I'm a sucker for stories of second chances with families. And this one sounds like it also has plenty of suspense and intrigue to keep it even more interesting! Check out an excerpt from Return to Lerici by Rachel Dacus and then follow the tour for even more. Best of luck entering the giveaway!
Ah, the power of friendship and second chances and a quaint island. All of these things make for a lovely women's fiction read. Learn more about The Nantucket Beachfront Inn, the first in a new series by Ainsley Keaton, as well as a bit about the author in this interview. Follow the tour for more. Best of luck in the giveaway!
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The darkness hid feelings that light could never uncover. And, as shadows, they lurked in the depths of my soul whispering low howls for me not to listen properly, but still wonder if they are there or not. They had crawled as lost spirits all that time, sometimes poisoning me and sometimes pushing with strengths impossible to fight. Their whispers deafened everything around as I got deeper and deeper sunk in them, drowning in their weirdly clear waters. And things started to make sense. Yes, in that gloom of losing reason, everything started to make sense to me. Peering to catch any sign of light that justified that illumination, I just realized the undeniable truth. My soul was the same as the darkness. Hiding feelings that made sense only inside there. And all had remained trapped under the spell of unforgettability, as my soul refused to let those feelings go. And I drowned, or probably in that darkness I was being entirely true. Something I hadn’t dared to do in the light. Probably that’s why those feelings were so strong. Probably that’s why my soul was hanging so much in them.
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Welcome to the blurb blitz tour for Flower Girl by Merida Johns! Enjoy an excerpt and then follow the tour for more. Best of luck entering the giveaway!
Read an excerpt:
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 13, 1984
It’s five o’clock in the morning. A waterfall of worries washes over me, but one remains, one I cannot ignore, one that means my life or death—do I have the courage to stop this nightmare?
I hear muffled voices and hasty footsteps fading away in the distance. My crisis, already old news to them, cataloged on a forgotten document. They have abandoned me and left me alone with my fear.
Rolling to my side, my legs dangle off the bed, and gravity pulls my five-foot-five, slender body toward the floor. My feet rebel. They scream and cramp in pain as they hit the cold cement. My insides shake, and my body wobbles. My eyes blur, and my hands reach out to find the bed. I steady myself and count under my breath, “One, two, three . . .” The agonizing muscle spasms in my feet start to unwind.
My world plays in slow motion. My eyes drift across the brackish-beige walls, swamp-green curtain, stainless steel instruments, and electronic gadgets—my stomach knots, my heart falls, my mouth goes dry. Helplessness hits me like an animal in a snare.
I spot my possessions, swathed in clear plastic, in the chair’s seat in the corner of the room. I hobble over and open the bag and poke through it—a Victoria’s Secret midnight-blue lace bra, an OSU red T-shirt, a pair of Gloria Vanderbilt denim pants, a Coach purse, and white Reeboks. I loosen the ties of the rumpled steel-gray gown; it slips off and falls to the floor. Dressing in fancy lingerie is absurd, so I toss it on the chair and throw on the shirt and jeans.
I look down at my sneakers and stop. In my mind, I see my husband’s squinting eyes and hear his haunting disapproval. Quit wiggling your feet over the counters of your damn shoes, Suzanna. You’ll ruin them! I shake my head, clench my jaw, and disobey.
I have no strength to bend over and tie the shoelaces. Jonathan would have a nasty comment about this, too. I ignore him. My eyes close in victory. “Cherish every step. Each is a grand slam toward deliverance.”
My fingers run through my disheveled hair, soaked with sweat—my muscles loosen, my brain fog lifts, and the ache behind my forehead fades.
I pull back the curtain circling the bed and grimace—the overhead lights jar me. I pump myself up—One, two, three, go. I take off.
I shuffle through the corridor between the beds bordering the room and reach the doorway to the waiting area. If people are here, I do not notice them. My eyes fix on the escape at the end of the room—the pulsating red exit sign. The floor-to-ceiling doors open, allowing my aching body to limp toward daybreak. The heavy morning breeze hits my face, and the sickening, sterile scent covering me blows away. I clutch my heart and silently sob, Thank God I’m alive.
But the joy vaporizes into the humid air. The war has only begun. Clutching for courage, I console myself. You’ve gotten this far. You can make it! You can live your truth.
I look up above the horizon, and I see it! There’s my North Star, its five points shimmering in the dawn and guiding me toward my purpose—But before I can help others be their best, I must help myself be my best.
Outside the sterile walls of a hospital emergency room, I hold my own. I put a stake in the ground. I swear that the fight to flee my abuser’s snare, save my life, and follow the guidance of my North Star is worth it.
Welcome to the Name Before the Masses Tour for Oh Good Now This, a women's literary fiction novel from Susan Merson. Today she's sharing with us an excerpt from her book, plus her story about how she became a writer. Be sure to follow the tour for even more and leave comments and questions along the way. Best of luck entering the giveaway!
They have settled into their chairs and Tara is tossing some cards, shuffling them and getting a feel. She flips over three cards.
“Oh, my dear. Some bleak times, past, yes?”
Vivi is startled by this pronouncement. “Well, it’s been a time of change, I’d say.”
“Change?” says Tara. “You betcha. This Tower card is about the whole thing coming crashing down. But it’s in the past position. See here? This is the present,” she shows Vivi the 7 of cups. It’s a picture of a man taking a look at a whole gallery of possibilities. “Look at him”, Tara says. “He’s got lots of things to choose from.”
“Well, that sounds good,” says Vivi tentatively.
“Not bad. Don’t get over infatuated with the possibilities. And the last one… here. The Hermit. Yep.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Oh it’s fine. Just a time to go inside and let things percolate. Inner wisdom and all that. Not a bad sentence!” Tara laughs again. “Now. Anything specific on your mind?” Tara continues to flip cards. “So,” she says. “Who is this guy? This King keeps showing up. King of Cups? He fell out of the deck twice while I was shuffling. “Who is this guy who won’t leave you alone?”
Vivi is mystified. “How did you…?’
“Oh, it’s not magic. The cards just know, that’s all. They pick up what you bring. Who is this guy?”
How has it been a year since I read the first book? I was so excited to have the opportunity to read this sequel. Keep on reading for an excerpt and my thoughts. Plus the author gives her ideas for who would best play her characters in a dramatic interpretation! Let her know what you're thinking as well and then follow the tour for more. Best of luck in the giveaway!
Read an excerpt:
Some time ago, Dawn had discovered that it was enormously satisfying to vent on Facebook. She did not do it the way so many other people did—ranting about their politics and railing against humanity—which only served to spread more hate in the world. No, she went about it secretly. There was an element of risk to it, and that was what made it so fulfilling.
If she was angry or upset with someone for whatever reason, she would fire up her laptop very late at night and type scathing posts about them. She would even tag the person if they were Facebook friends. She would pour all of the built-up venom into her words and gleefully lay it on thick. When she got it all out of her system, she would stop and take a sip of whatever alcohol accompanied the night’s rant. After she read her posts over several times until she was satisfied, she would then delete both the tag and the post. It was like throwing her fierce anger out into the wind, then sucking it all back in with a kind of emotional vacuum cleaner. It served to weaken the anger and allowed her to move past some issues she dealt with on a day-to-day basis.
Tonight, she stretched out her fingers in anticipation and began to type.
“Hey Monkey Boy, it was so good to see you today. It reminded me of the mealy-mouthed little leach you were as a kid, always mooching off of my family. And now you fancy yourself a big-time chef. Oh, please! The idea of you teaching people to cook is laughable—especially when it comes to gumbo. Let me tell you, if you ever ate my gumbo, you’d run back to Breaux Bridge with your monkey tail between your legs. In fact, I challenge you to a gumbo cook-off. But, forget it. You wouldn’t dare show your face at a competition because you know what a truly excellent ass-whupping you would receive. And it would be my pleasure to administer it!”
She read it over, grinned, and then sat back in her couch, deeply rewarded. She chuckled to herself over her momentary revenge and took several sips of wine as a feeling of well-being settled over her.
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**My thoughts**
I can't believe it's been a year since I read the first book in the series! I fell in love with the women in that one and was so excited to see that a sequel had arrived! It was wonderful to pick back up with these women in the next chapter of their friendship journey.
Quick note: while this is a sequel, you could conceivably read it is a standalone. But you're definitely going to want to read the books in order for maximum enjoyment!
Judith is focusing on her love life, though not via her own decision. And her love interest is a delicious twist. Dawn is getting herself into trouble with a gumbo challenge against a former friend who has been acting more like an enemy. Lola is moving on in love and life and not in a way we would have predicted after the first story. Bea is working on spreading their mission of love and friendship in a new way. And an old nemesis is back and still up to no good. Plus other favorite characters make an appearance. Oh, and I love Lucy.
This wacky group of ladies do not stop entertaining. I felt like Dawn's rehashing of her childhood with Rocky was overdone a little bit. But for the most part, I found myself grinning all throughout as I read about their antics and wishing I had such a tightly knit group of eclectic friends. I have the eclectic and eccentric friends, just not all in one group like this.
This book, like the first one, reads like it could easily be converted to a dramatic film or series. I really think it could happen! And of course, I'm looking forward to even more of their adventures. I think with this group of women, their stories could be never ending!
Thank you to the author and to Goddess Fish for providing me with a requested review copy. All thoughts and opinions are my own.
Dating again in middle age? It's not for the faint of heart. And it can get very interesting. Check out an excerpt and my thoughts on Middle Ageish by Shirley Goldberg. Be sure to leave questions and comments for the author as you follow the rest of the tour. And best of luck entering the giveaway at the end!
Of course, my goodbye party was at Chez Lulu in the Latin Quarter, Paris’ most Bohemian arrondissment. Lulu’s has that Fifties diner look—clean, spare and edgy like an Edward Hopper painting minus the feeling of isolation. It’s always packed, and the music is Buddy Holly, early Elvis, Patsy Cline, the Everly Brothers—a mix of rock and roll and country.
“Dinner’s here,” announced Dulcie, waving her beer glass before taking a long pull. “Everyone let them through!”
“Hey, ain’t this a swell party?” said Bertrand, arriving at our noisy table with an armload of gourmet burgers. “Who’s got the Marilyn Monroe with Mickey Mantles?”
Have I mentioned all the waiters are imitation James Deans, white T-shirts and jeans with rolled cuffs? Bertrand and Albert—they both speak perfect, slangy English—are our favorites. Bertrand is flirty in a sweet way and working his way through the Institute d’Etudes Politiques de Paris.
“And the Robert Mitchum with Buddy Holly fries?” Lulu’s boasts seven varieties of American fries, named for baseball players, or French and American pop stars.
“Two Jane Russells with Joe DiMaggio fries?” Albert, at Lulu’s between acting jobs, shouted, and everyone quieted for a moment, shuffling plates and passing them across the table. Movie star burgers with caramelized onions on miniature baguette buns. My mouth was so ready.
My going-away party...and I am not going to cry.
Next to me, Natalie held out The Middle-Aged Idiot’s Guide to Online Dating. “For when you start dating,” she yelled over the roar that is Lulu’s.
“Like dating is on my list of things to do?” I said around my burger. “Below sticking a rusty fork in my eye.”
Unconcerned with what her business partners were up to, Rohini was giggling with excitement. Hugging herself, she whirled in circles, then flung her arms up over her head and collapsed back in dizzy elation onto the enormous bed in the glorious stateroom. Everything was glorious. She was here. This was her room. The Secret Spice was, in part, her restaurant.
Hers.
And when she’d first seen the Queen from the back seat of Cynthia’s preposterous little car, she knew she was headed to exactly where she should be. She couldn’t stop smiling, until, abruptly, a lump formed in her throat and her eyes misted with tears.
“I made it, Zahir,” she whispered. “I made it.”
She sobered as she thought of him, of all he’d done for her, and all that she might still need to do on her own.
But that wasn’t for today. Today was for celebration and thankfulness. Getting up from the bed, she opened her case, pulled out all the little plastic sacks of spices and herbs she’d packed, and sighed with relief. Not a one had opened or torn. Even so, she could smell their pungent bouquet right through the protective wrappings. Rauvolfia, Serpentina, Jaiphal, Javitri, Khus Khus, Ashwagandha and more — why did cinnamon always smell the strongest? There were dozens of varieties that she’d stuffed inside shirt sleeves and trouser legs and white cotton gym socks, just like a drug dealer might hide a stash. The TSA had missed them completely. They’d even affixed a sticker to the top of her bag: “Checked by Homeland Security.”
Giggling again at that, Rohini placed all the smaller sacks into a large white bag she’d found in the wardrobe. The bag had a price list for various laundry services printed on it. With that mission accomplished, she took her treasures downstairs to the kitchen.
But she wasn’t two steps in before she stopped stock still and remained right where she was, listening.
“Oh, my,” she murmured to herself. “Oh, my, my, my.”
Now she understood why she’d felt that the ship had summoned her. To anyone else who might peek in, the kitchen appeared silent and empty. But not to Rohini. She could hear the walls sighing.
Gradually, she walked further inside, and the sighs turned to whispers. She stood still, breathing cautiously, waiting, watching. In unison, the stainless steel cooking utensils dangling from the long, narrow cylinders that were screwed to the walls began to sway, soundlessly. The copper pots that hung from the ceiling over the two spanking-new ovens and eight burner stoves began to twirl, gracefully. Every inanimate object in the room that wasn’t bolted down was waltzing eerily, on its own. To Rohini, the dance seemed sad rather than ghoulish.
Walking quietly, listening carefully, she followed the hushed sounds as they moved along the walls, leading her back to the scullery. As she approached, an ancient, enormous, floor-to-ceiling freezer blew out a puff of ice cold air as its door swung wide open as though it were greeting her, then gently clicked closed again.
Unafraid, Rohini observed it all. Still clinging to the laundry bag filled with her precious sacks of spice, s she turned in a full circle, leisurely, so as not to miss any of it. After a while, she set the bag down on one of the gleaming stainless steel work tables. Bending into a full and formal curtsy, she spoke aloud.
“It is my great honor to meet you, Your Majesty.”
‘Martin?’
Denise tried to keep her telephone voice light, untroubled. She didn’t want Martin to know that she’d already ditched PayPal while selling online.
‘Could I ask for some advice? I have a customer who’s suggesting we stop using PayPal and do our transactions off-line instead. Save us both the fees involved. I wondered if you could trace her email address for me first, though? To check that it’s genuine, before I agree.’
‘Happy to,’ Martin’s confident, reassuring tone soothed her nerves but only until his next words. ’But my advice would be “DON’T DO IT”. It’s too risky and it’s not worth bypassing safeguards for the small amount you’ll be saving.’
‘Sure, understand that completely.’ Boy, did she understand that—now! Unbeknown to Martin, the off-line payment she was expecting hadn’t come through.
‘But this customer has bought from me before, and she’s always been trustworthy,’ she continued. ‘In fact, we’ve become quite good friends. She lives in the US. I wasn’t going to take her suggestion on as a serious proposition, but … I thought … out of curiosity … it might be interesting to check if her email address is genuine.’
‘No problem at all,’ Martin said, before adding, ‘of course, they play the long game.’
‘What do you mean, “they”? Who are “they”?’
‘Scammers. They do small sales at first and always pay on time to convince you that they’re honest, make out they’re your friend, that they have similar interests etcetera until they’ve reeled you in. Then they suggest you move off line, claiming it will save you money. Before you know it, BANG! You’ve done a whole wad of cash.’
Denise held her breath. Did he know already? She gave a feeble laugh but said nothing.
‘So, what’s the email address?’ he asked. ‘Don’t worry, if it’s not genuine I’ll pick it.’
‘I’ve got the information you’re after Denise.’ It was Martin again, just twenty-four hours later, sounding pleased. ‘Wise decision to check it out first. The email address re-routes though several countries, but ends up in Eastern Europe. It’s a scam all right.’
[At Martin’s technology lesson, Sarah is shocked at an image on her husband’s iPhone]
—Sarah tried to smile, but her face felt stiff, as if she’d had Botox injected. Her mind screamed: Who is this girl who looks so like Anna? Why is she on Rob’s home screen? And why is he enveloping her in some sort of … horrible hug? It wasn’t the kind of hug you’d give a girlfriend, more like a father’s proud embrace.
Andrea cleared her throat loudly in a distracting way, quite out of character.
‘Sorry, but I have to go soon,’ she said, gathering her things. She slid her iPad into its leather satchel. ‘Such a nuisance. It’s been fun tonight.’ She looked at Martin. ‘There’s only ten minutes left, would you mind if we finished early? Pick up on this again next week?’
Thank you, Andrea. The ploy had given Sarah momentary breathing space. Her internal scream quietened a little. She had to get out of here, away from the goodbye chatter and the polite offers to take a slice of cake home. She needed to digest what she’d seen and work out what it meant. She had to have time to think.
She dreaded time to think. With the flick of a switch—what a cliché, but how true in this case—her life had changed. It was all so confusing; her fragmented brain whirled with questions. But an answer, barely thought out, misshapen but insistent, was boring into her brain.
Rob has another daughter somewhere. A daughter who’s the image of ours …
