Blurb Blitz Tour and Giveaway: Taming Jenna by Charlene Raddon

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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Charlene will be awarding an e-copy of one of her books from her backlist at each stop to a randomly drawn commenter, and a Grand Prize of a $30 gift card will be awarded to a randomly drawn commenter at the end of the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

MEDIA KIT_Taming Jenna by Charlene Raddon - 500THE WRONG MAN

Deserted by her father at the tender age of seven, Jenna Leigh-Whittington had taught herself to ride, shoot, brawl…and steer clear of the opposite sex. But now, in a lonely Utah canyon, the Pinkerton agent has drawn her gun on a rugged stranger—only to discover that, far from the dangerous outlaw she’d been tracking, he is Branch McCauley, hired gun…and the most irresistible rascal ever to tempt and torment a woman!

THE RIGHT WOMAN

If there’s one thing McCauley trusts less than a female, it’s a female who packs a six-gun. But what a woman! Vowing to bring the sensuous hellcat to heel, McCauley has no inkling that their passionate battle of wills has just begun. Taming Jenna will be the most seductive—and satisfying—job he’s ever taken on.

Here’s an excerpt:

Something touched her face, something as light as a mist or a lover’s kiss. She put her hands to her cheeks and felt the moisture. Mist. Her fingers found grit the fine spray couldn’t wash off. She took a step, then another. Water pounded her feet, her calves. She reached out, only to have her hands smacked away by the force of the waterfall. She longed to stand under it, to strip off her torn, dirty clothes and wash away the grime and the soreness and the fear of trying to find her way through that pitch black mine tunnel.

How she longed to see the falls. She lifted her face toward the source and perceived moving shades of grayness among the black. There had to be a hole up there, yet she could not see it. Had night fallen outside?

Somehow the movement of the falls, the fresh scent, the liquid gurgle, made her feel less alone. She had a strong feeling some other live being occupied the dark, musty catacombs besides herself. Something besides rats and nasty dwarfs.

Her spirits climbed. No question now as to where she was—the old Murphey mine. She would follow the water’s flow, and she would get out.

Above the muted roar of the small waterfall came another sound, sharp and loud like the crack of thunder on a stormy night, followed by rolling reverberations. Angry. Ominous. Her mouth quirked at the thought: Rainstorms deep inside the bowels of the earth. Obviously, her grip on sanity was still tenuous.

She did an about-face and splashed her way down the drift. The voice of the falls followed, like a jealous lover. She attempted to laugh. At herself. At her fears. Hysteria tainted the sound.

Water swirled about her ankles and rose higher. She kept walking. Her heart caught the urgency of the torrent and thudded tumultuously inside her breast. She trembled in the wet chill of the clammy garments plastered to her body. Her hair had come loose and tumbled about her shoulders in a wild array. She pushed a wet strand out of her eyes and thought of Maura’s Irish stew. Her stomach growled.

As the stream swirled and raged about her knees, threatening to suck her into its depths, terror seized her. Two men had drowned in this mine, she remembered. Rembrandt had told her. A storm had caused a flashflood, and the men had been caught in it.

Rainstorms underground no longer seemed laughable.

She bolted blindly forward, groping at the walls with her hands to keep from falling, letting the current of the water guide her. Perspiration dripped into her eyes, in spite of the freezing temperature.

She lived now in a world without sight, without color, a world where perception came only through the senses, magnified by terror and desperation: The coarse, granular hardness of granite walls; spongy moss on splintered wood. Wetness. The smell of water, sweat, and fear. The ragged gasp of her own breath. And the roar—always the deafening roar—of the raging torrent that seemed bent on expelling her from this underground sepulcher of hell.

As the water rose to her hips, she had to move slower and more carefully. She took the Starr from its holster and tucked it inside her waistband to keep it dry. Her feet stumbled. She caught herself, stumbled again. The roar had become so much a part of her that she barely noticed the difference when the volume suddenly increased.

Her awareness of impending doom was strictly intuitive. She could see no danger approaching. But her imagination was excellent. Rising water and an indefinable change in the sound created visions in her mind that closed off her throat and sent her heart tumbling like boulders down an unstable incline.

A new sound came to her ears—her own choked whimper.

Tension mounted, keeping pace with the water’s depth and the thunderous din. A scream ripped upward from her diaphragm to lodge in her throat as she plowed clumsily forward, waiting with increasing dread for a disaster she could not see, only sense.

A sudden deluge poured over her, whipping her hair into her face, stealing her breath, snatching her feet out from under her. Her arms flailed as she sought to regain her balance. She went down. Water rushed over her and into her open mouth, her hands scraped against the floor, and silence replaced the angry thunder in her ears.

About the Author Charlene Raddon began her fiction career in the third grade when she announced in Show & Tell that a baby sister she never had was killed by a black widow spider. She often penned stories featuring mistreated young girls whose mother accused of crimes her sister had actually committed. Her first serious attempt at writing fiction came in 1980 when she woke up from a vivid dream that compelled her to drag out a portable typewriter and begin writing. She’s been at it ever since. An early love for romance novels and the Wild West led her to choose the historical romance genre but she also writes contemporary romance. At present, she has five books published in paperback by Kensington Books (one under the pseudonym Rachel Summers), and four eBooks published by Tirgearr Publishing.

Charlene’s awards include: RWA Golden Heart Finalist, Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award Nomination, Affair de Coeur Magazine Reader/Writer Poll for Best Historical of the Year. Her books have won or place in several contests.

Currently, Charlene is working on her next release.

@CRaddon ~ Blog ~ Facebook ~ Website ~ Goodreads

Halloween Blogfest: Charlene Raddon

DO GHOSTS EXIST?
By Charlene Raddon
Years ago, my sister and her husband bought a turn-of-the-century house in a small Utah town and invited me to share it with them. The house boasted of three floors, but nothing had been done with the third one, the “attic”. We dug in and cleaned out decades of dust and dirt. While we sorted through the few items stored there, I felt another presence. I glanced about, expecting to see a niece or nephew sneaking up on us, but saw no one. More than once I felt fingers lightly caress my cheek or hand—an eerie feeling, but without malevolence. Once the attic had been habitable, I never felt those sensations again.

The Scent of Roses by Charlene Raddon - 200After a year, I moved to a place of my own, but I loved my sister’s old house. We enjoyed searching with the children for secret passageways because it seemed the sort of house that should have a few. Alas, we never found any. I created my own years later while writing a historical romance novel, The Scent of Roses, set in a house I patterned after my sister’s old home. I even added a ghost.

Almost twenty years ago now, my sister passed away. We were very close. During her long struggle against the cancer that robbed her of life, we talked of what was to come. I told her how much I would miss her and begged her to find a way to communicate with me after she was gone. The church’s huge doors to the meeting room were closed. The anti-room doors were closed, and those to the foyer. No windows were open. Yet, as I sat there during the service, I felt a familiar sensation: fingers lightly caressing my cheek. A breeze, I told myself, but always wondered. My step-daughter who sat next to me felt nothing. Had my sister tried to tell me she was there? I truly like to think so.

About the Author: Charlene Raddon began her fiction career in the third grade when she announced in Show & Tell that a baby sister she never had was killed by a black widow spider. She often penned stories featuring mistreated young girls whose mother accused of crimes her sister had actually committed. Her first serious attempt at writing fiction came in 1980 when she woke up from a vivid dream that compelled her to drag out a portable typewriter and begin writing. She’s been at it ever since. An early love for romance novels and the Wild West led her to choose the historical romance genre but she also writes contemporary romance. At present, she has five books published in paperback by Kensington Books (one under the pseudonym Rachel Summers), and four eBooks published by Tirgearr Publishing.

Charlene’s awards include: RWA Golden Heart Finalist, Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award Nomination, Affair de Coeur Magazine Reader/Writer Poll for Best Historical of the Year. Her books have won or place in several contests.

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One Writer’s Journey by Charlene Raddon–Guest Blog and Giveaway

One Writer’s Journey

Each writer takes her own journey of discovery into the world of the written word. Like babes, we’re innocent of what we’re getting into. Oh, we know commas, and semi-colons, and apostrophes. At least some of us do. Others, like me, stumble around for years picking up bits of knowledge here and there.
One might think anyone destined to become a writer would have an affinity for grammar and the like. Not necessarily.
The luck is in the draw. I’m afraid I was down on luck when my school teachers’ names were drawn. I slipped and slid through school, doing well enough in English to get passing grades, until my junior year in high school. My teacher was straight out of college and taught junior high school English. Not Latin or basketball, but real English. No way could I tell her I hadn’t really even had junior or middle school English. And yet, I skated through that class as well. How?
My next bout with English came years later when I began attending a Junior College. Although my major was fine arts, English was a requirement. Oh, no, I thought, I’ll never pass the entrance exam. But I did.

English Literature and Composition was the name of the game. My instructor was a summer Shakespearean actor whose enthusiasm for his subject bubbled over onto the students. Mr. Milstein graded from A to Z, allowed two weeks after grades were handed out to rewrite the assignment, bring it to him during office hours, and if you deserved a higher grade, he erased the first one. No student in his class ever had an excuse for not finishing it with an “A”.
I had straight “A”s.
Until then, I wasn’t much of a reader, but Milstein changed that. He also explained to me how I managed to avoid flunking previous English classes. I have a natural sense for what sounds right, he said. I think he was right.
Several years passed before I took the next step on my writer’s journey. I discovered romance novels and consumed them like candy. Did it occur to me to write my own book? Not once.
One morning I woke from an unbelievably vivid dream, and knew it had to go into a book. I dragged out my old typewriter, and that’s when I realized I had no idea how to write. Did I head straight for a writing class? No, that’s too easy. But I did take one eventually and, like Milstein’s class, it changed my life. The teacher was mediocre at best, but the students were talented and determined. When the class ended in the spring, we didn’t want to stop meeting, so we met in our homes. Eventually we became the Wasatch Mountain Fiction Writers, a private, mixed-genre, critique group. We’ve been meeting every Friday for twenty-five years. Some of us became published, some not. Some are still working at it.
At a writer’s workshop, an editor told me my books were too complex and unusual. No publisher would take a chance on them. She suggested I write a regular romance, get it published, and in time I’d be able to write the stories that filled my soul. I followed her advice. Lo and behold, my next book first place in a historical contest. Emboldened by that victory, I entered the RWA Golden Heart Contest.
Lo and behold, I became a finalist.
Soon, I landed a three-book contract with Zebra Books, and had five books published by them before the bottom dropped out of the historical market, leaving me dangling in mid-air.
Horrors of horrors, I was a mid-list author with nowhere to turn.
My agent offered me no hope. I floundered around for a year or so, wrote a contemporary fantasy romance (unpublished), and began playing with an old book I’d started years before. It, too, won a contest. With luck it will be published next year.
At last I feel my writing journey is on the right path. Four of my paperback novels have now been released by Tirgearr Publishing as e-books and the fifth will be released this November. My journey held many adventures, my head is stuffed with research, and one thing is very plain: I am a writer. I’m hooked, and I love it.
Leave a comment to win a copy of a book from my backlist, winner’s choice, and a $10 Amazon gift card. The Rafflecopter is at the end of this post.
About the Author:9_25 Char portrait 2009smer(3)Charlene Raddon began her fiction career in the third grade when she announced in Show & Tell that a baby sister she never had was killed by a black widow spider. She often penned stories featuring mistreated young girls whose mother accused of crimes her sister had actually committed. Her first serious attempt at writing fiction came in 1980 when she woke up from a vivid dream that compelled her to drag out a portable typewriter and begin writing. She’s been at it ever since. An early love for romance novels and the Wild West led her to choose the historical romance genre but she also writes contemporary romance. At present, she has five books published in paperback by Kensington Books (one under the pseudonym Rachel Summers), and four eBooks published by Tirgearr Publishing.
Charlene’s awards include: RWA Golden Heart Finalist, Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award Nomination, Affair de Coeur Magazine Reader/Writer Poll for Best Historical of the Year. Her books have won or place in several contests.
Currently, Charlene is working on her next release.

9_25 The Scent of Roses by Charlene Raddon - 200A WOMAN’S SMILE
Rosalyn Delaney’s husband, Josiah, had vanished six years ago. Following a private detective’s lead, Rosalyn leaves Salt Lake City and boards a train heading t the mining town of Whiskey Ridge, Arizona. She arrives at Rose House, an old mansion reputed to be haunted, only to discover her missing husband has been killed, and his business partner, Whip Kincade, is wanted for his murder. Determined to uncover the secrets surrounding Josiah and his death, Rosalyn decides to stay-even when she begins to receive nightly visits from a charming “ghost”…
A GHOST’S KISS
Escaping a troubled past, Whip Kincade had hoped he could make a fresh start by coming to Whiskey Ridge and opening a saloon with his friend, Josiah. Now as a murder suspect hiding in his own house, Whip’s future looks bleak indeed…unless he can find the real culprit. But the unexpected intrusion of Rosalyn ruins his plans of sneaking out at night to investigate. Scaring her away is the first step in clearing his name, but Rosalyn doesn’t rattle easily. And Whip isn’t sure he wants the lovely widow to walk out of his life—especially when she would take his heart with her…

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STUFF YOUR STOCKING BLOGFEST: CHARLENE RADDON

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The Birth of Christmas

Whose idea was it to have Christmas in the first place? Why December 25, a day no one could prove was Jesus’ birthday? Turkey dinner, holiday cards, decorated trees, mistletoe, carols, Santa Claus—who came up with all these traditions?

Church fathers first suggested December 25 as a good day to celebrate the nativity early in the fourth century, in the hope of eclipsing the festivities of a rival religion they felt threatened Christianity.

For two centuries after Christ was born, the actual day of the event was unknown, and in truth, few people cared. Death days counted more at the time than birthdays. Religious leaders felt that, since Christ was divine, his birth date didn’t matter. In fact, the Church taught that observing Christ’s birthday was sinful and demeaned Christianity.

Theologians, however, disagreed and proposed several different dates: January 1, January 6, March 25, and May 20. Of all these days, the latter one became the most popular because of the statement of Luke that the shepherds who received the announcement of Christ’s birth were watching their sheep by night. Shepherds guarded flocks day and night only during the spring lambing season. At all other times the sheep were penned and unguarded.

The final straw that forced the Church to legitimize December 25 as the day of the Lord’s birth came about because of the growing popularity of Christianity’s major rival religion, Mithraism. Pagan Romans, still in the majority, celebrated Natalis Solis Invicti, the “birthday of the Invincible Sun God,” Mithras. This cult came into existence in Persia and took root with the Romans in the first century B.C. By A. D. 274, Mithraism was so popular with the masses that the emperor proclaimed it the official state religion.

Church fathers decided the time had come to do something about their rival. So, to give their converts a chance to enjoy a celebration they could take pride in, Christ’s birth was officially recognized. Of course, by their dictate, the day was to be one of prayer at a special mass. The celebration of Christmas took hold and stuck. Upon the occasion of the baptism of Roman emperor Constantine, Christianity was proclaimed the state religion.

Leave a comment for a chance to win a $15 Amazon Gift Card.

About the Author:

Charlene began her writing life at an early age, often penning stories with herself cast as the heroine. Usually, once she’d vented her spleen, she threw out these stories. Her first serious writing attempt didn’t come until 1980 when she awoke one morning from an unusually vivid and compelling dream. Deciding that dream needed to be made into a book, she dug out an old portable typewriter and went to work.

While that book never sold, her second one did. Tender Touch became a Golden Heart finalist and earned her an agent. A short time later she signed a three book contract with Kensington Books. Five of Charlene’s western historical romances were published between 1994 and 1999: Taming Jenna, Tender Touch (1994 Golden Heart Finalist under the title Brianna), Forever Mine (1996 Romantic Times Magazine Reviewer’s Choice Award Nominee and Affaire de Coeur Reader/Writer Poll finalist), To Have and To Hold( Affaire de Coeur Reader/Writer Poll finalist); and writing as Rachel Summers, The Scent of Roses.

After the collapse of the historical romance market, Charlene took a break from writing, but not for long. Since then she has completed two novels, A Kiss and A Dare, her first contemporary paranormal romance, and Divine Gamble, which earned first place at the 2010 Romance Through The Ages contest in their western historical romance category. At present, while polishing her completed works, Charlene is reworking that first book she wrote that was inspired by a dream.

When not writing, Charlene loves to travel, do needlepoint, research genealogy, create digital scrapbooks, and dye Ukrainian eggs. She also enjoys camping and fishing with her husband, spoiling her grandchildren and playing with her very neurotic cat.