Ten of the Top Interesting Tidbits About Me… by Ann Crawford – Guest Blog and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Ann Crawford 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.

Ten of the top interesting tidbits about me…..

I’m fairly quiet and look like such a mild-manner author…of ten books…but still. If you can ever get me talking, though, I’ll be happy to tell you:

1. My husband—truly the love of my life—and I met on eHarmony…13 years ago.

2. I’ve been to all 50 states as well as 70+ countries – and counting. I’ve also lived in every continental time zone, in/near New York City, Boston, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Denver, and Topeka. Yes, one of these is not like the others.

3. I perform improv on a regular basis.

4. I can fly a plane and I actually aced the FAA (Fed Aviation Admin) exam, which has to be my most surprising feat because I’m not exactly known for being mechanical or technical.

5. I’m a scuba diver.

6. I’m an award-winning documentary filmmaker. I accompanied a group of veterans to Viet Nam and filmed them doing humanitarian work, going back to their Areas of Operation, and healing their wounds of war. That was definitely one of the biggest honors of my life.

7. More along the movie vein, I was an extra in a few films, including Sister Act with Whoopi Goldberg, plus I worked in talent management in LA for a bit.

8. My height is all in my legs, so if you meet me when I’m sitting down, you’ll be very surprised when I stand up…I’m 5’11. (Before we met, my husband wrote out a list of all the things he wanted in his wife, and one of them was “she’s between 5’10” and 6’ tall.” Uhhhhhhh…way to call me in!) Also, when people meet me after initially knowing me just online, they often say, “You look so much shorter in your Facebook picture!”

9. I’ve known, worked with, and interviewed some amazingly cool people, even including heads of state. Some names you might recognize are Peter Tork, Barbara Marx Hubbard (no relation to L. Ron), Jean Houston, and Thich Nhat Hanh.

10. My husband and I have this thing for the world’s fastest roller coasters.

I also want to add the main thing I learned from my heroine, Missy: look at this being-a-human thing as if with new eyes as often as possible to keep up the gratitude and appreciation for the big, the small, and even the Starbucks Caramel Macchiatos.

Love to laugh? You’ll enjoy this feel-good tale.

A starbeing skyrockets to Earth from the other side of forever with a specific assignment: to help steer humanity away from the collision course it’s on. But we all know how travel can get drastically diverted–instead of landing in Washington, D.C., where she could assist on a grand geopolitical scale, she ends up in…Kansas!

Wrong place, right time? Join our shero on this whimsical journey as she pursues her purpose as well as discovers the beauty of life and love on Earth.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Ohhhhhhhh—what a strange place this is! Loud noises, awful smells, strange beings looking at me.

The woman struggles to lift her hand just a few inches off the bed, clearly shocked to see it. Oh. Right. I’m one of those strange beings now.

She stares up at the group staring down at her.

This is odd. Do humans just stare at each other?

“Well, you’ve had a very, very long journey back here,” the doctor says.

You’re not kidding.

“We should give you some time,” the doctor continues.

When can I go back in the other direction?

“Don’t push her,” the doctor emphasizes to the other three humanoids. “Give her lots of time and space.”

Time and space. Oh, you have no idea.

“Where am I?”

The group, obviously ecstatic that she can talk but dismayed by her question, turns to the doctor.

“Missy, yer in a hospital room. You had a terrible accident a few months ago, and we thought we lost you at one point. But yer a tough survivor and fought yer way back here.”

That’s truer than you know.

“Perhaps we should just let her sleep some more,” the doctor tells them. “That’s when most of the body’s healing takes place.” She ushers them out of the room. “Amnesia can be a strange, strange thing,” the doctor starts to say. “The brain—” But she shuts the door and the voices are muffled.

Ohhhhhhh, I have a feeling I’m not in the Andromeda galaxy anymore.

About the Author: I’m a fun-loving, world-traveling, high-flying, deep-diving, and living-to-the-max author of eight books. When I’m not flying planes, scuba diving, climbing every mountain (on the back of my husband’s motorcycle) or riding the world’s fastest roller coasters, you can find me in my writing nest with a view of Colorado’s Rocky Mountains out the window. I’ve lived all over–from both oceans white with foam, to the prairie, and now to the mountain. Yes, a little backwards, but what the hey.

My bestselling and award-winning novels go as high and deep as I do—they’re profound yet funny; playful although poignant; heart-opening and heart-lifting; thought-provoking and inspiring; and edgy while universal. I’m also a screenwriter and award-winning filmmaker and humanitarian.

Amazon Author Page | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest | LinkedIn | Goodreads

Buy the book at Amazon for only $0.99.

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Ten Things People Don’t Know About Natalie Johanson – Guest Blog and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Natalie Johanson will be awarding a signed physical copy of book (US only) to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Ten things people don’t know about me

1—I’m allergic to cats but I have two. They’re long haired Blue Russians (Nebelung for those that are pedantic) We adopted them from a rescue and are litter brothers. They’ve never been apart from each other and they are absolutely adorable. I joke that they identify as dogs because they act like lap dogs and follow us around the house.

2—I live in the state known for the greatest snow on Earth but I can’t stand snow. It’s cold and wet and unless it’s in the mountains looking pretty, I can’t stand it.

3—I love reading and writing fanfic. I think it’s a great exploration of creativity. I know a lot of authors think fanfic is an infringement on copyright but I think it shows my story touched other enough to make them want to write.

4—I love tattoos and have three. My first tattoo was an English dragon chasing a person. I want to get more and have plans to get a Selkie on my leg next to my Siren.

5—I have an eclectic music taste and can listen to classic Mozart and Beethoven mixed in with Five Finger Death Punch, Meatloaf, Abba, and Sheppard. It makes no sense. I don’t understand it.

6—I love the reboot of Battlestar Galactica and have a huge lady crush on Mary McDonnell.

7—I’m a detective and love it.

8—I’m a ridiculous tea snob and will spend obscene amounts of money on really good black tea.

9—I will never answer the question: who would I like to see play my main character. I think one of the things that makes reading so much better than movies is your ability to make the character who you need/want them to be. You can identify with different parts of the character or envision them as whoever you want. If I say I want so-and-so to play the heroine, I might take away someone’s ability to identify with them. I don’t want to do that. I want Rose to be who you want her to be.

10—I love random history facts. If you ever have any…share them with me! I will legitimately appreciate them.

Rose Trewin is on the run. Pursued by memories of her father, she runs from city to city, seeking normalcy. But Rose can’t escape her past, or the magic running through her veins, the magic that allows her to slip through the shadows unnoticed. The magic her father once used to mold her into a mercenary sent to destroy his enemies.

Now her magic is growing and changing, becoming something new and untamable. Rose is unable to rest. Wolves wrapped in fog follow her relentlessly along the countryside. Desperate, she uses her magic to escape, but the shadows are pushing her towards the center of a
conspiracy.

Now, her country teeters on the brink of a civil war as a Lord Governor gathers power against the king. An enemy, with magic similar to her own, emerges in the chaos of political intrigue. Faced with a country at war and a king brought to his knees, Rose must accept who she is and harness her powers in order to save her country and herself.

Enjoy an Excerpt

With the dagger in her bodice, she slipped into the hallway, peering through the shadows in each room as she passed it. It was an easy enough trick, looking through the shadows as though they were nothing more than windows.

She found him back in his room, bent over at the short table in the corner. The soft glow from an oil lamp distorted any more details. Rose looked up and down the hallway, saw no one else, and stepped into the shadow casted by the still lit candles. She fell into the darkness, became part of it, and was in Gavin’s room. She didn’t know how it worked, where the magic came from, or why she could use it when no one else apparently could.

When she’d still attended the lectures at the small schoolhouse in town, before her father made her work, she was told there were different planes of the world. The gods lived in one, the world in another. Rose often wondered if the shadows were another plane, and that was what she was touching.

It scared her back then. It scared her still. Maybe if she wasn’t afraid of it, she’d know what she could truly do with it. Rose had never pressed herself with her magic. Never challenged herself.

She drew her small knife as she moved closer. She paused in the shadows, the cool mist that always seem to be present ghosting over her skin. This would be difficult. His back was straight and rigid. Even through the loose sleeves of his shirt, long lines of muscle were visible. She had one shot, one try for this to be easy and finished. Good thing I’ve had practice. Rose moved closer in the light shadow.

About the Author:Natalie Johanson grew up and lives in the valley of Salt Lake City surrounded by the beautiful Rocky Mountains. Her days are spent trying to herd her two cats, Holmes and Watson. Natalie’s summers are spent camping with her fiancée or doing obstacle races with her best friend. She usually spends her winters hiding from the snow. This is the first of what will hopefully become a trilogy, but sometimes the characters do what they want.

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Vivi’s Leading Man by Emily Mims – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Emily will be awarding two prizes each containing ebooks Mist and Smoke, the first two books in the Smoky Blues series, to randomly drawn winners via Rafflecopter. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

 

EXES AND OHS

The marriage was one of convenience. She had status and he had money. But… there was something there, and both of them felt it. After three years of him working long hours and her spending too much time at the Durango Street Theatre, Miguel Abonce and Vivienne Heiser called it quits. One year later, they are forced to work together to save or sell the theater. In the process they discover things they never knew about each other and they learn there’s more between them than burning up the sheets. They might really love each other after all.

Enjoy an Excerpt

For a moment, he looked like she’d shot him through the heart with a sawed-off shotgun. Then he straightened. “You don’t love me, either, Vivi. Marriage is like any other business arrangement. It’s all about assets, querida. Who is bringing what to the table.”

“You know what? I just lost the thing in this life that I love with all my heart and you’re standing here giving me a Wharton Business School lecture. I don’t want a business deal. I want a husband I love who loves me back. I deserve that much out of life and I’m going to get it.” She pulled the ring off her finger and pushed it into his hand.

He turned away and walked to his car. Her hands trembled as she beeped open her car. She heard him pull out of the parking lot as she slid into her seat. As she started the engine and got the air conditioner going, fat, sloppy tears ran down her cheeks.

About the Author:

The author of over thirty romance novels, Emily Mims combined her writing career with a career in public education until leaving the classroom to write full time. The mother of two sons, she and her husband split their time between central Texas, eastern Tennessee, and Georgia visiting their kids and grandchildren. For relaxation Emily plays the piano, organ, dulcimer, and ukulele for two different performing groups, and even sings a little. She says, “I love to write romances because I believe in them. Romance happened to me and it can happen to any woman—if she’ll just let it.”

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Amazon Author Page
Buy the book at Boroughs Publishing

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My Writing Quirk by Laura Boon – Guest Blog and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Laura Boon will be awarding a $50 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.

My Writing Quirk
You know about plotters and pantsers, right? Plotters plot out their novels in detail before they begin writing. Pantsers dive right in, flying by the seat of their pants and figuring things out along the way.

I am a plotser. I am mostly a character-driven pantser; my characters are all extremely strong-willed with minds of their own and determined to chart their own destinies. Mostly I just follow them around taking notes. However, I like to have the sketchiest of outlines to refer to in case we get lost. I seem to spend more time changing my outline than following it.

My characters and their location come first. Then I require an outline to plot out the action of the story. I handwrite my outline in table format broken down by chapter. It has to fit on one page so I can see it all at once as I don’t want to be paging backward and forward trying to figure out what’s going on. Given the contrariness of my characters, I can easily re-do the outline five times. At least.

The easiest way to help you understand this weird quirk of mine is to show you an example.

The image Plotser 1 shows my first outline for Lion Dancing for Love, a novella. If you look at the table on the right-hand page, my table is five rows long and four columns deep. Each square has a number in the top left corner to indicate the chapter. In the top right corner, you will see a scribble that says Ca/Co or Co/Ca indicating point of view. I decided to give both my heroine and hero a voice in each chapter, so Ca/Co equals Caitlin first and then Corey whereas Co/Ca indicates the reverse. Each square contains a few scribbled key words indicating what is going to happen in that chapter. You will note the detail trails off significantly toward the end!

In Plotser 1, chapter 7 is renamed chapter 9, and I have a line indicating the new contents of chapters 7 and 8 on the left-hand page. As you can see, the outline is a living, breathing work in progress. Ticks indicate completed chapters. Crossings out indicate abandoned ideas. The brief from my publisher was for a novella, and I started out with far too many ideas for 40,000 words.

Plotser 2 is a revised outline. It’s much tidier as everything started coming together. However, if I was the kind of person who crossed all my Ts and dotted all my Is, I would have done another draft. You can see chapters sixteen to twenty-one are covered in corrections. I honestly can’t remember what I mean by a “swing” declaration and chapter twenty-one definitely takes place the morning after the ball as opposed to the evening of. Working in pencil is freeing as nothing feels set in stone.

It’s a crazy method, but it works for me. Corey and Caitlin finally made it all the way to their HEA to have their story published as Lion Dancing for Love.

Do you write? Are you a plotter, pantser or a plotser?

Licking her wounds after a bad relationship, San Diego accountant Caitlyn Summers travels to Willow Springs to help her friend gear up for the annual Maple Sugar Ball. She isn’t planning on staying long, but one encounter with the delicious Corey Duncan has her re-evaluating her plans.

Corey swore off love when his wife Annie died from breast cancer. Caitlyn is too young, too citified, and vibrates with a passion and energy that will upend the safe, comfortable rhythm of his life. Corey has to choose between playing it safe and taking a risk on love. Caitlyn needs to find the patience to let Corey lead. If not, the Maple Sugar Ball might end in a sticky mess, instead of a slow dance with the man who has captured her heart.

Will their fire burn hot enough to erase doubts and past hurts?

Enjoy an excerpt

She walked across to Corey, tucking her hair behind her right ear, unexpectedly shy at his acknowledgement. She squared her shoulders. “Hi.”

“Hey.” He stood and pulled out a chair for her, a half-smile playing on his lips. “You and I can’t avoid each other.”

She shrugged. “It’s a small town. Although you’ve looked awfully busy.” Too busy to say hello was her unspoken message. She’d let him know she was interested, and he had ignored her ever since.

“Yeah.”

Her drink arrived, and they fell silent while the waitress fussed with a coaster and peanuts.

He rubbed his hand against his chin and gazed directly into her eyes. “I’ve been a bit preoccupied, mostly with you.”

“Me?” She choked on a swig of champagne and coughed as the bubbles went down the wrong way.

He grabbed her glass and set it down before patting her on the back.

“I’m fine,” she gasped.

“Sorry. I take it that was my fault for surprising the heck out of you.”

“Yep.”

“Why? You’re the one who kissed me.”

And why wouldn’t she when he looked so delectable? She was tempted to kiss him again, rub out the mischievous twitch to his lips. Instead she retorted, “And you’re the one who didn’t kiss me back.”

About the Author:

Laura Boon stole her first romance from her father’s bookshelves as a teenager, The Flame and the Flower by Kathleen Woodiwiss, and was immediately captivated. After holding a variety of positions in publishing, from bookseller to sales rep and publicist, she eventually found the courage to write her own stories. She was born in Zambia, grew up in South Africa, and went to university in America. She now lives in Australia with her husband and their adorable dogs Beau and Arro. When she is not reading or writing, she enjoys sleuthing for artisan chocolate and beautiful stationery, watching tennis, and walking alongside Sydney’s beautiful harbor.

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Buy the book at Amazon US, Amazon UK, Amazon AUS, The Wild Rose Press, iBooks, Kobo, or Google Play.

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Racing Peril by January Bain – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. January Bain 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.

Revenge. Greed. Murder. And an insatiable passion…

Silk O’Connor resolves to take justice into her own hands on the steps of an LA courthouse. The scumbag who killed her sister is holding a press conference, set free by a corrupt justice system bought off by his rich father. Inconceivable. There is no way she will just let him walk away.

Jake Marshall is a decorated war hero on leave, filling in for a friend at Sterling Security—and protecting the very man who used his car as a weapon and murdered Silk’s only family. The war has left him with PTSD, fighting to salvage his own sanity, and a sniper is the last thing he needs.

The two clash when Jake finds Silk preparing to mete out her own frontier-style brand of justice from the courthouse roof…and the adrenaline-fueled high-stakes world of sex trafficking it ensnares the pair in tests them to their absolute limit.

And when Silk enters this den of depravity, she knows only one thing for certain, she may never come out alive.

What others are saying about Racing Peril.

From the editor, Rebecca Fairfax: “I love the unique ‘Januaryness’ January Bain brings to her writing. It’s a blend of her immense imagination, her fully rounded characters, her well-researched stories, the fast pace she tells them at and it’s all wrapped up in her love for what she does and sprinkled right through with her Canadianism. You can’t go wrong with one of her books, whether it’s the fun, sexy romps of her Brass Ringers series or the high-octane blast of this romantic suspense series. Just read Racing Peril and you’ll be rushing for book two, Racing the Tide!”

Dear Reader,

January Bain is an extraordinary author who has great talent in capturing the story and creating memorable characters. Romantic suspense is not easy to write. You must create characters who are vibrant and electric, make sure neither the romance nor the suspense overshadow each other, and craft a story that keeps the reader on edge from beginning to end. January Bain has done just that with RACING PERIL. It is one of my personal favorites and I know it will be one of yours, too. Thank you, January, for writing such an excellent story. This is a real treat for readers. I hope there are more like this to follow. – Desiree Holt, USA Today and Amazon bestselling author

Enjoy an Excerpt:

The seconds ticked by while Silk O’Connor peered through the scope of the .300 Winchester Magnum. It wasn’t her usual choice of weapon. She preferred something a little more up close and personal in her job as a PI.

“Murderer!”

“Justice for Ashley!”

It was time. The news conference was starting. She shifted from her prone position and stretched out farther on her stomach, moving her body slightly forward.

She’d held the stance for the past hour with the rifle braced on bipod legs, situated 860 yards from the Los Angeles Superior Court, Stanley Mosk Courthouse Grant Street entrance with its distinctive terra cotta figures. They had been designed to represent the Foundations of the Law, the Magna Carta, English Common Law, and the Declaration of Independence, but today the classically robed men of honor standing so nobly for justice might just might want to crawl down off that façade if they knew how it had been bought and paid for in the courthouse beneath their feet. By an uber-corrupt rich man.

The people screaming from the sidewalk as the asshole was hustled out of the entrance were right. The shit-bag was scum. He was evil incarnate, hiding his murdering proclivities for partying and driving drunk under a handsome mug that made her want to puke. She spat out her now tasteless gum onto the flat tarred roof softened by the harsh L.A. sunshine, the air percolating with the oily fumes.

She squinted through the scope. Her vantage point, reconnoitered weeks ago, gave an unobstructed view of the press conference. She was primed to catch the exact right split second. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she’d neglected to eat that day. Later. Do the job first. But even her well-trained mind could not help reliving the crime that had led to this exact juncture. The images stalked her, day and night, the ghosts demanding justice for their murder at the hands of a psychopath who had no qualms taking chances with another person’s life, driving drunk one time too many.

About the Author:

I think I’ve wished on every falling star, every blown-out birthday candle, and every coin thrown in a fountain to be a storyteller. And I know where it all began! I was blessed by being read to by my mom every night at bedtime. 🙂
I love spending hundreds of hours researching the unusual and the mundane to create books that feature strong, kickass women, hot complicated men who aren’t afraid to take risks, and wild adventures full of twists and turns.

You can find me hard at work every morning without fail in my office with a furry baby trying to prove she does a better job of guarding the universe than anyone.

I enjoy talking books, so please connect on Facebook!

Facebook | Totally Bound Author Page

Buy the book at Amazon or Barnes and Noble

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Dukes by the Dozen by Eileen Dreyer and other authors – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Enter the Rafflecopter for a chance to win a $25 Amazon/BN GC.

What’s better than a dashing duke? A dozen of them! In this case, a baker’s dozen–thirteen of your favorite historical romance authors have
come together to bring you more than a dozen tantalizing novellas, with one per month, for a year’s worth of never-before-released romances.

Duke in Winter by Alyssa Alexander
February – The Difference One Duke Makes by Elizabeth Essex
March – Discovering the Duke by Madeline Martin

April – The Duke and the April Flowers by Grace Burrowes
May – Love Letters from a Duke by Gina Conkle
June – Her Perfect Duke by Ella Quinn
July – How to Ditch a Duke by May McGoldrick
August – To Tempt A Highland Duke by Bronwen Evans
September – Duke in Search of a Duchess by Jennifer Ashley
October – Dear Duke by Anna Harrington
November – Must Love Duke by Heather Snow
December – The Mistletoe Duke by Sabrina York
January – Dueling with the Duke by Eileen Dreyer

Enjoy an Excerpt from The Difference One Duke Makes by Elizabeth Essex

***The last thing Commander Marcus Beecham ever wanted was his late brother’s dukedom. But after ten years of dodging French cannonballs, he now faces a tougher enemy‚ the Ton’s matchmaking mamas. So he hides himself away in a library where he hopes to find some peace and quiet, but instead of solitude, he finds his fate.***

Across the room, a tiny, dark-haired young woman in claret-colored velvet was attempting to shove a large chest of drawers across the door.

Marcus had to ask, even though he could plainly see the answer. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The young lady in question let out an oath so old, so Anglo-Saxon and so familiar that Marcus feared he must have misheard her, for he had never heard it uttered anywhere but between the decks of a ship. But then she added, “Oh, good Lord. Beech? Is that you behind that beard?”

Everything within him eased. “It is.” Only one female of his acquaintance had ever called him Beech—Miss Penelope Pease. And Marcus, in his oh-so-tedious and unimaginative youth, had called her, “Pease Porridge?”

“Dear Beech!” She came forward with her hand extended, all astonished happiness. “What an unexpected pleasure! If you aren’t a welcome sight for sore eyes.”

And here he had been thinking that he was a sore sight for her welcome blue eyes. Devil take him, but she had grown into a beautiful young woman, whose hand he gladly took. He felt the warmth of her grasp all the way from his fingertips to places better left unmentioned. “Why Pease Porridge Hot—how is it possible you are no longer ten and three years old?”

Her mischievous smile lit up her heart-shaped face. “More like Pease Porridge Cold these days, my friend. And you are no longer the gangly lad of our gloriously mis-spent youth, either. Gracious, but you’re a long drink of water.”

Marcus felt his mouth curve into his first real smile in days. “Well, the passing decade has clearly not dimmed your hoydenish tendencies one bit.”

“It’s not as if I haven’t tried, but—” Behind her, the door latch rattled, and she sprang into action, lowering her voice to an urgent whisper. “Help me!” She motioned for him to join her as she laid a determined shoulder to the chest of drawers.

“I don’t think I should.” Even he knew barricading them in alone was definitely not the done thing.

“I’ll explain if you’ll only help,” she promised. “You’re supposed to be a bloody hero, Beech. Come act like one.”

“My dear Pease Porridge,” he murmured. “Whatever have you been doing with yourself these many years?” His question went unanswered while he snugged in beside her—minful not to spill his drink—to shove the heavy piece of furniture the necessary remaining inches to bar the door.

“Thank you.” She smiled up at him and patted his lapel in an absent gesture of casual intimacy that nearly rocked him back on his heels. “Good Lord, Beech, you smell divine. What are you drinking?” She swiped the snifter of brandy from his hand and took a hearty sip. “Mmm. Thanks.” She kept possession of the glass as she all but flung herself into the other armchair opposite the hearth. “I’m meant to be good and stay well clear of trouble, but to do so I’m in need of some fortification. You?”

“As you see.” Marcus decided he rather liked the offhand, ordinary way she treated him, much like his brother officers had—as if there were nothing wrong with him.

He fetched himself another drink. “Well clear of trouble? But wasn’t there some stupid talk of you marrying my late, unlamented brother?”

She nearly choked on the brandy, but when she recovered her aplomb, she shot him what he could only describe as a sharp, cutty-eyed glance. “Dear Beech, you have been away.”

“Aye.” He distinctly remembered his mother had written about an engagement between Pease Porridge and his older brother Caius, if only because the news had given him such an awful, riveting pang that had stayed with him, lodged deep in his chest like a broken rib.

“There was talk, but it was quickly dismissed.”

And just like that, the pain was healed, and he could breathe again. “Glad to hear it.”

“Ha!” she scoffed. “You’d be the first of your family to feel so.”

Something in her tone told Marcus he was clearly not in possession of all the facts. “Enlighten me, Pease Porridge.”

She laughed, but by the time she answered, the twinkling warmth in her eyes had hardened into studied nonchalance. “Did no one write to tell you all the gory details? That I made the unforgivable mistake of daring to decline the engagement that was so thoughtfully and hastily arranged for the Duke of Warwick and me? That I refused to marry your brother, and was that instant and forevermore declared entirely unsuitable?”

The flush of satisfaction—she had refused Caius!—quickly burned itself out. Such childish triumph was beneath him with his brother cold in his grave. Still. “Unsuitable for being smart enough to say no to my blaggard of a brother?” Such a choice only raised her up in his estimation. “Hardly.”

“Kind Beech. You have been away a very long time, haven’t you?” Penelope Pease took another deep drink, before she met his eye. “It’s like this, Beech. I’m ruined, you see. Utterly and completely ruined.”

About the Author:

New York Times Bestselling, award-winning author Eileen Dreyer has published 40 novels and 10 short stories under her name and that of her evil twin, Kathleen Korbel in contemporary romance, paranormal romance, historical romance, romantic suspense, mystery and medical forensic suspense. A proud member of RWA’s Hall of FAME, she also has numerous awards from RT BookLovers and an Anthony nomination for mystery. She is now focusing on what she calls historic romantic adventure in her DRAKE’S RAKES series. A native of St. Louis, she still lives there with her family. She has animals but refuses to subject them to the limelight.

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Balancing Life and Writing with Travis Haugen – Guest Post and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. One randomly chosen winner via rafflecopter will win a $30 Amazon/BN.com gift card. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

How does Travis Haugen balance life and writing?

That is a great question. I am one of those who do not think about life/work balance. Mostly, situations present themselves and I go with the situation.

I started playing in bands at an early age, about 14, traveling around to small towns near my home town in southern Saskatchewan. Then, in my late teens, I traveled with various bands throughout US and Canada. I began writing songs somewhere around then, becoming immersed in the music world as I did so. I became curious about what happens behind the song, behind the bass, so I learned much of the technical aspect of recording while I continued to tour. There was no question of balancing life with work, music was my work, and my life.

Later in life, I drifted into consulting part time as a computer technologist. In early 2001, I sat down and like many other days, I wrote a song. However, on that day I kept writing, only it wasn’t a song, it was the beginnings of a book, which turned into a series of books. It was as if I had all these thoughts and experiences that I had to get on paper, without really knowing why. At no point in my life did I plan on being an author, it simply presented itself to me, and I ran with it, and I haven’t stopped since. I did shelve the project for a while when I moved to Winnipeg in 2002. A new house, a new job, a new city; life got busy. So yes, I guess it was a matter of balance at that time, but I did not think of it as such. There just wasn’t time. But I never stopped thinking about the books, and I always had a guitar in my hand, when I had a moment to do so.

Life changes as it does, and about five years ago, I found myself living in the basement of Bedside (Recording) Studios in Winnipeg. I pulled the box of manuscripts down from a shelf, blew off the dust, and dove in. As I edited, I started writing songs to fit situations in each book. After work, I would spend time in the studio laying down tracks for those songs. I continued to work, play in various bands, write my songs, and write more books.

Then, fate tipped her hand again. About two years ago, my niece, Candy Haugen and I re-connected after years of little or no contact. Candy’s ordeal with colon cancer, and the passing of my mom, Candy’s gramma, were the forces that worked to draw us together. And through that connection, Candy became connected to the One song Project, and the book Soup. In fact, Candy’s involvement led to the book being published. Without her, that would not have happened. She went from helping with the editing to advising on artwork to co-writing the last seven songs from Soup with me. Her influence changed me, which changed the book, both to the good. Now, she is as important to the project as I am, maybe more so, because I wanted to start book four of the series, wile she wanted me to focus on finishing Soup, and getting the book out there in people’s hands. That would not have happened without Candy

In September, I plan on retiring (or at least cutting back) from computer consulting, and with Candy’s help, focus my time on getting the second book of the series published. We will also get the fourth book on paper, finish the songs, and continue the story of the Yonge family as they move through the years. The first book I wrote started from one song. That song came out of loneliness. Now, the series of events that led to my strong connection with Candy has led to a strong connection with the rest of the family, and I am the furthest from lonely as I’ve been in my life.

That first book, aptly titled One Song, may never get published, but it will remain special to me, as that is where Scott, Michelle, Scheck, Duke and many of the other characters came to life. And, like me, it was never a question of balance, it was simply, life. Sweet and beautiful, ever changing, ever precious, life.

Scott Yonge exploded onto the national consciousness at the 2001 Garrett Awards and quickly rose to legendary status on the wings of his music and his whirlwind romance with independent film actress Michelle Zoe. What should have been a perfect life was interrupted by an ultra-right wing militant group called the American Freedom Force and its leader, Colonel Randall, who forces Scott to choose between his life and that of his son. After his heroic sacrifice, his family is left to pick up the pieces and forge ahead to a future in the vacuum he left behind.

Now, in 2021, his son Hedley inherits music for himself, becoming a star in his own right as technology gives new life to the medium. Scott’s daughter, affectionately known as Soup, throws herself into unravelling the mysteries of her family’s history. Michelle commits herself to keeping them all together and trying to make sense of life without the one she loves. Through it all, the AFF looms in the shadows, threatening to resurrect the pain they have just begun to overcome.

Enjoy an excerpt:

The dream wakes him, the same one. Hedley’s whispered words “Bye birdies, bye” still ring in his ears as he achieves consciousness. Sound of a different source soon intrudes: that of music playing through the PA system. It’s late, he realizes, and jumps to his feet. He can feel more than hear the rustle of people filing into the arena, bringing with them a sense of tension that will build until show time, then burst like a stick dam before a raging river with the first note. It’s 7:10 PM; an hour and twenty to go. A shrill knock comes to the door, followed by Del’s voice.

“You in there, dude?”

“Si,” Scott replies. All the years of the road, sharing the stage, and the music are audible in Del’s simple words. They don’t have to speak to talk; they’re on the same wavelength.

The show, the focus is the show. Whatever lies with tomorrow lives with tomorrow; they live for tonight. “I need a shower, I stink. I’ll be along soon.”

“Cool, dude, don’t forget your pants.”

He hears cowboy booted footsteps receding on the concrete floor.

A new, unidentifiable tension floats to the surface as Scott showers, rising from the dark side. It has an ominous feel about it, winding like a creeping vine around Scott’s confidence, bringing with it a sense of fear, and worse, a sense of defeat. The wariness settles on him again, draining his energy and his will. He shivers uncontrollably as coldness sets in, and he wonders if he can go on. Then it occurs to him as he cranks the hot water that this is all part of it. The plan all along was to isolate him, weaken him bit by bit, reducing him to a shell of what he is. By show time, they would see Scott as the colonel wants them to see him, a weak and ineffective fool incapable of sustaining a mission of any substance. “You will not break me,” Scott whispers. He leans his head against the cool tiles of the shower stall. “I will not give you that.”

Travis was born and raised in the prairies of Saskatchewan, lived in Calgary for over 25 years and presently lives in Winnipeg, Manitoba.

Travis Haugen has spent forty years of his life touring on the road as a musician and has spent hundreds of hours in recording studios. Travis spends much of his time writing songs, writing stories, playing music and spending valuable time with his family and close group of friends.

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How I Handled Research by Rachel Clark — Guest Blog and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Rachel Clark will be awarding 1 signed paperback of the Blackfish Prophecy, 1 bookmark for The Blackfish Prophecy, 1 Orca-themed or book-themed mug to one randomly drawn US winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

How I handled the research for the book.

Well, the more accurate question in this case is, how did the research handle me?

The Blackfish Prophecy has its origins in dreams, dolphins, whales, and a career writing about human impact on the planet that supports us all. I grew up identifying as a writer, but in college fell in love with the study of Life. I graduated with a Biology degree and loved it so much, I went on for a Master’s degree in Zoology. During those years, I had the opportunity to work with captive dolphins and Beluga whales at the National Aquarium, then, only a few short weeks later, the joyful and overwhelming experience of encountering wild killer whales off the shores of Washington State.

These were formative experiences that simmered for years as I went on to combine my writing and biology experience into a career as a science and environment writer. The idea for The Blackfish Prophecy came to me years ago as a newly fledged science writer (and very shortly after encountering the magnificence of wild orca), but it wasn’t until I had a dream in the summer of 2012 that things changed. That dream – in which a matriarchal orca slid up onto a pebbly beach to deliver an experience of unity and joy to me and my sons – lead to my reading David Kirby’s landmark Death at SeaWorld, which triggered a cascade of characters, plot, and mystical experience of receiving what I can only call, a “download.” This inevitably led to my writing the first draft of the book within the next few months.

So, yes, I did a lot of “research” for this book, and the ones to come, but that was more by “chance” or “coincidence” than an active quest by me to “do research.” Then again, if you read The Blackfish Prophecy, you know there are no coincidences.

Or… maybe you already know. 

The short answer though is this:

I was open to following my heart. That is where magic lies shining, and where the world changes for good.

Best friends Terra and Tiluk live alongside the wild orcas of Washington State. On the other side of the continent, Miles wallows in anger and self-pity fueled by his parents’ divorce. In a moment of harrowing fate, their lives converge when Miles witnesses a captive orca brutally kill his trainer at a marine amusement park.

When Miles contacts Terra and her family of whale biologists to better understand the “killer” whale, the three teens soon realize they are more linked to each other – and the whales – than they ever imagined. Driven by a primal urge to connect with the highly-evolved consciousness of the orca, the teens take extraordinary risks to challenge big business and renew lost traditions.

Their journey is set to restore an ancient mystical bond between humans and whales that ultimately reveals The Blackfish Prophecy…a revelation about Terra – and those like her – that’s about to change everything.

Read an Excerpt:

He wasn’t sure whether the fence was supposed to keep people out of the swamp, or keep the swamp away from the people. The snakes were seriously getting out of control. You couldn’t live in Florida and not know about the yellow anacondas, Burmese pythons and boa constrictors. They were a huge problem since they’d been accidentally introduced. The snakes loved it here, and they didn’t have anybody to eat them, so they were pretty much everywhere. He’d heard rumors at school about snakes that had even eaten little kids. Sometimes he’d just come here and stare over the fence, peering from the concrete stronghold of their subdivision into the dank, vegetation choked, black‐watered quagmire. The swamp creeped him out but, at the same time, it pulled at him, beckoning somehow.

The sidewalk was much smoother than the pavement, and he rocketed past all the backyards, blipping from fence to fence at high speed. He veered into the swamp on the fenced walkway that linked the back edge of his massive development to the business district on the other side of the swamp.

There was trash everywhere in here; soda bottles, needles, plastic bags, broken glass. This pathway smelled even worse than plain old swamp; like exhaust and beer mixed with the smell of a dead body rotting in mud. He raced past a couple of sleeping old homeless guys on benches, relieved it was getting lighter outside. He never came here in the dark.

Once he hit the business district, everything clicked. I’m going to OceanLand. He hadn’t realized it until that very moment. He slowed for a fraction of a second, Seriously Frost? Umm, Duh! YES! It was only a couple of miles from their house, which was one reason their mom took them so often—she’d bought a family membership after the divorce. Broken family membership, more like. He whipped through the back parking lots of the Taco Bell, McDonald’s, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Wendy’s and Exxon. When he got to Wal‐Mart, he knew he was close. Slowing, he narrowed his eyes and scanned the OceanLand perimeter. First was the gigantic parking area, which is what people saw when they pulled in. It was so big you could plunk down a freaking small town on that lot with room to spare. Behind that was the park itself, which was enclosed by a huge 12‐foot‐tall solid wood fence that snaked back into thick vegetation. Miles’ gaze fell against the trees back there, and instinctively he pushed his board toward them. But this time his foot came down carefully, gently. He’d gone on high alert. He was pretty sure that OceanLand wouldn’t want people sneaking around back there, especially after that Harvey Mott guy managed to get himself killed. Not to mention Dusky yesterday. The hair on the back of Miles’ neck went up as he realized what he was about to do. He pressed his mouth tight in resolve. I am doing this.

About the Author:

Rachel is a writer and biologist. As a kid she got hooked on all things animal, vegetable, and mineral. To complicate matters, she was hatching up stories before she could hold a crayon. Once she discovered biology it was all over. Ever since her first class in 7th grade when she refused to dissect a frog, a little voice in her head said: You gotta share this amazing stuff about how nature works, and ask if we really need to harm it. The little voice only got fiercer once she went to college and worked with captive dolphins and Beluga whales, then got to see wild killer whales only a few weeks later. From then on it was an all-out quest to convey the wonders of nature, while pointing out the serious problems of our very bad habit of dominating others and the Earth. She’s been a card-carrying science writer for twenty years. The Blackfish Prophecy is Rachel’s first book.

These days when Rachel is not writing, reading, dreaming, or speaking, you can find her sculpting an unruly assortment of moose-pruned orchard trees & berry bushes, gathering veggies & eggs in her micro-farmyard, foraging for mushrooms, and feasting on local food with friends.

She is a lifelong yogini, devoted pack mate to her free-spirited Canid, and mama bear who’s sustained by treks deep into the Pacific Northwest with her increasingly feral family. Rachel drives a 100% electric zero-emission car, and her family’s home is powered by renewable energy. Their little house is nestled on an urban lot they tend for kids’ play, territory Animalia, sequestering carbon, and a food forest to augment the bounty of local growers.

Her work is fiercely aligned with the science of Life, harmony & justice for all: the enduring dream of Earth.

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Two Ways to Overcome Writer’s Block by Cristelle Comby – Guest Blog and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. One randomly chosen winner via rafflecopter will win a $50 Amazon/BN.com gift card. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Two Ways To Overcome Writer’s Block

As writers, our minds are filled with creativity and passion. We think about parts we can add to our story. We have awesome ideas to share on our blog. We can’t wait to sit down and write.

We want to always feel this enthusiasm but there’s one problem: inspiration doesn’t always strike. You will hit a block no matter how passionate you are. I don’t say this to be discouraging, becoming stuck happens to the best of us.

You have two options when you hit a block. The first option is to let the block bring you down. The second option is to view the situation as an opportunity to creatively work around the problem. In this post, we are going to explore the second option.

Writer’s block isn’t what people make it out to be. It’s really isn’t that bad! Trust me, once you sit down and begin to write, ideas will pop up left and right. You won’t even remember you had writer’s block in the first place.

In this post, I will share two tips to help wiggle you out of your creative rut.

Tip #1: Step Away

You may be frustrated, bored or tired. You need to allow your mind to breathe a bit. Go for a walk. Read a book. Take a nap. Do what calms you down and forget about writing for a moment. Take as much time as you need, you want to be fully recharged by the time you get back to your keyboard.

The mind has an amazing ability to quickly change moods. If you choose to remain frustrated, your creativity will be hindered. If you relax and clear your thoughts, you’ll find your mind has room for ideas again. Not the most sciency explanation, but it works! Be kind to yourself and avoid stress, your body and mind will thank you.

Tip #2: Close Everything But a Document and Timer

I’m sure you’ve heard about this before, but this tip is worth repeating over and over again. Why? Because it works like a charm. Close any app that has nothing to do with writing. Don’t leave a single app open. Procrastination will only strengthen your block. Now open your document and have a timer ready. Take a minute to commit to a set time. There are a couple of ways you can go about this.

Set a Timer For a Fixed Amount of Time

Set a time limit that you can commit to. Does an hour sound like too much? Set the timer for 30 minutes. Does 30 minutes sound like too much? Set it for 15. All that matters is you commit to a time. When this timer is active, you do nothing but write. Your writing can be about a story, what you had for lunch, or even the first thing that pops up in your head. It doesn’t matter what you write about. Keep writing until the timer stops.

At this point, you’ll find yourself wanting to write more. The more you write, the more engaged you become. Your ideas will come back to you. If not, take a break and repeat the process again.

Pomodoro Timer

You’ve probably heard of the Pomodoro technique. The idea is simple, your work block is 25 minutes long. Once you complete the work block, take a break for five to ten minutes. After the break, start the timer again. This works well for many people since 25 minutes is an easy commitment, and there’s a promised break at the end. Anybody can sit down for 25 minutes and write about what pops up in their head.

Writers find that this technique works fantastically when it comes to writer’s block. I encourage you to try it yourself. If you google ‘pomodoro timer’, you’ll find hundreds of results for a timer. Tomato Timer is a good start.

Conclusion

These two techniques can work as a dynamic duo to getting you out of your rut. I know it feels like you’re forcing yourself to write, but sometimes it’s necessary for getting your mind to tick. Sometimes your creative mind doesn’t want to move, so you have to push it a little to get the flow going. I hope you find these techniques as useful as I did. What are you waiting for? Set that timer and start writing!

After narrowly preventing the destruction of Cold City, PI Bellamy Vale needs a rest. Or rather, he needs a plain and simple vanilla case—no monsters or otherworldly creatures involved!

When foreign businessman Eli Smith shows up at his doorstep with a thick wallet and a request to find his missing sister, Vale doesn’t think twice before agreeing.

If he’d known body-hopping demons and smoke monsters came attached to this job, however, he might have.

Enjoy an Excerpt

The door slammed shut as something grabbed at me. And by “grabbed”, I mean “lifted me off the ground and rammed me into the nearest wall”.

The structure bent under the impact while a nightmare that would have fit in an old-school John Carpenter movie screamed at me. With my gas mask on, I never heard it coming.

Dazed, I glanced up and faced sharp, yellow-tainted teeth. They formed a circular pit of canines, ready to swallow my head whole. I pulled a knife from my boot and slashed the creep at the center of its mass. The fiend’s scream rose an octave as the cold steel struck home.

The creature dumped me back on the floor before dissipating into nothingness.

The attack sucked the air out of my lungs, and I spent the next few minutes coughing through the mask. I felt like kicking myself. I spent my first week here carving wards around the entire six-block area before going in for the first time. I should have known better than to cut one on this house’s front door and move on. I forgot the back door. That mistake left that damned poltergeist way too much room to attack.

The monster du jour was a ghost, an escapee from the realm of death—the Underworld, Hell, or whatever else you call the place people go to once they’re done with life. From what I knew, not everyone turns Casper in their afterlife. However, those who do become near-mindless creatures stuck in their own plane of existence. When they make it to our side of the border, they turn into full ectoplasmic savages.

The dead guy I stepped over near the open back doorway was proof enough of that. What was once an engineer working for the city now had his chest cavity cut down to the bone and his head severed from his body. Blood splatters all but drowned out the muted yellow of his shredded biohazard suit. Judging from the angle of what remained of his corpse, he was trying to flee the house when the poltergeist got him.

“Dammit,” I muttered as I tightened the straps on my gas mask. Whoever this engineer was, I was pretty sure he didn’t come in here alone, which meant I may have to explain what a six-foot PI in a surplus army jacket, a gas mask right out of the First World War and second-to-thirdhand leather gloves was doing in an area strictly reserved for city workers and engineers.

About the Author: Cristelle Comby was born and raised in the French-speaking area of Switzerland, on the shores of Lake Geneva, where she still resides.

She attributes to her origins her ever-peaceful nature and her undying love for chocolate. She has a passion for art, which also includes an interest in drawing and acting.

She is the author of the Neve & Egan Cases series, which features an unlikely duo of private detectives in London: Ashford Egan, a blind History professor, and Alexandra Neve, one of his students.

Currently, she is hard at work on her Urban Fantasy series Vale Investigation which chronicles the exploits of Death’s only envoy on Earth, PI Bellamy Vale, in the fictitious town of Cold City, USA.

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Money or Men by David Burnett – Spotlight and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. David Burnett will be awarding a $15 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.

Love or loot?

Erin must choose between the money of which she has long dreamed and the man who she has loved. Eight years ago, she chose “loot” when Chris, her former husband, competed for her hand against the god of money. Now, with a promotion within reach, she is poised to take her place among the elite of Wall Street. She will soon be working twenty-four-seven to reorganize a failing company, and she has been ordered to find someone to care for her children.

She has few options, and she reluctantly concludes she must beg Chris for help. She has not talked with Chris, written, texted, friended, private messaged, or tweeted Chris since leaving him, but if he will not keep their children for the summer, she will lose her promotion, and her dream of wealth will vanish.

Opposites had attracted when they had fallen in love. Erin remembers a Chris who was laid-back, satisfied, and, worst of all, unambitious. He seems not to have changed. He lives on a small island with no home mail delivery. He had been an author, but Erin can find nothing he has published since their split.

But Chris’s photo is the one personal item on Erin’s desk, and she still dreams of him when she sleeps. She fears if she asks Chris to care for their children for the summer, she will be drawn back into his world. She will choose Chris over money, “love over loot,” lose her drive to succeed and everything for which she has worked. Her promotion will be denied – and lightning will not strike a second time. How can she send their children to live with him without becoming entangled herself?

Enjoy an Excerpt

Mr. Jamison did not look up, but he raised his right hand, motioning for her to approach. Erin halted as she reached his desk and waited, shifting her weight gently from one foot to the other. A minute passed. Deciding that grasping her notebook against her body made her appear to be as nervous as she felt, she dropped her hand to her side, stood straight, and raised her head, hoping to project the air of confidence she wished she possessed.

With a quick “Good-bye,” Mr. Jamison finally finished his call. He turned a page in the report and sighed.

“Ms. Stephens, you’ll be moving to an office in my suite.”

Yes, she almost said aloud, almost shouted actually. She wanted to spring into the air, pump her fist, and scream so loudly she would be heard on the street twenty-five floors below. But instead she simply nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“We’ll be reorganizing the seafood company this summer. I’ll need you to be available when needed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“There are two guest rooms in the suite. One will be assigned to you. You should leave some clothes in the closet since you will find yourself spending the night from time to time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You left last night’s meeting at six o’clock. It did not end until eight.”

His voice was matter-of-fact, and Erin was not sure if he had stated a fact or issued a reprimand.

“Yes, sir. I have two children. I needed to get home and—”

“You have two children?” He looked up in surprise.

“Yes. Yes, sir,” she stammered. No one had asked about children, not since she had begun work for Aqua as a customer relations advisor more than a decade ago, back when she lived in Atlanta, before her divorce, and then the question had dealt with health insurance. Were children a problem?

“Do you have a husband?”

“I’ve been divorced for—”

“Didn’t know that either,” he said, shaking his head, obviously talking to himself. “Didn’t do my homework.”

He looked into her eyes.

“Always do your homework,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

Erin thought she could hear the wheels in Mr. Jamison’s mind turning as he considered her fate.

“The children…Get rid of them.”

About the author:

We recently moved to our new home near Charleston, South Carolina. Four of my books are set in Charleston, and I’ve always enjoyed the Carolina beaches. I now have the opportunity to walk on the beach almost every day and to photography the ocean, the sea birds, and the marshes that I love.

I love photography, and I have photographed subjects as varied as prehistoric ruins on the islands of Scotland, star trails, sea gulls, and a Native American powwow. My wife and I have traveled widely in the United States and the United Kingdom. During trips to Scotland, we visited Crathes Castle, the ancestral home of the Burnett family near Aberdeen, and Kismul Castle on Barra, the home of my McNeil ancestors.

I went to school for much longer than I want to admit, and I have degrees in psychology and education. In an “earlier life” I was director of research for our state’s education department.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Amazon Author Page | Goodreads
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