Friday, February 28, 2014

'Shannon's Law'






Today is a Launch Day post for Shannon's Law by Emma Calin, a Romance/Crime with humor available today from Gallo-Romano Media. There will be no interview or guest post, but I am posting the blurb, and a brief author bio, as well as links to the participating blogs to increase your chances at winning one of the prizes awarded. Please leave your e-mail address when you comment. 

****Emma will be awarding a Shannon's Law Launch Day Swag Bag to one randomly drawn commenter during the tour and a $30 Amazon voucher will be awarded to one randomly drawn commenter during the tour. Also, a print copy of Shannon's Law will be awarded to three (3) randomly drawn commenters and a digital copy of Shannon's Law will be awarded to five (5) randomly drawn commenter during the tour. ALL ENTRANTS get emailed a digital cookery book of recipes (including photos!) for meals/food eaten in Shannon's Law. The book is called 'Cops Cuisine'.****



Emma Calin was born in London in 1962. She currently lives in France and the UK.
She has been writing since childhood and has won numerous local, national and international prizes for poetry and short stories.

"Knockout!" is the first of the “Passion Patrol Series” a stand-alone love story set against a backdrop of international gambling corruption and deception. Interpol cop Anna Leyton finds herself torn between love and duty when her professional and private life intersects.  This book is now available in both paperback and Kindle formats.

“The Love in a Hopeless Place Collection” is a bargain anthology of 5 short stories and novelettes, available in paperback and digital formats.

"Sub-Prime" is a prize-winning hard hitting short story about courage, exploitation and love. It is a raw and brutal exposé of life at the bottom in the aftermath of recession.

"The Chosen" is also a short story,  set in modern times where working people struggle to keep their dreams alive. A world where the promise of love motivates desperate measures.

“Escape To Love” is a 'novelette' (longer than a short story but shorter than a novella), a gritty urban romance with suspense and mystery but a love story at it's core. 

“Angela” a short story about a late-night taxi journey.

“Love in a Hopeless Place” a novelette about a middle-aged woman striving to find her true identity.



Amazon links to books by Emma Calin

(Pre-order paperback only at this stage)

 About.me page: http://about.me/emmacalin
Emma Calin Website:  http://www.emmacalin.com




 Blurb for Shannon's Law

Wild child inner city cop Shannon Aguerri walks a dangerous line between her methods and justice. When the bosses lose their nerve, after yet another maverick mission, she is transferred to green pastures to play out the role of a routine village cop. When she encounters signs of people and drug trafficking she homes in on serious millionaire criminals.  As a loner she has attracted men but nothing has stuck. When she meets Spencer, the hunky and widowed Earl of Bloxington, there is an immediate rapport between them. Their social differences mean nothing to their passion and need.  Already in the mix is an upper class female rival – who has long plotted her way into the Earl's bed. The jealousy is an evil shade of green and the anger is a violent scarlet.  Often inhibited by a sense of duty and honour, Spencer is slow to reveal his feelings. When Shannon confronts him with the need to choose between her word and that of her rival, he does not immediately support her. All the same, when they are forced together to carry out a desperate rescue mission, their love is stronger than everything ranged against them.

Author's note: This book is quite 'strongly flavoured' and features uninhibited, but straightforward steamy sexual scenes between consenting adults and true-to-life street language that would occur in high-stress situations. 


Participating Blogs






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Wednesday, February 26, 2014

'Banished Love'






Today's post is the Virtual Book Tour for Banished Love by Ramona Flightner, an Historical Women’s Fiction with strong romantic elements available January 28, 2014 from Grizzly Damsel Publishing. Please leave your e-mail address, as the author will be awarding one randomly chosen commenter a $50 Amazon/BN.com gift card. I will post links to the participating blogs for more chances to win.


Ramona Flightner is a native of Missoula, Montana. After graduating from Tufts University with a B.A. in Spanish, she earned a Masters degree in Spanish Literature from the University of Montana. Her Master’s thesis, Chilean Testimonial Literature: the collective suffering of a people, highlighted her continued interest in the stories of those who were at risk of being forgotten or silenced.
           
She studied nursing at the University of Pennsylvania and graduated with a Master’s in Nursing as a Family Nurse Practitioner. She has worked for ten years as a family nurse practitioner providing care to the poor and under insured at two community health centers, first in Wilmington, Delaware and now in Boston, Massachusetts.
           
An avid reader, she began writing three years ago. She enjoys the demands of research and relishes the small discoveries that give historical detail to her books.
           
Ramona is an avid flyfisher and hiker who enjoys nothing better than spending a day on a remote Montana river, far from a city. She enjoys research, travel, storytelling, learning about new cultures and discovering new ways of looking at the world. Though she resides in Boston, Massachusetts, Ramona remains a Montanan at heart.
          
 Her dreams are to see the plains of East Africa, marvel at the wonder of Petra in Jordan, soak in the seas of the South Pacific, and to continue to spend as much time as possible with her family.
           
Banished Love is her first novel and is the first in the forthcoming Banished Saga.







Blurb for Banished Love

Free-Spirited…

Clarissa Sullivan dreams for more from life than sipping tepid tea in stifling parlors in Victorian Boston. She defies her family’s wishes, continuing to teach poor immigrant children in Boston’s West End, finding a much-needed purpose to her life.

Radical…

As a suffragette, Clarissa is considered a firebrand radical no man would desire. For why should women want the vote when men have sheltered women from the distasteful aspects of politics and law?

Determined…

When love blossoms between Clarissa and Gabriel McLeod, a struggling cabinetmaker, her family objects. Clarissa’s love and determination will be tested as she faces class prejudices, manipulative family members and social convention in order to live the life she desires with the man she loves.

Will she succeed? Or will she yield to expectations?

BANISHED LOVE follows Clarissa Sullivan on her journey of self-discovery as she learns what she cannot live without.


Excerpt from Banished Love


“You’ve known my beliefs for some time,” I croaked out.

“A schoolgirl’s idealism,” she snapped. “Nothing to be acted on.”

Mrs. Chickering cleared her throat, as though to remind Mrs. Smythe she remained present. “I think it takes a tremendous strength of character to have beliefs and then actually act on them,” she said with her own fervor. “I would hate for women to lock away their desires for a better world once they leave school or marry. They, as women, have lives, have hopes and dreams for the future, independent of what a man might want.”

“How dare you come into my house and tell me that what I have is not sufficient?” Mrs. Smythe gasped.

“I am saying no such thing, Mrs. Sullivan,” Mrs. Chickering replied. “I believe you need to understand that your stepdaughter has beliefs and aspirations that are different from yours.”

“Aspirations that include the vote?” Mrs. Smythe scoffed. “Men have voted in the past, they will continue to vote, and I have no desire of it. I feel as my husband does on all things to do with politics, so it would only be giving the same politician two votes rather than one. There’s no purpose to women having the vote.” Her eyes flashed, true enmity in their depths as she glared at Mrs. Chickering. “And didn’t we women of Massachusetts show you suffragettes we didn’t want the vote in’95? No one voted for women to become enfranchised then, and they won’t now.” She sighed loudly, as though trying to calm herself.

“An aspiration for independence?” Mrs. Smythe continued, unable to stop speaking. “Are you telling me that someday it should be lauded, hoped for, that young women become independent and have no need for marriage? No need for children? How could that ever be a hoped-for future? You and your group want too much for women. Women should focus on their home, on creating a moral, upstanding environment in which to raise children. She will want for nothing if she has such a home,” Mrs. Smythe argued.

“So I suppose women should remain tied to the kitchen stove with children at their ankles, and a husband who might, or might not, come home with a paycheck as their only recourse?” Mrs. Chickering countered. “Relying on the benevolence of men to write laws and enforce them without women having any involvement in the legislative process? Sitting at home knitting, hoping that men will ensure that our rights are protected? That is all you envision for women? Nothing more?”

“It has been enough for generations. I do not know why it should need to change now,” Mrs. Smythe snapped, banging down her teacup with such force I thought she might crack it.

“Was that enough for you in your first marriage, Mrs. Sullivan?” Mrs. Chickering asked, pinning her with an intense gaze.


Participating Blogs

February 3: Full Moon Dreaming
February 4: Novel Moments
February 4: Ms.Stuart Requests the Pleasure of Your Company
February 5: Book Reviews by Dee
February 6: Andi's Book Reviews
February 6: The Simple Things in Life
February 7: Bookgirl Knitting
February 7: Books on Silver Wings

February 10: Two Ends of the Pen
February 10: Room With Books
February 11: Travel the Ages
February 12: Christine Elaine Black
February 13: Aly's Miscellany
February 13: Buried Under Romance
February 14: Erzabet's Enchantments
February 14: Sexy Adventures Passionate Tales

February 17: The Most Happy Reader
February 18: Susana's Morning Room
February 18: Wickedly Wanton Tales
February 19: Gemini Girls
February 19: Francesca's Mindstream
February 20: Laurie's Thoughts and Reviews
February 20: Margay Leah Justice
February 21: Punya Reviews...

February 24: Rachel Brimble Romance
February 24: Christine Young author
February 25: The Snarkology
February 26: Reviews Unleashed
February 26: My Odd Little World
February 27: Ryshia Kennie
February 28: Blue Rose Romance
February 28: Nickie's Views and Interviews

March 3: Hope. Dreams. Life... Love
March 4: It's Raining Books
March 5: Words of Wisdom from The Scarf Princess
March 6: Wake Up Your Wild Side
March 7: My Devotional Thoughts
March 7: Bea's Book Nook

March 10: Book Suburbia
March 10: Nana Prah
March 11: You Gotta Read Reviews
March 12: Cynthia Gail
March 12: A Writer's Life
March 13: Long and Short Reviews
March 14: Deal Sharing Aunt
March 14: Words, Words, Words

March 17: Reader Girls
March 18: Maggie Thom
March 19: The Book Review
March 20: LizaOConnor-Author
March 20: Samantha Holt
March 21: Katherine Givens

March 24: Queen of All She Reads
March 24: Beyond Romance
March 25: Linda Nightingale...Wordsmith
March 25: For the Love of Bookends
March 26: Reviews by Crystal
March 27: Rose and Beps Blog
March 27: The Crafty Cauldron
March 28: Brooke Blogs
March 28: Dawn's Reading Nook




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Tuesday, February 25, 2014

'Downbeat' or How Love and High C# Beat the Evil Megavamp and Saved Us All

DownbeatBlogTour



Hi everyone! Today is my birthday, and I am celebrating by hosting the tour for the latest release in Mary Hughes wildly popular and much loved Biting Love series. Downbeat is the latest book in Mary Hughes' wonderful Biting Love series, and once again features the quirky and marvelous folks from Meiers Corners.  I will have a blurb, an excerpt and of course, buy links for Downbeat, Book 7 in the Biting Love Series. Mary also sent a post with a great teaser about Mr. Elias and the other vampires of the Iowa Alliance.

***Grand Prize - Mary is giving away a Nook or Kindle ereader--plus accessories--up to $250.00 (US $)!***

I've worked as everything from a cleaning temp to project manager for global clients. Currently I'm an author, musician, and computer consultant. I live in the United States Midwest with a basement full of spare computer parts and several musical instruments including my husband's romantic cello and my flute for playing bird parts in orchestra...ask me to tell you that story sometime :)
Hugs!
Mary


Thank you to Nancy and My Odd Little World for having me here again!

 

The Ancient One

 

Biting Love vampires are powerful, dark creatures. They only get more so as they age. My heroes range from hundreds of years old to thousands, each with their own challenges and strengths. Ric Holiday is turned as a boy of ten in Beauty Bites. He bursts from the soil only to flop in the moonlight like a newborn bird—thank goodness savvy twelve-year-old Aiden is there to help and guide him. Logan Steel, blond hair brushing his broad shoulders, has acquired the insouciant grace of his four hundred years by the time Biting Me Softly takes place. Black-haired black-eyed maestro Dragan Zajicek from new release Downbeat and lawyer Julian Emerson from Biting Nixie are both well over a thousand, and have mastered the advanced vampire fighting technique of shapeshifting. Spartan warrior Nikos wears his several millenniums like sharp-studded armor.

Then there’s the Ancient One.

His voice is deep, dark and cool as a cave. He seems damned near omniscient.

And that’s all we know about him to start.

Gradually through the series we learn more about him. His name is Mr. Elias. He loves to bargain. He has a ward. His first name is Kai. He has a personal history with Nosferatu, the leader of the Coterie. He’s the most dangerous being on the planet.

He’s one of the oldest vampires walking the earth. He’s head of the Iowa Alliance, vampires who live in harmony with humans, treating them as equals (as opposed to the Coterie vamps who would treat humans as blood cattle). Assassin Aiden Blackthorne will say about the Ancient One in Assassins Bite: Strange, when he thought about it. The oldest among them behaved most like he’d kept his humanity.

After six books and three short stories, in Downbeat, we get to meet the Ancient One in the flesh. Acres of hard-muscled flesh. I can’t say much without spoilers, except that this is a scene I’ve been waiting and wanting to write since 2008.

But Elias has been waiting a lot longer :)

Is he a good guy or bad? An anti-hero like Zajicek? Will the Ancient One have his own story or be forever dark and alone?

I’m waiting to tell.

He’s waiting too. Not patiently, but like a volcano, apparently placid, but powerful and seething underneath.




Blurb for Downbeat

Striking the right note could shatter more than their hearts.

After an attack that slaughtered his family, vampire Dragan Zajicek walled off his heart and went on a sixteen-hundred-year rampage with the bad boys of history.

Now a rock star of the concert podium and master freelance spy, he’s taken the baton for a small orchestra near Chicago to investigate rumors of a monstrous, undefeatable vampire dubbed the Soul Stealer.

But it’s the lovely, unassuming Raquel “Rocky” Hrbek who mesmerizes him from the first touch of her luscious lips on her flute.

Rocky, a shy shadow scarred by middle school cruelty, is mystified as to why core-meltingly gorgeous Dragan would notice a mouse like her. As his stolen kisses draw her dangerously close to the edge of her carefully constructed comfort zone, he exposes her secret—she’s investigating the monster herself.

As their quest draws them closer together, the monster zeroes in on the woman Dragan’s rebellious heart tells him is his mate. Now they must find a way to destroy the indestructible before Rocky is utterly consumed. And Chicago is bathed in the blood of innocents.

Warning: Contains a master of seduction and symphonies, an awkward and innocent flutist, small-town humor, heart-stopping action, and an exodus to Iowa. Oh, and the cheese balls are ba-a-ack—and deadlier than ever.

Excerpt from Downbeat

“May I accompany you, Ms. Hrbek?”

I jumped and nearly tripped. Zajicek caught my wrist to steady me. His fingers were long and slender but amazingly strong—and fiercely warm. Like iron filings to a magnet, my skin aligned instantly to him. Hot sensation juddered through me, knocking me even more off balance. I scrambled to regain my equilibrium, only to have my feet scud into one of the semi-vertical sidewalk stones. My flute bag slipped off my shoulder and nosedived into the crook of my arm, yanking me sideways. I went down.

Powerful arms wrapped around me and saved me from severe pavement burn. The arms were gentle righting me, and I stood in their comforting embrace a moment to get my breath back. A strong heart beat under my cheek. My palms pressed against warm, crisp cotton. The body under the cotton was a solid, cloth-covered cliff, so unlike my own soft limbs. I shivered.

“Are you all right, Ms. Hrbek?” Zajicek’s deep honeyed tones, tinged with amusement, came from somewhere over my head.

“Huh?” Not the snappiest of rejoinders but I was cheek-to-massive-chest with Dragan Zajicek, the posterboy I’d had the hots for half my life.

He was definitely not pasteboard now. The longer I stood there the more I felt. Every ridge of his taut abdomen, the roped muscles of his long thighs, the poke of his belt buckle; they all became alarmingly three-dimensional. His warm breath stirred my hair. Something else stirred too, at hip level…and silent laughter rippled through him.

My brain churned. The intimate way he held me made no sense, but the laughter, well, my clumsiness had lightened the room on more than one occasion.
Then Zajicek’s long fingers slid under my chin, raising my face. His brilliant eyes were shuttered by slumberous lids. I stared in bemusement as his face expanded in my vision…

His lips found mine.

Warm. Smooth. Exciting. “Some Enchanted Evening” sang through my right brain.

My left brain locked up in utter confusion. A man was kissing me. Zajicek was kissing me. The sum of my kissing experience was a slobbery grandmother and a few rushed awkward sexual encounters. I never really saw what the fuss was about. Until Zajicek.

I always thought kisses were simply the press of lips. His mouth didn’t simply anything. It rubbed, it tasted, it gently teased. Warm, velvety soft, his tongue began to explore.

I stood there in stupefied awe.

Until he murmured against my lips, “How clumsy you are, Ms. Hrbek. How very fortunate I was here to catch you.”

He thought I’d done it on purpose.

I struggled out of his embrace. He was slow letting go, his fingers firm on my arms. With a little tilt of his head, he perused me. Whatever he saw on my face made him release me with an extravagant sigh. “I beg your pardon. Apparently I misread your…desires.”

I flushed, because he hadn’t misread my “desires” at all. Just my intentions. I jerked my flute bag onto my shoulder and started determinedly toward my car, fiercely watching my feet on the uneven sidewalk. “No biggie. What did you want, Maestro?”

Long legs kept graceful pace with me. “Call me Dragan, please. Maestro is so overused.”

His first name? It implied an intimacy I couldn’t afford. 
“You call me Ms. Hrbek.”

“Yes, but perhaps you would allow me the familiarity of your first name as well?” His tone was coaxing.

I skewed a look at him, immediately returning my attention to the stones, although I was beginning to think Zajicek was more treacherous than my footing. 

“If you want. After all, you’ll be seeing us weekly for a while.”

“Perhaps you and I will be seeing a great deal more of each other, hmm?”

Yikes. My stomach flipped, my attention disintegrated and the elevated corner of a concrete slab cold-cocked my foot. I tripped and would have fallen again if not for Zajicek’s lightning reflexes. He caught me in his arms, steadying me. Senses reeling, I let him, my forebrain scolding idiot but my lizard brain panting and presenting its tail. Before I could completely self-combust, he brushed a thumb over my cheek and released me.

“What do you mean by that?” I croaked. Catching my flute bag to my chest, I wheeled and trotted off, fast, too fast, almost running, nearly stumbling yet again. Making a conscious effort to slow down, I cleared my throat. “Why would you see more of me than any other orchestra member?”

“I am staying in Meiers Corners for the duration of Mr. Banger’s recovery. That is what I wished to discuss with you. I have only just arrived in the area. I’d like to follow you home this evening.”

Dragan Zajicek in all his powerful, elegant glory, driving behind me? My internal meter was pinging red alert, core meltdown imminent. “You don’t need to. I can tell you how to go. It’s not that far.”

“Perhaps. But it’s late and I would not wish to become lost.”

I opened my mouth to say no, heard my voice say, “Oka—” and snapped my jaw shut so fast teeth sparked. Problem was, I liked being with him—which, considering I was practically wearing my heart on my sleeve, was dangerous. What if he found out his kiss was the first real one of my life, and had utterly demolished me?

“Ms. Hrbek?”
He was politely waiting for an answer. Politely, as if the whole of my pitiful ego wasn’t in the balance.
I tried to see it from his point of view. The man wanted help getting around. A few directions, not my soul. Simple neighborliness would do. I breathed deep, and managed to rasp out, “Sure. No problem, Mr. Zajicek.”
He smiled and slipped his arm around mine. “Dragan, please.” His hip bumped against my side as we walked.

My respiration rate shot through the roof. I gritted my teeth. Simple neighborliness, yeah, right. Like your basic neighborhood raging inferno. “Okay. First names. I’m Rocky.”

“Rocky? That’s a boy’s name.”
 
“It’s a nickname,” I admitted.
 
“Ah. And your real name?”
 
Yes. My “real” name.

My friend, Nixie Emerson, once told me names have power. In her case, she went by her kicky middle name instead of “Dietlinde”, her dull-as-dust first. For her, that was appropriate. Nixie was short and punk and smart as a whip—and as smart-mouthed too, though she reined it in around her new baby.

In my case though, my “real” name was not appropriate. Anti-appropriate, in fact. My mom named me Raquel, after Raquel Welch, the sex-goddess of the sixties. So while Nixie’s name was right and good, mine was a joke. And considering my nega-love-life, a rather nasty one at that. “Rocky’s good enough, Mr. Zajicek.”

“Dragan,” he murmured, somehow pulling me closer. The heat of his body licked flame-like up my side. I hissed and shifted my flute bag between us, but as a defense it backfired. Zajicek simply plucked the bag from my hands. “Shall I carry that?”

“You don’t have to. No, wait—”

“Nonsense. It is quite light.” He shifted my bag onto his own shoulder, not the one between us. The strap wrapped itself over his muscles like a second skin, and I swear it moaned happily.

Then Zajicek curled one hand around my waist and pulled me so close I could barely breathe. I tried to, really I did. But every tentative inhale brought the scent of him, cotton and sandalwood and burning masculinity. Every movement of my ribcage scraped the side of my breast against his arm, until I was trembling with the need to rub blatantly against him. Every breath drew cool air over my tongue…yikes, I was lolling like a dog in heat.

My glasses fogged up, and I stumbled again.

Both Zajicek’s arms went around me. I felt incredibly clumsy and stupid, making him rescue me continually from my own feet. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Zajicek—”

“Dragan,” he murmured, cupping my chin and lifting my face for another soft kiss. His lips touched mine, his mouth moving in tiny circles as if to warm my skin. He didn’t need to. I was plenty warm already—and a little buzzy.

“You taste wonderful.” His mouth opened and his tongue teased the seam of my lips.

I jumped at the touch but Zajicek held me, so securely I relaxed into his arms. It seemed to be some sort of cue for him to lick me and slide his tongue between my lips, encouraging me to part them.

He asked so nicely, with tiny hot licks. So I did.

The instant my mouth opened he devoured me. His mouth slanted over mine and his jaw dropped. Heat rushed in. I gasped. Shocked and a little scared, I fell back, but he stepped with me, wrapped his arm around my back and trapped me good. He had to bend quite a ways to do it.

My back arched like a bow, my breasts crushed to his chest, my hips to his thighs. Something stirred against my belly, sending a jolt shearing through me. My mouth tingled and my breasts tingled and I was getting really tingly between my legs.

I slid my hands between us to try to wedge open some space. All I succeeded in doing was fitting my palms to the hardest pectorals in the world.

The tingling between my legs was starting to drive me insane.

Zajicek’s mouth left mine to trail licks and nibbles down my jaw to my throat. He nuzzled me there, an odd dark rumble coming from his chest, almost a lion’s purr. “You smell divine. Ah, to taste you fully.” His tongue rasped over my pulse.

Somewhere along the way his hand had found my breast and was kneading and cupping while he sucked gently on the tender skin of my neck until my head spun.

Then his fingers found my raised nipple and plucked.
 
A thousand Christmas lights went on in my head. I shrieked.

TOUR SCHEDULE
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'Bob at the Lake'







Today's Book Blast post is for Bob at the Lake by R. Murphy, a Contemporary Paranormal Humorous Romance available now from Soul Mate Publishing. There is no interview or guest post, but I will post a blurb, excerpt and a brief bio of the author, as well as links to the participating blogs on the tour. Please leave your e-mail when you comment, as the author will be awarding a $25 Amazon GC to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour.

Roz Murphy is the pseudonym of a shy, retiring writer who doesn’t want her neighbors to know how nutty she really is. Brooklyn-born and Jersey-bred, Roz now lives on the misty shore of one of New York’s beautiful Finger Lakes. Prior to that, her business writing career took her to many locations, including Manhattan, where she worked for a number of years. As a freelance and corporate writer, Roz won several national and international writing and communications awards.

Now Roz is pursuing her first love—fiction. She’s writing the ‘Bob’ books, the humorous chronicle of a crabby ‘woman of a certain age’ who moves to the wintry shores of a New York lake—and gets a ghost. And not just any ghost, mind you. Bob’s a plump, middle-aged ghost from 1920s Manhattan who swans around in a silk smoking jacket and drinks far too many martinis. Stir the good-looking grape grower who lives up the hill into this mix and you get a pretty potent screwball cocktail!

When she’s not reading, writing, hill-walking, staring mindlessly out the window at the lake or piling rocks onto her ever-diminishing lakefront, you can usually find Roz hanging out with her family, travelling, or exploring the amazing wines and wineries of the Finger Lakes.

‘Bob at the Lake’ is exclusively available as a Kindle download from Amazon. Please join Roz Murphy Author on FaceBook for updates on the many adventures of Roz, David—and Bob.





Blurb for Bob at the Lake

Take a crabby woman of a certain age, move her to the wintry shores of a New York lake, and then throw in a martini-loving ghost from 1920s Manhattan. Last, stir in the good-looking grape grower who lives up the hill. Now there’s a recipe for a potent screwball cocktail!




Excerpt from Bob at the Lake

“Trust me, it will hit you like a brick of gold.”

That’s Bob. He’s my ghost. Well, not my ghost since I’m sitting here writing, but the ghost who lives with me. Other women probably get muscleman ghosts who can fix plumbing and take out the garbage, or romantic ghosts who set their hearts a-flutter. Me, I get a ghost who’s middle-aged, plump, and who likes to lounge around the house in a silk smoking jacket from the nineteen-thirties. Not exactly the kind of ghost I’d ever imagined I’d get. I will admit, though, that Bob does make an amazing martini. A martini that, in fact, hits you like a brick of gold.

I found, unfortunately, the longer Bob lived at my place, the more I appreciated his skill with martinis. Which was probably not a great thing for my liver, or my relationships with my sisters, but what the heck.

Remember the Great Recession? According to the newspapers, some consumers seem to be wiping it from their memories, but it had a big impact on a lot of people, including me. That economy hurt. Lost jobs, lost houses, lost marriages, lost hopes—lives turned upside down in the flutter of a pink slip. People scrambling just to keep from drowning—couch surfing, penny pinching, living newly frugal lives.

Like millions of others, the economy sucked me into its undertow...

This one sounds like a lot of fun...I sense a shopping trip in my near future.

Participating Blogs

Monday, February 24, 2014

Get 'Struck'







Today's post is a Book Blast For Struck by Clarissa Johal, a Paranormal Gothic Horror book available now from Musa Publishing. As a Book Blast, there is no guest post or interview, but I will be posting the blurb, an excerpt and a bit about the author. I will also post links to the other blogs participating in the tour so you can have more chances to win Clarissa's prize of an e-copy of Struck awarded to three (3) randomly drawn commenters during the tour. Please leave your e-mail address when you comment.


Clarissa Johal has worked as a veterinary assistant, zoo-keeper aide and vegetarian chef. Writing has always been her passion. When she’s not listening to the ghosts in her head, she’s dancing or taking photographs of gargoyles. She shares her life with her husband, two daughters and every stray animal that darkens the doorstep. One day, she expects that a wayward troll will wander into her yard, but that hasn’t happened yet.






Buy Links for STRUCK







Blurb for Struck

The shadows hadn't been waiting.
The shadows had been invited.

After a painful breakup, Gwynneth Reese moves in with her best friend and takes a job at a retirement home. She grows especially close to one resident, who dies alone the night of a terrific storm. On the way home from paying her last respects, Gwynneth is caught in another storm and is struck by lightning. She wakes in the hospital with a vague memory of being rescued by a mysterious stranger. Following her release from the hospital, the stranger visits her at will and offers Gwynneth a gift--one that will stay the hands of death. Gwynneth is uncertain whether Julian is a savior or something more sinister... for as he shares more and more of this gift, his price becomes more and more deadly.

Excerpt from Struck

A bolt of blue-white lightning snaked from the sky and hit the ground in front of her. The thunderclap that shattered the air was deafening. Gwynneth slammed on her brakes and skidded. It was a slow skid, or it seemed to be. Spinning around and around in a circle, she felt like she was watching herself from afar. Time felt like it was slowing. Oddly enough, she found herself wondering if there would be white or red flowers on Hannah’s casket. Or maybe none at all.

Gwynneth’s face smacked against the steering wheel. Reality hit her along with the pain. She had forgotten to wear her seatbelt. She pressed her fingers lightly to her throbbing temple and winced. “Shit!” Thankfully, she was in one piece. Gwynneth opened the car door. Lightning lit the area and bathed her senses in a flash of blue-white. Icy rain hit her skin. Stupid! You left your jacket back at the funeral home. She ran around the car and checked all the tires. The back one was flat, and on top of that, her car was quite obviously stuck in a ditch. “Great.” She had no spare tire, she knew that for sure. She also had no idea which way led back to the retirement home. Her headlights cast a weak glow through the rain. Soaked to the skin and shivering, Gwynneth peered into the darkness. A muddy road meandered across saturated fields and off into nothingness.

She sloshed back to her car and quickly turned the engine off. She certainly didn’t need a dead battery on top of a flat tire. “Okay, Gwen,” she said aloud, “you need to figure out what to do.” Rain ran in rivulets down her face and her tie-dyed T-shirt stuck to her like a second skin. I’m a soggy, shivering rainbow. She started to walk and cursed the fact that her cell phone wasn’t charged. Seth was always bugging her about that. “Suck it up, Gwen. It rains in Oregon too.” The inky blackness was disconcerting. Lightning intermittently illuminated the area like the flash of a camera. A snapshot of a road to nowhere. Gwynneth hoped that she was at least walking in the right direction. Her teeth were chattering so hard she was in danger of biting her own tongue. Thunder rolled up her spine and along her scalp like probing fingers.

Her thoughts wandered back to Hannah. A diary. I wonder what she wrote about? She wouldn’t read it, of course, it was private. I’m sure she just wants me to throw it away so her children don’t either. A pang of loss sliced through the cold and Gwynneth shook it off. They had spent countless hours chatting and Hannah never mentioned a diary. She bit her lip. If she could only turn back time, Gwynneth would have told her how much their time together had meant. Hannah had always encouraged her to start painting again, but also understood why Gwynneth couldn’t.

A loud ‘crack’ sounded and an iridescent white light surrounded her. Two things registered: a searing pain that ripped down her back and the ground which seemed to be pulled away from her at an alarming speed.

* * * *

Blackness.

Pain shot through the back of Gwynneth’s head as she opened her eyes. Somebody was standing over her. She tried to focus on the face, but it hurt too much. A cool hand slid across her forehead. She opened her eyes again.

Pale, almost white eyes. High cheekbones, aquiline nose, and a well-shaped mouth. Long, white hair. Ageless. Beautiful, like a Michelangelo. All of those details registered with clarity before agony ripped through her body. She arched her back and cried out. The man murmured something into her ear which she couldn’t understand. She could feel the vibration of his voice and his breath on her neck as he gathered her in his arms. She opened her eyes and saw lightning fork to the ground silently behind him. She blacked out again.


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