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Lizzie Lamb

Holly Jolly Chick Lit Hop

December 5, 2017 Leave a Comment


If you thought hopping was only done by bunnies at Easter, you haven’t experienced Chick Lit Chat HQ’s annual Holly Jolly Chick Lit Hop! 62 bestselling and award-winning authors in the Chick Lit and Rom Com genres are participating in this year’s fun-filled event and each one is doing a fabulous giveaway. Books, swag, and assorted holiday treats are all up for grabs! In addition, you can enter to win one of three Grand Prizes ($100 Amazon gift cards) on the hop’s group page.

The celebration runs from Monday, Dec. 4th thru Friday, Dec. 15th, so strap on that mistletoe and fa-la-la-ollow along on Facebook. This hop is guaranteed to fill you with the Christmas spirit!

Join the party at the Holly Jolly Chick Lit Hop Facebook group where you’ll get to interact with readers, as well as the authors themselves. You’ll find each day’s featured authors, along with the links to their pages/giveaways, in the pinned post at the top of the group. Can’t wait to see you there!


Monday, Dec. 4th

Tracie Banister https://www.facebook.com/tracie.banister

Beth Carter https://www.facebook.com/authorbethcarter

Whitney Dineen

https://www.facebook.com/Whitney-Dineen-11687019412/

Karin Gillespie https://www.facebook.com/karingillespieauthor/

Kate O’Keeffe https://www.facebook.com/kateokeeffeauthor/

 

Tuesday, Dec. 5th

Annabelle Costa

https://www.facebook.com/Annabelle-Costa-894496980704700/

Susan Hatler https://www.facebook.com/authorsusanhatler/

Kate Kisset
https://www.facebook.com/KateKisset/

Kirsty McManus https://www.facebook.com/kirstymcmanusauthor

Robyn Neeley

https://www.facebook.com/RobynNeeleyAuthor/

 

Wednesday, Dec. 6th

Sylvia Ashby https://www.facebook.com/sylviaashbywriter/

Hannah Ellis https://www.facebook.com/novelisthannahellis

Cat Lavoie https://www.facebook.com/CatLavoieBooks

Becky Monson https://www.facebook.com/AuthorBeckyMonson/

Jennifer Peel https://www.facebook.com/jenniferpeelauthor/

 

Thursday, Dec. 7th

Michele Brouder https://www.facebook.com/MicheleBrouder/

Melinda Curtis
https://www.facebook.com/MelindaCurtisAuthor/

Liz Durano https://www.facebook.com/Lizduranobooks/

Diane Michaels https://www.facebook.com/dianemichaelsauthor/

Holly Tierney-Bedord https://www.facebook.com/HollyRecommends/

 

Friday, Dec. 8th

Hilary Grossman https://www.facebook.com/HilaryGrossmanAuthor/

Beth Labonte https://www.facebook.com/bethlabontebooks/

Nikki LeClair https://www.facebook.com/NikkiLeClairBooks/

Heidi Renee Mason https://www.facebook.com/HeidiReneeMason/

Susan Murphy https://www.facebook.com/susanmurphyauthor/

Natalina Reis https://www.facebook.com/authornatalinareis/

Saturday, Dec. 9th

Amy Avanzino https://www.facebook.com/AmyAvanzino/

Susannah Nix https://www.facebook.com/susannahnix

Cassandra O’Leary https://www.facebook.com/cassandraolearyauthor

Michelle Jo Quinn https://www.facebook.com/MichelleJoQuinnAuthor/

Nicole Waggoner https://www.facebook.com/NicoleWaggonerAuthorCircusofWomen/

Sunday, Dec. 10th

Mary Frame https://www.facebook.com/AuthorMaryFrame/

Sarah-Jane Fraser

https://www.facebook.com/sjfraserauthor/

Amy Gettinger

https://www.facebook.com/Amy-Gettinger-Author-1412625005719904/

Lizzie Lamb https://www.facebook.com/LizzieLambwriter/

Joslyn Westbrook https://www.facebook.com/JoslynWestbrookOfficial

 

Monday, Dec. 11th

Jayne Denker https://www.facebook.com/JayneDenkerAuthor/

Angie Ellington https://www.facebook.com/angienellingtonbooks

Ciara Knight https://www.facebook.com/Ciaraknightwrites/

C.L. Ogilvie https://www.facebook.com/CLOgilvie/

Meredith Schorr https://www.facebook.com/MeredithSchorrAuthor/

Stacey Wiedower https://www.facebook.com/StaceyWiedower.author/

Tuesday, Dec. 12th

Glynis Astie https://www.facebook.com/glynisastieauthor

Renee Conoulty

https://www.facebook.com/ReneeConoultyAuthor/

Jenny Gardiner https://www.facebook.com/jennygardinerbooks

Stacy Juba https://www.facebook.com/Stacy-Juba-100155471301/

Tracy Krimmer https://www.facebook.com/krimmerauthor/

 

Wednesday, Dec. 13th

Traci Andrighetti https://www.facebook.com/traciandrighettiauthor/

Kathryn Biel https://www.facebook.com/kathrynrbiel

Monique McDonell https://www.facebook.com/MoniqueMcDonellAuthor

Denise Stout https://www.facebook.com/DeniseStoutAuthor/

Melanie Summers https://www.facebook.com/MJSummersAuthorPage

 

Thursday, Dec. 14th

Anne John-Ligali https://www.facebook.com/annejohnligali/

Colette Kebell

https://www.facebook.com/ColetteKebellAuthor/

Jennie Marts https://www.facebook.com/JennieMartsBooks/

Clodagh Murphy https://www.facebook.com/clodaghmurphyauthor

Tess Thompson https://www.facebook.com/AuthorTessThompson/

 

Friday, Dec. 15th

Melissa Baldwin https://www.facebook.com/authormelissabaldwin/

Aimee Brown https://www.facebook.com/authoraimeebrown

Karen M. Cox https://www.facebook.com/karenmcox1932/

Lindsay Detwiler https://www.facebook.com/lindsayanndetwiler

Barbara Valentin https://www.facebook.com/Platespinner/

Filed Under: Isabella Tagged With: Aimee Brown, Amy Avanzino, Amy Gettinger, Angie Ellington, Annabelle Costa, Anne John-Ligali, Authors, Barbara Valentin, Becky Monson, Beth Carter, Beth Labonte, Books, C.L. Ogilvie, Cassandra O’Leary, Cat Lavoie, Chick-Lit, Ciara Knight, Clodagh Murphy, Colette Kebell, Contemporary Romance, Denise Stout, Diane Michaels, Glynis Astie, Hannah Ellis, Heidi Renee Mason, Hilary Grossman, Holiday reads, Holly Jolly Chick Lit Hop, Holly Tierney-Bedord, Jayne Denker, Jennie Marts, Jennifer Peel, Jenny Gardiner, Joslyn Westbrook, Karen M. Cox, Karin Gillespie, Kate Kisset, Kate O'Keefe, Kathryn Biel, Krist McManus, Lindsay Detwiler, Liz Durano, Lizzie Lamb, Mary Frame, Melanie Summers, Melinda Curtis, Melissa Baldwin, Meredith Schorr, Michele Brouder, Michelle Jo Quinn, Monique McDonell, Natalina Reis, Nicole Waggoner, Nikki LeClair, Renee Conoulty, Robyn Neeley, Sarah-Jane Fraser, Stacey Wiedower, Stacy Juba, Susan Hatler, Susan Murphy, Susannah Nix, Sylvia Ashby, Tess Thompson, Traci Andrighetti, Tracie Banister, Tracy Krimmer, Whitney Dineen, Women's Fiction

Boot Camp Bride

February 24, 2015 7 Comments

BootCampBrideCoverPic

“Boot Camp Bride” by Lizzie Lamb

Blurb: Take an up-for-anything rookie reporter. Add a world-weary photo-journalist. Put them together . . . light the blue touch paper and stand well back! Posing as a bride-to-be, Charlee Montague goes undercover at a boot camp for brides in Norfolk (England) to photograph supermodel Anastasia Markova looking less than perfect. At Charlee’s side and posing as her fiancé, is Rafael Ffinch award winning photographer and survivor of a kidnap attempt in Colombia. He’s in no mood to cut inexperienced Charlee any slack and has made it plain that once the investigation is over, their partnership – and fake engagement – will be terminated, too. Soon Charlee has more questions than answers. What’s the real reason behind Ffinch’s interest in the boot camp? How is it connected to his kidnap in Colombia? In setting out to uncover the truth, Charlee puts herself in danger. And, as the investigation draws to a close, she wonders if she’ll be able to hand back the engagement ring and walk away from gorgeous Rafa without a backward glance.

BootCampBrideCollagePicEXCERPT

Chapter One

No, No, No

Charlee was listening to Amy Winehouse on her iPod in the large walk-in cupboard that doubled as a storeroom for copier paper, last year’s Comic Relief publicity material and those computers even the techno-geeks couldn’t fix. The sign on the door read ‘Photo Archive’. But looking round the room crammed with filing cabinets and office detritus – and with the sour smell from an abandoned mop bucket wafting towards her – Charlee decided that a spell in rehab was beginning to look an attractive alternative. Trying to keep her spirits up, she sang along with Amy at the top of her voice.

No one ever came down to the basement of What’cha! Magazine of their own volition and the photo archive was rumoured to be haunted. But Charlee guessed that was just a story put about by the post boys to scare her. She glanced once over her shoulder in the windowless twilight, shivered, and then continued with her task. Editorial wanted ‘before/after’ photos of celebrities whose facelifts had gone wrong. And, as a lowly intern who had seriously pissed off the fashion editor, Vanessa Lloyd, Charlee had been given the task.

Listening to the iPod was a small act of rebellion on her part. Out of sheer vindictiveness – and just because she could – Vanessa had banned the use of iPods and mobiles during office hours. However, Charlee’s defiance couldn’t compensate for the crumminess of the task. Or the fact that she’d been sitting in a cramped position for two hours, flicking through photos of lopsided celebrities, dying to use the loo.

Her – that is – not the celebrities!

Cutting-edge journalism? Hardly.

It all seemed far away from the heady day last summer when she’d graduated with a first in Modern Languages and Political Studies. Then she’d imagined herself reporting from a war zone above the rolling titles of a breaking news story on the Beeb. Instead, here she was, wondering if it was possible to get dowager’s hump from sitting hunched over a low desk for hours on end while all feeling left her lower limbs.

‘Montague,’ a voice growled. ‘Is that an iPod I see?’ A pair of hands clamped over her knotted shoulders.

In one well-practised move, Charlee put her hand up her sweater, pulled out the earphones and hid the wires from view. She spun round expecting to find Vanessa Lloyd standing there ready to give her a ticking off for not being on task. Instead, she found Poppy Walker – daughter of What’cha!’s editor-cum-proprietor – her best friend and confidante.

‘You’ve just shaved five years off my life, Walker, know that?’ Charlee said, now she could breathe easy again. Poppy ignored her, looking round the dinginess of the photo archive and wrinkling her nose instead.

‘What is that smell?’

‘I’ve been down here so long I’ve become immune to it. But I think it’s coming from that mop bucket over there.’ Charlee collected the ‘before/after’ photos together, making sure that she’d left markers in the filing cabinets to show where they’d come from. She knew exactly who’d be putting them back once Editorial had finished with them.

‘Poor Charlee,’ Poppy sighed. She reached into an oversized designer handbag, pulled out a bottle of perfume and sprayed a suffocating cloud of some exclusive, spicy scent in Charlee’s direction. ‘There, sweetie; that ought to stop dogs running after you in the street.’

‘Thanks, mate.’ Charlee put a sarcastic stress on the word, but the irony was lost on Poppy. She wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer and was only kept on at What’cha! because her family owned the magazine. And no one – not even the almighty Vanessa – dared to complain to Sam Walker about his daughter.

Charlee regarded Poppy with fond exasperation.

Last summer, she’d written to every newspaper from The Times to Pigeon Fanciers’ Weekly in an attempt to get a toehold in the world of journalism – but none of them had bothered to answer her letters or emails. As the weeks stretched into months, Poppy had spoken to her father on Charlee’s behalf, brushing aside Charlee’s half-hearted protests that she was cashing in on their friendship. The result was a year’s internship at What’cha! during which time Charlee had to prove herself worthy of Sam and Poppy’s belief in her.

‘Why can’t you do this online?’ Poppy asked, waving a hand in front of Charlee’s face and breaking her dream.

‘That’s exactly what I asked – dared to ask – Vanessa.’

‘And your head is still attached to your shoulders?’ They exchanged a look of fellow feeling. Vanessa’s high-handedness with interns was legendary, but her dislike of Charlee verged on the pathological. It was Charlee’s avowed intention to make Vanessa review her low opinion of her and eat her caustic words. All she needed was a chance, an opportunity to show everyone her mettle. She had it in her to be a great journalist; she felt it in her water. One day her lucky break would come along and when it did, she’d be ready.

* * * * *

LizzieLambPic2**Contact Links for author, Lizzie Lamb:

Email   Website   Blog

Amazon

Facebook (Lizzie Lamb), Facebook (New Romantics 4)

Goodreads   LinkedIn   Pinterest

Twitter (Lizzie Lamb)   Twitter (New Romantics 4)

Filed Under: Boot Camp Bride Tagged With: Book feature, Books, Boot Camp Bride, Chick-Lit, Lizzie Lamb, Romance, United Kingdom, Women's Fiction

Tall, Dark and Kilted

May 9, 2013 32 Comments

TallDarkandKilted

Book Blurb of “Tall, Dark and Kilted”

Fliss Bagshawe longs for a passport out of Pimlico where she works as a holistic therapist. After attending a party in Notting Hill she loses her job and with it the dream of being her own boss. She’s offered the chance to take over a failing therapy centre, but there’s a catch. The centre lies five hundred miles north in Wester Ross, Scotland.

Fliss’s romantic view of the highlands populated by Men in Kilts is shattered when she has an upclose and personal encounter with the Laird of Kinloch Mara, Ruairi Urquhart. He’s determined to pull the plug on the business, bring his eccentric family to heel and eject undesirables from his estate – starting with Fliss. Facing the dole queue once more Fliss resolves to make sexy, infuriating Ruairi revise his unflattering opinion of her, turn the therapy centre around and sort out his dysfunctional family.

Can Fliss tame the Monarch of the Glen and find the happiness she deserves? Read Tall, Dark and Kilted and find out !

Chapter One

The music hit Fliss as she rounded the corner of Elgin Crescent, Notting Hill. The sugared almond pink and yellow houses were almost vibrating in the late May evening as I Predict a Riot blasted out from an open window half way down the street. Her stomach flipped over with a mixture of excitement and nerves as she acknowledged the Kaiser Chiefs were bang on message.

It was going to be that kind of night. That kind of party.

She gazed wide-eyed at the grand houses and the expensive cars parked in front of them. It wasn’t every day she was invited to this exclusive postcode. In fact, she was more likely to be found passively inhaling her friends’ cigarette smoke over shared laughter, gossip and Mojitos outside her favourite pub in Pimlico than hanging with the Notting Hill set.

But, tonight was different. If she read Isla Urquhart’s invitation correctly, she was about to be made an offer she couldn’t refuse. One which would whisk her away from her poorly paid job at Pimlico Pamperers therapy centre and propel her towards . . . well, if not stardom exactly, then something more promising than the long hours and low wages which were currently her lot.

She drew near the Urquharts’ house where Isla was holding court at the top of the stone steps. Ranged below her on the pavement were two Police Community Support Officers and a group of angry neighbours. The butterflies, which had been performing loop the loops in her stomach all the way up from the station, slipped on black opaque tights and hard shoes and broke into Riverdance.

‘We won’t ask you again Miss, turn that music down.’

Isla insolently flicked cigarette ash in the PCSO’s direction, but in spite of her defiant stance she looked openly relieved to see Fliss coming along the street. ‘You tell them Fliss. They won’t listen to me.’

‘Tell them what exactly?’ Sensing a Mexican standoff developing, Fliss readied herself to push through the cordon of police and neighbours, bundle Isla indoors and get down to the serious matter of discussing the proposal Isla had mentioned a couple of days earlier.

‘About Mumma – Being – In – India.’ Isla enunciated slowly, putting an exaggerated stress on each word.

Quickly realising what was required of her, Fliss said smoothly, ‘She’s at an ashram in India, officer – Jaipur to be precise – having her chakras freed. Won’t be home for weeks. Would you like the number?’ With all the aplomb of an Oscar winning actress she slipped easily into role, scrolling through her mobile phone and then pausing. ‘But, with the time difference and various treatments I really can’t see her coming to the phone.’

Clearly, she’d said the right thing because she was summoned to stand on the top step. And for a moment she felt chosen, special and it didn’t seem to matter that she was a poorly paid holistic therapist and Isla a Notting Hill trustafarian with money to burn. They were friends, in this together and that’s all that mattered.

‘She’s probably posted a notice on Facebook. The Crescent will be swamped with rioters and the gardens trashed by hoodies,’ one neighbour persisted, clearly underwhelmed by the PCSO’s performance.

At that moment, the Ministry of Sound medley blaring through the open window ended and a blissful silence descended on Elgin Crescent. Everyone drew breath, the policemen and neighbours made as if to walk away – then the music resumed and Johnny Rotten informed everyone he was an anarchist.

This, apparently, was a groove too far for Isla’s neighbour.

‘That’s it; I’m calling your brother . . .’

For a moment, Isla’s poise wavered and the colour drained from her cheeks. Fliss wondered what kind of man had the power to dent the thick armour of her self-belief where a visit from the police had no effect. But she wasn’t allowed time for further reflection because Isla was back with a vengeance.

‘Ruairi’s too busy to bother himself with the likes of you. Anyway, chillax – we’re moving into the communal gardens.’ She waved a queenly hand at them.

‘Those gardens are for residents!’ a second neighbour spluttered.

‘And the Urquharts have lived here longer than any of you,’ she said, looking down her aristocratic nose at them. The police officers exchanged a let’s-get-this-over-with look and moved in.

‘Right. That’s enough! You,’ the elder officer addressed Fliss, ‘take her indoors. Close the window and turn down the music. Or this party will be over quicker than you can say: injunction.’

Seizing the Get Out of Jail Free card, Fliss dragged Isla over the threshold and slammed the front door behind her. She stood with her back pressed against its reassuring solidity as Isla, predictably without a word of thanks, sauntered off towards the back of the house where – judging by the noise, the party was in full swing.

At that moment, Fliss remembered her best friend and fellow therapist at Pimlico Pamperers had nicknamed Isla and her sister Cat: The Spawn of Satan, and resolved to proceed with caution. Longing for a quiet place to marshal her thoughts and make some sense of why she’d been invited here tonight, Fliss made her way towards the cloakroom.

As she did so, the motto on a t-shirt she’d seen at Camden Locks Market flashed into mind: If you can’t run with the big dogs, stay on the porch. Maybe that was the point of her being here – to determine if she was poodle or Rottweiler; worthy of inclusion in Isla’s posse, or not. She knew Isla collected friends irrespective of class or upbringing, provided they were amusing – or, as she suspected was more likely in her case – could be of use to her.

Although just what service she could render the honourable Miss Isla Urquhart wasn’t immediately obvious.

She tried to shake off the feeling of disquiet, of being out of her comfort zone that accompanied her along the shadowy hallway. How could she fit into Cat and Isla’s world? They had a trust fund to smooth their path and make life pleasant, whereas all she had to look forward to for the next forty years was work, work, and more work.

The very thought made her head ache.

But just for tonight, she was going to allow herself to imagine what might happen if Fate – maybe in the unlikely form of Isla Urquhart – intervened and sent some good karma her way. She pulled a face and took a reality check – there was little hope of that happening. Hard work would get her out of her rented flat in Pimlico; not Fate, karma or a knight in shining Armani. And, for the record, knights in armour – designer or otherwise – had been thin on the ground of late.

She headed towards a door screened by a thick curtain embroidered with appliquéd elephants and tiny, tarnished silver mirrors. She tried the door, but it was locked. One of Isla’s friends was probably in there snorting illegal substances, she thought annoyed, while she was standing cross-legged, desperate to use the loo. She gave the door a kick and rapped on it with her knuckles in an attempt to hurry up the occupant.

‘Give us a minute, will ya?’ came back a voice that was more Chelmsford than Chelsea.

This was followed by a thump, the sound of breaking glass and hyena-like laughter. The key turned, the curtain was pulled back and peering round the door with a broken mirror in her hand and looking guilty as hell, was her best friend Becky Casterton.

LizzieLamb2**Contact Lizzie:  Website   Blog   Facebook – Lizzie Lamb   Facebook – New Romantics   Twitter – Lizzie Lamb   Twitter – The New Romantics 4

**Click HERE to buy “Tall, Dark and Kilted”!

**Additional comments by Lizzie:  After an inspiring talk by a well published author I decided to form my own publishing group The New Romantics 4 with three other writers and we self published our books autumn 2012. It’s been hard work but we’ve never looked back. Read more about us and our route to publication on our blog (above).

BongoManinKiltHere’s a picture of Lizzy’s husband wearing a kilt and holding her book!

Filed Under: Tall, Dark and Kilted Tagged With: Book feature, Books, Chick-Lit, Dark and Kilted, Lizzie Lamb, Tark, Writers

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