tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39236043351743473712024-03-13T08:20:56.622+00:00Author Annette GisbyUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger584125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-74392105007067801712018-01-02T15:15:00.000+00:002017-11-11T15:15:18.040+00:00Closing<b>This blog will be closing in January 2018.</b>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-74606594429718100872017-12-23T00:30:00.000+00:002017-12-23T00:30:10.825+00:00Book Spotlight: Sketched by E.M. Townsend<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">November 2017</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36540534-sketched?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/spring-2016/home/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Fledgling police sketch artist Piper Cooke has always been different.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Gifted with second sight, but cursed with a life of tragedy, she has survived the feral streets of Dixon and has triumphed over her troubled upbringing. Piper faces her biggest challenge yet, however, when her visions compel her to disobey police orders and send her right into the wicked grasp of a madman.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Her life should've ended back in the blood soaked suburban basement, but it didn't. Instead, the brutal trauma that should've been the end of her only makes her unique abilities stronger.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Years after her escape, a series of hideous visions force Piper out of hiding and back into the city that almost destroyed her years ago. Plagued by premonitions of doom, she finds herself compelled to track down Dixon's most twisted serial killer yet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Follow Piper through a horrifically unsettling labyrinth of family secrets, corruption and the sickening workings of humanity’s darkest minds.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Chapter One</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">July 23rd 2012 12:35 pm</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Dixon City - Suburbs</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"> She had given up on the hope of surviving this.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"> Perhaps it was hours ago that the switch had been flicked in her brain, but it could have been minutes. It could’ve been days. Anything remaining of Megan’s sanity, that rational part of her that had the ability to form coherent thoughts had dissolved as quickly and completely as a sugar cube in a cup of scalding tea.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"> The only thing she knew now for sure was pain. It had taken over her mind, hand in hand with a kind of fear that she couldn’t have possibly comprehended before. It was a combination that no one survives to talk about.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"> Her world had been reduced to the basement she was being held in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"> Beth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"> She had assured Megan that the dealer was legitimate. The house had seemed safe enough. Nevertheless, a nervousness had blossomed the moment they stepped off the bus, and it had continued to grow in her stomach with every step the two of them had taken to the address Beth’s new online ‘friend’ had given her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"> “C’mon Megan. Don’t be a chicken shit,” Beth had scowled.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"> Beth was scary when she was mad.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">She always had been. Her narrow eyes and wiry red hair gave her an off-putting look that she’d used to her advantage since childhood. Beth had practically dragged Megan up the cracked concrete path that led to the house, her freckled arms so much more powerful.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">There had been a dog barking in the background, she could remember that much. For some reason, its yapping had sent warning signals off all through her body, only increasing the tension that was building steadily inside her. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Megan had known that they were risking it by skipping school to buy drugs in the worst part of town. She’d seen enough horror movies to know that this was how all immoral teenage girls were punished. Instead of knocking on the door of a drug house, she should’ve been in first-period biology. But she wasn’t.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">She hadn’t wanted to be chicken shit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Megan blinked at the paneling and matted green carpet that decorated her prison. Beth had escaped. Of course she had, she had always been the stronger one. Thick boned and fearless like some kind of suburban Viking.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">It hadn’t come as a shock at all when, through eyes clouded with tears, she saw Beth begin to successfully loosen her wrist bonds. Her skin had torn from the rope, and the blood that coated her hands like red satin gloves eventually helped her to slide free.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Beth hadn’t looked back at her when she slipped through the basement window. Her face had been so transformed with fear and outright panic that she looked more like a wild animal than a human.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">It had been when Megan helplessly watched the soles of Beth’s sneakers disappearing through the casement window that the rational part of her mind had broken.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Two girls never escaped. There was always one left behind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">There was always one set of parents collapsing with grief in the background while the survivor’s family turned their elated smiles to the news cameras.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Megan Coogan, who had willingly allowed Beth to cheat off her in school almost daily. Megan Coogan, who had lied to Beth’s parents so that their daughter could make out with some nameless boy in the dusty corner of a playground. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">That Beth would carry on, finish school, get married, get a job, maybe even have kids.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Megan Coogan would never leave this basement. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">The sound of footsteps on the creaking stairs sent a surge of adrenaline through Megan’s system, drowning out her thoughts and causing her limbs to go rigid. Breathing heavily, she listened to the wood groan as he moved slowly down the steps, as if deep in thought.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">The door opened carefully, and he stepped in the room. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>About the Author</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">E.M. Townsend is an incredibly talented writer who hails from the Great White North. This amazing wordsmith crafts intricate tales of horror and suspense that will keep you up at night. S. Prescott Thrillers has named E.M. Townsend as one of the hottest new novelists in the genre.</span></div>
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/EM-Townsend-147355282576080/" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">F</span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 18.6667px;">a</span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">cebook</span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Sketched-M-Townsend-ebook/dp/B07766VTHD" target="_blank">Amazon </a></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-25135278753681581182017-12-22T00:30:00.000+00:002017-12-22T00:30:05.694+00:00Book Spotlight: Sorcerers' Dynasty by Stephen Perkins<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">An epic struggle to claim eternity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Since time immemorial the world has been a theater of illusion...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Ruled by a Sorcerers' Dynasty.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Beyond the arctic wall of ice lies a new and unknown world. One man plans to sacrifice the known world and everything in it to gain immortality in paradise. The world is filled with lies and liars and America's most controversial alternative media journalist Dan Sheraton wants to find out why. Strange things have been seen out in the New Mexico desert, and when an even stranger phone call leads him on a dangerous adventure to a mysterious destination, Sheraton discovers earth shattering epiphanies. When an insidious plot hatched by a shadowy global corporation threatens the survival of mankind the most unlikely hero emerges.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Excerpt from Sorcerers’ Dynasty by Stephen Perkins copyright 2017 all rights reserved.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">September2001, D.A.R.C. facility (Center for advanced research and development) deep beneath the arctic ice rim</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">The new age of darkness was about to fall. It was the epoch of nightmares, demons, and hateful spirits, hatched out from the foul womb of mankind’s subconscious.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">And yet, there was nothing new except what had been forgotten. Since time immemorial, the world had always been merely a theater of illusion, albeit a very persistent one, ruled by a sorcerers’ dynasty.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">A long shadow slowly crept from a dark corner of the laboratory and into the spangled light. From between the array of shiny consoles and computer monitors blinking gold, green, and blue, Dr. Nathaniel Martin proudly gazed upon his twin creations.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Among his other ground-breaking inventions, he pondered the significance of one of his other great discoveries, the secret to human immortality. Would that his desire to share it with the world at large came to bear, Martin thought, but for the iron hand of his benefactor, Serenity Corporation. Though Serenity represented his master, Martin contemplated, throughout the centuries, it had shown itself to be unprincipled, ungrateful, and selfish, believing in nothing save its own material enrichment.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">In cool deliberation, he stroked the silvered strands of his well-trimmed beard. Stepping from out of the shadows, he arched his skeleton thin frame over the glass canopy. They were as much symbolic as material flesh, he thought, one black, the other white, representing mankind’s inherent duality. Now, his decades of painstaking research into the creation of sentient life had at last come to triumphant fruition. The doctor glanced at a young laboratory technician standing nearby, tapping figures onto the screen of a digital tablet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Congratulations Doctor,” the young colleague said. “Your advanced gene editing process created the first trans-human sentient beings. But now, you’ve successfully drawn the roadmap to mankind’s evolutionary future.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">A proud smile drew across the doctor’s countenance. Owl large brown eyes twinkled beneath gold rimmed spectacles. “I believe you are correct,” Martin replied in a profound whisper. “Indeed, both specimens represent the next evolutionary step for mankind. They shall be placed with carefully vetted and deserving families,” Martin said. “Public records will be made to look legitimate. It will appear as if they were adopted. They shall be attended only by authorized technicians posing as family physicians. They shall appear human, their lives playing out normally. No one, shall suspect anything amiss.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“It shall be intriguing to observe how varying environments shall influence social development and assimilation, doctor.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Yes, this experiment presents a unique opportunity,” Martin agreed. “After reincarnating, with no memory of their past lives, the fundamental and hypothetical question of the ages shall be determined. Which factor ultimately determines human development, is it nature, or nurture?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">A sly smile drew across Martin’s haggard but handsome features. No one, he was quite certain, not even Serenity Corporation, or the Archon spirits, possessed knowledge there was yet another sarcophagus secretly buried within the Arctic ice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Momentarily silent, Martin grew enamored with the vivid implications of his own speculative thought.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Imagine, if my own spirit, in combination with those of the four Archons, were to inhabit one immortal trans-human machine, shall I, have become God?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">In just his first year as an independent author, Massachusetts native Stephen Perkins' thrilling, entertaining, and thought provoking novels Raging Falcon, American Siren, Escape to Death and now the dark supernatural thriller Sorcerers' Dynasty have fast gained a loyal and rabid audience. While enjoying the books, be sure to check out Newsspellcom.org for a unique perspective on the news of the world one shall not surely discover anywhere else! Or, stop by for a visit on <a href="https://www.twitter.com/RAGEOFWORDS" target="_blank">Twitter </a></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-85547239198235777112017-12-21T00:30:00.000+00:002017-12-21T11:03:48.591+00:00Book Spotlight: Sebastian by Elizabeth Johnson<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Romance, Women’s Fiction</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published:</span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> April 2016</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><b>Publisher:</b> Aldage Books Publishing</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24568456-sebastian?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/spring-2016/home/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png?attredirects=0" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Sebastian was turned into a vampire on his eighteenth birthday by his mother, whom he thought had died ten years earlier. His mother teaches him how to live amongst humans without spilling human blood. Almost two centuries later, his mother is killed and he blames humans. After a year of brutally killing humans to exact vengeance, he comes upon the young child of a woman he just killed. He can't bring himself to hurt the girl, so he names her Hanna after his mother, and finds a family to raise her. He anonymously provides for her, making sure her new parents have all the money they need to ensure she has a good life. Sebastian disappears from Hanna's life to better himself for all the killings he has committed. Although Hanna is out of his life, Sebastian can't get her out of his head, and believes his love for her is like a father. He reappears in her life seventeen years later to see how she is faring, only to see that Hanna has grown into a beautiful woman. He falls in love with her all over again, but this time as a lover. He plans an "accidental" meeting, which does not go well. Before Sebastian leaves Hanna once again, he learns that vampires and wolves are after her. Now it is up to Sebastian to secretly guard Hanna's life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><i>Other Books in the Sebastian Series:</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Sebastian 2: Dark Times Arising</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">He lifted his hands to wipe the tears, and as his hands moved from her cheek to the corner of her lips, he longed to kiss her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Hanna could tell what was on his mind and for a mad second, she also wanted to kiss him; she wanted to understand why she was suddenly attracted to him. For a second they stared at each other and then their lips met and moved against each other with want. The kiss was all that Hector had dreamed that it would be; he felt alive; with his eyes closed, his head was spinning with desire, and he pulled her closer to him as if his life depended on it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">For Hanna, it was nice; at first it made her stop hurting inside, but something felt wrong and different in her head; it was not like she had felt with Sebastian; then the thought of Sebastian jolted her brain and she pulled away at once.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">While Hanna and Sebastian embark on dealing with the pain of their separation from each other, Hanna continues to gain more enemies all hungry for her powers. With all the wars raging, Sebastian finds it hard to walk away even though Hanna made it clear she didn’t need him. But later, Hanna discovers a revelation about someone, news that may help heal their sufferings but would it be enough or is it too little too late for their love …</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Sebastian 3: CONQUEST OF POWER</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Sebastian's eyes close as he tries to welcome the inevitable, but then she speaks again and this time, she calls him "S." In his weakened state, excitement surges through him; Sebastian wonders if he is hallucinating again. He knows troubled minds conceive desperate ideas that bring about all sorts of imaginations, and he is sure that he is hearing things that aren't real. "S, can you hear me?" Hanna pleads.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Mason Benedict continues his quest to resurrect his wife, Annemarie, and to gain the gift of light that enables vampires to exist in daylight and walk under the sun. His fame grows and many vampires join his army at the prospect of becoming day walkers. For this to happen, Hanna's blood and powers must be siphoned. Sebastian and Hanna must be found; imminent war is brewing. Hanna finds that she must also defend against the malicious Hilda Denali of the wolf tribe. Hilda blames Hanna for the curse on her tribe; her mission is simply to kill Hanna and cleans the wolf curse. Although Sebastian and Hanna are united again, there is a third wheel in their union, Hector, who has decided that Sebastian must die, but will his plans work? Sebastian and Hanna must decide whether to fight for their freedom or to run.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Conquest of Power is the much anticipated third book in Elizabeth Johnson's captivating Sebastian vampire romance saga.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I got back home just before dawn. I was caught between the excitement of meeting her again and the way I had left things with her. My body tingled all through the day. I could not rest. I could not get her out of my head or control how happy I was inside. I watched the clock, impatiently waiting for the time to fly, by but it crawled along. I silently wished I had the power to walk in the sun, just to see her reflection. Her face and her scent consumed me all day long. It felt like torture having to wait for the sun to go down. I knew I should rest, but it was impossible to do so. How could I sleep when I was already dreaming of her? I replayed our conversations repeatedly in my head, and my body melted at the thought of being with her again.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">At last, it was safe to go out. Looking my best, I drove to the art and music centre. I wanted to get there before she did, just to watch her arrive. I impatiently sat in my car and waited until she arrived. She pulled in driving her Toyota Corolla and got out of the car. I saw her looking around as if searching for someone. I wondered if she was looking for me. As usual, she looked breath-taking. I opened the car door to get out and cautioned myself not to make any fast moves in my attempt to get to her. I looked up at her again to see where she was. Someone was with her. I could tell who it was by the awful smell that greeted my nostrils. I became annoyed at myself for not getting out of the car sooner and angry at him for being here. I was not aware that he took lessons here too, although I am not surprised, seeing as he follows her about like a pet dog.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I followed behind them, walking at a slower pace and listening to their conversation. He bored me with his silly talk, and I just wished he would go away so I could have a moment with her. Not knowing what to do with myself now that her attention was elsewhere, I quickly walked past them, pretending that I had not seen them. Disappointed that she did not notice me, I carefully opened the front door to go inside not wanting to repeat the disaster from before. Then she called out. “Hi!” she said.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I looked back to see who she was greeting and saw her eyes on me. “Oh, it’s you again.” I pretended as though I was just seeing her for the first time today.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Yes, it’s me. Were you expecting someone else?” she joked.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I smiled; glad I had her attention at last. “No, not really,” I said, and she smiled back. I tried not to look at the boy next to her. Although I could not overlook the stench oozing from him, I did not want to look at him unless I really had to.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Oh, how silly of me. You two haven’t met, have you? This is my friend, Huritt Denali, and this is—” I did not take my eyes off her as she tried to introduce us. “Sorry, I don’t even know your name,” she said.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Sebastian,” I responded.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Sebastian,” she repeated slowly. I loved the way she said my name. “What a lovely name you have.” She smiled. “Er—Huritt, meet Sebastian.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I looked in his direction just for a second and greeted him with a nod of the head out of courtesy to her. His hands were already stretched forward for a handshake, but I ignored them. I could see the anger in his eyes, although I think he tried to control it for her sake. I refused to let him distract me and focused my attention on Hanna, who seemed as excited to see me as I was to see her.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I looked around for you earlier,” she said.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Did you now?” I asked, secretly happy that it was me she was scanning around for earlier.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">She smiled and turned to Huritt. “Huritt, I will see you around later, okay? I want to have a chat with Sebastian.” I looked over at him just to see his reaction because I knew he would be fuming inside, and I was right. His eyes were like thunder, and I enjoyed his little expression of detest or anger or whatever it was he was trying to express. It didn’t bother me one bit. I still had not found out what he was, but I hoped for his own sake that he was not what I suspected him to be. Glad that he was gone, I now had Hanna’s full attention. She was looking at me.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I didn’t think you would come,” she said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Why not?” I asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“It’s nothing, just that I got the feeling I upset you yesterday with something I said.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“And I told you that you didn’t say anything out of place. I’m sorry for my behaviour yesterday. It was uncalled for. It’s just—I get like that when the subject of my mother is raised.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I promise not to talk about her again,” she said. I smiled. It felt amazing standing here talking with her. I have never felt like this with anyone.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Thank you. That’s very polite of you.” She brushed her hair away from her face—I like it when she does that.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“So, what do we talk about then?” she asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Anything you like,” I replied.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Are you sure? You would let me know if there was something you aren’t comfortable with? I mean, sometimes I just ramble on, you know, without thinking.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Don’t worry about it. I am a good listener, and I have all the time in the world to listen to you ramble.” We both laughed.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“You see yourself as a gentleman, don’t you? I mean, for a teenager like myself, you are quite something.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I try my dandiest to always be on my best behaviour,” I replied and quickly added, “but by all means, let me know if you prefer the bad-boy image. It may surprise you what I can become in a short space of time.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“No this will do just fine,” she replied. I noticed her blushing, and I was glad that it had something to do with me. Then she said, “Why do I feel like there is something mysterious about you, like something you are not telling me. I don’t know, I just get this feeling like—”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Like what?” I asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">She paused and looked at me. “I don’t know what it is, but there is something about you, and I just—I just want to know you more. I kind of want to spend more time with you. I’m sorry, I am doing it again. We just met, and already I am asking you to be generous with your time. I have no right—”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“There is nothing to be sorry for,” I said gently. “I like talking to you,” I reassured her.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“But I’m scaring you off.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I looked at her and could tell she was genuinely worried. I wanted to put her little heart at peace and made light of her worry. “I’m still here. That should tell you something. Look, I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but there is nothing I don’t like about you. I promise you, it will take a lot for me to be scared off.” I chuckled, and I could see in her eyes that she was feeling more at ease.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I’m keeping you from your lesson, aren’t I?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“No, you are not,” I replied, and she smiled shyly and bit her lower lip. That’s another thing that is beginning to grow on me.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What are you here for anyway?” she asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Sorry?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What lessons did you enrol to take?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Oh. Piano lessons.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Seriously, I shouldn’t keep you. I’m very good with the keyboard. I am just here to pass time really. I hate being stuck at home doing nothing. You should go before you miss your class altogether.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What if I want to stay here with you?” I asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Why would you want to do that?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Why? Because I like you, and you’re growing on me,” I said.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I kind of thought I heard you say that before,” she said.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“No, I did not. Earlier I said that there is nothing I don’t like about you.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“It’s all the same. And I like that you like me. Isn’t it too soon to tell that you like someone? I mean we just met not too long ago.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Maybe. You said you liked me yesterday after only five minutes. I’m allowed to tell you I like you too aren’t I? It doesn’t really make any difference to me the length of time in between. I’ve liked you since I first set eyes on you,” I said.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Is that true?” she asked. “Even with blood oozing off my face?” I smiled and looked away. I didn’t know what to say to that. I do not like to remember the day I swung the door in her face. “I have said something you don’t like, haven’t I? I can tell. Although you are smiling, your eyes look pained.” I wondered how she could read me so well just by looking at me.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“You’re right. It’s just that I still regret the circumstances in which we met.” She stared at me and was looking into my eyes as if she was searching for something.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Yeah, but there’s more isn’t there? I can see you’re trying very hard to hide something.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Like what?” I was puzzled.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Oh God, I am doing it again. Sorry. I don’t know why I keep doing this. It’s just that when I’m around you I get this—this feeling, as if I’ve known you—it’s weird. You must excuse me. I’m ruining it all.” She was about to go.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“No, don’t go. I’m—I’m not offended. I meant it when I said I like you, and if it means you are going to act strangely sometimes, I—I don’t mind at all, as long as I get to spend time with you.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Really?” she asked shyly.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I nodded and replied, “Yeah, really.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Then she smiled and looked relieved. “It feels right you know,” she said quietly.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What feels right?” I asked.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Being friends with you,” she responded.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I don’t think there is anything about her I can fault. In my mind, it feels like I am drunk, only it isn’t anything like that. I am just so happy to be with her, and I have never felt like this in my life, both, either as a human or a vampire.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">For the rest of the evening, we sat outside by her car talking, which she did most of, while I listened. She enjoyed talking, and I, in turn, loved listening to her. She spoke about her childhood. I would ask her a question about when she was younger, and she filled in the rest. I loved it because she told me those things I missed while she was growing up. Every night she told me a different story. We skipped music classes almost every day that we met. She felt guilty all the time because she thought she was depriving me of my lessons. I convinced her that I was old enough to make my own decisions.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">After about two weeks of hanging out together every evening, I already knew most of the things about her that I had missed. Occasionally, she would ask me questions about my past, such as wanting to know the kind of childhood I had. I noticed she never mentioned my mother again, and as it was my fault. So I decided to tell her about her. I tried to answer her questions truthfully, telling her the little I remembered about my human life. I told her how I felt when my mother died, and how lonely, depressed, and angry I became. I told her my mother had been killed and was found on the side of the road. I told her that she died when I was just eight years old, which is still very true, considering I was only talking about my human life.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Then she said, “I wonder what I would do if my mother died. I can’t see her dead, you know. I can’t think of it. Thoughts of her dying scare me. If someone were to hurt her, I don’t think I have it in me to forgive such a person.” My mind immediately went to that night I had her birth mother in my hands, and I regretted killing her all over again. This is one secret that can never come out, I thought, or I risk losing her forever. I tried to get the thought out of my head because she usually can tell when I am hiding something.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I have not seen your friend, er—what is his name again?” I said quickly, changing the subject, not that I cared about him.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Oh, Huritt? Poor Huritt.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Why poor Huritt?” I asked.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“It’s nothing really,” she said.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“No, please tell me. I want to know.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Oh, okay. He kind of likes me, I think. Okay, a little more than I think he should, you know. But the thing is, he told me he doesn’t like that I’m friends with you because he and I don’t spend any time together since I became friends with you.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Oh, well,” I said in reply.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Is that all you’re going to say?” she asked.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What do you want to hear? That I prefer to be in his shoes? Because the answer is I don’t. I love being with you, as long as my presence does not bother you. Does it?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“No, it doesn’t. I love being with you, too.” She flashed me that smile that I have come to adore. I looked at her and was swelling inside, because of what she just said. She looked away shyly, and I dropped my gaze.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I feel bad, though,” she added. I looked at her.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I just chose you over him and am happy about it. It’s selfish of me, don’t you think?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Sometimes, we need to do the thing that makes us happy. You can’t please everyone without hurting yourself. Allow yourself to be happy.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Wow, he has wisdom as well. You are really something,” she said laughing, and I snickered.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I had to go hunting. This time around, I needed to go far to find a bigger game to feed on if I was to be around her this much. I did not want any temptation. I wanted to start early so I could return before dawn. I had not told her yet that I would be leaving earlier than usual. I wish I didn’t have to leave, but it was important that I feed for both our sakes.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Hanna,” I called. She turned and looked at me. “I will be leaving early today. I have to go somewhere important.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Is it far? Can I come with you?” she asked.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I wish you could, but you can’t—er—I have to leave now before it gets too late. I’ll see you sooner than you think, though,” I said, annoyed at myself for having to leave her, but it was necessary that I feed. She looked sad that I was leaving.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Cheer up,” I said. “At least now you get to take those lessons that you tell your parent you come here for.” She laughed, and I was glad she was feeling better.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Okay. Will I see you tomorrow then?” she asked, still a little disappointed that I was leaving.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Of course, where else would I be?” I raised my hand to touch her face, feel her warmth, and just reassure her that I would be seeing her soon, but I could not. I did not want to get too close. Reluctantly I pulled it back and put it in my pocket and just walked away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Elizabeth Johnson enjoys books and even loves writing them better. She started to write books at a very young age. The author finds writing very exhilarating and is very passionate about her characters. Some of her plots come from dreams she's had, however, 99% of her stories are pure fiction. She is a hopeless romantic and that reflects in most of her books. She currently lives in London with her family.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Sebastian-Life-Hanna-Greene-ebook/dp/B01F15LN2M" target="_blank">Amazon </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/sebastian-elizabeth-johnson/1120864927?ean=9780995471115" target="_blank">B&N </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/sebastian-25" target="_blank">Kobo </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://booklaunch.io/bookbuzz/sebastian" target="_blank">BookLaunch </a></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-49670079500505130092017-12-20T00:30:00.000+00:002017-12-20T15:02:54.535+00:00Book Spotlight: Where Lives Lead by Gabriele F. Culmer<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/2017-promos-2/gabrielle-f-culmer"><img height="140" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/2017-promos-2/gabrielle-f-culmer/WhereLivesLead.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Contemporary Women’s Fiction</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> September 2017</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36424481-where-lives-lead?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/spring-2016/home/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png?attredirects=0" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Where Lives Lead is a contemporary tale of love and sacrifice as different paths attempt to unite.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Mindy and Blaine enjoy a life of marital bliss in upstate New York. The fire is still lit on their marriage as they still experience romantic dates in the Hamptons, however, Mindy realizes that she wants more and that is to start a family.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">She manages to chase this desire regardless, while planning a gala with her favorite charity and opening a new design school in New York.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Blaine has many projects on the horizon including the acquisition of a new hotel out west and the family business, but the most important will enable a new cast to arrive in Crystal Shores. He is expanding to the film and entertainment market in addition to his hospitality empire. A venture which requires the expertise of his mother, Harriett, and an avant garde writer, Genevieve, who grasps the essence of the Shores and results in a promising project. Mindy decides to support his dreams with conditions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Will Blaine find the time to help Mindy realize her dreams now that he is more successful? Or will a move to the west coast delay their plans? Wherever their lives may lead all directions still point to the serenity of his first development and Crystal Shores. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Gabrielle F. Culmer is a lawyer and has received degrees from universities in New York, Chicago and the United Kingdom. She is also the author of four previous novels, including "Arrive by Dusk," and "Restoring Patterns" and two collections of poetry, including, "Glenely Bay and Nostalgia from Paris." In her spare time, she enjoys traveling to Europe and New York, and riding horses.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.linkedin.com/in/gabrielle-culmer-86aaa516/" target="_blank">LinkedIn</a> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://booklaunch.io/bookbuzz/whereliveslead" target="_blank">BookLaunch</a> </span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-9973426516638092042017-12-19T00:30:00.000+00:002017-12-20T17:33:32.328+00:00Book Spotlight: Torn Away by Vincent Morrone<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/2017-promos-2/vincent-morrone"><img height="140" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/2017-promos-2/vincent-morrone/TornAwayblitz.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Drew Duncan swore he’d never go back to Ember Falls again. After he was wrongfully charged with his high school girlfriend’s murder, he waited for a trial that never came. When he was released from jail a year later, he left everything behind. But when his sister is murdered, Drew is forced to return to the hometown where he and his sisters were brutalized by their alcoholic father.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Once back, not even his training as a Marine and point man for McAlister Security prepares Drew for what he must face--a surviving sister who refuses to forgive him for abandoning her, a nephew who trembles when he enters the room, and an entire town that thinks he got away with murder. To protect his nephew, Drew will face his most terrifying fear. Going home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Born and raised in Brooklyn NY, Vincent Morrone now resides in Upstate NY with his wife. (Although he can still speak fluent Brooklynese.) His twin daughters remain not only his biggest fans, but usually are the first to read all of his work. Their home is run and operated for the comfort and convenience of their dogs. Vincent has been writing fiction, poetry and song lyrics for as long as he can remember, most of which involve magical misfits, paranormal prodigies and even on occasion superheroes and their sidekicks. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">As they say in Brooklyn: Yo, you got something to say? Vincent would love to hear from you at Vincent@vincentmorrone.com </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">You can check his website or connect with him on <a href="https://twitter.com/Vince524" target="_blank">Twitter</a> and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Morrrone" target="_blank">Facebook </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="http://vincentmorroneauthor.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Blog</a> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7143975.Vincent_Morrone" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Torn-Away-Book-1-ebook/dp/B075VHRPDB/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1511916634&sr=8-3&keywords=torn+away" target="_blank">Amazon </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/torn-away-vincent-morrone/1123871717;jsessionid=CD25E262666006D859DDA4E683BCBAAC.prodny_store02-atgap05?ean=2940158881329" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/torn-away-8" target="_blank">Kobo</a> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Vincent_Morrone_Torn_Away?id=0fw6DwAAQBAJ" target="_blank">Google Play</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.chapters.indigo.ca/en-ca/books/torn-away/9781509217359-item.html?ikwid=Torn+Away&ikwsec=Home&ikwidx=3" target="_blank">Indigo</a></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-7848302060697963612017-12-18T00:30:00.000+00:002017-12-20T17:37:35.255+00:00Book Spotlight: One Season by Louis White<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/2017-promo-s/louis-white"><img height="140" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/2017-promos-2/louis-white/OneSeason.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
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<a 1="" href="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/2017-promos-2/louis-white/One%20Season.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/2017-promos-2/louis-white/One%20Season.jpg" width="262" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Contemporary Fiction</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published:</span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> October 2017</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 18.6667px;"><b>Publisher:</b> White Tiger Media</span><br />
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36974783-one-season?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/spring-2016/home/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Angelo Astone has just been recruited by the Tassie Devils to play in the National Australian Rules Competition. The 18-year-old from country Victoria is about to fulfil his life’s dream of playing professional Aussie Rules, however, trouble awaits in unforeseen ways.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Todd Thomson, the club captain and one of the best players in the competition, has a drug problem and is grooming young players to sell for him. Off the field, the club is $20 million in debt and a boardroom crisis is looming as opposing powers struggle to get their way. Two of the board members, Wang Li and Rahul Patel, from China and India respectively, not only want to buy the club outright but also want to host a NARC match in their home country and will do anything to get that opportunity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">One Season depicts one topsy-turvy ride of a professional sporting club who think the only boundaries that exist are the ones marking the oval.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>About the Author</b></span></div>
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<a 1="" href="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/2017-promos-2/louis-white/One%20Season%20Author%20-%20Louis%20White.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/2017-promos-2/louis-white/One%20Season%20Author%20-%20Louis%20White.jpg" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Louis White is an established freelance journalist who resides in Sydney, Australia. Throughout his career he has contributed to leading publications such as The Australian, The Sydney Morning , The Age and The Australian Financial Review newspapers, along with other prominent consumer magazines and websites.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">While living in the United Kingdom, Louis White wrote articles for The Times, The Guardian and Financial Times newspapers. He also completed an Executive MBA from the Cranfield School of Management.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">He has covered a wide variety of subject matter in his reporting, though his passions lie in the areas of business and sport. In this novel, One Season, he has managed to successfully combine both.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="http://www.louiswhite.com/" target="_blank">Author Website</a> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="http://www.oneseasonthebook.com/" target="_blank">Book Website </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="http://www.whitetigermedia.com.au/" target="_blank">Publisher Website</a> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="http://www.twitter.com/louispwhite" target="_blank">Twitter</a> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/louiswhitewriter/" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="http://bookbuzz.net/blog/contemporary-fiction-one-season/" target="_blank">Promo Link</a> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/One-Season-Louis-White/dp/0646976672" target="_blank">Amazon</a> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="http://www.whitetigermedia.com.au/" target="_blank">White Tiger Media </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.booktopia.com.au/one-season-louis-white/prod9780646976679.html" target="_blank">BookTopia </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://booklaunch.io/bookbuzz/one-season" target="_blank">BookLaunch</a> </span></div>
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On Wed, Dec 20, 2017 at 10:38 AM, Cami Hensley <chensley myaddictionisreading.com=""> wrote:
Hi Team!
We have had an unfortunate occurance.
One of the Author's we have worked with in the past has sent a take down notice for his content on an old PROMO Page. Instead of sending directly to us, he went through Google Sites. In doing this, he also shut down the HOST Site for all of our 2017 Promotions and in doing so has disabled the site and images from being used. Because of this, until we get the issue resolved with him, we are having to move upcoming Promotions to new sites and update HTML.
Can you please update Monday's HTML as soon as you can?
</chensley><br />
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<a href="https://sites.google.%20com/a/myaddictionisreading.%20com/2017-promo-s/louis-white"> <img height="140" src="https://sites.google.com/ a/myaddictionisreading.com/ 2017-promo-s/louis-white/ OneSeason.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
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<a 1="" href="https://sites.google.%20com/a/myaddictionisreading.%20com/2017-promo-s/louis-white/%20One%20Season.jpg?height=400&%20amp;width=262" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://sites.google.com/ a/myaddictionisreading.com/ 2017-promo-s/louis-white/One% 20Season.jpg?height=400& width=262" width="262" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Contemporary Fiction</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published:</span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> October 2017</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 18.6667px;"><b>Publisher:</b> White Tiger Media</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 18.6667px;"><br /></span></div>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.%20com/book/show/36974783-one-%20season?ac=1&from_search=%20true" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo add-to-goodreads-button_ zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/ a/myaddictionisreading.com/ spring-2016/home/ iconAddtoGoodreads1_ zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Angelo Astone has just been recruited by the Tassie Devils to play in the National Australian Rules Competition. The 18-year-old from country Victoria is about to fulfil his life’s dream of playing professional Aussie Rules, however, trouble awaits in unforeseen ways.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Todd Thomson, the club captain and one of the best players in the competition, has a drug problem and is grooming young players to sell for him. Off the field, the club is $20 million in debt and a boardroom crisis is looming as opposing powers struggle to get their way. Two of the board members, Wang Li and Rahul Patel, from China and India respectively, not only want to buy the club outright but also want to host a NARC match in their home country and will do anything to get that opportunity.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">One Season depicts one topsy-turvy ride of a professional sporting club who think the only boundaries that exist are the ones marking the oval.</span></div>
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<a 1="" href="https://sites.google.%20com/a/myaddictionisreading.%20com/2017-promo-s/louis-white/%20One%20Season%20Author%20-%%2020Louis%20White.jpg?height=%20266&width=400" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/ a/myaddictionisreading.com/ 2017-promo-s/louis-white/One% 20Season%20Author%20-%20Louis% 20White.jpg?height=266& width=400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>About the Author</b></span></div>
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<a 1="" href="https://sites.google.%20com/a/myaddictionisreading.%20com/2017-promo-s/_/rsrc/%201512929801813/louis-white/One%%2020Season%20Author%20-%20Louis%%2020White.jpg?height=200&%20width=200" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/ a/myaddictionisreading.com/ 2017-promo-s/_/rsrc/ 1512929801813/louis-white/One% 20Season%20Author%20-%20Louis% 20White.jpg?height=200& width=200" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Louis White is an established freelance journalist who resides in Sydney, Australia. Throughout his career he has contributed to leading publications such as The Australian, The Sydney Morning , The Age and The Australian Financial Review newspapers, along with other prominent consumer magazines and websites.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">While living in the United Kingdom, Louis White wrote articles for The Times, The Guardian and Financial Times newspapers. He also completed an Executive MBA from the Cranfield School of Management.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">He has covered a wide variety of subject matter in his reporting, though his passions lie in the areas of business and sport. In this novel, One Season, he has managed to successfully combine both.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="http://www.louiswhite.%20com/" target="_blank">Author Website</a> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="http://www.%20oneseasonthebook.com/" target="_blank">Book Website </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="http://www.%20whitetigermedia.com.au/" target="_blank">Publisher Website</a> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="http://www.twitter.com/%20louispwhite" target="_blank">Twitter</a>& nbsp;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="http://bookbuzz.net/%20blog/contemporary-fiction-one-%20season/" target="_blank">Promo Link</a> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/%20One-Season-Louis-White/dp/%200646976672" target="_blank">Amazon</a>& nbsp; </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="http://www.%20whitetigermedia.com.au/" target="_blank">White Tiger Media </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.booktopia.%20com.au/one-season-louis-white/%20prod9780646976679.html" target="_blank">BookTopia& nbsp;</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://booklaunch.io/%20bookbuzz/one-season" target="_blank">BookLaunch</a> </span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-25196704293442202792017-12-15T00:30:00.000+00:002017-12-15T00:30:30.629+00:00Cover Reveal: All Systems Down<div>
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<a 1="" href="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/2017-promo-s/sam-boush/ASD%20ebook%20cover.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/2017-promo-s/sam-boush/ASD%20ebook%20cover.JPG" width="481" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Thriller</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published:</span></b> 8 February 2018</div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36672702-all-systems-down?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/spring-2016/home/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a>
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<b>24 hours.</b></div>
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<b>That’s all it takes. </b></div>
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<b>A new kind of war has begun.</b> </div>
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Pak Han-Yong’s day is here. An elite hacker with Unit 101 of the North Korean military, he’s labored for years to launch Project Sonnimne: a series of deadly viruses set to cripple Imperialist infrastructure.<br />
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<b>And with one tap of his keyboard, the rewards are immediate. </b><br />
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Brendan Chogan isn’t a hero. He’s an out-of-work parking enforcement officer and one-time collegiate boxer trying to support his wife and children. But now there’s a foreign enemy on the shore a blackout that extends across America, and an unseen menace targeting him.<br />
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<b>Brendan must do whatever it takes to keep his family safe. </b><br />
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In the wake of the cyber attacks, electrical grids fail, satellites crash to earth, and the destinies of nine strangers collide.</div>
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Strangers whose survival depends upon each other’s skills and courage.<br />
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<b>For fans of REVOLUTION, Tom Clancy, and Thom Stark’s MAY DAY, ALL SYSTEMS DOWN is a riveting cyber war thriller which presents a threat so credible you’ll be questioning reality. </b></div>
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The sun rising over the Yalu River was the best part of Pak Han-yong’s day.</div>
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It began with darkness. In the distance, on the far side of the river, his homeland lay swaddled in unbreaking night. The fields and the factories, the port and the mills all slept. Then the horizon would lighten, from black to blue to gold, and the three faraway smokestacks appeared from the port city of Sinǔiju; first as silhouettes, then as gray fists, casting long shadows.</div>
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Next, the sun. Crimson light burned at the edges of red pine forests and reflected off the rice paddies. River, land, and air awoke to the glory of the Supreme Leader and the world’s chosen people. Tears sprung, as they always did, as light brought his beloved North Korea to life.</div>
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He observed it all from his desk on the tenth floor of the Shanghai Hotel in Dandong, China, across the border from the land of his ancestors.</div>
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China. After two years, Han-yong still had trouble internalizing the wealth of this nation. The Chinese lived in skyscrapers, profligate buildings of steel and glass. So different from his home city of Chongjin, where families lived modestly in single-story “harmonica homes,” so named because of their resemblance to the tiny boxes that make up the chambers of a harmonica.</div>
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On Fuchun Street, ten stories below, cars bustled. Unnecessary, extravagant. In Chongjin, nearly everyone was content to ride a bicycle or take public transit. And when they did drive, his people didn’t smoke like the Chinese. If you smoked, you wouldn’t catch the constant engine problems of your soviet-made Volga or ZIL.</div>
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Even from thirty meters above, it was apparent how the well-fed Chinese had been made soft by water that flowed reliably and electricity that ran all day. Food here wasn’t rationed by the gram. No one in China grew strong and clever from struggle and strain. There were no hardships here. And for that, he despised the Chinese, military allies or not.</div>
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“Long live the Shining Sun of North Korea,” he said. These people aren’t better than us. We have nothing to envy in the world. He lowered himself into the seat of his desk, rearranged his mouse so it squared perfectly with his keyboard, took a final sip of tea, and continued to monitor the attack that had started hours earlier.</div>
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Today, Han-yong fell into his routine, despite the enormity of the day’s events. Routine was the scaffolding that held his life together. He had woken in the earliest hours, barely speaking to his five roommates in the converted hotel room, had slipped into his pressed uniform, and spit-polished the single silver star on his shoulder. Then, after quickly wiping dust from the portrait of the Supreme Leader that hung alone on the wall, he’d moved to the common area to drink his tea and work until sunrise.</div>
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Two years of waiting, and today it has finally begun. He rubbed his hands together. Every day Han-yong worked here, visited the canteen, and bunked in his room. He rarely slept more than five hours. And never, in those two years, had he left the tenth floor of the Shanghai Hotel.</div>
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For all the differences between China and North Korea, there was only one that mattered, and it was why Han-yong was here at all. The Internet. On the North Korean side of the river, the global Internet, for all practical purposes, did not exist. There was a limited internal network that pointed to a handful of websites. But North Korea had fewer Internet protocol addresses in the whole country than could be found on a block in some Imperialist cities.</div>
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Here in China, though, the Internet reached nearly every corner of the globe. And because of that, Han-yong and the other elite hackers of Unit 101 could touch a banking system in London, a hospital network in New York City, or a data center in Tokyo.</div>
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“Junior Lieutenant Pak!” The gruff voice of the senior lieutenant shattered Han-yong’s reverie and brought him spinning from the window, springing to his feet, fingertips raised to eyebrow in salute. “You are to come with me.”</div>
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The senior lieutenant was very different from Han-yong. He was loud and assertive, tall by North Korean standards, and good-looking enough that he probably did well with women when he took leave—an amenity provided only to senior officers. But, most grating, he was a traditional military officer, untrained in online warfare, and knew just enough to stick his fingers where they didn’t belong.</div>
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Still, there was nothing to do but obey.</div>
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They waded the corridors in silence, past the desks where scores of other hackers from his unit sat immersed in a war that had begun with an attack on an Imperialist supercarrier only hours earlier. As Han-yong sauntered through the ranks of Unit 101, his pulse quickened with pride. They were the elite, plucked from grade school from across the country and enrolled in Command Automation University in Pyongyang. They had trained with the singular focus of learning to hack into secure enemy networks. They had become warriors. Instead of tanks or drones, their weapons were in code. They had mastered digital viruses, worms, the dedicated denial of service attack, trapdoors, and botnets. They had simulated cyber war amongst themselves and infiltrated foreign targets. At every stage, they had been tested and evaluated, and only the most gifted had come to wear the uniform.</div>
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The senior lieutenant stopped the door that led to the stairwell. “The colonel has ordered a meeting with you,” he said, one hand placed haughtily on his hip, not bothering to meet Han-yong’s eyes. He’d assumed the pose of a Manchurian guerrilla fighter from the war movies. “You will speak when spoken to and answer all inquiries in full.”</div>
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Han-yong couldn’t help himself. “Sir, what inquiries?”</div>
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“About the interconnect logic bombs,” the senior lieutenant snapped, unlocking the door. The stairwell beyond was devoid of decoration, except for a creamy swirl on the vinyl tile, like the pattern on the lid of a paint can. “Hurry now.” And he started up the stairs, feet tapping a marching rhythm.</div>
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The Imperialists of North America had many weaknesses, but Han-yong had been ordered to focus on the power grid. The system was a relic of the 1960s, set up with no thoughts for security, but instead as a way to balance the supply and demand for electrical power across vast swaths of territory. In their arrogance, the Americans had organized just five power-grid interconnections across the entire country, electrically tied together and operating at the same frequency.</div>
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While it may have so far proven a sufficient way to balance loads—power companies with little demand could transfer electricity to areas with greater demand—the reality was that a single significant disturbance could collapse all of the systems tied to the interconnection. And Han-yong did not have the means to cause just a single disturbance.</div>
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He had the means to cause thousands.</div>
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The project was code-named Sonnimne, after the smallpox gods of Korean mythology that long ago crossed the Yalu River. It was both a nod to the new pestilence they would unleash and a reference to how the plague had already spread in secret, machine to machine, substation to substation.</div>
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Han-yong had planted logic bombs—malware that could be triggered in response to an event—in substations across the United States. It had taken months of steadfast work. The difficulty was writing the combustible code within a Trojan application in a way that was at once difficult to detect, easy to spread, and powerful once deployed. While the wait and the work had been excruciating, the payoff would be enormous. And imminent.</div>
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They reached the top of the stairs, and the senior lieutenant produced a key to open the gray-painted industrial steel door. The eleventh floor was reserved for high-ranking officers, their quarters, and computer servers that required additional security.</div>
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Sweat beaded on Han-yong’s brow. The colonel ranked just three steps below a general, and was likely the most senior military official Han-yong would ever speak to in his career. A slipup here might find him dishonored and discharged, or eating rats in a reeducation camp.</div>
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They rounded the first corner through the carpeted corridor, where Han-yong noticed, with more than a little satisfaction, that the smell of mildew pervaded every bit as strongly as in the floor where the junior officers worked. The senior lieutenant pulled up short in front of a door with a brass room number in the Western style. Before they could knock, a man inside bellowed, “Junior Lieutenant Pak Han-yong. Come in. Come in.”</div>
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The voice was not what he’d expected. Friendly. Jovial, even. Han-yong poked his chin through the doorway.</div>
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Nothing about the scene that greeted them was as he had imagined. The hotel suite was gaudy by North Korean standards. The walls, which should have been bare except for the requisite photograph of the Supreme Leader, were decorated with paintings of mountains and birds in a style that Han-yong vaguely recognized as Japanese.</div>
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The room was not sleeping quarters, but an office far larger than the room Han-yong shared with the other soldiers. At the center of the space, a heavy-grain oak desk displayed unrecognizable artifacts: three swords on a wooden rack, an unfolded fan with red tassels and a painted orange sun, a clay jar in the shape of a boar, and a half-dozen other oddities that Han-yong had never seen. They were beautiful, and he felt guilty for admiring the work of foreigners.</div>
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The colonel himself was also a surprise. A crisp military uniform did nothing to hide his bulk. No one Han-yong had ever met carried more than a few pounds of extra weight. How could they, when even prison guards and soldiers, who received the best rations in the country, still lived off just enough to fill their bellies?</div>
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“Junior Lieutenant,” the colonel began, leaning back in his chair, “your commanding officer tells me we are ready to move forward with project Sonnimne. And I understand that you have implanted code throughout the US system of interconnects?”</div>
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“Not exactly, sir.” Han-yong hesitated, unsure of how much technical detail to provide. “I created a zero-day exploit. A new kind of virus, sir. It uses entirely original code.” The colonel raised an eyebrow. “That means it can’t be detected by malware filters,” Han-yong continued. “The virus triggered a patch update in the operating systems of the high-voltage distribution facilities and spread throughout.”</div>
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The colonel inclined forward, his chair squealing under the weight. “What do you mean by ‘spread throughout?’ How many facilities have the virus?”</div>
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Han-yong paused, careful to give the correct information. “All of them, sir. All of the distribution facilities in the United States now have the virus.”</div>
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The senior lieutenant let out a dry cough. Otherwise, for several seconds no one moved or spoke. Han-yong shifted his weight between feet.</div>
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“But … that must be thousands,” the colonel said.</div>
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A trickle of sweat trickled down Han-yong’s brow toward his eye, but he ignored it. “Yes, sir. There are over nine thousand electric-generating facilities and over three-hundred thousand kilometers of high-voltage lines spread between them. These substations alone carry seventy percent of the most-hated nation’s electricity. They all have the virus.” The sweat droplet fell into his eye. He blinked it away.</div>
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“Do you mean to say that we have a virus that can wipe out seventy percent of the American electrical grid?”</div>
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“No, sir. When the majority of the US power grid goes down, the lower-voltage lines won’t be able to sustain the added load volume. They will topple under the stress. This virus will wipe out one-hundred percent of the American electrical grid.”</div>
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The colonel’s mouth hung open as if he were about to speak, but couldn’t, while the senior lieutenant wore a self-satisfied smirk that reminded Han-yong of a least weasel with a bellyful of stolen eggs.</div>
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The colonel’s jaw tightened below a layer of fat. “If the virus is dispersed so completely, then why has nothing happened? The lights are still on in the West.”</div>
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Now it was the senior lieutenant’s turn to explain. “The virus has two stages. The first is the spreading stage, which is only recently complete. The second stage is activation, when the logic bombs that have been hidden in the code will deploy. We are ready to deploy that on your order, sir. Today, if desired. Along with the hundreds of other attacks Unit 101 has prepared.”</div>
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Han-yong nodded, proud that his efforts fit so well with the whole. Each team member had his own projects designed to attack global enemies; separate and equally deadly projects to take out Imperialist infrastructure. Some cyber soldiers had built malware to disable railways. Some had built code to choke airline traffic. Still others had built viruses to cripple the Imperialist military communications.</div>
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“At your command, we can activate the logic bombs with a keystroke,” the senior lieutenant continued. “The virus will cause the power grid to overheat and self-immolate. I have no way of knowing how long it would take to repair, but every time the Americans try to rebuild the lines, we can bring them down again.”</div>
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At that, the colonel laughed heartily, the fat of his jowls jiggling with mirth. “You both are too young to appreciate the irony in what we are about to do. You see, when the Soviet Union collapsed decades ago, our system also faltered. The subsidies that had sustained us fell away, and our power plants rusted into disuse. Our streets went dark. And many of our cities are still without power, as you know. The fatherland is still in the dark.”</div>
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Han-yong nodded. All too well, he knew of the humiliations his countrymen had suffered under the sanctions of their enemies.</div>
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“But our time has come,” the colonel continued. “Like the thousand-li horse, we are too swift to be mounted, too elegant to be cowed. At last, it has all come together. The fight has only begun, and already the enemy falters. So now we will strike at the heart. Today we will lash out with this and everything we have. This is our chance to repay, blindness for blindness, a world that sent us into blackness.”</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">About the Author</span></b></div>
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Sam has worked as a wildland firefighter, journalist, and owner of a mid-sized marketing agency. Though he’s lived in France and Spain, his heart belongs to Portland, Oregon, where he lives with his wife, Tehra, two wonderful children, and a messy cat that keeps them from owning anything nice.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-47869830805685086312017-12-14T00:30:00.000+00:002017-12-14T00:30:56.857+00:00Book Spotlight & Giveaway: The Lost Macaw by B.L. Blair<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">12/14/17</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36440336-the-lost-macaw?from_search=true" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/spring-2016/home/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">The Lost Macaw is the fourth novella in the Lost and Found Pets series. Alexandra Prescott is a licensed private investigator specializing in finding missing animals. Reuniting pet and owner is more than just a job.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">A former client hires Alex to find her lost parrot. The bright colored bird has flown away before, but this time there is evidence that Molly was kidnapped. The demand is simple—the bird for the pictures.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">When her client suffers a stroke, Alex is left with a ransom note, a missing bird, and some very incriminating photos. She is in a race against time to solve the mystery of the lost Macaw.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Your little old lady is quite interesting, Alex,” Halie said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What do you mean?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“She didn’t exist until about thirty years ago.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What?!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I did a preliminary background search on her. In general, she is clean. No debt. The house is paid off as is her car. The one thing that jumped out at me was the fact that she had a safe deposit box at four different banks.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Luke raised one eyebrow. I got a sinking feeling. I had noted the bank accounts but hadn’t really given them much thought.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Yeah,” I said, “I saw those.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“So why does an eighty-year-old woman need four safe deposit boxes?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Why does she need more than one?” Luke muttered.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Exactly,” Halie said. “So I dug a little deeper.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“About thirty years ago, Joseph and Trudy Kearns purchased the house on Carriage. Back then, it was a new neighborhood, and the prices were cheap. They paid cash. They also opened a bank account, and Joe got a job working for the city. Those are the first records I can find for either one of them.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Trudy would have been fifty at that time. Her husband probably a few years older. What about birth certificates? Social security cards?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“They had them, but conveniently, they were issued from a small county in Virginia where a massive flood destroyed all their records. The county office was in the process of moving the old paper records to electronic when the flood hit.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Let me guess. The Kearns’s records did not survive the flood.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Nope.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“So the only records for them are the ones they had in their possession.” I paused a moment. “Do they look real?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“So they could be authentic.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Or really good forgeries. In some ways, it was easier back then.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Not really. Like I said, she’s pretty clean. Lives on a fixed income of social security and a small pension from her husband’s job. It isn’t much because he only worked for the city for twelve years before he had to retire.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“This isn’t looking good.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I’ll keep digging. See if anything else turns up.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">B. L. Blair writes mystery/romance stories. Like most authors, she has been writing most of her life and has dozens of books started. She just needs the time to finish them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">She is the author of the Holton Romance Series, the Leah Norwood Mysteries, and the Lost and Found Pets Mystery Series. She enjoys reading books, writing books, and traveling wherever and as often as time and money allows. She is currently working on her latest book set in Texas, where she lives with her family.</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-44385525207349394022017-12-07T00:30:00.000+00:002017-12-07T00:30:04.054+00:00Book Spotlight: Ryan by A.L. Long<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Steamy Romance, Romantic Suspense</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><b>Published:</b> November 2017</span></div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36510500-ryan?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/spring-2016/home/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Following the same routine, day in and day out, Charlie Winters was about to give up on getting the break she deserved. Things begin to look up when her brother Nick suggested she to come to New York to work at his landscaping company. Moving from the small town of Cedar Grove to the big Apple was everything Charlie dreamed of, until her brother witnessed a brutal murder, which put his life in danger. Charlie would do everything she could to protect him even if it meant contacting the boy she fell in love with as a teenager.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Leaving the only girl, he had ever loved, the last thing Ryan Hyatt expected was to run into her, especially in Manhattan. Regretting his decision to push her away after he had enlisted in the military, he tried to make it up to her by offering to protect her brother Nick. When tragedy stuck, he soon found that his brother Josh may have been involved. Ryan would stop at nothing to protect the woman he would never stopped loving.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"> Walking over to her, I placed my hand on her flushed cheek and lowered my lips to hers. At first, there was a slight hesitation, but once I dipped my tongue inside the warmth of her mouth, her tongue began to dance with mine. I could feel the vibration of small whimpers escape as I continued my play. Charlie’s arms wrapped around my neck, allowing me to kiss her even deeper. Trailing my hands down her back, I found her butt and cupped her firm cheeks. Just the feel of her this close was making my cock jump with excitement. When I lifted her by the waist, her legs enveloped mine as I carried her over to the small couch that was pushed up against the wall.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Even though this wasn’t the way that I imagined our reunion would be, it really didn’t matter because all I knew was that I needed her and my cock longed to be deep inside her. Placing her gently on the couch, I took a moment to absorb her beauty. Her eyes fluttered shut as I traced the outline of her lips before I swept inside her warmth. Her tongue mingled with mine and our exploration of each other began. Charlie’s body told me she was eager for my touch. Slipping my hand underneath her thin t-shirt, I worked it upward until I reached her firm breast. Lowering the cup of her bra, I could feel the warmth and softness of her breast as I fondled the pea-sized bud between my fingers. Bracing my body above hers with the other hand, I managed to find the clasp of her bra. “God, how I loved the person that created front clasps on bras,” I smiled to myself. Just the feel of her skin under my touch left me needing more. All I wanted was to consume the beauty that was hidden beneath the thin material. With one leg planted on the floor and the other bent between her legs, I grasped the hem of her t-shirt and in one movement pushed it upward, freeing her shirt and her bra from her body at the same time. When her luscious breasts came into view, they were as I remembered, only more beautiful.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“God, you’re beautiful,” I whispered as I lowered my lips to the small bud, nuzzling her breast as I savagely began licking and sucking the tip. Charlie’s moans of pleasure sounded and it triggered my cock to become increasingly more uncomfortable locked away in my jeans. I moved back slightly, resting my upper leg on my butt while gliding my hand down her silky skin, stopping purposely at the waistband of her shorts. With one flick of my wrist the button was undone and the zipper began sliding down as I moved my hand beneath her pretty yellow panties. I could feel the soft curls of her pubic hair as I worked my hand further down. At first I was unable to get where I needed with the restriction of her shorts, and then her butt lifted from the couch, allowing me to easily remove her shorts and take her panties with them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">With her body completely displayed before me, she was even more beautiful than I could ever have imagined. Lowering my body, I trailed light kisses down her body to the apex of her sex. Her womanly scent overflowed as I moved to her folds, which were wet with desire. Lapping up her sweet honey, I could feel her hips move, keeping in rhythm to my play. Something intense flared through my body, reacting to her moans of satisfaction as her body gave way. Exposing my own desire for her, I freed my cock from its confines, encased it with latex, and slowly entered her with gentle, even thrusts. I could feel her body light with pleasure as it clenched around me, coaxing me towards my own release. What had taken me so long to find was finally delivered, sending my body in an upward spiral to heaven and back. Never was I going to let her go again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>About the Author</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Award winning Author of the Independent Press Award and NYC Big Book Award.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">My love for writing began several years ago after an early retirement from a demanding job that I loved, but also hated because it consumed so much of my time. Now, I am able to focus my time on what I love. Writing romance has been a life long dream and to actually say that I am a published author is beyond what I would have ever expected.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Even though some may say I have a little naughtiness in my books, I look at it as an added bonus for my readers. After all what is a romance book without a little spice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">When I am not writing, I enjoy spending time with friends either at home or out on the town. Mostly, I enjoy a relaxing night at home where I can enjoy a glass of wine in the company of a good book.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Ryan-Alpha-Male-Romance-Suspense-Military-ebook/dp/B07716GKPY" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-10941233705174121542017-12-06T00:30:00.000+00:002017-12-06T00:30:28.955+00:00Series Spotlight: The Chaos Chronicles Trilogy Collection by Steven M. Moore<br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><b>The Chaos Chronicles Trilogy Collection</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><b>Publisher:</b> Carrick Publishing</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><b>Published:</b> November 2017</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Near-future dystopia, interstellar flight, first encounter, space battles, AI, and more--find them in this new sci-fi bundle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">This new sci-fi bundle takes the reader from an Earth dominated by multinationals and policed by their mercenaries to colonizing another planet and the first encounter with ETs. And beyond, far into a future with space battles, ESP, AI, and more. This three-novel bundle provides hours of sci-fi entertainment in just one ebook.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Steven M. Moore writes sci-fi, mystery, and thriller books and sometimes combines these genres as he does in this trilogy. He is a full-time writer, and his many books illustrate his perpetual love of storytelling. He was born in California and lived in many other places, both in the U.S. and abroad, experiencing diverse peoples and settings that often define his near-future mysteries and thrillers and extrapolate well into his sci-fi. He currently lives with his wife in NJ.</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-71100781658033605742017-12-05T00:30:00.000+00:002017-12-05T00:30:04.570+00:00Book Spotlight: Love on the Edge by Kerry Evelyn<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> December 5, 2017</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Lanie Owens has just survived a horrific attack by a stalker. Her grandfather, a retired army colonel, drives her to a resort in Maine where she can heal in peace while the authorities track down the man who almost killed her. To Lanie’s dismay, he hires a bodyguard to protect her. Lanie’s nightmares are debilitating, but giving up control of her life is unacceptable.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Former Army Ranger Matt Saunders knows all about nightmares. He’s spent the last year recovering from an injury he sustained during his last tour and the hellish events that caused it. Anxious to prove that he is fit to go back overseas, he accepts the bodyguard job. The resort is everything they imagined - tranquil, safe, and a place to heal. Gradually, they open up to each other and realize they have a lot in common – except their future plans. When a resort video goes viral, Lanie's stalker knows just where to find her.</span></div>
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Matt couldn’t help himself. He kissed the top of Lanie’s head again and inhaled the citrus and floral scent that was now a familiar comfort to him. She tilted her head up to him, a lazy smile on her lips.</div>
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“This is heaven,” she stated. “Let’s forget the rest of the world and just be.” Her eyes pleaded with his for understanding. “Like the song,” she murmured.</div>
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He touched his lips to her forehead. “I’d like that.” He pulled his head back to look at her. “But I don’t know how.” He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead on hers.</div>
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Lanie reached out her hand and placed it on his cheek. She turned his face back to her. “I do,” she whispered. “Even if only for a moment.”</div>
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Matt froze as she pulled his head down toward hers and gently kissed his lips. Shocks he could only describe as lightning shot through his every nerve. He sat still, stiff as the igneous rock beneath him, paralyzed with awe and fear.</div>
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Lanie was so beautiful, and so trusting. She was facing her fears head on and working through her pain in her effort to return to normal. He knew that was a myth. You couldn’t go back, only create a new normal. Why couldn’t he push past his barriers like she was doing? Why was he so messed up he couldn’t enjoy a kiss from a woman like Lanie? Why couldn’t he even kiss her back? He wanted to, more than anything. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he trust himself? She drew back and searched his eyes.</div>
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“Lanie.” He pulled away. He hoped she couldn’t hear the anguish in his voice. “We can’t—”</div>
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“I know,” she replied, her eyes cast downward. “I got caught up in the moment. But what if we could get lost here?” She turned and scooted away from him. She pulled her knees up to her chin and hugged them. “Just disappear.”</div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Kerry Evelyn has always been fascinated by people and the backstories that drive them to do what they do. She graduated from Bridgewater State University with a Bachelor of Science in Education and Sociology. A native of the Massachusetts South Coast, she taught in an inner city elementary school before moving to Florida to teach in a rural setting, and then in her own neighborhood. Fast forward a few years, and she's now a crazy blessed wife and homeschooling mom to the two sweetest kids you'll ever meet (she's also super biased). When she's not homeschooling or writing, she's mentoring moms through Mom Mastery University, sharing essential oils, and planning super fun events for her kids and their friends (although her own kids have yet to be impressed, being that every event has some sort of learning snuck in to it). She loves God, books of all kinds, traveling, taking selfies, and escaping into her imagination, where every child is happy and healthy, every house has a library, and her hubby wears coattails and a top hat 24/7.</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-85762910578460889902017-12-04T11:41:00.001+00:002017-12-04T11:42:31.579+00:00Book Spotlight: Gylded Wings by Linda Nightingale<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Published:</span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> September 2017</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36231207-gylded-wings?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/spring-2016/home/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png?attredirects=0" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Forgiven or Forsaken? A fallen angel's quest to soar once again on Gylded Wings.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Angels in slavery? Brit Montgomery cannot believe it, until she is sent on a rescue mission to another dimension and witnesses the cruel practice first hand. The angel, Gyldan, is the most beautiful being she’s ever seen. She is drawn to him but sometimes beauty disguises wicked secrets. This man who rocks her world seems more demon than angel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Gyldan, born into slavery, has one desire—fly free. When he escapes to Earth, he faces an alternate self-realization full of dark glory…and disbelief. Gyldan is bent on experiencing his newfound powers unmindful of the harm to Brit or others.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Confused and hurt by Gyldan’s erratic evil actions, Brit turns away. While Gyldan’s journey of self-discovery pulls him further distant, Brit finds acceptance in a solitary, comfortable life of her own until she realizes the day of reckoning has come. Will Gyldan be her final ruin or has he come back to her with a gift more precious than life itself?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Born in South Carolina, Linda Nightingale has lived in England, Canada, Miami, Ft. Lauderdale, Atlanta and Houston. She’s seen a lot of this country from the windshield of a truck pulling a horse trailer, having bred, trained and showed Andalusian horses for many years.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Linda has won several writing awards, including the Georgia Romance Writers Magnolia Award and the SARA Merritt. She retired from a career as a retired legal assistant, just joined the Houston BMW Club, and the stars in her crown—two wonderful sons. In a former life, she must have had to walk everywhere because today she is into \transportation with fine taste in expensive horses and hot cars! She likes to dress up and host formal dinner parties.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://catalog.thewildrosepress.com/all-titles/5255-gylded-wings.html" target="_blank">Publisher</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="http://www.bookstrand.com/gylded-wings" target="_blank">BookStrand</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://booklaunch.io/bookbuzz/5a0c7377e706818e795d1935" target="_blank">BookLaunch</a></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-16089922107291265062017-11-30T00:30:00.000+00:002017-11-30T00:30:06.472+00:00Book Spotlight: Second Chances by Kimberley O'Malley<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">11/30/17 </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36564370-second-chances?from_search=true" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/spring-2016/home/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"> Dr. Charlotte Avery is the newest resident of Windsor Falls, North Carolina. Just back from the war-ravaged plains of Africa, Charlie only wants to settle into her new life and to reconnect with Elizabeth Fitzgerald, her best friend from residency. What she doesn’t expect, or need, is the instant attraction she feels for Elizabeth’s brother-in-law, Brendan. A single dad, Brendan Fitzgerald isn’t interested in anything that will further complicate his life. Will they be open to a second chance?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Kimberley O’Malley is a recent transplant to Charlotte, North Carolina from the frozen North. She is learning to say y’all but draws the line at sweet tea. Sarcasm is an art form in her world. When not writing, she is a full-time nurse and part-time soccer Mom, but not necessarily in that order. She shares her life with an amazing husband of more than twenty years, two teenagers, and one very sweet Shetland Sheepdog, Molly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16545063.Kimberley_O_Malley" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Second-Chances-Windsor-Falls-Book-ebook/dp/B07776FP49/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1511362607&sr=8-2&keywords=kimberley+o%27malley">Amazon</a></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-33336088347702987232017-11-25T00:30:00.000+00:002017-11-25T00:30:24.839+00:00Book Spotlight: A-C-T Like a Kid T-H-I-N-K Like a Parent<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35587937-a-c-t-like-a-kid-and-t-h-i-n-k-like-a-parent?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/spring-2016/home/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Just for kicks, have you ever wondered what your parents really want from you in life? Is it you, or do your parents want you to have no real fun? On any given day, do you want to make your parents proud of you and still do what makes you feel really happy within yourself? Of course you do! But the real question has always been, and still is…how? How can we actually get this done?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Well, with A-C-T like a Kid and T-H-I-N-K like a Parent, a.k.a "the child-part consoler", you will get past common misunderstandings by learning how to truly talk, hear, and listen to your parents, guardians or caregivers instead of feeling like you have to run to friends to find some sense of acceptance, understanding, and real connection.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">In this book, chock-full of questions and answers gotten directly from the source, you’ll learn what your parents, guardians or caregivers really expect of you—and maybe you’ll even find out how to explain to them what you really expect from them! Not that this book could ever replace a parent, because it can not. But when it comes to openly communicating certain key ideas, this book comes really close.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">This tell-all guide contains lots of enlightening explanations and helpful answers to many common kid questions like:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">· What do my parents really want from me?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">· Why do my parents do what they do and say what they say?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">· What do I really need to know about my parents' parenting skills?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">· How can I keep my parents happy with me?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">· How can I help my parents to help me?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">· How can I get what I want from my parents every time?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">A-C-T like a Kid and T-H-I-N-K like a Parent is an intro to the secret knowledge of adults which is a set of informations that is mainly covered in the book entitled Surrogate Re-Parenting: A.K.A. Get Your Mind Right, and even more thoroughly covered in the book The Secret Knowledge Of Adults. While this book, A-C-T like a Kid and T-H-I-N-K like a Parent is intended for kids 10 and up, the info in this book is beneficial and useful to the intelligent kid parts in all of us. Yes, this means you too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">The information in this book will help you and yours to start to see your parents, not as the enemy, but as the caring human beings they really are, and take the first step toward family unity, understanding, growth, success, and happiness! Both you and your parents really deserve this, and with this book, A-C-T like a Kid and T-H-I-N-K like a Parent, you and your parents can actually achieve this.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">28) Earning Your Parents' Respect.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">As a kid, when it comes to parents, us having, earning and receiving their love, is almost guaranteed. You can be one of the most stubborn, unruly, wayward kids and they would still love their child and that's for life. It's fairly easy to have a parent's love but it is a whole different thing to earn a parent's respect.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">This is because love and respect come from two entirely different places. The love comes from what they feel for you, almost through themselves. Respect comes from what they think about the what, and the “way”, you are doing things, that you are doing in your own life. As a kid, you can disgrace your parents and they will still love you. But even though they do love you, if you disgrace them, they won't respect you. As their child, you can act shamefully and your parents will still love you. But if you act shamefully, they won't respect you. You can steal from them and lie to them and they will still love you. But if you steal from them, and lie to them, they won't respect you. As a kid you can smell bad and look terribly messy and they will still love you. But if you smell bad and look terribly messy, they won't respect you. As a kid it can be very hard to earn the respect of your parents. You can't just smile your way through this one. If you want your parents' respect, you are going to have to earn it, and fight for it. This is because it isn't as easy as being loved by them. Your being respected by them is definitely worth a lot to them. When it comes to your parents, the “way” you do things, the “way” you get things, the “way” you live and the "way" you keep things, does matter to them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">As a kid, watch the “way” that is being promoted in your surroundings. A “way” that you have the power to use, choose or change for yourself, in your own life. They may not say it but they, as parents, look for proof of character in everything that you do as a kid. Proof that you have made a point of displaying character in all that you, as a kid, do or touch. Your parents watch your life for proof of honor and honesty, hoping to find both honor and honesty present, in the “way” you do everything as their child. They especially watch for decency, which is based mainly on how well you treat other living things in your surroundings. It's about how you use the power that you have over others, including smaller kids and pets. Your parents look to see you show mercy on those who have messed up on you, that are also smaller than you, like your brothers or sisters. It makes them, as parents, very proud when they see you, as a child of theirs, showing forgiveness to those who have foolishly wronged you. As you are growing up, it makes your parents really proud of you when they see how powerful you have become. They are especially proud when they see how gracious, kind, merciful and considerate you can be. They marvel at how great you have become, when they watch you being able to share with those who have given you nothing. As a parent, it gives them great joy to see their child, you, stand up against opposition to preserve the rights, safety and freedom of those around you as a kids. And the thought that if you were around a place, even if you were just passing through, that when you left that place, it would be better and cleaner because you were once there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">These are the types of things that can help you as a kid who already has their parent's love, to earn their respect. These are just a few of the actions that can help a kid earn their parents' respect.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>About Katherine Shears</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Katherine Shears is a mom, graduate of Strayer University, and an executive consultant, who is dedicated to bettering the social function and overall visibility of all she encounters. She is a deep thinker with an open mind who stays on the cutting edge of learning, having read over one hundred self-help titles and counting.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">C. S. Whitehurst is a psychology-based UX/UI designer/tester, computer programmer, IT Project Manager, and self-help enthusiast, who is a student of science, philosophy, life, and NYU. As a native of New York, having been exposed to social diversity, he has been coached by life to respond to the issues plaguing inner-city youth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Katherine Shears Email: <a href="mailto:katherine_shears@yahoo.com">katherine_shears@yahoo.com</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">CS Whitehurst Email: <a href="mailto:author.cswhitehurst@gmail.com">author.cswhitehurst@gmail.com</a></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-42756106871965642692017-11-22T00:30:00.000+00:002017-11-22T00:30:01.735+00:00Book Spotlight: Body of Evidence by J.B. Tischendorf<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published:</span></b> March 2017</div>
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“Ask him if he didn’t intend to kill Noah when he went to the bar with that loaded gun, just what did he intend to do? It could be important, so you need to ask him and to get an answer.”</div>
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Richard Dandridge has left a big city Manhattan law firm to open up his own small private practice in his hometown of Rochester, NY. He is eking out a meager living representing small clients, but he is content to play golf and no longer be part of the scandals and notoriety of the big city law firms. Now, however, he has been thrown back into the big leagues by a huge local murder case. Lieutenant Vincent Trapp has shot and killed businessman Noah Arietta at the Foundry Café, in front of witnesses. There is no question that Trapp has done the murder and he certainly had motive, as Arietta had violently raped and beaten Trapp’s wife Paige. Lieutenant Trapp has requested that Richard Dandridge represent him.</div>
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Richard debates about taking the case—defending a guilty person can be professional suicide. But if he wins, the rewards would be huge. He will position himself as the top defense lawyer in Monroe County, and he will also have the personal satisfaction of defeating prosecutor Randall Walker, who has beaten Richard in his run for District Attorney. However, this case sure looks like a loser. Even the rape is in question: a rape kit performed on Paige is negative for sperm, although the woman clearly has been beaten.</div>
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Richard is therefore drawn to the case because of the positive effects a win would have on his career and the future of his firm. He meets with Trapp, who confirms the known facts: the death of Arietta was not accidental or a suicide and Trapp caused it, in front of witnesses. The Lieutenant meets all the qualifications for felony first degree murder. Against his better judgment and going with a gut feeling, Richard agrees to represent Trapp. Richard knows that he needs to design a case around the known facts, as damning as they are. He knows that Trapp is well-to-do, a decorated serviceman, and has never been in trouble before. Richard therefore sees the act committed by Trapp as completely out of character, even though the man has a clear jealous streak when it comes to his beautiful wife. The thought keeps coming back to him: Trapp must have been out of his mind to do this crime.</div>
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Richard realizes that this is a distinct possibility, and also the basis for a valid defense strategy—Trapp had acted while in a dissociative state psychiatrists referred to as the “irresistible impulse.” Now it is up to Richard to craft the compelling body of evidence that points so clearly to first degree murder into a case for a man so shaken and traumatized by the brutal attack on his wife that he unwittingly killed her attacker while in a dissociative state. Richard must use all his knowledge of the law to convince a jury that the Lieutenant was temporarily insane when he fired five bullets into Noah Arietta. It’s a defense recognized by the State of New York, but the odds of pulling it off are huge. Richard not only has to get an acquittal for a guilty man using an insanity defense, but he also has to successfully prosecute a dead man for rape.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">About the Author</span></b><br />
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<a 1="" href="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/2017-promo-s/_/rsrc/1510520125758/j-b-tischendorf-1/Playground%20In%20My%20Mind%20Author%20J.%20B.%20Tischendorf.jpg?height=200&width=200" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/2017-promo-s/_/rsrc/1510520125758/j-b-tischendorf-1/Playground%20In%20My%20Mind%20Author%20J.%20B.%20Tischendorf.jpg?height=200&width=200" /></a>
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I began writing at the age of twenty because it was good therapy for me as a mother of an achondroplastic dwarf, at a time when there was not much knowledge or a support group. To hone my skills I completed the University of Washington Certificate course, Introduction on Fiction Writing in September of 2001. I attended a seminar on Writing Techniques and Styles, and another entitled How to Become a Successful Editor. In 2016 and 2017 I participated in the James Paterson online courses for screen play and fiction writing. As an avid reader, I organized a local Book Club here in Irondequoit... I was presented in, “Two Thousand Notable American Women, Third Illustrated Edition”, prepared by the American Biographical Institute and published in 1991. I was highlighted in an article by About Time Magazine in their Career Profile section in August, 1982. Then shortly after the article appeared I was on the air for an interview at a Syracuse Cable Station in a 30 minute segment entitled “Successful Black Women in New York State” and taped another 30 minute segment for a program entitled “Spotlight On You”. I appeared on WOKR-TV, “Shades Of Gray Program, where I was interviewed for Outstanding Achievement Recognition. This took place in 1990. I was interviewed for an article on the front page of the Irondequoit Post for my fiction book released in 2000 and entitled Til Death Do Us Part? I appearances on RNews (now known as YNN) in Rochester New York for my fiction book, and a nonfiction book entitled Who Says I’m Small in 2006, also promoted at the LPA (Little People of America) in Orlando Florida and Erie Pennsylvania in 2008. I opened my home base computer business, J. Tischendorf Services (originally J. Saxton Services) in 1984 and Pageant Perfect Production in 1990. I placed in the top 10 of the Mrs. New York State/America Beauty Pageant in 1983 and did freelance modeling for department stores. I did photogenic modeling for Eastman Kodak Company’s Phototech Division and modeled for the Gannett Newspapers 1983 Annual Report and the United Way Annual Report. I even participated in the special number drawing event for the New York State Lottery. I continued to build this experience by commentating high school fashion shows.</div>
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In 2010, Tate Publishing released by non-fiction book, “The Madman, The Marathoner”. Today I have several manuscripts, some of which I have entered in the Amazon book contest, and others that I continue to work on.<br />
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For the past several years I have participated in Author’s Night at Barnes & Noble which has kept my face in the public eye. When it comes to wanting to be published and write, I am the real deal!</div>
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<a href="http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/body-of-evidence/20604019" target="_blank">Lulu</a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-42543890272882230592017-11-21T00:30:00.000+00:002017-11-21T00:30:08.998+00:00Book Spotlight: The Hypnotist's Daughter by Brittany Raschdorf<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published:</span></b> September 2017</div>
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Though things look beautiful to the naked eye, when you look between the cracks of fame and fortune, things aren’t always what they seem.</div>
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Prosperity Baxter (Peri) is selling her soul for fame – figuratively of course. Everyone who is anyone in Hollywood has gone through Jameson Frye to get there. Peri has a once in a lifetime meeting with him, set up by her father Harris Baxter, the biggest name in hypnotism on the entire West Coast.</div>
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But in the movie industry, you don’t get something for nothing. Peri pays the ultimate price before she is thrust full speed ahead into her new acting career. The manager Jameson sets her up with, bad-boy HUDSON GREGOR, is known for his amoral reputation. Peri learns early on that Hudson is not to be crossed. But when secrets begin to surface as the scenes from the horror film she is starring in begin to dredge up memories she was never supposed to remember, she will have to learn to rely on him.</div>
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Lies, cover-ups and an unthinkable initiation all leave her desperate for answers.</div>
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Prosperity is determined to find out if there is enough good in this world to overcome the evil she sees everywhere she looks – even in her own eyes.</div>
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<b><i>Recent Praise for The Hypnotist's Daughter:</i></b></div>
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"A shocking debut that leaves us pondering the origins of evil and the power of memory." -- J.C. Sasser, author of Gradle Bird</div>
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"Raw and hypnotizing. This is the first chapter in what promises to be an unnerving and mysterious series." -- Peter L. Harmon, author of The Happenstances . . . young adult book series</div>
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"A triumphant debut novel from Brittany Raschdorf." -- Charlotte Bowyer, author of His Frozen Fingertips</div>
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"Imaginative ride into the fantasy realm" -- Meisha Camm, author of Brewer Archives</div>
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Brittany Raschdorf is a devoted mother of two who lives in Chesapeake, Virginia with her husband and their two dogs. Growing up, Brittany was always tethered to a book, only putting them down occasionally to play in the mud or roughhouse with her brother. She knew deep down she had a passion for words—it was the way the black jumped off the white and landed in her soul as she read. But it wasn’t until she began to write that she truly came alive. And it wasn’t until she became a mother that she realized she had a story to tell.</div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hypnotists-Daughter-Brittany-Raschdorf-ebook/dp/B075RP99C8" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-45223575017378992412017-11-20T11:32:00.002+00:002017-11-20T11:32:25.165+00:00Book Spotlight: Playground In My Mind by J.B. Tischendorf<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Playground In My Mind is the story of Taylor Bouchand, a woman who enjoys success through creativity. Each day she wakes with a sense of accomplishment in her artistic ability that has earn her not only an impressive income, but respect for her work as a sculptress and painter. Taylor controls her own destiny</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">That is until she meets a little boy in a gazebo on a cold wintry night. He is just a little boy, with an odd way of saying things when they first meet, but all of that changes as Taylor sees him again and again. He tells her is name is Michael and she learns that the more she sees him the closer she is drawn to him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Taylor realizes that there is something different about Michael, but not even her creative mind would have guessed what was happening. Michael, is aging faster than humanly possible. At first she tries to convince herself there is a logical explanation and what she thinks is happening is not possible. Only there is no logical explanation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Taylor decides she needs professional help and sets up an appointment with a psychiatrist. This is not easy for her as she is aware that in order to create her life is about mystery and adventure. This could all be her imagination. Yet, she can’t believe that to be true. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Being a psychiatrist Dr. Paulson has treated a great variety of mental disorders ranging from mild and temporary to severe and chronic. Over the years he has helped cure fear, panic or phobias manifested in certain situations that can greatly affecting a patient's career, social life and mood. It helps that he knows a little about this new patient Taylor. He knows her work and her reputation. But it takes several sessions with Taylor, before Dr. Paulson finally hears her story. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">His immediate opinion is that she is suffering from a mild depression as the result of emotional trauma and tragic events in her life. As she shares more, it still doesn’t surprise him, but he decides that Taylor may suffer from hallucinations and delusion. He has dealt with many patients who envision something that cannot be. It is a matter of determining the cause which he is sure will lead to a logical explanation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">This story is set in the suburbs of Rochester in Upstate New York, runs about 119,000 words and is somewhat similar in tone to Octavia E. Butler’s Wild Seed</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I began writing at the age of twenty because it was good therapy for me as a mother of an achondroplastic dwarf, at a time when there was not much knowledge or a support group. To hone my skills I completed the University of Washington Certificate course, Introduction on Fiction Writing in September of 2001. I attended a seminar on Writing Techniques and Styles, and another entitled How to Become a Successful Editor. In 2016 and 2017 I participated in the James Paterson online courses for screen play and fiction writing. As an avid reader, I organized a local Book Club here in Irondequoit... I was presented in, “Two Thousand Notable American Women, Third Illustrated Edition”, prepared by the American Biographical Institute and published in 1991. I was highlighted in an article by About Time Magazine in their Career Profile section in August, 1982. Then shortly after the article appeared I was on the air for an interview at a Syracuse Cable Station in a 30 minute segment entitled “Successful Black Women in New York State” and taped another 30 minute segment for a program entitled “Spotlight On You”. I appeared on WOKR-TV, “Shades Of Gray Program, where I was interviewed for Outstanding Achievement Recognition. This took place in 1990. I was interviewed for an article on the front page of the Irondequoit Post for my fiction book released in 2000 and entitled Til Death Do Us Part? I appearances on RNews (now known as YNN) in Rochester New York for my fiction book, and a nonfiction book entitled Who Says I’m Small in 2006, also promoted at the LPA (Little People of America) in Orlando Florida and Erie Pennsylvania in 2008. I opened my home base computer business, J. Tischendorf Services (originally J. Saxton Services) in 1984 and Pageant Perfect Production in 1990. I placed in the top 10 of the Mrs. New York State/America Beauty Pageant in 1983 and did freelance modeling for department stores. I did photogenic modeling for Eastman Kodak Company’s Phototech Division and modeled for the Gannett Newspapers 1983 Annual Report and the United Way Annual Report. I even participated in the special number drawing event for the New York State Lottery. I continued to build this experience by commentating high school fashion shows.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">In 2010, Tate Publishing released by non-fiction book, “The Madman, The Marathoner”. Today I have several manuscripts, some of which I have entered in the Amazon book contest, and others that I continue to work on.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">For the past several years I have participated in Author’s Night at Barnes & Noble which has kept my face in the public eye. When it comes to wanting to be published and write, I am the real deal!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Playground-My-Mind-Juanita-Tischendorf-ebook/dp/B074TFKJTP" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-73938369767159687492017-11-17T00:30:00.000+00:002017-11-17T00:30:52.933+00:00Book Spotlight: The Orb of Terra (Jupiter Chronicles)<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Steampunk</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published: </span></b>November 17, 2017</div>
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<b>Publisher: </b>Leonardoverse Books</div>
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In the tradition of “City of Ember” "Chronicles of Narnia" and "A Wrinkle in Time", this family adventure is a high stakes space race to save our world from an invading force before it is too late.</div>
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<b>-Book 3-</b></div>
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Will Ian’s quest to find his destiny away from Jupiter lead to Earth's untimely demise?</div>
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As he struggles with his identity, Ian Castillo helps one of Earth’s greatest scientific minds, Dr. Nikola Tesla, make the scientific discovery of a lifetime: a strange mineral that can perhaps power our world for years to come! They discover it is not just an energy source, but something much more! When the device powered by the mineral is activated, it awakens a sleeping giant buried under the Earth by the Martians generations before. The beast known as “Gigantes” leaves behind a trail of destruction and calls out to a deadly enemy headed for Earth.</div>
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And the secret inside the mineral will change everything for Earth and the entire Jovian Realm…forever.</div>
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<b>FIND YOUR DESTINY.</b></div>
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<i>Cover by Eve Milady and Ben Fosselman with Magnetic Dreams Animation Studios (Iron Man:Extremis, Thor & Loki: Blood Brothers, Sesame Street)</i></div>
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Leonardo Ramirez is an author, husband, a father, and a Karate instructor with a 4th degree black belt. His first novel, "Haven of Dante", is a supernatural Young Adult story centered on an ancient war between the Dante family and the nine circles of hell. "Haven of Dante: The Staff of Moshe" takes readers much deeper into the world of the family line with a prologue that begins with the plight of Dante Alighieri himself!</div>
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His follow up is a Science Fiction book called "The Jupiter Chronicles: The Secret of the Great Red Spot". It follows the adventure of two children as they are transported to the steam-powered cities of Jupiter where they find the secret of their long-lost father in the midst of a Martian attack.</div>
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Leonardo Ramirez lives with his wife Kristen, their daughter Mackenzy and their two dogs, Duchess and Tinkerbell in a suburb of Nashville, Tennessee.</div>
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<a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-orb-of-terra-leonardo-ramirez/1127194754?ean=2940154927380" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble ($1.99) </a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-77621722507973618052017-11-14T00:30:00.000+00:002017-11-14T00:30:03.740+00:00Book Spotlight & Giveaway: She Do Run Run by Amy Swifton<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">She Do Run Run is a fast, double-shot-of-espresso read. Its heart-racing story can be consumed in a few quick hours.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Enraged, KC bounced off the bed, faltered, then whirled about to face me. He broke for me, spitting threats and curses, his giant shadow of a body charging. I felt a twist of terror in the pit of my stomach.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I slipped the Luger from my purse easily—feeling the cool, sticky grip. There was no time to shout out a warning. He was coming—a charging, killing animal. I squeezed off two shots. The impact stunned him, jerked him erect. Froze him. I could see his eyes, wide in the bright flash of yellow neon. He heaved out a loud breath, like a snort.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“You shot me, you bitch! I’ll kill you! You fuckin’ shot me! I’ll kill you!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">He came at me, a big angry bear reaching. I fired two more shots. I watched in horror as he teetered, and stumbled backwards off-balance. He bounced off the wall, face blank, and dropped like a heavy sack. I felt the thud of his body shake the floor under my bare feet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I stood breathing, sweating, heart kicking. I knew he was dead. I didn’t need to check. I mean, I shot him four times, for Chrissake! Did anyone hear the shots? I strained my ears. Dead quiet. Were there people next door? Would someone call the police? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Strangely, I felt calm—incredibly calm. Where was the shock? Methodically, I slipped the handgun back into my purse. Then I realized I was naked. I found my clothes, slipped them on, turned the room lights on dim and searched the room, refusing to look at KC, making sure I hadn’t left anything: still had my earrings, watch, phone, purse. Would there be finger prints? Maybe. I knew, from some of Kyle’s police buddies, that prints were hard to find. I hadn’t touched many things. I hadn’t even drunk from a glass or used a towel. What about hair in the bed? A broken nail? No time to search. Impossible anyway.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I turned off the lights and slipped out of the motel into a dark humid night. The motel office was 70 feet or so away and, fortunately, I hadn’t stepped inside the office with KC when he registered. I had not been seen. I listened for police sirens. Nothing. Strange.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">We had come on KC’s motorcycle, leaving my car in the bar’s parking lot. I’d have to walk the five miles or so, and I did, keeping my head low, edging along in the shadows. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">When I arrived back at the bar, the parking lot was still bloated with motorcycles, trucks and old dinged up cars. I glanced about, saw a couple locked in a kiss near the front door, climbed into my car, cranked the engine and drove away, still feeling oddly calm. Why? I had just killed a man. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">The police would soon be looking for the killer, of course. The bartender had seen me, and the man who had moved to give me his barstool, had seen me. Would they remember what I looked like? As far as I knew, they were the only ones. No one knew my name or anything else about me. Still, there was no doubt the police would find some evidence. If there was hair in the bed, they’d run a DNA test. This was Florida after all, and Florida cops weren’t stupid, at least not the ones Kyle and I had known.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">So, what now? I drove, and drove, and kept on driving. I lost track of time and place, my mind soon entranced by the blurring white lines of the road, by the hum of the car engine and the expanding, chilling realization that I’d just killed a man. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I'm a Florida-based writer, who loves all things romantic, with a shot of suspense. I also love to write Time Travel Novels.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">When the characters keep me up nights, I feel good about the story.</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-56785094333754496222017-11-13T00:30:00.001+00:002017-11-13T00:30:02.863+00:00Book Spotlight: Forgotten Warriors by D. Ralph Young<div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">History</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published:</span></b> May 2016</div>
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<b>Publisher: </b>Dog Ear Publishing</div>
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Forgotten Warrios is the story of the aphibious march across the Pacific from the Aleutians to Okinawa from the experiences of shipmates aboard the USS J. Franklin Bell which includes the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor and the following battles: The Aleutian Campaign (Adak, Attu and Kiska); The Solomon Islands Campaign (Guadalcanal, Bougainville); The Coral Sea Battle (Naval Battle); The Battle of Midway (Naval Battle); The Battle for Tarawa; The Battle for Kwajalein; The Battle for Eniwetok; The Marianas Champaign (Saipan, Tinian, and Guam); The Battle for Leyte; The Battle for Iwo Jima; The Battle for Peleliu; The Battle for Okinawa. Refresh your memory with the what, where, when and why for each of these battles, the listing of the Medal of Honor Awardees for each battle, as well as a listing of casualties. Also included are the contributions made by Coast Guard, Submarine Service, and Seabees as well as the women of the USA toward victory over the Japanese in World War II.</div>
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It seem like we celebrate Normandy every year, which we should, but when have you heard about Peleliu, Tarawa, Tinian etc.During the invasion of Peleliu we had 3201 more casualties than D-Day at Normandy. At Tarawa 2 out of 3 marines never made it to the beach. Admiral Spruance called the invasion of Tinian the most brilliant amphibious operation of WWII. The two fake landings on the most suitable beach on the South caused the Japanese to move their troops in that direction, which allowed us to land on the North less desirable beach, with minimum resistance. I know this for a fact because I was there.</div>
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The book covers all major battles in the Pacific where statistic shows that when we are compared to our counterparts that fought in the European Theater we were 5 times more likely to be killed; 3 times more likely to be wounded and twice as likely to end up being a POW.</div>
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We fought a different kind of enemy in the Pacific. If the Germans or Italians were surrounded they surrendered. But, the Japanese would charge with or without a weapon. That explains why our wounded to death rate was 3 to 1. For the Japanese it was the reverse of 18 killed to each one wounded.</div>
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The book recognized all the Medal of Honor that were awarded in the Pacific with a brief description of why each was awarded.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">About the Author</span></b></div>
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D. Ralph Young was born in central Kentucky in 1925 and was raised on a farm in Lincoln County. He served as a Gunner's Mate on the USS J Franklin Bell for nearly 3 years during WWII.</div>
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After military service he obtained an engineering degree from the University of Kentucky. He was involved in developing electric power systems all over the USA as well as the Middle-east and South-east Asia. He retired to his place of birth in Kentucky 3 times before really calling it over from an active engineering career to become an author and write 2 books. The Power of a Mothers Prayer and Forgotten Warriors.</div>
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In 2006 he was inducted into the University of Kentucky, College of Engineering Hall of Distinction</div>
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<a href="http://www.dralphyoung.com/">Website</a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-62025315214967274662017-11-13T00:30:00.000+00:002017-11-13T00:30:12.522+00:00Book Spotlight & Giveaway: Dangerously Dark<br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">After another botched career attempt, Quinn Carmichael escapes to a remote lodge for a weekend recharge, needing respite…especially from the nightmares that haunt even her days. When a wounded, sexy-as-sin stranger faceplants unconscious on her kitchen floor, there’s something disturbingly familiar about him—as in he’s the boy from her childhood dreams. Mr. Dark, Dangerous, and Diabolical may be the key to unlocking the mysteries of her past and future, and Quinn isn’t about to let the opportunity—or him—escape without a fight.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Known as Purgatory’s Missing Prince, Zaire’s existence has been one of endless pain, torture, and loss. Resigned to his fate, his final goal is simple—rescue his nephew before succumbing to the deadly darkness inside him. But when a fateful misstep brings him face-to-face with the one woman who could have saved him once upon a dream—the one woman he treasures above all else—he battles to keep his distance before he destroys her, too. But he would gladly sell his soul for just one taste.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">With ruthless enemies closing in, Quinn and Zaire must fight to save each other and those they care for before it’s too late—even if it means they’re doomed to live apart forever</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Quinn tossed the note on the coffee table and wrapped one hand around the warm ceramic mug, absently petting Wolfgang with the other. Dusk took over beyond the wall of windows, made darker by the blizzard. Falling snow hid the skirting tree line. Wind howled at the house corners and turned treetops into jerking puppets. The perfect meltdown location. No phones, no people, no problem.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">The lamp flickered and died, leaving her with only the dancing firelight, not that she minded. The power had lasted longer than she expected. Stoked fire, hot cider, and now she had a great excuse to procrastinate reading unhelpful flyers. She sipped her drink and wriggled back on the couch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Wolfgang launched off her lap, kicking papers everywhere and sloshing her drink.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Bad cat!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">He scurried into the kitchen, out of sight. A distinct thud followed, which meant Wolfgang was up to no good.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I should’ve sent you off to the Nameless One.” Quinn shoved the remaining flyers aside and nabbed the flashlight from the end table. “You’d make an amazing hat, and there’d be enough fur left to make a stole, the perfect ensemble to compliment her plastic face.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">She flicked on the flashlight and shuffled into the kitchen, ignoring how the light made all the shadows twist and scuttle on the walls and ceiling. Broken bones might bother her, but the dark never had.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Wolfgang expectantly stood at the back door. He meowed, high and plaintive. Nothing looked out of place. Whatever had made the thud wasn’t in the kitchen. Maybe the wind had blown a loose branch against the house.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What, you’re a snow leopard now? There’s no fancy feline feast waiting out there for you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Wolfgang rubbed his cheek against the doorframe, circled, and meowed again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Thud. The entire door shook.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Quinn jumped. That was no branch. All the horror movies she loved to watch and ridicule flashed to mind, a lot less funny now. Alone in the woods. Killer storm. No electricity. No connection to the outside world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Wolfgang’s purr rumbled, and he slid his face over the jamb again. The noise hadn’t spooked him even a little, and animals always sensed evil. Wolfgang had had no problem detecting it in Molly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">She squared her shoulders. No one would be roaming around in a blizzard. An animal had probably knocked the trashcan into the door, and a quick look would ease any worry. At the first glimpse of fur or fang—or red, glowing eyes—she’d go for the door slam.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Pushing Wolfgang back with one foot, she cracked open the door. Wind exploded in, ripping the doorknob from her grip and firing snow and ice into her eyes. The door banged into the wall, and the storm’s full force rushed inside. Quinn scrambled for the knob and stopped, frozen by more than the sudden blast of cold.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">A man filled the entryway from threshold to frame, dark as the nightfall behind him. Steam drifted from his bare head. Frost coated his short, sable hair, and even in the flashlight beam, his complexion held an unhealthy blue-gray hue. One hand was anchored to the doorpost in a white-knuckled grip. The other brandished a wicked as sin knife.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">She shone the light on his face, and her stomach roller-coastered. Her demon. The one who’d haunted her nightmares years ago and then abruptly bailed, never to return. No matter what face he wore, his death-black, abysmal eyes were unforgettable.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Get out of my way.” His chest heaved, and he lurched forward, the knife pointed at her. His guttural words erased any suspicion that he might be another hallucination. He was too present, too solid to be anything but real.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Merde. He was real.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">C.J Burright is a native Oregonian and refuses to leave. A member of Romance Writers of America and the Fantasy, Futuristic & Paranormal special interest chapter, while she has worked for years in a law office, she chooses to avoid writing legal thrillers (for now) and instead invades the world of urban fantasy, paranormal romance, or fantasy. C.J. also has her 4th Dan Black Belt in Tae Kwon Do and believes a story isn’t complete without at least one fight scene. Her meager spare time is spent working out, refueling with mochas, gardening, gorging on Assassin’s Creed, and rooting on the Seattle Mariners…always with music. She shares life with her husband, daughter, and a devoted cat herd.</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-4398474087188846362017-11-11T00:30:00.000+00:002017-11-11T00:30:02.033+00:00Book Spotlight: Daredevils by Anne Greene<div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Historical Romance, Women’s Fiction</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published: </span></b>January 2017</div>
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<b>Publisher: </b>Forget Me Not Romances, Winged Publications</div>
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What happens in the roaring twenties when a daredevil barnstormer falls in love with a wing-walking flapper threatened by dangerous men out to exploit her?</div>
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Orphan and wing-walker Gloria needs a job when her boss dies in a barnstorming accident. With no other jobs available, she sweet-talks Rand into letting her walk his wing. Flying Ace Rand fights wartime injuries that hamper his flying even as he works to gain the world-record for solo flight across the Atlantic. He bucks his wealthy dad’s plans for him to settle down, join the company, and marry a socialite.</div>
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Rand falls in love with the courageous, fun-loving, and daring Gloria. But Orphan Gloria’s experienced too many men who promise love and marriage and instead take advantage of her being alone in the world. She holds Rand at arm’s length. Without her knowledge, Rand protects her and makes sure she doesn’t starve. When Gloria’s offered a movie contract Rand knows he must intervene.</div>
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Kill Devil Hills, 1925</div>
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Gloria plodded from the bathroom into the bedroom. “Daisy, we’ve no food in the cottage, so I need to have a heart-to-heart chat with Mr. Rand Maitland. He’s exactly the type of older man I prefer to work with.” She bent to pat the blonde puppy’s head. No more fending off amorous bosses. “I need to find another partner like Buzz.” A tear slipped from her eye and wiggled down her cheek. “I miss you, Buzz. If you were still alive, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Thanks to Vincent and his lies, no other pilot will hire me.” </div>
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Gloria swiped a fist across her cheek to wipe the tears and snagged her only dress from a hanger, leaving the small closet empty. “I’ll force myself to be amusing and cheerful. Older men like that.” Anything to improve her chance of getting a job. According to Annie, Rand Maitland had been an ace fly boy during the war. She could trust his acrobatics.</div>
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She perched on the edge of the sagging bed, pulled shiny, silk stockings just above her knees and rolled in the garters. She stood and slid into the white dress that ended in a shocking way just below her knees. Well, older men liked that too. She’d need every advantage to capture this job.</div>
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Suited her just fine she didn’t need to flatten her bosom because God hadn’t overly endowed her. In her line of work a voluptuous bust got in the way. She reached behind her back to zip up her dress. Easy, because the fabric draped open to below her shoulder blades in the rear. Scandalous in the daytime, but she only had this one gown or her trousers. “Trousers won’t impress the old man, Daisy, and I can’t wear my costume. Being broke is just tedious.” She smoothed the drop-waist dress and settled on the edge of the bed to slip on red, high-heeled shoes. She stood and pivoted in front of her blonde puppy. “How do I look, Daisy?”</div>
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Though her might-be-new boss lived close, she’d borrow Annie’s Model T roadster. “Rand Maitland’s bound to have his Jenny tied-down near the sand runway, and I don’t want to get grit inside my only pair of dress shoes.”</div>
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Daisy raised a paw to be shaken. Gloria smiled, bent and shook the furry offering. She didn’t need the auto since Kitty Hawk wasn’t more than five hundred yards or so from Annie’s cottage near Kill Devil Hills, but Mr. Maitland would be more impressed if she drove. He mustn’t know how desperately she needed this job or he wouldn’t hire her. Her high heels tapped a determined rhythm on the uneven linoleum as she crossed the living room. She shut the door behind her and marched down the rickety wooden stairs to the beach. Stepping carefully to keep loose sand out of her shoes, she tiptoed around the cottage to where Annie had parked her Model T before she left for Europe. Gloria bent, cupped the crank handle on the front of the car in her palm, pulled the choke wire with her left hand and gave the crank a quick half-turn. The engine sputtered to life. Her shoes slipped on the sandy driveway as she minced on tip-toes around to the driver’s seat and climbed inside.</div>
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She drove close to the three bi-planes tied down just beyond a cluster of larger cottages on stilts. Too late to turn back. She’d forgotten to apply that new chalk-white face powder that was all the rage. Nor had she painted her lips red. She’d wanted that color to bolster her confidence and hide her pain. She shook her head and shrugged. Well, she had a stiff spine and didn’t need to paint on courage. She pulled up next to the closest home, stopped the automobile, turned off the ignition, set the brake, and slipped out the door. Just off the road, her red high-heels sank into loose sand. “Ain’t we got fun?” she murmured dryly. Her shoes had survived worse obstacles. These red high heels would outlast this setback too.</div>
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In the slanting morning light, three visiting biplanes cast long shadows. All the other planes, snug inside hangars, waited for tomorrow’s barnstorming show. A man wearing blue coveralls with his back to her, bent over the engine casing of the middle Jenny. Annie had mentioned Mr. Maitland named his plane Jazzman, so that big fella had to be the man himself, right where she thought she’d find him. Taking giant steps through the sifting sand between her and the hard-packed sand beneath the Jennies, she stopped directly behind him. She tugged her red cloche hat low over one eyebrow, held down the silky skirt flapping in the breeze, and straightened her shoulders.</div>
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“Hello!” She highlighted her voice to sound perky. Older men liked perky. The man grunted, tightened a bolt on the engine with a large wrench and then turned. She started, her hands flew up, and she almost lost her footing. Annie hadn’t mentioned her husband’s youngest brother was gorgeous. He flashed a smile. Dimples played around that dazzling grin and found an immediate place in her heart. He stared at her with eyes bluer than the bluest lapis. And he was no older man.</div>
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Too bad for her. She pressed her lips together. She’d so counted on Mr. Maitland being older. She’d learned her lesson about handsome men.</div>
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And she better make sure she remembered it. </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">About the Author</span></b></div>
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ANNE GREENE's home is in the quaint antiquing town of McKinney, Texas, just a few miles north of Dallas.<br />
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Her husband is a retired Colonel, Army Special Forces. Her little brown and white Shih Tzu, Lily Valentine, shares her writing space, curled at her feet. She has four beautiful, talented children who keep her on her toes.<br />
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She's traveled to every location of each book she's written, and each book is a book of her heart. Besides her first love, writing, she enjoys travel, art, sports, reading, sailing, snorkeling, movies, and way too many other things to mention. Life is good.<br />
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<a href="http://www.annegreeneauthor.com/">Website</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.twitter.com/TheAnneGreene">Twitter</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Daredevils-Anne-Greene-ebook/dp/B01N6SACKD">Amazon</a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-30302356435230870962017-11-10T00:30:00.001+00:002017-11-10T00:30:11.389+00:00Cover Reveal: American Revolution by T.T. Michael<div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Dystopian, Sci-Fi, Futuristic</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published:</span></b> January 2018 </div>
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When Kelvin Hanson is dishonorably discharged from his naval captaincy he doesn't connect the events to the accession of new President Diego Silva. But as he researches further he finds that Silva isn't as he appears. Determined to rid the nation of a corrupt president, Hanson plots to assassinate him, but someone else gets there first.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Ashlee Townsend, head of the non-profit Freedom Group is equally determined to get to Silva, and is as surprised as Hanson when someone pips her to the post. Still reeling from the President's assassination, Hanson and Townsend join forces as a military dictatorship takes over the country.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
As rumors of terrorist plots and Mexican invasions fly, Hanson's journalist wife sets the story straight, finding that it was the military themselves that assassinated Silva. As the truth comes out, California secedes from the Union, and Hanson and Townsend find themselves fleeing to Sacramento to head up a rebellion force.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Reuniting the states under a democratically elected President means war. And while Hanson heads up the rebel forces, his wife Kishanna deals with propaganda and information, and Ashlee becomes the center of yet another assassination plot.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
This time, however, things go differently. And with a dead dictator, the threat of civil war crumbles. The governor of California becomes the interim President, and Hanson decides to throw his hat into the ring for the coming election. Democracy triumphs, and the United States is united once more.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Excerpt</span></b></div>
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</div>
<div>
<b>Prologue</b><br />
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
The absurdly large clock above the television clicked as its minute hand pushed past six. A little after half past midnight. The room was smaller than he'd imagined. Not his choice, but that of his ultra-efficient campaign manager. Not that there were that many places in Wyoming large enough to hold the small crowd that currently surrounded him. The air smelled of sweat and fear and elation, a bitter, sour smell that reminded him of the taste left in his mouth after eating only candy for hours. He was half listening to the chatter around him, the other half of his attention on the television screen.</div>
<div>
It was odd, he thought, to be sitting down, to be inactive. For the last few months he felt that he hadn't slept, had barely eaten, had done nothing but smile until his face ached and shake hands and speak and then smile again. And now nothing. The speech was written. The campaigning was done. There was just a vast empty swath of nothingness, and all he could do was sit and wait. This wasn't quite as odd, however, as seeing his name flash up constantly on the TV screen.</div>
<div>
Diego Silva. Billionaire, businessman, father, candidate. But still, always, the big-eared, buck-toothed kid of a single mom who’d raised him on rice and beans and not much else. Maria Silva was gone now. Pancreatic cancer a decade ago. It was a shame, really—she'd have been good for a slew of photo shoots, and probably a daytime TV interview or two. Silva grunted as he shifted position on the couch, his full belly pressing against the Armani belt on his slate-gray pants.</div>
<div>
“It'll be in soon.”</div>
<div>
Mike Callahan perched on the edge of the sofa. His wiry body was like a coiled spring, ready to jump up at a moment's notice. But Silva knew Callahan well enough to see the man was exhausted, close to the edge. Not that it mattered now. After the next few hours, Callahan could snap like a twig if he wanted to. His job would be done by then. One way or the other.</div>
<div>
“What will?” Silva asked, not turning his eyes away from the television.</div>
<div>
“Vigo County.”</div>
<div>
Silva eyed the clock thoughtfully as the minute hand clicked again, then nodded. Vigo County, Indiana, had voted for every US presidential election winner since Eisenhower. The seemingly prescient county was his good luck charm. Silva had been quite clear on his orders. He wanted no disturbance from interns running in every few minutes, trickling down results that hadn't been fully counted. Not until after Vigo County had announced. Once he knew that, he'd know. Everything else would just be noise, would be air inflating the balloon until it exploded. One way or the other.</div>
<div>
“Coffee?”</div>
<div>
Silva shook his head. His stomach was already sour from too many cups. And God forbid he'd be taking a piss when the result did come in. Thinking of hearing the news as he stood up against a bleach-smelling urinal, dick in hand, made him grin.</div>
<div>
“It's not a guarantee; you can't afford to make Vigo the be-all and end-all,” Callahan said, turning bright blue eyes to him. “I've said it before, Silva, and I'll say it again: there has never, ever been a candidate with your ratings. Ever. You've broken the damn polls. You've had the counters checking and double checking their math, convinced they'd fucked up. Whether you get Vigo or not . . .”</div>
<div>
He trailed off. Silva grunted again. Callahan was confident, but not quite confident enough that he was willing to jinx the whole thing by saying it out loud. A good old Boston boy, Callahan's accent had grated on Silva's ears when they first met. Then he'd ceased to notice it. Only now did those flat vowels again bother him. But he didn't respond. Had no time to respond.</div>
<div>
“Mr. Candidate, sir.”</div>
<div>
She was tall and blonde and big breasted, just as he'd liked them when he was a kid. That flawless white all-American girl with enough fat on her bones to have curves. The ideal. Almost as hot as his first wife. Almost, he thought, studying the snub nose sprinkled with light freckles. A slim strip of white paper was trembling in her hand, and Silva nodded at Callahan to take it.</div>
<div>
The campaign manager looked at the black print, dismissed the girl, turned to Silva.</div>
<div>
“Vigo,” was all he said.</div>
<div>
And Silva knew, knew as he'd always known he'd know. His heart hammered in his chest but he didn't let it show. In a corner of the room on blue plastic chairs, his two sons were playing poker, oblivious and uncaring as to what was happening around them. His two daughters were nowhere to be seen, but they were around somewhere. Sitting alone, her eyes downturned, demure and silent, Min-Seo, his wife, could have been asleep. He had a flash of gratitude that he'd made such a good choice. Neither of his previous wives would have been silent. Both would have been screeching, complaining, thrusting themselves into the midst of things, eager to be the center of attention.</div>
<div>
Callahan was talking; the noise level was growing. The television screen blinked as an infographic appeared. Kentucky had declared. Indiana too. The US map filled the screen, the two states bright, bold blue.</div>
<div>
Silva felt Callahan clap him on the shoulder, felt, rather than heard, the cheers around him. He looked again at petite, quiet Min-Seo, her eyes now turned to him. She gave a small smile, unsure, and he gave a short, sharp nod in response. And he saw the weight settle on her shoulders. He hated that she was smarter than he, but knew it to be true, though he'd never even hinted that he knew. But now he was glad. Glad because she'd be a far finer First Lady than either of his ex-wives.</div>
<div>
President. He allowed himself a smile and stood, turning to face the others in the room, lifting his hands in a sign of victory.</div>
<div>
“The numbers aren't all in yet, Silva,” Callahan warned him in his ear.</div>
<div>
But Silva didn't care. He knew now that he'd won the lot, and he accepted the cheers and congratulations, allowing them to wash over him. He'd done the impossible. The first non-politician, the first non-military man to hold the presidency of the United States. And the first Hispanic leader.</div>
<div>
“All right, all right, calm it down.”</div>
<div>
Callahan's voice was a hell of a lot louder than his small frame indicated.</div>
<div>
“We're not out of the woods yet, people.”</div>
<div>
There was grumbling, but the motley assortment of interns, advisers, family members, and hangers on quieted. Callahan turned and began giving orders.</div>
<div>
“I want the unofficial numbers from West Virginia, and why the hell hasn't Vermont reported in yet?” he barked at the same blonde girl who'd brought the news of Vigo County. “Hey,” he said, noticing Silva walking away. “Where are you going?”</div>
<div>
His tone irked Silva. Like Callahan had any control over what he was going to do now. The man knew every detail about his life, every minute indiscretion. Hell, he knew every place his hands had been, every dime he'd stolen, every lie he'd told. Part and parcel, Callahan had told him when they had first met.</div>
<div>
“I can't cover up something I don't know about,” he'd said. “And that means I need to know you better than you know yourself. I don't give a fuck how small, how irrelevant, how minor something is—I need to know.”</div>
<div>
Silva had looked him in the eye, debating whether or not to bluff, determined that this man wouldn't know half the things little Diego had done to get to the top.</div>
<div>
“Don't bother,” Callahan had said in a bored voice. “I'll find out anyway. And don't kid yourself. No one's clean. No one. I could dig up dirt on the pope himself if I had to. And if I can do it, so can anyone else. You get a choice. Trust me to hide your failings, or trust the press not to find them. Up to you.”</div>
<div>
And if Silva had had any doubt, if there had been a moment of indecision, Callahan had sealed both their fates with his next words.</div>
<div>
“They call me the kingmaker,” he said quietly. “The kingmaker.”</div>
<div>
Silva had almost laughed, but then he hadn't because Callahan had been serious. And because the tiny Irishman had never worked on a losing campaign. In thirty-five years of politics he had never backed a losing horse. Not once. And Silva knew that. Hell, it was the reason he'd chosen the man. If he was having anyone, it would be the best. And Michael Callahan was the best.</div>
<div>
Now Silva surveyed his campaign manager for a moment. His time was almost here. But not quite. As much as the guy pissed him off, now wasn't the time to do anything about it. So he shrugged.</div>
<div>
“Just hitting the can,” he said.</div>
<div>
But Callahan wasn't listening anymore. He was back to giving orders, and Silva walked away from him, ignoring those who called out to him, leaving the room.</div>
<div>
The bathroom was cool and quiet after the waiting room, and Silva took his time washing his hands. Despite all the coffee, he didn't have to piss. When his hands were thoroughly clean, he looked up, examining himself. All he'd wanted to do was look at himself in the mirror. He wanted to know if he looked like a president yet. If he had that aura of greatness and power. But all he saw was little Diego, Maria Silva's son with his teeth fixed up and his ears pinned back and his expensive suit and blue tie.</div>
<div>
Fuck it. He smoothed back his black hair. The jet would be on standby. It was time to go. He'd been firm on the fact that he would break with tradition. Wyoming might be his home state as far as politics was concerned, but Washington was where he belonged. And Washington was where he would accept the presidency. Little Diego looked back at him from the mirror. No. President-Elect of the United States Diego Silva looked back at him from the mirror. It was time to get out of Wyoming for good.</div>
<div>
***</div>
<div>
Callahan insisted they hold off on the flight until the Texas results were in. And Silva eventually conceded to his demands, though he thought them ridiculous.</div>
<div>
“It's the one state that's vacillated,” Callahan reasoned. “You get Texas, we can take the jet.”</div>
<div>
Silva clenched his teeth but sat again on his couch. Callahan was wrong on this, he knew. True, the Lone Star State was traditionally Republican. But Silva was Hispanic, and with the huge Mexican immigrant population of Texas, he knew he was going to take it. And yes, Callahan was right about the polls. But the problem with polls was that the men in suits asked other men in suits how they were going to vote. No one bothered to ask Juan the gardener where his vote was going. But still, Silva waited patiently as the results from Texas came in, county by county.</div>
<div>
By two o'clock they had the result. The infographic of the United States appeared again on the screen. And for the first time anyone could remember, Texas was colored in blue. Better still, all signs from Florida indicated that they too would be blue. Silva had spent long nights making speeches in Spanish, long afternoons doing meet-and-greets in bodegas and churches. He'd expected nothing less.</div>
<div>
He stood as the cheers from his supporters at the Texas result still rang through the room.</div>
<div>
“Let's go.”</div>
<div>
Callahan nodded, and Silva turned to his sons.</div>
<div>
“On the plane, boys.”</div>
<div>
They shuffled up their cards and grabbed their jackets from the backs of their chairs. His daughters, seeing their brothers move, gravitated toward them. Safety in numbers. Or safety in familiarity, perhaps; none of the four was much used to being surrounded by politicos. Looking at them, Silva wondered again at the miracle of genetics. While the two girls had the angular, blonde good looks of their mother, his second wife, the two boys were mirror images of himself. Dark haired, dark skinned, they were the product of his first marriage. The only right thing his first wife had done was to give him the heirs he wanted. Other than that, all she'd done was cost him money. A lot of it.</div>
<div>
Callahan was already collecting together tablets and papers and issuing instructions, and Silva was turning to discuss orders with him before he remembered his wife. Min-Seo remained seated in her chair, still silent. It wasn't until he gave her the nod that she stood, prepared to follow him. When she came to his side, he smelled the flowery scent of her bespoke perfume, saw the flawless glow of her skin. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. She had been a good choice. A wise choice. But he didn't take her hand. And when they left the building, Min-Seo walked a comfortable two steps behind him.</div>
<div>
***</div>
<div>
“They're calling it the biggest landslide since Reagan,” Callahan said, unbuckling his seatbelt and stretching out his legs.</div>
<div>
“Screw that,” Silva said, not turning from his tablet. “It'll be the biggest since FDR.”</div>
<div>
“Perhaps,” said Min-Seo. “Even the biggest since Harding.”</div>
<div>
She did not often speak out of turn. Maybe it was the late hour, or the thin air in the plane cabin.</div>
<div>
“FDR,” Silva said, the warning tone already in his voice.</div>
<div>
“No, she's right,” said Callahan, popping open a can of Red Bull. “Harding versus Cox, 1920, the biggest-contested election result in US history. A 26.17% margin. Now that was a landslide. Get California and you'll beat it.”</div>
<div>
This pleased Silva, though no one would have known by looking at him.</div>
<div>
“Dad, I've got Agri-Com on the line. They're willing to come down to fifty; what do you think?”</div>
<div>
Jake, his older son, leaned over, across the aisle, mobile dangling from one hand. Silva frowned at him.</div>
<div>
“No, no, Jakey,” Callahan said immediately. “No dice. He gets no input, no say. You know the rules.”</div>
<div>
The younger man scowled at the campaign manager but settled back into his own seat. As the rules dictated, Silva had divested himself of all business interests in the run up to the election. Silva Eco-Energy Solutions, the green energy company that had made his fortune, had been handed over in full to his older son. Silva waited until Callahan's attention was diverted back to his tablet before catching Jake's eye and briefly shaking his head.</div>
<div>
“Nah, I'm afraid that's not going to fly,” he heard Jake say into his phone before he turned his head away.</div>
<div>
Jake—a nice, wholesome American name. Jake, followed by Andrew, followed by the two girls, Madison and Nicole. He hadn't lumbered any of them with loaded names like Diego. Silva was enough of a blight for them to carry. And those good, solid American names now graced the boardrooms of some of the largest and most successful corporations in the country. A job well done. Silva beckoned over a staff member, allowing himself another coffee before settling back to see just how blue that US map infographic could get.</div>
<div>
***</div>
<div>
They were still in the air when the call came. At 05:27 a.m. on November 9th, Harrison Foster-Bright, esteemed Republican candidate for the US presidential election, conceded defeat. The call was later than they had expected, though earlier than most other historical concessions had come. It had been clear for far longer than an hour now that there was no way Foster-Bright could catch up. And as Silva watched the tall, thin figure take the stage in his home state of Mississippi, a state that Silva had won hours ago, there were shouts of jubilation from the back of the plane. Silva put his tablet down on the table, clicked open his seatbelt, and stood.</div>
<div>
“Congratulations,” said Callahan, rising to his feet. “Congratulations, Mr. President.”</div>
<div>
And despite the number of times Silva had wanted to punch that smug Boston smile off the man's face, and despite the number of threats he'd made and promises he'd sworn to himself, he found himself embracing his campaign manager.</div>
<div>
“I couldn't have done it without you,” he said.</div>
<div>
It wasn't politeness. It wasn't a token gesture of appreciation. It was simple, bold truth. Without Callahan he'd have been lost, trodden underfoot and laughed off the stage. With him, he'd won. Simple as that.</div>
<div>
“I know,” Callahan said.</div>
<div>
And it wasn't boastful. It wasn't immodest. It was clear, simple truth. And they both knew it.</div>
<div>
Silva gave him a nod before turning to his children first to be congratulated, then the campaign workers on the plane, and then, finally, his wife. It wasn't until a half hour later that he again spoke to Callahan, this time in the small galley of the plane, and in private.</div>
<div>
“You are my golden goose,” Callahan said bluntly. “And I won't disrespect you by sugar coating things. I've done the impossible. And I will be rewarded.”</div>
<div>
“You've been paid,” Silva said.</div>
<div>
“Handsomely,” said Callahan, leaning back on the metal service cart. “But I will have more. You will appoint me in an advisory capacity for as long as you remain in power, with a hefty paycheck at the end of every month. And after that, you will grant me an honorary position in one of your companies for just long enough that no one's surprised when I retire with a very healthy retirement package.”</div>
<div>
Silva hadn't gotten to where he was by bowing to threats. “No.”</div>
<div>
With a smile, nonthreatening and light, Callahan leaned forward. “But I know everything, Diego. Everything. The companies, the affairs, the money. All of it. It would be very dangerous indeed to grant me my freedom. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer and all that.”</div>
<div>
“And is that what you are: my enemy?”</div>
<div>
“I don't have to be,” said Callahan, leaning back again. “I don't even particularly want to be. I am simply a man with a price, as we all are. I know what I want, and I will have it. I know you can understand that.”</div>
<div>
Silva considered this, put his anger to one side. He was angry. Furious. But he couldn't afford to be, and he knew it. He hadn't gotten this far by bowing to threats. But he also hadn't gotten this far by acting on impulse. He as much as anyone knew that prices needed to be paid.</div>
<div>
“No,” he said again. But not quite as firmly, allowing room for persuasion, for negotiation. He wasn't convinced yet that Callahan had what it took to follow through on his threats.</div>
<div>
“I told you when we met that they call me the kingmaker,” Callahan said, quite calmly. “And thirty minutes from now, the door of this plane will open and you will greet the world as the president-elect of the United States. I am the kingmaker.”</div>
<div>
Silva said nothing. There was no dispute to what Callahan said.</div>
<div>
“But I can also be the kingbreaker,” continued Callahan. “With all I know, I could destroy what I have created.”</div>
<div>
“And destroy yourself at the same time,” Silva pointed out. “You’d never work again if you leaked information about me.”</div>
<div>
“True,” Callahan said. He didn’t seem disturbed by this. “But who has more to lose here? This is a small price to pay, Diego, and you know it.”</div>
<div>
It was. However much Callahan might want, it would be a mere grain of sand in comparison to all Silva had. And perhaps the man did have a point. Given all that he knew, it would be foolish to release Callahan back into the wild. And he might prove useful. Finally, Silva nodded.</div>
<div>
“On one condition,” he said.</div>
<div>
Callahan raised an eyebrow.</div>
<div>
“You never call me ‘Diego’ again.”</div>
<div>
“As you wish, Mr. President,” said Callahan, smiling.</div>
<div>
***</div>
<div>
Half an hour later, the plane touched down at Ronald Reagan International Airport. There was shuffling as everyone gathered their belongings. The campaign staff was ushered toward the rear of the plane, while Silva, his children, his wife, and Callahan prepared themselves by the front door. Outside, Silva knew, waited the world's press, and his chosen vice president. Jane Reynolds had opted to stay in DC in preparation for the victory party she knew would come. Tall, and attractive in an intimidating way, she was a three-term senator from Ohio and the reason Silva had clinched the swing state so early in the game. She was also his legitimation. “Reynolds” was a name held in great esteem in political circles. As Callahan had joked when he had introduced them, it wouldn't be a senate without a Reynolds in it.</div>
<div>
But Jane would be the first Reynolds to make it to the cabinet. Silva had been dubious about the choice at first. She had been Callahan’s choice, obviously. But as it turned out, having a woman on side had only bolstered his votes. And having a serious politician on side hadn't hurt either. Surprisingly, he found over time that he actually liked the woman. He didn't want to fuck her, which was relatively unusual for him. What was more unusual was that he took the time to interact with a woman he didn’t want to fuck. But Jane had proven to be a firm and solid ally. And perhaps, though he’d never have used the word outside of a political speech, a friend.</div>
<div>
“Ready?”</div>
<div>
Callahan stood one step behind him to his right. Two steps behind him to his left stood Min-Seo. The children were arrayed behind his wife. Callahan looked to Silva for permission. Silva took a good, deep breath. He set his shoulders, checked his tie one more time, and then nodded. He wasn't nervous. He'd never been nervous in public. It wasn't his style. Callahan nodded to the staff member by the door, and Silva painted on his campaign smile for the last time.</div>
<div>
The door opened, and he was blinded by the photographic lights and flashbulbs. But he remembered to keep his eyes wide open. If he didn’t, the shots would be useless in the morning’s press. He took a large step, clearing the threshold of the plane, and then stopped. His smile was no longer painted on; it was genuine as he raised his hand and waved to the crowds threatening to burst out from behind the control barriers. Below him, Vice President-Elect Jane Reynolds waited, a small oasis of perfect calm in the middle of the roaring, cheering, waving crowd. Silva felt her eyes on him, and he maintained eye contact as he slowly began to walk down the red-carpeted stairs.</div>
<div>
He was home, and he felt it. And in those few seconds it took to reach the tarmac, he was determined that he'd never leave Washington again. They'd have to drag him away kicking and screaming from this, the center of the world. The steps leveled out, but the red carpet continued, leading him to his running mate.</div>
<div>
“Madame Vice President,” he said, extending his hand to Reynolds.</div>
<div>
“Mr. President,” she responded, shaking his hand.</div>
<div>
The crowds roared, helicopters buzzed overhead, and fireworks exploded from somewhere, flashing in the sky. Silva smiled. Little Diego had made it. And little Diego was about to pull off the greatest coup in political history. A camera flashed, and President-Elect Silva grinned a bit wider.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">About the Author</span></b></div>
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Perhaps you wouldn’t characterize the Finance Manager of your local automobile dealership as an Amazon best-selling author—until you get to know T.T. Michael. He has worked for the past decade at a Toyota Dealership in Illinois, but he is in the driver’s seat as the writer of, Fire War, a political thriller set in the year 2076. See what happens when the United States, Canada, and Mexico all join forces to make one super country. See more about him and his book Fire War at <a href="http://www.ttmichael.com/">www.ttmichael.com</a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3923604335174347371.post-58254239571675854282017-11-10T00:30:00.000+00:002017-11-10T00:30:05.548+00:00Book Spotlight: Spur of the Moment Bride by Anne Greene<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Historical Western Romance</b></span></div>
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<a _blank="" href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34516868-spur-of-the-moment-bride?ac=1&from_search=truetarget="><img alt=" photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/Promo%20Images/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Heiress Abby Hollister’s Papa demands she stop toying with young men’s hearts and marry within a month or be disinherited. After reading an ad for a mail-order bride in untamed Laramie, Wyoming, Abby makes a list of characteristics she expects for her husband and sets off to claim the perfect mate and secure her personal fortune.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Stage coach driver, Zach Tyler likes his exciting job where he outsmarts robbers and Indians and keeps the stage running regardless of weather, break-downs, and ornery passengers. But passenger Abby Hollister proves to be an unusual challenge. He protects her on the journey to Laramie, but in that town women are as scarce as a bird’s nest in a cuckoo clock, and men go crazy when the beauty arrives seeking a husband. And Zach doesn't know Abby's arrived to marry him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">The stage driver halted his four horses with a screech of brakes and huffing of animals, their breath wafting clouds in the cool air.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">The driver slammed down from his high perch to stand before her. He tipped his dusty hat. “Ma’am, are you boarding?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Brown eyes stared at Abby Hollister above a face smothered in black whiskers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">She swished her long skirts to brush off as much of the dust as she could. “Yes, I am,” she managed before she sneezed into her handkerchief.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Sorry about the dust. I failed to see you standing there.” He tied the two handfuls of reins he held to the hitching post. “We don’t stop here long. I’ll get this luggage loaded.” He turned toward her, long-lashed brown eyes wide. “Are these all yours?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Yes. I’m planning to stay in Laramie for a period of time.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">He nodded and yelled to the man riding shotgun. “Uri, catch these will ya?” He tossed her heavy bag laden with books up to the other man kneeling on the top of the coach as if her luggage weighed no more than a sack of flour.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Well, she shouldn’t stand here with her mouth hanging open. She closed her lips. None of her rejected beaus could have loaded her belongings without breaking into a sweat. He was so efficient. Well, of course, this was the man’s job, so he was accustomed to tossing heavy items to the compartment above the coach. She need not be surprised. And yet, she stood, her brain registering his strength and ability. True, he was tall and the distance wasn’t so far for him. And his mackinaw hid his build, but he must be somewhat muscular to heave her trunk up on one shoulder when Moses and Caleb had lugged it to the wagon and jimmied the big trunk aboard as if the leather box weighed as much as a steamship. How beautiful to watch the man in action. But she must not stare. T’wasn’t lady like.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Are you ready, Miss?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Why he wasn’t even breathing hard. “Yes, I am.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">He opened the stagecoach door for her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">She gathered up her skirts and tried to set her boot on the first high step.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">He held out his hand and all but heaved her up into the coach.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">She looked back down at him. “What is your name, Sir?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">He lifted dark eyebrows above dangerous-looking brown eyes. “Zach Tyler, Ma’am.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Even his resonant voice stirred her blood. Her heart tripped faster. Blue blazes, had she been hoping to hear he was Corky Callahan? She settled herself inside the coach on the leather seat. Well, God had been known to work miracles. But usually He didn’t place the perfect man right in her path. Though after Papa’s mandate, she’d asked Him to. He could have done just that for her, knowing she’d been in somewhat a frenzy lately. Anyway, despite the dense collection of whiskers, Mr. Tyler appeared to be too good-looking.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Her future husband had to be ugly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>About the Author</b></span></div>
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<a 1="" 1em="" clear:="" float:="" href="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/2017/Spur%20of%20the%20Moment%20Bride%20Author%20Anne%20Greene_zpspb7lhgg3.jpgstyle=" left="" margin-bottom:="" margin-right:="" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/2017/Spur%20of%20the%20Moment%20Bride%20Author%20Anne%20Greene_zpspb7lhgg3.jpg" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">ANNE GREENE's home is in the quaint antiquing town of McKinney, Texas, just a few miles north of Dallas.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Her husband is a retired Colonel, Army Special Forces. Her little brown and white Shih Tzu, Lily Valentine, shares her writing space, curled at her feet. She has four beautiful, talented children who keep her on her toes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">She's traveled to every location of each book she's written, and each book is a book of her heart. Besides her first love, writing, she enjoys travel, art, sports, reading, sailing, snorkeling, movies, and way too many other things to mention. Life is good.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="http://www.annegreeneauthor.com/" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Website</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Spur-Moment-Bride-Anne-Greene-ebook/dp/B06XH5YRHC/" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></div>
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