Excerpt

EXCERPT: “Love, Alabama” by Susan Sands

April 20, 2016 4 Comments

“Love, Alabama” by Susan Sands

Blurb: Emma Laroux’s a fallen Southern beauty queen whose past is barely whispered about in her small town. But the secrets and lies surrounding her scandal still haunt her, and something about Matthew Pope may hold the answers…if only she could put her finger on it.

Matthew Pope wonders what awful karmic thing he’s done to land him in Podunk, Alabama. But when he sees Emma Laroux again after all this time, he knows he’s still the only one who holds the key to unlocking the truth of her past…

Will a shared moment in time ten years ago threaten the best thing that’s ever happened to them – each other?

EXCERPT

Emma pulled up behind Matthew’s car and frowned, noticing that his taillight was busted. She got out and pulled the bag of items from the back seat, not giving his car much more thought.

Knocking gently on the door, she figured she would leave the bag on the front step if he didn’t answer. He might be sleeping. But what if he’d gotten light-headed, fallen, and hit his head on the bathtub and was knocked-out cold, lying in a pool of his own blood? The thought, while mildly ridiculous, gave her just enough pause to knock again, this time more loudly.

No answer. She rang the bell. No answer. Now she was concerned. His car was in the drive. He was definitely home. Her heart began to beat in her ears. She tried the door. Locked. She looked through the leaded glass front door. No movement. Nice house. She knocked again. Emma still had the bag in her arm. So, she carried it with her around the back of the house to the screened in porch. The screen door was open, so she stepped up onto the pretty porch with the comfy furniture. It appeared that Matthew spent time out here. There were pillows, a rug, a throw, a couple books, and a lamp. Nice.

She knocked on the back door. No answer. She didn’t see anyone inside. She bit her lip and tried the door. It opened. “Hello? Matthew?” No answer. She moved inside and let her gaze wander around the room. It was cozy and well decorated for a guy’s place. She noticed the kitchen to the right and headed in that direction. She put her bag on the kitchen counter then headed toward what she knew must be the master bedroom. This house was similar in style to hers.

She called out to him again. Emma was getting worried now. Why didn’t he answer?

As she entered the bedroom, she noticed it the blinds were closed and it was rather dark, but she could see no one was in the bed. Then, she realized the shower was running. Against any kind of decent judgment, she moved toward the bathroom door. She couldn’t help herself; she peeked inside. He wasn’t standing in the shower; he was sitting on the floor. She panicked and rushed towards him before her brain informed her to actually speak his name.

She pulled open the door, certain he was dead before she shrieked, “Matthew, open your damned eyes!” He did. Open his damned eyes. Opened them really wide. “Emma? Why are you in my shower stall?”

She really didn’t have a great answer to that. “Oh, Lord. I thought you were dead.” It was the best she could do.

He did look nearly dead. He smiled weakly. “I’ve been really sick, so I thought I’d sit here for a little while. But I’m not dead. So, um, could you hand me a towel? Unless, of course, you prefer a shower?”

Emma then became acutely aware of her position. And his. He was naked. Oh, Lord, was he naked. The most delicious naked she’d ever seen. And now she couldn’t stop staring at his naked. And apparently his naked knew it now. Because it was staring straight up at her, too.

“Emma—a towel? Because I’m a little more inclined to invite you into my shower now.”

She raised her eyes beyond his naked to his eyes, horrified. “Uh, a towel. Sure.” Looking around, she grabbed the closest towel she could find, the one hanging on a hook beside the shower. “I thought you were dead,” she said again, as an explanation.

She was a complete idiot. And now she wanted to jump his sick bones.

Just as quickly as she heard him turn the water off, he all but shoved her out of his way to get to the toilet and throw up. That was enough motivation for Emma to snap out of it and get the hell out of sick, naked Matthew’s bathroom.

While he was getting his clothes on, she did the same things she’d done for Cammie. After everything had been sanitized, she brought in a tray with saltines and ginger ale. She found him lying weakly in his bed wishing for death to take him.

“I’m sorry I invaded your privacy. Cammie asked me to come check on you. She’s sick and wondered if you’d come down with the virus, too. When you didn’t answer, I thought maybe you’d had an accident.”

He opened one eye. “That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

She grinned. “Probably. But I’m known for my dramatic flair on occasion. I’m artistic, in case you haven’t heard.” She straightened his bed like she’d done for her sister.

“Are you mothering me?” he asked.

“My mother always said you feel better when your bed isn’t a mess.”

“She’s right. Thanks. Sorry you had to—see that.”

“That’s okay. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” She swished her hand as if waving his words away.

“Not that. I meant, the throwing up part. I don’t think anyone has seen me bare-assed, hanging over a toilet before. It’s not very manly.”

“I have an aversion to vomit, so I excused myself from the room as soon as I knew what was happening.

Don’t worry, still manly.” She envisioned the other manly part and kept her opinion of that to herself. Holy moly, every bit of him was manly. It was all burned into her brain permanently.

“I’ve brought saltines, Gatorade, chicken broth, and ginger ale. Call me if you need anything. If it’s a twenty-four hour bug, you should be fine in the morning.”

“Emma, thanks again. I appreciate your looking out for me.”

“We really need to find you some friends in town.” She smiled and left the room. Her legs were shaky. She could never look at him the same way again—not without mentally undressing him, knowing what lay beneath. She drew another unsteady breath.

**About the author: Susan Sands grew up in a tiny Southern town in Northwest Louisiana near the Texas border. She graduated from Northwestern State University in Natchitoches, Louisiana, during the filming of Steel Magnolias on her campus. There’s no more Southern, small town claim to fame than that.

Her characters and setting are pulled from those very Southern, small towns and open spaces, where the air is clean and the words are often spoken with more syllables than necessary, y’all.

Her lifelong love of reading and the realization that her children were growing up and would eventually move on spurred her to try her hand at writing. Susan’s two novels, Again, Alabama, and Love, Alabama, are currently available both in digital format and in print from all online retailers.

Susan lives with her dentist husband and three nearly grown children in Johns Creek, GA. She is a member of the Georgia Romance Writers and the Romance Writers of America.

**She loves connecting with readers and can be found at all the fun places: Facebook Author Page Twitter Blog-Sweet Home Alpharetta

**Click HERE to see other stops on Susan’s Chick Lit Plus Blog Tour!

**GIVEAWAY**

**Click HERE to enter to win a $20.00 Amazon Gift Card

BOOK FEATURE: “Holding on Forever” by Victoria Monroe

April 11, 2016 3 Comments

“Holding on Forever” by Victoria Monroe

Blurb: When it comes to love, you can’t deny it no matter how hard you try. When love finds you, hold on and never let go.

Gage Scott let go of love a long time ago. After his parents divorced, he learned love only ends up hurting people. He vowed to himself he would never be hurt again because he would never love. He leaves everything and everyone he ever knew behind him and begins a new life built on rules against love. But when fate brings him back to the place and people he left thirteen years ago, he learns there are some things he can’t escape.

He spent many years running from love only to find it was with him all along. When he accepts the truth he denied for so long, he realizes he can’t ignore love. He discovers there is more pain in denying it. Once he embraces the true feelings he has for Laken Bennett, everything changes for Gage. Love finds him, and he is holding on forever.

EXCERPT

Coming down the stairs is the most mouthwatering, incredibly gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. Gage was good looking when I knew him as a teenager; but the man standing before me now is absolutely breathtaking. Gage is about half way down the staircase leading into the foyer when he looks at his mother, and stops, realizing she isn’t alone. His eyes turn to me and heat spreads over my whole body. His gaze slides up from the open toe heels on my feet and work their way up my bare legs, then to my hips, then up to my breasts, then finally to my face – where once his eyes meet mine – his look of total appreciation and enjoyment of the female body slowly dissolve into a realization.

A recognition.

Our gazes never shift from one another and all of a sudden the air in the foyer becomes thick. Judy cuts the silence by saying, “Gage, you rem-…”

“Laken,” he finishes her thought, almost breathlessly, with his eyes never leaving mine.

“…Yes – Laken,” she continues. “Laken was just leaving, she brought over your favorite dinner – Mrs. Bennett’s lasagna – that’s what you smell and I need to go check it. Laken, thank you again. I will see you Friday at the luncheon.”

I break my attention from Gage to Ms. Scott – who is already on her way to the kitchen – I call to her, “You’re welcome.” The voice leaving my body doesn’t sound like mine – it’s too soft, too breathy and too sexy. I slowly turn my attention back to the movement on the stair case. Taking in the bare feet slowly sauntering down the stairs in my direction, my eyes travel up distressed, washed out denim clad legs. The unbelted waistband of the jeans hangs low on his waist and meets a tight gray t-shirt, drawing attention to chiseled abs and an athletically defined muscular chest. Rippled arms lead to broad shoulders and a thick neck. I notice slightly long ebony hair, still damp from a shower. His square, sculpted jaw is shadowed with a couple of days’ worth of unshaved growth and frames the most delicious set of lips I’ve seen on a man. As he reaches where I’m standing – my eyes find his again. His irises are an intense blue. The boy I knew melted away into this sinfully gorgeous creature standing before me.

My name on his lips still hangs thick in the air and chokes me.

**Buy your $0.99 copy of “Holding on Forever” on Amazon now!

**Add “Holding on Forever” to your Goodreads list!

About the author: Victoria Monroe was born and raised in Pennsylvania. She graduated from the University of Pittsburgh with a bachelor of arts degree in English literature. She and her husband relocated a few times within the state. She favors the Pittsburgh region, where she had her son and daughter. After a ten-year career in corporate retail, she resigned, allowing her the ability to raise her children and write. Victoria loves spending time with her family. She loves music, reading and being outdoors – from the mountains to the beach and everything in between. Watching the sunrise and sunset are some of her favorite things to do. She always looks for a reason to laugh.

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Click HERE to enter a signed copy of “Holding on Forever”

EXCERPT: “Going for Two” by Laura Chapman

February 24, 2016 2 Comments

“Going for Two” by Laura Chapman

Blurb: Harper Duquaine is back for another season of fantasy football! This time she’s a year wiser and prepared to dominate the league. But while she finally seems to have her fantasy life in order, reality proves more challenging.

Her plans to peacefully play house with her boyfriend come to a halt when the high school suddenly names Brook its head football coach. The promotion comes with more responsibility on the field and less time at home. It also unexpectedly means more work for Harper, who already has her hands full helping a friend pull off the perfect proposal (while dodging questions about when she and Brook are going to get hitched already). Plus, a new development at work could leave her—and half of the fantasy league—jobless.

With the complications of her career and being “Mrs. Coach” adding up, Harper wonders if she’s committed to the life she’s already building or if there is something else out there.

Harper Duquaine – the fun, (sometimes) fearless, and fabulous heroine of my Queen of the League series – has a knack for baking. In Going for Two, the second book in the series, she develops a penchant for mug cakes. When it comes to food in books, I take my research seriously, and I tried my hand out at making a variety of mug cakes for myself. Here’s one of my favorite recipes from the experiment.

Sour Cream (Mug) Coffee Cake

Ingredients:

1 tablespoon softened butter

1 tablespoon sugar

1 egg

2 tablespoons sour cream

Dash of almond (or vanilla) extract

1/4 cup flour

1/8 teaspoon baking powder

For streusel topping: 1 tablespoon melted butter, 1 tablespoon brown sugar, 1 tablespoon flour

Directions: Spray a mug with no-stick spray then soften 1 tablespoon of butter. Mix in ingredients one at a time resulting in a thick batter. In a separate small bowl, combine ingredients for streusel and sprinkle on top of the batter. Microwave for a minimum of 1 minute or a maximum of 1 minute and 30 seconds until done. Pro tip: watch it closely while it cooks in the microwave to make sure it doesn’t overflow. After that, enjoy!

EXCERPT

With one day to go until our fantasy draft, I have a lot of prep work to do.

Last year I joined the league a few hours before the draft. My education had been a crash course from Wade on how to use the computer program and a few tips from my brother. I didn’t care at the time. I wasn’t in the league to win. I only joined in a desperate attempt to make my new co-workers at the car dealership like me. By the end of the season, my interest in the game—and Brook—had been piqued. I’d been willing to fight hard for a victory with both. Winning Brook’s heart had been easier than winning the league championship. Even after a major late-season rally, I finished in fourth place.

Not this year. I’ve spent the off-season studying the game and planning. And I’m determined to go all the way. Even if that means humiliating the man I love when we go head-to-head against each other. The worthy, but humble, opponent he is, I’m sure Brook will ultimately forgive me when I hoist the figurative league trophy over my head.

Unlike last year, I have a legitimate game plan. It’s called, “Study Up On All of the Top Players and Draft Them.” Subtitle: “Within Reason.” I still don’t feel right about having bad boys or total douches on my team, but I’ve made my peace. You have to make tough decisions like that when you’re in charge.

I plan to stock up on top-tier wide receivers and tight ends. In our league, we get points for each catch, which means I need players with good hands. Hands not unlike my ex-wide receiver boyfriend, only I put his hands to a much different, but equally important, use.

The other part, which is slightly more controversial, is my intent to plan one bad week. Theoretically, during one week—in my plans it’s week eight—I’ll have several of my top players out on bye weeks. That means I’ll likely lose, which should suck. I’ll have a total juggernaut team every other week of the season, so it won’t matter if I take a knee once. In preparation for implementation, I’ve done a few mock drafts online. Okay, I’ve done ten, but I really want to get all of the jitters out of me before the real thing. While it’s been interesting to watch some of the trends going in these fake draft rooms—it seems like we’re in another year of the overrated running back—I’m not going to let that influence the way I pick my team. I have a wish list, and I don’t plan to stray far from it.

We’re a ten-person league this year, so I’ve done a mock draft from each spot in a ten-person league. I have a good idea of who will and won’t make it on my team no matter when I draft. It’s comforting to feel this in control of my destiny.

**Buy “Going for Two”: Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo Goodreads

**About the author: Laura Chapman is the author of Going for Two, First & Goal, The Marrying Type, and Hard Hats and Doormats. Her work also appears in Merry & Bright, A Kind of Mad Courage, and the holiday collection All I Want For Christmas from Marching Ink. She loves Huskers and Packers football, Netflix marathons, and her cats, Jane and Bingley. Laura makes her home in Nebraska, where she is penning her next novel. Be sure to check her out on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

**Contact Laura: Facebook Twitter Instagram YouTube Goodreads Blog Website

**GIVEAWAY**

**Click HERE for your chance to paperback copies of all 4 of Laura’s books, (US and Canada, only)!

BOOK FEATURE: “Still Counting”

February 18, 2016 Leave a Comment

Blurb: Adam Donatello and Nina Morales share an immediate and powerful attraction, and their future together seems assured. But love is difficult enough without adding complications—real or imagined—to the mix. Nina sees life as a thousand shades of gray, while Adam tends toward black-and-white. He wants to move fast; she needs time. Nina sees her past liaisons with women as immaterial to their relationship, while her disclosure drives Adam to a state of irrational jealousy. He doesn’t know how he could compete with a woman, and his suspicions—which Nina views as hypocritical—lead them both to make decisions they may live to regret.

EXCERPT

Nina came to me and touched my face with her hands. “There’s nothing sweeter than an anchovy kiss.”

She leaned in and our lips fluttered against each other before proceeding to a full-frontal embrace. I’ve always viewed first kisses as a blindfolded ride on a runaway roller coaster. You never know where it’s going or when it’s going to end. So you just have to have faith and abdicate control to your partner. That’s my philosophy at least. A lot of guys would disagree. They like to take charge, set the pace, and make the next move. Some women prefer that approach as well. They like strong men who know what they want. I’m more of a girlie man. I need permission and encouragement. I want to get laid as much as the next guy, but I want to make sure that’s what the woman wants as well.

Our kiss was more like a pillow fight than a bare-fisted brawl. It was soft and gentle like the kiss of long-separated lovers.

Nina pulled away but kept her eyes closed for a long moment. “We need to go.”

I took her hand and we walked to her car. She opened the passenger door for me and got in the driver’s side. We made it to Starbucks in less than five minutes and neither of us said a word. She pulled her car alongside mine and turned towards me.

“I’m really sorry about Casey,” she said.

“I know you are.” I paused and tried to read her eyes. “I had a good time tonight.”

“Me too.”

“Could I see you again?”

“I’d like that. Give me your phone.”

I handed her my cell and she tapped in her contact information.

“I’ll call you,” I said.

“Please.”

I leaned towards her for a goodbye kiss, but she pushed me away. “I don’t kiss in cars,” she said. “It’s gross.”

**About the author: I sold my first article at the age of 16. Since then I’ve written and published a wide variety of books, articles and essays. After many years as a corporate marketer, I left to pursue endeavors that were more fulfilling personally and more contributory on a societal level. Today I focus my time on writing and teaching. I’ve often said “I live the American dream” and that is indeed how I feel. With a wonderful wife, two grown children, great friends and a couple of rambunctious Labrador retrievers, I can’t complain about a damn thing.

**Contact Phil: Facebook Twitter Blog 1 Blog 2 Website 1 Website 2 Goodreads YouTube Video Trailer

**Buy Link: Amazon

**Click HERE to see other stops on Phil’s Chick Lit Plus Blog Tour!

AUTHOR FEATURE: Kristina Knight, author of “What the Bachelor Gets”

February 16, 2016 2 Comments

About the author: Once upon a time, Kristina Knight spent her days running from car crash to fire to meetings with local police–no, she wasn’t a troublemaker, she was a journalist. Her career took her all over the United States, writing about everything from a serial killer’s capture to the National Finals Rodeo. Along the way, she found her very own Knight in Shining Cowboy Boots and an abiding love for romance novels. And just like the characters from her favorite books, she’s living her own happily ever after.

Kristina writes sassy contemporary romance novels; her books have appeared on Kindle Best Seller Lists. She loves hearing from readers, so drop her a line!

**Contact Kristina: Website Facebook Twitter Pinterest Goodreads Google+ Amazon Author Page

INTERVIEW

Tell us about “WHAT THE BACHELOR GETS”: What the Bachelor Gets is a friends-to-lovers story set in Las Vegas. Gage and Callie grew up together on neighboring ranches outside the city; Callie went off to college and Gage stayed in Vegas. Now, she’s made a few missteps in her career and her personal life and Gage holds the key to her comeback….if she can just stay out of his bed. WTBG is the first in my new Billionaire Cowboys trilogy – Gage has two cowboy brothers who are fighting for a happily ever after, too!

What made you want to write this book? I’ve always loved Las Vegas, and I knew I wanted to set a book there, but I also knew that not just any story would work. Gage, Connor and Jase were the right characters!

What is the easiest and hardest part about the writing/editing/publishing process? The easiest is the idea phase, for sure. Ideas come at me all the time – and I love that! Turning those ideas into full-blown books that will entertain readers is the hard part.

If your latest book were turned into a movie, who would you want to play the parts? I actually had people in mind (you can see them on my Pinterest board) for these two! There is a male model named Noah Mills that I had in mind as I wrote Gage. He’s scruffy and a little moody in his photos and that seemed to match Gage. And Kellie Pickler, the country music star, was a kind of model for Callie because she’s bubbly and excited and always ready for a challenge. At least, that’s how she seems to me.

If you were to meet any other author, who would it be? Gosh…I’d love to sit down and actually talk with Nora Roberts. I’ve said hello in passing at writer’s conferences, but I’d love to have an actual chat!

Between being an author, wife, and mother, how do you separate your time? It’s so hard! I really regiment my days – the bulk of my writing takes place when my daughter is at school and my husband is at work. Evenings are family time and so are weekends, but if I’m really behind on a deadline, I’ll write after they’re both in bed for the night.

What is the most rewarding part about being an author? Meeting readers!! That never gets old!

Describe what a day of your life is like: We wake up about 7, breakfast/shower/dress and get the kid off to school. RadioMan and I will either take a powerwalk or ride our bikes for an hour or so and then get ourselves cleaned up. If we’ve got time for lunch, we’ll go to our favorite Mexican place, or if he’s got an early day, he’ll head to work around 11. Then it’s writing time until the kiddo gets home from school. Homework, making dinner and family time until about 8 … then I decompress with some TV or reading. Bed around 11 and back at it by 7 the next morning.

What is your favorite quote? It’s from Nora Roberts: If you don’t go after what you want, you’ll never have it. If you don’t ask, the answer is always no. If you don’t step forward, you’re always in the same place.

Do you have any writing rituals? Not really. I know, boring answer! As long as I’ve got my candle burning and something cold to drink, I’m good to go. Unless I hit a wall and then chocolate is mandatory.

Every author must have a: story!

What are you working on right now? I’m finishing up the second Billionaire Cowboy book, What the Heiress Wants, which comes out in May…and getting ready to start on a super-secret project that I’m sooo excited about!

“What the Bachelor Gets” by Kristina Knight

Blurb: The Billionaire Cowboys trilogy by best-selling author Kristina Knight kicks off with a seductive story of long-simmering feelings and hot Vegas nights.

When Vegas Nightly names local property developer Gage Reeves as its sexiest bachelor, he’s barraged with a stream of showgirls, local socialites, and entertainers who all expect something from him. But all Gage wants is to make a success of his new luxury shopping development.

Enter Callie Holliday. Callie dreams of having the hottest day spa in Vegas, but she’s saddled with a bad location and an account balance full of zeroes. When she walks into a last-chance meeting with an angel investor and finds herself face to face with Gage, the childhood friend on whom she had a huge crush, she’s not sure his reputation is the right match for her business. But then he offers her a storefront in his new high-end retail complex, and she has to admit it’s a thoroughly tempting proposition. But feelings she thought were long buried threaten to turn their deal from strictly professional to decidedly personal.

It’s risky business gambling on love . . .

EXCERPT

Callie unlocked the front door but didn’t move to go inside. Instead, she stood beside him as if waiting. Their bodies didn’t touch, but he could feel a slight hum that seemed to connect him to her.

“Good night, Gage.”

“Good night, Cal.”

This time she moved, toward him. Gage stepped forward, too, and leaned in to press his lips to hers. She was soft, her full lips steady beneath his, and she tasted like the Corona and lime she’d been drinking. Gage slipped his hands to her neck to play his thumbs against the sensitive skin beneath her jaw, and Callie stepped forward again, this time bringing her body in full contact with his. His dick jumped in his jeans.

Her hands pressed against his chest and then pushed up around his neck. Callie slanted her head and opened her mouth to him. Gage pushed her against the doorframe, insinuating his leg between hers as he took the kiss deeper.

She drew him in, deep into the depths of her, and Gage didn’t care if they kissed like this for the rest of the night. He wanted to be near her. Wanted to feel her against him. Wanted to go on tasting her until he was positive he’d never forget any of it.

Finally, he broke the kiss, panting, his lips millimeters from hers.

Callie swallowed, and he watched the muscles in her throat slide down and then up slowly. She blew out a breath.

“Good night, Gage?” It was a question, and he didn’t want to answer it.

“Good night, Cal,” he said. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Before he could talk himself into her condo, Gage returned to the truck. He sat in the cab for a long moment, watching until Callie went inside and closed the door. Then he looked at his jeans and said, “Cold shower, buddy, ice-cold shower.”

**Book links: Amazon B&N iBooks KOBO Crimson Romance Goodreads

INTERVIEW with Cat Lavoie & EXCERPT of “Peri in Progress”

January 12, 2016 4 Comments

**About author, Cat Lavoie: Cat lives in Montreal, Canada with her tempestuous cat Abbie. She is the author of BREAKING THE RULES, ZOEY & THE MOMENT OF ZEN and PERI IN PROGRESS.

If Cat isn’t reading or writing, she’s most likely watching too much TV or daydreaming about her next trip to London.

**Contact Cat: Website Facebook Twitter Instagram Newsletter

**Find Cat’s books: Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo Goodreads

“Peri in Progress” by Cat Lavoie

Blurb: You know what they say about best-laid plans…

After a disastrous thirty-first birthday party where she gets stood-up by a man she isn’t supposed to be dating, Peri McKenna decides it’s time to change what hasn’t been working—which is pretty much everything. Her love life is going nowhere fast, she’s bored to tears by a job that makes her the office pariah, and the lifelong junk food addiction that used to be somewhat quirky is now positively problematic. To top it all off, her newly-purchased home is falling apart and wishful thinking hasn’t done much to fix the leaky roof.

It’s time be an adult now that she’s officially ‘thirty-something.’

But when the first step of Peri’s self-improvement plan backfires, she starts to wonder if change might be overrated.

Enter Milo Preston, an up-and-coming chef who’s in town to take over a local restaurant. When Peri and Milo begin working together, she finds it hard to ignore his easy charm and captivating emerald-green eyes. Since Milo is her best friend’s estranged brother, Peri has to keep reminding herself that he is completely off-limits. As they grow closer, Milo introduces Peri to new foods, the joy (and pain) of jogging, and makes her think her luck might finally be turning.

But when the past catches up with them, Peri finds herself back at square one. Will she be able to sort herself out—or will the roof cave in on her once and for all?

INTERVIEW

Describe your new book, PERI IN PROGRESS, in five words: Picky eater meets sexy Chef.

Have you always wanted to be a writer? As long as I can remember. When I was in grade school I used to beg my teacher to let me stay indoors during recess so I could read and I always dreamed of writing my own novels.

Tell us about your writing/editing/publishing process for your books? I’m a very (very!) slow writer, so it takes me forever to finish a first draft. The only good thing about spending so much time on my first draft is that it (usually) ends up being in pretty good shape. I’ll go through some self-edits before sending it to beta-readers. After more edits, I send it over to my publisher.

Is the social media a help or a hinder? Social media is definitely a huge help. I love connecting with readers and other writers… It can also hinder the process, though. I’ve been known to procrastinate on Facebook and Instagram when I should be writing!

Salty or sweet? Can I have both? I love a good salty/sweet combo like potato chips and milk chocolate. Yum!

What is a day like in Cat Lavoie’s world? On a typical weekday, I’ll wake up at 5.30 in the morning and get ready for work. (I’m a health claims analyst for an insurance company.) I’ll sometimes catch up on emails and social media on the bus and subway.

During my lunch break, I try to work on my WIP or blog posts. (Anything to bring a bit of the “dream job” to the sometimes dreary work day.)

My best friend and I work in the same office, so we usually go out for a bite to eat after the day is done. After that, I head home to Abbie the cat and after all the boring chores are done, I get to catch up on some TV, make progress on my WIP and read. (How I wish I could squeeze in a few more hours in the day for all that fun stuff!)

If you could meet any author, who would it be? That is a tough one. I’d have to pick Sophie Kinsella because she’s the reason I started writing chick lit. I would have a total fan girl moment if I ever met her.

What are the similarities and differences between you and Peri? I’m not as big of a picky eater as Peri—but I am definitely picky… and I’m also a fan of junk food! I also think we’re both hopeless romantics. That being said, I don’t think I’d ever let anyone convince me to start jogging—not even chef Milo!

Do you have any writing rituals? Apart from getting something to drink—either coffee or water—and snacks, I have a notebook that needs to be on my desk at all times when I write. It has notes, scene outlines, and book-related to-do list. I would be lost without it and I need to check it before I start writing.

Every writer must have: Awesome writerly friends who can provide advice, encouragement, and support at all hours of the day. I’ve met some amazing people in online writing groups and I’ve learned so much from them over the years.

Where do you see yourself in five years? Hopefully, I won’t have run out of ideas and I’ll still be writing. Perhaps I’ll be working part-time at the day job so I can devote more time to my books. I’ve been dreaming of going to Scotland for a long time so, if all goes well, I’ll have enough research notes from that trip to set a novel there.

What are you working on right now? I’m working on my fourth chick lit novel. Like my last two books, it’s going to be set in the fictional town of Messina. It’s too early to go into detail about the story, but I can reveal that my main character is very different from any of my other leading ladies. I’m having a lot of fun with it!

EXCERPT

When the phone rang again an hour later, I was convinced it was Mom calling back to grill me—but I didn’t recognize the number on my caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Peri?”

I knew that voice. It belonged to the man who’d made the chocolate mousse I could still taste on my tongue if I closed my eyes. Why in the world was Milo Preston calling me? “Yes?” I answered, as if I wasn’t sure of my own name.

“How’s it going? This is Milo. From the Messina Grill. Elsa’s brother.”

I nodded but then realized he couldn’t see me. “Yes. How are you?”

“Great. Thanks again for coming to the opening last night. My mom told me you’re a bit of a picky eater, but she said you were a great sport about trying new things.”

I almost dropped the phone. Thanks for embarrassing me, Sylvia. Did she also tell her gorgeous son that I made a fool of myself by declaring my love to a man who pretended he barely knew my name? I moved the phone away from my face for a few seconds and took a deep breath. Sylvia’s over-sharing was not her son’s fault. He was probably going to call and thank everybody who showed up last night. It was a kind gesture. “The food was great. I’d never tried goat’s cheese before, and now I really I like it,” I lied.

“That’s awesome. You really know what to say to flatter a chef. Listen, I wasn’t just calling to thank you for coming . . .”

“Oh.” There goes my theory.

“This is a bit awkward,” he continued. “But my mom told me about what happened with your boss and boyfriend and . . .”

Oh. No. No. No. Sylvia, how could you? I felt like hanging up. Messina was a small town, but there had to be something more newsworthy going on than my pathetic love life. A noise that sounded like a growl escaped my mouth before I could stop it. “Your mother sure is a chatty one.”

Milo laughed. “Yes, and I apologize. Ever since I came back, it’s like she’s been trying to tell me every single thing that’s happened to everyone in the last ten years. Most of the time, she talks about people I don’t know or care about, but I just sit and listen to make her happy. However, I perked up when she mentioned your current predicament.”

“Did you now?” I asked. “One person’s misery is another person’s entertainment, I guess.” I meant it as a joke, but it came out bitter and sad. I suddenly felt tired and wanted nothing more than to take a nap. An exhausting conversation with my mother followed by an awkward conversation with a stranger had drained the life out of me.

“I think that came out wrong. I’m sorry,” Milo said. “It’s just that . . . I need your help.”

“My help?”

“Yes.”

The line was silent for about thirty seconds. “Go on,” I finally said.

Milo cleared his throat. “I don’t know if you noticed yesterday but we were understaffed. Sam, my boss, was going crazy in the kitchen.”

And then I lied again when I said, “I didn’t notice anything.”

“Sam would be happy to hear that. But he’s too busy freaking out over the fact that one of our waitresses quit after her shift yesterday. And another quit this morning. We need to replace them as soon as possible. And that’s where you come in.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. I hear you don’t have a job right now. Would you like one? The pay is not great and the conditions aren’t much better. But you get to work with me and eat some free food now and again. How’s that for an offer you can’t refuse?”

I got up from the bed and paced to the other side of the room. My head was spinning. I’d never worked in the food industry before and had no idea what it took to be a good waitress. I was used to paperwork and cubicles and good old Jeff as my boss—not some hotshot chef who happened to be my best friend’s brother. He probably had groupies waiting for him outside the restaurant and maybe he’d even ask me to collect phone numbers for him. Chefs were the new rock stars now, or so I’d read in a few magazines. “It’s an offer I can definitely refuse,” I answered. “I don’t have any experience being a waitress. I’m sorry.”

“Hmmm,” Milo said. “I still think I should interview you for the position anyway. First question: do you own a pair of black dress pants?”

“Yes,” I said, annoyed. Why couldn’t this guy take no for an answer?

“Okay. This next one is kind of tough. Do you own a white blouse-type garment?”

“Yes.”

“Good. This is going really well. Last question. Could you resist the urge to drop a bowl of steaming hot soup in a client’s lap if he called you ‘Darling’ or ‘Sweetheart’ or left a two dollar tip on a fifty dollar tab?”

I laughed despite myself. “Yes, I probably could.”

“Well, then—you’re hired. Congratulations, Peri McKenna! Come on down to the Messina Grill and claim your prize,” he said in his best game show announcer voice.

I shook my head. “Milo . . .”

“Listen,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “Of course I’d love to hire a person who has experience, but there’s no time. We need you tomorrow. And this is just temporary until we can find someone else who actually wants to work with us. I’m aware I’ve completely bullied you into this. But Sam and I would be so grateful. What do you say?”

If Milo Preston ever felt like a career change, he could surely be a lawyer. He was persistent, a little bit cocky, and he seemed to love the sound of his own voice. Truth be told, I sort of liked it too—because it reminded me of Declan.

“Okay,” I said, against my better judgment. “I’ll be there.”

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COVER REVEAL: “Novelista Girl” by Meredith Schorr

November 30, 2015 3 Comments

Every now and then, a book comes your way and you fall in love it, but then you have wait for the next book in its series. Yes, there might be other books that you enjoy, too, but that one book is still on your mind. Well, that’s how it was with me when I read BLOGGER GIRL. That being said, today I am joyfully sharing you with you its sequel (which can be a standalone, if you wish), NOVELISTA GIRL, by one of my favorite authors, Meredith Schorr.

“Novelista Girl” by Meredith Schorr

**Release date: Coming soon!

Blurb: Readers first met sassy Kimberly Long in Blogger Girl, and now the feisty New Yorker is back in a sequel packed with quick wit, friendship, heartache, and, of course, romance.

Kim runs the most popular chick lit book blog on the web, loves playing house with her sexy lawyer boyfriend, Nicholas, and is finally pursuing her lifelong dream to become a published author. At first glance, her life is five-pink-champagne-flutes worthy.

But is there more to the story than meets the eye?

After hearing the phrase “chick lit is dead” more times than she’s read Bridget Jones’s Diary, Kim is driven to desperate measures, seeking advice from up-and-coming chick lit author, Hannah Marshak, her high school nemesis and resident “mean girl.” As if Kim doesn’t have enough on her plate balancing her secretarial duties with her blog Pastel Is the New Black, shrugging off the growing pile of agent rejections, and keeping her best friend from turning green over Kim’s budding friendship with Hannah, Nicholas is so blinded by his career ambitions, he doesn’t see that their home sweet home could use more than a dash of sugar.

This is the year when all of Kim’s dreams—professional and romantic—are supposed to come true, but will the story have a happily ever after, or will Kim end up unpublished and all alone?

This novel can be read as a sequel or as a standalone and is best accompanied by a cocktail, preferably a pink one.

EXCERPT

To: KimMLong@gmail.com

From: Libby_Knox@Knoxliterary.com

Subject: Re: Query—A Blogger’s Life

Dear Ms. Long,

Thank you for your interest in Knox Literary. While I found the premise of A Blogger’s Life interesting, I’m afraid I wasn’t sufficiently intrigued to ask for more at this time. Because this business is so subjective, and opinions vary widely, we encourage you to query other agents.

After all, it only takes one.

Best of luck on your journey to publication.

Libby Knox

Knox Literary

I let out a deflated sigh before resting my head on my boyfriend Nicholas’s shoulder. It was a Sunday afternoon, and after a late lunch, we had come back to my place to watch television. Well, I was watching television—a romantic movie on the Hallmark Channel. Nicholas was doing work. As the in-house attorney for a cosmetics company, he often took work home with him.

Nicholas stopped typing furiously on his laptop. “What’s the matter, Kimmie?”

With my eyes closed, I responded, “I got another rejection from an agent.” Making it fourteen rejections in total for my chick lit novel, A Blogger’s Life. When I finally gathered the courage to write a novel—a complete manuscript with a beginning, middle, and an end, as opposed to a partial story that I shoved in the back of my closet unfinished—I knew the journey to publication would be difficult. Now, I was thinking “impossible” was a more befitting adjective.

Giving my hand a gentle squeeze, Nicholas said, “I’m sorry.”

I opened my eyes and sat up. “Me, too.”

“It’s just one agent. Did you know Kathryn Stockett received sixty rejections of The Help before she got an agent?”

I jerked my head back in surprise. “I did know that. How did you know that?”

Nicholas smiled. “I did some research after your last rejection.”

I kissed his cheek and ran my palm up against his ever-present five o’clock shadow. “How nice of you.”

“I’m a nice guy.” Nicholas paused for a beat. “For a player, that is.”

When I first met Nicholas a little over a year ago, he was an attorney at the New York City firm where I worked (and still work) as a legal secretary. He was single, successful, hot, and flirtatious. Naturally, I assumed he was a player when we first hooked up. Either that, or out of my league. What would someone with his credentials want with me—a measly legal secretary with a nice rack? When Nicholas gently suggested my dreams might extend beyond book blogging to book writing, I worried maybe he was the one who wanted me to be a writer so I would be “good enough” to hang with all of his successful friends. I was blinded by my insecurity, but after some soul-searching, I concluded he was right, and I was wrong—something he enjoyed reminding me of on a regular basis. It had been almost six months since our reconciliation, and sometimes I still had to pinch myself to confirm that the guy I adored—the one who not only caused my knees to go weak and the butterflies to dance in my belly whenever he touched me, but also made me laugh and encouraged my dream to be a published author—was equally crazy about me. I was in love big time but too chicken to be the first to say the words.

I playfully punched his arm. “Are you ever gonna let that go?”

Nicholas flashed me a sexy grin. “Not likely.”

I shook my head in mock annoyance. Inching closer to him on my love seat, I draped one of my legs over his and sighed. “Maybe I should have tried to publish Read My Mind first.” A Blogger’s Life was technically my second novel. I had given up writing Read My Mind in high school only to pick it up and finally finish it ten years later. Although Read My Mind was the novel that qualified me as a “finisher,” I ultimately decided to shelve it and pursue A Blogger’s Life instead.

Crinkling his brow, Nicholas asked, “I thought you said this one was much better.”

Rubbing the opal pendant on my necklace, I said, “Do you not think so?”

Nicholas shook his head. “I can’t say. I haven’t started reading it yet.” Probably noticing my face drop, he added, “I promise I will soon.”

“It is better, but apparently, chick lit is dead among traditional publishers unless you’re an established author in the genre. Young adult paranormal, on the other hand, is hot.”

“Considering how many fans Pastel Is the New Black has, I’d say chick lit is pretty hot, too.” Patting my knee, he added, “Almost as hot as its founder.”

Nicholas was correct that my book blog, Pastel Is the New Black, had thousands of followers. Unfortunately for me, none of those fans were literary agents as far as I knew. “Why couldn’t I have written A Blogger’s Life ten years ago when chick lit was on fire?” I whined. Considering I didn’t even know what a blog was when I was nineteen, it was a rhetorical question.

“It is what it is, Kimmie.” Nicholas ran one hand along my thigh and then slowly up to the zipper on my black skinny jeans. “Anything I can do to make you feel better?” he asked.

“You can try, but it will be hard.”

Placing my hand over his crotch, he said, “It’s very hard, but you’re worth it.”

There was nothing I wanted more—besides an offer for agent representation—than to get down and dirty with Nicholas right then and there, but I was so behind on book reviews for my blog. I also wanted to make some revisions to my agent query letter based on suggestions from one of my author friends. And I knew Nicholas was swamped, too. I decided a compromise was in order. “How about we do it in an hour?”

Nicholas frowned and tugged at my zipper. “But I want to do it now,” he said, adopting the bratty entitled voice of Veruca Salt from Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory.

Sliding away from him, I said, “It’s called delayed gratification. You should try it.”

Nicholas got up from the couch and stood in front of me. Extending his hand, he said, “You don’t want to make my brown eyes blue? Do you, Kimmie?” He frowned, drawing my eyes to his full and completely bitable lower lip.

I couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue” had become “our” song the night we got back together. I sang it to him at karaoke in a grand gesture when my two best friends, Bridget and Caroline, dared me to stop moping about and write my own happy ending.

I reached for Nicholas’s hand and allowed him to pull me to a standing position. “I don’t want anything of yours to be blue,” I said as my eyes dropped down to his groin.

Leading me to my bedroom, he said, “That makes two of us.”

As promised, Nicholas made me feel better. He had mad skills. But even as I writhed in ecstasy beneath him, I wondered if my fifteenth rejection letter had already landed in my in-box.

INTERVIEW with Courtney Psak, and EXCERPT of “Thirty Days to Thirty”

November 19, 2015 1 Comment

Author, Courtney Psak: Courtney is a New Jersey native who grew up with a passion for reading and writing.

After traveling the world, she settled into New York City where she earned her Masters in Publishing.
She is a member of the National Writers Association and the Women’s Fiction Writers Association.
She currently resides in Hoboken with her husband.

She spends her weekends seeking adventure through hiking, skiing and traveling.

**Contact Courtney: Website Goodreads Author Central/ Amazon Twitter Instagram Facebook Blog

INTERVIEW

Describe your books in five words: Funny, inspirational, adventurous, friendship and romance.

When did you know you wanted to be a writer? I don’t know if it was so much of a decision as it was something I always did since I was little. It came naturally to me the same way someone realizes they like to paint or sing. I finally pulled the trigger on publishing this book since I am getting close to my thirtieth and considering the spirit of the story, I figured I would take my own character’s advice and accomplish one of my all time bucket list items.

Salty or sweet? Salty Sweet. Chocolate covered pretzels are my weakness.

What is the writing/editing/publishing process like for you? The writing process is great. It’s fun and it’s an amazing feeling to create a story of characters that you fall in love with. The editing for me is a nightmare as I’m the worst editor ever. As far as the rest of the publishing process, which is building your author platform and marketing, it has been a scary but a fun learning experience.

At what time of day do you work best? On weekends it’s in the morning and on weekdays I’ll write a night.

If you could meet any other author, who would it be? James Patterson. He has the same quick writing style that I at least try to have. Plus the man knows how to market.

Where do you get ideas for your books? They really come organically. So my ideas come from everywhere really. For this book in particular I realized a lot of my friends, including myself, started to get the ‘quarter-life crises.’ We were upset over the fact that we were not where we thought we would be by this point in our lives. What I started to realize though, was that when life happens, it’s going to bring you places you never could’ve imagined you would be. In the process of trying to be a particular version of ourselves, we in fact, discovered who we really were.

What is the best advice anyone’s given you? Believe in yourself and never give up.

Hard/paperbacks or eBooks? I like to read multiple books at a time so ebook is my best friend.

Every author must have (a): Courage and confidence.

What do you want readers to take away from your books? That it’s not necessarily about the goals in life, but what you learn along the way.

What are you working on right now? I’m currently working on a book about a Hollywood Socialite who ends up on a reality TV show as the maid of honor to her best friend who is marrying her ex-boyfriend. The five words I would use to describe that book is funny, dramatic, dysfunctional, personal-growth (technically two words there).

“Thirty Days to Thirty”: What if you were on the cusp of marrying the guy of your dreams and reaching that career goal you set for yourself, only for all of it to be taken away in one fell swoop?

What if this all happened a month before you turned 30?

This is the story of Jill Stevens, who after moving back home, finds a list she made in high school of thirty things she wanted to accomplish before her thirtieth birthday.

With a month left and hardly anything crossed off her list, she teams up with old friends to accomplish as much as she can before the big 3-0. Along the way, she discovers her true self and realizes it’s not about the material successes in life but the journey.

EXCERPT

“So do you want to talk about it?” my mom finally asks me, taking a seat next to me with a cup of tea.

“I’m not really ready to recap,” I tell her with a mouth full of peanut butter. “I’m still trying to process everything.”

My mother basically got the hysterical gist of it when I called her at midnight, crying, and all she could make out was “pig head … boyfriend … cheated on me … fired … homeless.” She sat on the phone with me while I tried to pull myself together, and finally ordered me to pack up and get on the next train home.

“I understand,” she says, sounding disappointed. “We can talk about what you want to do for your birthday coming up.”

I look up mid-bite to stare at her.

“It’s your thirtieth, it’s a big deal,” she presses.

Yes, I know it’s a big deal. It’s a big deal because that’s when you’re supposed to have your life together. “Mom, that’s really the last thing I want to think about right now.”

“Fine,” she says getting frustrated. After a few minutes of silence, she leans forward as if to say something and then retreats.

“What’s wrong?” I ask her, knowing I won’t be able to avoid hearing what she wants to say.

“Well, I mean, aside from wanting to know what happened, I want to know what your plan is to get past this? I don’t want you just sulking around the house for the next few weeks.”

“Come on, Mom it’s been twelve hours since my life fell apart. I can’t get a full day to mourn here?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she defends herself, shaking her head as if I’ve blown things all out of proportion. “I was just reading this pamphlet about how to handle adult children living at home that I downloaded off the Internet.” She stands up and pulls it out of a drawer underneath the phone. Then she hands it to me. I scan it over. “When the Empty Nest Becomes Full Again,” I read. “I don’t plan on being here that long,” I say, handing it back to her. “Think of it as a two-week vacation.”

She doesn’t say anything. She simply shrugs and puts the pamphlet back in the drawer.

Finally, I give in and proceed to tell her what happened. My father, who’s come in from the garage to get his keys out of the drawer, listens in and eventually joins us at the table.

“Those bastards,” he contributes.

“Tell me about it,” I say, looking down at my milk and swirling the liquid inside the glass.

“Can you sue them?” my mom suggests.

“For what, exactly? Even if I could, it’s a law firm. You ever try to sue a bunch of lawyers?”

They’re both silent for a moment and give each other nervous looks. It’s obvious they’re trying to be supportive but they don’t really know what to say.

“It’s fine.” I try to convince them and myself. “I’m going to call a headhunter first thing Monday morning and I’m going to bounce back from this in no time. I’ll start looking at apartment listings today. Everything will be fine.” I stand up from my chair.

“I think you should at least stay here until you find another job,” my mother says. “There’s no sense in you getting an apartment somewhere and finding out your job is a far commute.”

Stay here? I do a double take. I can’t imagine doing that. “Mom, it’s New York. No matter where I get an apartment, as long as it’s in Manhattan, the commute will be doable.” I stand up and dump the remainder of my milk in the sink and load my glass and plate into the dishwasher.

“Well, what if you don’t get a job in New York?” she says, turning around in her chair to face me.

“Why wouldn’t I get a job in New York?” I ask, confused, as I close the dishwasher and stare out the window. I feel my body turn to ice at the thought.

“Well, Jill,” my dad says, “the job market is pretty bad, and as great as your resume and your education are, there may not be a lot of opportunities out there.”

“All we’re saying is maybe you’ve outgrown the city, and maybe now it’s time to settle somewhere closer to home. Maybe you’ll meet someone and settle down,” my mom concludes.

“Really?” I say, shaking my head. “You’re really giving me the you-aren’t-getting-any-younger speech when I’m already at the lowest point in my life?” I start to storm towards the hallway. I really don’t need to be hearing this right now.

“Sweetie, it’s not that I’m trying to kick you while you’re down, I’m just saying maybe it’s time to start reassessing your life.” My mom stands up to follow me.

“Thanks for the talk,” I say, walking past her and back up to my room. I suddenly feel like I’m a teenager again as I slam the door to my room.

“Marilynn, she just got home. Go easy on her,” I hear my dad defend me.

“Martin, I’m just following the pamphlet,” she insists.

“Well stop reading,” he says. “This is our daughter, not a case study.”

Living at home with my parents in my thirties? Maybe I really am a case study. I barely made it out alive the first time, how the hell am I supposed to do it all over again?

**Buy “Thirty Days to Thirty” now!: Amazon Barnes and Noble Smashwords

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**Click HERE to see other stops on Courtney’s Chick Lit Plus Blog Tour!

EXCERPT of “First & Goal” & GUEST POST by Laura Chapman

November 18, 2015 1 Comment

“First & Goal” by Laura Chapman

Blurb: When Harper Duquaine’s no-nonsense approach to work unintentionally ruffles the wrong feathers at her new job, she joins her co-workers’ fantasy football league to prove she can hang with the guys. Only problem: she doesn’t know a sleeper from a keeper (or any of the other lingo thrown her way).

Embroiled in a world of lineups, stats, and trades, Harper’s quest to make nice topples when her competitive streak emerges. And her promise to herself that she’ll be a strong, independent woman and leave the drama and heartache behind is seriously tested when she catches the attention of her two biggest competitors: J.J., a local celebrity determined to win a fantasy championship, and Brook, the mild-mannered coach who seems too good to be true. Both threaten her resolve to remain single… and, more importantly, her chances at winning the prize pool.

With a slew of conflicting advice in her real and fantasy worlds, Harper must figure out how to play the game and come out a winner.

**Buy “First & Goal” now: Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo

* * * * *

EXCERPT

While I dig through piles of green and yellow shirts, I call my younger brother, Christopher. I need advice before the draft. I may not be in this for the glory of victory or the money, but I don’t want to embarrass myself by coming off as an idiot.

His sleepy voice answers a second before it goes to voicemail. “What’s going on?”

Not wasting any time, I explain the situation. After giving him a minute to get the laughter out of his system, I tell him what I need from him. “I need a crash course in drafting a team.”

“Why do you care if it isn’t about winning?”

“Pride?”

He snorts. “Fair enough. Do you have a pen and paper?”

My hands freeze on a long-sleeved green and yellow rugby style shirt. “Not on me. Should I grab some?”

He busts out laughing again. This time I struggle to stay patient while he pulls himself together. “Can we get through this?” I ask. “Today if possible?”

“Calm down, BK.”

I glare at the pile of shirts. “I told you not to call me . . . that.”

“Technically, you told me not to call you—”

“Don’t even say it. And don’t pretend saying BK is any different.” I walk over to a rack of jerseys. “Tell me your ‘rules.’”

Christopher clears his throat and begins. “Rule number one: Don’t draft a kicker or defense until the last few rounds.”

“Why not?”

“It doesn’t matter if they show up as the highest-rated available player or if someone else makes a grab for kickers and defenses early. It’s a wasted pick. The guys in your league will make fun of you for the rest of the season if you do something so amateurish.”

Noted. Saving myself humiliation is the primary objective.

“Number two,” Christopher continues. “Don’t try to draft every player from your favorite team.”

“Why not? The Packers are good.”

“Yeah, but what happens if they have a bad week?”

I feign mock outrage. “Are you actually suggesting our beloved Packers would have anything less than a perfect season? What would Dad say?”

“Trust me on this one, Harper. Your Sunday . . . or Thursday or Monday will be a million times worse if you’re dealing with a Packers and fantasy loss.”

“Okay, avoid drafting the entire Packers starting lineup. Got it.” I’m going to have to do some fast research to find out who else I might want on my team. Basically, all the players I know are in Green Bay. “What’s next?”

“Have you found out what pick you have?”

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Pick?”

“Where are you in the draft order?”

Oh. “Fourth.”

“The first three people have selected the top three running backs in my mock drafts.” I want to ask what he means by ‘mock draft,’ but there’s no time. “You can have a little fun with being fourth, but I say you should take the Pope. You’ll impress the guys in your league.”

“Who’s ‘the Pope?’”

“John-Paul Massa. An underrated but totally badass running back.”

“Massa it is.” I stare at the Chad Baker jersey in front of me. “When can I draft Baker?”

“No sooner than the second round, but try to hold off until the third. You want to make sure you get a solid wide receiver, and they tend to go fast after the top six running backs are off of the board.”

“But I want Baker.”

“He’ll be around,” Christopher assures me. “And if things get hairy during your draft, you can always text me.”

“Is there a fourth rule?”

“Yes.” He clears his throat again and hesitates. Content with my clothing selections, I walk toward the checkout line. “My fast and final rule: Don’t let the guys seduce you into giving them the best players.”

My gasp of outrage draws attention from the person standing in front of me. I dart an apologetic grin, before hissing at my brother. “Why would you even go there?”

“Harper, you’re smart and driven.”

“But . . .”

“You’re an idiot when it comes to men.” He releases a heavy sigh. “Maybe it’s because deep down you’re a sweet person or maybe you’re too trusting, but you have a talent for giving it up to douchebags.”

I want to argue back on principle. I am a strong, independent woman, who doesn’t need a man to succeed. But, a glance back at my dating track record gives Christopher’s commandment some weight. Maybe I should tell him I’m a new woman after what happened with the last guy. Instead, I thank him for his advice and pay for the new football gear.

* * * * *

**About the author: Laura Chapman is the author of First & Goal, The Marrying Type, and Hard Hats and Doormats. Her work also appears in Merry & Bright, A Kind of Mad Courage, and All I Want For Christmas. A native Nebraskan, she loves Huskers and Packers football, Netflix marathons, and her cats, Jane and Bingley. Laura is currently in pursuit of a fantasy football championship while penning her next novel.

**Contact Laura:

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* * * * *

GUEST POST

No two days are exactly alike. That’s the beauty of being an author. One day you’re plotting, another you’re navigating your way through a tricky passage, and on the next you’re swearing at your computer, because your marketing plan hit a hiccup. While I’m a big plotter, one of my favorite parts about being an author is that it challenges me to adapt as the situation changes—which is every day.

When Isabella asked me to write about my life as an author, I found I couldn’t put it succinctly, because it’s always evolving. Rather than speak in generalities on the subject, I figured I’d share a few days that illustrate the world of Laura Chapman: My Life as an Author.

November 30, 2010

Only 1,000 more words to go. I note the time on the display in the corner of my computer monitor. It’s after seven—plenty of time to meet my deadline, yet it doesn’t seem like enough. It won’t be the end of the world if I don’t finish. No one will die, no wars will break out, and no one will care. Except for me. I will care.

When I started National Novel Writing Month on the first (Has it really been a whole month?) I was out to prove something. I had to show myself that I could do it—I could write a book if I sat down and made myself finish what I started. Finishing would be the key difference this time. The partial manuscripts rotting in a folder on my desktop were evidence of my inability to complete what I began. “Laura Chapman likes to start stories,” they seem to scream. “But she doesn’t have the follow-through to reach the end.”

Not this time. This time, I will hit the 50,000-word mark. And then I will keep at it until the story is done.

With only 1,000 words more words needed and a few hours until midnight, when I have to verify my word count online, I pack my laptop and drive to Indigo Bridge Books. The local bookstore has the vibe I need. People are always writing there, and productivity sizzles in the air. It will be good to spend some time around like-minded people. The bookstore also has another distinct advantage over staying home: it has Internet.

I’m two years out of college, and I’m still in a financial crunch. The recession hit mere months after I earned my diploma. I’m lucky to have a job, even if it doesn’t pay much. Tack on the student loans, rent, and the debt I accrued when I moved to and from Houston during the past eighteen months, and Internet is a luxury I can’t afford.

But I need the Internet tonight to verify my words. And I need to finish writing those words.

Settled in at a small table with a mocha latte and my laptop, I type away furiously. I can do this, I can write 1,000 more words tonight. I can paint the picture of Lexi Burke’s quirky world on the Gulf Coast. I can show her chemistry with Jason Beaumont. Oh man. Jason Beaumont. I may have broken the mold with this character. To my twenty-four-year-old self, he’s the epitome of male perfection. He has a good job, the motivation and drive to succeed, a sense of humor, and the everyday southern charm I witnessed countless times while I lived in Texas. And like Mr. Darcy, he has a pretty bitchin’ house. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a big sprawling home with a pool? I bet he has Internet, too.

And so I type and type away, giving pause every so often to check the time and my word count. What would Lexi do? Write it down. Keep going. Around nine, I do it. I pass the 50,000-word mark with some change. Adrenaline pulses through my veins. I did it. I wrote 50,000 words in one month. I still have a ways to go until I type “the end,” but this is a huge step in that direction.

Feeling like I just scored a six-figure advance from a major publisher, I pull up the NaNoWriMo website so I can let them know I finished. The page takes a full minute to load, and another minute passes before I get to the word verification section. I copy my document and paste the contents into the form. Blood pumps loudly in my ears. I click “verify my word count.”

And nothing happens.

The spinny wheel of death pops up and still nothing. I refresh the page, only to find I have to copy and paste my text once more. This time I wait longer. I’m about to break a pencil in half when an error message appears on the page. What the eff. I try a few more times without success. I hit up Twitter to see if anyone else is having issues. Just as I expect, the frustrated tweets flow on screen. Due to an influx of traffic, the NaNoWriMo website is having problems loading.

Well hell.

Not one to sit in my failure for long, I call a few friends with faster, stronger Internet connections until I find one who can help.

“CanIsendyoumynoveltoverifyformeplease?”

“Sure.”Of course Aja will help. We’ve been friends since first grade. We were in the same Brownies troop. Aren’t the Girl Scouts always preaching preparedness? Or is that Boy Scouts? At the very least, I’m quite certain we sang a song about being friends until the end. And this is as close to the end as I’ve ever come.

Staying on the line, I give Aja my password to log-in. I send her my document, and she runs through the same motions I had earlier. Only this time, instead of a spinny wheel of death or an error, a congratulatory message pops up on her screen.

“’Congratulations,’” she reads to me. “’You did it.’”

While she enters in the necessary information to complete my winner certification, the excitement returns. My eyes burn with unshed tears. For the first time ever, I feel like an author. I can do this. I can live my dream.

September 10, 2015

This isn’t a great time to be leaving town. My third novel launched yesterday, and there’s still a lot to do in the way of promotion. But I did my best to plan ahead. I sent out interviews and guest posts to more than thirty bloggers, and I scheduled my tweets and Facebook posts during the next few days. For the most part everything has gone like clockwork.

Except for one crucial element: one vendor still doesn’t have First & Goal available for sale. Oh, they say it’s available on the publishing dashboard, but the null searches on the purchasing side beg to differ. I suppose this isn’t a big deal—or so I keep telling myself to avoid having a stroke. It doesn’t look terribly professional to have to keep saying “It will be up soon,” to waiting readers, but what can you do?

You can have a heart attack or cry. I’ve come close to both, but to what end? I have a flight to catch for a previously planned business trip. Death and hysteria aren’t practical options.

At least the screening lines at the Lincoln Airport are fast. The small municipal airport usually gets you in and out without much fuss. That’s a good thing. I didn’t sleep much last night—or the night before. In addition to releasing a novel, I spent the previous day wrapping up a bunch of projects at my other job. Then I had to do laundry and pack my suitcase. As icing on the cake, I had to draft a crappy fantasy football team at almost midnight. It wasn’t my best draft, and there’s a lot of opportunity for heartbreak this season.

There’s always next year, I suppose.

Successfully through the TSA search, I park at the gate and pull out my laptop. Maybe there’s something I can do to help my book’s cause before I fly to Indianapolis by way of Chicago. Sure enough a new email appears from my publisher. Great news. The rogue distributor finally has First & Goal up on its site.

“We’ll begin pre-boarding for Chicago, please…”

With limited time, I update my blog and website. I post to Facebook and Twitter. Hopefully this helps me with a few more sales. Almost as quickly, I repack my suitcase and board the airplane. Crammed into the tiny puddle jumper, I check my social media pages and email until we are collectively asked to turn off our mobile devices. We taxi around the tiny tarmac then come to a halt.

A few minutes later, the captain’s voice booms over the intercom. “We’re experiencing some slight delays getting into Chicago. They’re a little backed up on account of some weather in the area. We’re going to hang out here for half an hour, but we’ll get you there as soon as possible.”

Sneaking out my phone, I check the status on my other flight. Still on time. Normally that would be great, but I only have a forty-five minute layover. And my gates are on opposing sides of the airport.

I guess that’s why the phrases “just one of those days” and “it’s always something” exist. Hell.

February 23, 2020

“Just five more minutes,” I plead. “I’m almost done with this scene.”

I said the same thing ten minutes ago, but this time I mean it. I know we should be out the door an on our way already, but there’s no stopping inspiration when it strikes. I’ve always written when the mood arises. I did it ten years ago when my stories were ideas, and I do it now that I’m a best-selling novelist. I can’t change who I am just because someone is in a hurry to hit the Red Carpet.

Not that I can blame him. My husband is up for an Academy Award—again—but this time I have no doubt he’s walking away with Oscar gold. He’s deserved it every time he’s been nominated, but the Academy would have to be crazy not to reward his ingenuity on screen. Besides, this year he has his good luck charm—me. At least that’s what he told me when he walked away with his Golden Globe and SAG awards earlier this season. I’m not sure if there’s any truth to the superstition. But if there is, well, my lucky charm skills can only be stronger now that we’re good and truly married.

(That’s between us right now, though. How we managed to sneak off to Germany for a simple, but beautiful, wedding with only our families and closest friends without alerting the media is still a mystery to me. But it will only be a secret for a few more hours. I snuck a peek at his acceptance speech—the one he won’t carry on stage, but has memorized. I distinctly saw a note to thank his “magnificent wife.” He actually called me magnificent. I’m living a fairy tale.)

I guess luck really is on our side this year. I’m married to one of the sexiest and most brilliant men alive—who is hours away from having “Academy Award winner” attached to his name—and my last five novels have hit number one on the bestseller lists.

And not to toot my own horn too much, but the screen adaptation for one of those books begins filming next month. The hubby and I are headed to the set after we take our overdue honeymoon. I helped pen the screenplay, so who knows? Maybe I’ll be adding “Academy Award winner” to my list of accolades one of these days too. For the moment I’m perfectly content with everything I have, including the scene I am just about to finish—

“My dear,” he calls out. “You know I could sit here and watch you write all day, but the studio will kill me if I don’t make a couple of stops on the Red Carpet. I’d hate to have Harvey tell me I’ll never work in this town again.”

I tear my eyes away from the screen and freeze. No matter how many times I see him in a tuxedo, I never seem able to keep myself from gaping. It’s hard not to—the man looks like he was born wearing an Armani suit.

Swallowing hard, I find my voice at last. “I’m done.” I slam the laptop shut, not caring whether or not I’ve saved the current draft or finished the scene. I rise from the desk in our hotel suite and gently smooth out any wrinkles that might have formed in my vintage Oscar de la Renta gown. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He captures my hand and raises it to his lips. “Worth waiting for.”

My stomach tumbles. It’s just like I’m seeing him for the first time when we met at that bookstore in London. He was picking up a couple of books to take on a shoot. I was finishing up a signing. That was almost two years ago, and here we are now.

He nods toward my laptop. “Are you at a good place for stopping? We can take a few more—”

“It’s good—great,” I correct myself, squeezing his hand. “And anyways, we can talk about the book later. You won’t have much of a choice when we’re on our way to Fiji. But tonight is about you.”

I can’t resist straightening his already perfect tie, just because I can.

“Your phone is charged?” I nod. “Then you can sneak in another scene in the car or during the commercials. And if any of the acceptance speeches go too long . . .”

Laughter about to erupt, I silence him with a kiss. We pull apart at last, and I can’t even remember what we were talking about. He does that to me. With my thumb, I smooth off the lipstick I inadvertently left on his lips. My shade of red does look nice on him though.

“Shall we?” he asks, taking my hand in his once again.

I nod. He leads me out of the room, down the elevator, and through the lobby to the waiting town car.

The driver scurries to open the door for us. “Ms. Chapman. Mr. Fassbender.”

If this isn’t living the dream, I don’t know what else could possibly compare.

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