Timeless Quenchers
Tuesday, December 20, 2016
Timeless Quenchers by Ichirou B
Thursday, December 15, 2016
A Knight's Quest: A Truly Puzzling Adventure by Carmen Fox
A Knight's Quest
Join a valiant knight in his dangerous quest to save a princess from an evil dragon. Along the way, you will meet wonderfully eccentric characters, settle arguments, and solve their problems. While some solutions won’t influence your next step, others will be vital to your character’s survival. So be careful, or your journey may be over before you know it.
A Knight’s Quest contains about 70 puzzles and brain teasers, including word searches, Sudoku, crosswords, mazes, and many you won’t have seen before.
(The story is suitable for children, but some of the puzzles are real mind-breakers that require patience, logic and luck.)
About Carmen Fox
Carmen Fox lives in the south of England with her beloved tea maker and a stuffed sheep called Fergus. An avid reader since childhood, she caught the writing bug when her Nana asked her to write a story. She also has a law degree, studied physics for a few years, dabbled in marketing and human resources, and, in addition to native-level German, she speaks fluent Geek. Her preferred niches of geekdom are tabletop games, comics, sci-fi and fantasy.
She writes about smart women with sassitude, about pretty cool guys too, and will chase that plot twist, no matter how elusive.
Expect to be kept guessing.
Visit her blog at www.carmen-fox.com.
Tuesday, December 13, 2016
Pioneer Mixology: Switchel, Sack Posset, and Shrub: A Survey of Prairie Beverages by Robynne Elizabeth Miller
Pioneer Mixology
About Robynne Elizabeth Miller
Robynne Elizabeth Miller has authored three nonfiction books as well as numerous articles and essays. Her first book, “From the Mouth of Ma,” is a look at Caroline Quiner Ingalls, the mother of Laura Ingalls Wilder. Her second book, “Pioneer Mixology,” is a quirky survey of beverages that the pioneers enjoyed. Her most recent work is the newly released “The Three Faces of Nellie,” an in-depth biography of the three women who made up the composite Little House character of Nellie Oleson.
Robynne’s author website is www.robynnemiller.com and she also blogs extensively at mylittelprairiehome.com and thepracticalpioneer.com. Aside from writing, Robynne is a speaker, editor, and writing coach. She teaches at writers conferences and local writers workshops, leads two writing/critique groups, and is the Communications Director for the Inspire Christian Writers board of directors. She is completing her Master’s degree in Nonfiction and Fiction at Ashland University.
From the Mouth of Ma: A Search for Caroline Quiner Ingalls by Robynne Elizabeth Miller
From the Mouth of Ma
There’s not a whole lot written about Caroline Quiner Ingalls, the mother of famed Little House on the Prairie author, Laura Ingalls Wilder.
And I always wondered why.
So I set about looking for her. . .in family letters, bits of biography and, mostly, through the words she spoke throughout the Little House series.
The Ma I thought I’d find wasn’t the one I discovered.
Would you like to meet her?
I think you’ll be happy that you did.
And I always wondered why.
So I set about looking for her. . .in family letters, bits of biography and, mostly, through the words she spoke throughout the Little House series.
The Ma I thought I’d find wasn’t the one I discovered.
Would you like to meet her?
I think you’ll be happy that you did.
About Robynne Elizabeth Miller
Robynne Elizabeth Miller has authored three nonfiction books as well as numerous articles and essays. Her first book, “From the Mouth of Ma,” is a look at Caroline Quiner Ingalls, the mother of Laura Ingalls Wilder. Her second book, “Pioneer Mixology,” is a quirky survey of beverages that the pioneers enjoyed. Her most recent work is the newly released “The Three Faces of Nellie,” an in-depth biography of the three women who made up the composite Little House character of Nellie Oleson.
Robynne’s author website is www.robynnemiller.com and she also blogs extensively at mylittelprairiehome.com and thepracticalpioneer.com. Aside from writing, Robynne is a speaker, editor, and writing coach. She teaches at writers conferences and local writers workshops, leads two writing/critique groups, and is the Communications Director for the Inspire Christian Writers board of directors. She is completing her Master’s degree in Nonfiction and Fiction at Ashland University.
Robynne lives with her British husband, and the youngest two of their four cheeky children, in the snowy woods of the Sierra Nevada Mountains of Northern California. When not writing, Robynne loves singing, felling trees, and making bacon from scratch.
The Three Faces of Nellie: The Real Story Behind Laura Ingalls Wilder's 'Nellie Oleson' by Robynne Elizabeth Miller
The Three Faces of Nellie
The Little House character of Nellie Oleson is one-dimensional: snobbish, selfish, and thoroughly unpleasant. But the real women behind Laura’s creation? An intriguing mix of the not-so-nice and the unexpectedly redeemable. In short, they were human.
Discovering the true stories behind Nellie, Genevieve, and Estella has been a fascinating journey. All three ended up on the West Coast at one point. . .true westward movement! One was widowed twice, one ended up divorced, and one died way too young. Two only had one child, and one had three, though she outlived her youngest by a very long time. There’s even some “Nellie-like” drama in there: Embezzlement. Lying on censuses. Shady land deals.
But there are some beautiful things, too. . .like the enduring love of a husband after his bride died. Or the rare closeness of a mother and daughter who shared their lives as adults. Or the strength of a young widowed mother who not only cared for her son, but headed out west, in true pioneer fashion, while she did so.
Laura Ingalls Wilder did a masterful job of creating the character of Nellie Oleson. But the three real-life women behind that iconic character are, in my opinion, infinitely more intriguing.
About Robynne Elizabeth Miller
Robynne Elizabeth Miller has authored three nonfiction books as well as numerous articles and essays. Her first book, “From the Mouth of Ma,” is a look at Caroline Quiner Ingalls, the mother of Laura Ingalls Wilder. Her second book, “Pioneer Mixology,” is a quirky survey of beverages that the pioneers enjoyed. Her most recent work is the newly released “The Three Faces of Nellie,” an in-depth biography of the three women who made up the composite Little House character of Nellie Oleson.
Robynne’s author website is www.robynnemiller.com and she also blogs extensively at mylittelprairiehome.com and thepracticalpioneer.com. Aside from writing, Robynne is a speaker, editor, and writing coach. She teaches at writers conferences and local writers workshops, leads two writing/critique groups, and is the Communications Director for the Inspire Christian Writers board of directors. She is completing her Master’s degree in Nonfiction and Fiction at Ashland University.
Robynne lives with her British husband, and the youngest two of their four cheeky children, in the snowy woods of the Sierra Nevada Mountains of Northern California. When not writing, Robynne loves singing, felling trees, and making bacon from scratch.
Sunday, December 11, 2016
Watch an interview with David Lake, author of Tears of Glass
Tears of Glass
This darkly humorous thriller is based on real events, including the ' Accidental ' deaths of twenty two UK scientists all working on US missile systems.
Morgan, a drinking, smoking, womaniser, is drawn to the iconic music of the seventies - Dylan, Carole King, Neil Young, Led Zep - but when he acquires a rejected demo tape by a bluesy pianist, his friends start to meet with bizarre, ' Accidental ' deaths. It eventually dawns that HE is the target . Running to the Californian desert, picking up the inevitable girl en-route, he has no idea that he has stumbled. literally, upon the biggest conspiracy the Intelligence Services have tried to hide since The Wall came down.
An imminent Nuclear Armageddon.
The contrast between those who rule our lives and those who try to live by the rules, is brought into sharp focus through a collection of disparate characters, all having their own agenda. The underlying darkness of the message is almost totally masked by the nature of the ' Ripping Yarn.' The reader rides a wave of action, humour, pathos, passion, violence and even enlightenment.
Saturday, December 10, 2016
Get a #FREE sample of the Tears of Glass audiobook by David Lake
Tears of Glass
This darkly humorous thriller is based on real events, including the ' Accidental ' deaths of twenty two UK scientists all working on US missile systems.
Morgan, a drinking, smoking, womaniser, is drawn to the iconic music of the seventies - Dylan, Carole King, Neil Young, Led Zep - but when he acquires a rejected demo tape by a bluesy pianist, his friends start to meet with bizarre, ' Accidental ' deaths. It eventually dawns that HE is the target . Running to the Californian desert, picking up the inevitable girl en-route, he has no idea that he has stumbled. literally, upon the biggest conspiracy the Intelligence Services have tried to hide since The Wall came down.
An imminent Nuclear Armageddon.
The contrast between those who rule our lives and those who try to live by the rules, is brought into sharp focus through a collection of disparate characters, all having their own agenda. The underlying darkness of the message is almost totally masked by the nature of the ' Ripping Yarn.' The reader rides a wave of action, humour, pathos, passion, violence and even enlightenment.
Listen to a free sample here:
Friday, December 9, 2016
Read an excerpt from Tears of Glass by David Lake
Tears of Glass
This darkly humorous thriller is based on real events, including the ' Accidental ' deaths of twenty two UK scientists all working on US missile systems.
Morgan, a drinking, smoking, womaniser, is drawn to the iconic music of the seventies - Dylan, Carole King, Neil Young, Led Zep - but when he acquires a rejected demo tape by a bluesy pianist, his friends start to meet with bizarre, ' Accidental ' deaths. It eventually dawns that HE is the target . Running to the Californian desert, picking up the inevitable girl en-route, he has no idea that he has stumbled. literally, upon the biggest conspiracy the Intelligence Services have tried to hide since The Wall came down.
An imminent Nuclear Armageddon.
The contrast between those who rule our lives and those who try to live by the rules, is brought into sharp focus through a collection of disparate characters, all having their own agenda. The underlying darkness of the message is almost totally masked by the nature of the ' Ripping Yarn.' The reader rides a wave of action, humour, pathos, passion, violence and even enlightenment.
FREE 12/6-12/10
Read an excerpt:
A battered Mustang left the track and headed for the City, leaving in its
wake the smell of bourbon and the sounds of Neil Young and Crazy Horse.
Young picked the guts out of ‘Cowgirl in the sand’ with a rusty nail and hung them with precision on electric strings of barbed-wire.
The car moved fast against the rain. It pitched and rolled and dipped hard at the hairpins. It had seen better days, but then so had the driver. The thunderstorm had moved on and the squalls were tiring. Soon the heat would come.
He reeled in the silvered road, one hand on the wheel, one around a can of beer. The cigarette had almost burned to the filter when he spat it out. The wind carried it away.
The wipers smeared the last of the rain into neat arcs, the drops on the periphery remained static and the air stank of it.
The Mustang hissed onwards, down through the low hills and all alone. He lit another cigarette, slowed slightly and lobbed the can into a roadside bin; straight in, it didn't touch the sides. The Mustang moved off at speed, the hood was down and the driver was wet.
He didn't seem to care.
MORGAN – Ex Quarterback, Ex Everything.
‘I ... am a very human being.’
The man had been drinking, but not that much. He had come out of the storm, wet and warmly smiling and had sat at the bar for about an hour. He had a good face, blue, or were they grey, eyes; hooded by slanting lids, and a strong mouth above a chiselled chin. He pushed his glass towards the barmaid as he spoke and raised one finger. She assumed he wanted another.
‘Bourbon?’
The finger went up again and he nodded.
‘She told me that the first time we met ... I don't know what she meant, but I took it as a compliment.’ The barmaid wasn't sure if a response was required, so she just poured the drink and raised her eyebrows.
‘Right,’ she said, which could have meant anything.
SIEMENSEN – CIA cold calculating
The room was dark, and the desk, telephone and face of the man who held it, was striped with light from thin horizontal blinds. The face was tight and pale, the hair cropped close to the head, the only distinguishing feature on which, being steel-framed glasses. He wore a white, button-down shirt and dark tie and the trousers of a dark suit. The man was speaking in clipped metallic tones.
‘It's Siemonsen ... Have the Cleaners gone in ...? Good. Any feedback from the cops .... ? Good, so no problems ... ? Excellent! What ... !?’ The stripes of light across his face did a passable imitation of a Munch lithograph.
‘Are you serious ...!? YOU THOUGHT HE'D BE THERE ... ? So you only took out the GIRL ... ? Shit ... Just DO IT ... ! as soon as you can ... Yes he IS important, VERY FUCKING IMPORTANT ... ! The people upstairs want everything CLEAN. Do it NOW ...! But careful ... Ever so, ever so careful. It must look ... It must look ... RIGHT ... ! GOT IT!’
He slammed the ‘phone down.
Together they lifted her and moved through into the hall. The tall one took her under the armpits and was first to the stairs. Dead bodies are not very co-operative before rigor sets in, and lifting a sack of jelly may have been easier. They took her up head first, the man holding the legs having difficulty pinning the smooth, waxed limbs tight between his arms and his side. After four steps and losing his grip twice, he resorted to draping her long legs over his shoulders.
The radio was playing ‘Stairway to Heaven’ as they proceeded up the curved stairway in this slightly surreal fashion; her backside bumping rhythmically on each stair and her pelvis thrusting into the smaller man's face. Almost the scenario she had planned for that evening, but not quite. She had reached Heaven anyway, albeit by a different route than originally anticipated. Death imitating Art.
BIG JOHN – LAPD, old, big
She lay like a perfectly placed starfish, wide open, sightless eyes fixed on the ceiling; head, legs and arms formed a tightly-stretched pentangle, the white limbs forming the ultimate contrast with the surface on which she rested. Strips of black silk held her ankles and wrists, and the silk scarf around her neck had choked the life out of her. Whether by accident or design Blake couldn't say.
The human pentangle stood in silence for a few moments, gazing down at the body. The cameraman erected the tripod and started blazing away.
‘I want everything,’ said John. ‘All angles, the room, everything. I don't want nothing left out. Then take it back down the stairs, out through the house and through the garden, I want every damn blade of grass in this place covered.’
Back in the darkened, light-striped office, Siemonsen was listening on the 'phone. The earnest voice at the other end was trying to sound competent.
‘Well sir, that's quite right. We could do without these articles; the Brits were always a bit leaky. I don't believe there's anything to connect them ...’
‘Can you do something about it?’ said Siemonsen, interrupting sharply.
‘We are taking care of that right now sir, but to be quite frank, I don't think anyone is likely to put two and two together ... The reports are scattered over lots of journals, and over quite a period of time. The odd suicide in sensitive areas of research, the occasional scandal regarding plutonium accounting, or lack of it; Congress moaning about budgets and Clinton planning to resurrect SDI ... All newsworthy, but not anything that could reach critical mass.’
‘Put water on the fire ... then blow away the smoke.’ Siemonsen said, picking up the silver frame sitting at the right hand corner of his desk which held the twin photographs of his parents. He was looking at them thoughtfully.
‘Got it, sir. No problem ... Thank you sir.’
Siemonsen wrote carefully with his fountain pen, the one his mother had bought him all those years ago, A HARD RAIN'S GONNA FALL.
PAUL MILLNS Songwriter, failed
‘How do you know me?’ There was caution behind the eyes, which were set in a sensitive face that most would describe as lived-in; although, unshaven and unrested, this one looked more like a squat.
‘Somebody gave me a tape of yours.’
‘Oh, yeah.’
‘Yeah, umm, some A+R guy.’
The pianist shrugged. ‘That's one more record company not picking up an option.’
Morgan carried on regardless. ‘Not got a deal yet?’
The pianist replied. ‘Lots of deals, no money, small labels, cheap production, no promotion,’ then looking straight at Morgan, ‘Tapes going to the wrong people.’
Morgan looked uncomfortable. ‘You got a number?’
‘Why?’ replied Paul.
‘I'd like to buy you a beer sometime.’
‘Buy me one now if you like.’ The two moved to the bar.
SARA Post Grad, late twenties
‘I’m doing post-grad studies in modern history and European languages ... and,’ belligerently now, ‘I'm twenty-seven, unmarried, couple of jobs, a couple of boyfriends, not serious, and a nice middle-class background. OK?’ Morgan's hands went up in mock surrender.
‘What about you?’ asked Sara. ‘Joining a circus?’
Morgan tried the brave grin. ‘Changing jobs, just taking a break.’
She scowled and looked at him hard. ‘What are you running from?’
‘Why don't you just piss off and get a life Morgan,’ she snapped. ‘You're a bloody dinosaur, which dark pit did you crawl out of?’
‘One in a Welsh valley, at least my father did. He dug coal for a living; or a dying. He played a game called Rugby. It's like our Football, except they don't use armour. They sing a lot too.’
‘If you love it so much, why don't you go back there?’
‘Too wet, but I'm a real American. Only half my genes come from there, and they're pretty repressed.’
‘Mother?’
‘A true native,’ Morgan said with satisfaction, ‘Part Red-Indian.’
‘Jesus,’ said Sara, ‘No wonder you're a mess. The spirits of the ancients must be having a ball in your head. Who are you this week ... King Arthur or Sitting Bull?’
Morgan went quiet, then, ‘This week is more like General Custer.’ They both looked out of the window. They both looked sad.
Sir Anthony McClean/ Tony – MI5 Schizaphrenic
The brass letters on the rosewood background indicated that the distinguished gentleman was Sir Anthony McLean, and he was carefully measuring out a spoonful of brown sugar and ignoring the telephone. When he was quite sure that the tea in his cup was assembled correctly he picked up the 'phone.
‘McLean here ... Hello old boy! How are things in the land of the Free?... Ah yes Siemonsen, your head did mention it. When do think Your... ah...target ... will be coming over?... Hmm, it would be nice if You could be a little more precise ... Yes I do see your problem.’
He took a sip, scraping the bottom of the cup on the rim of the saucer to catch any drips.
‘We'll let him come into the country unhindered, then plan a really nice surprise. Lead him on to the punch, so to speak. Of course I have a problem also ... He does have links with this country in terms of nationality... although it is only Wales and doesn't really count. If things do blow up, I suppose I can placate the Welsh Secretary with a Jap factory making plastic rugby players ... It's a game! ... Like your football, but without the armour ...Yes it is bloody stupid, Cheerio!’
As the receiver was replaced, there came three tentative knocks on the door. ‘Come!’
TWO CIA GUYS
‘They're quite mad you know.’
The recipient of this remark put his chin into the palm of his hand and stared unblinking at the young man with the button-down shirt.
‘What makes you think that?’ The speaker was a comfortably large man with piercingly intelligent eyes. He was embedded in a winged leather armchair, the focal point of his den at the top of his secluded wooded home.
‘Would you mobilise all your resources to eliminate one man?’
‘Depends who he was, and how important he was; besides I'm sure it's not all Siemonsen's resources.’
‘OK, maybe I'm exaggerating, but they're going right over the top, and for what? Some bozo who may, or may not, know something?’
‘What thing?’
He hesitated, ‘I don’t know, something that's got them all worked up ... Head's team, that is.’
TRENCH – Seedy operative. Does Sir Anthony's Wet Work
He eventually sidled up to Sir Anthony and stopped, looked around obviously, and then leaned over and whispered, ‘Got your message Sir.’
‘You're a bloody idiot, Trench!’ This was delivered in a broad East-End accent.
‘Whatsat?’
‘You 'erd me you stupid bastard.’ Sir Anthony continued to feed the ducks. ‘The press are startin' to wake up. You gotta be more careful. The Pentagon has got its knickers in a twist, which doesn’t help. Got another little job for you. Not now, but later. Same as the others, accidents. But no cock-ups!’
‘It'll go smooth Tony ‘onest, I ...’
‘An’ another thing,’ Sir Anthony, or Tony, as he had just become, turned on Trench. ‘That 'orse you gave me ... 2.30 at Newmarket ... still runnin ...’
SHERIFF – Small town Mojave Desert
‘Did you have a good night?’ The Sheriff was still doing his Rod Steiger impersonation as he leaned against the bar and looked at the couple. The White Lodge in daylight was as seedy as it had appeared the day before.
The couple were sitting quite close together and said in unison, ‘Yes, thank you, Sheriff.’
‘Heat of the Night’ smiled to himself knowingly. He cleared his throat and got down to more serious questions.
‘Now it would seem that the only person with a motive in this case is you, Mr Morgan.’ Morgan looked offended. The Sheriff wasn't finished.
‘You return to your seat, have a fit of jealousy, and before you know it ... WHAM!’ The Sheriff thumped the table hard, bouncing a couple of glasses. When they had settled, he spoke in a softer voice. ‘I don't think it happened that way. Besides, I never seen a Quarterback who carried a knife.’ Then thoughtfully. ‘ But maybe that doesn’t apply to Running Backs.’ The Sheriff took a swig from a bottle.
Siemonsen sat in his office, half a dozen acolytes around him. The 'phone was jammed in his ear.
‘I'm having my balls chewed off,’ said Siemonsen into the mouthpiece ... ‘Yes, very lucky.’ He held his arm up to still the sniggers ... ‘Listen, if this isn't brought to a successful conclusion soon, then you can forget your pension. We'll take him out in Europe, and this time it's got to be quiet.’His colleagues were nodding in silent agreement. Siemonsen was angry ... ‘Using a knife was crazy AND a rope. Just a candlestick and you could have played Cluedo ...Yes I know it was nothing to do with you ...Your partner just doesn’t think!’
Young picked the guts out of ‘Cowgirl in the sand’ with a rusty nail and hung them with precision on electric strings of barbed-wire.
The car moved fast against the rain. It pitched and rolled and dipped hard at the hairpins. It had seen better days, but then so had the driver. The thunderstorm had moved on and the squalls were tiring. Soon the heat would come.
He reeled in the silvered road, one hand on the wheel, one around a can of beer. The cigarette had almost burned to the filter when he spat it out. The wind carried it away.
The wipers smeared the last of the rain into neat arcs, the drops on the periphery remained static and the air stank of it.
The Mustang hissed onwards, down through the low hills and all alone. He lit another cigarette, slowed slightly and lobbed the can into a roadside bin; straight in, it didn't touch the sides. The Mustang moved off at speed, the hood was down and the driver was wet.
He didn't seem to care.
MORGAN – Ex Quarterback, Ex Everything.
‘I ... am a very human being.’
The man had been drinking, but not that much. He had come out of the storm, wet and warmly smiling and had sat at the bar for about an hour. He had a good face, blue, or were they grey, eyes; hooded by slanting lids, and a strong mouth above a chiselled chin. He pushed his glass towards the barmaid as he spoke and raised one finger. She assumed he wanted another.
‘Bourbon?’
The finger went up again and he nodded.
‘She told me that the first time we met ... I don't know what she meant, but I took it as a compliment.’ The barmaid wasn't sure if a response was required, so she just poured the drink and raised her eyebrows.
‘Right,’ she said, which could have meant anything.
SIEMENSEN – CIA cold calculating
The room was dark, and the desk, telephone and face of the man who held it, was striped with light from thin horizontal blinds. The face was tight and pale, the hair cropped close to the head, the only distinguishing feature on which, being steel-framed glasses. He wore a white, button-down shirt and dark tie and the trousers of a dark suit. The man was speaking in clipped metallic tones.
‘It's Siemonsen ... Have the Cleaners gone in ...? Good. Any feedback from the cops .... ? Good, so no problems ... ? Excellent! What ... !?’ The stripes of light across his face did a passable imitation of a Munch lithograph.
‘Are you serious ...!? YOU THOUGHT HE'D BE THERE ... ? So you only took out the GIRL ... ? Shit ... Just DO IT ... ! as soon as you can ... Yes he IS important, VERY FUCKING IMPORTANT ... ! The people upstairs want everything CLEAN. Do it NOW ...! But careful ... Ever so, ever so careful. It must look ... It must look ... RIGHT ... ! GOT IT!’
He slammed the ‘phone down.
Together they lifted her and moved through into the hall. The tall one took her under the armpits and was first to the stairs. Dead bodies are not very co-operative before rigor sets in, and lifting a sack of jelly may have been easier. They took her up head first, the man holding the legs having difficulty pinning the smooth, waxed limbs tight between his arms and his side. After four steps and losing his grip twice, he resorted to draping her long legs over his shoulders.
The radio was playing ‘Stairway to Heaven’ as they proceeded up the curved stairway in this slightly surreal fashion; her backside bumping rhythmically on each stair and her pelvis thrusting into the smaller man's face. Almost the scenario she had planned for that evening, but not quite. She had reached Heaven anyway, albeit by a different route than originally anticipated. Death imitating Art.
BIG JOHN – LAPD, old, big
She lay like a perfectly placed starfish, wide open, sightless eyes fixed on the ceiling; head, legs and arms formed a tightly-stretched pentangle, the white limbs forming the ultimate contrast with the surface on which she rested. Strips of black silk held her ankles and wrists, and the silk scarf around her neck had choked the life out of her. Whether by accident or design Blake couldn't say.
The human pentangle stood in silence for a few moments, gazing down at the body. The cameraman erected the tripod and started blazing away.
‘I want everything,’ said John. ‘All angles, the room, everything. I don't want nothing left out. Then take it back down the stairs, out through the house and through the garden, I want every damn blade of grass in this place covered.’
Back in the darkened, light-striped office, Siemonsen was listening on the 'phone. The earnest voice at the other end was trying to sound competent.
‘Well sir, that's quite right. We could do without these articles; the Brits were always a bit leaky. I don't believe there's anything to connect them ...’
‘Can you do something about it?’ said Siemonsen, interrupting sharply.
‘We are taking care of that right now sir, but to be quite frank, I don't think anyone is likely to put two and two together ... The reports are scattered over lots of journals, and over quite a period of time. The odd suicide in sensitive areas of research, the occasional scandal regarding plutonium accounting, or lack of it; Congress moaning about budgets and Clinton planning to resurrect SDI ... All newsworthy, but not anything that could reach critical mass.’
‘Put water on the fire ... then blow away the smoke.’ Siemonsen said, picking up the silver frame sitting at the right hand corner of his desk which held the twin photographs of his parents. He was looking at them thoughtfully.
‘Got it, sir. No problem ... Thank you sir.’
Siemonsen wrote carefully with his fountain pen, the one his mother had bought him all those years ago, A HARD RAIN'S GONNA FALL.
PAUL MILLNS Songwriter, failed
‘How do you know me?’ There was caution behind the eyes, which were set in a sensitive face that most would describe as lived-in; although, unshaven and unrested, this one looked more like a squat.
‘Somebody gave me a tape of yours.’
‘Oh, yeah.’
‘Yeah, umm, some A+R guy.’
The pianist shrugged. ‘That's one more record company not picking up an option.’
Morgan carried on regardless. ‘Not got a deal yet?’
The pianist replied. ‘Lots of deals, no money, small labels, cheap production, no promotion,’ then looking straight at Morgan, ‘Tapes going to the wrong people.’
Morgan looked uncomfortable. ‘You got a number?’
‘Why?’ replied Paul.
‘I'd like to buy you a beer sometime.’
‘Buy me one now if you like.’ The two moved to the bar.
SARA Post Grad, late twenties
‘I’m doing post-grad studies in modern history and European languages ... and,’ belligerently now, ‘I'm twenty-seven, unmarried, couple of jobs, a couple of boyfriends, not serious, and a nice middle-class background. OK?’ Morgan's hands went up in mock surrender.
‘What about you?’ asked Sara. ‘Joining a circus?’
Morgan tried the brave grin. ‘Changing jobs, just taking a break.’
She scowled and looked at him hard. ‘What are you running from?’
‘Why don't you just piss off and get a life Morgan,’ she snapped. ‘You're a bloody dinosaur, which dark pit did you crawl out of?’
‘One in a Welsh valley, at least my father did. He dug coal for a living; or a dying. He played a game called Rugby. It's like our Football, except they don't use armour. They sing a lot too.’
‘If you love it so much, why don't you go back there?’
‘Too wet, but I'm a real American. Only half my genes come from there, and they're pretty repressed.’
‘Mother?’
‘A true native,’ Morgan said with satisfaction, ‘Part Red-Indian.’
‘Jesus,’ said Sara, ‘No wonder you're a mess. The spirits of the ancients must be having a ball in your head. Who are you this week ... King Arthur or Sitting Bull?’
Morgan went quiet, then, ‘This week is more like General Custer.’ They both looked out of the window. They both looked sad.
Sir Anthony McClean/ Tony – MI5 Schizaphrenic
The brass letters on the rosewood background indicated that the distinguished gentleman was Sir Anthony McLean, and he was carefully measuring out a spoonful of brown sugar and ignoring the telephone. When he was quite sure that the tea in his cup was assembled correctly he picked up the 'phone.
‘McLean here ... Hello old boy! How are things in the land of the Free?... Ah yes Siemonsen, your head did mention it. When do think Your... ah...target ... will be coming over?... Hmm, it would be nice if You could be a little more precise ... Yes I do see your problem.’
He took a sip, scraping the bottom of the cup on the rim of the saucer to catch any drips.
‘We'll let him come into the country unhindered, then plan a really nice surprise. Lead him on to the punch, so to speak. Of course I have a problem also ... He does have links with this country in terms of nationality... although it is only Wales and doesn't really count. If things do blow up, I suppose I can placate the Welsh Secretary with a Jap factory making plastic rugby players ... It's a game! ... Like your football, but without the armour ...Yes it is bloody stupid, Cheerio!’
As the receiver was replaced, there came three tentative knocks on the door. ‘Come!’
TWO CIA GUYS
‘They're quite mad you know.’
The recipient of this remark put his chin into the palm of his hand and stared unblinking at the young man with the button-down shirt.
‘What makes you think that?’ The speaker was a comfortably large man with piercingly intelligent eyes. He was embedded in a winged leather armchair, the focal point of his den at the top of his secluded wooded home.
‘Would you mobilise all your resources to eliminate one man?’
‘Depends who he was, and how important he was; besides I'm sure it's not all Siemonsen's resources.’
‘OK, maybe I'm exaggerating, but they're going right over the top, and for what? Some bozo who may, or may not, know something?’
‘What thing?’
He hesitated, ‘I don’t know, something that's got them all worked up ... Head's team, that is.’
TRENCH – Seedy operative. Does Sir Anthony's Wet Work
He eventually sidled up to Sir Anthony and stopped, looked around obviously, and then leaned over and whispered, ‘Got your message Sir.’
‘You're a bloody idiot, Trench!’ This was delivered in a broad East-End accent.
‘Whatsat?’
‘You 'erd me you stupid bastard.’ Sir Anthony continued to feed the ducks. ‘The press are startin' to wake up. You gotta be more careful. The Pentagon has got its knickers in a twist, which doesn’t help. Got another little job for you. Not now, but later. Same as the others, accidents. But no cock-ups!’
‘It'll go smooth Tony ‘onest, I ...’
‘An’ another thing,’ Sir Anthony, or Tony, as he had just become, turned on Trench. ‘That 'orse you gave me ... 2.30 at Newmarket ... still runnin ...’
SHERIFF – Small town Mojave Desert
‘Did you have a good night?’ The Sheriff was still doing his Rod Steiger impersonation as he leaned against the bar and looked at the couple. The White Lodge in daylight was as seedy as it had appeared the day before.
The couple were sitting quite close together and said in unison, ‘Yes, thank you, Sheriff.’
‘Heat of the Night’ smiled to himself knowingly. He cleared his throat and got down to more serious questions.
‘Now it would seem that the only person with a motive in this case is you, Mr Morgan.’ Morgan looked offended. The Sheriff wasn't finished.
‘You return to your seat, have a fit of jealousy, and before you know it ... WHAM!’ The Sheriff thumped the table hard, bouncing a couple of glasses. When they had settled, he spoke in a softer voice. ‘I don't think it happened that way. Besides, I never seen a Quarterback who carried a knife.’ Then thoughtfully. ‘ But maybe that doesn’t apply to Running Backs.’ The Sheriff took a swig from a bottle.
Siemonsen sat in his office, half a dozen acolytes around him. The 'phone was jammed in his ear.
‘I'm having my balls chewed off,’ said Siemonsen into the mouthpiece ... ‘Yes, very lucky.’ He held his arm up to still the sniggers ... ‘Listen, if this isn't brought to a successful conclusion soon, then you can forget your pension. We'll take him out in Europe, and this time it's got to be quiet.’His colleagues were nodding in silent agreement. Siemonsen was angry ... ‘Using a knife was crazy AND a rope. Just a candlestick and you could have played Cluedo ...Yes I know it was nothing to do with you ...Your partner just doesn’t think!’
About David Lake
Lake also created music videos and had a small award- winning film/ production company.
The book has links to 14 original tracks which are an integral part of the narrative and this impulse is a direct result of his friendship with the supporting singer-songwriter at the Crosby gigs in London. Paul Millns music acts as a soundtrack to the storyline. The resulting Cinematic experience promoted Irvin Kershner, Dir' Empire Strike Back,' to state - ' I want to make this movie !'
Lake lives with his family in Sussex England.
Wednesday, December 7, 2016
#FREE 12.6-12.10 Tears of Glass by David Lake
Tears of Glass
This darkly humorous thriller is based on real events, including the ' Accidental ' deaths of twenty two UK scientists all working on US missile systems.
Morgan, a drinking, smoking, womaniser, is drawn to the iconic music of the seventies - Dylan, Carole King, Neil Young, Led Zep - but when he acquires a rejected demo tape by a bluesy pianist, his friends start to meet with bizarre, ' Accidental ' deaths. It eventually dawns that HE is the target . Running to the Californian desert, picking up the inevitable girl en-route, he has no idea that he has stumbled. literally, upon the biggest conspiracy the Intelligence Services have tried to hide since The Wall came down.
An imminent Nuclear Armageddon.
The contrast between those who rule our lives and those who try to live by the rules, is brought into sharp focus through a collection of disparate characters, all having their own agenda. The underlying darkness of the message is almost totally masked by the nature of the ' Ripping Yarn.' The reader rides a wave of action, humour, pathos, passion, violence and even enlightenment.
FREE 12/6-12/10
About David Lake
Lake also created music videos and had a small award- winning film/ production company.
The book has links to 14 original tracks which are an integral part of the narrative and this impulse is a direct result of his friendship with the supporting singer-songwriter at the Crosby gigs in London. Paul Millns music acts as a soundtrack to the storyline. The resulting Cinematic experience promoted Irvin Kershner, Dir' Empire Strike Back,' to state - ' I want to make this movie !'
Lake lives with his family in Sussex England.
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
Axone by Jeff Comer
Axone
Read an excerpt:
“I came to see if I could drag you away from here. It is the Fourth of July after all. I wanted to see the fireworks show on Lake Union but my husband decided he’d rather stay home. Why don’t you come with me?” Robin said.
Josh thought about the last time he had seen “his” Robin, back in the car as they were leaving Henderson on their way to Seattle. That was also the Fourth of July weekend. Now he had relived the same six months over again.
“Sure,” he replied. “It’s still pretty early. We could grab a bite to eat first. I know a great Thai place on University Avenue.”
“You read my mind. Again,” she said.
Josh quit the program and gathered up his coat and backpack.
“Don’t you want an umbrella?” Robin asked. “The clouds I saw outside look pretty ominous.”
“I doubt it’s going to rain very much, especially in July. Besides, no true Northwesterner carries an umbrella.”
“Have it your way,” Robin replied. “At least I’m dragging you away from that computer for a while, it’s worth the risk of pneumonia.”
“How can I say no that that face?”
“You can’t.”
They went down the hall and out the door to the building. Josh looked up and the sky was dark and foreboding. It was not unusual to have summer rains in Seattle by any means, but he had never seen clouds like this before in July.
“I hope we don’t get drenched at the show,” Josh said.
“Reconsidering your position already? I may share my umbrella if you are really nice to me,” Robin said with a playful tone.
“I may just have to bribe you with fresh shrimp rolls.”
Robin looked delightedly surprised. “Did I tell you that is my absolute favorite dish?”
“Lucky guess I suppose.” They were crossing campus, nearing the University's famous red-brick plaza known as Red Square.
“You have a knack for those, I’ve noticed.”
“Well we have put in a lot of hours on this project together, I suppose it’s only natural we’d get to know each other’s idiosyncrasies pretty well.”
“It seems like more than that sometimes,” She glowed with affection. “It’s like you know me even better than my husband.”
“Careful there,” Josh said, as he took hold of her elbow. “These bricks are notoriously slippery when it’s drizzly weather.”
They both paused for a moment in Red Square. Robin pulled her arm away from Josh’s grasp and then placed her hand on top of his.
“I just want you to know,” she said. “You are much more than a coworker to me. You’ve become a good friend.”
Josh felt his pulse quicken as he felt her hand. There was so much he longed to tell her, but he knew he could not.
“I feel the same. I can’t believe it has only been six months, but this time has meant a lot to me also, professionally and personally. Holy shit, I just realized. DIG released the game yesterday that had my fix. It totally slipped my mind.”
“There you go again, changing the subject just when we have one of our moments.” Robin was smiling as though she was being playful again, but she was once again studying Josh’s face for a response.
“Sorry,” he replied. The first drops of rain started to fall.
Robin had barely opened her umbrella when the rainfall became heavy. She stood close to him, holding the umbrella over both of them.
“Well ok then. I will allow you to stay here if you admit that I was right. And that I am the most amazing woman you’ve ever met.” Her impish grin had returned. Josh stood for a moment, close enough to smell the familiar scent of her hair and feel the heat from her body. It made him long once again for the intimacy they had shared in the other life. The raindrops were tapping loudly.
“You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, Robin.”
They stood for a moment in silence. Her hand found his again.
He started moving closer, knowing it was not right. Her gaze did not leave his. The tapping of the rain became louder. His focus broke when he began to listen to the sound of the rain over his head. It was starting to sound odd.
Instead of the usual sound of rainfall, the tapping on the umbrella had somehow become very orderly, almost rhythmic. He recognized the pattern. It was the staccato sound he’d heard before—once when he was in Dunsmore’s office, and the second time when he was in the car with Robin Arnette.
“Are you ok?” Robin asked.
The other sounds had become quieter as the staccato became stronger and more insistent. Now he could barely hear Robin.
He glanced up to look at the umbrella over his head in the direction of the sound. But when he looked up, he saw only blue sky.
He was standing on the beach again, next to a palm tree whose fronds waved gently in the breeze. He looked in front of him and saw a long sandy beach with an ocean that had an almost impossibly perfect horizon. Dark thunderhead clouds were in the distance.
Then just as suddenly, he found himself sitting in a darkened room. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness..."
About Jeff Comer
Read an excerpt from Letting Go by A.L. Awtrey
An attempt on his life throws their lives into chaos, inviting more threats, public scrutiny, and Molly's ex-husband back into her life. The tension tests the attraction they feel toward each other as they struggle to keep life normal for their kids.
Alex still doesn't know who wants him dead but suspects his former in-laws. As the threats become a visceral danger, Alex and Molly race to uncover the secret that died with his wife before it costs them everything.
Read an excerpt:
A week after Alex started the fence project, Molly had the kids in the kitchen making their own pizzas for lunch when Alex came in through the back door.
“Daddy! I’m makin’ a pizza with marshmallows and pineapple!” Hannah had flour all over her hands and face from rolling out the dough. Her small pizza was covered with sauce, cheese, and topped with her less traditional ingredients.
“Wow, that sure looks… interesting,” Alex said with a helpless smile at Molly.
“I tried to talk her out of it, but she’s determined,” Molly whispered to him, leaning closer to enjoy his masculine scent. “I’ll keep an eye on hers to make sure the marshmallows don’t catch fire.”
Alex stepped over to inspect the boys’ creations. “And what have you two made?”
“Mine is an alien,” Manny said as he pointed out the pepperoni eyes, olive nose, and hammy lips laid over its cheesy skin.
“I made a race car,” Will said. “It’s got tomato wheels and a pepperoni body.”
“What about us?” Alex asked Molly with an easy grin.
“You and I get regular old pepperoni and cheese, unless you want to mix it up,” she replied.
“That sounds wonderful,” he said as he poured himself a glass of her sweet tea from the pitcher in the middle of the island. “I never used to like sweet tea, but something about working in the sun all day makes me crave your tea now.”
Molly blushed from the compliment as she watched him drain the first glass and pour another.
Buy on Amazon
About A.L. Awtrey
After working more than twenty years as a technologist and scientist, Anthony started writing fiction again for the first time since college. Developing white paper studies and proposals for years provided a foundation in technical writing, but telling a compelling story was much harder than it appeared.
Four years of practice where he wrote eight novels and dozens of short stories improved his dialog, description, tension, and pacing. With his latest novel, Letting Go, Anthony is ready to release it under his own name. He’s a member of the Central Florida Chapter of the Romance Writers of America and Florida Writers Association.
When he’s not writing, Anthony is the CTO of a technology consultancy and a professional singer.
Follow Anthony Awtrey
- Website: http://awtrey.com/
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AnthonyAwtreyAuthor/
- Twitter: https://twitter.com/AnthonyAwtrey
- Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/AnthonyAwtrey
- Amazon: http://amazon.com/author/anthonyawtrey
Love Romantic Suspense?
Join A.L. Awtrey with other authors for a Facebook Party November 30
Follow the Book Tour
Tuesday, November 29, 2016
Unexpected (Short Stories From Around the World) by P.F. Citizen One
A series of short, true life stories, which are the product of the travels and observations of one man. The stories are a miscellaneous collection of the funny and sad, of tragedy, love and friendship. And they are all, in a way, unexpected.Unexpected takes you on a journey from a Brazilian working on the oil rigs of Venezuela, who gets the shock of his life, to the uplifting story of a Chinese beggar living on the streets, entertaining passers-by with his songs and surviving through the mercy and kindness of others.
There is a story for each of us in this book. Each one is subtly different and each carries either a message of hope for lost, or of caution for the unwary.
Unexpected is just that. Just as life is and just as the course of our lives run, at times unexpectedly.
Buy on Amazon
P.F. Citizen One is a writer. He works as a petroleum engineer, which requires a lot of traveling to different countries, and he uses the situations and varied people he has come across as an inspiration for his great love of writing. His interest in travel has meant that he has picked up some useful languages along the way, and he is now fluent in English, French, Portuguese, Spanish and German, allowing him to go just about anywhere and still be understood. Most of the time. He lists his great fear as ''being stranded alone on a desert island'' and, as a result, he avoids traveling by boat whenever he can.
P.F. Citizen One’s new book, Unexpected, was published on October 7th and is a book of short stories, inspired by his travels throughout the world and the people he has met.
Follow the Book Tour
Type 2 Diabetes: The Owner's Manual by Daryl Wein FREE 11/29 - 12/3
Type 2 Diabetes
Daryl Wein discovered he was among the millions of patients with type 2 diabetes while studying to become a Physician Assistant. That's when he found out that, despite type 2 diabetes making up the vast majority of cases, most of the reading material he could find was geared toward patients with type 1 diabetes. Type 2 Diabetes The Owner's Manual is his way of fixing that.
This handbook is an easy-to-read guide on how to manage your blood sugar primarily through diet. It is written clearly and concisely, explaining the difference between the two diseases in a way that is easy to grasp. You don't have to be a health professional to understand the book. Wein includes concrete examples of what to eat and what to avoid. He talks about the importance of exercise and provides information about medicines in a way that the layman can comprehend without needing to know medical terminology. The book also includes a useful question-and-answer section that covers a variety of specifics about type 2 diabetes to help you make sense of it all.
Wein knows about the frustration and fear diabetics feel, because he's been there. As he explains in the book, when he experienced blurred vision and other health problems while studying to become a Physician Assistant, he discovered that he was among the millions diagnosed each year with type 2 diabetes.
"There was no mistake: I was now a diabetic!" he writes. "I sat down and started crying, not something I would ordinarily allow myself to do."
He goes on to describe how a mentor told him that diabetes can usually be managed easily. He made sure to explain that failing to control it can lead to serious health problems including blindness, kidney failure, and limb amputations. He offered hope.
Wein's book offers the same message of hope, along with a somber reminder that failing to control diabetes can lead to premature death. He provides readers with the right information to help make sure they understand that this doesn't have to happen to them.
The author also makes clear the difference between type 1 and type 2 diabetes, suggesting that type 2 diabetes needs to have a new name. That name should be "carbosis," he argues, which gets right to the point that type 2 diabetes is a disease where the body does not process carbohydrates correctly. He has conveniently included tabular lists of many foods, showing the carbohydrate content of each.
"My intent in writing this book is to finally provide a source of information geared specifically for you and me, along with the millions of others with this disease and the many millions who have it but don't yet know it," he writes. "This book is designed primarily to provide clear guidance for patients." You don't have to be a health expert to manage the disease. Wein lays it out to his patients, about eighty percent of whom, he estimates, have well-controlled blood sugar levels. Type 2 Diabetes The Owner's Manual can be your step-by-step guide on how to control your disease. Let this book help you manage type 2 diabetes rather than letting the disease manage you.
FREE 11/29-12/3
A few of the eye-opening pieces of advice given by Wein in his highly-respected book include:
- There is no need to consume any sugar or starches at all
- Natural fruit and fruit juices are not good for diabetics
- Avoid all forms of alcohol when trying to lose weight
- The only fats known to be harmful are trans-fats which are mainly found in shortening and margarine
- Eating fat does not make you fat and eating fat has never been directly associated with heart disease
- Brown sugar has never been healthier than white sugar, only less pure
- There are almost no carbs in any of the artificial sweeteners so they do not contribute to the elevation of blood sugar.
- Monitoring your sugar 2-3 times a day with a finger stick test is costly and a complete waste of time.
About Daryl Wein
A native of Niles, Michigan, Wein earned a degree as a Medical Technologist/Clinical Laboratory Scientist from USC Medical Center in 1978 and earned a degree as a Family Practice Physician Assistant from UC Davis School of Medicine in 1999. Since 1999, while working as a PA with Dr. David Olson and Dr. Elaine Madayag in internal medicine, Wein also worked as a PA at Stanislaus County Urgent Care, Oak Valley Hospital ER, Central California Bariatric Surgery, as a contractor for California Correctional Health Care System, and for rural health clinics run by Oak Valley Clinics. He also has has done some software development, and is credentialed in California to teach community college classes.Saturday, November 26, 2016
NOW AVAILABLE Rebound (Bending the Rules) by A.M. Wray
NOW AVAILABLE!
Rebound (Bending the Rules)
Why did he have to be so perfect? After a terrible breakup, I wanted nothing to do with dating of any kind. Trust was not a quality that I was blessed with at that moment, but that didn't stop him.
He was the best friend that I'd ever had, but that wasn't all I wanted. I felt terrible about it, but I couldn't help it. I told myself that the last thing that I needed was a rebound, but after that night... Well - I just can't seem to stop myself.
**Please note the author's message that the length of the novel and time to read are both inaccurate and she is working with Amazon to fix that.**
About A.M. Wray
A.M. Wray is the Contemporary Romance name for author Candy Crum. She lives with her two young boys and her Harlequin Great Dane, Harley Quinn.
A lover of many genres, Candy Crum writes Paranormal Romance, YA (Romance and Fantasy), Fantasy, and even a little horror. Under A.M. Wray, she covers Contemporary Romance, Erotica, and Thrillers.
Candy loves art and enjoys drawing, playing around and learning PhotoShop, and writing/reading. More than anything she loves hearing from her fans and connecting with them. She even has a newsletter (accessible on her website) that offers freebies for loyal fans.
Email: candycrum@candycrumbooks.com
Website: www.candycrumbooks.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/amandamwray
www.facebook.com/candycrumbooks
Twitter: @TheEternalGift
@CandyCrumBooks
Friday, November 18, 2016
Christmas Belles and Mistletoe (Love on Kissing Bridge Mountain #6) by Linda West
Christmas Belles and Mistletoe
There's nothing like Christmas in Kissing Bridge. When their family legendary blue ribbon winning recipe is stolen, the Landers sisters are up in arms as to what to do to break the curse and win the Silver Bells cookie contest.
All of our favorite people in Kissing Bridge weave in and out of this adorable story about love, faith and a little magic.
The curse must be broken and love restored when Summer finds out that her Aunt Amelia has a normal family - with men. Because the curse had caused the rest of them to always lose the men they loved, Summer will stop at nothing to find out the answer to ending the curse once and for all. Her mother however has forsaken men for her blue ribbon cookie crown. Cookies you can count on, men not so much .
Meanwhile Mrs. Beaverton has gone crazy and is accosting the men of Kissing Bridge at every turn and bend where ever an innocent mistletoe lurks. It’s a wonderful fun holiday romance filled with cozy mysteries and cookie contests! What more could you want?
This is the last book in the "Love on Kissing Bridge Mountain" series. Each of the books in the series are complete stand alone clean and wholesome love stories.
Rave reviews!
"Enchanting and delightful Christmas spirit! My favorite romance of 2016! Absolutely loved it!" Olivia Dayton - Inspiration Times
”Original, unique and captivating! Simply enchanting, adorable and Christmas filled!" D.C. Air NY
”Loved, loved loved this book! I’m going back and reading them all!” CP Daily
”Everything I wanted in a feel good holiday romance with clean stories that leave you happy. I cried at the end it was so inspirational and touching! Thank you Linda West!" G. Browning Kindle Good Books.
"I want to move to Kissing Bridge Mountain! I wish my town was as fun and Christmas obsessed! Super fun and thanks for showing that seniors can fall in love too!" Gladys Gershwin UT
"I really enjoy the way Linda West writes in a different and sometimes first person point of view. I really feel that I know the people in Kissing Bridge personally and I find it a very refreshing style choice!" Doc Holiday
"I couldn't wait for this book to come out! I've read all six of the books about the different love stories that happen on Kissing Bridge Mountain and I will really miss the fun and friendship of these lovely people I've come to know! Don't stop writing please!" F. McDonald CA
"Linda West never fails to deliver a feel good and lighthearted romance that makes you smile. Very uplifting!" Barb Branson GA
"In this day and age, it seems every author has to resort to steamy sex scenes to keep a reader's interest. It is so nice to have an author that actually has a plot that interests you, and characters that you fall in love with. I will continue to read this author's books." Joy Neville - TX
Friday, November 4, 2016
The Booklovers by Monica Palmer FREE 11/4
The Booklovers
Wednesday, November 2, 2016
Rebound (Bending the Rules) is available for preorder!
Rebound (Bending the Rules)
Why did he have to be so perfect? After a terrible breakup, I wanted nothing to do with dating of any kind. Trust was not a quality that I was blessed with at that moment, but that didn't stop him.
He was the best friend that I'd ever had, but that wasn't all I wanted. I felt terrible about it, but I couldn't help it. I told myself that the last thing that I needed was a rebound, but after that night... Well - I just can't seem to stop myself.
99-cent pre-order ~ available November 15th
About A.M. Wray
A.M. Wray is the Contemporary Romance name for author Candy Crum. She lives with her two young boys and her Harlequin Great Dane, Harley Quinn.
A lover of many genres, Candy Crum writes Paranormal Romance, YA (Romance and Fantasy), Fantasy, and even a little horror. Under A.M. Wray, she covers Contemporary Romance, Erotica, and Thrillers.
Candy loves art and enjoys drawing, playing around and learning PhotoShop, and writing/reading. More than anything she loves hearing from her fans and connecting with them. She even has a newsletter (accessible on her website) that offers freebies for loyal fans.
Email: candycrum@candycrumbooks.com
Website: www.candycrumbooks.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/amandamwray
www.facebook.com/candycrumbooks
Twitter: @TheEternalGift
@CandyCrumBooks
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