

Ryder was stunned into silence. When he regained his senses, he responded, “Can she do this to me? Can she force me to work with mental kids?”

His lawyer turned towards him. “This is very unconventional, but she has done her homework. And really, it’s not as bad as I expected. You’re the client, so the decision is yours, but I urge you to take this deal. Otherwise, you will never play another concert in the US, and you will never be able to volunteer again with a criminal charge.”

“Fuck!” Ryder couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t sure what sentence was worse. He thought he was probably as retarded as the kids. What could he possibly learn from them? Honestly, if he ever became like them, he wished someone would just put him out of his misery. Not only that, but the judge was putting him with some little, greasy Italian pussy boy. Frankie Moratti. Fucking perfect.

“Watch what you say, or you’re going to blow it before you have a chance to accept the deal,” his lawyer rebuked his outcry “Does this mean you’re going to accept it?”

“Like I have a choice.” Ten months were going to feel like a life sentence. Nevertheless, his band had a tour set for next year, and he couldn’t screw the guys out of their livelihood. “Yeah, I’ll take the sentence.”

~ About the Author ~

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Anne Marie Citro grew born and raised in the greater Toronto area of Ontario, Canada. She grew up in a large, loving family. Anne Marie is married to a very patient man. He is the love of her life. They have four very cool sons, and the girls they brought into their family that have become daughters of her heart. She has been blessed enough to finally have a beautiful granddaughter after four sons. She has her own personal gaggle of girlfriends, who enrich her life on a daily basis and make her laugh. Caesar Friday is her favourite day of the week. Caesars with the girls and date night with her hubby. She works with special-needs teenagers, that have taught her how to appreciate life and see it through gentler eyes. Anne Marie was encouraged by her husband to follow her life long dream to write. She loves the characters that take over imagination and haunts her dreams. She loves the arts and she has tried her hand at painting, wood sculpting, chainsaw carving, wood burning, metal and wire sculptures. Yes, her husband is a very patient man! Anne Marie is an avid reader and enjoys about three books per week. But nothing makes her happier then riding on the back of her husband’s Harley and  throwing her arms out and feeling the wind race by. Anne Marie and her husband take a few weeks every year to travel to spectacular destination around the world. Anne Marie is excited and can’t wait to see what the next chapter holds for her life.and enjoys about three books per week.

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Read an excerpt of The Shadow Crucible, #darkfantasy from @Shadow_Crucible

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Title: THE SHADOW CRUCIBLE: THE BLIND GOD

Author: T.M. Lakomy

Publisher: Select Books

Pages: 400

Genre: Dark Fantasy

In a world where angels, demons, and gods fight over the possession of mortal souls, two conflicted pawns are ensnared in a cruel game. The enigmatic seer Estella finds herself thrown together with Count Mikhail, a dogmatic Templar dedicated to subjugating her kind. But when a corrupted cardinal and puppet king begin a systematic genocide of her people, the two become unlikely allies.

Taking humanity back to their primordial beliefs and fears, Estella confronts Mikhail’s faith by revealing the true horror of the lucrative trade in human souls. All organized religions are shops orchestrated to consume mankind. Every deity, religion, and spiritual guide has been corrupted, and each claims to have the monopoly on truth and salvation.

In a perilous game where the truth is distorted and meddling ancient deities converge to partake of the unseen battle, Estella unwittingly finds herself hunted by Lucifer. Traversing the edge of hell’s precipice, Estella and Mikhail are reduced to mere instruments. Their only means to overcome is through courting the Threefold Death, the ancient ritual of apotheosis—of man becoming God.

 GRAB A COPY!
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Excerpt

He seethed with indignation as he confronted his reflection. Rasping with rage and flexing his fingers impotently, he took in his bruised and broken face. This mirror was the only vanity he was allowed, and now it only offered him the stark knowledge of his ugliness and weakness. Livid, he smote the mirror with his fist. It shattered as he let out an incensed cry, the fragments flying across the floor, glittering sharply in the dimming lights. He looked down at the collage of broken glass and paused, numb with anger.

The shards of the mirror glittered and vibrated, reflecting numerous eyes. Then they slowly began to levitate, all the tiny fragments splintered across the room gathering together and reforming. Swiftly they became whole again, and the mirror floated in the air eerily toward the cardinal. Within the reflection he no longer saw himself, but another being gazing back at him. Lost for breath, he gaped in bewilderment, unable to form words. The being had the fairest of all faces. Beautiful, with an aura of inexorable grace, it had resplendent, shimmering wings—pair upon pair of them in varied iridescent hues. The countenance observed him with a soft smile, measuring him with his intoxicating, lucent blue eyes. “Do you know who I am, old man?” the mirror asked him blithely. The cardinal was immediately enraptured, but could feel the cross burning on his neck. “Take it off and it will not sear your skin,” the angel remarked mildly, his limpid blue eyes gazing lovingly upon the cardinal. The cardinal, like a man too deeply drunken to think, brought his hand to his neck and ripped the cross thoughtlessly off and cast it away. “That is better now, isn’t it? Always bearing the cross. Well, he carried his cross and now he wants the whole world to carry it with him . . . how truly selfish.” The voice, though laced with reproach, was heartrendingly sweet and full of understanding and promise. It rang like silver bells. The cardinal’s mouth hung open indecorously, and he found himself nodding his head in agreement with the angel’s words as his fear began to dissipate. “I do not want you to carry this cross, this heavy burden of debt,” the angel continued. “This false salvation you were peddled is a lie. I, on the contrary, want you to be free, liberated from your thralldom. The earth is your inheritance to rule over as a god, like you were promised. And yet they have deprived you of your freedom. My heart grieves for you,” the angel sympathized, his voice laden with unquenchable sorrow. As the angel spoke, the mirror began to ripple like molten silver, and he emerged from it, as though pushing through a translucent shroud. Robed in white flowing garments, he grasped a long spear in his left hand pointing it downwards, the bitter tip glistening coldly. Standing before the cardinal revealed in his full glory, he smiled fully—but the warmth never reached his detached, frosted gaze. “I want to liberate you from your thralldom,” he said. “I have watched over you all, my tender flock. I am Lucifer, the morning star, the first to greet you with my love into this life, and the last to claim you on my dark stallion of death. I have come to free you.” His persuasive voice was soothing and nurturing, like a gentle river rippling mildly over soft bedrock. The cardinal found himself in a daze of awe, and within him woke his longing for power and lust for dominion. “Come to me, let me free you, and we shall destroy the Twilit world that has robbed you of the gifts that you so deserved.” The fatherly voice of the angel was indignant yet gentle, and he beamed at the cardinal who nodded back eagerly. “Let me into your heart, then. Lead me into your house, in this false edifice erected in the name of God, and let us together find the lost sheep in the house of God. I am his true son, after all, prince of the world.” He glided towards the cardinal, his numerous nacre wings extending into the chamber. They shed their own pearly light, and it seemed he floated like a silver vision. The angel knelt beside the cardinal, gazing into his watery eyes. “Let me into his house.” The voice was slightly more pressing now. The cardinal, dazed, nodded in agreement. With a satisfied smile, the angel touched the cardinal’s chest with a slender finger, right at his heart, and breathed over him. The cardinal groaned, falling instantly asleep. The angel then shifted like a blurring image, colors melting and running, twisting like molten glass into a murky mess of shadow and dirt-colored fumes. The gleaming wings fell to the ground, losing their feathers and rotting instantly. Now instead of the radiant angel, there stood a hooded and cloaked figure, emanating death. Like a black hole, it sucked in all the light around him, exerting a fearsome pull. The light from the candles swirled and were drawn into him, as though he were a gasping sinkhole.

The lights that weren’t drowned out flared in his presence, then guttered as he walked towards the discarded cross lying dully on the ground. With his foot he trampled it into the ground. Then the lights went out and laughter resounded. It echoed through the abbey walls, shaking it to its foundations until all the lights within went out, and all the icons fell to the ground, dashed down by something far more sinister than the raging gale outside.

About the Author

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Tamara Lakomy is British born but grew up in North Africa during troubled times. She resides in London.

She studied archaeology and became enamoured with the shamanistic practices of indigenous people.

She is an author and poet who seeks to challenge our notions of reality, and see life with a different perspective.

She works in East Africa with indigenous tribes studying the origins of mankind and the salient golden thread in the tapestry of humanity’s beliefs.

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