Excerpt

Compass North

September 2, 2014 Leave a Comment

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“Compass North” by Stephanie Joyce Cole

Blurb: Reeling from the shock of a suddenly shattered marriage, Meredith flees as far from her home in Florida as she can get without a passport: to Alaska. After a freak accident leaves her presumed dead, she stumbles into a new identity and a new life in a quirky small town. Her friendship with a fiery and temperamental artist and her growing worry for her elderly, cranky landlady pull at the fabric of her carefully guarded secret. When a romance with a local fisherman unexpectedly blossoms, Meredith struggles to find a way to meld her past and present so that she can move into the future she craves. But someone is looking for her, someone who will threaten Meredith’s dream of a reinvented life.

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Excerpt of “Compass North”:

This morning, when Meredith had woken, bleary-eyed and her throat dry, she buried her head in the soft pillow. Going home. She probed the thought gently, thinking about opening the townhouse door, sensing the silent whispers. Was it even home anymore?

On their way to the Fairbanks airport, someone yelped, “Look, a bear!”

Even though it was the last day of the tour, the bus still shuddered to a stop when anyone shouted out a sighting. Meredith had rushed with everyone else to the left side of the bus to squint at the distant-moving speck on the rain-drenched green expanse in Denali National Park, all the time thinking, Will he be at the airport? No, of course not. I didn’t even tell him my flight information. But he could ask Ellen. But no, he won’t be there. Unless he wants to talk about the divorce right away…

“Wow, look at those fall colors!”

At a scenic viewpoint, they all huddled together against the whistling wind and stared at the rolling tundra outside of Fairbanks, with its late summer greens, scarlets, and browns pocketed by hundreds of tiny lakes shining a deep navy blue in the weak afternoon sunlight. The stiff breeze carried the scent of trampled evergreens, wet earth, and the suggestion of still, boggy water. The bite of the wind made her eyes water and blurred her vision. She murmured some words of admiration, but her thoughts were far away. What will I do next? How could Michael do this to me after fifteen years?

Meredith had found her fellow travelers to be a contented and congenial group, solicitous and moderately interested in their only single, and rather withdrawn, slightly nervous fellow traveler. They must have found her odd, she realized, her slender frame swaddled in layers of Florida cotton, while they had prepared for this trip for months, fortifying themselves in down parkas and carrying brightly colored backpacks. She was at least two decades younger than most of them. But they had been kind to her, and after the first few days they realized she preferred to be left alone.

It was one of the last tours of the season, and though the sun often offered a bit of pleasant warmth midday, the nights drew in sharp and bitter. On the road to Fairbanks, they had driven through vistas splashed with streaks of red and gold stretching to a far horizon, and could see a fine new layer of snow had already dusted the lower slopes of distant, craggy peaks. The brief Alaska autumn had arrived, and winter already announced its intentions. But Meredith might as well have been traveling in the vast expanse of some flat, monotonous desert, for all the magnificence of the country registered with her.

And now, as she exited the airport and stepped onto the curb, her travel bag held tight under her arm, her lungs breathing in the cool, crisp air, the bus looming ahead of her, the sound of a plane deafeningly roaring, coming closer…

Later, she would wonder if she had seen the plane crash into the waiting bus. She didn’t think so. All she remembered was the noise, the terrible boom, then the fiery mass where the bus should have been.

Screams erupted then, and voices wailing. Meredith couldn’t absorb it at first, that the bus heading back to Anchorage—the bus she should be on—had just exploded at the far end of the airport parking lot.

She dropped hard onto the concrete curb in terror, sprawled into a sitting position with her legs awkwardly splayed in front of her. She watched in confusion as people streamed out of the terminal. The crowd pushed a few feet ahead, shouting and pointing and holding their hands to faces that wore masks of shock and horror, but the heat and flames kept them at a distance.

Oh my God, that’s our bus, everyone is on board, everyone is there…

Jonas and Angela were right behind me. And Carrie and John were across the aisle…

Oh my God. I should be on that bus. I should be dead.

But I’m not.

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**Click HERE to read an interview with Stephanie Joyce Cole!

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**GIVEAWAY**

*Click HERE to enter to win an 18″ Sterling Silver Compass Pendant, (US residents only)*

StephanieJoyceColePic **About author, Stephanie Joyce Cole:

Stephanie Joyce Cole lived for decades in Alaska. She and her husband recently relocated to Seattle, where they reside with a predatory but lovable Manx cat named Bruno. Stephanie has an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Alaska, Anchorage. When she’s not writing, she’s hiking, creating ceramics, practicing yoga, traveling, volunteering and discovering new ways to have fun–and oh yes, reading, reading, reading.

**Contact Stephanie: Website Facebook Goodreads Twitter

**Buy “Compass North”: Amazon

Aven Ellis

August 19, 2014 2 Comments

About Aven Ellis: Aven Ellis has been writing fiction since she was sixteen. She studied communications at a large Midwestern university, and after graduation, Aven worked as a reporter for a community newspaper, followed by a stint at a public relations agency.

But writing about city council meetings and restaurant franchises was not as much fun as writing for young women trying to figure out their careers and potential boyfriends. So Aven got herself a job in television that allowed her to write at night. Connectivity is Aven’s debut novel; Waiting For Prince Harry and Chronicles of a Lincoln Park Fashionista(New Adult romantic comedy) will be published this year.

Aven lives in Dallas with her family. When she is not writing, Aven enjoys shopping, cooking, connecting with friends on social media, and watching any show that features Gordon Ramsay.

**Contact Aven: Website Facebook Pinterest Twitter

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INTERVIEW

Describe yourself in five words: Talker, Creative, Funny, Supportive, Caring

What does being a writer mean to you? It means being able to bring characters and their stories to life. I love it, it is one of my biggest joys in life, to bring life to a character.

Tell us about your book, “Waiting for Prince Harry”: Waiting for Prince Harry is the story of Kylie Reed, a young women who is waiting for the right time to live her dreams: when she’s been at her job longer, when she has more experience, when she’s married…her life is filed away for the future because she’s afraid of the now. But all of that changes when she meets a gorgeous ginger who happens to be even hotter than Prince Harry, her dream crush.

What was your writing/editing/publishing process like? Waiting for Prince Harry was written in about seven months. My publisher knew I was working on it and asked to read it upon completion. Once she read it, I was offered a contract for it. This process has been easier, because I had already been through it before with Connectivity and knew what to expect. But the reader reaction surprised me! They loved Harrison, and loved the hockey angle so much I’m working on another hockey book right now.

Hard/paperbacks or eBooks? Both!

How did you celebrate when “Waiting for Prince Harry” was published? Ha, I was at work all day so there was no big celebration in my cubicle.

Which other authors inspire you? Holly Martin. We’ve become the best of friends and her writing blows me away.

Describe what would be your ideal day: Grabbing a cup of coffee, turning up Spotify, and writing for hours on end. Then getting in a workout and chatting with people on Twitter and then making a healthy dinner while watching any show with Gordon Ramsay in it.

As an author, what is the best advice you’ve been given? Write your brains out, then write some more, and don’t let anyone tell you no.

What is your favorite writing quote? I really don’t have one.

Every writer must have a…: Thick skin. People aren’t always going to love what you write, and they will let you know it!

Can you tell us about any of your upcoming projects? Chronicles of a Lincoln Park Fashionista is going to be released on September 10^th, and the companion book to that, Surviving The Rachel, will be released in February 2015. And right now I’m writing a story about one of Harrison Flynn’s teammates in a second hockey story.

GUEST POST

Social Media for Authors

I am by no means an expert on how authors should use social media properly. In fact, I’m the LAST person that should be talking about this because not only do I not follow “suggested ways to use social media” but I pretty much ignore advice on the topic.

Why, you ask?

Because being a proper business minded author on social media takes all the fun out of it for me. It’s a place to be myself. If you follow me on Twitter, I’ll talk about anything from the Duchess of Cambridge (Love her) to hot hockey players (hello Tyler Seguin) to what workout I did that night (boxing/weight intervals this evening by the way.)

And I have met so many people on Twitter just by doing that-not necessarily by promoting my own books (which I do, of course) but by engaging people in conversations. By being the goofy, fun, neurotic person I am. On my Facebook page, I post hot guys who helped inspire my heroes in my books. Readers got involved and suggested I add Tattoo Tuesday to the rotation, which I did.

On Instagram, I post pics of my other passions: working out and cooking healthy food. So readers get to see that side of my life, and people who follow me for food find out I’m an author. I have loads of pins on Pinterest, and boards for each character in my current and upcoming books. But I also have pins on my fashion favorites, my TV shows, more recipes than I will ever cook, and hot British actors. Once again, this is all me, Aven Ellis, and people can connect with me on a personal level.

So this is what social media is to me, a place to be myself and meet amazing new people. Is this a marketing approved strategy? Probably not. But am I having fun with a bunch of new friends? Absolutely yes.

And that is what matters most to this author. 🙂

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“Waiting For Prince Harry”: Twenty-four-year-old Kylie Reed has always been a rule follower. Organized and cautious to a fault, her dreams for life are often filed away for future use—when she has a house, when she meets her future husband, when she has been at her visual display job at a chic Dallas boutique longer. Kylie always has a reason for living her life in the future, not in the present, and fears not living her life to the fullest and reaching her dream of becoming a fashion designer.

The only exception to rules, of course, would be running away with Prince Harry. But living in Dallas and not knowing Prince Harry make this a non-option.

Or does it?

Because when Kylie accidentally falls into the lap of a gorgeous ginger guy—yes, even more gorgeous than the real Prince Harry—all bets are off. Kylie’s life takes some unexpected twists and turns thanks to this encounter. Could this stranger be the one to show Kylie how to live in the present?

EXCERPT

We get up and step into the store next to our bench, which happens to be a fancy stationery and candle shop.

As soon as the door closes behind us, Harrison moves over to a candle display on a large round table and takes off his sunglasses. He clips them onto the collar of his shirt, while I push mine up on the top of my head. Now we can see each other’s eyes, and Harrison’s green eyes are sparkling at me.

“That’s better,” Harrison says, smiling at me.

“I agree,” I say, smiling back at him.

“Hello, can I help you find anything?” a saleswoman asks.

Harrison looks at her, but then glances back at me. “I think,” he says, “I’ve already found what I need.”

I rest my hand on the edge of the table to keep myself steady, because the way he’s staring at me right now makes me almost dizzy with excitement.

“Oh, wonderful,” the saleswoman says.

“Yes, it is,” Harrison answers, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Well, please let me know if you need anything else,” she says before walking away.

Harrison then looks straight at me. “I do need something else.”

Ooooh, I really love this place where we are right now.

“And what would that be?”

“Well, obviously I need to buy one of these candles now,” Harrison says, picking up a Seda France box.

“Perfect. These are my favorite candles,” I say smartly.

“Are they now?” Harrison says, raising an eyebrow.

Okay. Candle shopping is an extremely hot activity. Who knew?

“Yes,” I say, picking up one to inhale. “Would you care to smell Japanese Quince?”

Harrison nods. I extend the candle toward him and he wraps his hand around mine, so we are both holding the candle.

And any nerve I had left just completely imploded the second his hand wrapped around mine.

“While I see many things I like at this table,” Harrison says, leaning forward to smell Japanese Quince, “there’s one thing in particular, other than this candle, that I need.”

He stands up straight but keeps his hand wrapped over mine.

“What would that be?” I ask softly.

“Dinner with you. At my place. Tonight.”

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

The Cleaning Agency

July 29, 2014 Leave a Comment

“The Cleaning Agency” by Ayn Bootham

Blurb: Life can be messy sometimes.

Just how messy is something Eva Charles finds out when her husband flees the country with all of their money. Men in tight vests start making unannounced visits and the bank threatens to take her house.

She needs a plan. But for nine years she has raised children, scrubbed kitchens and removed stains from upholstery. What does that qualify her for? Starting up her own cleaning agency of course! But with a twist….Eva’s business is a naked cleaning agency with sexy girls offering all kinds of services…

With the help of a moody handyman, an attractive drug dealer and an eccentric neighbor, Eva tries to keep her life from spiraling out of control.

But she has to get her hands dirty, very dirty, to clean up the mess she is in.

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Excerpt:

For nine years I was a typical suburban housewife, a car pool mom and dutiful wife, spending large parts of the day thinking about what to cook for dinner and where to plant my petunias. I was your basic law-abiding citizen who always got the books back to the library on time and who didn’t even break the speed limit when she was late for a doctor’s appointment.

Then I got one phone call and everything changed.

That was all it took.

One phone call.

It was the bank, informing me of unusual activity on our accounts.

It sounded like a joke. I mean, it had to be a joke. What did unusual activity mean? I tried to think of what I had been buying lately, if I had gone overboard with any retail therapy.

But the bank was not worried by a few big purchases. The bank was concerned about several extremely large withdrawals. I was on the line with an accounts manager or a client liaison person, something like that. I hadn’t really paid attention to anything she said on the phone until she told me that our money was gone.

All of it.

Then she really had my attention.

“But we have overdrafts,” I replied, slowly.

“Well, yes”, she said, kindly. “But these have now also been exhausted.”

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**Contact Ayn:

aynbootham@gmail.com

Glynis Astie

July 8, 2014 4 Comments

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About author, Glynis Astie: Glynis never expected in her wildest dreams to be a writer. After thirteen years in the Human Resources Industry, she decided to stay at home with her two amazing sons. Ever in search of a project, she was inspired to write the story of how she met and married her wonderfully romantic French husband, Sebastien, in six short months. The end result became her first novel, French Twist.

As this novel is only the beginning the story, Glynis has just released the sequel, French Toast and has begun writing the final chapter in the trilogy, French Fry. When she is not writing, she is trying to keep the peace amongst the three men and two cats in her life, finding missing body parts (Lego pieces are small!), supervising a myriad of homework assignments and keeping a tenuous hold on her sanity by consuming whatever chocolate is in the vicinity.

Contact Glynis: Website Facebook Goodreads Twitter

Buy “French Toast”: Amazon Google Play iTunes

INTERVIEW

Describe your writing style in five sentences: Yikes! You started me off with a difficult question. My writing style is very casual. I let the thoughts spill out of my head, sarcasm and all, for the reader to enjoy. I speak directly to the reader often, encasing my questions and rants in parenthesis. I do not have the flair for the dramatic, but prefer to make people laugh. And look at that! I did it in four sentences!

Hard/paperbacks or eBooks? While I love the feel of a book in my hands (and yes, there is a wonderful smell to a book), I prefer the volume of books that I am able to carry with me on my Kindle. A girl has to have options! I am also very happy with the fact the my mischievous three-year-old son cannot lose my place by snatching out whatever random scrap of paper I could find to mark my page in a paperback, so that I could deal whatever his urgent issue happens to be. (Another Angry Birds puzzle, anyone?)

What made you want to become an author? Oddly enough, I never had aspirations to become an author. Truth be told, I HATED writing when I was younger. Over the years, writing became an integral part of my job as a Human Resources Manager (those disciplinary actions can be very tricky) and I found that I had quite an affinity for the written word. After a year of being solely a stay at home mom, I sought a personal project and somehow ended up writing a book! I still remember telling my sister that I had decided to take my adorable meet-cute with my husband and turn it into a Chick Lit novel and thinking that she was going to tell me that I was crazy. Instead, she encouraged me all the way through that book and was an amazing editor. She is also the creative mind behind my gorgeous book covers.

Who or what inspires you? My beautiful boys inspire me on a daily basis. Granted, they often make me want to tear every last hair out of my head and the only thing that prevents me from actually doing this is that I totally cannot pull off the bald look. But they are also wonderful, charming and insightful. They make me strive not only to be a better mother but to be a better person. They give me a unique perspective of the world that I would not trade for anything.

Between writing/editing/publishing, which was your favorite process? I love the process of writing. The concept of pulling a story out of nowhere and nurturing it until it is just the way you want it to be is amazing. (Not to mention REALLY hard.)

How did you celebrate when your first book was published? I jumped around like a little school girl for a good ten minutes and then went out for ice cream with my three boys (husband included.) Nothing says celebration like a brownie sundae!

How do you come up with the titles of your books? My current book titles are fairly easy, since they all start with the word “French” as a reference to my relationship with my very romantic French husband. 😉 I am a big fan of playing on words. I called my first book French Twist since my husband was a most unexpected plot twist in my life. I chose French Toast for the second book as a question for the reader – would Sydney and Louis be raising a glass in celebration or would their marriage be toast? And the next book, will be called French Fry. I am going to leave that one a mystery…

Describe your typical day? A typical day means dropping my older son off at school and running to the gym with my younger son. He gets to play with his friends while I force myself to exercise in an attempt to keep the stress at bay. We then come home, have lunch and I try to convince him that a nap would be a great idea. He absolutely needs the rest (cranky much?) and I need the time to work. Eventually I get him to sleep and I hurry around Twitter, Facebook, blogs and my email account doing my best to catch up with everyone and everything so that I can work on my book. Unfortunately, I never seem to get to it! Before I know it, my older son comes home from school, we do homework, have dinner, play games and get ready for bed. Then I try to make myself do work before falling asleep by 10pm.

What is the most challenging part of being an author? Finding the time to write! At least, that is my current predicament. I try so hard to get everything else done so that I can concentrate on my story, but inevitably life interferes. One of my kids gets sick, a friend needs some last minute help or my house is just so messy that I can’t even look at it anymore. On the rare occasions that I have time to write, inspiration will not always strike. My characters are as tempestuous as I am and I’m guessing that they are pouting after being ignored for so long.

If you could meet any author, who would it be? That is such a tough question. There are so many good choices! My top three would be Agatha Christie, Lucy Maude Montgomery and J.K. Rowling. (I am a HUGE Potterhead.) Since J.K. Rowling is the only one that is still living, that would have to be my choice since I am not currently in possession of a time machine.

What do you want readers to take away from your books? I want them to laugh! As a reader, I tend to go for light, fun books since my life is so busy and can be quite stressful. When I actually have five minutes to myself and I decide to be decadent and read, I would like to laugh out loud. It is such a wonderfully cathartic feeling that I would like to share with as many people as I can.

What are you working on now? I am currently working on the last installment in my French Twist series, French Fry. Sydney and Louis have finally gotten through their three weddings (intrigued, aren’t you?) and are ready to settle into a quiet married life. Given that their courtship and marriage was quite the rollercoaster ride, it is highly unlikely that this will happen for them…

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Blurb of “French Toast”: Sydney Bennett is back! And her pursuit of perfection is alive and well. Naïve to the core, Sydney believed that when she finally married the man of her dreams, the hard part was over. Following a civil ceremony as a means to keep Louis from being deported, Sydney continues to plan the fairytale wedding that she had dreamed of since the age of five. Much to her chagrin, she discovers that her mother-in-law is planning what seems to be a rival wedding in France that SHE has been dreaming about for her only child since before he was born. How will poor Sydney be able to ensure two perfect weddings in the midst of Louis’ fruitless job search? Especially when her mother-in-law’s idea of perfection appears to be having Sydney embarrass herself in front of hundreds of French people that she has never met?

As if she didn’t have enough on her mind already, Sydney finds herself faced with the trials and tribulations of being a wife. Sydney had always heard that marriage was hard, but she thought that this was just a ruse that married couples portrayed in a bid to make single girls feel less desperate. But as the bills pile up and emotions run high, she realizes that there may just be some truth to this statement. And as she watches Louis’ perfection fade away before her very eyes, she begins to wonder if she made a rash decision in marrying a man that she had known for a mere six months.

With all of the obstacles that Sydney and Louis will encounter, will they be raising their glasses in celebration or watching their impulsive marriage crash and burn? One thing is for certain, Sydney and Louis Durand are headed for one hell of a toast…

Excerpt of “French Toast”:

Meet Sydney Durand

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. She couldn’t possibly be serious. Could she? I opened my eyes, looked over at Louis and tried to smile. I can only imagine the look that registered on my face, but I highly doubt it was anything remotely positive. Louis had just finished telling me about his mother’s latest plans for our wedding. I took another deep breath and reminded myself, yet again, that I had agreed to let her plan the wedding in its entirety (with the exception of choosing my wedding dress.) Why would I agree to something so completely insane? It might have had something to do with the fact that this would be our third wedding.

That’s right, I said THIRD wedding and no, I do not have an Elizabeth Taylor complex. And I can prove it! Allow me to give you the short version. After a disastrous romantic history dating back to college, I, Sydney Bennett, was swept off of my feet by the incredible Frenchman, Louis Durand. Louis was in California on business, but following our first week together, he accepted a transfer from his company’s Paris office to the San Jose office. To the great shock of our families and friends, we became engaged a few weeks later. We began planning a beautiful wedding in Monterey for the following September, only to be thwarted by Louis’ unexpected job loss in January. In order to avoid his deportation, we were married shortly thereafter in my home town of Haverstraw, New York. So that my dreams of a beautiful wedding would not be crushed, we elected to have the originally planned event in Monterey as well. Everyone needs gorgeous wedding photos! The first wedding was definitely more practical than gorgeous.

One would think that two weddings would be more than enough for one couple in love, but due to Louis’ status as an only child with an extremely large extended family and his mother’s dream of a wedding that his whole town (population four hundred) would attend, we simply had to have one more wedding. Besides, a wedding in the beautiful French countryside sounded amazing, right? This way my family and I would have the opportunity to experience the wedding customs of Louis’ country as he and his family would experience the customs of ours at the wedding in Monterey. (The first wedding was kind of light on customs as it was predominantly a vehicle to keep Louis in the country.) My mother and siblings were thrilled at the prospect of a trip to France, while my father bemoaned the fact that he would have to set foot in traitorous territory. He is German and likes to complain. Although I was absolutely sure that he was practically drooling at the prospect of the gastronomic experiences in his future.

While three weddings did afford a certain amount of stress, in the end, I think that it helped me. My mother had planned the first wedding (in the span of one week), I was planning the second wedding (in the span of one year) and Louis’ mother was planning the third (in the span of Louis’ lifetime.) This allowed for all parties to end up with a wedding they were happy with. I must admit that the idea having three different wedding dresses is kind of fun. Hey, now! There is no need to judge! The three events are very different levels of formality. The first was an informal town hall wedding, the second would be a formal evening wedding and the third would be an afternoon wedding in the French countryside. If you really think about it, you will realize that having three wedding dresses is an absolute necessity.

Now that my seemingly ludicrous statement of three weddings has been explained, we can return to the problem at hand. Louis has just informed me that his mother, Simone, has purchased an ensemble for me to wear to the rehearsal dinner. (Honestly, this is becoming comical. This will be our THIRD rehearsal dinner.) Let me remind you that Louis’ mother has a very…particular fashion sense. All of the garments she wears are short, tight, brightly colored and/or bedazzled. Given the fact that she is sixty years old, my hat goes off to her. I hope that I have the guts to wear miniskirts into my sixties. She is my hero! Having said that, I have never been one to dress that….um…how do I put this? Let’s just say that my taste is slightly more conservative.

Louis was practically in tears from laughing so hard as he described the dress to me. Simone had chosen a gold sequined halter mini dress with red satin roses on the straps and red satin ruffles along the bottom of the skirt. She also saw fit to purchase red satin stilettos with matching red satin roses on the toes. I resisted the urge to strangle my husband and began to pace the room. Clearly I made a serious error in judgment when I allowed Simone to make all decisions for the wedding except for my wedding dress. In my defense, I really didn’t think that her purview extended to my wardrobe choices for pre wedding events. It was becoming quite obvious that I had a lot to learn about her…

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

**Click HERE to enter to win a $35 Amazon Gift Card!

BOOK FEATURE: Unforgettable You

May 19, 2014 1 Comment

“Unforgettable You” by Georgina Penney

Blurb: After months working on an oil rig in the Atlantic Ocean, engineer Jo Blaine can’t wait to get home. Her job is tough, and she is desperate for some long overdue girl time. The last thing Jo needs when she walks through her front door is to find a strange man staying in her house. When she learns that her uninvited guest is none other than Stephen Hardy, she’s tempted to head straight back out to sea.

Stephen has always felt guilty for the part he played in ruining Jo’s life years earlier and immediately jumps at the chance to make things up to her by looking after her apartment and her giant cranky cat. It takes some fast talking, but Jo is finally convinced to let him stay. And by the time she leaves for her next shift at work, they’re both eagerly anticipating her return.

But as they grow closer, it soon becomes clear Jo is hiding something about her past that is coming back to haunt her. After a lifetime of taking care of herself and her sister Amy, Jo isn’t used to sharing her problems, especially when they involve her messy family history. But when threats start to escalate, Jo must decide whether to trust Stephen before her stubborn independence places them all at risk.

EXCERPT:

This was not cool. Not. Cool. Her house was supposed to be empty. Her cat was supposed to be at her sister’s and there wasn’t supposed to be a . . . man anywhere within a good twenty metres of her right now, even if he was her best mate. She’d spent the last sixteen weeks surrounded by Y chromosomes and all she’d been looking forward to was a blessedly empty, male-free environment.

Scott finally answered, his tone suitably shocked. ‘Jo? What time is it over there?’

‘It’s eight in the morning. I’m home. In Perth. Where are you?’

‘Home?’ Scott’s deep voice momentarily took on choirboy heights he hadn’t achieved since pre-puberty. ‘You’re supposed to be on holiday in Brazil!’

Jo squeezed her eyes tightly shut. ‘Yes. Home. I cancelled the holiday because I wanted to be home. You know, that place I like to come when I’m not on some rusting oil rig in the middle of nowhere? You know that place? The place you were looking after. The place currently being lived in by someone who has feet the size of yours. The place currently containing my cat, who should be at Amy’s.’

‘Ahh. Yeah. About that.’

‘Yeah, about what? What the hell is going on?’

There was a moment of silence and then a dull thud as if something had been hit, quite hard. ‘I’ll explain, but it’s probably better I do it in person.’

‘What? Why? I just want an answer and I want it now!’

‘You’ll get one . . . just . . . just stay there. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. We’ll get all this sorted out. I’m sorry, Jo.’

Jo scowled, turning around, taking in the disorder and feeling a renewed sense of outrage. ‘You bloody well better be. And bring me some goddamn coffee. I haven’t slept properly for days and all I wanted was to have a shower and fall into bed and instead—’

‘Ten minutes,’ he said with an edge of frustration in his tone that had better not be aimed at her. Given the mood she was in at the present moment, she’d be able to take Scott on one-on-one. They didn’t call her Krakatoa out on the rigs for nothing.

Jo hung up, looking around until her eyes settled on her bedroom door.

There was no way Scott would make it in ten minutes, let alone fifteen, and she was tired.

Shooing Boomba out of the way with her foot, she headed for her room.

The feeling of tiredness was blasted to smithereens the minute she pushed the door open, took in the contents of her bed and roared with rage. ‘Who the hell are you?!’

‘AAGGHH! Gnph.’ The very naked, very buff and all-over tanned blond man who’d until that moment been sleeping spread-eagled on her bed shouted in surprise, leapt to his feet, tripped over Jo’s cat and fell facedown on the floor.

**Contact Georgina Penney: Website Facebook Twitter

Lydia Laceby

April 28, 2014 6 Comments

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About author, Lydia Laceby: Lydia Laceby is a co-founder of the fiction book blog, Novel Escapes. Since 2009, she has read and reviewed as much women’s fiction as humanly possible while designing, organizing and expanding the blog from two reviewers to seven.

In her spare time, she knits cute baby hats, would pick cheese over chocolate, and longs for the days she was able to cheat on her allergy free diet.

Lydia began her career writing a soap opera at the tender age of thirteen. It never aired. Redesigning Rose is her first novel.

**Contact Lydia: Blog/Website Facebook Twitter GoodReads

**Click HERE to buy “Redesigning Rose” on Amazon, or click HERE to buy it on Chapters-Indigo!

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INTERVIEW

Describe your writing style in five sentences: The writer in me is kind of at a loss for words with this one. Can I say five words instead of sentences? Humorous. Concise. Fun. Romantic and Readable.

Salty or sweet? Salty! But I do love a good combo of the two, peanut butter and chocolate being one of my favorites!

How did you come up with the title of “Redesigning Rose?” I wanted gardening to come into play in some way because there is a strong gardening theme in the book, and I wanted some form of renewal and growth portrayed because the main character, Rose, goes through a massive change and stage of renewal and growth. One day when I was playing with title words – I had several pages of ideas – I stumbled upon Redesigning Rose and it stuck. I had only intended it to be my working title, but as the novel progressed it seemed to fit it more and more, so I decided to keep it.

When did you know you wanted to be a writer? When I was eleven or twelve. I began writing a soap opera. Apparently I knew everything there was to know about love. Ha!

At what time of day do you work the best? Mid-day. But I try to cram it in whenever I can.

Do you have a writing ritual? Not particularly. Lately I’ve been writing on Fridays because I now have it off, and weekends. I started writing on my subway commute this week. I’m kind of all over the place at the moment.

Which term do you like the best, “chick lit” or “women’s fiction”? I like them both. I’ve always liked the term chick lit because I think it’s fun and catchy and cute. I’m not sure I’d categorize Redesigning Rose as chick lit though because everyone has their own definition of the term and some might think that makes it light and fluffy, and while it is to a certain degree with humor in others it’s quite serious.

What is the one book that you could read more than once? I’ve read Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett at least ten times. It’s my absolute favorite book and I was pleasantly surprised when I enjoyed the mini-series when it was finally made as well. Usually books made into movies never turn out well for me.

How did you celebrate when “Redesigning Rose” was published? If I remember correctly there was lots of Prosecco involved and my hubby brought me home flowers, the bubbly and some chocolate. It was a great night, and I can’t wait to do it again!

If you weren’t an author, you’d be a…: Detective or auditor. I’m a stickler for detail and adherence to the rules. I notice the odd and unusual and can figure out cause and effect like nobody’s business. It’s my specialty.

What is the best advice you’ve been given? To give a firm handshake.

What are you working on right now? My current work-in-progress is a about a heroine who has an unusual way of dealing with conflict. One day her method implodes and every angry and annoyed thought she’s ever had is exposed to the very people she’s been keeping them from turning her life upside down.

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RedesigningRoseCoverPic Blurb of “Redesigning Rose”:

Rose Parker’s husband has been lying. About everything.

When a conversation with her husband triggers questions, Rose Parker uncovers alarming answers that shatter her perfect life. But it is only when she shoves her belongings in her SUV and drives off that Rose realizes just how far from perfect her life actually was. She has nowhere to turn.

While debating between distressing sleeping arrangements–her mother’s house full of questions or a hotel room with too much solitude–Rose bumps into an acquaintance from her gardening class and allows bubbly, exuberant Becky to indulge her in a wild night full of whiskey, weeping, and whispered confidences. Suddenly, Rose has a new friend, a roof over her head, and two gorgeous men moving her out of her marital home.

As Rose struggles to settle into her new life, she remains determined to comprehend her past. And with time and distance and especially wine, comes knowledge. Frank wasn’t the only one lying to her. Rose was lying to herself.

Excerpt

Frank looked the same. He hadn’t grown two heads or horns and his face wasn’t green. He didn’t look like a monster, he looked like a man. Like the man I fell in love with, the man who’d taken my heart. And then stomped on it.

I stood in the foyer and shifted my weight from foot to foot. Frank dragged a hand through his dark hair, the same gesture he had made when he’d first asked me out that frigid, rainy November day. We had bumped into each other, or rather the unruly umbrellas we both wielded against raging winds and sideways sleet did, while we both sought shelter under a toy store awning. We flattened ourselves against the display window, full of Christmas decorations and gift ideas, and thrust our umbrellas out to create a shield.

“Do you think we can risk getting to the coffee shop without drowning, or should we stay here and risk becoming icebergs?” he said, pointing to the water pooling at our feet.

My teeth chattered as I laughed. He was so handsome, and after we chatted easily over hot chocolate, saying “no” wasn’t an option when he ran his hand through his hair and asked me to meet him for dinner the following evening.

It felt like centuries ago.

He plucked at the side of his glasses and raised them.

“You’re wearing your glasses?” I said, surprised because he avoided them like they were the same wedgie-inducing instruments of his youth. Frank had to be freshly shaved, contact-lens wearing, and impeccably dressed at all times. He was a thousand times worse than a woman primping before a casual dinner, let alone a special event.

He shrugged. Either he had lost a contact, didn’t care about my presence, or wanted me to think he was comfortable, that we were comfortable. I couldn’t decipher which.

I released a long sigh.

“I’m so sorry, Rose. I don’t know what I was thinking. I should have told you. About the money, about everything.” His face flamed crimson. We both knew what “everything” meant. And we both knew he would never have admitted that, even with his saying it now.

“It’s over,” I said, shocking myself with the absolute finality my voice carried.

“But we can work on it. We can get counseling. Don’t give up on us,” he pleaded, reaching his hand out.

I flinched and yanked my arm to my side. I looked away and noticed a paper-wrapped bouquet on the kitchen counter.

Frank’s eyes trailed mine.

I strode down the hall and stopped. The kitchen sparkled. The dishwasher hummed. My houseplants hadn’t shriveled. Had he hired a cleaning lady? There was no way he did this himself.

Frank picked up the bouquet. “I’m really sorry, Rose. I got your favorite flowers.”

I shoved the package away. My eyes landed on another item cluttering the counter.

A Tiffany’s box. And it was far from tiny. The more substantial the gift, the more colossal the transgression.

Frank picked up the package and held it out with a wide grin and slight shrug of his shoulders.

I smacked the box out of his hand, turned, and stalked back down the hall. Frank’s guilt gift squealed across the ceramic tiles before bouncing off the wall with a thud.

“Rose? Rose, wait,” he said, jogging to catch up to me.

I whipped around. “I need to come back and get some more things. Maybe this weekend. I’ll leave the key in the mailbox. It would be better if you weren’t here.”

“But…”

“Did you ever even love me, Frank?”

Hurt flickered across his face. And then fear. “I did. I still do. Please, Rose. Don’t do this. I need you. I love you.”

I stared at him for a moment before speaking. “I don’t believe you.”

I wrenched open the door and stumbled to the driveway. The sound of our front door slamming echoed down the street. I lurched to the truck and snatched at the door handle, terrified of an untimely encounter with a neighbor. My sweaty fingers slipped.

“Shit. Fuck,” I swore like Becky was inadvertently teaching me to while I hopped around flicking my wrist. I’d hacked off half of my index fingernail. Across the street, Mrs. Mendleson’s lilacs wiggled. I froze, petrified she would saunter over and comment on my absence. I sneaked a peek while reattempting the handle. Emerald eyes and black bangs.

“Becky,” I hissed.

“Just thought I’d go for a walk,” she said, rushing over and pushing me around to the passenger side. She shoved me up into the seat and buckled me in. I slumped forward and moaned the entire way home while Becky rubbed my back.

Frank didn’t even bother coming outside.

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Dangled Carat

April 11, 2014 5 Comments

DangledCarat-BarnesAndNoble-1600x1000 copy

“Dangled Carat” by Hilary Grossman

Blurb: Hilary had gotten used to dating the commitment-phobic Marc, thirteen years her senior. They had a great relationship–why rush into things? She saw no need to pressure him for marriage, believing that when the time was right, he would propose. But after they had been together for four years, their friends decided to take matters into their own hands, pushing Marc to propose and making Hilary realize how much she really did want to marry the man that she loved. Unfortunately, Marc still wasn’t ready–and their friends’ meddling in the form of a faux engagement party led to a disastrous New Year’s Eve that brought their relationship to an inevitable turning point.

Excerpt:

They say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. But I swear, the way to a girl’s heart is through her closet. And this closet was the kind of closet that dreams were made of.

“You like?” he asked.

“Like?” I asked. “Like isn’t the word for it. This closet is bigger than my bedroom!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice. I thought you’d like it.” He turned around. As I followed him out of the closet, all I could think of was how I wished I could have stayed in that closet forever. That’s how nice it was.

Who am I kidding? All I could picture was how amazing it would be if I could live here….

Marc didn’t lead me downstairs. Instead he walked over to the sliding glass door which opened onto the balcony. He grabbed my hand and guided me outside. The smell of the sea was so strong. “I love this smell,” I remarked as I inhaled deeply. “And look at the white caps from the crashing wave,” I said as I pointed. “They’re beautiful.”

“I think someone else is more beautiful,” he said as he moved a little closer to me. I offered him a sly smile in return. After a few moments of gazing at the ocean in silence, he placed his right hand on the small of my back and his fingers slid under my tee-shirt and slowly across. His gentle caress stopped when he reached my side. He squeezed gently. A small electric current jolted through my body. I am sure I wasn’t the only one who felt it, but unfortunately he remembered about that drink, and loosened his grip all too quickly.

HilaryGrossman **About author, Hilary Grossman:

Hilary Grossman dated a guy so commitment-phobic that she was able to write a book about their relationship. She is currently the CFO of a beverage alcohol importer and lives on Long Island.

**Contact Hilary: Blog Facebook – author page Facebook – blog page Twitter

**Buy “Dangled Carat”: Amazon Barnes & Noble – print

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A Questionable Friendship

April 10, 2014 2 Comments

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“A Questionable Friendship” by Samantha March

Blurb: Brynne Ropert and Portland Dolish have been best friends since being paired as roommates in college. Seven years later they are now twenty-five, married, and living in Maine–– but the two women couldn’t be more different. Brynne finds fulfillment in her life as a wife, mother and owner of a small café and bookshop, but is struggling to expand her family. Portland is still coping with her mother’s death during her childhood, and her marriage is unraveling before her eyes. Portland envies her friend’s seemingly stable and easy life while Brynne doesn’t understand the growing distance between them and cannot begin to guess what secret Portland is hiding about her husband and crumbling marriage. While one woman feels shut out, the other enters into a web of lies to protect herself.

A Questionable Friendship explores what really makes someone a true friend, a support system, a sister. How much trust goes into a friendship and when is being a friend not enough? Brynne and Portland’s story will attempt to answer those questions, and show that happily ever after isn’t in the cards for everyone.

Excerpt:

I lay in bed by myself that night, as Trent said he still had some reports to look at. I flipped onto my stomach, my favorite sleeping position, and tried to will myself to sleep. But my mind wouldn’t shut off. I flashed to the papers I found in Trent’s desk last night, purely on accident. I had never thought to snoop on my husband of two years. I was trying to find our tax returns from last year to give to the accountant, as we were severely behind and the April deadline was just around the corner. I had tried calling Trent to see where they were, but his phone was going to straight to voicemail. I knew he was driving home and sometimes his service cut in and out, so I didn’t think anything of it. I decided to find the papers myself, mostly out of boredom and the need to do something.

Trent’s office in our 2200 square foot ranch home was on the first floor, all the way to the east. I rarely ventured in there as I had no reason too, only popping in when Trent was working. It felt a little foreign being there, but I sat at his desk chair and looked around me. His desk wasn’t just some shoddy little thing tucked into the corner, no, the desk ran almost the full length of the wall, big enough for three people to easily fit at. He had one desktop computer set up and a laptop as well, and he carried yet another laptop with him on business trips. A printer that doubled as a scanner sat on one corner, and a fax machine on another. He had multiple calendars hung up with agendas scribbled on the majority of the dates, and another smaller calendar that sat to the right of the desktop. It was opened to that date, March 14, and scribbled on there was “Petosi.” He had been in that town for the past two nights, and was due home late in the night.

After some searching, I finally found the drawer that seemed to hold important records. Our passports were in there, our wedding license, birth certificates, and deed to the house. I found the titles to both our vehicles, but no tax information. I frowned, trying to think of another spot he would have them. I slipped all the papers back in the appropriate files and shut the drawer, and when I did, a single piece of paper had floated down to me, from somewhere at the top of the desk. I grabbed the sheet and read over the words, my eyes growing wide, then squinting as I read and re-read. My body turned cold as I sat in shock, trying to process what I had read. When I realized I’d been sitting there for probably thirty minutes doing absolutely nothing I jumped, understanding that Trent could walk through the door at any minute and find me. Then what would I say?

Carefully, I pushed myself up and climbed onto the office chair, putting the piece of paper back where I thought it had come from. From my new vantage point, I saw the top of his desk was riddled with other papers and…a calendar. I swallowed hard as I peered closer and saw what was written in under March 13. My stomach heaving, I quickly left the office after righting the chair to its original spot, and fled to the bathroom.

I blinked back tears in bed as I forced myself to calm my mind. Trent had some explaining to do sure, but how did I tell him what I had found? Did that really even matter in the grand scheme of things? But knowing the Trent as of lately, he would try to turn this around on me and make me look like the bad person. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed for sleep. I just wanted to sleep, to forget about what I had found. The day had been torturous enough, trying to make everything seem like it was hunky dory and nothing out of place. And what would tomorrow bring? More questions. And next week – Trent would be gone for two weeks. Would he be going where he said he was? What was he actually doing on his trips away?

The bedroom door opened and I saw Trent enter the room, already in just his boxers. I let my breathing become even so he would think I was asleep.

He plugged his cell phone in and set it on the nightstand, then pulled the covers back and crawled in. I felt his cold feet touch mine and jerked involuntarily. “Are you awake?” he whispered. I could feel his erection pressing into my back, and knew what he wanted. He probably touched me on purchase.

“Mmmph,” I mumbled, not opening my eyes.

“Port. You awake?” he asked again, clearly not getting the hint as his hand wandered to my breast.

I rolled away and made more sleeping noises, begging in my mind for him to leave me alone. He stayed quiet for another moment, then finally rolled the other way.

I was off the hook – at least for one night.

SamanthaMarchPic **About author, Samantha March:

Samantha March is an author, editor, publisher, blogger, and all around book lover. She runs the popular book/women’s lifestyle blog ChickLitPlus, which keeps her bookshelf stocked with the latest reads and up to date on all things health, fitness, fashion, and celebrity related. In 2011 she launched her independent publishing company Marching Ink and has three published novels – Destined to Fail, The Green Ticket and A Questionable Friendship. When she isn’t reading, writing, or blogging, you can find her cheering for the Green Bay Packers. Samantha lives in Iowa with her husband and Vizsla puppy.

**Contact Samantha: Website Facebook GoodReads Twitter

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Fly Away

April 3, 2014 Leave a Comment

FlyAwayCoverPic

“Fly Away” by Kristin Hannah

Excerpt:

Chapter One

September 2, 2010
10:14 pm

She felt a little woozy. It was nice, like being wrapped in a warm-from-the-dryer blanket. But when she came to, and saw where she was, it wasn’t so nice.

She was sitting on a closed toilet seat in a restroom stall, slumped over, with tears drying on her cheeks. How long had she been here? She got slowly to her feet and left the bathroom, pushing her way through the theater’s crowded lobby, ignoring the judgmental looks cast her way by the beautiful people drinking champagne beneath a glittering, nineteenth century chandelier. The movie must be over.

Outside, she kicked her ridiculous patent leather pumps into the shadows. In her expensive black nylons, she walked in the spitting rain down the dirty Seattle sidewalk toward home.

A bright pink Martini Bar sign caught her attention. A few people were clustered together outside the front door, smoking and talking beneath a protective overhang.

Even as she vowed to pass by, she found herself turning, reaching for the door, going inside. She slipped into the dark, crowded interior and headed straight for the long, mahogany bar.

“What can I get for you?” asked a thin, artsy-looking man with hair the color of a tangerine and more hardware on his face than Sears carried in the nuts and bolts aisle.

“Tequila straight shot,” she said.

She drank the first shot and ordered another. The loud music comforted her. She drank another straight shot and swayed to the beat. All around her people were talking and laughing. It felt a little like she was part of all that activity.

A man in an expensive Italian suit sidled up beside her. He was tall and obviously fit, with blond hair that had been carefully cut and styled. Banker, probably, or corporate lawyer. Too young for her, of course. He couldn’t be much past thirty-five. How long was he there, trolling for a date, looking for the best looking woman in the room? One drink, two?

Finally, he turned to her. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew who she was and that small recognition seduced her. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“I don’t know. Can you?” Was she slurring her words? That wasn’t good. And she couldn’t think clearly.

His gaze moved from her face, down to her breasts, and then back to her face. It was a look that stripped past any pretense. “I’d say a drink at the very least.”

“I don’t usually pick up strangers,” she lied. Lately, there were only strangers in her life. Everyone else, everyone who mattered, had forgotten about her. She could really feel that Xanax kicking in now, or was it the tequila?

He touched her chin, a jawline caress that made her shiver. The boldness of it, just touching her; no one did that anymore. “I’m Troy,” he said.

She looked up into his blue eyes and felt the bone crushing weight of her loneliness. When was the last time a man had wanted her? She couldn’t even remember.

“I’m Tully Hart,” she said.

“I know.”

He kissed her. He tasted sweet, of some kind of liquor, and of cigarettes. Or maybe pot. She wanted to lose herself in pure physical sensation, to dissolve like a bit of candy.

She wanted to forget everything that had gone wrong with her life, and how it was that she’d ended up in a place like this, alone in a sea of strangers.

“Kiss me again,” she said, hating the pathetic pleading she heard in her voice. It was how she’d sounded as a child, back when she’d been a little girl with her nose pressed to the window, waiting for her mother to return. What’s wrong with me? that little girl had asked anyone who would listen, but there had never been an answer. Tully reached out for him, pulling him close, but even as he kissed her and pressed his body into hers, she felt herself starting to cry, and when her tears started, there was no way to hold them back.

***

September 3, 2010
2:01 am

Tully was the last person to leave the bar. The doors banged shut behind her; the neon sign hissed and clicked off. It was past two now; the Seattle streets were empty. Hushed.

Traffic made the pavement hum beneath her bare feet. She made her way down the slick sidewalk, a little unsteady on her feet. A man had kissed her – a stranger – and she’d started to cry.

Pathetic. No wonder he’d backed away.

Rain pelted her, almost overwhelmed her. She thought about stopping, tilting her head back and drinking it in until she drowned.

That would be good. Drowning.

It seemed to take hours to get home. At her condominium building, she pushed past the doorman without making eye contact.

In the elevator, she saw herself in the wall of mirrors.

Oh, God.

She looked terrible. Her auburn hair – in need of coloring – was a bird’s nest, mascara ran like war paint down her cheeks.

The elevator doors opened and she stepped out into the hallway. Her balance was so off it took four tries to get her key into the lock. By the time she opened the door, she was dizzy and her headache had roared back to life.

Somewhere between the dining room and the living room, she banged into a chrome side table and almost fell. Only a last minute Hail Mary grab for the sofa saved her. She sank onto the thick, down filled white cushion with a sigh. The table in front of her was piled high with mail. Bills and magazines. Junk mail.

She slumped back and closed her eyes, thinking what a mess her life had become.

“Damn you, Katie Ryan,” she whispered to the best friend who wasn’t there. This loneliness was unbearable. But her best friend was gone. Dead. That was what had started all of it. Losing Kate. How pitiful was that? Tully had begun to plummet at her best friend’s death and she hadn’t been able to pull out of the dive. “I need you.” Then she screamed it: “I need you!”

Silence.

She let her head fall forward. Did she fall asleep? Maybe…

When she opened her eyes again, she stared, bleary-eyed, at the pile of mail on her coffee table. A Star magazine lay on top – a small, business card size photograph of her was in the upper right corner. Beneath her name was a single, terrible word.

Addict.

She reached forward, grabbed the magazine. It was a small story; not even a full page.

The Real Story behind the rumors.

Aging isn’t easy for any woman in the public eye, but it may be proving especially difficult for Tully Hart, the ex-star of the once phenom talk show The Girlfriend Hour. Ms. Hart’s goddaughter, Marah Ryan, contacted Star exclusively. Ms. Ryan, 20, confirms that the fifty-year-old Hart has been struggling lately with demons she’s had all her life. In recent months, Hart has “gained an alarmingamount of weight” and been abusing drugs and alcohol, according to Ms. Ryan–
Marah.

The betrayal hurt so badly she couldn’t breathe. She read the rest of the story and then let the magazine slide to the floor.

The pain she’d been holding at bay for months, years, roared to life, sucking her into the bleakest, loneliest place she’d ever been. For the first time, she couldn’t even imagine crawling out of this pit.

She staggered to her feet, her vision blurred by tears, and reached for her car keys. She couldn’t live like this anymore.

KristinHannahPic **About author, Kristin Hannah:

Kristin Hannah is the New York Times bestselling author of twenty-one novels. A former lawyer turned writer, she is the mother of one son and lives with her husband in the Pacific Northwest and Hawaii.

**Contact Kristin: Website Facebook

Excerpt

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