As an Author, What Scares Me Most by Donna Simonetta – Guest Blog and Giveaway

February 3, 2020 By 36 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Donna Simonetta will be awarding a $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

As an author, what scares me most is…

Without a doubt, the most terrifying aspect of being an author is having other people reading my work. When I say it like that it sounds ridiculous. As an author my goal is to have other people read my stuff––ideally, lots and LOTS of people. But, that moment when my book is released, and people are going to start reading it? Gulp. Mind-numbingly, paralyzingly terrifying.

When I write a story, I become immersed in it. I try to make the setting and characters as well-rounded and real as possible. So much so, that as I write, they become like friends to me. People I know inside and out, and with whom I’ve spent at least a year of my life. Day in, day out, in my mind and in my home with me. They become my friends. And when I send them out in the world for other people to read their stories, it is nerve-wracking. What if other people don’t like my fictional friends as much as I do? What if…heaven forbid…they HATE them? It would take a more secure person than me, to not feel scared when people read my work.

It’s kind of like when you have friends from two different parts of your life. A work friend and a childhood friend. You love them both, but when you first introduce them to each other, there is always a chance they won’t like each other and it will make things awkward for all concerned. Now, they might just hit it off like wildfire and all will be right with your world, but if not? Ugh. It’s the same thing with my readers and the characters I’ve toiled over and hung out with for so long.

Not to mention, writing is a very personal activity. Sometimes, events and people from my real life might make it into my work, in a fictionalized form. What happens if when someone else reads something deeply meaningful to me, and thinks…meh, who cares? Or even worse…that is so stupid. It can be heartbreaking.

Of course, like most fears, the reality is almost never as bad as my imaginings. The vast majority of reviews and feedback I’ve had on my books has been positive and uplifting. However, human nature being what it is––or at least THIS human’s nature! Ha!––the one negative comment is so often the one that stands out to you.

None of this is to say you should not give an author your honest feedback and opinion on their work. It helps tremendously with future writing to know what resonates with readers, and what does not. Just remember, these characters have been born out of the author’s imagination, and are close to their heart…so be honest, but gentle. And I really, really, really hope you enjoy What Was I Thinking.

A wild Vegas fling isn’t the traditional Thanksgiving celebration, and Lily and Jason have been like oil and water since they met. Blaming their steamy hook-up on too many shots at the bar, they head home.

Back in the real world, Jason wonders if he’s ready to give up his crown as the Playboy King of Rivers Bend to be with just one woman. And Lily has enough on her plate right now without adding Jason Braden to the mix, even if their attraction is crazy-strong.

But life is good at throwing curveballs, and a lot can happen between Thanksgiving and Valentine’s Day. Maybe even enough to lead these two polar opposites home to each other in Rivers Bend.

Enjoy an Excerpt

She felt him stiffen up behind her, and Jason’s tone of voice was defensive. She hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. “I know you do; I didn’t mean anything by it. We poke at each other”––she shrugged––“it’s kind of our thing.”

His grip on her hand loosened, and then he took control of the dance, by twirling her until her back was pressed to his front, and he began to move sinuously in time to the rhythm. His breath tickled her ear, as he spoke right in it to be heard over the music. “We’ve got a thing, Moonbeam?”

Jason had ditched the tie and suit jacket after the wedding, and his body heat scorched her through his crisp white dress shirt. And man-oh-Maneschewitz, his lean, hard body felt good. Really good. The Marine might be bulked up, but Jason’s body felt like it had been made for hers, which given their mutual antagonism, seemed like proof Fate was enjoying a good laugh at her expense. Against Lily’s better judgment, her body melted into his warmth and began to move with his.

“Sure we’ve got a thing,” she said over her shoulder, and was irritated to hear a trace of breathlessness in her voice. She cleared her throat and continued, “Like that––you calling me Moonbeam, because you know it bugs me.”

About the Author Donna Simonetta writes the kind of books she loves to read––contemporary romances to help you escape the real world for a little while. Writing is Donna’s third career. She toiled in the business world, and when she decided being an Account Executive wasn’t for her went back to school to get her MLS degree. Next, she worked in a school library for many years. But, Donna dreamed of being an author since she was a little girl, and began to squeeze writing into her day. After the publication of her second book, she decided to leave the library and become a full-time author.

Donna lives in Maryland with her husband, who is her real-life romance hero. They enjoy traveling to visit far-flung family and friends, and spending time on the beach with an umbrella drink and a good book.

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Jay Got Married by James Robinson Jr — Guest Post and Giveaway

January 31, 2020 By 9 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. James Robinson Jr. will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

My Writing Style by James Robinson Jr.

I’m a writer of fiction and nonfiction. My newest book, Jay Got Married: A Collection of 9 Short Non-Fiction Essays, is an example the style I employ when I write a non-fiction book. I thought it might be interesting to give you an idea of this style, the unique way that I put together an essay.

The essays usually begin with a broad subject—movies, the notion of George Orwell’s Big Brother, jellybeans (yes, jellybeans)—and go from there. I write using satire, a humorous, tongue-in-cheek wit, and employ my own experiences as a backdrop. I often touch upon real-life issues but always divert back to my base style. I have also discovered that it helps to use clipart and photos of the handsome author himself to bring home a point. Here is an example:

Jay Got Married

I had a frightful dream. I was standing at the altar with my wife and 400 guests in attendance. It seemed to be a repeat of our wedding in 1976. My now 95-year-old father performed the ceremony for my wife and me the first time around, and that’s how old he appeared to be in this vision. He kept forgetting the lines and was forever looking at me for support. At one point, I was whispering, “The rings, the rings.” I kept reaching for them, but they were disappearing before I could grab them.

Albie, my cousin and best man from my first wedding, was singing Sonny and Cher’s, I Got You Babe. Normally, he can’t sing for shit, but in this scenario, he had his hand on his chest and his head back, sounding like Luciano Pavarotti. What was this all about?
My father, the minister, wearing his trademark Champion sweatshirt, with coffee stains on the chest portions, pronounced us man and wife. I turned to kiss my new bride and caught a glimpse of her bridesmaid. But instead of her best friend who was her attendant back in the day, it was Gal Godot from DC Comics and the movies.

She was wearing her Wonder Woman garb, but she didn’t seem primed for a wedding. In fact, she appeared to be totally shocked by the whole affair. What kind of dream was this?

My wife and I ended the ceremony with a kiss. My mother turned to my father (who was then in attendance in the audience) with a quizzical look and said, “Dad, look at that bridesmaid. Isn’t that Superman?”

She was close. She doesn’t get out much.

Oh, and then, though neither of us would be caught dead on a motorcycle, in this weird musing, we were apparently bikers. Instead of a limousine waiting for us at the curb, there sat a racy motorcycle with cans in tow. It looked like this one:

I Googled it. It’s a BMW S1000RR—sleek, fast, and flashy.

But before I could get on the bike, she pulled off without me, as the cans tied to the wheels of the hot machine banged on the street, while her gown billowed in the breeze. She had left me standing in the street like a lost soul.

True, I shouldn’t have been drinking the caffeinated tea before bed, but more to the point, maybe, just maybe, this crazy vision was a warning, a forecast, an omen. Maybe it was God’s way of telling me that Wonder Woman could show up at your wedding without even paying her an appearance fee. Or even more to the point, perhaps it was to make me appreciate what I have.

What if the unthinkable happened to my wife? What if she succumbed to a disease, or was killed in a terrible auto accident? Or worse, what if her life were cut short in a vicious pit bull attack?

I jest. But you never know.

Seriously, what if I were faced with the prospect of being without her for the rest of my life? I would be devastated, left to fend for myself without my confidant and best friend.

With my life clock ticking away, would I ever get over it? I doubt it. Creeping up on 67 years of age, I would be left with no one to bond with, to grow old with, to offer me comfort when I’m down. My dance card is full, I’m all settled in, and my stuff doesn’t work all that well anymore. I have aches and pains from head to toe. I’m in no shape to be limping back to the starting gate and pushing the reset button.

Even if I wanted to find another partner, I ain’t feelin’ it. I don’t have the desire or energy to pull it off. And in terms of females, I’ve seen what’s out there. Aside from my children and grandchildren—and those little monsters can be a real pain in the butt—my wife is the best thing in my life. After 42 years of cohabitation, she knows me better than anyone. She’s loyal, honest to a fault, puts up with my crap, cleans the toilet after me, and makes a mean cherry pie.

However, she doesn’t laugh at my humor. In fact, she just shakes her head and sighs when I present it to her for her blessings. But I expect that. The mere thought of marrying anyone else is frightful. Could I do it, given those circumstances? Even after years of mourning? I would have to say:

Uh, no. I don’t think so.

If I haven’t totally turned you off, read the whole book. And thanks for taking a look.

Jay Got Married consists of 9 humorous and, at times, poignant essays chronicling the ironies of everyday life in word and picture. Take for example the lead essay, aptly titled, “Jay got Married,” where I find myself mired in a horrendous dream.

In the fantasy, my aging father–dressed in his favorite Champion t-shirt with stains covering the front–marries my wife and I like he did 42 years ago but, this time around, the my 92-year-old ex-clergy dad forgets his lines causing me to coach him through the event with hints like: “ask for the rings, ask for the rings.” All the while, my best man sings Sonny and Cher’s, “I Got You Babe.”

Finally married, my wife and I end the ceremony with a kiss. But as I turn to exit, my eyes catch a glimpse of the bridesmaid who is no longer my wife’s best friend but now Gal Gadot from Dell Comics and Wonder Woman Fame. She is dressed in full Wonder Women regalia and looks totally shocked by the whole affair.

My mother turns to my father (now in the audience) with a quizzical look and says, “Dad, look at that bridesmaid. Isn’t that Superman?” She doesn’t get out much.

As we exit the church, and the bubbles fill the air–no one uses rice anymore—my wife ignores the limo and takes off on a sleek motorcycle, leaving me in the lurch—hence the cover.
Sure, it’s sounds crazy. But, in truth, isn’t the world of marriage crazy these days? In my case, what would one do when faced with the prospect of losing their beloved wife after 42 years? At age 67, would they remarry? Would they even want to remarry? These and other marital tidbits are discussed with humor and as much reverence as I could muster.

P.S. The author pairs up with Wonder Woman again in a final bit of photo wizardry Why? How? How are tricky copyright infringement laws avoided? Read Jay Got Married and find out.

Enjoy an Excerpt

You’re like, “What’s the big deal? Sure, it’s a sad thing, but don’t be too hasty. People fill that void in their lives all the time. It can happen. Sure, you’ve lost someone near and dear to you. But you could get over it. Even at your age. Time heals all wounds.” (Boy, you could’ve done better than that.) “People are living longer now. You’ll have more time to think this through. I see couples remarrying in their 70s and 80s.”

And I say, “While that may be true, I have to ask myself how I could find someone after a tragic death, when married people can’t seem to decide who they want while they’re both still among the living. I see people divorce and remarry two, three, four, and even five times. Amongst the marital shrapnel, some have their next spouses all picked out before the split.

Switch partners in the middle of a dance four or five times? Really? After a few shots at it, I would have to practice a little self-examination. I think I’d ask myself, “Am I missing something? Shouldn’t I be wondering if a pattern is developing?” Before I jump a fifth set of bristles, I’d be thinking, Why do I keep marrying people and divorcing them? Could it be… could it be… could it be… me?

Well, the difference is, you can count these cast-offs in the still among the living category. You can always figure on those exes to be around to torture for alimony, child support, and just general purposes. But once they’re gone, you’d have to feel some kind of grief. Even if you only see their name in the obituary and suck your teeth.

About the Author: James Robinson, Jr. is an award-winning author who has written 6 books in both the fiction and non-fiction genres. His first book Fighting the Effects of Gravity: A Bittersweet Journey Into Middle Life, was an Indie Award winner for nonfiction. His first foray into fiction, Book of Samuel, was a Readers’ Favorite Award Winner. His latest book—Jay Got Married—is a collection of 9 humorous, sometimes poignant essays.

Mr. Robinson resides in Pittsburgh, PA with his wife of 43 years. He is the father of three daughters ages 37, 38, and 40 and has six grandchildren

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My Take on Critique Groups by R.W. Buxton – Guest Blog and Giveaway

January 30, 2020 By 15 Comments


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. R.W. Buxton will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

My Take on Critique Groups

While writing Capital Thirst I actively took part in an online critique group. It was an interesting experience. To have your work critiqued you had to critique the work of others. Which makes sense, otherwise people would just post and never take part.

While doing this I read some amazing work, and some that was, let’s just say, in the early stages. Much of what I read though truly inspired me to improve my writing. Critiquing other writers’ work you come to realize things that do and don’t work. Yes, at the time I used some of those things that don’t work and maybe still do. Another cool thing is that you are reading all different genres. The writing styles of each genre are very different, but some things can be applied across the board.

It’s a little intimidating to put something you’ve worked so hard on up for others to “criticize.” After getting the first few critiques I realized most of the other authors are interested in helping. I suppose the issue I had, and it’s probably more with the site I was on, your work was only posted until it received x number of critiques. Invariably many of them would be worthless, people just trying to get points towards having their own work critiqued and not really putting much or any effort into what they were offering. Others would be great. Lots of detail and ideas to think about. It takes time to wade through the less than useful ones to get to those that are helpful.

I always loved the long descriptive critiques that would go into theme and plotting or talk about character motivation. This provided a lot to think about. Was I going in the right direction? Did I have enough description or too much? Did the actions characters took makes sense did they have motivation? Other critiques would suggest changing this word or that or adding a comma. These weren’t as useful. I may end up rewriting or removing that sentence or paragraph altogether. Sure it helps, but that wasn’t what I was after.

After my experience with Capital Thirst, which overall was good, I didn’t plan to post Beverly Hills Torture. But now as I’m approaching the time when I’m about to send it to an editor I’m rethinking that decision. A good deal of the feedback was very useful, and I included it in the final draft. The downside is, it takes a lot of time and effort both in reviewing the work of others and going through the critiques of your own work. But I think it’s worth the effort to get the feedback of your peers.

If there was a choice, I probably would choose not to do it online but with a group of local authors. I think the responses would be more sincere. Please don’t get me wrong, there were a lot of very good authors that provided great feedback online, but I think if the person is sitting across from me and seeing me face to face they may work harder and the feedback would be far more interactive. Unfortunately while I’m aware of a sci-fi group locally I haven’t found any paranormal romance or romance.

One last word on the subject. Just like any other online community, it makes me sad to say, there are trolls. Some people just can’t be happy unless they trash someone else. I don’t understand this but it seems to be a fact of online life.

DC bustles, the light from the city fills the night. But in the dark alleys and backstreets, only slivers of light from a full moon dance. In such an alley, a shadowy figure is hunched over a body. She lifts her head to reveal soulless eyes and fangs dripping with blood as she licks her lips with exultation.

Standing up, she wipes her chin, and tosses her long black hair, then saunters away.

At FBI headquarters, Gerry examines the case files of 18 wealthy men, dead, with few clues, no DNA, and no leads…

When predator and prey become one, no one is safe.

Enjoy an Excerpt

The smell of the lavender in the bath water made her linger a minute longer as she ran her hand down her smooth, alabaster arm, and then across her flat stomach. She lay back in the tub with her head resting on the soft spa pillow at the end. Her body melted into nothingness. The
warmth filled her with a longing for a time now beyond her grasp.

Her thoughts floated through images of men she had killed. The terror of their last thoughts flooded back, aroused, and saddened her.

A siren on the street jarred her from her thoughts. She stood and let the tiny rivulets of water run the length of her lithe body. She stepped out onto the soft, luxuriant bath mat. Her long black hair, in stark contrast to her body, came just short of the middle of her back. She reached for a plush white towel to dry herself. She bit her lower lip, worried that she lingered too long. That she might be late.

Tonight was her night to kill, and she wanted it to be perfect. Just who would it be?

About the Author: I love a good paranormal read, something about the un-dead haunts the fringes of my mind. Mix in romance, love, loss, and you have a great story.

I voraciously read everything, fiction, and non-fiction but always find myself turning back to the darker stories. I’ve always wanted to write and the dream became a reality with Capital Thirst, and the remainder of the Erin Kingsly novels.

I spend most of my days designing and building websites, but my free time is devoted to my wife, family, and cats. Yes three grown children and three cats. Things can be hectic.

For fun you might find me driving winding roads with the top down or out photographing nature.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

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Convincing You by J.M. Adele – Spotlight and Giveaway

January 28, 2020 By 4 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. J.M. Adele will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

We were connected in more ways than one—I knew it when we met.
What I didn’t know was how close he would bring me to death.
And that death would be a blessing.

Andrea has always been able to tap into messages from somewhere beyond. When she meets Ben, an unrelenting force draws them together. But it’s going to take some convincing to help Ben realise their potential. Ben never thought his friend’s little sister would be anything more than a nuisance. He was wrong. She’d always been so much more. And now, their bond could be severed and her pulse silenced forever.

*Recommended for readers 18+ due to mature content.*

Enjoy an Excerpt

“You’ve gone quiet. What’s wrong?”

I flicked a glance at his nose, knowing that if I looked him in the eye he might see something I wasn’t ready for him to see. Something I was trying to understand for myself before I admitted it to anyone else. I wouldn’t be admitting it to him, that was for sure.

“Hm? What? No, nothing. I’m just hungry.” I hid my hands under the table. Way to play it cool.

One of Ben’s brows inched up.

Tapping a finger on the edge of my seat, I ignored the weight of his stare. The silence was like a wedgie that I couldn’t get rid of.

I cleared my throat and aimed for casual conversation. “So, are you a league convert yet?”

He scoffed. “Never. I was only helping out a friend.”

“If you hate it so much, why’d you do it?”

“I don’t hate it. I’m just loyal to my code.”

“Plenty of players switch.” I picked my brain trying to remember the names Dad had said at the game. “Like, you know, that guy, The King. What’s his name?”

“Wally Lewis?”

“Yeah, him.” I think. He was the only player I could think of.

“Just ’cause The King switched doesn’t mean I have to.”

“Fair enough.”

Ben stood by his convictions. I liked that. My eyes drifted sideways in a bid for some reprieve from his gaze. Two tables away, the boys were slapping each other’s hands, doing some customised shake thing, and laughing like loons.

“They’re good mates.” Ben’s comment brought me right back to those crystal blues.

“They are.” I tilted my head. “Why are you friends with my brother? Seriously?”

His lips quirked. “Stewart’s all right.”

“He’s different with his friends, I guess.”

He hooked an arm behind his seat, twisting his chest towards me. “I know he can be a dick sometimes. He has a weird way of getting attention. He means well.”

The fact that he was defending my brother endeared him to me even more.

“Do you play any sport?” Ben scratched behind his ear like he was uncomfortable talking about Stewart.

I was happy to change the subject. “I dance.”

“You dance?” His brows rose as he leaned back a little. “Like ballet?”

“God, no. I’m not graceful enough for that. Hip-hop is my thang.”

“Your thang?”

“Yeah. Like this.” I jumped out of my seat and gave him a demo—legs popping, arms locking, all while Nelly Furtado and Timbaland sang about promiscuity in my head.

His mouth dropped open and his eyes bugged out.

Am I that bad? I slid back onto my seat, heat infusing my cheeks.

“You’re good.”

Pulling my shoulders back, I puffed out my chest. “Thank you.”

“No, I really mean that.” He blinked, swallowing.

I relaxed against the back of my chair. Sincerity. Another tick on the list of his good characteristics. I was sure there had to be some negatives.

I already liked so many things about him. His commitment. His discipline. His arse. But if I told him, I’d scare him away. He wouldn’t get it. Not for another few years at least. I wasn’t sure how I knew that either. I just did. The thing was, I didn’t understand how or why it was going to take a few years. And that worried me. What was about to go down that I’d have to wait so damn long to have him by my side?

The air grew so thick, my lungs had trouble dragging it in. I shuffled my butt, fighting against the unbearable tug urging my eyes to connect with his. “It was nice of you to help out the opposition, even though they couldn’t find a uniform that fit you.”

He placed his arms on the table, his elbow bumping mine. It was the final yank in the tug-of-war. My gaze snapped to his crystal blue stare.

A hint of a smirk played on his lips. “It’s no biggie.” Deliberately bumping my elbow again, he set his grin free.

He’s laughing at me! My mouth popped open before clamping shut.

The rest of our group approached through the glass, trays in hand. Their arrival would mean the end of our conversation. Last chance to make an impression. “Yeah, you’re right. Their team lost. You were no help at all. I don’t know why Dad whinged that you’re not a league player. Seriously, you sucked. Stick to what you know, Benji.”

Ben’s grin dropped off his face, and his eyebrows jumped high as he barked a laugh.

Like idiots, we grinned at each other, and something more passed between us. That thing that I couldn’t yet define, but saw behind the gaze reflecting back my smiling face. It was so familiar. I’d seen it before. I knew it.

Unbelievably, his face aged ten years in ten seconds. Suddenly he was a man with the beginnings of wrinkles fanning from his eyes. And I was … huge. I checked myself out. A wedding ring dug into my swollen finger. My stomach was round and full. And moving. We were both naked. Naked!

My gaze snapped back to his, finding his face in transition again. Light reflected off his bright blue irises, splitting into a prism of colour before swirling and blending into a muddy dark brown. A colour that could swallow you whole if you let it.

“Emmeline.” I saw his mouth move, but it wasn’t Ben. I was staring at a young man with scruffy brown hair, sweat and dirt smeared on his neck. “Emmeline,” he pleaded.

Who was Emmeline? Who was he?

About the Author:

Author of smart, sexy characters, J.M. Adele loves to flit between the dark and light sides of romance. Somewhere along the way an almost constant procession of imaginary characters settled into her thoughts and she picked up a pen to share their stories.

She lives in Queensland with her three greatest loves, her children. When she’s not writing or being a mum, you might find her hiking up a mountain, singing in the car when nobody is looking, or curled up with a good book.

Website | Newsletter | Facebook Reader Group | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter | Pinterest | YouTube | BookBub | Goodreads | Amazon Author Page

Buy the book at Amazon. The author has put the book on sale for $0.99 for a limited time, with all proceeds donated to the Australian bushfire appeal.

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The Sweet Pepper Cajun by J.A. Jackson – Spotlight and Giveaway

January 27, 2020 By 6 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. J. A. Jackson will be awarding a $15 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour and a Kindle ebook copy of her cookbook to 8 randomly selected winners. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Treat yourself to an exceptional value! Kindle Price just $2.49! Great New recipes from that Southern Soulful Magnolia Table. Recipes for all your festive occasions! The Holidays are almost here! It’s time for Great Food, Fantastic Family Gatherings with our Best Friends!

Enjoy Southern Cornbread Dressing with your turkey, ham roast, beef, roast beef or vegan New Year’s Good Luck Long Noodle Cajun Pasta this year! Those recipes and more are here! Grab your copy today!


*************

From soups, sandwiches, salads, and of course the main course, to cakes, made famous by Mamma and her friends, with recipes Mamma got from Grandmamma.

Here you’ll find recipes for welcoming family and friends into your home whether they cornered you by just dropping by or they were invited. Make all their visits more pleasurable with recipes from the heart. Here you’ll find not just recipes for lunch, brunch, and Feasts from Thanksgiving to New Year’s, but quick easy make-ahead sides and appetizers. It’s that time of the season to cook from the heart with love. Inside you’ll find breakfast favorites, and complete dinner menus, plus taste-tempting decadent desserts that aim to please.

Book is $2.49 on Kindle

Enjoy an Excerpt

It’s Time For Family & Friends!
♥

Come join us, grab a seat, fill a bowl, and take a taste of our scrumptious food. We believe food is our common ground and in flavor do we trust!
Any Season!
♥

There’s an old saying… “Good friends are so very hard to find, and I’m am so grateful that you are mine.” This is for you… All of my friends. Thank you.


*************

Southern Yellow Mustard Potato Salad!

•Prep Time 10 mins
•Total Time 40 mins

Ingredients:

•3 pounds boiled potatoes peeled and cubed
•6 boiled eggs chopped
•1 medium onion minced
•½ cup finely chopped green bell pepper
•½ cup finely chopped celery
•4 medium dill pickles diced
•¾ cup mayonnaise
•1/2 cup yellow mustard
•1/4 Slap Ya Mamma Cajun seasoning (season to taste)
•¼ teaspoon ground black pepper (optional)

Directions:

Combine all Ingredients together and mix until well-combined and creamy. Add more mayonnaise and mustard depending on tastes. Refrigerate! Keep products made with mayonnaise chilled at all times…

About the Author:

J.A. Jackson is the pseudonym for an author, who loves to write deliciously sultry adult romantic, suspenseful, entertaining novels with a unique twist. She lives in an enchanted little house she calls home in the Northern California foothills.

She spent over ten years working in the non-profit sector where she wrote grants, press releases and contributed many stories to their newsletter. She was their Newsletter editor for over ten years. She loves growing roses, a good pot of hot tea, chocolate, magical stories, suspense stories, ghost stories, and reading Jane Austen again and again in her past time.

Please write her at P.O. Box 1494, Clovis, CA 93613

Email Address: jerreecejackson@gmail.com or jerreecejackson@yahoo.com

Twitter | Facebook | Blog | Author Central | Pinterst

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Six Musts Every Women’s Fiction Should Have by Carolyn Re and Loretta Re – Guest Blog and Giveaway

January 24, 2020 By 10 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Carolyn Re and Loretta Re will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Six Musts Every Women’s Fiction Should Have

Our novel, Secrets of the IN-Group set in the authors’ home town of Albury, is classed as contemporary women’s fiction. It’s an ensemble story following six older women. Its main themes are adapting to change and the role friendships and romance play in sustaining us in later life.

1. Relatable or believable characters

We’ve all read books where we’ve identified closely with some of the characters. Even if you don’t behave in the way a character may act, and even if you don’t like them, chances are you will have known somebody similar. Our characters are like the women you’d meet in your book club. None of them is perfect, but that makes them warm and relatable. Like most of us, they want love and companionship, new experiences and a little adventure.

2. Sparkling dialogue

The dialogue must move the story forward, and be relevant and interesting enough to form a bond with the characters. There’s a lot of dialogue in our story and perhaps that’s why so many people have said they’d like to join the IN-group!

3. Plot twists

Plot twists are the spice in a novel. Everything is going along quietly, you’re getting to know your characters when suddenly, POW!, the story reveals something big, something you weren’t expecting and your book becomes a page turner. What will happen next? Your readers can’t wait to find out.

4. Romance and strong friendships

In any story with women at its centre, no matter their age, romance will always be indispensable. And for most women, friendships are one of the solid foundations of their lives. Our characters aren’t always kind to each other, but they end up learning how important their friends are, that rifts can always be mended and that romance may be just around the corner.

5. Sense of place

Life doesn’t occur in a vacuum, so creating a sense of place is vital to good storytelling. One of our five-star reviewers wrote “Secrets of the IN-group makes me want to go on holiday to Albury!!!”

6. Satisfying conclusion

A satisfying ending doesn’t mean everybody gets exactly what they want, but it can mean they grow to accept and embrace what they have. (And some will always get that happy ending!)

A small town. A world wide web. Is the net really a friend?
What do you do when the children have flown the nest and you have time on your hands?

Six women in the Australian riverside city of Albury realise that, without social media skills, they’re staring irrelevancy in the face. Their book club won’t cut it any more. It’s time to go virtual.

But their decision to plunge into the on-line world brings shocking revelations and unexpected outcomes. Friendships, new and old, are tested and their lives teeter on the edge of collapse. They must navigate a path through the chaos. But who exactly can they trust?

Enjoy an Excerpt

[At Martin’s technology lesson, Sarah is shocked at an image on her husband’s iPhone]

Sarah tried to smile, but her face felt stiff, as if she’d had Botox injected. Her mind screamed: Who is this girl who looks so like Anna? Why is she on Rob’s home screen? And why is he enveloping her in some sort of … horrible hug? It wasn’t the kind of hug you’d give a girlfriend, more like a father’s proud embrace.

Andrea cleared her throat loudly in a distracting way, quite out of character.

‘Sorry, but I have to go soon,’ she said, gathering her things. She slid her iPad into its leather satchel. ‘Such a nuisance. It’s been fun tonight.’ She looked at Martin. ‘There’s only ten minutes left, would you mind if we finished early? Pick up on this again next week?’

Thank you, Andrea. The ploy had given Sarah momentary breathing space. Her internal scream quietened a little. She had to get out of here, away from the goodbye chatter and the polite offers to take a slice of cake home. She needed to digest what she’d seen and work out what it meant. She had to have time to think.

She dreaded time to think. With the flick of a switch—what a cliché, but how true in this case—her life had changed. It was all so confusing; her fragmented brain whirled with questions. But an answer, barely thought out, misshapen but insistent, was boring into her brain.

Rob has another daughter somewhere. A daughter who’s the image of ours …

About the Authors:

Carolyn Re worked for over twenty years as a general practitioner before turning to writing. No longer needing to produce serious medical and scientific articles, she’s now writing contemporary fiction for older women. Carolyn lives in the regional city of Albury, New South Wales, with Ziggy the whippet and three contented chickens.

Twitter | Website

Loretta Re is a former lawyer who is now writing novels and screenplays. Her book for middle grade readers, Stand Up and Cheer, is a story inspired by the rescue of the Uiver DC2 over Albury during the 1934 Centenary Air Race. It was voted one of the best books for literacy and language development in 2015. Loretta lives in Sydney and is on the board of Writing NSW.

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Why I Wrote a Non-Fiction Book About Having a Fairytale Life by Branden LaNette – Guest Blog and Giveaway

January 17, 2020 By 8 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Branden LaNette will be awarding a $50 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Why I Wrote a Non-Fiction Book About Having a Fairytale Life

Once Upon a Time, Bitches came to me easily and it encompassed everything that was me. As for the title, “Once upon a time” is for the fairytale daydreamer in me. “Bitches” is my term of endearment for all of the queens out there who don’t fit the cookie cutter ideology of what a princess is. I needed it to scream possibilities without the bs. This book is proof that dreams come true if you put in the work and keep showing up no matter how many times you want to quit.

I used to dream and wish for things. For success, for money, for love. I thought all my answers would be found in a prince. He would have the money, he would love me, he would make my life easier, and success would just rain upon me and I would live in a castle forever and ever.

It hit me one day, I couldn’t keep wishing. I was going to have to do something. I was going to have to save myself. Not just in one area of my life, but in all areas. Not just for one day, but for forever. I laughed because once upon a time I had to face the truth…. those words stuck out to me and I felt incredibly compelled to share that truth with other people that may be out there just wishing or waiting for things to happen. What if there were women like me thinking that someone was going to come rescue them, and that if it didn’t happen that they just weren’t worthy? Who is settling because that fairytale life didn’t just “happen” to them?

There is no key character when it comes to my book, other than you. This is about you owning and taking responsibility for your life and then doing something to change it if you’re not happy. If you’re not joyful and content, this is your truth to discover.

I wrote this for adults, but a lot of moms with teenagers have expressed their children’s love for it. A little language never killed anyone, but it has made me feel like I probably need to release a book for teenagers, with maybe one less F bombs! If they could skip through the years of bs I endured. Their life would get an incredible jumpstart on what it is to be happy and not give a f what anyone says or thinks.

I am a wife, and a mom to six kids. I thrive on dreaming big ridiculous dreams, and I love spending time in a quiet room by myself. I’m a walking paradox. Since grade school, teachers have put whispers in my ear about a natural talent I had for writing. I am my happiest when I am creating something with words on paper. I’m incredibly proud of the work and honored that so many people have given it a chance and loved it. I’m even more proud that my publishers got a little reassurance that they didn’t make a mistake taking a chance with me.

That’s Branden on the cover. Yes, she has a boy’s name, a Mom bod, and her tattoos are not photoshopped. She doesn’t look like your typical author and she sure doesn’t look like the next self-help Instagram sweetheart.

However, besides being a wife, mom to six kids (plus others with fur), coach and business owner, Branden is the author of the new book, Once Upon a Time, Bitches. It’s a fast paced, in your face, expletive laced, nothing held back message to women everywhere: There is no magic fairytale, but if YOU work at it enough you can come pretty close to creating your version with a happily ever after.

But first, no more whining and no more damsel locked in a tower, bullsh*t. Is it possible to design a fairytale life? Control your destiny? Be the hero in your story? Branden thinks there is and she wants to help you.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Ever since I was 8 years old, I dreamed of an easy life. The problem with my dream? I expected that fairytale life to be handed to me. And when it wasn’t, I decided that fairytales were bullsh*t. Not that you can’t have a fairytale life—you can. What I understand now, however, is that to get a fairytale life, you’d better be willing to work your Cinderella-ass off for it.

Still, I held on to the fantasy of having an easy life handed to me. I wanted to be saved. To be specific, I thought I needed a guy to be my hero. So I went about trying to find one.

I dated a lot of guys. Lots of guys.

But as they came and went, I always ended up disappointed. Not a single one of them ever made my life easier. Things weren’t going the way I’d planned. WTF? Hadn’t anyone read the f-ing script? It was right there on page 43:
“Tall handsome guy with tight ass, great pecs and a 124-foot yacht named “Sh*tload of Cash” enters stage-left and sweeps Branden off her feet, and they sail off to Barbados.”

Even in my adult years, I would find myself just wishing—not just for prince charming to appear (which he eventually did in the form of my husband, minus the yacht and gobs of cash) but wishing for things in every area of my life. Even today, in my writing/coaching career, I find myself drifting into wish-mode: Why isn’t this easier? Why can’t things just take off and grow overnight? Is it always going to be this hard?

And when it comes to parenting, it’s the same thing. Why can’t parenting just be easy? And in my marriage, too: Why do I have to keep asking for things? Can’t my husband just read my f-ing mind?

One day I—still 8 years old—had the most terror-filled realization in a simple yet profound truth:
No one is coming to save you.
F**k. No one is coming to rescue me. Ever?

My heart broke. More like shattered. Yet, after taking some time to mentally digest this fact, I found this realization liberating somehow. Why was this liberating? Because it meant I could stop waiting for something outside myself for my salvation.

It put me in control. Newsflash, bitches: No one is coming to save you, either. Get it? No. One. Is. Coming. You’re going to have to save yourself.

About the Author: Branden LaNette doesn’t look like a typical author but she has long ignored what she “should” do, say and look like. On her own at a very young age, Branden eventually found herself with the wrong guy, the wrong job, and a bleak future. The fairytale she was promised as a child never materialized.

Finally, Branden decided that she wanted something different for her life, and realized no one was going to do it for her. Prince charming wasn’t coming to save her—she’d have to save herself.

Step by step, decision by decision, through major trials and tribulations that would stop most people in their tracks, Branden learned how to turn heartbreak into happiness and self-judgement into inner joy.

Today, Branden LaNette is an entrepreneur, coach, speaker, wife, and stay-at-home Mom to six C-section babies (ages 1-16) and way too many f-ing pets. Somehow, however, she manages to juggle all of this effortlessly (a blatant lie) while pushing her way through the kinds of fear and self-doubts that whisper within all of us (totally true) to achieve her goals. Her most recent dream come true is this book, one that is destined to have a major impact on millions of women across the globe (or at least nine people in Michigan.)

Through it all, she has found her happiness, her joy, and more importantly, her voice.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

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What Kind of Writer Am I? by Lanny Larcinese – Guest Blog and Giveaway

January 17, 2020 By 8 Comments


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Lanny Larcinese will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

What Kind of Writer Am I?
I identify first and foremost as a crime writer. Secondarily, I am a noir crime writer but with literary influences. Let me elaborate…

Noir scholars and purists will argue its definition. I listen to none of them. To me, noir is like the blues, a state of mind, a way of seeing the world and its people, and if you possess such a state of mind, as with blues, everything you do as an artist will have that tinge. That’s me all day.

But tinge of what? This: A view of people constantly in a state of struggle to sustain their better angels against natural survival instincts like tribalism, greed, lust, and other deadly sins. Sometimes they prevail in the struggle, often not, and when not, to greater or lesser degrees. All my stories reflect characters in the throes of such a struggle. They could be the good guys and/or the bad guys. The provenance of my stories always begins with such a character, as in my book, Death in the Family.

Donny Lentini is nice, talented, but has an unfulfilled need that screams in his head and heart for redemption. Then, I created plot events to put him under stress, then more stress, then more, and watched as he first flounders, then get his head together and at the climax, we find out if he comes out whole or not. Conventional noir characters often know what they are after is wrong, but they go for it anyway. My characters are not that craven. My characters want to do the right thing, but fate or circumstances won’t let them.

As for literary, I’m mindful of this description of literary writing: Not much happens but a lot goes on. Literary mavens, people partial to lit-tra-toor, will say they like the quality of the writing. I get that. Also, the description is fit—a lot of inner landscape stuff, morality tales, subtle shifts in perception, fulfillment through insight. I joke about it, but truth be known, much of it is also in my stories.

But I am a crime writer, crime/crime, by which I mean not procedural, not P.I., not cozy, not thriller, not any other permutation of the genre now on shelves or soon to be there. That means there will be a few homicides, some bad guys and others downright despicable, things blown up or set ablaze…you know, stuff on the six o’clock news. There will also be a mystery chased by my (anti)hero, not only whodunit but whydunit.

As I do this, as I write, this is where the literary comes in: I love language. I am Italian. We invented opera. It’s a high bar and why I am given to the occasional serpentine sentence written as much for musicality as density of information. But only occasionally. After all, the beautiful aria is made more so by its infrequency. I could break such sentences down Hemmingwayesque, but won’t. Clarity and punch is good, but ain’t opera. In my lexicon, both are possible.

So what kind of writer am I? I am a genre writer, a crime writer with a noir outlook but don’t always write in hard-boiled style. I prefer a graceful style, or as close to that as I can get without sacrificing clarity. This is why I don’t join critique groups. Even editors, I need the support of people who get what I am doing.

I will conclude with this wise and wonderful insight: “All stories have been told, different only in the manner by which they are told.”

Donny Lentini is a talented young man hungry for his mother’s love. To please her, he becomes guardian angel to his mob-wannabe father. When the father is murdered and found with his hands hacked off, Donny is dealt a set of cards in a game called vengeance. The pot is stacked high with chips; the ante, his soul and the lives of loved-ones. With the help of friends—ex-con, defrocked Jesuit Bill Conlon along with former high-school nemesis, Antwyne Claxton—he digs for whether the murder had anything to do with the mob’s lust for a real estate parcel owned by the family of Donny’s lover. He’s new at this game. He doesn’t cheat, but plays his cards well. And he gets what he wants.

Enjoy an Excerpt

There is a purity to poker, moments of truth untethered to motive or morals, moments philosophers never examine—clean moments, as when a Great White draws back its lips and embraces a neck in its four-inch serrated teeth—moments neither Dad nor German Kruger understood.

One by one I looked them in the eye. Everybody dropped except German who raised and called. I flipped my hole cards. “Three cowboys.” Moans from around the table.

I raked in the seven-hundred-dollar pot. Any day I stuck a pencil in German’s eye was a good day.

“What the fuck is it with you?” he said. “You win four, five pots every Friday.”

Dad kicked my shin under the table.

“I know what I’m doing,” I said, clacking chips from one hand to the other. The other guys pushed out their chairs. Dad kept a straight face. In the millisecond his eyes met mine they became beacons warning of dangerous shoals.

German’s pallor couldn’t compete against the crimson flush ringing his flabby neck. He pointed to my father. “You, Carlo, get your ass into my office. And you,” he said, pointing to me, “you need to hear this too.”

He had that same twisted look on his face, the one I first saw two years before when I took him for a thousand fazools over the Superbowl.

He collapsed into his huge leather chair.

The red on his neck and ears turned a deeper shade as if a chameleon lit onto a cranberry bog. “I’m talkin’ about how you let that fucking union get aholt of office cleaners before you brought ’em to us. You get a piece of that, Carlo? You doin’ shit on the side?”

About the Author: Lanny Larcinese ‘s short work has appeared in magazines and has won a handful of local prizes. He lives in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He’s a native mid-westerner transplanted to the City of Brotherly Love where he has been writing fiction for seven years. When not writing, he lets his daughter, Amanda, charm him out of his socks, and works at impressing Jackie, his long-time companion who keeps him honest and laughing—in addition to being his first-line writing critic. He also spends more time than he should on Facebook but feels suitably guilty for it.

Website
Buy the book at Amazon.

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Spring at the Little Duck Pond Café by Rosie Green – Spotlight and Giveaway

January 16, 2020 By 6 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Rosie Green will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Fleeing from a romance gone wrong, Ellie Farmer arrives in the pretty village of Sunnybrook, hoping for a brand new start that most definitely does not include love!

Following an unscheduled soak in the village duck pond, she meets Sylvia, who runs the Little Duck Pond Cafe. Renting the flat above the cafe seems like the answer to Ellie’s prayers. It’s only for six months, which will give her time to sort out her life, far away from cheating boyfriend Richard.

But is running away from your past ever really the answer?

Clashing with the mysterious and brooding Zak Chamberlain, an author with a bad case of writer’s block, is definitely not what Ellie needs right now. And then there’s Sylvia, who’s clinging so hard to her past, she’s in danger of losing the quaint but run-down cafe altogether.

Can Ellie find the answers she desperately needs in Sunnybrook? And will she be able to help save Sylvia’s Little Duck Pond Cafe from closure?

Enjoy an Excerpt

I have never climbed a tree in my life.

But I suppose there’s a first time for everything.

It’s a gaspingly cold mid-January morning with an ice-blue sky overhead – not exactly the ideal conditions in which to be lurking on the pavement outside a stranger’s house, nervously eyeing up the oak tree in their garden.

Camera gripped in my freezing hands, I stamp my feet and blow out misty breath as I psyche myself up to be bold. I’ve driven sixty miles from Newtown, where I live, to the pretty, chocolate-box village of Sunnybrook in Surrey – with the ultimate goal of climbing this very tree and taking photos of the view from up there.

The tree is almost exactly how I pictured it in my imagination – old and gnarled with broad, evenly-spaced branches. My eye homes in on one branch in particular. It reaches out to the left, a little over six feet from the ground; the perfect place to sit and gaze out over the village green and the duck pond. (As I knew it would be.)

Tears fill my eyes. But I’m smiling, too.

It’s all in a good cause.

Stop dithering and just do it!

When I push it open, the garden gate swings inwards without creaking and the windows remain blank. I drop my bag by the gate and head for the tree.

It’s amazing how fear can give you almost super-human powers. Under normal circumstances, I’d need someone to give me a bunk-up into this tree. But today, with adrenalin pumping through my system, I manage to swing myself up there with no problems at all . . .

About the Author:

Rosie has been scribbling stories ever since she was little.

Back then, they were rip-roaring adventure tales with a young heroine in perilous danger of falling off a cliff or being tied up by ‘the baddies’.

Thankfully, Rosie has moved on somewhat, and now much prefers to write romantic comedies that melt your heart and make you smile, with really not much perilous danger at all – unless you count the heroine losing her heart in love.

Spring at the Little Duck Pond Café is the first in Rosie’s brand new series of novellas centred around life in a village café. Each novella is a ‘stand-alone’ read.


Twitter ~ Amazon Author Page

The book is free on Amazon. The entire series can be read on Kindle Unlimited!

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Racing the Whirlwind by January Bain – Spotlight and Giveaway

January 13, 2020 By 9 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. January Bain will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Book three in the TETRAD Group series

Alysia has spent the last ten years avoiding relationships, but the night her life implodes, she meets Nick. Now all bets are off.

Haunted by her past, Alysia’s desperate for answers. She needs Nick and the group sworn to aid those unable to go to the law for help, because TETRAD will do what law enforcement cannot or will not—believe her when she says she knows who’s after her.

My name is Nick Wheeler and I’m with TETRAD, where I use my unusual skillset to best advantage. But what I didn’t expect is to become involved with a trauma nurse, or for it to become so deadly, with the stakes rising hour by hour.

I’m Alysia Rossini. One look at Nick Wheeler and I know he’s the one to help me forget the past. But is it fair to expose him to such danger? And will I live long enough for the chance to be with him?

Enjoy an Excerpt

Alysia Rossini peered through the windshield of her Dodge RAM at the weather, which was growing fouler by the second. Her hands were clamped so tight to the steering wheel that her knuckles ached. The painted lines delineating the watery pavement had long vanished. Desperate to keep the vehicle on the road, she leaned in closer to the dash, her clothes damp and clammy from the perspiration that trickled down her spine. She had the wipers cranked to their highest setting, yet they were unable to keep up with the deluge of sleeting rain lashing the thick glass in heavy gusts. Her stomach churned with worry and the terrible sense of foreboding disquiet that had crept in during the hour-long journey, fueled by her intense isolation.

The hazy, gray, uncaring Cascade Mountains stretched out for hundreds of kilometers in all directions, looking like a distant planet. Driving home alone made Alysia hesitant to pull over. It was just as easy to get rear-ended on this treacherous highway as not. And that vehicle following behind was stalking too damn close. The driver needed their fucking head examined.

A few more tense kilometers inched by, Alysia clenching her hands tight to the wheel and flicking her glance at the rear-view mirror every few seconds. Her reduced speed kept her from hydroplaning the four-wheel-drive truck but increased the length of time with the idiot on her tail.

Finally, the squall began to ease, the lights of the vehicle behind her becoming more than just two white eyes glaring through the mist. Rolling her head from side to side, she worked to loosen the tenseness of her shoulders. The harsh reality of her twenty-four-hour work day followed by a visit with her friend Kate flashed through her mind, bringing with it added sadness and desperation—and an even more acute sense of isolation.

She shook her head, trying to shake the memories free. Reliving a nightmare loop never solved a damn thing. What she needed most was a drink. Ease from the pain of the job and Kate’s devastating illness. Thank goodness it wasn’t far to the gas station. She sped up, pressing her foot down on the pedal. The lights of the forecourt beckoned just ahead, sanctuary in a storm.

Oh, God no. The SUV following too damn close fishtailed in her rear-view mirror. It swayed side to side in a macabre dance, jerking back and forth like an artful pickpocket escaping the hands of justice. In slow motion, Alysia took in the horror of the vehicle beginning its death roll. It spun out of control, end over end, then came to rest on the side of the highway, belching billows of smoke.

About the Author:

January Bain has wished on every falling star, every blown-out birthday candle, and every coin thrown in a fountain to be a storyteller. To share the tales of high adventure, mysteries, and full blown thrillers she has dreamed of all her life. The story you now have in your hands is the compilation of a lot of things manifesting itself for this special series. Hundreds of hours spent researching the unusual and the mundane have come together to create books that features strong women who live life to the fullest, wild adventures full of twists and unforeseen turns, and hot complicated men who aren’t afraid to take risks. She can only hope her stories will capture your imagination.

If you are looking for January Bain, you can find her hard at work every morning without fail in her office with her furry baby, Ling Ling. And, of course, she’s married to the most romantic man! Who once famously remarked to her inquiry about buying fresh flowers for their home every week, “Give me one good reason why not?” Leaving her speechless and knocking her head against the proverbial wall for being so darn foolish. She loves flowers.

If you wish to connect in the virtual world she is easily found on Facebook. Oh, and she loves to talk books…

Blog | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads
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