Shattered Bonds by Lynda Aicher – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Lynda will be awarding a $20 Gift Card to ebook retailer of choice (Amazon, Barnes and Noble, AllRomance ebooks) to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour, and a $10 GC to ebook retailer of choice (Amazon, Barnes and Noble, AllRomance ebooks) to a randomly drawn host. Please click the banner to see a list of other stops on the tour.

Shattered Bonds, Book Seven of Wicked Play

Will the doors of The Den close forever?

When the lives and friendships of The Den owners are thrown into chaos, Noah Bakker steps in to deal with the fallout. He hasn’t had a sub or participated in a Scene since tragedy changed his life four years ago. But as an investor in the exclusive BDSM club, he can’t walk away from the lifestyle completely. As he works to keep the club running, he finds himself drawn to Liv Delcour, the seemingly naïve sister of one of the other owners.

Liv didn’t know about the naughty things her friends were up to behind closed doors, but when their secrets become headline news, she’s more curious than shocked. As she works with Noah to keep the media at bay, she finds that his dominant strength is more than a little arousing. Soon they’re exploring their mutual desires in the most wicked ways.

Liv isn’t sure if she can completely submit to Noah the way she thinks he wants her to—and Noah isn’t sure he can withstand the pain of falling in love…

New to the Den? Start at the beginning with Bonds of Trust.

Enjoy an excerpt:

Thank you for driving me tonight,” Liv Delcour said, stealing a glance at Noah as he backed the car out and followed the SUV into the street.

“Not a problem.” He kept his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other notched on the armrest.

She inhaled, catching a hint of his rich cologne. It smelled as expensive as the suits he wore and the car he drove. He might be out of her league, but she had to give her sister props for the gorgeous company she kept. Liv found the dark control of this man more appealing than the arrogance that came with most of the athletes Vanessa represented.

The streetlights flickered over his face to highlight his strong profile. He had an elegant nose tempered by a square jaw and a high forehead beneath hair that had just enough curl to defy the styled cut. Would the soft curls wrap around my fingers if I touched them?

Right. She closed her eyes and released a slow breath. That train of thought would get her nowhere.

The light was changing to green when she looked up, trying to think of something to talk about besides the youth center. They’d exhausted that topic on the drive to the ice arena. What else did she know about the man?

“So what kind of law do you practice?” she asked.

“Corporate and small business. Contracts mostly.”

That might have been the longest sentence he’d said to her. “What does that— Oh my God!” she exclaimed as a dark green pickup blasted into the intersection. The truck smashed into the side of the SUV to the tune of a metal-bending crash that rocked the interior of Noah’s car.

Noah slammed on the brakes. Her hands flew up to brace herself as she jerked forward only to be jolted back by the seat belt. Despite that, her focus remained on the scene unfolding before her. It was like watching a slow-motion camera on hyper-speed.

The collision propelled the SUV sideways through the intersection with a continued peal of tires and smoke that seemed to accelerate instead of slow. Horns blared, other vehicles swerved to avoid them, car parts exploded into the air and there was nothing she could do.

Lynda Aicher has always loved to read. It’s a simple fact that has been true since she discovered the words of Judy Blume at the age of ten. After years of weekly travel as a consultant implementing computer software into global companies, she ended her nomadic lifestyle to raise her two children. Now, her imagination is her only limitation on where she can go and her writing lets her escape from the daily duties of being a mom, wife, chauffer, scheduler, cook, teacher, volunteer, cleaner and mediator. If writing wasn’t a priority, it wouldn’t get done.

To learn more about Lynda, you can find her at:

Website: http://lyndaaicher.com

Facebook: http://facebook.com/lyndaaicherauthor

Twitter: http://twitter.com/lyndaaicher

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5339510.Lynda_Aicher

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Pondering the Muse by J.P. Lantern – Guest Blog and Giveaway

VBT Up the Tower Tour Banner copy

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. The author will be awarding a backlist ebook copy to a randomly drawn winner at every stop during the tour and a Grand Prize of a $25 Amazon GC will be awarded to one randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during this tour.

Pondering the muse

The muse for me has a few different qualities that are kind of hard to explain. It’s equal parts, at different times, a sort of suction engine, dilapidated skeleton, and giant badger mouth.
One way you might think of it is like the bad guy aliens from Space Jam. In the beginning, they’re these teensy, puny little things that are sort of inept and good-natured, but also kind of cruel. That’s where my muse is right now. After just completing a novel, the well of ideas is pretty much dry, and my muse has been absolutely emptied.

And where you want the muse to be is where those aliens from Space Jam get to—all pumped up and full of talent stolen from other, better people at the thing they’re trying to do. And that’s the process I take when trying to get my muse all filled up again: I read a lot, a whole lot, and the whole time I’m just refilling that well and taking as many tips and wholesale arcs and stories as I can from people who are smarter and better than I am. Some of this is conscious, but a lot of it is subconscious.

One other important tidbit of the muse is that’s sort of like the facehugger from alien. (My muse has various alien forms, I suppose). And the reason it’s that is because that once it latches onto an idea, it can’t let go. If it lets go, it just…you know, sprays acid everywhere and gives everyone a bad time. I’ve got the acid burns to prove it. But if the muse does stay latched on, then the whole time it’s pumping that idea full of all the stuff it’s collected over all that time you’ve spent reading and absorbing other people’s great notions.

For UP THE TOWER, I absorbed all sorts of stuff. Movies like Blade Runner and Sorcerer; the soundtrack to Assault on Precinct 13; Philip K. Dick books THE DIVINE INVASION and MARTIAN TIMESLIP, and of course a lot of Gene Wolfe. I think all those influences are pretty evident, but I think also they make for a pretty great read.

UptheTowerDisaster brings everybody together. A cloned corporate assassin; a boy genius and his new robot; a tech-modified gangster with nothing to lose; a beautiful, damaged woman and her unbalanced stalker—these folks couldn’t be more different, but somehow they must work together to save their own skin. Stranded in the epicenter of a monumental earthquake in the dystopian slum, Junktown, there is only one way to survive. These unlikely teammates must go…UP THE TOWER.

Enjoy an excerpt:

“This kid comes in, okay? Starts doing all this stuff with Wallop’s tech fists. Powering them up and such. You know, they can bend steel, they can punch a man so far a distance, all of that. At first, I think the kid’s pretty young, but then I see his eyes—they’re old enough. I seen his eyes, they’re about my age, those eyes. And it’s important, okay, how old he is. Because this kid? He looks a hell of a lot like me.”

“So what? Lots of kids look like you.”

“Yeah. So do Georgeson. So do Jonesboy. So do Figueroa.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” he palmed the side of his head. “I’m saying, it ain’t no secret that you got yourself a certain type of person that you pick up. A type of boy. I sort of thought I knew why. Last night I found out for certain.”

Konnor was right. Ore was angry.

“The hell are you saying to me? Just say it.”

“You said you had a brother. His name was Samson. He was good with tech, you said. Well this kid? The one tailoring Wallop’s new fists? Samson. That’s what Wallop called him. ‘Samson, touch here.’ ‘Samson, look at that, is that right.’”

Ore didn’t say anything.

“He’s alive. Your brother. In The Tower. He’s maybe been alive this whole time.”

Silence, then. Even the eyebots outside seemed to get quiet.

That goddamn Wallop. Her job, her Haulers, and her eye. Now he had her brother, or near enough. Everything. Would he take everything from her?

Konnor stood up and headed to the door. The shack squeaked beneath him.

“If it was any other sort of job…if it was a job that maybe wouldn’t have gone against the Faces…”

“Shut up, Konnor. It’s all against the Faces. It’s under ‘em or it’s with ‘em. You know that.”

“All right. All right.” He opened the door. An argument had started down the street; someone lit a fire in a barrel on the balcony above her shack; an eyebot stopped, scanned the two, and then zipped away. “It’s a hell of a plan, though, Ore. A hell of a plan. And maybe I won’t get around to telling Wallop what’s what for a little while.”

About the Author:MEDIA KIT Author PhotoJ.P. Lantern lives in the Midwestern US, though his heart and probably some essential parts of his liver and pancreas and whatnot live metaphorically in Texas. He writes speculative science fiction short stories, novellas, and novels which he has deemed “rugged,” though he would also be fine with “roughhewn” because that is a terrific and wonderfully apt word.
Full of adventure and discovery, these stories examine complex people in situations fraught with conflict as they search for truth in increasingly violent and complicated worlds.

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The Kidnapped Bride by Heather Hiestand – Spotlight and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Heather will be awarding a $20 GIFT CARD to AMAZON OR BN (winner’s choice) to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Pursuing this elusive heiress will be the ultimate temptation…

Lady Elizabeth Shield is used to saving herself from trouble. And even if dashing private inquiry agent Dougal Alexander just rescued her from white slavers, she’s definitely not returning to her stifling aristocratic life and unsuitable suitors. Not when there are other women in danger—and a secret promise to keep in Edinburgh. But outwitting Dougal’s tactics to return her to London and her family will be easier than staying away from his intoxicating kisses…

He’s a baron’s second son accustomed to making his own way and uncovering the truth. Now Dougal must keep Lady Elizabeth close for her own protection, but her spirited wiles are proving scandalously irresistible. His most difficult case yet will be showing her that he’s everything she truly desires—and that love is the greatest of adventures…

“Before I realized it, the unusually strong and well-developed characters of The Kidnapped Bride had sneaked up on me and captured my full attention. This is one of the best shorter books I have ever read.” –Delle Jacobs, author of Lady Wicked

Enjoy an excerpt:

“Look here, eh?” Dougal said. “Enough about your damned family. Our concern here is Lady Elizabeth. Ye turned her into your maid-of-all-work, right? Payback for whatever you think Lord Judah here did tae your sister? That was Lady Elizabeth answering the door at your flat last month, right?”

Manfred pressed his lips together and looked surly. Lord Judah’s expression was a mixture of horror and bewilderment.

“How could you do that to a gently bred girl?” Hatbrook demanded. “She must have loved you, to follow you like that. What did you do to make her run away from us?”

Manfred shrugged. “Beth’s headstrong, you know that. No one was more surprised than I to find Beth sneaking into my room in the border inn where I staying.”

“Why didn’t you bring Beth back, as a gentleman would?” Hatbrook shouted.

“I wasn’t about to marry her,” Manfred snarled. “She ain’t my sort.”

Hatbrook slapped the boy openhanded across the cheek. “That’s my sister! You’ve ruined her life! Whatever you want to say about your sister, my brother has given her an honorable marriage and an excellent home.”

“Beth bloody ruined it herself,” Manfred said, standing as his cheek bloomed red. “She followed me. I made her no promises. She refused to go home. So I set up house in Edinburgh, found a way to make money. But I didn’t marry her.”

“No, you just made her your whore,” Hatbrook said.

“I never touched her,” Manfred said, more quietly.

About the Author:

Heather Hiestand was born in Illinois, but her family migrated west before she started school. Since then she has claimed Washington State as home, except for a few years in California. She wrote her first story at age seven and went on to major in creative writing at the University of Washington. Her first published fiction was a mystery short story, but since then it has been all about the many flavors of romance. Heather’s first published romance short story was set in the Victorian period, and she continues to return, fascinated by the rapid changes of the nineteenth century. The author of many novels, novellas, and short stories, she has achieved best-seller status at Amazon and Barnes and Noble. With her husband and son, she makes her home in a small town and supposedly works out of her tiny office, though she mostly writes in her easy chair in the living room.

For more information, visit Heather’s website at http://www.heatherhiestand.com. Heather loves to hear from readers! Her email is heather@heatherhiestand.com.

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Balancing Life and Writing by Susan Soares – Guest Blog and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Susan will be awarding a Life is all Good LOVE Tote to a randomly drawn winner (http://www.zappos.com/life-is-good-all-good-tote-soft-purple), a multi-heart turquoise charm bracelet (http://www.zappos.com/m-f-western-multi-heart-charm-turquoise-bracelet-silver) to another randomly drawn winner, a signed copy of Heart on a String to one more randomly drawn winner and finally, a signed bookmark of Heart on a String to three randomly drawn winners. All prizes will be awarded via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Balancing life and writing

This is a tough question, but one I think every writer faces especially if you’re not at the point where you can up and quit your paying job for a life of writing. For me it’s all about schedules and blocks of time. By nature I’m an all or nothing personality. I don’t like the feeling of a large task looming above my head. It makes me feel stressed. Yes, writing can make you stress! So I love the idea of block writing. Or even frenzy writing if you will. I learned about Nanowrimo a few years back and felt that it was the perfect vessel for me. You write a rough draft of a novel in a month. Minimum 50k words. This was what I was looking for. In addition to my all or nothingness I’m also very goal oriented. My quirks and Nanowrimo just seemed to fit hand in hand. Nano is held each November, but I create my own Nanos when I want to work on a rough draft. I set a goal and do my best to adhere to it. For a 50K draft to be done in a month this requires me to write about an hour to two hours a day. Balancing a family, work, and writing can be mind boggling. But once I found setting myself up for the 50K challenge I was able to better work it into place. I knew how much time I needed and I knew that the time set aside to write needed to be just for that- WRITING. Now that’s not say that maybe twenty to thirty minutes of that time is me procrastinating, but once I start banging those words out I don’t stop until the time’s done. My kids know that I’m working and unless someone is sick or bleeding they tend to leave me alone. It’s all about choices. Making the commitment and if you do that you’ll succeed.

The only thing harder than lying about your life? Facing it.

Marissa tells lies.

To herself, about the fact that her brother abandoned her.

To her grandmother, when she says “everything’s fine.”

To the world when she pretends her mother is at home or working late. When she doesn’t tell them her mother is dead.

She doesn’t even question the wisdom of living in a world built on lies anymore—until she meets Brandon. Unlike Marissa, Brandon faces his grief head-on. As their relationship sweetens, Marissa realizes the value of letting someone in and not letting her grief destroy her. But when her past filled with denial catches up with her, Marissa is forced to tell Brandon her darkest secrets, or risk losing him.

The only thing harder than lying about her life? Facing it.

Enjoy an excerpt:

I held my breath as I ran past the cemetery. Stupid, I know. Regardless, it’s one of those idiotic things that stick with you from your childhood. Like fragments of your being that imprint themselves on your chemical makeup. It was my older brother, Marc, who had told me that once when we were in the backseat of Mom’s old hatchback and were driving past the Sacred Path Cemetery.

Marc poked me in my side. “Quick, hold your breath,” he said before taking in a puff of air and holding it in.

“What? Why?” I looked around from side to side.

He didn’t answer me. Instead he just kept motioning with his hands, pointing out the window, putting his hands around his neck like he was choking or something. Finally, when we turned left onto Harper Street he let out a big exhale.

“Oh man, now you’re toast.” He pointed at me and laughed. That maniacal laugh only older brothers know how to do. I was seven at the time, and Marc was ten. “You probably have a ghost inside you now.” He grinned like a devious villain.

“A ghost?” I said.

“You didn’t hold your breath while we drove past the cemetery. Again I state — you’re toast.” He began drumming on his lap with his hands.

I didn’t comprehend what he was telling me, but I knew I didn’t like it. Tears started forming in my eyes, and I knew I had to rely on my failsafe. “Mooommm,” I cried out, and immediately I felt Marc’s sweaty hand over my mouth.

“Yes, Marissa?” Mom’s sweet voice carried from the front of the car to the backseat.

“She’s fine, Mom. I got it.” Marc’s tone was of the dutiful son. He unclamped his hand from my face. “Listen,” he began, talking kind of slow. “You’ve got to remember this. I’m going to give you a life lesson here. Are you ready?”

His green eyes were sparkling, and I nodded my head in agreement.

“Okay.” He crouched down a bit so he was eye-level with me. “You must always, and I mean always, hold your breath when you drive past a cemetery. And if you’re walking past one, you must run — run and hold your breath until you’re clear. Otherwise, the spirits of the undead could invade your body. And you don’t want that to happen. Do you?” I almost couldn’t tell if the last part was a question or a statement.

“But I didn’t hold my breath back there, and all the times before. What if one’s in me right now?” I began pawing at my body.

Marc threw his head back and laughed. “Nah, you’re fine. Just be careful. Now that you know you have to do it, always do it. Understand?”

Again I shook my head. Marc gave me a thumbs-up, and I begged Mom to take Chester Street instead of Maple because I knew there was a big cemetery on Maple. Luckily she agreed.

So now, here I was ten years later, holding my breath as I ran past Sacred Path Cemetery. While I ran, my new sneakers — the ones I had to work double shifts on Saturdays for three weeks to get — started rubbing the back of my left heel, and I knew I’d have a blister the size of a quarter later on. It’s hard to keep your pace when you’re holding your breath. Luckily Sacred Path Cemetery isn’t that big. Just big enough. It’s just big enough. That’s what my grandmother said anyway. I was almost halfway through when I heard the clicking of the tips of my shoelace on the ground. My thoughts concentrated on what those tip things were called, anything to get my mind off the cemetery. Aglets, I remembered! My aglets were hitting the pavement, and I knew if I didn’t stop and retie that lace, then I would land flat on my face. Grace has never been a character trait of mine. My mother, yes, but not me. Marissa No-Grace McDonald should have been my legal name. How my mother came up with Scranton for my middle name I’ll never know.

The last thing I wanted to happen was to fall face first in front of the cemetery. Complete body invasion for sure then. I couldn’t hold my breath that long. So I did what I had to do. I stopped, turned my face the opposite direction of the cemetery, and took one big breath in and held it. Next, I bent down and furiously retied that lace. Why is it that whenever you try doing something in a rush it never comes out right? Somehow I tied my finger into the knot. Then, I couldn’t get the loops to line up right. Just as I was finally conquering the over-under shoelace tying technique that Marc had taught me when I was five, I heard muffled sounds coming from inside the cemetery. I searched for the source of the sounds. As I looked near the line of big oak trees that lined the right-hand side of the cemetery, I saw the profiles of a family. What I assumed was a family, anyway. There was a woman, about my mom’s age, a guy about my age, and a younger boy, maybe six or seven. The little boy was holding a metallic balloon, which was red and in the shape of a heart. Bright sun caught the corner of it, creating a glare that momentarily impaired my vision. When my eyes refocused, I was suddenly aware of my body and extremely aware of the fact that I was watching this family’s private moment, in the cemetery, in this cemetery. My heart beat frantically, and I became aware that my forehead was covered in perspiration. I stood up, held my breath again, and ran the next half a block without stopping, my aglets clicking against the pavement all the way.

When I crossed over onto Brenton Street, I finally slowed down. I felt like I could breathe again. My pace was back to a more conservative speed, and after one more break to retie that shoelace-triple-knot, I was able to refocus. The spring air felt good on my skin. As the sun poured down on me, my face embraced its warmth. Lilacs were in full bloom everywhere, and I made a special detour down Hazel Street to run past the six lilac bushes Mr. Brockwell planted a few years ago. He said it was just because he wanted to add some color to his front yard, but I knew better. I knew they were for my mom.

Turning down Hazel Street, I inhaled the heavy floral scent of the freshly-bloomed lilac bushes, and I could picture my mom smiling. As I ran past the last bush, the little blue house finally came into view. I saw Mr. Brockwell picking up his newspaper from his front step. In that moment I wished I had magical powers to turn myself invisible.

“Marissa? Hey Marissa!” he shouted while making his way over to the fence.

Oh great. “Oh, hey, Mr. Brockwell.” I slowed down and began jogging in place, hoping the gesture would let him know I couldn’t stay to chat.

“It’s been a long time since you’ve run this route, hasn’t it?” He cinched his blue terrycloth robe a little tighter.

Trying to remain active, I kept jogging in place. “Yeah, I guess. I wanted to run past the lilacs.” I wasn’t sure if it was the sun or my nerves, but I felt like my body was going into heat shock or something.

Mr. Brockwell stared at me, and then I saw his eyes get glassy. He began to speak but then ran his hand over his mouth like he was muffling down what he wanted to say. His hands fumbled with his paper, and he cleared his throat.

“It’s good to see—” he paused; it was like the words were getting caught in his throat like tuna inside a fisherman’s net.

I realized I was standing still. My legs began to spasm. He caught my eye one more time, but just for a moment before he had to look away. I knew why. It was the reason I never ran past his house anymore. The reason why we couldn’t have a conversation anymore. Everyone used to tell me I was so lucky to look so much like my mom. She was gorgeous. High cheekbones, perfect heart-shaped mouth, sparkling blue eyes that sat perfectly on her oval face. Besides her hair being a stunning ash blond and mine being mouse brown, we did look quite similar. Except that while her features seemed to make her look like Grace Kelly, mine seemed to make me look like, well, not Grace Kelly.

But it was moments like this — Mr. Brockwell unable to look at me for more than a minute without having to look away — that I wished I looked less like her. I felt like my face was betraying him. Like my cheekbones and lips were baiting him with memories of him and my mom together. Although now, each memory was served with a side of sorrow instead of a side of joy.

I’ll never forget when I saw him two days after the funeral. We bumped into each other at Have Another Cup Coffee Shop on Main Street. First he hugged me and asked how I was doing; then he had to look away, and he told me why.

“It hurts to look at you, Marissa. You look so much like her.” I knew how much he loved my mom, and Marc and I enjoyed having him around, but after that moment I made sure to keep my distance. So he went from being Hank to back to being Mr. Brockwell.

Now, I stood there — uncomfortable from sweat that covered me head to toe — wondering how much longer I needed to stand there while he avoided my face. “So, I gotta go or my pace is gonna be all messed up.”

Hank, I mean, Mr. Brockwell took one final look at me. “Sure, sure.” He started to walk backward then stopped. “Marissa, just so you know. Any time you want to see the lilacs you can.”

The lump in my throat held back any words I could have gotten out, so I just waved and made a beeline for the next street so I could start my way back home. Seeing Mr. Brockwell had put me into a fog. My brain wasn’t able to concentrate on my pace or on my footing, and I began to get a shin splint pain on my left-hand side. Unfortunately, this was the same side as the blister. My run was only six miles, but my body was starting to feel like I was at mile thirteen. I couldn’t relax my breathing, and the back of my throat felt like it was on fire every time I inhaled. In my fog, I didn’t realize I forgot to cross Parker Street, and now the only way to get back was to take Fletcher Street again. And run past Sacred Path Cemetery, again. Now, I ran past that cemetery every day on my jog, but only once. Once was all I needed to let me get it out of my system. And it’s not like my mom’s grave is right where I run past. She’s way on the other side, the Cranville Street side. I never run that side. But now, in all the confusion, I have to go past it again. My hand scratched an itch at the back of my neck as the street sign came into view. Like always, I stopped for a moment, took a few deep breaths in and out, then grabbed one big breath of air and held it as I started my way past the cemetery.

My focus was way up ahead to the stop sign at the other end. I kept my eyes on that sign and kept my feet stepping under me, quick and steady. I wasn’t even halfway across when I caught sight of some sort of string frantically whipping in the wind, and I was running straight toward it. My gaze moved to follow the line of the string, trying to see what it was attached to, and that’s when I saw it, caught in the big tree right by the fence. The red, heart-shaped metallic balloon, and my heart hit the ground.

About the Author:

Susan Soares grew up in a small town in Massachusetts, always dreaming of one day being an author. After numerous short stories, poems and plays, those dreams finally became a reality when her first book, My Zombie Ex-Boyfriends was published. (Featherweight Press, 2013) Her second book Heart on a String was just released in June 2014 by Astraea Press.

Susan received her MA in Creative Writing and English from Southern New Hampshire University, and will be pursuing teaching soon. When she isn’t writing Susan spends her time reading, experimenting with photography, planning her next Disney World vacation and chasing after her kids.

Susan loves to read YA fiction. Maybe it’s because her inner sixteen-year-old still wants to be prom queen.

Twitter ~ YouTube ~ Website ~ Blog ~ Goodreads ~ Wattpad

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The background behind Three Black Boys: Tomorrow After Supper by Zangba Thomson – Guest Blog and Giveway

NBTM Three Black Boys Tour Banner copy

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Zangba will be awarding a print copy of Three Black Boys: Tomorrow After Supper or a Bong Mines Clothing T-shirt (winner’s choice) to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. (US ONLY) Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

The background behind Three Black Boys: Tomorrow After Supper

 Three Black Boys: Tomorrow After Supper is about three teenagers that spring into dangerous action to obtain financial aid for an uninsured Indian immigrant—who desperately needs a liver transplant to stay alive. The boys go on a dangerous mission to obtain the quarter of a million dollars needed for the woman’s surgery, but subsequently, little do they know that they will encounter huge obstacles and experience more than they have ever experienced before.

Three Black Boys originally started as a Hip-Hop song, and people wanted to know—what was the story behind the boys’ robbery attempt? At the time—I didn’t have an answer, but an idea sprung into my mind and months later I began adapting the three-minute-song into the short story—Three Black Boys: The Authorized Version. It’s not easy adapting songs into books, so I didn’t know what to expect, and after getting a good book review from Kirkus, I knew I had to get Three Black Boys: The Authorized Version in stores. That’s when I began to do a market analysis on the book industry, and it wasn’t until I read The Ten Awful & The Ten Wonderful Truths about Book Publishing that things began to make sense.

You see—independent authors have to go out there and make it happen because no one will make it happen for us. So, with my Industry Analysis’ knowledge taken into consideration, Craig Green (Captain of BME LLC Street Team) and I decided to test the street market first. So, we took a trip to Harlem, U.S.A., the Mecca or Capital of Black America, with 200 copies of Three Black Boys: The Authorized Version in the trunk of our vehicle. Questions were asked, and after hours of networking, Hue-Man Bookstore paid us in advance for several copies, and Black Star Music & Video Store and a prominent Harlem street distributor took many copies of Three Black Boys on consignment.

A week later, Black Star and the street distributor were sold out. The distributor asked me to do an outdoor book signing at one of his bookstands, which is currently located on the corner of 125th street and Frederick Douglass Boulevard, across the street from the legendary Apollo Theater. Many books were sold that day on the street corner, and a new relationship between Harlem and Three Black Boys was established. And not too long afterwards, Hue-Man Bookstore set up an official in-store book signing for me, introducing me as a new voice in Literary Fiction. A month later, Molloy College in Long Island, New York, hosted my first successful college “Meet & Greet the Author,” in which I got the chance to perform the original Three Black Boys song in front of an intrigued English class.

Within a month’s time, we sold approximately 1,500 copies of Three Black Boys: The Authorized Version in the streets of Harlem—for $10 a copy. Three Black Boys was on every street vendor’s table in Harlem. Consumers, mostly women who had purchased the book, said they cried after reading Three Black Boys: The Authorized Version. That’s when I knew we were on to something big. But a week later, the street distributor told me that Three Black Boys: The Authorized Version was too small in page count to compete in the long run with The Coldest Winter Ever, Push, True to the Game and other full-length Urban Fiction novels. He said, “My customers want more for their buck!”

So, I went back into my creative shell and began writing my debut novel—Three Black Boys: Tomorrow After Supper. The result was great! What started out, as a song—that was adapted into a Street Lit short story—was now an action-packed and multi-cultural novel—filled with drama, surrealism, and dark fantasy/thriller; and at that time—I didn’t know I was mixing genres together and establishing my own lane.

So, in conclusion, I want to end this guest blog with Mel Blanc’s famous catchphrase, “That’s All Folks!” And I want to thank Long and Short Reviews—for hosting this wonderful blogging event, and also I want to thank Goddess Fish Promotions—for organizing this magnificent “Virtual Name Before the Masses Tour” for Three Black Boys: Tomorrow After Supper. (PEACE) and always remember that (P) Positive, (E) Energy, (A) Always, (C) Creates, (E) Elevation.

MEDIA KIT 3_Black_Boys_COVERTeenagers spring into dangerous action to obtain financial aid for a woman who has only a month to live. The setting is Queens, N.Y., home to Babita Harris, an Indian immigrant plagued with the deadly black fever disease. With a couple of months to live, Babita only hope of survival is a costly liver transplant. But with no health insurance, the chance of a surgery is slim. What she needs is a quarter of a million dollars in cash. Barnes, her only son, along with his two friends, Demus and Baker, spring into dangerous action to get the money. Although their road is paved with good intentions, the brothers in arms will experience more than they have ever experienced before.

Enjoy an excerpt:

“Our front door is always open if you change your mind,” says Ojal.

“I know, Mama,” replies Babita, before laying the bluebird chime down on the table. “I think I will take this last opportunity to go outside and revisit the new addition to the back yard.”

The blue bird chime shakes without any assistance and Babita is startled.

“Better hurry up before the clouds begin to cry,” says Ojal with a smile.

Babita nods her head in agreement and makes her way into the back yard. There she sees a beautiful garden with assorted color roses. Out the corner of her eye, she spots a red rose positioned behind several thorny bushes. With caution, she reaches for the delicate flower, not knowing a parasitic sandfly is traveling unnoticed in her direction. The sandfly bites Babita’s outstretched arm. “Ouch!” she grimaces softly, and quickly retracts her hand back to her bosom. Immediately, she notices a small swelling forming on her arm, and in no time, blood oozes from her tiny wound. A strong wind blows and many dandelions fly in her direction. Lightning strikes, thunder roars its ugly voice, and light rain begins to fall. Babita, afraid of her hair getting wet, quickly retreats into her parents’ home.

About the Author:MEDIA KIT ZangbaThomsonZangba Thomson is the Creative Director at BME LLC, the author of Three Black Boys: Tomorrow After Supper, co-author of Do Right Do Good (a self-help guide book towards vision fulfillment and entrepreneurship), a recording artist, and New York Life Coach Examiner. Zangba balances his career and family time on the scale of hard work and dedication, and his main areas of focus include his real life experiences, metaphysics, and spirituality. Zangba’s work reinforces the basic idea that goals are fulfilled when right decisions are made. Please visit his website at www.zangbathomson.com.

Blog ~ Twitter ~ Facebook ~ Goodreads

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Balancing Life and Writing by Moriah Gemel – Guest Blog and Giveaway

9_18 VBT_LoadTheDice_Banner

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Moriah will be awarding a free download of an Interlude Press eBook title or an author/book swag pack (US ONLY) to TEN randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour as well as a Grand Prize of a $25 B&N gift card to a randomly drawn winner.

Balancing life and writing

I’m a mother. That’s the first obstacle for my writing, because my son is two and a half, as well as autistic, and he’s a demanding kid. As I write this answer, he’s currently piling couch cushions on my legs, babbling away in his own made-up language. Woe to any who move these cushions from my lap—tears and tantrums will ensue, so I’m putting up with it and writing at a strange angle. Any second, I’m sure he’ll run off to go play with Legos or chase down one of the cats, because that’s what he does.

That’s my real full-time job—motherhood. I stay at home, and a lot of my time is spent with my child; we play, we draw, we cuddle and watch TV. There’s not a lot of room to write, and I often end up letting him have his own quiet playtime in order to get a couple hundred words written. Naptime and bedtime are my favorite—I end up with hours to write, though I’m usually fighting the urge to just go to sleep myself. Thank goodness he’s starting daycare soon. I need the extra hours to relax and take care of the house so I can write when inspiration hits, or at least when I’ve scheduled time for myself. It’s not always easy, though—when I was writing Load the Dice, I oftentimes had to write while my kid was running around talking at me, and so I’d be writing an intense BDSM scene between my two main characters and the next second I’d be changing a diaper.

I’ve also got a husband, though, and he’s demanding as well. He likes to spend time with me (thankfully; if he didn’t our marriage would suck) and I like to spend time with him, but between work and continuing his schooling, we don’t have much time together. That means when we get a spare minute, we have to take it. It’s hard to prioritize—on one hand, time with my family, which is lovely, but on the other, when the energy to write happens, it happens, and I have to take advantage of it, because sometimes I don’t have the energy and it just doesn’t. It’s definitely a shift of priorities from day to day.

9_18 Cover_LoadTheDiceEric left the BDSM scene years ago because he couldn’t find the right partner, opting instead to meet men in quiet coffee shops and piano bars. But when his friend invites him to a posh hook-up party, he meets first time sub Jamie, who he convinces to detail his sexual fantasies during a passionate night together.

The pair soon embark on a relationship that introduces Jamie to the BDSM scene, and plays out his fantasies one by one. But as they approach the final fantasy, will Eric be able to walk away?

Enjoy an excerpt:

He crawls onto the bed and straddles Jamie’s thighs, his clothed body barely touching Jamie’s, and Jamie whimpers. “Are you still wearing all your clothes?” he asks breathlessly, and Eric leans down and kisses the top of his spine, letting him feel the fabric of his clothes over his bare body.

“Yes, I am,” Eric says, and Jamie rocks down into the bed.

“Oh god, that’s so hot.”

Eric chuckles, and then sits back up, making sure to keep as little contact as he can.

“I want you to tell me about your fantasies,” Eric says. “For every fantasy you tell me, I will explore one part of your body with my mouth and hands. The more details you give, the more I will pay attention to the spot I’m on.” This gives Jamie just a little bit of control, and lets Eric know the kinds of touches he likes best. Jamie can decide if he wants to keep Eric somewhere or move on—it’ll keep him on his toes, and Eric has one more trick up his sleeve to ensure it.

“But if you stop talking,” he adds, “and you don’t move on to the next fantasy, or tell me more about the one you’re on, you will be punished. Is that understood?”

Jamie whimpers again, nodding.

“I need an answer, Jamie.”

“Yes, sir.”

Eric kisses the top of his spine again. “Good boy. Number the fantasies as you go. You may begin.”

About the Author: 9_18 load the dice AuthorPicMoriah Gemel has developed a dedicated following for her realistic, sexually-charged stories over twelve years in online fan communities. Passionate about a realistic depiction of BDSM, her goal is to both entertain and educate readers about the BDSM community.

Load the Dice originated as a short work of fan fiction, written in three parts. For her first work of professional fiction, she has turned it into a serialized novel in ten parts.

She is married and has a young son.

Connect with the author at MoriahGemel.com, Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, and Google+.

Buy the book at Interlude Press.

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And Justice For Some by Joanne Sydney Lessner – spotlight and giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Joanne will be awarding a $30 Amazon GC to a randomly drawn winner via the rafflecopter at the end of this post. Please click the banner to see a list of other stops on the tour.

Dinner theater can be a death sentence—literally.

Actress Isobel Spice and her best friend Delphi Kramer are thrilled to finally have an opportunity to perform together, even if it’s just a cheesy interactive murder mystery at a judge’s lifetime achievement dinner. But when Isobel’s dramatic death scene is upstaged by a real murder and Delphi is left holding the still-smoking gun, Isobel drops the role of victim and assumes the role of detective. With the help of her precocious brother Percival and her reluctant temp agent James Cooke, Isobel peels back layers of deception to reveal a shocking abuse of power—and no shortage of suspects eager to deliver justice to a man who denied it to so many.

Excerpt One:

Practically before the last word was out of Delphi’s mouth, the crack of the gunshot ricocheted off the walls. Isobel smacked her hand to her chest and felt the blood packet burst against her blouse. Someone shrieked behind her as she staggered forward onto the dance floor. The Brioschi burbled up from her throat, foaming out the corners of her mouth and down her face. She spun around, arms flailing, eyes closed. More shrieks erupted around her.

Yup, she thought with satisfaction, definitely memorable.

She finally collapsed on the floor, limbs splayed, and after a few full-body spasms, settled into a position she could hold until Peter lifted her into the fireman’s carry.

She strained to hear Andrew’s line, “You just shot my wife,” but she was distracted by the sound of a glass shattering somewhere to her left. Somebody kicked her arm, but she held still, determined to be a convincing corpse. A pungent tang of gunpowder tickled her nose. Funny, she hadn’t noticed that when they were practicing. And…was that someone crying?

Suddenly, she felt Peter’s stubble scrape her cheek as he hissed in her ear, “Get up. Get up!”

He tried to yank her into a sitting position, but the sharp movement made her choke on the still-fizzing Brioschi. She knelt on all fours, hacking and heaving until her eyes finally stopped tearing.

“You see?” she heaved. “That’s why I wanted to practice…”

Her words died in her throat as she got to her feet. Two Hostelry security guards gripped Delphi’s shoulders, pinning her arms behind her back. Delphi’s mouth was frozen open in horror. Slowly, Isobel turned and looked behind her.

Joanne Sydney Lessner is the author of BloodWrites Award-Winner The Temporary Detective (Dulcet Press, 2012), which introduces Isobel Spice, aspiring actress and resourceful office temp turned amateur sleuth. Isobel’s adventures continue in the novels Bad Publicity (Dulcet Press, 2013) and And Justice for Some (Dulcet Press, 2014). The Ghosts’ High Noon (Dulcet Press, 2014), an Isobel Spice short story, is available on http://joannesydneylessner.com as a free download. Inspired by the true story of the world’s most expensive bottle of wine, Joanne’s debut novel Pandora’s Bottle (Flint Mine Press, 2010) was named one of the top five books of 2010 by Paperback Dolls. Her play, Critical Mass, winner of the 2009 Heiress Productions Playwriting Competition, received its New York premiere at the Lion Theatre on Theatre Row in October 2010. She has written the book and lyrics to several musicals with her husband, composer/conductor Joshua Rosenblum, including the cult hit Fermat’s Last Tango, which received its Off-Broadway premiere at the York Theatre Company in November 2000, and Einstein’s Dreams, based on the celebrated novel by Alan Lightman. They are currently developing a musical based on Wilkie Collins’s The Haunted Hotel for the Signature Theatre Company in Arlington, Virginia. Joanne is also a regular contributing writer to Opera News.

http://joannesydneylessner.com/

https://www.facebook.com/JoanneSydneyLessner

https://twitter.com/joannelessner

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Justice-Some-Isobel-Spice-Mystery-ebook/dp/B00MT6H8EY/ref=la_B003UH5IBQ_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1409506048&sr=1-4

BN: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/joanne-sydney-lessner

Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/and-justice-for-some

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Legal Action by Kimball Lee – Spotlight and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Kimball will be awarding a $50 Visa Gift card to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Bright, beautiful attorney, Charlotte Christiansen has never lost a court case. She’s built a reputation as a cool, on the rise lawyer while trying to escape the ‘naughty cheerleader’ pictorial in American Jock magazine that she posed for to pay her way through law school. She shares the top floor of a historic San Diego building with her best friends from college who happen to be two very male, very sexy Special Forces operatives. Her ex is a celebrity NFL quarterback who could pass for a Viking God. She’s surrounded by hot men but her life revolves around work and she doesn’t have time for love or sex. Until Alexander Bly, the stop-the-clock gorgeous, billionaire publishing magnate becomes her newest client at the law firm. He’s the man responsible for the magazine cover that turned Charlotte into every man’s sex fantasy. Bly has had women and the world at his beck and call, but no woman has ever rocked his world. Charlotte is about to. When they come together the desire and sex are white-hot and all-consuming, but falling in love takes them completely by surprise.

Enjoy an excerpt:

“Listen, Charlotte, I just wanted to say hello. It’s been a long time. I should let you get home to your husband, boyfriends, whatever. You look great, by the way.” He hesitated for a minute, running his hand through his dark, wavy hair. He looked at her with those wide, sea-glass colored eyes, then he smiled a small smile and walked away.

She knew she should stop him. He was not only dangerously sexy; he was one of the most powerful men in the world, not to mention one of the richest. She’d met him, worked for him in a sense, six years before.

He’d been an arrogant twenty-eight year old with the world at his feet, and women at his beck and call. He was breathtakingly handsome then, and it was hard to believe he was even more so now.

Oh well, she thought, he’s either still racking up conquests or he’s married and ready to cheat on his wife.

She drove to her loft, parked on the street, and stepped in to the freight elevator. She lived on the top floor of a vintage warehouse in downtown San Diego with two other residents who happened to be men.

They were also her closest friends and had become her only family. The three of them bought the building two years before, converted the top floor into three apartments, and rented out the retail spaces below. One loft for each of them, although JP and Finn felt free to lounge in her living room or use her rooftop deck; and each had a key to her apartment.

About the Author:

Kimball Lee writes funny, interesting, happy, sad, romantic, often titillating, and always thought provoking books that pack a lot good reading into just the right number of pages. Lee’s first novella, Legal Action, changed her life over night with more than 250,000 downloads in the first few months. Kimball writes twelve to fifteen hours a day and she loves ALMOST every minute of it! Ms. Lee states that her social life has completely disappeared, but interaction with her readers through email, Facebook, and Twitter makes her very happy… (As well as the occasional Diet Coke and chocolate cupcake!) Kimball Lee is represented by Joyce Holland at D4EO Literary Agency.

Personal Website: www.KimballLee.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/KimballLeeAuthor

Twitter: www.twitter.com/KimballLee1

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Kimball-Lee/e/B00ECONMB4

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The Face Transplant by R. Arundel – Q&A and Giveaway

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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. A $50 Amazon/Barnes and Noble gift card will be awarded at the conclusion of the tour–enter via the Rafflecopter at the end of the post. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Welcome to Long and Short Reviews for a short Q&A session. What are 5 things within touching distance?

A bed. A phone. A yellow writing pad. The New York Times Magazine. A bowl of fruit.

What part of the writing process do you dread?

The end of the story. At that point I think the novel is as good as I can make it. If people don’t respond at that point there is nothing I can do.

What is your favorite Joke?

My kids are at a stage where they tell jokes that make no sense but they laugh. For example, “Knock. Knock.” “Who’s there.” “The chicken.” “The chicken?” “Yes.” Then the kids laugh like there is a joke in there somewhere.

Where do you get your best ideas?

Just sitting around thinking.

What do you do to relax?

Read or watch shows on home renovation or house hunting.

MEDIA KIT Book CoverDr. Matthew MacAulay is a Facial Transplant Surgeon at a prestigious New York hospital. His friend and mentor, Tom Grabowski, dies under mysterious circumstances. Matthew is forced to investigate. He uncovers his friend’s secret. A new technique that allows perfect facial transplants. No incisions, no scars. The surgeon is able to transplant one person’s face to another with the perfect result. Tom was able to accomplish this monumental feat with the help of Alice, a supercomputer robot with almost human abilities. While trying to find the people responsible for murdering his friend Tom, Matthew realizes he is the prime suspect. Matthew must flee for his life with the help of Dr. Sarah Larsson, a colleague and reluctant helper who has a secret of her own. Alice helps them make sense of a baffling series of seemingly unrelated events. Matthew is forced to undergo a facial transplant to hide his identity and help to uncover the truth. The clues carry Matthew and Sarah around the world. Matthew stumbles onto a sinister plot of monumental proportions, the real reason Tom was murdered. This discovery leads Matthew all the way to The White House with a dramatic conclusion. Matthew never wavers in his quest for the truth and perseveres against all the odds. He must race to stop a major catastrophe, ratcheting up the excitement until the thrilling conclusion. The Face Transplant is a powerful medical suspense thriller of the first order. The novel was written by a surgeon. The novel has a realism that only a surgeon can bring. The plot weaves politics, medicine and espionage into a tightly paced, intelligent thriller. The novel crescendos page by page to a totally unexpected conclusion.

Enjoy an excerpt:

Guaarrr. It sounded like water draining from a very large bath tub, through a very large hole. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a MEDIA KIT rarundel avatarwarm relaxing bath? Sit. Soak. However, in the fraction of a second that it took that thought to go through Matthew’s head, a more powerful thought pierced his mind. I just killed myself. I just killed the patient. Most likely a criminal anyways. He looked down on the operating room table at the very gaunt, greying man. Dr. Matthew MacAulay quickly scanned the operating theater. In his peripheral vision he could clearly see the short, wide man in the observation area. I just killed myself, Lars, and Marcia. Matthew looked across the operating room table at Marcia Lopez, forty two, an American of Spanish ancestry. She had been his scrub nurse, assisting him in the operating room for the last 3 years. Divorced, one child.

It would take a few more seconds for the monitors to tell everybody what Matthew already knew. Soon the monitors would alarm and all would know. But Marcia already knew. She was right across the table. She saw him use the robotic arm to dissect the vessel and mistakenly cut the large artery in the neck. An operating room nurse of Marcia’s experience has seen it all. When Matthew looked into Marcia’s eyes they flashed ever so quickly an acknowledgement that it was all over. Instead of any words she quietly unclamped the suction. Now a dull hiss filled the air. To the casual observer, or the short wide man holding a 9 mm Glock pistol in his fat stubby hands, nothing really had changed.

About the Author:MEDIA KIT rarundel avatarRobert was born in London, United Kingdom. His early formative years were spent in Toronto Canada. Robert attended the University of Toronto Medical School. After obtaining his Doctor of Medicine degree he completed surgical training in Otolaryngology-Head and Neck Surgery at the University of Toronto and obtained certification from the American Board of Facial Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery. Robert Mounsey practices surgery in private practice in Toronto.

R. Arundel studied Film Studies at Ryerson University, after this he began writing screenplays and novels. The Face Transplant is his debut novel.

R. Arundel is married and lives in Toronto, Canada. When not writing or practicing surgery Robert can be found cycling.

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Forsaken by Sarah Ballance – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Sarah will be awarding a $50 Amazon or Barnes and Noble gift card to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Please click the banner to see a list of other stops on the tour.

Her past is back to haunt her—and this time, it’s got a gun.

When Gage Lawton finds his brother shot to death on his back porch, every shred of evidence points to one person: Gage’s ex-lover, Riley Beckett. The only gun in town that fires a bullet of that caliber belongs to her.

Certain the shooting is payback for his part in the loss of her parents, he abandons his promise to stay out of her life and confronts her, his rage backed up with a revolver. Yet when she steps through the door, all thoughts of revenge burn to ashes.

A year after Riley unwillingly walked away from Gage, she enters her home to find him sitting in the dark, gun pointed at her head. One look into those achingly familiar blue eyes reminds her how wrong she was to let him go. But now there’s more standing between them than their heated past.

A twist of fate—and a hail of sniper bullets—puts them in the cross hairs of a killer, leaving Riley with just two slim options: trust her greatest betrayer, or face a murderer alone.

This book has been previously published.

Warning: Prepare to get caught in a crossfire of profanity, danger, and desire. Intense violence may trigger the desire to wear body armor…and take it off. Very, very slowly.

Now enjoy an excerpt:

“Gage?” Her voice broke on the single syllable. Riley’s grip on the keys tightened, her blood raging hot and cold all at once.

A creak sounded from the corner chair. Her eyes refused to adjust in the darkness, but not even the faint light kept the blond streaks in his russet hair from giving him away. Like rays of sunshine, she used to tease, and her words never failed to draw a scowl across his rugged face.

“Riley.”

God help her, her name on his lips sounded as it always had. Coarse. Dangerous. Forbidden. Even before… The memory surged, hot and vivid, leaving a metallic taste in her mouth. White heat assaulted her from every corner of the room.

The keys fell to the floor with a dull clink.




Sarah and her husband of what he calls “many long, long years” live on the mid-Atlantic coast with their six young children, all of whom are perfectly adorable when they’re asleep. She never dreamed of becoming an author, but as a homeschooling mom she often jokes she writes fiction because if she wants anyone to listen to her, she has to make them up. (As it turns out, her characters aren’t much better than the kids.) When not buried under piles of laundry, she may be found adrift in the Atlantic (preferably on a boat) or in search of that ever-elusive perfect writing spot where not even the kids can find her. To learn more about her work in contemporary, historical, and supernatural romance and romantic suspense, please stalk accordingly.

Website: http://www.sarahballance.com/

Blog: http://sarahballance.wordpress.com/

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/sarah.ballance.author.news

Twitter: https://twitter.com/SarahBallance

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/SarahBallance34/

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4103362.Sarah_Ballance

Buy Links:

Samhain Publishing – http://store.samhainpublishing.com/forsaken-p-73612.html

Amazon – http://www.amazon.com/Forsaken-Sarah-Balance-ebook/dp/B00K7YXB4Q

Barnes & Noble – http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/forsaken-sarah-ballance/1119867315?ean=9781619222625

Kobo – http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/forsaken-25

iTunes/iBooks – https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/forsaken/id878566015?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4

Google Books – http://books.google.com/books?id=F5OSAwAAQBAJ&dq

Amazon UK – http://www.amazon.co.uk/Forsaken-Sarah-Ballance-ebook/dp/B00K7YXB4Q/

Amazon CA – http://www.amazon.ca/Forsaken-Sarah-Ballance-ebook/dp/B00K7YXB4Q/

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