Monday, December 11, 2017

Interview with Leslie Scott, Author of The Finish Line.

What made you decide to be an author? I've always been a writer, for as long as I can remember. In third grade, I won my first writing award. From that point on i've scribbled notebooks
full of stories. Several years ago one of my Beta readers (and a very dear friend) told me that she wasn't going to read another thing I wrote until I finished a novel. That kicked me into gear
and I've finished quite a few since then. lol

What do you like best about being a writer? What do you like the least? Least... nothing. I cannot think of a single thing I don't love of about crafting stories. Story telling is an extension of me, as second nature as breathing. I love the release of finally telling a character's story and
giving them their happily ever after. But the very best thing, is when someone else gets as much enjoyment from reading something I wrote as I did writing it. That sort of bond is unbreakable.

How do you think your life experiences have prepared you for writing? I'm a reader as much as a writer. Since I was a little girl, I would read anything. So, when writing assigments flowed in at school, I would immitate the writer's I was reading. I picked up a lot of style and grammar tricks that way. Over the years I continue to do it. Though not necessarily a "life experience' in terms of what most people would think, but this was probably the one thing that prepared me the most. Reading.

Have you ever felt as if you were being dictated to while you wrote a book--as if the words came of their own accord? If yes, which book did that happen with? All of them! The second I climb into a character's brain, they tell their own story. I just make sure it has all the vital elements and they react, the words coming.
from there.

You’ve written three novels and are working on a fourth novel. What’s your favorite time management tip? Right now? I don't have a time management tip. I wish I had some that I would follow. With the first novel about to release and two stories in with editors at The Wild Rose Press and the fourth being written now, I'm struggling to get all the things done I want done. I try to remember what Nora Roberts said in Love Between the Covers: Ass to seat, fingers to keyboard. That's the only way things ever get done.

Are you a plotter or a pantser, i.e., do you outline your books ahead of time or are you an “organic” writer? I try to be a plotter. I really, really do. And mostly I come up with a skeleton outline of things that have to happen. But, as I said above, the characters tend to take over. Once they do, I'm flying by the seat of my pants!

If you had one take away piece of advice for authors, what would it be? Don't stop writing. Writers block truly doesn't exist. If you get stuck with a story, don't be afraid to move on to something else, writing stimulates your creativity and will eventually, blow right through whatever was holding you up.

Tell me more about The Finish Line. The Finish Line was my way to combine my husband's passion with mine. I love to write and to write romance, he loves racing. At some point, I wondered how easy it would be to write a saga of a small town, filled with street and drag races, and the lives they lead. Next thing I know, I have the Fast and the Furious of the romance genre! This novel is action and emotion packed. The best of both worlds.
Another night at the races is more than burnt rubber with a hit of nitrous.

For one young woman, it's navigating trauma, love, and loss in the stifling Texas heat under the watchful gaze of her brother’s best friend and reigning King of the Streets, Jordan Slater. Home in Arkadia again, Raelynn Casey starts to heal from a terrible incident at college.

She finds love in Jordan, a member of her brother’s circle of racing buddies. When another in the racing circle, the guy who took her to her high school prom, exposes his feelings for Raelynn, tragedy erupts like a tank of race fuel.

Guilt, remorse, and pain must be overcome before Raelynn and Jordan can race to The Finish Line.

How about an excerpt from The Finish Line?
He turned away from me and watched the approaching truck stop several hundred feet from our
hiding spot. The silence seemed to stretch on forever. Again, he said a lot without saying a thing and it made me nervous as hell. I couldn’t handle that sort of silence.
“I’m not going to pretend like it didn’t happen, Jordan.” Because it had happened. It had happened and I’d been left reeling from it. When he’d followed up kissing me stupid in his driveway after my graduation with verbally shooting me down hard, I’d been left with all sorts of unsettled emotions. “For a while, I thought you’d broken my heart.”
“I never meant to.” I barely heard his words over the roar of the small truck Hunter raced as he fired it up.
As much as I’d wanted to hurt him after that, as many nights as I’d spent awake in my dorm room wishing I could make him feel what I felt, I never could have. Not then and not now. I loved him too much for that. I always would.
“You didn’t,” I assured him quietly. The smell of melted rubber from Hunter’s burnout assaulted us. “I had to learn what being broken really felt like to know it.”
He turned toward me, his face and eyes softening in a way very few people had seen or would ever see. My knees went weak.
I held a hand out to stop him. This line of conversation wasn’t what I wanted out of us right then. I wanted us back to an ease I could navigate with far more clarity. “Life is about learning. Besides, Hunter East taught me more than you ever could have.”
The concern vanished from his face and was replaced with a contorted expression of annoyance.
“Jesus, Rae.”
The smug smile on my face was as genuine as they came. I was proud, in a pesky girl sort of way.
“There are things I could have taught you, Hunter East never would have dreamed of,” he growled.

Where can readers find more about your stories, books and you on the Internet?
Twitter: @leslieSwrites

Buy Links:

Leslie Scott, thank you so much for being with us here today. I know my readers will enjoy your work and your interview. 
Thank you so much, for having me!

Thursday, November 30, 2017

Heroes of Westhorpe Ridge Holiday Series Boxed Set By Kryssie Fortune

Heroes of Westhorpe Ridge
Holiday Series Boxed Set
By Kryssie Fortune
Kryssie is giving away a $10 Amazon Gift Certificate and 3 ebooks of Submission, Secrets, and the Soldier to lucky winners during the tour. Please use the Rafflecopter below to enter. Remember there is a chance to enter every day, so please follow us along on the tour. You may find the tour locations here About the Boxed Set: Kryssie Fortune's holiday series, Heroes of Westhorpe Ridge, is now available in a convenient e-boxed set!
Marriage, Mobsters, and the Marine: Abigail Montgomery, a small town schoolteacher with zero self-confidence, dreams of the Dickensian Christmas her family never enjoyed. Each month she attends a masked BDSM club, but her next visit will be her last. If she doesn’t marry within the next year, her brother won’t inherit Montgomery Hall. Desperate, she advertises for a husband. Jared Armstrong, a former Marine sharpshooter and occasional Dom needs $125,000 to get his family out of a hole. His solution--to marry Abigail Montgomery for her money. His only regret is his wife won’t accept his spanking lifestyle. Gradually, Abigail comes to dream of making their marriage real, but she promised Jared a divorce two years after their wedding. Can they share some Christmas magic as their relationship faces extortion threats, a kidnapping, and an attempted murder? Or will Jared break her heart when he walks away?
Sex, Scandal, and the Sheriff: Jasmine Stewart (Jazz to her friends) falls for the blond stranger when he spanks and seduces her at a Washington soiree. Later, when she discovers her flatmate is trying to draw her into a spy ring, she goes to the authorities. The ensuing publicity costs her her job, her security, and her future. Starting over in Westhorpe Ridge is her only option. Sean Mathews, former SEAL and Westhorpe Ridge’s sheriff, can’t forget the woman he spanked when he visited Washington, but he thinks she’s a spy. When she turns up in Westhorpe Ridge, he tries everything to make her leave town. Despite their misunderstandings, though, they can’t keep their hands off each other. As Year’s Eve looms, the spy ring resurfaces. Jazz will need all of Sean’s SEAL prowess to survive. But because his wounded leg cost him his speed in the water, will it be enough?
Desire, Deceit, and the Doctor: Twelve years ago, Mandy Devlin moved away from her friends and family--under threat. If she returned in the next ten years or told anyone who fathered her baby, her boyfriend’s great-aunt would bankrupt her family. She’s a single mom who dreams of her lost love and a good spanking. When she’s finally free to return to Westhorpe Ridge, the last person she expects to see is Adam--the man she loved and lost so long ago. Dr. Adam Montgomery doesn’t know he has a son. Thanks to his great-aunt’s will, he has nine months to find a bride or he loses Montgomery Hall and the fifteen million dollars she left him. Although he seduces Mandy on his first night home, he still believes she betrayed him twelve years ago. No way would he marry a woman like her. As Valentine’s Day looms, someone tries to kill Mandy. Is Adam trying to get rid of her? Or can Mandy trust him to protect them? Note: All of the books in this set were previously released as single titles. Buy Links: 

Excerpt from Marriage, Mobsters, and the Marine
Abigail gazed Jared’s his face, her eyes still awash with tears. “Okay, but I expect you to tell me what’s going on. Who were those men? And why did they destroy your truck?”
He slid out from under her, brought a sponge, and gently wiped her face. Once he’d dried her cheeks, he pulled her back onto his knee. “I need to tell you about those personal reasons I mentioned when I accepted your proposal.”
Abigail didn’t speak, just rested her head on his shoulder and snuggled closer. He liked the way seemed ready to move forward. “My cousin’s life is a mess. A few years ago she married a small-time crook with a bad gambling habit, but she didn’t deserve to watch the mob murder him over his debts. She’s agreed to testify against them and go into the witness-protection program. The mob still wants their money, and they threatened to go after her mom and dad, always assuming they could find them. My aunt and uncle are off exploring the Amazon basin or something.”
Abigail listened intently. When he paused for breath, she shook her head. “The mob? The Amazon basin? It sounds like B-movie plot to me. Just throw in a few killer tomatoes.”
Jared held her tight against his chest. “The phone call earlier was from my cousin. Since the mob can’t find her parents, they’ve decided to come after me. Destroying my truck was a warning. Here’s the thing… You know I married you because I needed money. I wanted pay them off and keep my unsuspecting family safe, but I’ll be damned if I’ll pay protection money to keep them away from me. They’re parasites who won’t leave until they’ve taken everything I hold dear. I’m only sorry I sucked you into my mess.”
She hiccupped against his shoulder. “So what happens now?”
He almost stroked her wire-wool hair but thought better of it. “I don’t suppose you’d take a month’s holiday somewhere?”
She sat up, her eyes gleaming with anger. “No way will I abandon my class. We’ve got Christmas projects to finish and the nativity to rehearse. I try to make everything special for them, with it being their last year before they move on to junior high. I’ve already bought them all individual Christmas presents. In between that, we’ll be measuring daylight hours and checking the shadows at midday. Hopefully our solstice project will help them get their heads around shortening days.”

He felt ready to argue but said nothing.

About the Author: 
Kryssie Fortune writes the sort of hot sexy books she loves to read. If she can sneak a dragon into her paranormal books she will. Her paranormal heroes are muscular werewolves, arrogant Fae, or BDSM loving dragons.  Kryssie likes her contemporary heroes ex-military and dominant. Her heroines are kick ass females who can hold their own against whatever life - or Kryssie - throws at them. Kryssie's pet hates are unhappy endings, and a series that end on a cliff hanger.
Her books are all stand alone even when part of series. Plot always comes before sex, but when her heroines and heroes get together, the sex is explosive and explicit. One review called it downright sensual.
Kryssie's Social Links:
Facebook | Twitter | Blog | Website   
a Rafflecopter giveaway

Interview with Carol Preflatish, Author of Her Bluegrass Beau.

What made you decide to be an author? I love to create something with words and being able to share that with people.

What do you like best about being a writer? What do you like the least? I love  being creative and to hold a book that you've written in your hand is such a rush. My least favorite thing I like about writing is the time it takes to go from starting a book to having it published.

How do you think your life experiences have prepared you for writing?
I worked for 30 years in the Human Services field. In that job, I learned how to be very organized and I think that spilled over into my writing. It helps with efficiency.

Have you ever felt as if you were being dictated to while you wrote a book--as if the words came of their own accord? If yes, which book did that happen with? I think in every book I've written, the characters eventually take over their own words and that's a good feeling when it happens.

You’ve written seven novels and are working on a the eighth novel. What’s your favorite time management tip? Again, being organized has been my key. I also try to have a writing schedule so I know when it's time, I sit down and get to work.

Are you a plotter or a pantser, i.e., do you outline your books ahead of time or are you an “organic” writer? I'm a little of both. I always start out with a paraphrased outline of what I want to happen in the first few chapters, but by the time I get to Chapter three or four, I'm writing from the seat of my pants then.

If you had one take away piece of advice for authors, what would it be? Research the publishing industry. By that, I mean if you're going to go with a traditional or small press to publish your book, research them. Make sure they publish the type of book you're writing and that your submission meets their requirements. If you're going to self-publish, know that you're probably going to need an editor, someone to format your book, and someone to make the book cover.

Did music help you find your muse with this book? If yes, which song did you find yourself going back to over and over again as you wrote?
I don't particular listen to music when I write. I do need noise in the room, but it might be the television going in the background, or maybe the radio, but nothing specific.

Tell me more about Her Bluegrass Beau.
Bookstore owner, Karri Taylor, needed to get away from her former boyfriend in California. She couldn't think of a better time than now to visit the Kentucky farm she inherited from her great-aunt. She desperately wanted to see it once more before selling it to finalize the estate. When she arrives, she didn't expect the hospitality of the handsome neighbor or how hard it would be to leave him to go back to California. 

How about an excerpt from Her Bleugrass Beau?
    The next morning, she woke up thinking she heard a noise. There it was again. Someone was pounding on the front door. Still dark outside, she looked at her watch that showed seven o'clock local time. She quickly got out of bed, grabbed her robe and headed down the stairs to the door. Before opening it, she looked around for something to protect herself. She spotted an umbrella behind the door and picked it up. It would have to do.She turned the porch light on and moved the
curtain on the door aside to see who was waking her up at such an early hour. It was four a.m. in California.
     Standing on the other side of the door was Jake, the neighbor she met last night. "Good morning,” his frosty breath floated upward as he spoke.
    "What do you want?" she said, still not opening the door.
    "I brought you some coffee and biscuits with sorghum. Can I come in? It's kind of cold out here."
     Karri looked up at the big round thermometer that hung from the porch roof and saw the temperature was nineteen degrees. The thought of that hot coffee sounded too good to pass up, especially since her bare feet were freezing. She opened the door to let Jake inside and pulled her light robe around her. She shivered when the cold air hit her skin.
     "Thanks. The cold was beginning to make it through my clothes." He immediately started walking toward the kitchen. He held a thermos in one hand and a pie tin with aluminum foil over it. More rudeness, she thought. She put the umbrella back and followed him to the kitchen.
     "I figured you didn't have any food here and would be hungry for breakfast. I fixed me some biscuits this morning and thought I'd bring some back to you." He turned on the oven and uncovered the pie tin of biscuits. From one coat pocket, he sat a glass jar of brown syrupy looking substance on the table and then from the other pocket, he took out a small piece of aluminum foil. When he unfolded it, she saw it had butter inside.
     "You think of everything, don't you?"
     "I try. Why don't get a couple plates and coffee cups for us. I only brought some sugar, I hope you don't use cream?" He took a plastic zipper bag of sugar out of the same pocket that had held the butter.
     "Sugar is fine." She went to the cabinet and got some plates and cups. After rinsing and drying them, she brought them to the table. Jake got silverware from one of the drawers and placed them on the table.
      He sure knows his way around this kitchen, she thought. As he poured her a cup of coffee, she thought she might be salivating. She added two sugars to her cup and took a long drink before sitting down.

Buy Links:
Barnes & Noble:
Her Bluegrass Beau will be available on Smashwords, iTunes, and Kobo soon.
Where can readers find more about your stories, books and you on the Internet?
Website Links:

Carol, thank you so much for being with us here today. I know my readers will enjoy your work and your interview. Thank you so much for hosting me today.

Sunday, November 26, 2017

Happy Birthday to Me--and a Gift for YOU!!

Dear Readers--

It's my birthday week and I'm giving you a gift! From today, November 26 to November 30, 2017 only, this fun, sexy novella is FREE to you!

Recovering gambler Jim Rawlings works as a mid-level manager at one of the largest casino resorts in the country, La Bonne Chance Resort and Casino. Despite employee rules about gambling on site, temptation calls his name daily. After finding himself standing in front of poker table once too often, Jim decides he can’t stay in the casino, no matter how good the money is. He takes a drive around town and finds a down on its luck hotel for sale. It’s as if his prayers are answered. He must have it.

Sous Chef Genie King is living her dream, working in one of the finest restaurants in the casino, if not the country. The only problem is the executive chef is a madman and she longs to have a place to call her own. When a frying pan nearly hits her head, Genie runs out of the kitchen and jumps into her car. She has no idea where she is going, but she can’t go back to that job. When she sees the aging mansion with the for sale sign, she knows she must have it.

Jim takes the biggest chance of his life—bidding at auction for a once-grand inn. Genie never expects another LBC employee to bid at the sale—much less the guy she had a major crush on in high school. Working together means Jim must share long-hidden secrets. Will Genie reject the man with a past? Or will she love the man he's become?

Just go here to get your FREE copy

Hurry! Give away ends November 26, 2017.



Friday, November 24, 2017

Forsaking Hope: Fair Cyprians of London By Beverley Oakley

Forsaking Hope
Fair Cyprians of London By Beverley Oakley
Beverley is giving away a $10 Amazon Gift Certificate to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Please use the RaffleCopter below to enter. Remember you may increase your chances of winning by visiting the other tour stops. You may find those locations here
About the Book: 
Felix, Lord Durham's eldest son, has been in love with the vicar's wild and wilful daughter, Hope, for as long as he can remember. When he learns that Hope is to be sent to Germany to become a governess, he arranges a romantic rendezvous. But Hope fails to appear. Two years later, Felix’s friends arrange a ‘special birthday gift’ for him: a night with notorious brothel owner Madam Chambon’s most sought-after girls. When Hope appears in his bed, Felix is horrified to discover that the passionate, ambitious girl of his dreams has been replaced by a world-weary prostitute who treats him like a transaction. But while love appears to have forsaken Hope, there are chinks in her armour. Can Felix unravel the mystery surrounding Hope’s terrible transformation in time to prevent an even greater tragedy?
Available for preorder here:
Chapter One Wilfred Hunt. If there was a name to tip Hope into the abyss of despair she was hearing it spill from Madame Chambon’s lips now as the older woman directed Hope to take a seat in the reception room, presumably so Madame could loom oppressively over her. With her hands on her ample, expensively padded hips, Hope’s benefactress—procuress, employer and gaoler were other monikers—sent Hope a beetling look that needed no interpreting: Regardless of Hope’s true feelings, Hope must project the required show of warmth and delight at being the chosen one. Madame patted the side of her faux curls. Years of hot irons had reduced her hair to the texture of wool but her crowning glory these days was supplemented by the lustrous locks of those girls who dared cross her – before they were thrown back into the street from where most had come. Nevertheless, Hope had to make her resistance clear. Surely Madame who knew her history would understand her loathing for this man, above all others. “I shan’t do it,” she whispered. There was little evidence of the willful child and wild adolescent who’d been the despair of her family. “I won’t—” Outside, the noise of the traffic rumbling over the cobbles and the shrill calls of competing vendors settled upon the tense silence. Madame Chambon’s other girls, ranged around the sumptuously appointed room on red velvet upholstered banquettes, watched the exchange with prurient fascination. Hope knew it had been a calculated ploy of Madame’s to conduct her interview in public so that Hope would serve as an example to them. No one crossed Madame Chambon. The shrill cry of a fishmonger caused Madame to look pointedly out of the window. With something between a smile and a sneer, she smoothed a Marcel wave. “Is that where you plan to return, Hope? The gutter?” Her nose twitched and in the sunlight that filtered into the room, the grooves chiselled between mouth and chin were thrown into harsh relief, highlighted rather than hidden by the thick powder she used to conceal her age. Madame Chambon’s comfort, now and into retirement, depended on obedient girls. Hope knew that as well as anyone. She’d had to bury her rebellious streak just to ensure food in her belly. The Frenchwoman raised a chiselled brow and began to pace slowly in front of her girls. A painter with an eye for beauty would have been ecstatic at capturing such a spectacle on canvas. The discerning young man about town who visited 56 Albemarle Street was frequently rendered ecstatic by the range of delights Madame Chambon's girls offered in addition to the visual. “You forget yourself, Hope. I put a roof over your head and deck you out as handsomely as Mr Charles Worth ever did for his most discerning customer.” There was acid in Madame Chambon’s tone. “But for me, you'd be starving and glad of the pennies you could trade for a grubby stand-up encounter in a dark alley.” Madame Chambon thrust out her bosom and breathed through her nose, her response a calculated warning to the other girls arranged in various languid poses about the ornately decorated reception room that intransigence would not be tolerated. “Mr Hunt has requested you.” She paused and when Hope remained silent, though her stance and expression left no one in any doubt as to her horror regarding this enforced assignation, went on. “Remember what I told you—what I tell all my girls when they first come here? The past must be forgotten the moment you step over my threshold. You are reborn, remodelled, refashioned into the most exquisite delectation of womanhood. A marquess, a prince, is well recompensed for the tidy sum he hands over in order to enjoy your sparkling wit, to converse with you in French, or if he chooses, on philosophy…to enjoy your charms…and,” she added significantly, “your gracious hospitality and tender ministrations to his needs. That is our agreement and you are no different. If Mr Hunt wishes you, Hope, to attend him at his residence then you will go.” Faith, one of the kinder girls, patted Hope’s arm in silent solidarity. Hope didn’t expect any of them to speak up in her defence. Not when they all relied on Madame Chambon as much as she did to provide them with the necessities of life. Anything more than that was part of a strict contract that indentured a girl for life unless she was able to secure a generous benefactor to settle Madame's severance bill. The fine clothes were part of the charade, necessary to entice a more elite clientele. Hope’s exquisite wardrobe did not belong to her though she'd have forsaken all the dupion silk and Spitalfields lace for the freedom of the gutter and to be mistress of her own destiny – and her body - if she could only be sure of a plate of gravy and potatoes every second day. Closing her eyes, she hung her head, the carefully coiffed curls that fell forwards brushing against her tear-streaked cheeks. It was as well that they not be in evidence. Tears, weakness, vulnerability were like a red rag to a bull where Madame Chambon was concerned. “How long…do I have to prepare myself?” She was not so stupid she couldn’t admit defeat when there was no alternative. Obduracy was beaten out of one, but tears ensured a girl got the very worst next assignment. Their clients weren’t all marquesses and princes, though they did require a very fat pocket book. “Tomorrow.” “Tomorrow.” Hope repeated it in a leaden tone, and stared at her hands, clasped in her lap; white-knuckled. As white as the rabbit-fur that edged her fashionable black-and-white striped satin cuirass. Hope had the tall, slim figure suited to the scandalously tight tie-back skirts that were all the rage, the back flowing into a train adorned with elaborate swags and trimmed with bows. She'd turned heads the length of Oxford Street as she’d promenaded along the pavement following a walk through Hyde Park earlier that afternoon. In fact, for the first time in two years, she’d almost felt happy as she’d pretended a sense of freedom in the afternoon sun, blocking her mind to the prison to which she was returning. She drew in her breath and forced herself to be brave, knowing the punishment she’d invite for daring to speak her mind. “Please tell Mr Hunt I will see him again under sufferance.” Madame Chambon’s voice was surprisingly caramel. “Well then, now that you have made your objection clear, Hope, you will be pleased to hear that Mr Hunt’s desires are not only motivated by fond memories of your no-doubt mutually satisfying congress. I believe he wishes to acquaint you with news of your family.” Hope hid her shock. “I have no family.” With care, she modified her tone so it was as leaden as before though emotion roiled close to the surface. “Not even a sister?” Hope raised her chin. Here was the chink and Madame knew it. The woman did her research. Aware that the other girls who surrounded her were tense with anticipation, Hope struggled not to respond. Camaraderie existed at surface level but one never knew when it might profit one to have the dirt on a fellow prostitute. It was, clearly, another reason Madame Chambon had chosen to make this conversation public. “Mr Hunt will see you at nine tomorrow evening,” said the so-called Frenchwoman who, it was whispered, was from the gutters of Lambeth, not Paris. “At his apartments in Duke Street. Now go and prepare yourself for Lord Farrow. Married to a monolith like the venerable Lady Farrow, he likes his girls vivacious and free-spirited. There’ll be less coin in your pocket if you sully the transaction with that long face, Hope.” ~*~*~*~*~*~ Author Info: 
Beverley Oakley was seventeen when she bundled up her first her 500+ page romance and sent it to a publisher. Unfortunately drowning her heroine on the last page was apparently not in line with the expectations of romance readers so Beverley became a journalist.
Twenty-six years later Beverley was delighted to receive her first publishing contract from Robert Hale (UK) for a romance in which she ensured her heroine was saved from drowning in the icy North Sea.
Since 2009 Beverley has written more than thirteen historical romances, mostly set in England during the early nineteenth century. Mystery, intrigue and adventure spill from their pages and if she can pull off a thrilling race to save someone’s honour – or a worthy damsel from the noose – it’s time to celebrate with a good single malt Scotch.
Beverley lives with her husband, two daughters and a Rhodesian Ridgeback puppy the size of a pony opposite a picturesque nineteenth century lunatic asylum. She also writes Africa-set adventure-filled romances tarring handsome bush pilot heroes, and historical romances with less steam and more sexual tension, as Beverley Eikli.
You can get in contact with Beverley at:

Monday, November 20, 2017

Night Owl Reviews Winter Wonderland Scavenger Hunt.

Hi Readers,
I've got a winter treat for you. I'm one of the sponsors of the Night Owl Reviews Winter Wonderland Scavenger Hunt.
During this event I'm going to help you find some great new books. Make sure to check out my featured title, LEGACY OF EVIL, along the way.
The grand prize is a $100 Amazon Gift Card.
Event Dates: Nov 20 - Dec 13

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

Bringer of Chaos: Forged in Fire The Sempervian Saga (Book 2) by Kayelle Allen

Bringer of Chaos: Forged in Fire  The Sempervian Saga (Book 2) by Kayelle Allen
Humans created the Ultras, a genetically enhanced race, to defend mankind. Instead, Ultras became their greatest threat. With the help of traitors, humans captured half a million of the immortal warriors.
Exiled to an alien world with no tech, no tools, and no resources, their leader, Pietas, must protect his people, find food and shelter and unite them. But before he can, he must regain command from a ruthless adversary he's fought for centuries--his brutal, merciless father.
Ultras are immortal, and no matter how they die, they come back. Reviving after death isn't all it's cracked up to be. Some wounds heal instantly and a few take time, but battered and broken trust? Immortals may heal, but a wound of the heart lasts forever.
Genre: Science Fiction with romantic elements
Rating: PG13 for violence, no profanity or explicit content
Cover artist Brumae DeviantArt Facebook

Bringer of Chaos: Forged in Fire is military science fiction with romantic elements. This excerpt is the foreword, which was "written" by Pietas, the hero.
You're human. Lies are your nature.
Truth is mine. Honoring my word means more to me than life.
Humans are craven, contemptible and reprehensible supplanters of power. What you need is the truth.
Traitors among my kind lied to you. They concealed themselves among you and claimed we were myth. They fed you false hope you were safe. They lulled you into complacent ignorance. The deceivers manipulated, confused, and desensitized you.
You chose to believe the lies.
You've heard tales of visitors from outer space. Stories of aliens who walk among you. You called them urban legends, myths, tall tales for the campfire, untrue.
You refused to believe the truth.
This book relates my tale but is not from my point of view. Call it Science Fiction, but it happened. I exist. My dimension is not yours, so you have not been aware of me--until now--but I know everything about you.
To honor a worthy human friend, I considered sparing humanity. I have since seen the folly of blanket exemption. Not all of you deserve to die, but there are requirements for being protected. Will I choose you?
Perhaps. I offer no guarantee. Your fate is a bequest no one can usurp.
Believe me.
Read this, if you dare to know the truth.
~ Pietas
Bringer of Chaos: The Origin of Pietas 
The Sempervian Saga (Book 1)
Why should Pietas end the war with humans?
His people are winning, yet they insist on peace talks. The Ultra people want to grant humans a seat on the Council. Pietas ap Lorectic, Chancellor of the High Council, War Leader and First Conqueror, disagrees. What's best for mortals is oppression, control, and if necessary, elimination.
Pietas seethes with rage at the idea of human equality. Humans might have created Ultras, but the creation has far surpassed the creator. Humans die. Ultras are reborn, no matter how grievous the injury. They have no equals.
His people permit him no choice. He must attend these insipid peace talks on Enderium Six and what's worse, be polite. To humans.
When a human special ops warrior is killed in battle, he's resurrected in a secret process and inducted into the Ghost Corps. He's given enough strength to perma-kill immortal Ultras. Ghosts are the most hated and feared of warriors.
When the ghost entraps and captures Pietas at the peace talks, the two begin a long journey toward Sempervia, an isolated and forgotten world. Once there, Pietas is marooned and the ghost abandoned alongside him. The two must either fight to perma-death, or join forces to survive.

As Pietas comes to trust the human, an unlikely and awkward friendship begins. Until he discovers how ghosts are resurrected...

Giveaway - Free Download
Free -- download Endure, Illustrated Quotes by Pietas (as told to Kayelle Allen). Enjoy an exclusive collection of quotes on the concept of endurance by the man known to other immortals as the Bringer of Chaos.
Download a free adult coloring book you can print and share. Relax and color with friends. It's fun!

Mythic Heroes and Misbehaving Robots:

Kayelle Allen writes Sci Fi with mythic heroes, misbehaving robots, role playing immortal gamers, and warriors who purr. She's a US Navy veteran and has been married so long she's tenured. Twitter Facebook Join the Romance Lives Forever Reader Group Download four free books and get news about books coming soon. You can unsubscribe at any time.

Monday, November 13, 2017

#BookHugs Dark Love Rising by Danita Minnis

Former MI6 agent Xavier Quinn would say that you're daft if you think he will stop killing for a living. But that is exactly what is about to happen. Very soon now, Quinn will start killing to stay alive. On the run after taking out the wrong man, Quinn would die a happy man if he could just live long enough to ruin the Parliament member who set him up.

Layla, a 2,000 year old vampire with a moral code, has other plans for the contract killer. When she awakens to the sound of a dark rising, she enlists Quinn to join her on a mission to save humanity from her twin sister Tamara.

But Quinn is just the kind of man that a cold-blooded killer like Tamara needs in her world. A man like Quinn, who never believed in humanity, has only one belief; self-preservation. Being a vampire sounds much better than staying human in the game of kill or be killed. Will he stay alive long enough to find out how Layla's love can change the equation?

She was a beautiful cadaver. This young woman was sick.

Quinn let her go when she was able to stand on her own. She pushed glossy sheets of midnight hair out of her eyes and it fell to either side of her, like a silken shroud. He was watching that hair shimmer against her hips in a lover’s embrace when he felt her hands clamp around his neck.

He grabbed her wrists, but couldn’t break the frosted beauty’s grip on his throat.  For one unbelievable moment, he could have sworn her feet didn’t touch the ground. Her head was level with his.

She had seemed almost catatonic before, but now, even as he struggled, this petite goddess pulled him down.
Her eyelids fluttered and he thought she would pass out, but the grip on his neck was cutting off his air supply.

Just as his own eyelids began to close, she looked him directly in the eye.

“Aurelius.” Eyes, the shape and color of almonds with a hint of gold, widened in recognition and she loosened the chokehold on his throat.

Coughing, he lost his footing and stumbled back. Damned if he wouldn’t have fallen to the ground without her hand steadying his arm, this woman-child. 
She stepped closer, and a small, clammy hand traveled over his features to caress his cheek. One long talon traced the shape of his lips.

She wasn’t hurt. She had acted so violently, she was either on drugs or in shock.  The change in her, from sluggish to the swiftness of a predator made his hand slide back down to the gun.

“Who are you?”     

For some reason, hurt flashed in her beautiful eyes, dulling them a bit. “I am Layla.”

Her voice was hoarse, but he detected an accent. Mediterranean.

“Are you alone?” Quinn looked around for drug paraphernalia, this boyfriend Aurelius she called for, something that made sense this time of night for a tourist to be out and about on the Nile banks.


“What are you doing out here alone?”

When she did not answer he looked down at her. Her eyes roamed his body with the kind of interest that must have been in his eyes before she tried to choke him to death.

The young woman who called herself Layla ran one hand along the satin trimmed lapel of his tuxedo jacket while the other raked through the curls at the base of his neck.

There was something about those fingernails; they were a bit longer than he cared for and looked very…strong. Even so, the hair massage was undeniably arousing.

Abruptly, he looked away from the amber pools drawing him in and focused on a question. “Are you hurt?”

“My head…” She leaned against his chest.

His arms betrayed him, wrapping around her, and he stifled a curse. She burrowed closer, her lush curves pressing against him. Now was not the time to play the hero.

He took her by the shoulders and held her away from his body. “Where do you live?”

Her eyes traveled slowly down his tux. “Why are you dressed in this way?” She reached for him again but he stepped back.

“Why are you not dressed at all?”
#BookHugs  #DarkLoveRising

Born and raised in the heart of New York City, Danita Minnis is a singer, writer and lover of romance. Her fourth novel, Dark Love Rising is her first vampire romance. She is the author of the ghostly love story Adderley’s Bride and the Cardiff novels, Falcon’s Angel and Love Entwined. Mystery, mayhem, the fantastic and the fey are as intriguing as Siberian Huskies - shout out to the Khan Man. One more hour with her laptop and Danita is living the dream.

Connect with Danita:

Book Links:
Barnes and Noble:
Liquid Silver Books:

Wednesday, November 8, 2017

Catherine E. McLean says, "BEWARE OF IT!"

"It" seems like such a tiny word but far too many writers gloss over this pronoun's affect on their storytelling. Fewer remember the proper English grammar rules for pronouns, let alone the definition of:  a pronoun is a class of words that function as substitutes for nouns or noun phrases and designate persons or things asked for, previously specified, or understood from the context.

Okay, so that definition sounds convoluted to anyone who isn't an English teacher. Because I'm for simplifying things, let me explain it in simpler, more useful terms— When writing fiction, a pronoun takes the place of the last noun, thing, or name used.
The most serious infraction when using "it" is, of course, a Pronoun Reference Error. Such mistakes cause various calamities, faux pas, awkwardness, hilarity, and downright confusion when a reader encounters such errors.

Why? Because CLARITY ensures the reader doesn't stop reading to puzzle out what the pronoun refers to. After all, nothing should ever stop a reader from enjoying what they are reading. Here is a correct example of pronoun use—

    "Marsha loved ice cream. It was her comfort food."  ("It" refers to the ice cream.)
Now for an example of what can go wrong—

    He dropped the thermometer, securing it to the side of the boat so it dangled in the water. The temperature held at forty-eight degrees. It was cold enough to make him shudder.

Now let's translate those "its" to show what they refer to—

    He dropped the thermometer, securing the thermometer to the side of the boat so the boat dangled in the water. The temperature held at forty-eight degrees. Degrees was cold enough to make him shudder.

The humorous image of the boat dangling is one a reader should not conjure in their mind. And the last sentence makes no sense because "Degrees" is the subject. This passage also has what's called a crop of "its."  Crops of are unnecessary repetitions and should be ruthlessly weeded out. So, let's look at this passage for what was actually meant—

    Using string he'd attached to the top of the thermometer, John lowered the digital device over the side of the dingy. When the thermometer was half submerged in the water, he secured the line to an oar mount. He leaned over, watching, waiting, noting the digits slowly winked down until they held at forty-eight.
        Forty-eight degrees. Would his wet suit keep him warm enough, long enough?

In your mind, you had no trouble with the correct example. You easily followed what happened as it happened. You didn't stop and go back to puzzle anything out. This re-edited passage shows (instead of tells).

Which brings me to—"it" often peppers a page because "it" is one of those "shorthand words" grabbed in the heat of drafting. Take a moment now to test your writing for the use of "it." You can use a sample of five or ten pages, or one of your short stories, or a chapter of your novel. Use your computer's search-find feature and type in it — however —  be sure to put a space before and after the word so the computer doesn't find words with "it" as part of the word.

Since your computer highlights the word "it," what do you see? Did you pepper a page?  Do you have "crops of?" You should also do a ratio (divide the total number found into the total number of words checked, which will net 1 "it" every ____ words). Nothing beats a visual to actually see what's what. And nothing beats doing a ratio to discover repetitions that are detrimental to the story or which showcase overuse of crutch words (words unknowingly relied on).

Oh, and do consider this—if you have a problem in those few pages you sampled, it's likely there are hundreds more in the rest of the manuscript to weed out.
For those who don't seem to have a problem with "it," take no chances. Add a "pronoun reference error check" on your Revision To Do List when you get to the polishing stage for your story. You do have a check list for your revision process, right? After all, you want the best possible manuscript to present, one that's free of repetitions without purpose.

By the way, "it" is number four on my free Writers Cheat Sheets list of 10 Red Flag Words.
And lastly, I collect ratio data on repetitions of Red Flag Words like "it." If you do an "it" check, please share your findings with a comment.

Catherine E. McLean website:
Writers Cheat Sheets website:
Writers Cheat Sheet Blog:


                 Revision is a Process hashtag: #revisionisaprocess