Marlow Kelly's Blog, page 7
September 10, 2017
Become a Member of My Advance Reader Team
I normally send out Advanced Reader Copies (ARCs) to professional reviewers three weeks in advance of my release dates. It occurred to me that maybe I should send my ARCs to readers who would really appreciate them. In return for a free copy you would be expected to post a review on release day.Books are given in return for an honest review. You would be under no obligation.
Copies are limited so the Advanced Reading Team would be a small group.
What would you get from being on the team?
A free eBook, and you’d get to read my latest release ahead of everyone else.
If you’re interested in becoming a member email me at marlow@marlowkelly.com
Don’t forget membership is limited. Once the list is full I will ask if you want to be placed on the waitlist.
August 23, 2017
Release Day for Sun Storm and A #Sneak Peek #New Release #Romance
I’m so excited. Today is release day for my latest book, Sun Storm. If you’re interest in a sneak peek scroll down to read the first chapter.
Can a cynical soldier and a naive scientist learn about love and trust in order to survive?
Available on
Amazon Dr. Marie Wilson is a scientist on the verge of a breakthrough. She has come to Montana on the eve of a blizzard to prove her small, portable solar panel can generate electricity even in the harshest environment. But when four men invade her remote cabin with plans to kill her, she knows she’s in trouble.
Ex-Special Forces soldier, David Quinn, has had enough of danger and death. All he wants is to be left alone on his Montana acreage to pursue his dream of being a beekeeper. But when his old mentor convinces him to help retrieve a stolen solar panel, he thinks it will be a simple job. But the moment he sets eyes on Marie, he knows their assignment is all kinds of wrong.
Together, they escape. Chased by a businessman with unlimited resources, a gunman and a corrupt police force, they are thrust into the frozen Montana landscape. Can a cynical soldier and a naive scientist learn about love and trust in order to survive?
Chapter One
The storm was building, growing in strength. A mist of warm air streamed from Marie’s lips as she blew on her frozen fingers. She was a cerebral, solitary, and creative person. And now she could add overwhelmingly stupid. She hadn’t considered how hard it would be to kindle a flame at five in the morning. A shudder racked her body, causing her to drop the matches. She gave up trying to light a fire and paced the room, flapping her arms in an attempt to generate some heat. She’d flown to Montana and rented the remote log cabin with no running water and no heat because there was a blizzard coming. She needed the worst possible conditions in order to test her solar panel. The place did have a generator, but she had chosen not to hook it up, not yet anyway.
She’d attempted to sleep in her one-piece thermal long johns, but the frigid temperature had forced her to wear her coat and boots. She fingered her socks that hung on the back of a wooden chair. They were still wet. It was her own fault. She’d shed her boots and then walked through a puddle of melted snow, by the front door, no less, where one would expect the floor to be damp. Of course, most people would’ve remembered to pack extra socks, but she wasn’t most people. She was a scientist on the verge of a breakthrough.
The musty cottage was really just one room. At the back was a counter for food preparation, a hand-pump sink, and a hot plate. A wooden table stood near the door, and in front of the stove sat an oak-framed futon couch. The owner had described the small house as rustic, which she assumed was another word for neglected. Maybe it was pretty in the summer, but when the snow sat five feet high outside her front door and the wind whistled through a cracked window frame, causing the candlelight to flicker eerily, it was just miserable.
She sunk onto the decaying couch. There was one blanket, which stank of mold, rendering it unusable.
To reach the cabin, she had flown to Granite City, Montana, rented a car, and survived a white-knuckle drive on icy county roads.
The little house might be miserable, but it was the perfect location to test her solar panel. Tomorrow she would connect her prototype, power the cottage, measure the energy output and prove her hypotheses correct. Professor Hargreaves from Montana Tech would join her around lunchtime. His recommendation would go a long way toward securing funding and gaining recognition for her work.
She pulled her hair into a ponytail and then plucked her backpack from the floor. She unfolded the flexible, gold sheet. Checking for any signs of damage, she ran her fingers along the concentric squares that had been pressed into the soft plastic. Some plastics became brittle at low temperatures. That was something she would have to consider for future models. Then she inspected the small black box that protected the inverter, but there was no way to tell if the cold had caused condensation to build up on the inside and damage the components.
There was a rustling noise outside, and Marie stilled to listen.
There it was again, a sound almost like footsteps crunching on the snow.
A crack of splintering wood and the door crashed open. Marie jumped to her feet, her heart pounding. A scream lodged in her throat as four men burst in, filling the tiny space. She raced to the fireplace and grabbed the poker.
A handsome blond-haired man led the way. He was so good looking he could be an actor. He had a square jaw and wore a well-tailored leather jacket. Even his fair hair was perfectly trimmed. Two burly men followed, both with dark, short-cropped hair. They could be twins. Their thick bodies and the way they swung their arms reminded her of a pair of gorillas. They also had the same flattened nose and malicious, small, dark eyes. They moved to the back of the room near the sink. The last man had unkempt, long, sandy-colored hair. He wore a crumpled, hooded camouflage jacket and baggy gray pants. A long scar ran across one side of his face, starting at his ear and running through his beard, parting it with a jagged white line. He didn’t say a word. He simply nodded at the poker in her hand and shook his head, silently telling her to drop her weapon.
Sensing that any attempt to fight him would be futile, she let it fall to the ground. “You can take the money. I don’t have—”
“Shut up,” the handsome blond barked. A vein on his forehead bulged as he scowled.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. She prayed they would take what they wanted and leave.
Handsome stepped in front of her and placed the barrel of his handgun between her eyes. “Tell us where it is.”
“What are you doing?” The man with the scar strolled over and stood next to her. In her peripheral vision, she could make out his intense, pale, lifeless eyes.
He leaned close to her face so his warm breath touched her cheek. “This is all wrong.”
A small squeal emanated from her throat. He was too close. Too scary. Killer. The word rang through her mind. The scar, those dead eyes, and his demeanor gave the impression of a lethal, terrifying man.
“What do you mean? Our intel is good.” The vein on Handsome’s forehead throbbed to life.
With one finger, Killer nudged the pistol away from her head. “First, how can she tell us where it is when she’s too frightened to talk?”
Handsome shrugged, revealing a smile with perfect white teeth.
Marie released a huge breath. She needed to do something, but couldn’t focus, couldn’t form a coherent thought.
“Second,” Killer continued, “what do we really know about this situation?”
Handsome sneered. “You were in the army. You know how it is. We don’t make the decisions. We follow orders.”
“And what exactly are our orders?” Killer asked, his voice low and calm.
“We’re to retrieve what was stolen and eliminate the girl.”
There had to be a misunderstanding. She was a scientist, not someone who needed to be eliminated.
“Does she seem like a threat to you? Someone we should murder? She smells like”—Killer sniffed her hair—“coconut.”
Not wanting to attract more attention, she resisted the temptation to pull away. She had to concentrate, control her fear, and escape in one piece.
The two other men, the musclemen, stepped closer.
“What are your plans?” Killer turned his nose into her hair and sniffed again, but the question was directed to the others. “Are you planning to use her before you kill her?”
She stepped to the side, trying to put some distance between her and the scarred man with the dead eyes, but he gripped her arm and tugged her toward him. She wanted to pull away, but her muscles were the consistency of string cheese and refused to respond.
Handsome smiled. “Retrieving the prototype is number one on my to-do list, and then if these two want to have some fun, I won’t stop them.”
She swallowed bile, suppressing the urge to vomit. They were going to rape and kill her. Oh God. Her vision blurred, and her ears rang. Was she going to faint? Killer’s hand tightened around her arm, causing her to wince. No, she could not allow that to happen. If she lost consciousness, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself. She inhaled, held her breath, and then exhaled. She repeated the process, forcing herself to focus on the men.
Killer’s gaze flickered to the two bruisers and then back to Handsome. “Either way she’s going to die? Those are our orders?”
Handsome nodded. “Do you have a problem?”
Killer ignored the question. He released her arm and hooked her chin, forcing her to stare into his pale eyes. “These men think you have a stolen prototype. Do you know what they’re talking about?”
Cold beads of fear dribbled down her spine. She pointed a shaky hand to her backpack, which sat on the floor next to the futon.
Handsome slipped his gun into his belt holster and then flipped the bag upside-down, emptying its contents onto the couch. Out dropped her wallet, a hairbrush, her smart phone, a pen, a tampon, a memory stick, the solar array, the inverter, and a lint-covered collection of dimes and nickels.
“It’s not here.” Handsome threw her bag across the room and then kicked the futon. The couch moved back a couple of inches.
Killer stepped forward, placing himself between her and Handsome. “What sort of prototype are you looking for?”
Handsome’s upper lip curled into a sneer. “A solar panel and a gizmo.”
“A gizmo? Seriously? You don’t fucking know what we’re looking for?”
Handsome rolled his eyes. “I’m looking for a prototype of a solar panel.”
“A solar panel? That’s not going to fit in her bag now, is it?”
Marie took a step toward the door.
Killer glanced over his shoulder and shook his head, stopping her in her tracks.
****
How the hell had he gotten himself embroiled with this fucked-up assignment? This was David Quinn’s first day on the job, and it looked like it would be his last. He wasn’t going to execute a woman, especially not a pretty little thing who wore pink long johns and smelt of coconut. Not that he had planned to kill anyone. Marshall Portman, the president of Public Domain Energy, had asked David to help retrieve some stolen property, but there had been no mention of murder, at least not to him.
The woman looked ready to bolt, but she needed to wait. If she took off now, the other three members of his detail would chase her down. Inside the cabin he could immobilize them and control the situation. Once outside, they would be harder to overpower, and the chances diminished of her getting away unscathed.
Her long, brown hair stuck out at odd angles, some of it falling in clumps around her face as it escaped her ponytail. Her coat had fallen open, revealing a curvaceous body clad in tight-fitting thermal underwear. Never mind lacy lingerie, the soft cotton clinging to her breasts did a number on him. Her shape and soft brown eyes converged into a mind-blowing, sexy-as-hell combination, which made her position here even more dangerous.
The biggest problem was his team leader, Brad Harper, whom David secretly called Pretty Boy. He was an idiot. The guy looked like he would be more at home modeling clothes in a magazine than operating a team of ex-military personnel who’d been sent to recover a stolen prototype before it could be sold on the black market.
David eyed the two chimps that made up the other members of the four-man team. Alex and Shane, the twins. Both were big and muscular. Alex had a scar across his chin.
Both rested a hand on the weapon in their shoulder holsters as if they were getting ready for a quick draw. Did they see him as a threat? They should. Everything had gone to hell the moment they’d stormed through the door. Brad didn’t have a clue…about anything, and the chimps seemed more intent on rape than retrieving a stolen solar panel.
Shane, the one without a scar, favored his left leg, possibly a bum knee. Alex took his hand off his revolver and absentmindedly massaged his shoulder. David stored that information away, too.
He strolled to Brad, who stood at the couch rummaging through the contents of her backpack. Glancing over Pretty Boy’s shoulder, he said, “Why are you still looking through her things?”
“Look at this frou-frou shit.” Brad unfolded a gold plastic sheet that was about a yard in diameter. “What do women use this shit for?”
It reminded David of the foil emergency blankets paramedics used on hypothermia victims. “Does it matter? A solar panel is not going to fit in a backpack. Are you sure she has it?”
“Yeah.”
David studied the girl. “What’s your name?”
She’d backed up until her butt was against the table. “M-M-Marie.” She was scared, but holding it together—just.
“Marie what?”
“W-Wilson, Dr. Marie Wilson.”
He turned to Brad. “Is that the name you’re looking for?
“I think so?”
“You think so.” What kind of a dumb-shit answer was that?
Brad held up his smartphone. “These are the GPS coordinates, see?”
David didn’t bother to look. He didn’t care if they had a signed order from the Pope. He wasn’t murdering anyone.
“Alex, Shane, make her talk,” Brad ordered as he jerked his semi-automatic, a Glock 19, from his belt and slid the safety off.
The chimps smiled.
Alex strolled toward Marie, unzipping his pants.
Shit.
Marie’s lips trembled. She blinked, unable to tear her gaze away from the two meatheads closing in on her. She fumbled behind her, reaching for the car keys that lay just out of range.
Brad aimed his gun at David’s chest. What the fuck? Without thinking, David pushed the Glock to the side and pivoted out of the line of sight. He then grasped the weapon and twisted it back toward Brad until he relinquished the gun. Using his fist, he punched Brad hard on the nose. Pretty Boy’s cartilage snapped.
David fired the Glock at the ceiling above the table. Chunks of wood rained down on the chimps, stopping them.
He stepped away from Brad, gripping the semi-automatic. “I’m all for you guys getting your property back, but I can’t let you harm her.”
Marie darted to her jumble of possessions on the couch and stuffed them in her backpack.
“What are you? A knight in fucking armor?” Brad shrieked, clutching both hands to his bloody nose.
“I’m a soldier, not a rapist, and definitely not a murderer. I don’t want to be a part of this.” He sounded tired even to his own ears. He wanted everything to stop, the operations, the missions, the fighting, and most of all the death. Taking a position with Public Domain Energy had been a mistake. He saw that now. All he had to do was disentangle himself from this mess, quit his job, and go on his way. “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen—”
Before he could finish, Marie ran out of the cabin.
David stared after her. “Shit, she’ll freeze to death. You know what you’re looking for isn’t in her pack, right?”
Brad nodded, still clasping his nose.
“Then search the rest of the house. She obviously doesn’t have your stolen prototype on her. If you find it, great. I’m outta here.” He grabbed Marie’s car keys off the table and marched out into the early morning darkness.
Available on
Amazon Dr. Marie Wilson is a scientist on the verge of a breakthrough. She has come to Montana on the eve of a blizzard to prove her small, portable solar panel can generate electricity even in the harshest environment. But when four men invade her remote cabin with plans to kill her, she knows she’s in trouble.
Ex-Special Forces soldier, David Quinn, has had enough of danger and death. All he wants is to be left alone on his Montana acreage to pursue his dream of being a beekeeper. But when his old mentor convinces him to help retrieve a stolen solar panel, he thinks it will be a simple job. But the moment he sets eyes on Marie, he knows their assignment is all kinds of wrong.
Together, they escape. Chased by a businessman with unlimited resources, a gunman and a corrupt police force, they are thrust into the frozen Montana landscape. Can a cynical soldier and a naive scientist learn about love and trust in order to survive?
Chapter One
The storm was building, growing in strength. A mist of warm air streamed from Marie’s lips as she blew on her frozen fingers. She was a cerebral, solitary, and creative person. And now she could add overwhelmingly stupid. She hadn’t considered how hard it would be to kindle a flame at five in the morning. A shudder racked her body, causing her to drop the matches. She gave up trying to light a fire and paced the room, flapping her arms in an attempt to generate some heat. She’d flown to Montana and rented the remote log cabin with no running water and no heat because there was a blizzard coming. She needed the worst possible conditions in order to test her solar panel. The place did have a generator, but she had chosen not to hook it up, not yet anyway.
She’d attempted to sleep in her one-piece thermal long johns, but the frigid temperature had forced her to wear her coat and boots. She fingered her socks that hung on the back of a wooden chair. They were still wet. It was her own fault. She’d shed her boots and then walked through a puddle of melted snow, by the front door, no less, where one would expect the floor to be damp. Of course, most people would’ve remembered to pack extra socks, but she wasn’t most people. She was a scientist on the verge of a breakthrough.
The musty cottage was really just one room. At the back was a counter for food preparation, a hand-pump sink, and a hot plate. A wooden table stood near the door, and in front of the stove sat an oak-framed futon couch. The owner had described the small house as rustic, which she assumed was another word for neglected. Maybe it was pretty in the summer, but when the snow sat five feet high outside her front door and the wind whistled through a cracked window frame, causing the candlelight to flicker eerily, it was just miserable.
She sunk onto the decaying couch. There was one blanket, which stank of mold, rendering it unusable.
To reach the cabin, she had flown to Granite City, Montana, rented a car, and survived a white-knuckle drive on icy county roads.
The little house might be miserable, but it was the perfect location to test her solar panel. Tomorrow she would connect her prototype, power the cottage, measure the energy output and prove her hypotheses correct. Professor Hargreaves from Montana Tech would join her around lunchtime. His recommendation would go a long way toward securing funding and gaining recognition for her work.
She pulled her hair into a ponytail and then plucked her backpack from the floor. She unfolded the flexible, gold sheet. Checking for any signs of damage, she ran her fingers along the concentric squares that had been pressed into the soft plastic. Some plastics became brittle at low temperatures. That was something she would have to consider for future models. Then she inspected the small black box that protected the inverter, but there was no way to tell if the cold had caused condensation to build up on the inside and damage the components.
There was a rustling noise outside, and Marie stilled to listen.
There it was again, a sound almost like footsteps crunching on the snow.
A crack of splintering wood and the door crashed open. Marie jumped to her feet, her heart pounding. A scream lodged in her throat as four men burst in, filling the tiny space. She raced to the fireplace and grabbed the poker.
A handsome blond-haired man led the way. He was so good looking he could be an actor. He had a square jaw and wore a well-tailored leather jacket. Even his fair hair was perfectly trimmed. Two burly men followed, both with dark, short-cropped hair. They could be twins. Their thick bodies and the way they swung their arms reminded her of a pair of gorillas. They also had the same flattened nose and malicious, small, dark eyes. They moved to the back of the room near the sink. The last man had unkempt, long, sandy-colored hair. He wore a crumpled, hooded camouflage jacket and baggy gray pants. A long scar ran across one side of his face, starting at his ear and running through his beard, parting it with a jagged white line. He didn’t say a word. He simply nodded at the poker in her hand and shook his head, silently telling her to drop her weapon.
Sensing that any attempt to fight him would be futile, she let it fall to the ground. “You can take the money. I don’t have—”
“Shut up,” the handsome blond barked. A vein on his forehead bulged as he scowled.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. She prayed they would take what they wanted and leave.
Handsome stepped in front of her and placed the barrel of his handgun between her eyes. “Tell us where it is.”
“What are you doing?” The man with the scar strolled over and stood next to her. In her peripheral vision, she could make out his intense, pale, lifeless eyes.
He leaned close to her face so his warm breath touched her cheek. “This is all wrong.”
A small squeal emanated from her throat. He was too close. Too scary. Killer. The word rang through her mind. The scar, those dead eyes, and his demeanor gave the impression of a lethal, terrifying man.
“What do you mean? Our intel is good.” The vein on Handsome’s forehead throbbed to life.
With one finger, Killer nudged the pistol away from her head. “First, how can she tell us where it is when she’s too frightened to talk?”
Handsome shrugged, revealing a smile with perfect white teeth.
Marie released a huge breath. She needed to do something, but couldn’t focus, couldn’t form a coherent thought.
“Second,” Killer continued, “what do we really know about this situation?”
Handsome sneered. “You were in the army. You know how it is. We don’t make the decisions. We follow orders.”
“And what exactly are our orders?” Killer asked, his voice low and calm.
“We’re to retrieve what was stolen and eliminate the girl.”
There had to be a misunderstanding. She was a scientist, not someone who needed to be eliminated.
“Does she seem like a threat to you? Someone we should murder? She smells like”—Killer sniffed her hair—“coconut.”
Not wanting to attract more attention, she resisted the temptation to pull away. She had to concentrate, control her fear, and escape in one piece.
The two other men, the musclemen, stepped closer.
“What are your plans?” Killer turned his nose into her hair and sniffed again, but the question was directed to the others. “Are you planning to use her before you kill her?”
She stepped to the side, trying to put some distance between her and the scarred man with the dead eyes, but he gripped her arm and tugged her toward him. She wanted to pull away, but her muscles were the consistency of string cheese and refused to respond.
Handsome smiled. “Retrieving the prototype is number one on my to-do list, and then if these two want to have some fun, I won’t stop them.”
She swallowed bile, suppressing the urge to vomit. They were going to rape and kill her. Oh God. Her vision blurred, and her ears rang. Was she going to faint? Killer’s hand tightened around her arm, causing her to wince. No, she could not allow that to happen. If she lost consciousness, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself. She inhaled, held her breath, and then exhaled. She repeated the process, forcing herself to focus on the men.
Killer’s gaze flickered to the two bruisers and then back to Handsome. “Either way she’s going to die? Those are our orders?”
Handsome nodded. “Do you have a problem?”
Killer ignored the question. He released her arm and hooked her chin, forcing her to stare into his pale eyes. “These men think you have a stolen prototype. Do you know what they’re talking about?”
Cold beads of fear dribbled down her spine. She pointed a shaky hand to her backpack, which sat on the floor next to the futon.
Handsome slipped his gun into his belt holster and then flipped the bag upside-down, emptying its contents onto the couch. Out dropped her wallet, a hairbrush, her smart phone, a pen, a tampon, a memory stick, the solar array, the inverter, and a lint-covered collection of dimes and nickels.
“It’s not here.” Handsome threw her bag across the room and then kicked the futon. The couch moved back a couple of inches.
Killer stepped forward, placing himself between her and Handsome. “What sort of prototype are you looking for?”
Handsome’s upper lip curled into a sneer. “A solar panel and a gizmo.”
“A gizmo? Seriously? You don’t fucking know what we’re looking for?”
Handsome rolled his eyes. “I’m looking for a prototype of a solar panel.”
“A solar panel? That’s not going to fit in her bag now, is it?”
Marie took a step toward the door.
Killer glanced over his shoulder and shook his head, stopping her in her tracks.
****
How the hell had he gotten himself embroiled with this fucked-up assignment? This was David Quinn’s first day on the job, and it looked like it would be his last. He wasn’t going to execute a woman, especially not a pretty little thing who wore pink long johns and smelt of coconut. Not that he had planned to kill anyone. Marshall Portman, the president of Public Domain Energy, had asked David to help retrieve some stolen property, but there had been no mention of murder, at least not to him.
The woman looked ready to bolt, but she needed to wait. If she took off now, the other three members of his detail would chase her down. Inside the cabin he could immobilize them and control the situation. Once outside, they would be harder to overpower, and the chances diminished of her getting away unscathed.
Her long, brown hair stuck out at odd angles, some of it falling in clumps around her face as it escaped her ponytail. Her coat had fallen open, revealing a curvaceous body clad in tight-fitting thermal underwear. Never mind lacy lingerie, the soft cotton clinging to her breasts did a number on him. Her shape and soft brown eyes converged into a mind-blowing, sexy-as-hell combination, which made her position here even more dangerous.
The biggest problem was his team leader, Brad Harper, whom David secretly called Pretty Boy. He was an idiot. The guy looked like he would be more at home modeling clothes in a magazine than operating a team of ex-military personnel who’d been sent to recover a stolen prototype before it could be sold on the black market.
David eyed the two chimps that made up the other members of the four-man team. Alex and Shane, the twins. Both were big and muscular. Alex had a scar across his chin.
Both rested a hand on the weapon in their shoulder holsters as if they were getting ready for a quick draw. Did they see him as a threat? They should. Everything had gone to hell the moment they’d stormed through the door. Brad didn’t have a clue…about anything, and the chimps seemed more intent on rape than retrieving a stolen solar panel.
Shane, the one without a scar, favored his left leg, possibly a bum knee. Alex took his hand off his revolver and absentmindedly massaged his shoulder. David stored that information away, too.
He strolled to Brad, who stood at the couch rummaging through the contents of her backpack. Glancing over Pretty Boy’s shoulder, he said, “Why are you still looking through her things?”
“Look at this frou-frou shit.” Brad unfolded a gold plastic sheet that was about a yard in diameter. “What do women use this shit for?”
It reminded David of the foil emergency blankets paramedics used on hypothermia victims. “Does it matter? A solar panel is not going to fit in a backpack. Are you sure she has it?”
“Yeah.”
David studied the girl. “What’s your name?”
She’d backed up until her butt was against the table. “M-M-Marie.” She was scared, but holding it together—just.
“Marie what?”
“W-Wilson, Dr. Marie Wilson.”
He turned to Brad. “Is that the name you’re looking for?
“I think so?”
“You think so.” What kind of a dumb-shit answer was that?
Brad held up his smartphone. “These are the GPS coordinates, see?”
David didn’t bother to look. He didn’t care if they had a signed order from the Pope. He wasn’t murdering anyone.
“Alex, Shane, make her talk,” Brad ordered as he jerked his semi-automatic, a Glock 19, from his belt and slid the safety off.
The chimps smiled.
Alex strolled toward Marie, unzipping his pants.
Shit.
Marie’s lips trembled. She blinked, unable to tear her gaze away from the two meatheads closing in on her. She fumbled behind her, reaching for the car keys that lay just out of range.
Brad aimed his gun at David’s chest. What the fuck? Without thinking, David pushed the Glock to the side and pivoted out of the line of sight. He then grasped the weapon and twisted it back toward Brad until he relinquished the gun. Using his fist, he punched Brad hard on the nose. Pretty Boy’s cartilage snapped.
David fired the Glock at the ceiling above the table. Chunks of wood rained down on the chimps, stopping them.
He stepped away from Brad, gripping the semi-automatic. “I’m all for you guys getting your property back, but I can’t let you harm her.”
Marie darted to her jumble of possessions on the couch and stuffed them in her backpack.
“What are you? A knight in fucking armor?” Brad shrieked, clutching both hands to his bloody nose.
“I’m a soldier, not a rapist, and definitely not a murderer. I don’t want to be a part of this.” He sounded tired even to his own ears. He wanted everything to stop, the operations, the missions, the fighting, and most of all the death. Taking a position with Public Domain Energy had been a mistake. He saw that now. All he had to do was disentangle himself from this mess, quit his job, and go on his way. “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen—”
Before he could finish, Marie ran out of the cabin.
David stared after her. “Shit, she’ll freeze to death. You know what you’re looking for isn’t in her pack, right?”
Brad nodded, still clasping his nose.
“Then search the rest of the house. She obviously doesn’t have your stolen prototype on her. If you find it, great. I’m outta here.” He grabbed Marie’s car keys off the table and marched out into the early morning darkness.
August 8, 2017
Cover Reveal for Sun Storm
Here is the cover for my latest novel Sun Storm, due to be released
23rd August 2017.
Preorder from Amazon
Dr. Marie Wilson is a scientist on the verge of a breakthrough. She has come to Montana on the eve of a blizzard to prove her small, portable solar panel can generate electricity even in the harshest environment. But when four men invade her remote cabin with plans to kill her, she knows she’s in trouble.
Ex-Special Forces soldier, David Quinn, has had enough of danger and death. All he wants is to be left alone on his Montana acreage to pursue his dream of being a beekeeper. But when his old mentor convinces him to help retrieve a stolen solar panel, he thinks it will be a simple job. But the moment he sets eyes on Marie, he knows their assignment is all kinds of wrong.
Together, they escape. Chased by a businessman with unlimited resources, a gunman and a corrupt police force, they are thrust into the frozen Montana landscape. Can a cynical soldier and a naive scientist learn about love and trust in order to survive? The cover for Sun Storm was created by the very talented Melody Simmons from Ebook Indie Covers https://ebookindiecovers.com
Here’s the print book version:
Stay turned for more information on 23rd August.
23rd August 2017.
Preorder from Amazon
Dr. Marie Wilson is a scientist on the verge of a breakthrough. She has come to Montana on the eve of a blizzard to prove her small, portable solar panel can generate electricity even in the harshest environment. But when four men invade her remote cabin with plans to kill her, she knows she’s in trouble.Ex-Special Forces soldier, David Quinn, has had enough of danger and death. All he wants is to be left alone on his Montana acreage to pursue his dream of being a beekeeper. But when his old mentor convinces him to help retrieve a stolen solar panel, he thinks it will be a simple job. But the moment he sets eyes on Marie, he knows their assignment is all kinds of wrong.
Together, they escape. Chased by a businessman with unlimited resources, a gunman and a corrupt police force, they are thrust into the frozen Montana landscape. Can a cynical soldier and a naive scientist learn about love and trust in order to survive? The cover for Sun Storm was created by the very talented Melody Simmons from Ebook Indie Covers https://ebookindiecovers.com
Here’s the print book version:
Stay turned for more information on 23rd August. July 15, 2017
Happy Summer - Enjoy a #Free #Short Story #Free read
I haven’t done anything exciting in ages, mainly because I’ve been working flat-out preparing my novel Sun Storm for publication at the end of August. I thought it might be the perfect time to share a short story.Here in northern Alberta it’s hot. Okay, I’ll admit compared to the continental US it’s really not that bad. We’re going to hit 30°C today, which translates to 86°F. As we don’t have air conditioning I feel that it’s a good temperature to sit in the shade of a tree and read a book.
I imagine those of you who are suffering through stifling temperatures to be on the beach, camping, even sitting in their yards reading. If you have a favorite place to read I’d love to hear about it.
I hope you enjoy my short story, Escape
Marilee sat at her green vinyl table tallying her meager collection of dimes and nickels. She licked her lips as she counted. She’d wanted coffee with cream since the moment she’d dragged her sleepy body out of bed. The craving was so strong she could almost taste the rich, velvety drink.
She finished counting, pounded the table with her fist, and leaned back in her rickety folding chair. Yes, she had enough to buy a small carton. She hadn’t indulged in the delicious luxury in weeks. She’d relocated to the small town of Trout Lake, in the Kootenay Mountains of British Columbia, two months ago. And was lucky enough to find a home where she could live off-the-grid, but the hand to mouth existence eroded her self-esteem, making her wonder if she’d made the right decision.
The interior of the grim little log cabin was dark, musty, and empty except for the old creaky metal-frame bed, and a faded, vinyl, patio table. Her temporary home wasn’t much to look at, but it was dry, warm, vermin-free, and safe – for now.
Using a small cracked mirror she checked her appearance. She had bathed in a nearby mountain stream this morning, using some of her precious soap. The water was so frigid she was forced to rush, not allowing herself to remember hot showers, and fluffy towels. Her long mane of auburn hair was gone, replaced with a short practical bob. She shrugged, placed the mirror face down on the table, and dismissed her reflection.
“It doesn’t matter.” How many times had she said those words in the last two months? It doesn’t matter was a mantra she’d told herself every time she stuffed her legs into the threadbare jeans she’d purchased at the thrift store, or spotted someone wearing clothes with designer labels—labels with which she was all too familiar. That life was in the past. These days she worked at being inconspicuous, a woman who blended into her surroundings.
There was a chance her husband, Brandon, would hunt her down. She had done everything to cover her tracks, but what if she’d left a clue, a small crumb he could follow? No, she’d come to this remote location, because he wouldn’t expect her to live in the country. But what if—
She stood, not allowing herself to go down that path. Replaying the past wouldn’t do any good.
Stuffing the change into her pocket, she stepped outside, squinting in the bright mid-morning sun. A wall of heat hit her like a body blow. It wasn’t yet noon, and the temperature was already oppressive. She quickened her pace, hoping to make it to town before the stifling temperatures made hiking on the winding, mountain highway unbearable.
Jack Sweeney, a local rancher, and her landlord, pulled up beside her in his new, red pickup truck. He rolled down the window and smiled. His light grey eyes intense as he took in every detail of her appearance. “Need a ride? I’m heading into town.”
Part of her wanted to refuse. She didn’t want to get in his vehicle. She didn’t want to talk to him. He was too curious, too attentive. She glanced at the heat shimmering off the highway. The blistering temperature made walking impractical, and she’d seem rude if she didn’t accept.
“If it’s no bother,” she said, looking at the road, the ground, anywhere, but him.
He stretched across the truck, and opened the passenger door. “Hop in. Where’re you heading?”
“Hopkins store.” The General Store was the one-stop-shop for Trout Lake. An old-fashioned merchant where you could buy milk, nails, and catch up on town gossip. Marilee climbed onto the luxurious leather seat.
The muscles of his arms flexed under his tanned skin, as he nudged back his wide-brimmed cowboy hat. “How many times do I have to tell you, you don’t have to be scared of me? You’re safe here. In Trout Lake we look after our own.”
She gave him a small smile, and then turned to look at the scenery. “You’re kind. I guess it’ll take time.”
Jack swore under his breath. “It breaks my heart to see a woman’s spirit crushed. She didn’t reply. It wasn’t a comment that required an answer.
“I know you’ve never said anything, but word is your husband abused you, and
you’re hiding out.”
Marilee schooled her features, hoping her emotions didn’t show on her face.
“You’ve been talking about me?”
“You’re a new face in a small town, there’s bound to be talk.”
Her heart stopped. Perhaps coming to a community with only two hundred people
wasn’t such a great idea. She should have stayed in Calgary where she would be one anonymous face among millions. No, remaining in the city hadn’t been an option. Brandon’s tentacles reached to every part of town from the mansions of Roxboro to the drug addled alleys of the downtown core. He would have found her if she’d stayed.
Jack pulled up in front of the store. Marilee scrambled out of the truck, waved goodbye, and darted inside.
She wasn’t surprised to find the shop packed with chattering women. Hopkins was a communal meeting place. She ignored the crowd, and grabbed a tiny carton of cream from the glass, and steel fridge. As she made her way to the cash register the crowd hushed. A cold chill inched up her spine. Something was wrong, very wrong. She’d worked hard at being invisible, but had made a fundamental mistake by moving here. She saw that now. Everyone knew everyone else’s business in a small town, and a woman who lived off-the-grid in a tiny cabin was bound to be a curiosity.
Mrs. Hopkins, a rail thin woman with white hair, broke the silence. “Marilee, I should tell you there was a man in here thirty minutes ago saying terrible things about you.”
“What man? What things?” Her legs weakened, and her knees threatened to buckle. She leaned against the counter for support.
“He said he was your husband, and you had stolen half a million dollars from him.”
“He’s here.” Her vision blurred, and for a moment she thought she might faint. She inhaled through her nose, held her breath for the count of eight, and then released the air through her mouth. She wanted to turn, and run, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate.
“We don’t believe a word of it, do we ladies?” Mrs. Hopkins announced. A chorus of agreement echoed around the room.
“No, if that were true the police would be looking for me,” Marilee said, more to herself than her audience.
“Oh, he said the police are investigating, and now he’s found you, he’ll make sure they come for you today.”
“I have to get away.” She mustered her strength, and took a step toward the door.
“Stop,” Mrs. Hopkins ordered. “Running won’t help, but I have a plan. I’ve called Jack. He’s coming to pick you up. He'll drive you back to your cabin where you will collect all your things. There is to be no evidence once you are done. Do you understand?”
“You’re going to help me?”
“Of course. Once you have your belongings Jack will drive you back to town.
We’ll transfer you from house to house as needed. The first night you will stay with Thelma.” Mrs. Hopkins pointed to a rather portly, grey haired woman, standing by her side. “And in the mean time, we will introduce him to the art of misdirection.”
The art of misdirection. Who was this woman? Had Mrs. Hopkins secretly run black ops? Or maybe she’d read too many spy novels? If Marilee had to guess she would have said it was the novels. “That’s kind of you, but—”
“There’s Jack outside. Go.”
Marilee ran. As she reached the truck a large hand seized her wrist.
“Hello Monica, it’s so nice to see you again.”
She bit back a scream, and prayed for composure as she turned to face Brandon,
the man who had once been her husband.
“What have you done with my money?” Spittle gathered at the corners of his
mouth as his handsome features twisted with rage. He wore a white designer shirt that stretched across his wide shoulders. Marilee knew he worked out every day in order to keep his physique toned, fit, and strong.
Maybe if she reasoned with him. “I don’t know what—”
“Don’t say another word. Everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie. So don’t bother trying to deny you stole half a million dollars from me because I know you did. I also know Monica isn’t your real name.”
A brown stick flashed between them as a loud smack sounded. Brandon yelped, released Marilee, and jumped back, clutching his injured arm.
Mrs. Hopkins held a broom handle like a baseball bat, ready to strike again. “Don’t touch her, you good for nothing louse.”
“You don’t understand. She’s a thief. She stole my money.” Brandon took another step back.
“You’re just saying that to get her back. We all know you beat her.” The older woman moved to stand between Marilee, and Brandon.
“What?” His eye’s widened, and his mouth fell open. Jack honked the horn. “Get in.”
Marilee dived into the pickup, landing in a jumbled mess. She struggled to put on her seatbelt as Jack hit the gas.
“I’ll take you to my place,” Jack said.
“No, I want to go back to my cabin.” She turned to see her ex-husband surrounded by a pack of angry women. “I hope they don’t kill him.”
“He’ll be a bit bruised, but he’ll know better than to come here, and try and take you.”
“You’re very kind, but what if he really did call the police? Won’t you get into trouble for helping me?”
“You let me worry about that. Thelma has a son on the force. I’ll call him, and we’ll get this loser sorted out.”
“Thank you.” Marilee put a hand to her chest in an attempt to calm her racing heart.
He came to a stop in front of the cabin. “Grab whatever you need. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
“Where are you going?”
“To get my rifle, just in case there’s trouble. I won’t be long.”
Marilee waited until the truck drove away, before she marched into the dark, cool
interior. It was time to leave.
She went straight to the bed, groped under the mattress, and plucked out a set of
keys. Then, she headed to the back of the property. As soon as she reached the cover of the forest she broke into a run, hoping to make it to the next valley before nightfall.
The sun hung low on the western horizon when she arrived at the clearing near the narrow, paved road. There was just enough light left for her to find the motorbike in the undergrowth. She dragged the Harley out, and checked to make sure everything was in working order.
Then she searched for the hollow tree where she’d hidden her things, and yanked out three plastic, garbage bags. The first two contained her helmet, and leathers. These were invaluable to her escape. If she travelled by car someone might be able to give her description to the police, but her bike gear concealed her physical appearance. A passer- by would be hard pressed to describe anything about her.
She turned her attention to the third plastic bag. It contained a leather saddlebag. Undoing the clasp, she checked to make sure her fake ID, and money were still there.
She almost felt sorry for Brandon...almost. He’d lied when he’d accused her of stealing half a million dollars. She’d stolen closer to one million.
She shook her head and climbed on the bike. The good people of Trout Lake had assumed she’d been abused, but she’d never said so, she just kept her eyes down, and her mouth shut. Their collective imagination had done the rest. It was almost a shame to go, where else would she find a whole town just waiting to be fleeced, but she couldn’t stay. Brandon was sleazy when it came to his business practices so there was a good chance the money was already stolen, and he hadn’t contacted the authorities. But Jack was a straight arrow, a man who said exactly what he meant, and he would call the police. Once they investigated they’d find she operated under a long list of aliases, and had left a trail of marks in her wake.
She steered the bike onto the highway, heading for Vancouver. Once there, she would dye her hair blonde, get some extensions, and become Brittany Lamoure. A woman who wore short skirts, low cut tops, and liked sugar daddies. She laughed as the bike roared up the highway. Tomorrow she would definitely have cream in her coffee.
June 17, 2017
Danny Bhoy #Comedian
In October 2016 my husband and I had an opportunity to see comic Danny Bhoy perform in Edmonton, Alberta. In case you’ve never heard of him, Danny is a comedian who focuses on observational humor.His charismatic charm combined with his own unique view of the world gave us a night where we laughed so long and hard we hurt.
I believe a little bit of laughter can lighten anyone’s day, so I thought you might like to watch him in action. I know you’re busy so I picked two short clips. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.
May 7, 2017
Gardening to Save the Bees
Spring has finally arrived here in the Great White North, and my mind has turned to gardening. Now, this may shock some of you, but I’ve never liked to garden. Don’t get me wrong – I love trees, great open spaces and wildflowers, but grass and straight lines of flowers do nothing for me. There’s also the fact that I find grass to be a pain in the butt. It needs watering, weeding, fertilizing and is the gardening version of a high maintenance drama queen. Plus, I don’t understand why we need a lawn that looks like it belongs on a golf course. No one plays golf at my house.
So, I did nothing with my garden until I came across the Bring Back the Bees campaign run by Honey Nut Cheerios Canada. They have an emotional TV ad. Imploring us to do what we can to save the bees. You can also sign up at their website to receive a packet of wildflowers. They are giving away these flowers in an attempt to help bee populations across Canada.
I was touched by the fact that a company like General Mills would devote time and money to an environmental program that brings awareness to such an important subject. And who doesn't want to help the bees, especially when you consider one third of our food comes from bee pollination.I did some research and discovered that grass does very little to help the environment. In fact in areas where herbicides are used it actually causes harm. I also learned that before the 1950s, when herbicides became common, all grass seed was mixed with clover to prevent weeds. And then I discovered there are several municipalities in Canada that actively encourage their residents to grow clover lawns.
Apparently, clover lawns discourage the growth of weeds such as dandelions without resorting to the use of environmentally harmful weed killers, and are beneficial to urban wildlife such as bees, butterflies, and rabbits.
I decided to introduce clover to my lawn and hopefully it will eventually takeover the grass.
I raked my lawn and mowed the grass so it was short
I sprinkled it with clover seed and then let nature do it's bit.
Within a week I saw results
I expect my clover lawn to be patchy this year, but I'm new to this. Next year I will fill the gaps and complete my lawnIf you’re interested in a low maintenance environmental way to have a green garden that will still hold up to foot traffic check out these sites
http://www.kamloops.ca/ipm/pdfs/Brochure-Clover.pdf
http://www.doityourself.com/stry/cloverlawn
http://cloverlawn.org
https://bringbackthebees.ca
Do you do anything to help the bees? If so I'd love to hear about it.
So, I did nothing with my garden until I came across the Bring Back the Bees campaign run by Honey Nut Cheerios Canada. They have an emotional TV ad. Imploring us to do what we can to save the bees. You can also sign up at their website to receive a packet of wildflowers. They are giving away these flowers in an attempt to help bee populations across Canada.
I was touched by the fact that a company like General Mills would devote time and money to an environmental program that brings awareness to such an important subject. And who doesn't want to help the bees, especially when you consider one third of our food comes from bee pollination.I did some research and discovered that grass does very little to help the environment. In fact in areas where herbicides are used it actually causes harm. I also learned that before the 1950s, when herbicides became common, all grass seed was mixed with clover to prevent weeds. And then I discovered there are several municipalities in Canada that actively encourage their residents to grow clover lawns.
Apparently, clover lawns discourage the growth of weeds such as dandelions without resorting to the use of environmentally harmful weed killers, and are beneficial to urban wildlife such as bees, butterflies, and rabbits.
I decided to introduce clover to my lawn and hopefully it will eventually takeover the grass.
I raked my lawn and mowed the grass so it was short
I sprinkled it with clover seed and then let nature do it's bit.
Within a week I saw results
I expect my clover lawn to be patchy this year, but I'm new to this. Next year I will fill the gaps and complete my lawnIf you’re interested in a low maintenance environmental way to have a green garden that will still hold up to foot traffic check out these siteshttp://www.kamloops.ca/ipm/pdfs/Brochure-Clover.pdf
http://www.doityourself.com/stry/cloverlawn
http://cloverlawn.org
https://bringbackthebees.ca
Do you do anything to help the bees? If so I'd love to hear about it.
March 4, 2017
Adapting to Life Without Driving.
Late in November 2016 I experienced one of the worst events of my life. I blacked out while driving and crashed the car. Luckily, I didn’t kill anyone.
Now, I’ve fainted at the wheel before, but this was different. When you faint you feel it coming on. In my experience a vice tightens around my chest and is coupled with light-headedness and darkening vision. This is warning enough to pull the car over to the side of the road.
But this was an instance of missing time. One moment I was at the beginning of a long dark road. I checked my speed, changed the song, and the next thing I knew I was sailing through a stop sign. I had no idea how I got there, just missing time.
There are some of you who will say I drove on autopilot. We all do at times—drive without paying attention to our surroundings. But in those cases your mind is somewhere else, you’re thinking of other things. In my case there’s nothing. I wasn’t distracted, I didn’t faint, I didn’t fall asleep, and I wasn’t on autopilot—there was nothing. One minute I was at the beginning of the road the next I was crashing the car.
Crazy people might say aliens abducted me. I can’t say for certain this didn’t happen because I have no idea what actually happened, but until a little green man confesses that he stole me from the car I’m going to stick with the logical, earthly explanations.
So either I had a seizure or had some other heart / brain stopping event.
The day after my accident I went to see my doctor who sent me for a CT scan and referred me to a neurologist. The scan was clear and the neurologist was great. He took the time to talk to me and listen to all my concerns. But he did tell me not to drive for the next six months. I’m good with that. I agree—I shouldn’t be driving. I’m lucky I didn’t kill anyone the first time. How would I live with myself if I ignored the warning and killed someone?
To cut a long story short and not bore you with all the irrelevant details, I’ve spent the last few months adapting to my new reality. This has been harder than I thought it would be.
I live in a small town in Northern Alberta. We don’t have a large enough population to support public transport so I walk everywhere. And winter is not the best time to adapt to life without a car. I can honestly tell you walking to the supermarket in minus twenty degree Celsius is not my favorite thing to do, but I have snow gear and dress for the weather.
This week I turned a corner. I’m finally adapting to life without driving. On weekdays I get up early, do my workout, get the kids off to school and then sit down and write. I’m determined to use this experience to focus on my work.
I try and get out of the house everyday and am fortunate enough that I can walk to meet friends for coffee, and the grocery store is a mere fifteen minutes away. I’m finally adapting to life without driving, and am not sure I will ever get behind the wheel again.
All pictures in this post courtesy of PIxabay
Now, I’ve fainted at the wheel before, but this was different. When you faint you feel it coming on. In my experience a vice tightens around my chest and is coupled with light-headedness and darkening vision. This is warning enough to pull the car over to the side of the road.
But this was an instance of missing time. One moment I was at the beginning of a long dark road. I checked my speed, changed the song, and the next thing I knew I was sailing through a stop sign. I had no idea how I got there, just missing time.There are some of you who will say I drove on autopilot. We all do at times—drive without paying attention to our surroundings. But in those cases your mind is somewhere else, you’re thinking of other things. In my case there’s nothing. I wasn’t distracted, I didn’t faint, I didn’t fall asleep, and I wasn’t on autopilot—there was nothing. One minute I was at the beginning of the road the next I was crashing the car.
Crazy people might say aliens abducted me. I can’t say for certain this didn’t happen because I have no idea what actually happened, but until a little green man confesses that he stole me from the car I’m going to stick with the logical, earthly explanations.So either I had a seizure or had some other heart / brain stopping event.
The day after my accident I went to see my doctor who sent me for a CT scan and referred me to a neurologist. The scan was clear and the neurologist was great. He took the time to talk to me and listen to all my concerns. But he did tell me not to drive for the next six months. I’m good with that. I agree—I shouldn’t be driving. I’m lucky I didn’t kill anyone the first time. How would I live with myself if I ignored the warning and killed someone?
To cut a long story short and not bore you with all the irrelevant details, I’ve spent the last few months adapting to my new reality. This has been harder than I thought it would be.
I live in a small town in Northern Alberta. We don’t have a large enough population to support public transport so I walk everywhere. And winter is not the best time to adapt to life without a car. I can honestly tell you walking to the supermarket in minus twenty degree Celsius is not my favorite thing to do, but I have snow gear and dress for the weather.
This week I turned a corner. I’m finally adapting to life without driving. On weekdays I get up early, do my workout, get the kids off to school and then sit down and write. I’m determined to use this experience to focus on my work.
I try and get out of the house everyday and am fortunate enough that I can walk to meet friends for coffee, and the grocery store is a mere fifteen minutes away. I’m finally adapting to life without driving, and am not sure I will ever get behind the wheel again.
All pictures in this post courtesy of PIxabay
January 2, 2017
Food Junkies by Vera Tarman & Phil Werdell Read by Lisa Bunting
ââAvailable at:
Download or Purchase CDs through Post Hypnotic Press's Website
Download our App for MAC Devices Free and Purchase Food Junkies
âAlso available at:
AUDIBLE
AMAZON: Reg CD
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Audiobooks.com
Is it possible to be addicted to food? When does indulging in 'comfort' food become substance abuse? Is it possible that there is more than a lack of will power at work when someone can't stop eating? In Food Junkies, Vera Tarman and Phil Werdell explain what is - and isn't - food addiction, tackling this complex and poorly understood problem through the stories of many survivors and from the perspectives of medical researchers/practitioners. They break down the science behind the research so that anyone can understand it, and take a fresh look at obesity, overeating, binge eating, anorexia and bulimia. For people struggling with these issues â and their families â recognizing the condition is the first step to gaining the kind of support and advice they need.
Food Junkies (finalist in the 2016 Voice Arts Awards) offers hope and guidance. Read by Lisa Bunting, according to one audible customer review, her "calming voice assists with decreasing the shame so often found with addiction and can open the listener up to actually hearing," while another noted the audiobook version "brought the science to life in a different way than the book. It made it even more real as one can't 'skim' or 'rush' through the life-changing content."
To Listen to an excerpt:
https://soundcloud.com/post-hypnotic-press/audiobook-food-junkies-the-truth-about-food-addiction
âAUTHOR Bio and Links:
Vera Tarman is a medical practitioner who focuses on addictions. She is the medical director of Renascent, an addictions treatment centre. Dr. Tarman conducts workshops and speaking engagements on the science of food addiction and "comfort food" abuse. She has reached audiences across the world. She lives in Toronto.
Phil Werdell is a recovering food addict, a social work clinician, and an educator. He is the primary organizer of the Food Addiction Institute and the International Society of Food Addiction Professionals, and is Director of ACORNâs Professional Training Program. Phil currently teaches Addictions Studies at Springfield College, School of Human Services, Tampa. He lives in Florida.
NARRATORS BIO:
Lisa Bunting is a stage, screen and voice actor, drama instructor, audition coach, and professional skills development simulator. For Post Hypnotic Press, she has narrated the non-fiction self-help titles The Woman Who Changed Her Brain, The Remarriage Blueprint, Voice Arts Awards-nominated Food Junkies and the forthcoming i-Minds. She was named Best Supporting Actress at LAâs Focus International Film Festival, Winter 2015. She is a member of Canadian Actorsâ Equity and ACTRA.
SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:
BOOK:
http://addictionsunplugged.com/
https://www.facebook.com/Addictions-U...
https://twitter.com/FoodJunkiesBook
Vera Tarman:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...
Phil Werdell:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...
Lisa Bunting:
https://twitter.com/foodaddictman
Post Hypnotic Press:
http://www.posthypnoticpress.com
https://www.facebook.com/PostHypnotic...
http://www.twitter.com/Post_Hypnotic
GIVEAWAY INFORMATION:
One randomly chosen winner via rafflecopter will win a $50 Amazon/BN.com gift card.
Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here:
http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2016/11/virtual-book-tour-audio-book-food.html
a Rafflecopter giveaway
December 17, 2016
The Fireman and the Arsonist.
As this is the season of peace on earth and goodwill to ALL men I want to ask a question that has been on my mind for a few months – why do people think it’s okay to hate?
It seems that hate is on the rise and spreading. According to an article published by the BBC news on 4th September 2016:
“Freedom of Information figures suggest hate crimes increased by 20% last year, to more than 60,000”
And here’s a quote from a USA Today story published November 14th 2016.
“What may seem like a dramatic rise in the number of hate harassment and hate incidents happening across the country in the wake of Tuesday's general election is not in anyone's imagination, experts say.
There indeed has been a spike in the number of reports of such incidents, say representatives for two organizations that track such occurrences. A representative for one group, in fact, said the rise appears to be even worse that what was took place immediately after the terror attacks in 2001.”
Even in my adopted country, Canada, hate is on the rise. Recently a man in Edmonton, Alberta’s capital, threatened two young women at a transit station. According to the CBC news.
“The man approached two young women wearing hijabs at the University of Alberta station at 8:20 p.m. on Nov. 8, police say.
The man, believed to be in his 60s, pulled a rope from his pocket, tied a noose and said: "This is for you."
At this point I should share a little about my background, I was born to Irish parents living in England, and was a teen when the IRA initiated a spate of bombings in the mid-seventies.Let me clarify this point. Dr. Martin Luther King and Gandhi are my heroes. I don’t believe in violent confrontation for political change neither did my parents. Unfortunately we were Irish and that was all it took to convict us in the mind of public opinion.
According to the group Civil Rights in the UK. “It was not uncommon to see signs in Britain during the 1960s proclaiming, “No blacks, no Irish, no dogs”.
In the seventies we were subjected to verbal and physical abuse and I experienced first hand discrimination in the work place.
The Runnymede Trust, a think tank working for equality among Britons, notes in an article.
“Evidence about abuses arising out of the operation of the Prevention of Terrorism Act (1974) have been documented in detail by Paddy Hillyard (1993) in his study Suspect Community. He enumerated 7052 detentions up to 1993, 86% involving no further action, Negative stereotyping of Irish people is widely recognised. However the extension of verbal abuse into physical threats and violence is very rarely recorded and occasions surprise and disbelief when documented. The CRE report (1997) found evidence of police and neighbour harassment which included violence and intimidation."
My father was one of those detained, and denied legal representation. He was held for over a week questioned for days. Whether he suffered torture or not he never said, but he did tell me they wanted him to confess to something he didn’t do. There were no charges, how could there be? He was innocent, but his experience was not isolated as the report shows. And according to the International Business Times there were still anti-Irish protests taking place in Liverpool, England in 2012.
This is the world I grew up in, one where I was a designated second-class citizen because of an accident of birth. Please don’t think I’m complaining. I know there are many people in the world who are far worse off, whose experiences at the hands of bigots are traumatizing and horrific. I only point out my past because I believe it gives me, a middle-aged white woman, greater insight into what it is to be hated for no good reason.
If you’re wondering how to judge people so you can tell the good from the bad then this is how I explained race, bigotry and choosing friends to my children.Imagine your house is on fire. You’re curled up on your bedroom floor. It’s hot and the smoke makes it hard to breathe. You’re scared. A fireman with all his gear comes to save you. His fire retardant mask is covering his face so you don’t know what he looks like. You don’t care about the color of his skin, what he believes, or who he sleeps with. He’s there to save you, and you are grateful.
Now, you’re standing on the sidewalk, you’re safe, but you’re watching your home burn and you learn that an arsonist set fire to your house. For no good reason, this person destroyed your home and everything you owned. You don’t know what he looks like. You don’t know the color of his skin, what he believes, whom he sleeps with, and you don’t care. The arsonist has endangered your family and destroyed your world.
We tend to define ourselves, and others, using words that tell us nothing about the people we really are. We use words that describe the color of our skin, our sexual preference, and our religious beliefs. But what we really need to know is would this person be a friend and save me, or are they hateful and will they destroy me.
In life we will meet good people who will save us. They will be there for us when we are at our lowest point. We will meet nasty people who will think nothing of destroying us. The only way to know one from the other is to ignore color, race, religion, ethnicity, gender, and sexual preference, and really get to know them. Whoever you are and wherever you’re from I wish you a wonderful, safe and happy holiday season
November 29, 2016
The Christmas Tree by Allyson Charles & The Accidental Elopement By Maggie Dallen #Giveaway
Buying options at:Kensington Books
Buying options at:Kensington Books THE CHRISTMAS TREE by Allyson Charles
Blurb:
It was one little fender bender. Sadie was only in picturesque Pineville, Michigan, for a day, trying to handle the ramshackle house her grandmother left her and juggle the sale of her failing design business at the same time. Her debtors don’t care that it’s almost Christmas. But then neither does the big bad contractor whose truck got squashed.
Colt McCoy might be the least festive person she’s ever met. He’s gruff, rude, and way too upset about a minor accident. Of course, he is nice to look at, with dimples hiding in his scruffy beard and a body like a lumberjack’s. And Sadie will have plenty of time to enjoy the view, since their community service sentence has put the two of them in charge of Pineville’s jinxed Christmas tree.
But as their squabbles over ornaments turn to laughter, anyone can see Colt and Sadie have something electric. The hard part is guessing if they’ll light each other up—or just keep blowing the fuse . . .
THE ACCIDENTAL ELOPEMENT by Maggie Dallen
Blurb:
First comes love, then comes marriage—or is it the other way around?
Lucia is an Italian spitfire with big dreams like her billionaire grandfather. But she wants to become a top tier fashion designer, not the heir to the family business in Italy. Now is her only chance to forge her own path. And what better place to start than in New York City? But working behind a bar doesn’t exactly pay the rent. Her trust fund would come in handy, but she needs to get married first. Luckily, she may have found the perfect husband candidate in her co-worker, who just happens to be the most charismatic and devastatingly gorgeous man she’s ever met . . .
There’s more to Ryan’s charming smile than meets the eye—he’s out for revenge and working for his enemy is his best bet at getting it. When Lucia comes to him with her crazy plan, he sees a perfect opportunity to make his move. But doing that could mean hurting his new wife. They say nothing’s sweeter than revenge—but “they” never met a woman like Lucia . . .
The Accidental Elopement
Excerpt:
Lucia had exactly nine dollars and thirty-six cents in her pocket as she fought her way onto the crowded F-train heading downtown. Enough to buy one more coffee and a bagel—a combo she’d come to adore during her six-week stint in New York—but not much else.
She reached through a thick crowd of people so she could hold onto the cold metal pole in the middle of the train to keep her balance. The subway. That was one thing she would not miss when she left. But even that bit of optimism was enough to bring tears to her eyes. Who was she kidding? She was going to miss everything about this city, even the crowded, smelly subway.
She had just enough left on her Metrocard for a train to the airport but her credit card had long since maxed out and she had no clue how she could pay for the airfare.
You could call Grandpa.
She shook her head in disgust. It was bad enough that she was going back to Italy with her tail between her legs; there was no way she would beg her grandfather for the airfare home. When her grandmother was alive, she used to describe him as overprotective. More like smothering. Of course he only had her best interests at heart—as did her ex-fiancé— but that didn’t mean they knew what was best. She would be the one to pave her future, even if it meant she failed.
Lucia watched as the subway door opened and closed before continuing on downtown. The next stop was SoHo. She knew where she had to go. If she was being honest with herself, she’d known where she was heading the moment she’d walked away from her disappointing meeting with her former boss—her last lifeline to the new life she’d been working for this past month.
Perching on a barstool, Lucia kept an eye on the front desk. Maybe she should have called first.
“Would you like to see a bar menu?”
Lucia swiveled around to find the bartender watching her expectantly. “We’re not serving dinner yet but we have some appetizers available.”
The bartender was hot. Like, movie star hot. Lucia’s mouth went dry and her ability to speak English took a momentary hiatus from her brain. This guy was intimidatingly hot. Dark hair and bright blue eyes with a chiseled jaw—he should play a superhero in a movie.
When one corner of his mouth turned up in an amused smile, Lucia came back to her senses. “No, thank you. I’m not hungry.” Her stomach gave a little whine of protest but she ignored it. Those nine dollars had to last her until she got home.
The bartender put away the little menu but didn’t move.
“Something to drink?”
Lucia shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m just here to meet someone.”
The hot bartender’s eyebrows lifted in new understanding. “Oh, you’re here for the job?”
“Um….” He looked down at his watch and then back to her with that amused, sexy-as-hell little smile. “You’re early.”
“Oh. I….”
Before she could finish, he tossed the dishrag he’d been holding under the bar and headed toward the register. “But you’re in luck. I’m the one conducting the interviews so we can get started whenever you’re ready.”
Allyson Charles lives in Northern California. She’s the author of the “Pineville Romance” series, small-town, contemporary romances published by Lyrical Press. A former attorney, she happily ditched those suits and now works in her pajamas writing about men’s briefs instead of legal briefs. When she’s not writing, she’s probably engaged in one of her favorite hobbies: napping, eating, or martial arts (That last one almost makes up for the first two, right?). One of Allyson’s greatest disappointments is living in a state that doesn’t have any Cracker Barrels in it.Sign up for Allyson’s newsletter at allysoncharles.com/newsletter.
You can find her at www.allysoncharles.com, on Twitter @1allysoncharles, and on Facebook at facebook.com/AuthorAllysonCharles.
Maggie Dallen is a huge fan of happily-ever-afters. She writes contemporary and YA romance and has been known to rewrite the endings to classic love stories to ensure that they end on a happy note. In Maggie's version, Ingrid Bergman does not get on the plane. She lives in Northern California and works at a yarn store to support her knitting addiction. For more info please visit maggiedallen.com.Follow her on Twitter @Mag_Dallen. Or connect with her on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/pages/Maggie... GIVEAWAY INFORMATION The authors will be awarding digital copies of both books on tour to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here:
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