This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Deborah A. Bailey will be awarding a $30 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.
Book two of the Family Pride Paranormal Romance Series
After claiming Zora Mason as his mate, and fighting off a threat to the MacKinnon pride, Mac is more than ready to get back to managing his coffee bar and settling into mated bliss. But just when it looks like things are quieting down, Mac and Zora find more challenges ahead.
Plans for Zora and Mac’s official introduction to the pride, and the opening of the new coffee bar may be derailed when, gripped by a mysterious blood fever lingering after the leadership challenge, Mac is driven to the edge of his endurance as he fights to keep his inner lion under control.
Juggling her responsibilities in the business and her position as the mate of the pride leader becomes even more challenging when Zora is forced to confront her fear that Mac is changing into someone she doesn’t recognize.
As the fever pushes Mac to the edge, the revelation of an old, painful family secret proves to be the key to saving Mac’s life. Zora and Mac come up with a plan to end the threat of the fever forever, but that same plan may destroy them both.
Is their love strong enough to defeat the blood fever, so they can live happily ever after as mates?
Read an Excerpt
“After Mac fought Eldon it was like he’d gone into some kind of trance. He was in and out of consciousness for a couple of hours.”
“I heard about that,” Lena put her arm in Zora’s and they started walking again. “So many things have happened at once. The challenge, his mating with you, the new shop–it’s all coming down at once. Surviving a challenge alone would be enough.”
“Lena, I can understand the challenge being stressful, but the mating? It wasn’t like it was the first time we’d been intimate.”
“There’s more involved in the process than it might’ve seemed. Being at the waterfall where Stephen and Ellen were mated, where I was mated, and generations before me…surrounded by the pride members…it connected you both and made you part of our family,” Lena explained. “It’s part of a transition that we go through. As a human, you wouldn’t have noticed it. But for him, it was a big step away from his life as a nomad.”
“But if that’s true, what about last night? If we are connected to each other, how could the blood fever make him act that way?”
“Blood fever makes the predator inside him stronger. Those impulses were always there, but my grandson channeled them into his work.”
“So, what do I do?” Zora asked.
“Don’t show fear. No matter what. Fear feeds the predator inside him. The more fear, the more control the blood fever will have over him. I know he doesn’t want to admit this thing could overpower him. But if he tries to fight it, he will lose.”
“Lena, do you think he could hurt me?” As she asked the ques-tion, a chill went through her, like she’d been dipped in ice water.
“No, my dear. Blood fever will not make him do anything that he wouldn’t normally do. Not really,” she replied, as she grasped Zora’s hand.
About the Author:
Deborah A Bailey’s Romantic Fantasy, Paranormal & Science Fiction Romance novels include suspense, a bit of mystery and a lot of romantic heat.
Her short stories have won awards from the Philadelphia Writers’ Conference and have been published in US1 Magazine and the Sun and are included in, Electric Dreams: Seven Futuristic Tales. She’s the author of non-fiction books, and articles for various online publications.
Visit her website for more information and subscribe to the newsletter so you’ll be the first to find out about giveaways, book launches and sneak peeks.
The author will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
Guinevere: Bright Shadow
by Sarah Provost
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GENRE: Arthurian Fiction, Fantasy
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BLURB:
“You may think you know my story. My name has been bandied in ballads and jests, for good and (mostly) for ill. High Queen, priestess, adulterer… but first and always a woman. Courage and honor shaped me; ecstasy transported me; grief, betrayal and terror tempered me.
“My loyalty to the Goddess was supreme. But as the new religion took hold, the pagan way was threatened with extinction. There were those on both sides who would use me as a pawn in that battle, even if it meant taking my life.
“Yes, I bear my portion of blame. I loved Arthur, and I loved Lancelot, will I or no. But that was only one element in the impending chaos. Britain was divided, my love was divided, and such divisions cannot endure. I did everything in my power – and learned new powers – to prevent an all-out war. But would it be enough?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Excerpt:
I worried at the glove, getting exasperated. Lancelot noticed and came to my aid. He smiled at me, his eyes sweet and affectionate, then bent his head and began to work the buckle free.
At last it let go. Lancelot drew the gauntlet from my hand and let it fall. But he still kept my wrist, and held his face averted. I should have moved away, but something in his utter stillness held me as if I were glamoured. When he raised his head to look me full in the eyes, there was no smile. His face was taut and deathly pale. He pulled me toward him, and I did not resist.
When his mouth met mine, it was with such tenderness that I could do nothing except meld into it. What we were saying to each other with that kiss had little to do with lust. Only our lips touched, and our hands where he still held mine.
In that instant my life was changed forever. There was no sense of urgency. Instead, it felt like coming home after a lifetime spent wandering. Had it really always been this simple, this pristine? The miracle of his lips on mine could only have lasted a moment, but in that instant I understood all I had been missing in my life. And then, as I was about to vanish completely into the ecstasy of it, I understood what the future held as well. And it was dire, agonizing. It was utterly impossible.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Sarah Provost is a poet, playwright, screenwriter and novelist, currently living and working in upstate New York. A collection of poems, Inland, Thinking of Waves, was published by the Cleveland State University Press. Her stage plays have been produced off-Broadway, in London, Los Angeles, and states beginning with K. No screenplays have been produced, but she made a decent living writing for Paramount, Disney, HBO and others until Hollywood broke her heart. After a period of recuperation and relocation to a place with much worse weather, she began writing Guinevere: Bright Shadow, her first novel. A second novel, The Real Girl, is in progress.
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Virginia McCullough will be awarding a $50 Etsy Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Could her closed heart…
Still have room for him?
Olivia Donoghue’s life has turned a corner. The radiologist’s eleven-year-old daughter is finally healthy, and she just moved to her best friend’s dreamy hometown of Adelaide Creek, Wyoming. If only her friend’s prodigal brother, Jeff Stanhope, wasn’t complicating matters. It’s clear Jeff’s kindness knows no bounds, having taken in his late roommate’s teenage son and also offering her a cabin to stay in, but Olivia’s heart is already full…and safe. Is the former rancher worth the risk?
Read an Excerpt
It was a frosty Halloween night, with a thin cloud cover blocking out most of the light from the crescent moon. Jeff felt the energy between them as they walked along together. It was a familiar vibe now. When they got to her cabin, Olivia directed him to lean the painting against the wall behind her desk.
When she walked him back to the door, he couldn’t resist saying, “One more thing, Olivia.”
“Oh? Uh, what’s that?”
“If you ever wear that fringy dress again, you might want to ditch the black wig.”
Olivia’s laugh was as melodic as her voice.
“Believe me, the real thing is so much better.” Taking such pleasure in her smile, he leaned forward and gave her cheek a quick kiss. “Night.” He hurried away, but he knew she was still standing by the door watching him leave. It had been a great night all around.
About the Author:
Virginia McCullough is thrilled to share her eighth Harlequin Heartwarming release with readers. The Doc’s Holiday Homecoming, available November 29th, is the second book in her Back to Adelaide Creek series. Like all of Virginia’s romances, this holiday story comes straight from the heart and features characters who could be your neighbors and friends struggling with everyday life issues.
Born and raised in Chicago, Virginia spent years as a ghostwriter, producing more than one hundred books for physicians, business owners, professional speakers and many others with information to share or a story to tell. She’s moved around a lot, and a few years ago she landed in Green Bay, Wisconsin, where she enjoys hanging out with other romance writers, walking on trails, and downing mugs of dark roast at local coffeehouses. Her other award-winning romance and women’s fiction titles include The Jacks of Her Heart, Amber Light, and The Chapels on the Hill. Virginia is always working on another story about hope, healing, and second chances.
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Connie di Marco 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.
Rob Ramer was the perfect husband until he committed the ultimate family faux pas—he shot his sister-in-law to death. Believing himself under attack by an intruder in his home, he fired back. But when evidence is discovered that Rob’s wife, Brooke, was plotting his murder, Brooke is charged with conspiracy in her sister’s death. Geneva, a third sister, is desperate for answers and seeks the help of her friend, San Francisco astrologer Julia Bonatti. Geneva’s lost one sister and now it seems she’ll lose the other. Was this a murder plot or just a terrible accident? Julia vows to find the answer in the stars.
Read an Excerpt
The same headlights stayed behind me for several blocks, remaining about two car lengths behind. I’m very careful about locking my car doors, especially at night. I look over my shoulder when getting into my car too. I clicked the door locks again for good measure. Two cars passed me in the next lane, but the car behind remained at the same distance. When the next light turned green, I accelerated quickly and kept my speed up for the next few blocks, hoping a police cruiser wasn’t waiting in an alleyway speed trap to ticket me. The car following matched my speed. Why would anyone be trailing me, and if so, how long had I been followed?
I cast my mind back, trying to remember if I had noticed anything outside Macao or earlier. No one had been around. I hadn’t seen any cars pulling out behind me. But then, it was the last thing on my mind. I was only intent on meeting Tony.
After the next light, I slowed to a crawl, watching to see if the driver would become impatient and pass me. Again, the car matched my speed. A chill ran down my spine. Someone was definitely following me and they didn’t care if I knew.
I quickly reviewed my options. I had no intention of leading a stranger to my apartment. Of course, after my wallet was left open with my exposed driver’s license that night in Moira’s apartment, my follower, if he were the same person who attacked me, would already know where I lived. I nixed the idea of heading for my grandmother’s house. I didn’t want to bring any trouble to her doorstep, nor to Gale’s. Even so, that would involve driving back toward Russian Hill. I could return to Cheryl’s but didn’t like the thought of being unprotected on a deserted downtown street when I got out of my car. Whoever he, or she, was, I had to lose them. On the off chance they didn’t know where I lived, I had no intention of leading them to my apartment.
When I reached Divisadero, I turned left and headed for a neighborhood that I knew was a warren of intertwining streets. I made a fast turn heading west on Turk and an even faster right on Baker, leading me up Terra Vista. By now I was too frightened to even look in the rear view mirror. I raced up Terra Vista and took the corner on two wheels. I didn’t see car lights behind me as I turned the corner, only the ambient glow of headlights down the hill. I drove halfway down the block and spotted a long driveway leading to a garage at the rear of a house. I pulled down the driveway and parked behind the house. I doused my headlights and turned off the engine. My hands were sweating and my heart was pounding.
I hadn’t imagined the black sedan following me. I had no idea what kind of car it was, only black, late model, could have been a Mercedes, a Cadillac, I honestly wouldn’t know the difference unless I saw an insignia. My engine made small metallic pinging sounds as it cooled. I waited but heard nothing. I carefully rolled down my window and listened. A glow from headlights highlighted the tall tree branches in the next yard. I heard a car moving slowly down the street. The motor was almost silent, but I could hear the crunching of dry leaves under tires. He was searching. I had temporarily lost him, but now I was trapped in a driveway behind a private home. I prayed no one in the house would turn on outside lights or do anything to signal my presence. How long would he cruise the street?
Ten minutes elapsed but it felt like an hour. I twisted in my seat and once again saw the same glow of headlights. Again I heard the crunching of leaves and small branches under tires. The car came to a stop directly in front of the driveway. Its headlights were fixed against the wall of the house next door.
My mouth was dry and I could barely swallow. If the driver found me, what would he do? What could I do? I could lean on the horn and hope to wake the occupants of the house. The arrogance of following me in such an overt manner was more frightening than an attempt to track me covertly. Was someone trying to discover where I lived, or did they already know? Did someone wish me harm or were they only trying to frighten me? If so, they were doing a damn good job of it.
My heart was racing. I closed my eyes and deliberately slowed my breathing and prayed. Then I heard an engine rev and tires squeal. The sedan barreled down the street as if angry to have lost me. I was too afraid to turn the car around and pull out. It could be a trick. He could be waiting at the foot of the hill. I was cold now and shivering. I wanted to be home in my own bed more than anything in the world. I had to take a chance. I turned on my parking lights and saw that the driveway continued on past the garages. A narrow space next to the last garage led to an alley behind the homes. I started the engine but left my headlights off. I followed the concrete path along the side of the garage and through the opening to the alleyway. It led to an intersecting street. At the corner, I hit the brakes and looked around carefully. Nothing moved. I glanced up at the street sign. Fortuna Street. I almost laughed with gratitude at the name. I wiped tears from my eyes and
took a deep breath. Following Fortuna I reached Turk again. No other cars were on the street. I turned west toward the Avenues keeping a lookout, but didn’t spot the black sedan again.
When I reached home, I pulled the car into the garage, made sure the heavy door was properly locked and climbed the back stairs to my kitchen. Wizard padded out to greet me. He tried to make a dash for the yard, but struggling to hold on to my purse and keys, I grabbed him at the last moment. I didn’t want him out this late at night, and I was too tired to have to call him in later. I reached down and closed the hatch on his kitty door before he could get free. He looked at me and uttered a low growl in his throat.
“No. Sorry. It’s been a rough day and a rougher night. You’re in.” I doled out a couple of kitty treats and dropped them in his plate. He attacked them at once. I turned off the kitchen light and in the dark, peeked out the living room windows to the street below. I saw no cars that seemed out of place. Then I walked down the stairway and shoved the bolt across the front door. Wizard eyed me strangely, sensing something was out of kilter. Upstairs, I shed my jacket and poured a glass of wine. The light on the answering machine was blinking. Gale had left a message reminding me of the open house on Sunday. Cheryl hadn’t spoken of it earlier and I suspected she might bail on the whole idea. Then I kicked off my shoes and shed my clothes. I slipped into my flannel pajamas, propped some extra pillows on the bed and settled in.
I thought about the couples I knew. Cheryl dealing with a divorce, Brooke in jail accused of planning her husband’s death, Moira dead, and forced to turn over information on her boyfriend to the police. David and Geneva seemed the only happy people in the world, in spite of their family difficulties. Only Gale was completely content as a single woman. Maybe I was better off in my alone state than I knew.
Wizard climbed onto my lap and started kneading the comforter furiously. Was Cheryl right? Was it was time to consider dating? The thought of it brought no joy. If someone told me to climb Mount Everest with no equipment, it would seem an easier prospect. But if I didn’t take a chance, I’d be a woman alone with her cat forever. I finished the wine, turned off the bedroom lamp and snuggled down under the comforter. I heard the foghorns in the distance as my eyes closed involuntarily.
About the Author:
Connie di Marco is the author of the Zodiac Mysteries featuring Julia Bonatti, a San Francisco astrologer who never thought murder would be part of her practice: The Madness of Mercury, All Signs Point to Murder, Tail of the Dragon, Serpent’s Doom and Enter a Wizard, Stage Left (a prequel e-book novella). Writing as Connie Archer, she is also the author of the national bestselling Soup Lover’s Mysteries from Penguin Random House. You can find her excerpts and recipes in The Cozy Cookbook and The Mystery Writers of America Cookbook. Connie is a member of Mystery Writers of America, International Thriller Writers, Crime Writers Association (UK) and Sisters in Crime.
January Bain will be awarding a $40 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
Hellfire (Sin City Wolf #4)
by January Bain
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GENRE: paranormal romance, billionaire werewolf
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BLURB:
Amara St. Clair is just out for a rare night of fun on the Vegas Strip. But when she discovers her fun-loving side in the Glitter Palace casino, a life-altering altercation with a deadly ancient vampire leaves Amara lying unconscious in an alley near the famous casino. Doctor, geneticist and genealogy expert Dante Luceres, dedicated to research that will keep his fellow werewolves safe and healthy, is attending a mandatory yearly event of the House of Luceres. Coming across Amara, he saves her life, though vampires and werewolves are forbidden from interfering with each other in the supernatural world. There are dire consequences for interfering with another supe’s domain, and he expects that soon both the vampires and the werewolves will be after them, but he can’t leave the beautiful, vivacious little human to suffer alone. Drawn to each other, the pair must hide from the world. But with everyone against them, including Dante’s clan and an evil vampire hellbent on having Amara for his own, how can they find a path to a shared future…and true happiness?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Excerpt:
“Wait! We’re going the wrong way.”
“My Harley’s out back. Quickest way out of town.”
“I’m wearing a dress. And I’d prefer an Uber or cab. No offense, but I don’t know you.” She jerked her arm to pull away, but I hung on.
“You’re in mortal danger. I’ll figure out the explanation for all this”—I gestured between us—“later when I have access to records and blood testing.”
“Blood tests? What are you talking about? And why does it affect you?”
She exaggerated my hand movements demonstrating the connection between us back in my face. I did note that her hand also trembled, causing an odd emotion to come over me. She was trying to be brave, but it was costing her.
“Are you suggesting that you are not in touch with your obvious physiological responses?”
Anything was possible in this alternative world she’d just had thrust on her. Perhaps she wasn’t aware she had become aroused. Or refused to admit it. It didn’t matter, neither of us would be acting on it in this lifetime.
“You don’t understand. That beast that attacked you? He’s coming back, and he won’t be alone. I have to get you away right now.” I added a sense of urgency to my tone in efforts to persuade her.
She did look around with a more constrained expression, as if the boogey man was going to jump her.
“Don’t worry. I won’t let them take you.”
“Why would they take me? That makes no sense.” She had the cutest way of wrinkling her nose that made it wiggle a bit.
“You look like a movie star.”
“Yeah, right!” Now she gave a grimace as if I were fucking around with her.
“Yes. Marilyn Monroe. Only with dark hair. In a blonde wig, you’d be able to pass for identical twins. Your features, perfectly aligned and symmetrical, are above average in scope and dimension.”
I pointed at her face, as if drawing with my fingers in the air. “The distance between your eyes in one exact eye, the length of your face equals three noses. Space from the lower eyelid to the upper eyelid is the same as space between the upper eyelid and eyebrow. Also demonstrated to perfection. And width of the face across the cheeks is equal to two lengths of the nose. Finally, eyebrows begin on the same line as the corner of the eye nearest to the nose. There you have it, a perfect oval face!” I always appreciated sharing such proof positive.
Instead of thanks for pointing out her perfection, what did I get but a rolling of her eyes before she burst into gales of laughter?
“Is that the line you try on women to get them into bed, by any chance?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
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…
A P von K’Ory will be awarding a $15 Amazon or Barnes and Noble to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
Author Interview: A P Von K’Ory
1. How did you choose your genre? What made you write this book?
Growing up with limited or no technology, I’ve loved reading romance ever since I was around four or five. I read those no-bedroom-scenes-beyond-the-kiss doctors and nurses love stories that were told in the women’s magazines my mother subscribed to. No Internet in those days, so no smartphone or tablet. Often, the reading would be clandestine. Such as in the bathroom or with a flashlight under the sheets after goodnight stories. By the time I hit puberty and was blissfully in boarding school in Yorkshire, Little Women was for the classroom while The Perfumed Garden was back in the clandestine department, shared with besties and besties’ besties (how else to giggle and enact raunchy scenes about the steamy bits, right?) Even Lady Chatterley’s Lover was a real naughty treat. Soon after that came the non-clandestine delicious swooning with Barbara Cartland’s heroines even though they were chased but remained chaste till the gold band was on their destined finger.
I began to write steamy romance because I wanted to write stories I yearned to read. Something discerning and gender-positive. The romance that shed all the shackles society has used over the centuries to keep women down. Now that erotic had gone mainstream, I wanted my version or preference to also be out there. I abhorred the conditioning of girls to be the ones to kiss the frog to make him a prince, put up with the Beast when they were the Beauty, or prick their fingers into a one hundred-year-old-sleep until the prince comes to their rescue.
In modern days it’s the financial inequality, even when the women have the same job and qualifications as the men. Girls are still made to grow up believing they are less worthy than boys. In books, girls and women are trimmed to identify with “someone just like you” while the boys are encouraged to identify with James Bond and Superman – never someone just like them.
Boys and men are whipped up to aspire higher. This led me to writing love stories where the woman is Alpha, no damsel in distress, and financially and socially independent. The woman who gets invited to the Met Gala on their own rights, not as a decoration on a man’s arm. Of course the heroines still go for the Alpha male. That’s a given. It’s wired in every woman since time immemorial to seek the protector who’ll fight and fend off danger while she’s having and nurturing young ones. That’s nature, not nurture. Women zoom away from wimps.
But I find tremendous thrill is having the Alpha hero go through more than his abs, chiseled chin, money, and the power that comes with it, to fall for the woman who makes him feel edgy, ´and not totally in control. It’s a heck of a turn-on to see Master Alpha struggle to align himself to his strong, independent, Alpha woman’s standpoint. In the UNTAMEABLE series, Leo and Adrian’s story, I also made both protagonists totally, insanely flawed. They’re both each other’s combustible tinder for a monumental fireball. Or like fuel tank and a match. As Leo says: Adrian is a permanent damage control. And Adrian: To try to contain and control Leo is like trying to contain and control the fierce f*cking wind. I simply love the exhilaration of the mano-a-mano battle for control. Until the compromise point, by which time things are already exploding all over the place to hell and beyond.
2. Writers write what they know, and must observe the world. Are you a firstborn, middle or last child, and how does this shape your view of the world?
I’m a firstborn and grew up in a very conservative and opulent atmosphere, and I think this reflects in my writing. I grew up where kids were best seen but not heard until they were allowed to be heard. I got more hugs and kisses from the household personnel than from my parents. So I became a keen observer, and the one to set the good example to the others by virtue of being the oldest. This was why I was thrilled to finally be in boarding school in England, far away from home. I could go hog wild and behave as I pleased as long as I hurt no one and broke no major laws with my behavior. I could ask tough questions and say whatever I felt like saying whenever I felt like saying them. Best of all, I could let my fantasies roam all over the planet and jot them down. Even when I read stories, I made notes about the parts of the book that I’d have written differently if I were the author. No wonder my current world turned out as diverse as the colours of the rainbow.
3. Where is your favorite place to write?
At my desk. But I always have pens and notebooks scattered around the house in the bedroom, kitchen, and tucked away in my bag or the evening clutch. I’d rather ditch the compact or lipstick than carry a bag without my pen and small notebook in it. My best place and time to hit on ideas come when I take a walk in the woods – yes, I always have pen and notebook there too or mumble on my phone.
4. How do you feel about killing your darlings, and what do you do with the remains?
OMG, I’m the *worstest* ever when it comes to killing my darlings. I agonize about it, go through excruciating indecisiveness, and even have tantrums and suppress the tears while I tear my hair out. Even after taking numerous master class lessons I still moan and groan when I have to kill my darlings. What helps to alleviate the pain for me is following the six rules I learnt:
I find the redundancies and chop them off. I have the tendency to over-explain or overemphasize to within a breath of the morgue. This leads to overuse or repetitiveness. Convince yourself that your readers are smart enough to connect the dots and use the cutlery at dinner. Don’t force-feed them or indulge in long explanations that get them to roll their eyes and probably stop reading altogether. I suffer from info-dumping that I fight hard to keep in check. I also drop those extraneous titbits from a region’s seasonal rotation to the best table manners.
Mind your writing style. I know I easily slip into the cute phrases and purple prose in my effort to develop my distinct “voice” that set me apart from my fellow authors. Cut off all sentences and phrases that probably sound great but add nothing but baggage to your work.
Keep your eyes peeled for those unnecessary subplots and plot twists that distract the reader instead of adding any useful element to the story. Ask yourself whether your story needs that addition. What does it bring to it? If you find no good reason to keep it, chuck it out.
Run a magnifying glass over your characters. Are there two or more with similar personality traits or narrative functions? Combine them. Supporting or tertiary characters must have a clear purpose or point of view that advances your plot. They should flesh out certain aspects of your protagonist, not just lounge about as some background white noise or decoration.
One good trait that stops me agonizing and tearing my hair out before the kill is having a separate file where I “collect the corpses” in the hope of using them elsewhere. More often than not, I find an appropriate place to slot them in with perfection. Repurposing certain characters into new spinoffs or standalones. The killing can be very rewarding when your creative mind resurrects those darlings and breathe new life into them.
Bring in a fresh pair of eyes and different minds. This is where beta readers, writing networks, or fellow writers you network with are God’s gift. Find and collaborate with those outside eyes that you trust to give you honest feedback on which aspects of your writing is working and which aren’t. Then cut off the surplus to requirements.
5. You are introduced to your favorite author. Who is it, and what is that one burning question you must ask them?
I have to think hard about this one because I have several favourite authors I love equally but differently, depending on the genre, and I’d love to ask each one of them a different burning question. On the other hand, if I could be introduced to Colleen Hoover, her answer to my special question to her might cover it all.
6. Inquiring minds want to know…tell readers something about you that no one knows.
There’s a reason why I’ve kept it secret. I don’t want the dear readers to be my first victims. That would be too devastating for all concerned.
7. You are stranded on a deserted island with only a backpack for company. What three items are in your survival pack?
My tablet, pen, and notebook as a single item (to save the battery for reading and sending out an SOS), and a large packet of condoms, just in case there’s a hunky caveman still burrowed somewhere all by his lonesome self…
8. If you could have one superpower in your existence, what would it be?
I would rid all humankind of the worst mortal sin that plagues them, in my judgement: avarice.
9. Favorite snack?
Roasted and salted macadamia nuts.
10. Indy 500 – Do you know how to get where you’re going or do you drive the speed limit?
Ooops, you caught me on the back foot there. I had to Google Indy 500 (yeah, Europeans are ignorant like that) and inform myself. Erm, I guess I’d first try to find an Indy native as co-pilot.
His Untameable Wickedness
by A P von K’Ory
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GENRE: Dark Erotic Romance Suspense
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BLURB:
LEO
A three-letter word made me a murderess at the age of eight years. But having experienced the curses of that word, I was done with men as I grew up. All men. Except to outplay them in the New York financial arena.Then Crowned Sex enthroned in gorgeous velvet charm and lustful gallantry storms into my life. Spewing volcanic lava on my monumental arctic ice block. With the unapologetic fierceness of a savage god. Wearing crackling thunderbolts straight from the god Zeus. Explosive has nothing on it.
Adrian isn’t hot, he’s fucking hellish. He embarks on melting my ice block at the speed of lightning. But I was done with men. I was done with sex. For ever. I. Was.
ADRIANI scented her darkness from the moment I was told about her. The sight of her sealed my decision. She was the woman created for my own darkness. I set off to protect her even from herself. Protect her to claim.
Fuse her darkness with my own. For. Myself. I’d fended women off me with bazookas when I was done but they weren’t. I wasn’t prepared for the battle I soon fought. Not only with her but also with her family. And New York’s billionaire gangsters who own entourage of corrupt cops and politicians. With every battle I won, she started new darker wars around me. You ate or you were eaten. Not even starving was an option.
NOTE: Although the blurb is in the first person, the story of Leo and Adrian is written in the third person. This story contains adult material including explicit sex and violence. You’ve been warned.
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Excerpt:
“If you feel I should stop, say you’re mine.”
“I am, I am! Just don’t stop, Adrian.”
He stopped, chortling deep in his chest, eyeing her from under his brows as his head lifted with her jerky thrusts. Adrian’s molten lava eyes radiated something utterly demonic but captivating, hypnotizing. They now seemed to shoot her senses with the wickedness every single cell in her craved. Those eyes concentrated on her flawed body, her utterly broken soul, crushing the fierce pride she falsely nurtured for her protection.
He made her feel invincible. Armored, even against his demonic wickedness.
He licked behind her ear, whispered, “Stop being your worst enemy, wildcat, and simply receive and revel in pleasure. Your whole body’s made to receive it. From me.”
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AUTHOR Bio and Links:
P von K’Ory writes the kind of books she herself would like to read and is passionate about, whether romance, psychological thriller, or nonfiction. She is the winner of six awards from four continents, the last one being the Achievers Award for Writer of the Year 2013 in the Netherlands. The Selmere Integration Prize was awarded her in 2014 for her engagement in helping African Women in the Diaspora cope with a variety of domestic and social problems. The Proposal, a short story, won the Cook Communications first prize in 2010 and is published in an American anthology Africa 2012. In 2012, she won the Karl Ziegler Prize for her commitment to bring African culture to Western society in various papers, theses, and lectures. Again in 2012, her book Bound to Tradition: The Dream was nominated for the 2012 Caine Prize by the Author-me Group, Sanford, and in 2013 she was shortlisted for the Commonwealth Writers Prize.
Von K’Ory is married to an aristocrat and politician of Franco-German descent and has a large extended family. She lectures Economics and Sociology in Austria, Germany and Switzerland. She’s migratory and – weather willing – lives in Germany, France, Cyprus, and Greece.
It would be equally wonderful if you could Like my Author page and read more about Shana and Roman new releases, cover reveals and what I’m up to lately on Facebook at:
One randomly chosen winner via rafflecopter will win a $50 Amazon/BN.com gift card.
Isobel Reed Interview
Do you have any tattoos? Where? When did you get it/them? Where are they on your body?
I have two tattoos, the first I got when I was eighteen. It’s of a black flower on my hip. And the second is of a black pattern I designed on my ankle. I think I was twenty when I got that one done. If I wasn’t a poor student at the time I might have got more, but now I’m in my thirties I’m kind of glad I didn’t. Not that I regret either of them, I still admire them in the mirror every now and again.
Is your life anything like it was two years ago?
No. I’m not sure anyone’s life is anything like it was two years ago. Especially after the pandemic. But I must admit for someone who doesn’t like change, my life sure does undergo a lot of it. In the past two years, I’ve written (almost) nine books. Signed a deal with Inkspell Publishing and got married. It’s been a busy and exciting time.
How long have you been writing?
All my life. English was my favorite subject at school, and I started writing stories from a young age. Like most authors I have a day job, but I am one of the lucky few who gets to write for living. I don’t write love stories at my day job or anything, I’m not sure how well that would go down with my boss, but I still get to be creative and do what I love. It wasn’t until two years ago that I attempted a whole book but I’m really glad I did because now I’ve started, I don’t see myself stopping.
What advice would you give a new writer just starting out?
Remember you are doing it because you love it. If writing is your passion, then nothing else matters. Write your book. Then write another one and another one. Just keep going. And remember before you put your work out there, edit. Hire an editor. It’s worth the expense I promise.
Tell us something about your newest release that is NOT in the blurb.
Lily and Jake may be from two completely different worlds, but they have a lot more in common than they think.
Love Tools: Bluestone Series Book One
by Isobel Reed
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GENRE: Contemporary Romance
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BLURB:
What happens when the king of casual meets the queen of picking the wrong men?
Lily is running. From a dead-end job, a neurotic mother and all the losers she dared to date. Moving halfway across the world to Bluestone County seemed like a good idea at the time. So did reopening her estranged father’s hardware store. But now she isn’t so sure.
Small town living has its perks though. Wide-open space, clean air, and sexy cowboys. Well, one sexy cowboy. Jake. Who also just so happens to be the new bane of her existence. At least when he’s not talking, she can admire the view.
Jake is the king of casual. The love of his life has always been his ranch, and that was fine with him. He never really saw the point in long-term. But all that changes when a mouthy, blonde sasses him into oblivion. He should have known she’d be trouble as soon as he laid eyes on her. Now it’s too late. She’s all he can think about. All he has to do is convince her that he’s finally the right man.
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Excerpt:
Lily stared at the boarded-up windows and took a deep breath. There was no turning back now. Pulling the keys from her handbag, she unlocked the door and followed the creaking sound of the floorboards into the dimly lit store.
To her surprise the shelves were still stocked and brimming with power tools, each item covered in a layer of dust that had already started to make its way up her nostrils.
“What the hell are you doing here Lily?” she muttered to herself as she ran her fingers across the counter.
To get this place up and running, it was going to be more work than she ever imagined. She just hoped the apartment upstairs was in better condition.
After exploring the shop floor, she went to find out. She followed the beige hallway into the living room, taking a seat on the squeaky leather sofa and looking around. The space was depressing. Habitable but depressing nonetheless.
How could he have lived here for so long, and it still feel so empty?
Furniture was sparse, and other than the chair she sat in, the only other items that remained were a flatscreen TV, a scratched wooden coffee table and a small shelving unit scattered with a few books and a couple of picture frames.
She looked over at the kitchen adjoining the living room and noticed some basic appliances. It felt strange to be in his space. His home. Surrounded by his things. Was there a right way to feel?
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AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Isobel was born and raised in London. She still lives along the River Thames with her husband and her substantial book collection. Ever the hopeless romantic, she fell in love with the genre from a young age and was inspired to write her own stories. When she’s not feasting on romantic comedies or binge reading her hoard of contemporary romance novels, Isobel is writing.
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Paul Swingle 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.
On the night of a blue moon, while walking his dog, middle-aged widower Jim sees Gladys on the roof of a neighboring apartment building and is inspired to speak with her. There’s just one problem: she can’t hear him.
Indeed, Jim isn’t even sure that Gladys truly exists—that she isn’t just a rooftop patio umbrella silhouetted against the moon. Hampered by debilitating social anxiety, he cannot work up the courage to even wave.
Yet Jim returns to the same spot night after night, and Gladys—who is indeed real—sees him and becomes equally interested. She even contributes to their “conversation,” though he cannot hear her either. And while Gladys struggles with her own demons—self-loathing and depression—she is lifted by Jim’s attention, even as she describes how difficult her life has been.
Two characters, driven by sadness and a longing to connect. Will they?
Read an Excerpt
Sometimes I’m able to ponder these imponderables in a positive way, awed by the mysterious incomprehensibility of it all. At those times I think about astronomers with envy—about how they explore the magnificence of the universe, the origins of life, and other heady stuff. But today I was just hit with a profound feeling of pointlessness. You are born, you live, and you die. And who gives a damn? The vastness of the thing is enough to make you feel insignificant. Yet my funk reminded me of a joke I heard from one of the guys at work. A rabbi was standing in front of the “Ark,” I think 6 he called it—the box containing the Torah. Overwhelmed with piety, he fell to his knees and beat his chest, shouting, “I’m nothing, I’m nothing!” The cantor, seeing this, also dropped to his knees, and likewise shouted, “I’m nothing, I’m nothing!”
About the Author:
Dr. Paul G. Swingle can be considered one of the founding fathers of Clinical Psychoneurophysiology, one of a select few, directly responsible for bringing Neurotherapy out of university labs and clinics to the general populace in the 1980’s.
His academic positions include, Professor of Psychology at the University of Ottawa from 1972 to 1997, Lecturer in Psychiatry at Harvard Medical School from 1991 to 1998, Associate Attending Psychologist at McLean Hospital (Boston), Head of the Clinical Psychophysiology Service McLean Hospital (Boston). Professor Swingle was also Clinical Supervisor at the University of Ottawa from 1987 to 1997 and Chairman of the Faculty of Child Psychology from 1972 to 1977. Dr. Swingle is a Registered Psychologist in British Columbia and is Board Certified in Biofeedback and Neurotherapy. He is actively involved in research and practice. His numerous publications include nine books and numerous peer reviewed journal publications.
Jennifer will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
Author Interview: Jennifer Juvenelle
1. How did you choose your genre? What made you write this book?
I would say my genre chose me! I started writing Daughter of Belial kind of by accident. Before writing my book I mainly wrote poetry when the mood struck me. One day, I felt the energy moving like something wanted to come through, I opened up a blank page and the first chapter poured out of me. Prior to that, I’d been reading a lot of bad romance novels and erotica. I’d read Fifty Shades of Gray and got curious about the genre. Eventually, I got so fed up with all these mousy virgin female protagonists that I thought, “I can do better than that.”
As I began writing, I naturally flowed into the Thriller/Suspense genre as I love a good nail-biter and I love books in a series like The Hunger Games and Harry Potter that always leave you wanting more. But, probably thanks to reading all those billionaire romance novels, I’ve woven in a few very juicy sex scenes as well. Though that does take an unexpected turn…
2. Writers write what they know, and must observe the world. Are you a firstborn, middle or last child, and how does this shape your view of the world?
My mom used to say, “I have three only children!” My family history is complex and too much to go into here, but I’ll give a brief overview.
I’m the youngest of three children but none of us grew up together. We each have different fathers and my mom only carried two of us. For all intents and purposes, I am both the baby of the family and an only child! It’s interesting to investigate how this has shaped my worldview…
I was always very close to my mom (she passed away in Sept. 2021). I’m the only one she raised from beginning to end as my brother grew up with his birth mom and my sister, who is thirteen years older, mostly grew up with our grandparents. Considering I didn’t know about my brother until I was an adult and my sister wasn’t always around, I generally felt like an only child and benefitted from all the spoilings and attention of one. My mom sheltered me when I was little. I grew up on classic rock and Mozart, wasn’t allowed to watch much TV, and was kept quite active with ballet, piano lessons, and swim team in summer. I was an avid reader. You could often catch me walking down the hallways at school with a book in my hands. So my view of the world was through the lens of my mother’s house. She taught me to be of service to the world, to aspire to greatness, to be bold and courageous, and to never settle for less than I’m worth. She also taught me some hard lessons, like what happens when you suppress your emotions, how it’s better to share a hard truth than tell an easy lie, and what it feels like to be sold a lie and buy it even when deep down you know better because it’s easier to believe the lie than to question the person you love most.
All that complexity has definitely found its way into my writing. Because I grew up with family secrets and lies, I’ve created a character who deals with those same issues, but amped up the stakes a hundredfold! I grew up sheltered from a “dangerous world” so I’ve written a story that dives deep into that danger. I’m all about breaking down barriers. I speak up now because I felt silenced before. I share vulnerable truths now because I grew up in a family that was afraid to discuss emotions or “air dirty laundry”. I’m a living example of how our greatest wounds can become our greatest gifts.
3. Where is your favorite place to write?
In bed! I love to prop myself up with pillows, put my laptop on a pillow on my knees, and let the creative energy flow. While I’ve tried to sit and write at a desk, I’m at my best when I’m cozy in bed. And if it’s chilly, I like to get under the covers!
4. How do you feel about killing your darlings, and what do you do with the remains?
I think the phrase, “kill your darlings” is apt and useful! As a debut novelist, this was a big lesson. I killed the most “darlings” after I hired a professional editor to go through the final draft. This was after I’d already had many revisions and undergone a manuscript evaluation with a developmental editor.
Typically, I’ve found that if you can delete something and the narrative continues as if nothing happened, it isn’t essential to the story, plot, or description and therefore not needed. The hardest darlings to kill for me are certain words or turns of phrase that I have a tendency to make up, but are usually only meaningful to me. In those cases, I have to choose my battles wisely. I won’t lie, I didn’t kill every darling. Some of them were too precious to part with. But I did my best to kill most of them, and when in doubt, to seek a second (or third) opinion. Fortunately, my husband is also a writer so we bounce a lot of things off each other.
5. You are introduced to your favorite author. Who is it, and what is that one burning question you must ask them?
My all-time favorite author, and probably the one who influenced me the most, is Tom Robbins (author of Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, Skinny Legs and All, Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates, and countless others). Skinny Legs and All, in particular, forever changed the way I view inanimate objects. The magic of Tom Robbins is that he can bring an ordinary Can o’Beans, a small spoon, and a sacred stick to life and actually make you care about them.
The one question I’d ask him? Hmmm…. Will you read my novel? Kidding! Ha. Honestly, I think I’d just want to grab a refreshing soda or cup of tea with him and shoot the breeze. He’s such an interesting character and well into his eighties. It would be a DREAM to meet him and simply hang out. Listen to his stories. Talk about life, love, and writing.
6. Inquiring minds want to know…tell readers something about you that no one knows.
I’m afraid of hurting people’s feelings. As a result, I’ve been burned many times because I avoid calling someone out on bad behavior if I’m worried they might be bothered by what I have to say.
It’s something I’m currently working on to not feel so responsible for other people’s emotions. If someone is not in integrity and I notice that (because I’m very good at reading beneath the surface) then I need to listen to my intuition and not just let it slide, or get caught up in trying to help or fix them. I’m learning that it’s okay to “bother” someone with the truth if what they’re doing is going to affect me or my family in a negative way.
7. You are stranded on a deserted island with only a backpack for company. What three items are in your survival pack?
A journal and pen to write down my thoughts and feelings. I need an outlet!
My baby son, Iluka. He fits in a backpack right?!
A copy of Shantaram by David Gregory Roberts because it is the most beautiful novel I’ve ever read.
8. If you could have one superpower in your existence, what would it be?
It’s not a superpower I’ve encountered in any comic book or film, but I’m a writer so I’ll make up my own!
I desire the ability to cause all people (including myself) to instantly, and permanently, transform their negative thinking about themselves and others into positive thoughts about themselves and others, coupled with a simultaneous heart opening and expansion. It would be the end of all wars, violence, hatred, envy, fear, jealousy, and the like. Thus, we would collectively co-create a New Earth founded in the principles of Love, Peace, Joy, Freedom, and Prosperity.
Hazaa!
9. Favorite snack?
Chocolate! We buy those big bags of chocolate chips from CostCo. A handful (or two) of those is the perfect little treat after lunch, dinner, or whenever.
10. Indy 500 – Do you know how to get where you’re going or do you drive the speed limit?
I know where I’m going but I leave the how up to an Intelligence far greater than mine. And like any race car driver, you’ve gotta know when to hit the gas, when to ease off the pedal, and when to slam on the breaks.
I think I strike a nice balance, though I definitely have a tendency to lead with a lead foot and often need to consciously reel myself in from acting too quickly or impulsively on an exciting idea. I’ve noticed I make better decisions from a more grounded place when I allow myself to run the gamut of emotions from elation to disappointment and back up to baseline somewhere in between.
Moderation in everything and everything in moderation!
Daughter of Belial
by Jennifer Juvenelle
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GENRE: Psychological Thriller
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BLURB:
Some Family Trees Should Be Burned. . .
Greer Girls are special. Greer Girls are rare. Greer Girls are central to the secret Order of Belial.
Sophie Greer knows none of this. All she knows is that her now ex-boyfriend cheated on her, she’s alone working in Paris, and her mysterious billionaire boss, Edward Hughes, is way too interested in her life.
But when Sophie is kidnapped in Moscow while on a business trip, she’s plunged into the dark underbelly of the global elite and a sinister secret society with deep ties to her family; ties that lead to revelations darker than anything Sophie could have imagined.
Betrayed by the man who raised her, and targeted by the illustrious Hughes family, only one thing is certain—family history can be deadly. If Sophie is to survive, she must decide who to trust and what to believe, or risk being crushed beneath the weight of the all-powerful secret Order of Belial.
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Excerpt:
Smoke from the other vehicle’s engine fills the back seat. Coughing, I cover my nose and mouth as I desperately search for a solution. The whole right side of the vehicle is smashed in. There’s no getting out that way. I’m considering trying to break the back left window when I spy the dividing curtain swinging in the cool fall breeze.
Tugging the makeshift divider aside, I peek into the front to see the driver hunched over the steering wheel, unconscious. If I move carefully, I might be able to climb around him to get out the driver’s side. I’m about to make my move when the back door squawks open. A large gust of fresh air rushes into the banged-up vehicle. My head swivels to assess the new arrival.
No. It can’t be. A trillion queries rise and fall as I look upon my assailant—my savior? It’s too much. Between the plane ride, the abduction, and being left alone to rot for a week in a gaudy prison then carted out like a virgin for sacrifice, I’m spent. Where does it end?
There’s a popping sound as my mouth forms a tiny O in stunned surprise. Edward, looking like James Bond in a classic European-cut suit (probably Armani) and a light-grey dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top, is standing in the open doorway, hand outstretched in a gesture of chivalry as if these were the most natural circumstances under the Russian moon. I give him a blank stare.
“I told you I’d find you.” His silky voice floats past my ears, rattles around in my brain and down to my chest, where it nuzzles itself snugly into my heart.
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AUTHOR Bio and Links:
JENNIFER JUVENELLE is a Native American/French author born in Hollywood, raised in Detroit, and fashioned in France. Formerly an actress and model, Jennifer now splits her time between crafting psychological thrillers and the magic of motherhood. A survivor of childhood sexual abuse, Jennifer made healing from trauma a priority when her life became untenable. Daughter of Belial is the unexpected product of her journey from trauma to triumph. An eager explorer, she currently lives in a remote Mexican seaside-jungle village with her debonair Aussie author husband and their young son.
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Ana Diamond 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.
What’s worse than losing a body from a funeral home? Losing two. But mortician and amatuer sleuth, Lily Reynolds has a hunch. The new visitor in town, Rick Drakon, may have charmed his way into her life but she’s not fooled by his smooth talking ways. Problem is, Rick is a long-time friend of Lily’s new husband, Detective James Rivers. While James is busy convincing her to look elsewhere, Lily embarks on a dangerous path toward uncovering the truth. Will this case come between the couple or will Lily find herself closer to evil than ever before?
Read an Excerpt
She sprinted toward the ambulance with James inside. Her heart leaped into her throat. She didn’t want to alarm the others, but she didn’t really know if he was going to make it. Antonio had not. And what would she do if he didn’t? Images of her life with James flashed before her eyes.
From the moment when she’d first laid eyes on his silky black hair and tattooed biceps in the basement of her funeral home to their wedding day when he told her they would be together forever, this could not be the end. She would not want to go on. Tears flooded her eyes, clouding her vision as she ran toward the ambulance James had been loaded into. Yanking the back door open wide, she propelled herself inside.
His eyes were closed but his body had been hooked up to monitors that beeped incessantly. Intravenous fluids ran down the tubing and into James’s arms. And there was blood—lots of blood on the floor of the truck and on the linens of the stretcher. She willed herself into tunnel vision to avoid seeing nothing but red. The paramedics sat on opposite sides of the ambulance monitoring the machines hooked up to him.
She stood at the foot of the stretcher watching for any movement. Was he unconscious? Had he slipped into a coma? Was he only minutes from death? She’d stopped breathing altogether until she touched his leg and his eyes popped open.
“You know, this is the first time I’ve ever been shot.” His eyes sparkled with mischief.
She released the air from her lungs and chuckled at him. Her heart could beat again. “Congratulations. I’ll tell you what you’ve won later. Now work on not dying.”
He smiled and laid his head back on the pillow. “Yes, ma’am.”
About the Author:When Ana Diamond isn’t writing about tough gals finding love in unexpected places, she’s at work by day in the medical field. She writes romantic cozy mystery novels with feisty strong women and alluring men who can’t resist them. Her books are fast paced, entertaining and heartfelt all at once.
Ana is a 2020 Tara Contest Finalist for Body Conscious and 2015 Melody of Love contest finalist. She lives in New York with her husband, two children and two needy but wildly entertaining kitty cats.
