D.E. Haggerty's Blog, page 71
July 28, 2016
Promo Blitz ~ If I Loved You by @maryjwilliams05 #romance Just 99 Cents!
Contemporary Romance
Date Published: March 2016
Publisher: Brook Publications
On Sale $.99 until the end of July
If You Only Wanted One Night Would You Take A Chance On a Man Who Wanted Forever?
Rose O’Brian wants to spice up her love life and Jack Winston seems like the answer. Sexy, funny and a killer smile, Jack is every woman’s fantasy. All she wants is one night of passion, nothing more. But Jack has a secret that stops him from taking her up on her offer, stops him from having the one thing he wants more than his next breath–beautiful Rose O’Brian. Rose has her own secrets. Emotionally scared, she’s never believed in happily ever afters. But for the first time she’s met a man who makes her want to open her heart, to dream of love. When Rose’s past rears its ugly head can she finally let go and overcome the hurt? Can Jack convince her to take a chance and embrace a future with him? Can he show her that love is there if she will only reach out and take it?
Grab a copy now!
Other books in the Harper Falls Romance Series:
Publisher: Brook Publications
Published: May 2015
Welcome back to Harper Falls, WA, a place where love is in the air, but danger is just around the corner. Dani Wilde had already met the love of her life and lost him. Two weeks of passion and romance five years ago. Then he had walked away. Dani thought she had moved on, She dated, enjoyed the company of other men, even thought that she was keeping her heart open to the possibility of another love. But when Alex Fleming rode his motorcycle into Harper Falls, she knew she had been kidding herself. Her heart was still his. Alex Fleming knew what was waiting for him in Harper Falls. His sister, his best friend, a good job, and the woman he’d spent the last five years dreaming about–trying to forget. At the time, walking away had seemed like the only way. Now he has a second chance, but it isn’t just his personal demons keeping him from Dani, his past is about to put the only woman he’s ever loved in danger. He has a choice, walk away again or stay and fight. Love has a way of catching up with you. Dani and Alex are getting a second chance at their happily ever after. Now they just have to be strong enough to take it.
Publisher: Brook Publications
Published: August 2015
Tyler and Drew’s Story
He broke her heart. Now, ten years later he’s finally going to tell her why.
Tyler Jones and Drew Harper.
They came from different worlds.
They weren’t supposed to fall in love.
Teenagers on the brink of adulthood they gave into an uncontrollable attraction, sharing their hopes, fears, and their bodies. The plans they made in secret kept them going until they could leave the small town of Harper Falls and pursue their dreams.
Drew wanted to break free from his family’s wealth and influence, he wanted to make it on his own. Tyler was an artist. People in her hometown laughed at the idea of a girl with her background making anything of herself. Together they planned on conquering the world.
Without warning Drew pulled away. He left town without an explanation, crushing Tyler’s heart.
Now they’re both back where it all started and Drew can finally tell Tyler what really drove them apart. They have a second chance at love. But there are some people who will stop at nothing to keep them apart. Not even murder.
Publisher: Brook Publications
Published: October 2015
Lila Fleming.
Good sister. Good friend. Good girl.
Lila spends her life walking a straight line. No swerves. No excitement. Her future seems mapped out. A very boring future. One where her secret dreams will never see the light of day.
Then one snow-filled day, she meets a man who will shake up her routine, capture her heart, and help make all her dreams come true.
Welcome to a Harper Falls Christmas. Filled with laughs, old friends, and a happily ever after. Oh, and Cooper. A dog who will steal your heart.
~ About the Author ~
Mary J. Williams is an author from Washington State who went to school in a small town on the Columbia River. She loves writing, reading, and football. She always wanted to write a novel and she always knew it would be a romance novel. But it wasn’t until her favorite football team lost the Super Bowl on the last play with an interception, that this dream began to come to fruition. She was so depressed that she tuned out all the media. Without television, internet, or newspapers, she had nothing else to do, so she sat down and started writing. Her first romance series, Harper Falls contains four books. Mary has released two new series in 2016, Hollywood Legends and One Pass Away (which combines her love of football with her love of romance).
Contact Information
Website ~ Twitter ~ Facebook
Book Blitz! The Spirit of Grace by @TLThomasBooks #historialgothicmystery #giveaway
Title: The Spirit of Grace
Author: Terry Lynn Thomas
Published: January 16th, 2016
Publisher: BlackOpal Books
Genre: Historical Gothic Mystery
Synopsis:
Sarah Bennett doesn’t remember the night her mother tumbled down the stairs at Bennett House, despite allegedly witnessing the fatal fall. There was talk of foul play, dark whispers, and sidelong glances, all aimed at Sarah, prompting her family to send her to The Laurels, an exclusive asylum in San Francisco, under a cloud of suspicion. Now, on the one-year anniversary of her mother’s murder, Sarah has been summoned home. Convinced of her innocence, she returns to Bennett House, hoping to put the broken pieces of her life back together. But when another murder occurs shortly after her arrival, Sarah once again finds herself a suspect, as she is drawn into a web of suspicion and lies.
In order to clear her name, Sarah must remember what happened the fateful night her mother died. But as she works to regain her memory, the real murderer watches, ready to kill again to protect a dark family secret.
The Spirit of Grace is similar to the Gothic style of Victoria Holt and Phyllis A. Whitney.
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | GoodReads
Excerpt
I had just put the silver away and was in the process of laying the used dish towels near the stove so they could dry overnight, when I saw Zeke in the back corridor. Something stopped me from speaking to him or asking what he was doing back here. He must have gone upstairs and come back down again on the servant’s staircase, which no one ever used except Anca and me.
I ducked behind a huge parka and watched as Zeke bent over Grace’s camera bag, unzipped it, and slipped out a black canister of film, all in one quick fluid motion. After he did that, he took another canister of film out of his pocket and slipped that into the camera bag in place of the film he had taken. He didn’t see me standing in the shadows spying on him. He headed back up the stairs, his footsteps quiet as passing time.
I walked back into the foyer and up the main staircase to my own room. Once inside, I locked the door behind me. I changed out of the black dress, fumbling with one hand. The image of Zeke switching the film in Grace’s camera bag ran over and over in my head. I tried to convince myself that he hadn’t been doing anything harmful. Maybe he just needed to borrow some film. But I knew what I had seen. I knew what I had heard this afternoon—Zeke speaking flawless German on the telephone.
The magic I had felt earlier, the possibility of a future with him had been clouded now. Our future together wouldn’t be a happy one. How could it be? I had fallen in love with a spy.
About the Author:
Originally from the San Francisco Bay Area, Terry Lynn Thomas married the love of her life, who promised to buy her a horse if she relocated to Mississippi with him. Now that she has relocated, she has discovered that she can be happy anywhere as long as she has her man, her horse and time to write. Terry Lynn devoured novels by Mary Stewart, Victoria Holt, and Daphne Du Maurier as a child. These gothic mysteries captured her imagination, never let go, and influence her writing today. When she is not writing or riding her horse, she visits historical houses and cemeteries, hunting for story ideas.
Amazon Author Page | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads
Giveaway
There is a tour wide giveaway. Prizes include the following:
2 ebook copies of The Spirit of Grace
Giveaway is International.
Ends August 3rd at 11:59 PM EDT
July 26, 2016
BLOG TOUR Perfect Rage by @nashodarose #bookreview #excerpt #giveaway #romanticsuspense
✰✰BLOG TOUR✰✰
Perfect Rage (Unyielding, #3) by Nashoda Rose #BlogTour @bookenthupromo
Genre: Romance
Release Date: July 26th
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions (http://bookenthusiastpromotions.com )
#BuyNow
Amazon US ~ Amazon UK ~ B&N ~ iTunes ~ Kobo
Add the book to your TBR on Goodreads
#Synopsis:
This is Connor’s story.
Unstable.Unpredictable.
Consumed by perfect rage.
I was fighting who I’d become and what I’d done.
There was nothing I cared about except her.
She was mine.
But I’d forgotten her—my shutterbug.
And I lost her.
Until now.
I’d do anything to possess her again.
Anything to keep her safe.
Protect her against my biggest opponent.
The monster.
Me.
Full-length novel: 93,000 words
Must be read in order:
Perfect Chaos (Unyielding, #1)
Perfect Ruin (Unyielding, #2)
Perfect Rage (Unyielding, #3)
Review
I literally jumped up and down in my desk chair when I saw the final book in the Unyielding series was coming out! Of course, when I got the ARC I couldn’t start reading because I didn’t want the series to end. The Unyielding series is a romantic suspense story that spans three books. I couldn’t wait to get my grubby hands on the conclusion. Yeah, sure, we already knew that Vault was pretty much dealt with, but what about Conner? And what’s the story with Alina?
Perfect Rage is not as suspenseful as the previous books in the series. There are action-packed flashbacks but – for the most part – this is a love story. And it’s not all flowers and unicorns farting rainbows. Not. At. All. Conner is not just a little bit tortured. No, the man is lost. L.O.S.T. He wants Alina – more than anything in the world – but can he defeat his demons and have her?
Although Alina wasn’t my favorite heroine in the series (that has to be Georgie), she definitely grew on me. Her love for Conner was endless. She would do anything for him and I do mean ANYTHING. It was a beautiful thing. And heartbreaking. Like a tear might have escaped while I was reading and then a foot stomp when Deck… Well, I can’t tell you what Deck did, but I was sooo disappointed in him.
I am a die-hard Nashoda Rose fan. Her books are full of good stories, which are well-written and properly edited. If you haven’t read the Unyielding series, cancel all your weekend plans and grab a coffee or a bottle of wine and dive in. You won’t be disappointed.
Excerpt
2005
“They don’t like civilians around, especially journalists. Don’t take it personally,” Jaz whispered as we followed the lieutenant who had said no more than three words to us since we arrived on base. Two of which were ‘no photographs’.
He’d taken us directly to base commander, General Maunder, who reiterated the no photos rule, and that we, under no circumstance, were allowed to walk around base unsupervised. He also told us we’d leave for the orphanage at 0600. Then he ordered the lieutenant to take us to meet Corporal O’Neill.
The strict formality did nothing to help my nerves that had caused a perpetual churning of my stomach. I was in a war-torn country on a military base where I was obviously not welcome and would be traveling across perilous roads to an orphanage where I’d spend the next month.
Yeah, I was nervous as hell.
Jaz nudged my elbow and slowed. “It’ll be fine.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I know.” But I didn’t know. Jaz did because he’d been doing this for twenty or more years. I’d never been out of Colombia.
We passed row after row of enormous canvas tents when finally the lieutenant stopped abruptly at a clearing where six shirtless, muscled military guys jostled one another for a ball.
“O’Neill will be free in a minute. Wait here, please,” the lieutenant ordered, then spun on his heel and walked to a guy who stood watching the game. He said something to him, nodded in our direction, and then disappeared into a nearby tent.
“Get your camera, but discreetly,” Jaz said. “I can do a sideline story.”
“The commander told us no photos.”
“You want to be good at this, you need to take risks and get the shots no one else does.”
Jaz had reported all over the world in dangerous environments, whether it was from natural disaster or war. I was like a shiny new car who had never been driven off the lot and gotten her tires dirty. But the lot hadn’t exactly been safe and I’d been exposed to the elements. Those elements being a Colombian drug lord named Carlos Moreno.
I was here to escape the unwanted attention of Carlos and the only reason I obtained this position was because my brother worked for the magazine, and the photographer broke his leg the week before they were supposed to leave.
“I’m here at an army base in Afghanistan. That’s enough risk and I really don’t want one of these guys angry at me.” Besides, I wasn’t here to take photographs of hot military guys playing football or as they’d call it soccer. Still, I couldn’t help but look at the guy who currently had control of the ball.
He grinned as he volleyed it back and forth between his feet while making his way toward the makeshift goal. The grin was a little mischievous, a little cute and a lot cocky. His deep blue eyes were filled with amusement and I heard his raspy chuckle when one guy slid into the dirt attempting to kick the ball away from him, but Blue Eyes saw him coming and heeled the ball backward at the last second.
My eyes trailed over his hard chest to the tattoo down his left side, then to his flexed abdomen. Definitely an eight-pack and even though I couldn’t see his thighs because he wore cargo pants, it was obvious they were muscled, too.
But he wasn’t the only one. All the guys playing were in incredible shape.
“Deck, you bastard,” Blue Eyes barked, as a guy who I assumed was Deck elbowed him in the ribs and stole the ball. He then dodged a seriously built guy who attempted to block him. “Gate. Fuck. Take him out.”
I smiled when Blue Eyes’ grin was replaced by a fierce scowl as he ran after Deck who was close to the goal with no one on him.
Obviously, this guy was competitive and didn’t like to lose because any playfulness had turned to resolve as he darted left to avoid a guy trying to block him from reaching Deck.
“Riot!” a guy yelled. His back was covered in a tattoo of a bird, like a hawk or something.
Riot. The call sign suited Blue Eyes as he undeniably appeared like he’d be fun, but also dangerous with that aggressive determination.
Deck hitched his leg back to kick the ball into goal at the same time as Riot reached him. He body checked Deck to the left, then kicked the ball hard out of the path of the goal.
Out of the path meant toward the sidelines—where we were standing.
It happened in slow motion and my reaction time was non-existent as the ball flew through the air right at me.
“Ah, fuck,” Riot shouted just before the ball hit me in the forehead.
I staggered back from the impact and Jaz grabbed my arm at the same time as I put my hand to my head.
“Holy shit, you okay, Alina?” Jaz asked.
The loud smack vibrated in my head and there was a burning throb in the middle of my forehead. Hard, air-filled plastic hitting the skull hurt, but it was more shocking than anything. “Ah, yeah. Fine.”
“Shit. Sorry. Didn’t see you there, ma’am.” It was Riot and he stood in front of me, sweat dripping down his chest and his eyes no longer twinkling, but genuinely concerned. “You okay? Do you need to sit down?”
I stared at him, a little dazed, but I was uncertain if it was from the ball hitting me in the head or from the hot guy standing inches away from me. I went with a combo.
I breathed in and his scent wafted into me. It was all man, no cologne, just a natural earthy smell with a hint of mint, as if he’d just used one of those breath strips.
And he was tall. Like really tall and I was five foot five so I wasn’t tiny, but he still towered over me. With his broad shoulders and bulging arms, I felt like a pixie standing next to him.
“Ah, yeah… umm, no, I mean, I don’t need to sit. I’m good,” I finally sputtered. I didn’t normally sputter, but my nerves had already been sparking and now they were out-of-control fireworks.
I froze, eyes widening when Riot’s fingers gently caressed the spot where the ball hit me. It was so soft I barely felt it. Except I did and goose bumps rose and my belly flipped.
“It’s red, but I don’t think it will bruise,” Riot said, his gaze drifting from my forehead to land on my lips then slowly back to meet my eyes. “Corporal O’Neill.” He held out his hand and I took it, noticing how it completely engulfed mine. His palms were rough and his handshake firm. Not painful, but with purpose.
“Yo, O’Neill!”
He turned and I looked past him to see the guy Deck across the yard with his gear in hand and his shirt back on. “Bird landed. See you back in the world,” Deck called. “One month.”
Riot, or rather Corporal O’Neill, did a fist pump in the air.
Deck jogged off with the seriously scary built guy they called Gate.
O’Neill’s attention shifted to Jaz who had yet to say anything and I knew why when I looked at him. He was grinning ear to ear as his gaze moved from O’Neill to me and back again.
“Jaz Klein.” He offered his hand and they shook. “Journalist for the Miami Messenger Magazine. The girl you smacked with your ball is Alina, my brilliant photographer. I’m writing a story—”
“On the orphanage,” O’Neill finished and his eyes shot back to me, but there was a scowl now and it was a little scary because his square jaw clenched and his lips pursed.
“Yeah,” Jaz said. “Are you one of the guys giving us a ride?”
He didn’t answer him; instead, his intense eyes were on me and I shifted uncomfortably. “The magazine sends you to an unstable country to take photos? Not fuckin’ smart. And I don’t have time to babysit civilians.”
Jaz cleared his throat. “I understand your concern, Corporal O’Neill, but the public wants to read more than just about the war over here. And I plan to give it to them.” I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until O’Neill’s eyes moved from me to Jaz. “I’ve been to hundreds of unstable places and am very aware of the risk.”
O’Neill paused while looking him up and down. Jaz was in his forties, appropriately dressed, wearing black cargo pants with a snug, long-sleeved shirt, black combat boots and his head was buzz cut like the military guys, so he fit in.
O’Neill had about an inch of dirty-blond hair and two days scruff that gave him a rugged look.
“Yeah. Maybe.” O’Neill’s attention shifted back to me again and I stiffened. “But I wasn’t referring to you.”
Whoa. What? I looked down at myself. I had on dark green fitted pants with laced boots and a white blouse that I thought was appropriate considering the unbearably dry heat.
“I’ll speak to my staff sergeant and advise him that you’re both to be airlifted out of here at the first opportunity. The story on the orphanage needs to be told, but not now. PR was crazy allowing this. Come back in a few years when shit settles. Or when you find another brilliant photographer.” Then he added, “One that’s out of high school.”
Oh, my God. Did he just say that? He could only be a couple of years older than me.
I was too shocked to say anything and Jaz was having a coughing fit with his hand over his mouth, so I knew damn well the guy was laughing. Laughing.
“Jaz.” I kicked his ankle and he cleared his throat and said, “Umm… yeah, listen, don’t worry about her. She can handle herself.”
“It’s my call and I say she can’t.” Corporal O’Neill’s eyes lingered on mine for a second then he nodded. “Ma’am. Sir.” Then he walked away.
What the hell just happened? He was going to tell his sergeant to send us home? Could he do that? This story was not only my escape from Carlos Moreno, but my catapult into my dream job as a photographer.
And there was no way this guy was ruining my chances. I wasn’t being sent home with my tail between my legs.
I ran after him.
“Alina!” Jaz called out to me, but I ignored him.
I caught up to O’Neill who had managed to cover a large amount of ground with his long, lean legs and snagged his arm. “Wait,” I said, my fingers curling around his forearm. But they didn’t even come close to encompassing the span.
He stopped, his gaze landing on my hand and I saw a flash of heat flare in the depths before they darkened and there was that fierce scowl again that sent my heart racing. I suddenly wondered if I should’ve just let Jaz deal with this. But it was me he had an issue with.
I released his arm. “I need this job. It’s really important.”
He replied, “You won’t need it if you’re dead.”
“We’re going to an orphanage.”
“That we have to drive to. You know about roadside bombs, right? Suicide bombers? You do know what’s going on in this country?” God, he was being an ass. “You hear about the stories of reporters being held for ransom or even worse, terrorists torturing them for months before videoing their head being blown off? They’re all true. This isn’t a place for a young girl who probably hasn’t witnessed death, let alone heard a gun go off. Go home. Finish school and take photos of families with their dog.” He turned and started walking away again.
Jesus. What right did he have telling me how to live my life? I was good at what I did and I wanted to take photographs that told a story. “I know how to handle a gun and I’ve seen men die,” I blurted.
He stopped, broad back stiffening and then swung around and headed for me. Shit. I backed up a couple steps because he was really intimidating with that severe scowl and overly confident swagger.
I swallowed. “My father taught me to shoot when I was ten.”
He snorted. “A squirt gun doesn’t count.”
“Funny.” What a dick.
He leaned in closer. So close that his warm breath swept across my face. “Do I make you nervous? Because you sure as hell look it. Pulse throbbing in the curve of your neck, quick inhales, fingers curled in the sides of your pants and your teeth chewing on that plush bottom lip. How nervous do you think you’ll be if the Taliban gets a hold of you?”
I hastily released my lip and his eyes flicked to my mouth.
Bastard. But he read me perfectly. I was nervous. He made me nervous and I’d grown up around dangerous, powerful men, my father being one of them. He flew cocaine from Colombia to Miami for Carlos Moreno ever since I could remember.
I’d never personally met Carlos until three years ago, when I was sixteen. I’d been with my mother and father in the market when a Jeep slowed beside us. It was Carlos and his right-hand man, Diego. My father told me to go home, but Carlos already had his eyes on me and asked for an introduction.
The man was old enough to be my father and yet he stared at me with the corners of his lips curved up and his gaze lingering on my breasts. There was a gleam in his eyes that made my stomach lurch and my pulse race with fear.
My father was so nervous he stumbled over his words and kept looking from me to Carlos, his face pale. It was my mother who moved in front of me to block Carlos’s view of me, but it was too late. I had his unwanted attention.
But he never did anything about it for three years, then one night Carlos’s man, Diego, showed up unannounced at the house and he and my father had a huge argument. It was then my father contacted my brother, Juan, who lived in the States.
Last time I’d seen my brother, I was ten years old. He’d bought me my first camera, his goodbye present. He’d told me once he was settled and had enough money I would live with him in the United States. I soon realized why he left when he did—to escape Carlos Moreno’s grasp.
I straightened my shoulders as I faced off with Corporal O’Neill. “Then make sure the Taliban doesn’t get ahold of me,” I retorted. “And you can’t disobey orders.” I really wasn’t sure about all the rules, but I was pretty sure he couldn’t just refuse for the simple fact that he thought I was too young and obviously disliked me.
He grunted, shaking his head. Crossing his arms, a hint of a smile emerged. “I wasn’t ordered. I volunteered. Now I’m unvolunteering.”
“That’s not even a word.”
He produced a full-on smirk. “Sure it is. We’re in my world now and I’m sure I have lots of words you’re not old enough to understand.”
#MeettheAuthor
Nashoda Rose is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who lives in Toronto with her assortment of pets. She writes contemporary romance with a splash of darkness, or maybe it’s a tidal wave.
When she isn’t writing, she can be found sitting in a field reading with her dogs at her side while her horses graze nearby. She loves interacting with her readers and chatting about her addiction—books.
#SocialLinks
Website ~ Facebook ~ Twitter ~ Goodreads ~ Newsletter ~ Instagram ~ Google + ~ Pinterest
#Giveaway:
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Promo Blitz! Scared Witchless by Amy Boyles #cozymystery #excerpt
Mystery, Cozy Mystery Date Published: June 28, 2016
A witch. A murder. A wedding dress?
Dylan Apel is having one heck of a summer. She knows her hand-made clothing is special, but magical? Discovering that she’s a witch is bad enough, but when Dylan realizes there are folks who’ll kill to possess her witchy powers— that’s enough to make a girl want to hide out in the back of her boutique. Only problem is, Queen Witch is in town, itchin’ to make sure Dylan learns to cast spells, and this witch won’t take no for an answer.
Dylan must learn fast—someone just killed her best client with a poisoned gown meant for Dylan. Was it the tall, mysterious hottie in black, who’s suddenly everywhere she goes? After all, the first thing Roman Bane says is he doesn’t like witches. Is he here to save her, or kill her?
Dylan is barely getting a handle on her new powers when she finds herself surrounded by witches bossing her this way and that, local police nosing about, and wary clients—death by clothing is not good for business. And the solstice is coming … a time when witch powers are at their peak. Can Dylan survive the chaos long enough to figure out her new life?
Grab a copy here
Excerpt
“If that ain’t the other side of stupid, I don’t know what is.”
Reagan Eckhart, all platinum-blonde ninety-eight pounds of her, shoved a newspaper in my face. I winced, barely avoiding a massive paper cut to the nose.
“Those idiots put you in Arts and Leisure. You should have been on the front page of the Birmingham News.” She tapped the newspaper with a single red fingernail. “With as much business as you do, Dylan Apel, you should have been the main story of the day.”
“Don’t you think technically they should have put me in the business section?” I said.
Reagan fluffed the foot of hair teased up at her crown. At least it looked like a foot. Okay, it wasn’t a foot—only six inches. But those were a tall six inches. Big enough to practically be their own person. “Whatever,” she mumbled.
The debutante was in rare form today. Reagan was dressed to the nines in a black halter top and pants that resembled Spandex. Personally, I was waiting for her to break out into the chorus of “You’re the One That I Want,” à la Olivia Newton-John. Harry Shaw, her fiancé—a smallish, bald financial advisor—definitely wouldn’t join her if she did. His idea of playing John Travolta probably resembled hot-and-heavy talk about how gross grease and lightning were and why would you want to put the two together?
I grabbed the paper and scrutinized the picture of me and my sisters, Seraphina and Reid. Bright, beaming smiles on our faces, we stood in front of our side-by-side stores—Perfect Fit and Sinless Confections. Seraphina, tall and slender, her hair shimmering like glass in the sunlight, looked absolutely perfect. Even Reid, my eighteen-year-old baby sis, looked cherubic and innocent, her doe eyes and cheeky smile radiating youthful exuberance.
Then there was me. I sighed. It had taken two hours to smooth my hair, and it had still frizzed on the edges. I wasn’t as tall or slender as Seraphina. But what I lacked in athletic build, I made up for in curves. Good for me. I might not look statuesque and perfect, but I could put on a slutty dress and have enough T and A to get noticed.
Was that a zit on my cheek?
“When I realized you had this store, Dylan,” Reagan said, “and I saw how beautiful the dresses were, I told Harry—I said, ‘Harry, that’s who’s going to design my wedding dress.’ Didn’t I, hon?”
Harry, nose-deep in the business section, remained silent.
Reagan kicked him.
“Ow!” Harry rubbed his ankle. “What’d you do that for?”
“Didn’t I, Harry? Didn’t I say that?”
Harry shrank a little, his bald pate looking even balder under the fluorescents. “Yes, of course you did, dear.”
Poor guy. He probably wouldn’t last a year in the marriage. He’d be whipped, beaten down and likely castrated after two months.
Did I say that out loud?
“Anyway,” Reagan continued, flitting about the room. “I told Harry, Dylan Apel and I were best friends in high school—”
“Mortal enemies,” I corrected.
“—and of course she’s going to be the one to design my dress.” Girlfriend didn’t miss one beat. I don’t think Reagan listened to what people said. Did she even hear them when they talked?
From the corner my assistant, Carrie Dogwood, snickered. I shot her a look of warning. She turned a deep shade of red and pretended to straighten a rack of sequined gowns.
“Reagan, do you want to see your dress again?” I asked.
“Of course,” she squealed. “I can’t get enough of it.”
Carrie crossed to me. She leaned over, kept her voice low. “Wonder what she’ll complain about this time.”
I turned away from Reagan. “Hopefully nothing,” I whispered. “Can you grab the dress?”
“Sure thing.”
An unfinished blue gown caught my attention. The color of a robin’s egg, the dress would be the envy of the Silver Springs solstice banquet, what with its deep vee neckline and overlay of chiffon. I needed to finish it before the dance, which was barely two weeks away.
I sighed. I’d been working a lot lately, thanks to Reagan’s never-ending changes to her gown. There was less than a week until the wedding, and after that I’d have plenty of time to work on my own dress. That is, if I survived Reagan for a few more days.
I stared vacantly at the gown until a bodiless hand thrust the newspaper into my face once more. Reagan popped up in front of me and wiggled the now crumpled article. “But this reporter nails it. She absolutely gets it right. I could have gone anywhere for my dress, but there’s just something about your gowns and your sister’s food. It’s like I’m transported to another place. I don’t know how to describe it.”
I had heard the same mantra over and over from clients. There’s something about your clothes that I can’t put my finger on. It’s almost like they’re magical.
Yeah. Right. Not that I didn’t appreciate the compliment. Believe me, I did. So did Sera. If it weren’t for the folks in our lakeside community of Silver Springs, Alabama, we’d be beggars. Hoboes maybe. Vagabonds most likely. And not the good kind. Not the sexy kind you see on the covers of romance novels.
Wait. There weren’t hoboes on those. Well, anyway, we’d be dirty, covered in rags that smelled of oil and sweat, with grit under our fingernails that not even the best manicure technician could lift.
“Here’s the dress,” Carrie said.
Reagan’s smile vanished. “Oh.”
My dreams, my hopes, my wishes for a beautiful future crashed and exploded like a car careening off a cliff in a 1970s B movie. What could possibly be wrong this time—the hundredth time? I swear, every occasion this girl saw her dress, she found something to criticize. It was a wonder I hadn’t strangled her before now.
I smoothed the lines of frustration that were forming on my forehead. “What’s the problem?”
Reagan wrinkled her nose. “It’s just…well…that’s a lot of sequins.”
I took a deep, cleansing breath and thought happy thoughts. “Last week you wanted more sequins. You said it didn’t have enough bling.”
Carrie bit back a giggle.
I flashed her a seething look. I mean, seriously. I knew it was funny, but it was only good service not to laugh at the customer while she’s standing right in front of you. At least wait until the door hits her backside as she’s leaving.
“Well,” Reagan said, “last week there weren’t any sequins. What were there? Like five on the whole thing?”
I steepled my fingers beneath my chin. “There were two hundred.”
“Oh. How many are there now?”
“Five hundred.”
“It’s too many. Listen, Dylan, just because we were best friends in high school—”
“Mortal enemies,” I said.
“—doesn’t mean you can take advantage of me. If this dress isn’t to perfection by Saturday, then I’m getting it for free. Right?”
Whoa, Nelly. “I’m sorry?”
Reagan batted her fake eyelashes. “That’s just plain old good business. The customer is always right. I mean, we go way back. Too far back to let a little disagreement over some sequins ruin what we had.”
I poked the air with my index finger. “Once again, we were mortal enemies. Reagan, you have brain damage when it comes to what high school was like.”
A tittering laugh escaped her throat. It sounded like a thousand butterflies taking flight. That was right before I lifted my imaginary rocket launcher, aimed high and fired, sending the beauties crashing to the ground in a blazing explosion.
“You’re so melodramatic, Dylan. We had a little disagreement about prom; that was all.”
I crossed my arms. “Reagan, let me remind you of exactly what happened in high school.”
“Why don’t you do that, since you’re so convinced we had nothing to do with each other.” Reagan pulled one of her eyelashes. Ouch. Didn’t that hurt?
I shook my head and said, “You had Colten Blacklock ask me to prom for the sole purpose of standing me up the night of.” I pointed to her and then to me. “You and I—we were never friends, and I’m not giving you this dress for free. We’ve done a dozen fittings, and you’ve found something wrong with each and every one. You can either take it or leave it.”
Reagan’s mouth fell. She swung to Harry. “Are you going to let her talk to me like that?”
Harry squashed the grin on his face and cleared his throat. “Ahem. Well. You have tried the dress on a lot, and Miss Apel has been more than accommodating.”
Reagan stomped her foot. “You,” she said, wagging a finger at him. “You wait until we get home.”
Oh no. I didn’t want Harry to be in the dog house because of me. I reached out and rubbed Reagan’s arm, trying to soothe the savage bridezilla. “Reagan, I’ll lose some of the sequins. Stop by tomorrow and see what you think.”
She flashed a tight, bitter smile. “What you have better be good, or I’m taking my business elsewhere. And that means your sister won’t be doing the catering, either.” She squared her shoulders, swiveled on her heel and stormed out of the shop. Harry gave me an apologetic smile and followed. The little bell above the door tinkled as they left.
“Do you think she’ll back out?” Carrie asked.
I shook my head. “Of course not. Not unless she wants a dress off the rack and a cake from Walmart.”
Carrie laughed. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”
“She’s certainly something.” I rubbed my neck. Tension latched to the cords of muscle. I’d have a headache pretty soon if I didn’t take an ibuprofen. Extending my palm, I gestured for Carrie to hand me the wedding gown. “I guess I’ll alter her dress.”
Carrie stuffed the layers of silk in my hands and nodded to the blue cross-necked dress. “But when are you going to finish that one?”
I peeked out from behind the mass. “I don’t know. We have, what? Two weeks until the summer solstice? I’ll work on it soon.”
The bell above the door tinkled. Seraphina crashed in, a whirlwind of flour following her. Her blue eyes sparkled with delight. How I envied those eyes. Mine were poo brown. Some said chocolate, but I knew better. Those folks were just being Southern polite.
“Oh my God! Did y’all see the article?” She waved the paper like a flag of surrender.
“I did!”
“It’s incredible. The reporter went so far as to say our work is, and I quote…” She scanned the article. “Where is it? Where did that passage go? Oh, here it is.” She jabbed it. “She said our work is ‘inspired by the gods themselves.’ Ha! You couldn’t pay for better advertising.”
“You probably could,” I said.
Carrie flipped the ends of her chestnut hair. “Listen, y’all, I just got this new gel manicure machine in the mail. Do you mind if I go freshen up these bad boys?” She wiggled her perfect coral nails. To my eyes, they needed no refreshing. But hey, every girl has some sort of vice. Carrie’s happened to be that she was ADD about her nails. In the three years she’d worked for me, I’d never seen one chip. Ever. Mine, on the other hand, looked like Godzilla had tried to paint them—there were broken wedges of color that Carrie would have deemed unforgivable.
“Go ahead. We’ll be here,” I said. She picked up a shipping box and exited to the back.
I hung Reagan’s wedding dress on a rack and brushed my hands of any rogue sequins that hadn’t been sewn on properly, which was actually impossible since I’d done the work myself. But my grandmother had always taught me to be humble, so that was my attempt.
Sera chewed her bottom lip. “The reporter says, ‘Dylan Apel’s dresses will transport you to another time and place. A claim I can attest to personally, for I experienced this peculiar phenomenon first-hand when I tried on one of her gowns. When I saw my reflection in the mirror, for a split second I was taken back to the cotillion ball where I met my husband thirty years ago. If that wasn’t enough to put a spring in my step, one bite of Seraphina’s baked treats and I was back in my grandmother’s kitchen as she created confections on the stove. Truly a magical experience.'” Sera paused, looked up at me. “Seriously. That’s some good stuff.”
“Yeah, it’s good,” I said. But the reporter’s description about trying on my clothes bothered me. I shrugged off the uncomfortable feeling and smiled. “Though I have been accused on occasion of drugging my clothes.”
Sera frowned. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
The bell tinkled. I stepped forward, my most welcoming smile on my face.
My sister glanced at me. “You look like a piranha. Tone it down.”
I settled into a half smile. “Good morning! Welcome to Perfect Fit.”
A towering redhead sauntered into the store. Bangles covered both her arms, clinking pleasantly as she walked. Emerald-green eyes fixed on me and Sera. I squirmed. Couldn’t help it. At five-five I wasn’t short. Not by any means. But this was a tall woman. Five-ten easy. And all that hair. A cloud of silky crimson and honey curls cascaded down her back. I don’t even think she had any product in it. It was a totally natural head of hair.
I hated her.
Kidding. But envy did surface.
She smiled brightly. My envy turned into instant like. “Mornin’. I wanted to try on some clothes,” she said in a throaty voice, the kind that drove men mad. I’d never seen her before, and Silver Springs was a minuscule town. From the look of interest on Sera’s face, I guess she hadn’t seen this woman before, either.
I stepped forward. “Absolutely. What are you looking for?”
“Just some regular day-wear stuff.”
My time had arrived. I had a knack, a sixth sense really, about clothes and people. In one try I could create an entire body-fitting wardrobe and not even know the size of the person. What can I say? It came naturally to me.
“Are you looking for sportswear or business?”
“Both.”
Cha-ching! “Let me pull a few items and see what you think.”
“I’m gonna head back,” Sera said. “I’m sure there’s something I need to make.”
I waved. “Bye.”
She waved back and left, leaving me to focus on my client. Five minutes later I had two armfuls of pants, jackets, and blouses. “Let me get you in a dressing room. After you’re done, come out and see what you think in the three-way mirror.”
None of my dressing rooms had mirrors. People thought it weird, but I wanted to be around when my clients saw themselves in my clothing for the first time.
The woman disappeared behind the door, a roomful of clothes at the ready. Two minutes later she reappeared in a pair of jeans and a loose blouse.
“Take a look.”
She stepped forward. The air contracted as if the very atmosphere had been sucked away. The mirror shimmered, and the woman’s image bowed and straightened. It happened fast, so fast no one ever noticed. No one except for me.
So, this is where I tell you what that’s all about. I would if I could. The easiest explanation is that my clothes make people feel great. From what Sera’s told me, putting on one of my garments reminds you of an amazing time in your life. For instance—you’re a fifty-year-old woman buying a dress for your daughter’s wedding. You try something on and poof, you’re transported back to the wondrous feeling you experienced at senior prom. Of course, that would be you, not me. My prom stank thanks to Reagan Eckhart.
At least, that’s what I’d always thought. It’s also why the reporter’s story bothered me. She saw her younger self in that mirror. That had never happened before—at least not that I knew of. My clothes blanketed clients in a wondrous feeling. They didn’t make anyone see visions.
Sera’s baked goods do something similar. Every time I eat something she’s made, I feel amazing, like I could take on the world. One bite of a buttery croissant and I’m totally superwoman. Minus the red cape. And the tights. Now that I think about it, I wouldn’t be caught dead in that outfit.
But why are we like that? We’re gifted; that’s what our grandmother always called it. We have a gift.
“What do you think?” I asked.
She stared at her image. After a long moment her lips curlicued into a smile. She licked the bottom one, her eyes shining.
“Your clothes are breathtaking.”
Thirty minutes and three hundred dollars later, I placed the last package in the redhead’s hands.
“How’d you hear about us?” I asked.
“I saw the article in the paper.”
I clicked my tongue. “Wow. News travels fast.” Sweet. Today might be a crazy, busy day.
She smiled, her eyes glittering. “You don’t even know the half of it.”
“Oh?”
She pinched her brows together, giving her a dark, ominous expression. “In one week I guarantee you won’t recognize your life.”
An awkward laugh escaped my lips. “Oh. Ha-ha. I hope it’s all good.”
She shook her head. “That little article that came out about you? The one that was supposed to help your business? Well, you just did the opposite. You stirred up a bed of fire ants.” She leaned forward and gave me a stern look. “And in case you need remindin’, the sting from a fire ant lasts a long time. Take this as your warnin’.”
I was so confused. “What do you mean, a warning?”
“Watch your back.”
With that she left, her cloud of hair billowing behind her. I stood stone still. Numb shock tingled over my body, filtering down into my fingers and toes.
What the heck just happened?
About the Author
After living in Chicago, Louisville and New York, Amy Boyles finally settled in North Alabama with her husband.
Along with writing, she has a passion for cooking ridiculously fattening food and complaining about weight gain. She loves to connect with readers.
Contact Links
http://bookbuzz.net/blog/mystery-scared-witchless/
July 24, 2016
How to do a reader newsletter marketing push #marketing #amwriting #MondayBlogs
Book marketing. The mere thought of marketing my books wants me to run to my bed and hide under the covers. Maybe I’ll even take a nap while I’m there. Anything to get out of having to do the dreaded marketing. Unfortunately, pouting doesn’t help the situation and – let’s face it – marketing is part of the gig of being a self-published writer. I can say I don’t care if anyone buys my books – I don’t do it for the money after all – but that would be a lie. I put months and months of effort into a single book. Of course, I want someone (preferably several someones) to read it! Even better, I’d really, really like someone to enjoy reading it. Sigh. Wouldn’t that be the life?
With everyone from grandma to high schoolers self-publishing books, it’s nearly impossible to get noticed. There are as many different marketing ideas as there are self-published books. (Slight exaggeration) There are virtual book tours, release blitzes, social media buzzes, guest posts, interviews, Facebook advertising, book giveaways …. The list goes on and on. And while I’ve found that some of these marketing tools work well, the tool which seems to work the best for me is signing my book up for a reader newsletter.
The number of companies sending newsletters with lists of free or on sale books to readers is staggering. The most well-known of which is BookBub. But I’m not going to talk about BookBub – mostly because I have yet to figure out what magic I need to perform to get BookBub to accept one of my books. (Quick aside – anyone know where I can get some eye of newt?) Selling books using a newsletter service like BookBub isn’t as easy as buying a slot in a newsletter and then watching the sales roll in. (Although that would be awe-some!) Here are a few rules to help sell more books through reader newsletters:
Choose the appropriate newsletter. There are tons of newsletters for readers to choose from. And there are tons of newsletters that are rip offs for writers. In order to have a successful marketing push, you need to find a newsletter with subscribers to whom your book appeals. How do you do that? By far one of the best tools I’ve found for figuring out just which newsletters to promote my book in is from Book Buddy. It’s not free but for $4.99 you get a list of over 200 websites with all kinds of useful information like cost, number of (fake) users, conversions, etc. Totally worth the money. So skip that non-fat skinny latte today and buy this guide instead.
Book price. While most newsletters require a book to be on sale, several do accept books that are always priced at 99 cents. I have several books that are permanently on sale for 99 cents. Although I use newsletters for marketing pushes on these books, I notice that sales for these permanently on sale books is significantly less than my books which are actually reduced in price. I’ve decided to not lower the price of any more of my books to 99 cents permanently because of this. Well, not only because of this. It may also have something to do with wanting to actually make some money off of my blood, sweat and tears.
Reviews. Some newsletters require a book to have at least 10 reviews with an average score of over 4.0, while other newsletters have no such requirement. I’ve been doing newsletter marketing pushes every month for the past eight months now and I’ve come to the conclusion that the more reviews the better. Oh sure, you can sign a book up for a newsletter the moment your book reaches that magical number of 10 reviews, but I advise you to wait. I’ve noticed that the more reviews a book has, the better the book sells during the newsletter ad. Don’t worry. I’m not saying you need to have 50 reviews. None of my books have 50 reviews! But having 20 reviews instead of 10 reviews makes a huge difference.
Sign-up for several newsletters at once. Doing a marketing push isn’t cheap. Unfortunately, there is a direct correlation between the cost of the newsletter ad and the number of sales. Still, I recommend you bite the bullet and sign-up for several newsletters over a two or three-day period. Instead of seeing a one- or two-day spike in sales from a single newsletter ad, having your book in several ads over a two-day period will ensure book sales for several days after the newsletter ads have come and gone.
Don’t immediately raise the price. Many readers will download a sample of your book before deciding whether or not to purchase. The purchase may therefore come a few days after the newsletter was delivered to readers. Also, not everyone immediately reads their email. There’s nothing worse for a reader than catching up on emails, seeing a book that looks like fun to read and then realizing that the price has already gone back up.
And now you’re wondering which newsletter services I use. My current go-to list includes ereader news, bargain booksy, manybooks and booksends. I have to admit, though, that there are several services I’d like to try but just find a bit too expensive at the moment. I’ll certainly let you know if I find any service that rocks my world. In the meantime, let me know if you have any tips or tricks for email newsletters that you don’t mind sharing.
July 22, 2016
Author Spotlight ~ Meeting of the Mustangs by Cathy Kennedy #YAFiction
Title: Meeting of the Mustangs
Author: Cathy Kennedy
Genre: Teen/Young Adult Fiction
Published: 6/7/15
Synopsis:
A black colt is born into a band of wild mustangs and soon learns that life can often be difficult. Follow his story as he goes from a free spirit to being captured for profit, and discover how one man gains the trust and extreme loyalty of a very special horse.
Buy links:
Amazon ~ Barnes & Noble ~ Kobo ~ Smashwords ~ iTunes ~ !ndigo
About the author
Cathy Kennedy spent the first years of her life growing up in Pennsylvania before moving to South Florida at age 17. Her book, Meeting of the Mustangs, was started during her teenage years in Pennsylvania and would not be completed until many years later.
The story of the wild mustangs is somewhat reflective of her life living in the country, where her family owned horses. She wanted to complete the book for younger readers who have a love for horses, and finally convinced herself that she should continue the story where she’d stopped writing many years before.
She currently lives in Ohio with her husband and three rescued tuxedo cats.
Get it touch!
Goodreads ~ Amazon Author Page
Book Blast! Planted by @TompkinsFalls #cozymystery #giveaway
Planted
by C. T. Collier
Planted (The Penningtons Investigate)
1st in Series
Cozy Mystery
Asdee Press (July 22, 2016)
Print Length: 309 pages
ASIN: B01FOVMCPK
Synopsis:Planted is book one of the new mystery series, The Penningtons Investigate, from award-winning author C. T. Collier. The Penningtons, Lyssa and Kyle, are both PhD’s, and when their clever minds start asking questions, clever killers can’t hide.
It’s Monday of spring break when Professor Lyssa Pennington’s backyard garden project unearths a loaded revolver. With no record of violence at their address and no related cold case, the Tompkins Falls police have no interest. But the Penningtons and a friend with the State Police believe there a body somewhere. Whose? Where? And who pulled the trigger?
The Penningtons’ canvass of their quiet neighborhood turns up disturbing secrets about the family who lived in their house for decades and another ill-fated family a few doors away. No one seems to know how to contact the only sons of either family. The few facts they have about them don’t add up and, since the gun was buried about the time both young men disappeared from Tompkins Falls, the Penningtons feel compelled to find them and make sure all is well.
Lyssa follows the money story and finds twenty million dollars, a neighbor who’s not what he seems, and a long-buried rivalry. Kyle goes after homicide data in six states and finds a body. Their next surprise is a murderer who will go to any length to conceal the crime.
About The Author
C. T. Collier grew up in Seneca Falls, NY, left the area for college and jobs, and always wanted to return to the Finger Lakes. Today she lives in a beautiful small city on one of the prettiest of the Finger Lakes, not unlike fictional Tompkins Falls on lovely Chestnut Lake. Most days you’ll find her writing in her tiny office looking out on a woods populated with fox, deer, wild turkeys, and songbirds. In her career as a tech-savvy college professor she has been endlessly fascinated with campus intrigue. Entirely fictional, Tompkins College is no college and every college.
Author Links:
Website: https://drkatecollier.wordpress.com
Facebook: kate.collier.315
Twitter: @TompkinsFalls
Purchase Link
JULY 22, 2016
Babs Book Bistro – Review
Sleuth Cafe – Review
Queen of All She Reads – Review
3 Partners in Shopping, Nana, Mommy, &, Sissy, Too!
Back Porchervations – Review
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July 19, 2016
Book Blast! The Pirates Cycles Series by Chris Gerrib ~ Read an excerpt! #scifi #giveaway
Title: The Pirates Cycle Series
Author: Chris Gerrib
Publisher: Cincinnatus Press
Genre: Science Fiction
When eighteen-year-old Janet Pilgrim’s boyfriend was killed in a training accident at the space academy, she thought she was going to be thrown out. Instead, she soon found herself shipping out as a junior astronaut on the forty-year old spacecraft Windy City bound for Mars.
But freighters and passenger ships aren’t the only craft plying the spaceways. When the Windy City is attacked by pirates on the way to Mars, Janet finds herself in more danger than she could ever have imagined.
The Pirates Cycle series is available at Amazon.
Book Excerpt:
A very solid clunk on the outer bulkhead awoke me from my after-watch nap. This was immediately followed by the general alarm. The ship’s Voice was reporting all sorts of problems, and as I rolled out of my rack the lights flickered off, and a second later about half of them came on again. As I listened to the Voice, I heard three alarms, any one of which was serious. First I heard a “loss of communication” alarm, then a “ reactor coolant leak #2 radiator” and finally a loss of pressure alarm for the #3 greenhouse.
The reactor coolant leak scared me the most. Our reactor was a pebble-bed unit, so it couldn’t melt. But if it got too hot, it would automatically shut down. No reactor meant no propulsion which meant we’d sail past Mars and out of the Solar System. Some uncounted tens of thousands of years later some unknown alien would find our bones. Maybe.
I jumped into a pair of coveralls and raced to the greenhouse. Everything seemed to be in slow motion, but it was really only a few seconds before I was at the pressure door to the greenhouse. As I looked in through the observation port, still struggling though sleep and shock, I couldn’t understand at first what I was seeing. Maybe I didn’t want to understand.
Practically all the plants had been sucked out of the compartment, and what few remained had been sucked clean of leaves. A couple of the water sprays were running, and the water coming out was boiling and freezing at the same time. I looked shipdown towards the outer hull. Something had cut a gouge almost the entire length of the compartment, slicing through the twin hulls like a hot knife through butter. There were scorch marks along the edges of the gash, which must have immediately vented the compartment to space.
A flash of red caught my eye. I blinked and saw Kate, drifting lifelessly against the far bulkhead. I stared at her in disbelief. There was a red streak of blood down her face from her nose, and her hair was matted with blood, whether from her ears or a skull wound I couldn’t tell. There was nothing I could do. I only hoped that she had passed out quickly from the loss of pressure. I pounded on the hatch for a minute, out of frustration more then anything else.
“Kate, where are you?” Alex said, his voice booming out of the announcing system.
I picked up the nearest ship’s phone and dialed the pilothouse. Ken answered. “Kate was trapped in #3 greenhouse. The aft bulkhead and hatch holding.” It took me a minute to notice that there was no answer. “Ken, status?”
“You’d better get up to the pilothouse fast, Janet.”
About the Author
Chris Gerrib admits to being a bit obsessed with Mars, but in a healthy way. Chris still has a day job as the IT director at a Chicago-area bank, and holds degrees in history and business from the University of Illinois and Southern Illinois University. He also served in the US Navy during the First Gulf War, and can proudly report that not one Iraqi MiG bombed Jacksonville, Florida while he was in the service. In his copious free time, Chris is a past President of and currently active in his local Rotary club. His three-novel series set on Mars, The Pirate Cycle, is being reissued by Cincinnatus Press.
You can visit Chris Gerrib’s website at http://privatemarsrocket.net/.
Giveaway
Chris Gerrib is giving away one complete paperback set of The Pirates Cycle (3 books) and two complete ebook sets!
Terms & Conditions:
By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
One winner will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive one paperback set and two winners will be chosen to receive one of two ebook sets.
This giveaway begins July 5 and ends on July 29.
Winners will be contacted via email on July 30.
Winner has 48 hours to reply.
Good luck everyone!
ENTER TO WIN!
Book Blitz! Livin’ Large in Fat Chance, Texas by @CeliaBonaduce #chicklit #romcom #excerpt #giveaway
Title: Livin’ Large in Fat Chance, Texas
Series: Fat Chance, Texas Book 3
Author: Celia Bonaduce
Published: July 19th, 2016
Publisher: Lyrical Press
Genre: Women’s Fiction, Romantic Comedy
Synopsis:
From ghost town to growing community, it’s been a few years since a group of strangers inherited property in tiny, deserted Fat Chance, Texas. And besides creating businesses, they’ve developed friendships and romances too. But plans to pave the town may put Dymphna Pearl and her beau, Professor Johnson, on opposite sides of Main Street. In his zeal for the project, he’s making great decisions for Fat Chance, but not for them as a couple. Disgruntled, Dymphna heads back to Los Angeles to collect the rabbits she’s created a special place for in the hot Texas climate. But the professor is in for another surprise…
Professor Johnson didn’t even know about Dymphna’s sister, Maggie, and when he meets her in a most unexpected way, he begins to understand why. In the meantime, Dymphna is off pursuing an exciting venture to let the world know about Fat Chance—one that will bring a talented new crew to the eclectic group. The kitschy little place they call home is clearly destined for bigger, better things—-but with so many changes a-coming will the same be true for everyone in Fat Chance, including the professor and Dymphna?
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | GoodReads
Excerpt from Livin’ Large in Fat Chance, Texas by Celia Bonaduce:
Dymphna had to admit, now that Fat Chance had a road, the fact that they could get Professor Johnson’s Outback up to the farm was pure luxury. It would have been hard to sneak off if she needed him to carry her bag up the trail.
The sun was rising over the farm as Dymphna tucked one small bag into the back of Professor Johnson’s SUV. She felt guilty taking his car, but not guilty enough to stay. The farm was still in shadows, but she was able to make out Thud’s form shooting through the open back and climbing into the passenger seat. He was extremely agile for a large dog. Or at least, extremely determined.
“Thud!” Dymphna called in a hoarse whisper. “Get out of the car.”
Dymphna tiptoed over to the passenger side and opened the door. Thud thumped his tail. She grabbed his collar. As soon as she was in range, Thud dealt her a slobbery kiss. Dymphna wiped the drool on her sleeve, grabbed his collar, and pulled. The dog didn’t budge.
“Come on, Thud,” she said. “Get out!”
She was not usually this stern with the bloodhound, but there was no time to lose. Dymphna had hoped to be gone by the time Wobble, her crabby rooster, crowed. Even though it was still mostly dark, she could hear Wobble flapping around the yard. The rooster was putting his all into it this morning, looking like a vintage Kellogg’s Corn Flakes ad, perched on the fence and flapping his wings in the hazy morning light.
“I’m going to miss you.” Professor Johnson’s voice pierced the fog.
Dymphna started.
“I was hoping I wouldn’t wake you,” she said.
“You didn’t,” Professor Johnson said. “Thud did.”
Dymphna knew a scowl from her would not matter in the least to Thud, so she didn’t bother.
“I . . .” She paused, then started again. “I just think it’s easier this way. We said goodbye last night . . . and . . . I mean, I’ll be back. Soon.”
“Will you?”
“I have your car,” she said, trying for a confident smile.
“And I guess I have your farm,” he said.
He had a point. While she was gone, Professor Johnson would be here, taking care of her goats and chickens, as well as packing the orders that came in for her jams and jellies. He would also have to keep an eye on Dymphna’s friend Crash the duck, who remained a wild bird but would show up at the farm every now and then to let her know he was fine.
Both of them had agreed that it was time for Dymphna to return to Los Angeles and collect her Angora rabbits. Professor Johnson and Powderkeg had made a climate-controlled environment here on the Fat Farm that was just waiting for the rabbits. When she and Professor Johnson had first started discussing the details of retrieving the rabbits, their relationship was not as strained as it was now. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it seemed as if when times were tough, the entire town pulled together. When they first got word that the trail was to be paved, it seemed like the answer to their prayers. The asphalt wasn’t even dry before the bickering began. While the town prospered, both sides claimed victory: Professor Johnson’s side thought the uptick in the town’s prosperity was due to the new access to town and would only get better if they continued paving Main Street. Dymphna’s side felt that as long as people were making their way into town, why ruin the historic nature of the place? Folks in the area were well aware of the squabbling among the Fat Chancers and snickered about Team Professor and Team Dymphna. It was idle gossip for those not involved, but tensions were running high at the farm. Neither Dymphna not Professor Johnson took things lightly.
As the time approached for her to leave for Los Angeles, Dymphna felt she was escaping. Her thoughts turned more and more to her life in Santa Monica, the days before Fat Chance, the years before Professor Johnson. She’d had a good life there, living in the guesthouse of her best friend, Erinn. Erinn was a Broadway playwright who had reinvented herself as a TV producer and documentarian. Erinn’s family had become Dymphna’s family. Fat Chance had completely overwhelmed Dymphna and she’d somehow never made it back to Southern California. Now she was homesick, daydreaming about long walks along the coast, drinking tea at Erinn’s sister’s tea shop in Venice, catching up with how her rabbits were doing from Erinn’s mother, Virginia, who had been watching over the three rabbits that remained in her care. Virginia had moved into Erinn’s guesthouse when Dymphna made the bold move to Texas, but Erinn had said Dymphna would always have a room in the large Victorian on Ocean Avenue that Erinn somehow managed to hang on to, even with her feast-or-famine career.
Although unspoken, neither Dymphna nor Professor Johnson was sure she was going to come back immediately. Dymphna kept pushing away the thought that she might not come back at all. Tears pricked her eyes. This farm was as close to “home” as any place in her life.
Of course I’ll come back, she scolded herself.
“The rabbits will love it here,” Professor Johnson said.
The sun had made its way over the hills. She could see him clearly now, his T-shirt and sweatpants wrinkled from sleep, his hair wild from last night’s passionate goodbye. Dymphna’s heart lurched when she saw that he was barefoot—he had obviously run out of the house as soon as he understood what the empty side of the bed meant.
Of course I’ll come back.
“Were you going to say goodbye?” he asked.
She knew if she looked at him, she would see the little boy who no one got to see but her. The little boy who trusted her not to hurt him.
So she didn’t look. Instead, she tugged again at the dog.
“Thud, seriously,” she said. “Out.”
“Do you want to take him with you?”
This is why she had wanted to leave while he was still asleep. He could be such a dear man—when he wasn’t infuriating her.
No,” Dymphna said. “He’s been at the farm for years now. I don’t think he’d want to go back to Los Angeles.”
“But you do?”
“For a little while,” she said softly.
“Get out of the car, Thud,” he said evenly.
The dog jumped out of the passenger side and Professor Johnson closed the door with a solid thwack.
“It’s a long drive,” she said. “I really better be going.”
He nodded.
“I washed the car,” he said.
“Oh?” Dymphna looked at the Outback. Now that the sun was up, she could see it was sparkling clean.
“Thank you,” she said.
She started to put her arms around him. She wanted to hold him and say all the things that she never said. She loved him. He was the best thing that ever happened to her. She would be back. She took a deep breath, but he was the first to speak.
“If Main Street were paved, the car wouldn’t be completely trashed by the time you got through town,” he said.
Dymphna kissed him on the cheek, gave Thud a squeeze, and got in the car.
About the Author:
Celia Bonaduce is an award-winning producer whose credits cover a lot of ground – everything from field-producing ABC’s Extreme Makeover: Home Edition to writing for many of Nickelodeon’s animated series, including Hey, Arnold and Chalkzone. If Celia Bonaduce’s last name is any indication, she is proof that TV talent runs in the family.
An avid reader, entering the world of books has always been a lifelong ambition. She is the author of the Venice Beach Romances, including The Merchant of Venice Beach, A Comedy of Erinn, and Much Ado About Mother. Her dream continues with The Fat Chance, Texas Series. Welcome to Fat Chance, Texas, and Slim Pickins’ in Fat Chance, Texas are available now! The series continues with book three, Livin’ Large in Fat Chance, Texas, on July 19th, 2016.
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Giveaway Details:
There is a tour wide giveaway. Prizes include the following:
A $50 Amazon Gift Card
Giveaway is International.
Ends July 24th at 11:59 PM EDT
Release Day! From the Sideline by @AmyAvanzino #chicklit #romcom
Title: From the Sideline
Author: Amy Avanzino
Release Day: July 19
Genre: Chick Lit/Romantic Comedy
About the Book
After losing her marriage, life savings, and waistline, Autumn Kovac is terrified of being hit by more heartache. So when her only child decides to try out for the football team, the overprotective, sports-illiterate mom has a near phobic reaction. But Zachary hasn’t smiled since his father left, and she’s desperate to make him happy (and doing nothing and hoping for the best hasn’t been working). She reluctantly enters a new world of youth competitive sports, full of overzealous coaches with Vince Lombardi dreams and fanatical parents trying to achieve vicarious glory.
Unexpectedly, Autumn begins transforming within this strangely addictive new culture, finding her voice, facing her past, tackling her fears…and uncovering the secret that’s been keeping her from her son. After meeting her ideal catch, she finds herself back in the dating game and discovers some fierce competition of her own. Will Autumn make it off the sideline? Can the underdog finally win?
Praise for From the Sideline
“Avanzino has written a story of motherhood. Every word is one of love, of sacrifice, and of surprising depth. I absolutely adored it.” –
Gretchen Archer, USA Today Bestselling Author of Double Knot
“Amy Avanzino is one seriously funny and smart writer. Her wry and winning voice is reminiscent of Liane Moriarty. FROM THE SIDELINE is a wildly entertaining novel about the world of competitive youth sports, and I laughed on every page.” –Karin Gillespie, national bestselling author of the Bottom Dollar Girl series
“Sparkles with wry humor and will keep you laughing and cheering for this mom-and-son team.” –Jackie Bouchard, USA Today Bestselling Author of House Trained
“Heartwarming, tender, and funny as hell–FROM THE SIDELINE is a lot more than a football story: about parenting, friendships, and the courage to take yourself off the bench and get back in the game. Avanzino will have you cheering!” –Phoebe Fox, author of the Breakup Doctor series and writer for Elite Daily
“A great story that never slowed down with twists around every corner.” –Holly Rust, contributing writer for The Huffington Post, The TODAY Show Parenting Team, Scary Mommy, Women’s Prospects, and Mother’s
Guide to Sanity
“FROM THE SIDELINE was just like being handed a perfect sundae – an indulgence that leaves a smile on your face. Amy Avanzino takes a typical setting and cast of characters (i.e. suburban life) and elevates it to an experience. Deftly written in candid honesty and humor, she perfectly captures what it is to be a mom and a woman. Sometimes I had to double-check the name of a character because it felt like she was writing about somebody I know.” –Theresa Murphy, reviewer
“5 out of 5 stars…I loved it!” -Comfy Reading
“I most appreciated Avanzino’s ability to put into words the complex feelings of parenting. Rather than coming off as sappy or preachy or pitying, it is a fresh and honest interpretation that readers can relate to. She also captures the essence of woman friendships, that thing that keeps most moms afloat when they’re ready to sink.” –The Pensive Missive
“FROM THE SIDELINE packs an emotional punch in the best way. Laughter, tears, heartache and joy all combine for a truly touching read.” – Laura Nagore, 125Pages reviewer
“I loved the story, but loved Avanzino’s voice even more. She writes with a snarky wit that had me laughing out loud (seriously, on the beach, people turned & looked at me!) and a vulnerability that all moms feel. I highly recommend this heartwarming and funny bone tickling story, and I’m placing Avanzino on my favorites list!” -Goodreads Reviewer, 5 out of 5 stars
“An absolute delight – funny, sharp, and full of heart. From the Sideline kept me laughing and, more importantly, Amy Avanzino kept me turning the pages. I can’t wait to read whatever she brings next.” –The Girl with Book Lungs Blog
“I loved this book and I love the author’s writing style…There were some pages I read twice just because I loved how funny and honest they were. She can make you laugh and cry on the same page. Her humor and storytelling grab you in the beginning and you don’t want to let go! I highly recommend this book and make sure to read Wake Up Call as well! I can’t wait to read what she writes next!” -NetGalley Reviewer
About the Author
Amy Avanzino is a former advertising executive, who has spent the last several years writing while doing extensive hands-on research for her WAKE-UP CALL series. She’s a contributing writer of Hap Scotch, a play performed at the 2008 Frigid Festival in New York.
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