Cakewalk to Murder by MK Scott – Spotlight and Giveaeway

May 21, 2019 By 17 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. MK Scott will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Bake-off fever is in full-swing and Donna can’t help but have visions of becoming the next great baking star, but the competition is stiff, and someone is willing to kill to win.

When one of the contestants is found dead, a twist of fate puts Donna at the center of the competition. That’s the perfect position to unravel the mystery, but only if she doesn’t get caught in the crosshairs.

 

Enjoy an Excerpt

The judges strolled to the next baker standing proudly by a five-layer cake dusted with cocoa and decorated with live violets.

“This is the one,” Donna declared and scooted up in her wing chair to be even closer to the television.

Her college-age helper, Tennyson, stroked his scruffy beard in a fair imitation of her husband, Mark, when he was in his contemplation mode. Ten dropped his hand and shook his head. “I don’t know. What about Alastair? He used all those egg whites to make his cake lighter.”

“Please.” She lengthened the word, then gave a derisive snort. “That’s so old fashioned. My great grandmother did that. Judges wanted something new, cutting edge, while still bringing indescribable joy to their taste buds.”

“You think putting flowers on a cake will do it?”

A door sounded in the distant before Donna could reply. Currently, there were no guests in the inn, and she had locked all the doors guaranteeing she could have peace while watching The British Bake-Off Show. Unfortunately, she couldn’t lock out Tennyson who had taken an interest in the program.

Jasper, her aging puggle, gave a welcome bark. It meant Mark was back from his Chamber of Commerce meeting, which he agreed to attend so Donna could watch the show in real time. If she had recorded it, Janice would ruin it by calling her up, telling who the winner was, and would make all manner of comments as if she had actually seen the show. No, thank you.

The judges talked amongst themselves as the tension built. Often, she imagined herself on the show and what she would make to tempt the finicky judges. The contestants must be nervous. Strangely enough, Donna was, too. A throw pillow found its way into her hands, and she squeezed the pillow as the judges mentioned the third and second place finishers. They might have called them winners, but almost everyone conceded there was only one winner.

“And the winner is…” The lead judge paused for a moment. “Alastair! With his lighter than air angel food cake. It reminded me of my dear old Granny and her ability to make every moment special.”

About the Author:

M. K. Scott is the husband and wife writing team behind The Painted Lady Inn Mysteries and The Talking Dog Detective Agency. Morgan K Wyatt is the general wordsmith, while her husband, Scott, is the grammar hammer and physics specialist. He uses his engineering skills to explain how fast a body falls when pushed over a cliff and various other felonious activities. The Internet and experts in the field provide forensic information, while the recipes and B and B details require a more hands-on approach. Morgan’s daughter, who manages a hotel, provides guest horror stories to fuel the plot lines. The couple’s dog, Chance, is the inspiration behind Jasper, Donna’s dog. Overall, both are fun series to create and read.

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Buy the book at Amazon.

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Where Demons Dance by Emma Briedis – Spotlight and Giveaway

May 8, 2019 By 11 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Emma Briedis will be awarding a $20 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

A desperate widow…


It’s 1874 in Cedar City, Utah Territory, when Penelope Cavey finds her beloved husband, Henri, dead from a gunshot wound and the mysterious phrase, “demons dance” carved into the parlor mirror. Despite her brother’s attempts to dissuade her, Penelope is determined to find Henri’s killer and sets out alone for St. Joseph, a rural town in Utah—following the only clue Henri left for her.

A lying father…

Ava Patton is haunted by dreams of another life. Her nightmares give way to reality when her caring stepmother, Nellie, confirms her rising suspicions that the man who claims to be her father is only pretending to be, and that her real parents are dead. Astounded by this revelation, Ava sets out to uncover what became of her parents and in doing so, stumbles upon a heartbreaking tragedy. She is forced to stop her quest when her brother, Lawrence, falls seriously ill.

A labyrinth of a mansion…

Lawrence finds himself trapped within the winding halls of a large house, plagued by taunting voices as he struggles to escape. Unable to distinguish reality from the imaginary, Lawrence doesn’t know who or what imprisoned him there, nor to whom the house belongs. Lawrence realizes he holds the key and must find Ava and Penelope before another person is silenced.

Enjoy an Excerpt

There was silence as they rolled along until suddenly Ava ventured to ask, “You believe me, don’t you?”

“Whatever do you mean, dear?”

“That I have these dreams—of my parents—Father’s told me that he’s my father and they’re just fantasies but I—”

Nellie stopped the carriage and turned to Ava. “You must never, ever, tell anyone I said this to you.”

Ava looked at her with surprise.

“The dreams that you have are very real. Your parents were very real, and I am so sorry for what happened. Do you remember it?”

Ava shook her head. “My parents? So you aren’t my real mother? I just dream about bad things. I see faces I recognize, but I don’t know their names. But I know they’re my parents. Father says I am making this up—”

“He’s lying.”

Ava was taken aback that Nellie spoke with such surety.

“Lying? Why would he lie?”

“He thinks he’s protecting you. But I don’t want you to have to suffer because of what happened. I really do hope that that tonic will help you, dear,” Nellie said.

Ava smiled. Her liking for Nellie grew even stronger. “Thank you, Mother. May I still call you Mother?”

Nellie smiled and hugged Ava close, “Of course, my dear. It’s an honor.”

“What happened to my parents then?” Ava asked.

“They died,” Nellie replied, her voice cautious.

“How?”

There was a moment’s pause before Nellie continued, “I can’t tell you exactly.”

About the Author:

Emma Briedis has written six books in multiple genres, including fantasy, romance, and historical fiction with Where Demons Dance being her debut novel. After reading Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables at the age of thirteen, she decided to write a book of her own, and hasn’t stopped since. She lives in Southeastern Wisconsin with her dog, Chewie.

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Buy the book at Amazon.

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What Would I Tell a New Author? by Jerome Mark Antil – Guest Blog and Giveaway

May 3, 2019 By 5 Comments


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Jerome Mark Antil will be awarding a $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

What would I tell a new author?

There are a few things I would tell a new author. The first I learned hearing what a famous artist said to his pupils on their first day of class. He would ask them who had to be inspired to paint. Every hand went up. The artist then walked to the center of his studio – he reached up and pulled on the ceiling lamp cord. The light goes out. “The electric company won’t wait for you to be inspired to get paid.”

Writing is a discipline – think of the newspaper reporter who has to turn in 8 inches of ‘story’ every day by 3PM.

To me, writing is a job. I get up at 6AM, I am in my studio after I’ve made a thermos of coffee. I write until noon or one o’clock. I count every word and every page. I typically write 1,700 to 2,000 words a day. My afternoons are for relaxation or marketing. I’m very flexible with my afternoons – but my mornings are set in stone.

Typically, towards the end of the week, I edit and patch together what I’ve written.

I never start a work without first completing six months of research on the topic, places, times or ‘voices’ I will use for my story or characters.

A bond that can only happen on a dance floor happened in a cafe off Frenchman Street among four unlikely characters: a man who was about to die; his friend, an illiterate Cajun French yardman; and two of the most successful women in New Orleans.

Aging Captain Gabriel Jordan, retired, was given two months to live, three months before he met “Peck”–Boudreau Clemont Finch–a groundskeeper on the back lawn of his hospice on Bayou Carencro, Louisiana. It was at the hospice that Gabe told Peck his dream of seeing the Newport Jazz Festival before he died. They became friends, and Peck offered to help grant his wish by taking him there.

And they began their journey.

It quickly became a journey with complications and setbacks. They saved each other many times, but they were in turn saved by two extraordinary women: Sasha (Michelle Lissette), a real estate agent in New Orleans’s posh Garden District, and her best friend, Lily Cup (Lily Cup Lorelei Tarleton), a criminal attorney.

Less than a year before the events in Mamma’s Moon, Gabe and Peck wandered into Charlie’s Blue Note, a small jazz bar in a side alley just off Frenchman Street, where the music was live and mellow and the dancing warm and sensual.

Here they encountered Sasha and Lily Cup, and amid the music, the dancing, the food, the flirting, and the cigar smoke, the four formed an unusual and lasting friendship that would see them each through a series of crises, disappointments, life-threatening situations, and moments of great joy and satisfaction.

Enjoy an Excerpt

“Did you murder the kid, Gabe?” Lily Cup asked. The aging army captain, veteran of Korea and Vietnam, lowered his newspaper just enough to see over the entertainment page.

“Close the door, honey, AC’s on,” Gabe said.

In a tight, black skirt with a tailored matching waistcoat and white Nike walking shoes, she leaned and propped a black leather briefcase against the wall by the door. She stood like an exasperated tomboy, adjusting and refastening the diamond brooch on her lapel.

“I heard you’ve been walking with a cane, dancing man. What’s that all about? You’ve never carried a cane. You jazz dance for hours a couple of nights a week and Sasha tells me you started carrying one everywhere you go when you don’t need one. It’s smelling pretty premeditated to me, Gabe. What’s up with the cane thing?”

“Does Sasha know about this morning?”

“I haven’t told her anything. She’d have a canary.”

Gabe lifted the paper again to read.

“I need to know if it was murder,” Lily Cup said.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Gabe said.

He closed the paper, folded it in half, and in half again. Dropping it on the arm of the chair, he stood and left the room.

“Define murder,” he said from the kitchen.

She tossed a handbag and white driving gloves onto the other chair, lifted Chanel sunglasses to the top of her head.

“Gee, I’ll have to think on this one. Hmmm…Oh, I know. How about the police have a cane with blood on it and there’s a dead man.”

“It’s a walking stick. My cane is over by the door.”

“Well now it’s a goddamned murder weapon. They checked for prints, and yours are the only prints on it, and their guess is the lab will say the blood has his DNA.”

Gabe came out with a coffee urn in one hand and his finger and thumb through two empty cup handles. He held the cups out for her to take one.

“No more,” Gabe said.

“You’re rather nonchalant for the spot you’re in. Why’d you clam up on me like that at the precinct? It didn’t set well with any of them. The DA entered a charge of second-degree murder. The police chief put out a warrant for you from lunch at Brennan’s.”

He held the empty cups closer to her.

“Just made it. Chicory and cinnamon.”

“If you had television you’d have seen it—‘Daylight killing on St. Charles Avenue.’ It’s all over the news, freaking out the DA and the Visitors Bureau. No telling how many videos from streetcars going by will wind up on You Tube.”

“That’s enough,” Gabe said.

“People can live with violence after dark. That’s expected in any city, but when it’s in broad daylight, forget it. The DA pushed for an early docket with a magistrate and it’s Tulane and Broad for you at nine a.m. tomorrow.”

“What’s Tulane and Broad?”

“Magistrate Court. Congratulations, Gabe, you made the big time. You have to appear before a magistrate to hear the second-degree murder charge against you.”

She took an empty cup in one hand, pinched his arm with the other.

“Look me in the eye and swear it wasn’t murder,” Lily Cup said.

“This some kind of technique they teach at Harvard Law, Miss Tarleton?”

About the Author: JEROME MARK ANTIL writes in several genres. He has been called a “greatest generation’s Mark Twain,” a “write what you know Ernest Hemingway,” and “a sensitive Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.” It’s been said his work reads like a Norman Rockwell painting. Among his writing accomplishments, several titles in his The Pompey Hollow Book Club historical fiction series about growing up in the shadows of WWII have been honored. An ‘Authors and Writers’ Book of the Year Award and ‘Writer of the Year’ at Syracuse University for The Pompey Hollow Book Club novel; Hemingway, Three Angels, and Me, won SILVER in the UK as second-best novel.

Foreword’s Book of the Year Finalist for The Book of Charlie – historical fiction and The Long Stem is in the Lobby – nonfiction humor. Library Journal selected Hemingway, Three Angels and Me for best reads during Black History Month.

Before picking up the pen, Antil spent his professional career writing and marketing for the business world. In this role, he lectured at universities – Cornell, St. Edward’s, and Southern Methodist. His inspirations have been John Steinbeck, Mark Twain, and Ernest Hemingway.

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Justice Gone by N. Lombardi Jr – Spotlight and Giveaway

May 1, 2019 By 4 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. The author will be awarding a $15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

When a homeless war veteran is beaten to death by the police, stormy protests ensue, engulfing a small New Jersey town. Soon after, three cops are gunned down.

A multi-state manhunt is underway for a cop killer on the loose. And Dr. Tessa Thorpe, a veteran’s counselor, is caught up in the chase.

Donald Darfield, an African-American Iraqi war vet, war-time buddy of the beaten man, and one of Tessa’s patients, is holed up in a mountain cabin. Tessa, acting on instinct, sets off to find him, but the swarm of law enforcement officers gets there first, leading to Darfield’s dramatic capture.

Now, the only people separating him from the lethal needle of state justice are Tessa and ageing blind lawyer, Nathaniel Bodine. Can they untangle the web tightening around Darfield in time, when the press and the justice system are baying for revenge?

Enjoy an Excerpt

In memory of Kelly Thomas, who was beaten to death by members of the Fullerton Police Department on July 5, 2011.

Bruntfield, New Jersey, just another banal town in a part of the country that nobody thinks about, was about to become famous; or rather, more aptly put, infamous. People sauntered past lackluster shops unaware that in a few days, the lackadaisical streets would bear the rabid frustrations that divided the nation; a pus-like bitterness that was held in check by the demands of everyday survival and the distractions offered by obsessive consumerism and brazen media.

Some would inevitably blame the cascade of events on the weather, since the origins could be found on a hot summer day in 2006. Sure, just about all summer days are hot, but this one was close to the record, and humid to boot. By the end of July, the Northeast coast was suffering under a sweltering heat wave. Despite the humidity, no one could remember the last time it had rained. A hundred-year drought was predicted, they’d said.

Bruntfield, among the many places under this curse, had its water supply so severely depressed that the city authorities were forced to impose water rationing. As if that wasn’t enough, the excessive load on air conditioners led to incessant brownouts. With the weather nothing less than insufferable, suffocating, oppressive, even provoking, tempers flared along with the temperature. But the local situation, as bad as it was, was about to get worse.

About the Author:

N. Lombardi Jr, the N for Nicholas, has spent over half his life in Africa, Asia, and the Middle East, working as a groundwater geologist. Nick can speak five languages: Swahili, Thai, Lao, Chinese, and Khmer (Cambodian).

In 1997, while visiting Lao People’s Democratic Republic, he witnessed the remnants of a secret war that had been waged for nine years, among which were children wounded from leftover cluster bombs. Driven by what he saw, he worked on The Plain of Jars for the next eight years.

Nick maintains a website with content that spans most aspects of the novel: The Secret War, Laotian culture, Buddhism etc.: http://plainofjars.net

His second novel, Journey Towards a Falling Sun, is set in the wild frontier of northern Kenya.

His latest novel, Justice Gone, was inspired by the fatal beating of a homeless man by police.

Nick now lives in Phnom Penh, Cambodia.

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Buy the book at Amazon UK, Amazon US, Barnes and Noble, Book Depository, Waterstones, or Kobo.

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Balancing Life and Writing with Travis Haugen – Guest Post and Giveaway

April 15, 2019 By 36 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. One randomly chosen winner via rafflecopter will win a $30 Amazon/BN.com gift card. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

How does Travis Haugen balance life and writing?

That is a great question. I am one of those who do not think about life/work balance. Mostly, situations present themselves and I go with the situation.

I started playing in bands at an early age, about 14, traveling around to small towns near my home town in southern Saskatchewan. Then, in my late teens, I traveled with various bands throughout US and Canada. I began writing songs somewhere around then, becoming immersed in the music world as I did so. I became curious about what happens behind the song, behind the bass, so I learned much of the technical aspect of recording while I continued to tour. There was no question of balancing life with work, music was my work, and my life.

Later in life, I drifted into consulting part time as a computer technologist. In early 2001, I sat down and like many other days, I wrote a song. However, on that day I kept writing, only it wasn’t a song, it was the beginnings of a book, which turned into a series of books. It was as if I had all these thoughts and experiences that I had to get on paper, without really knowing why. At no point in my life did I plan on being an author, it simply presented itself to me, and I ran with it, and I haven’t stopped since. I did shelve the project for a while when I moved to Winnipeg in 2002. A new house, a new job, a new city; life got busy. So yes, I guess it was a matter of balance at that time, but I did not think of it as such. There just wasn’t time. But I never stopped thinking about the books, and I always had a guitar in my hand, when I had a moment to do so.

Life changes as it does, and about five years ago, I found myself living in the basement of Bedside (Recording) Studios in Winnipeg. I pulled the box of manuscripts down from a shelf, blew off the dust, and dove in. As I edited, I started writing songs to fit situations in each book. After work, I would spend time in the studio laying down tracks for those songs. I continued to work, play in various bands, write my songs, and write more books.

Then, fate tipped her hand again. About two years ago, my niece, Candy Haugen and I re-connected after years of little or no contact. Candy’s ordeal with colon cancer, and the passing of my mom, Candy’s gramma, were the forces that worked to draw us together. And through that connection, Candy became connected to the One song Project, and the book Soup. In fact, Candy’s involvement led to the book being published. Without her, that would not have happened. She went from helping with the editing to advising on artwork to co-writing the last seven songs from Soup with me. Her influence changed me, which changed the book, both to the good. Now, she is as important to the project as I am, maybe more so, because I wanted to start book four of the series, wile she wanted me to focus on finishing Soup, and getting the book out there in people’s hands. That would not have happened without Candy

In September, I plan on retiring (or at least cutting back) from computer consulting, and with Candy’s help, focus my time on getting the second book of the series published. We will also get the fourth book on paper, finish the songs, and continue the story of the Yonge family as they move through the years. The first book I wrote started from one song. That song came out of loneliness. Now, the series of events that led to my strong connection with Candy has led to a strong connection with the rest of the family, and I am the furthest from lonely as I’ve been in my life.

That first book, aptly titled One Song, may never get published, but it will remain special to me, as that is where Scott, Michelle, Scheck, Duke and many of the other characters came to life. And, like me, it was never a question of balance, it was simply, life. Sweet and beautiful, ever changing, ever precious, life.

Scott Yonge exploded onto the national consciousness at the 2001 Garrett Awards and quickly rose to legendary status on the wings of his music and his whirlwind romance with independent film actress Michelle Zoe. What should have been a perfect life was interrupted by an ultra-right wing militant group called the American Freedom Force and its leader, Colonel Randall, who forces Scott to choose between his life and that of his son. After his heroic sacrifice, his family is left to pick up the pieces and forge ahead to a future in the vacuum he left behind.

Now, in 2021, his son Hedley inherits music for himself, becoming a star in his own right as technology gives new life to the medium. Scott’s daughter, affectionately known as Soup, throws herself into unravelling the mysteries of her family’s history. Michelle commits herself to keeping them all together and trying to make sense of life without the one she loves. Through it all, the AFF looms in the shadows, threatening to resurrect the pain they have just begun to overcome.

Enjoy an excerpt:

The dream wakes him, the same one. Hedley’s whispered words “Bye birdies, bye” still ring in his ears as he achieves consciousness. Sound of a different source soon intrudes: that of music playing through the PA system. It’s late, he realizes, and jumps to his feet. He can feel more than hear the rustle of people filing into the arena, bringing with them a sense of tension that will build until show time, then burst like a stick dam before a raging river with the first note. It’s 7:10 PM; an hour and twenty to go. A shrill knock comes to the door, followed by Del’s voice.

“You in there, dude?”

“Si,” Scott replies. All the years of the road, sharing the stage, and the music are audible in Del’s simple words. They don’t have to speak to talk; they’re on the same wavelength.

The show, the focus is the show. Whatever lies with tomorrow lives with tomorrow; they live for tonight. “I need a shower, I stink. I’ll be along soon.”

“Cool, dude, don’t forget your pants.”

He hears cowboy booted footsteps receding on the concrete floor.

A new, unidentifiable tension floats to the surface as Scott showers, rising from the dark side. It has an ominous feel about it, winding like a creeping vine around Scott’s confidence, bringing with it a sense of fear, and worse, a sense of defeat. The wariness settles on him again, draining his energy and his will. He shivers uncontrollably as coldness sets in, and he wonders if he can go on. Then it occurs to him as he cranks the hot water that this is all part of it. The plan all along was to isolate him, weaken him bit by bit, reducing him to a shell of what he is. By show time, they would see Scott as the colonel wants them to see him, a weak and ineffective fool incapable of sustaining a mission of any substance. “You will not break me,” Scott whispers. He leans his head against the cool tiles of the shower stall. “I will not give you that.”

Travis was born and raised in the prairies of Saskatchewan, lived in Calgary for over 25 years and presently lives in Winnipeg, Manitoba.

Travis Haugen has spent forty years of his life touring on the road as a musician and has spent hundreds of hours in recording studios. Travis spends much of his time writing songs, writing stories, playing music and spending valuable time with his family and close group of friends.

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Don’t Mess with Gracie by Carol Kilgore – Spotlight and Giveaway

March 29, 2019 By 16 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Carol Kilgore will be awarding a $50 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

The mysterious Mr. Ott is trying to intimidate Gracie Hofner into being his internal spy at The Bastion Group. She’s learned a lot about him through several sources, even using information provided by the pair of ghosts trying to save their granddaughter. But it isn’t enough. Mr. Ott is an expert in hiding his true identity.

Gracie isn’t as worried for herself as she is for her family, her friends, and her new tenant, Milo Porter. Her feelings for him have grown, but she can’t show them. Mr. Ott’s threats involve those she loves, and one friend has already been killed. Besides, she’s certain there is someone else in Milo’s life.

It takes Gracie and her growing support team to unmask Mr. Ott, but it’s what Gracie learns along the way that shows readers the wisdom of the advice Don’t Mess with Gracie.

This is the conclusion to The Amazing Gracie Trilogy—a story so big it takes three books to tell it. Gracie’s adventures begin with Jalapeno Cupcake Wench, continue with Bluebonnet Ballerina, and conclude here.

Enjoy an Excerpt:

“Oh, crap.”

Gracie Hofner had reached up to grab a box filled with paint supplies, but in the process of pulling it off the upper shelf, she sneezed. When she did, she pulled the box out from the shelf and downward. As its contents tumbled toward her, she tilted backward on the ladder, losing her balance. As best she could, she shielded her head and neck. She would strike the concrete floor of her garage any second.

Two strong hands grasped her shoulders. “I got you.”

Her feet hit the floor. The ladder crashed. She still held onto the now-empty box.

“I got you,” repeated in her ear. Softer this time.

Gracie recognized the voice. Milo Porter, her new tenant. She slumped against him and breathed out through her mouth to release some of the adrenaline.

Milo was stronger than she’d given him credit for. His hands were firm, and the muscles in his chest supported her hefty farm-girl bones and workout muscles without a problem. He smelled good, too.

His arms went around her shoulders. “Are you all right?”

Gracie nodded, not yet trusting herself to speak without sounding like a babbling idiot. She took another deep breath and released it before taking a step away and standing straight. Her insides still trembled, so she inched around to face him. He allowed her to turn, but his hands never left her shoulders.

About the Author:

Carol Kilgore is the award-winning author of the three books in The Amazing Gracie Trilogy: Jalapeno Cupcake Wench, Bluebonnet Ballerina, and Don’t Mess with Gracie.

In addition, she is the author of In Name Only, Solomon’s Compass, and Secrets of Honor, three standalone romantic suspense novels set along the Texas Gulf Coast.

She and her husband live in San Antonio, the setting for the Amazing Gracie books, with two quirky herding dogs who still require help opening the food bin and the door.

You can learn more about Carol by visiting her website and subscribing to her newsletter or connect with her on Facebook and Twitter.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Amazon Author Page

Carol is a member of Romance Writers of America, Mystery Writers of America, and Sisters in Crime.

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Lowcountry Incantations by C.J. Geisel – Spotlight and Giveaway

March 26, 2019 By 3 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. C.J. Geisel will be awarding a paperback copy of “Lowcountry Incantations” to a randomly drawn winner (U.S. Only) via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Quinn Riley has just had her life turned upside-down. Life is about to get worse…and weird.

After losing her job, Quinn Riley goes on the hunt for another boring, nine- to- five when a split- second decision to save a dog turns into a nightmare. The ghost of a stunning young woman in a blue dress starts to follow her, she is forced to move in with a stranger named Caleb, and events in her life have her questioning everything she thought she knew. With the help of Caleb, a new Psychologist turned friend, and a magical root doctor, she navigates the blessings and dangers of her new life.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Burn. It all needs to burn.

The thoughts raced through my mind over and over again, a record on loop. I’m shaking, match in my hand ready to strike. I picture Father and his evil smirk, reeking of beer and cigarettes, closing the door in my face as he prepares to defile Kailee. I hear her screams as if they were my own. Attempting to break the door down, the pain in my arm explodes, yet the locked entrance doesn’t budge. He must have wedged a chair under the door knob again. This wouldn’t be the last time. Mom comes to his defense, as always, declaring I’m full of it. She stands barefoot on the kitchen’s dirty linoleum floor, pregnant with another child that he would be sure to violate. I imagine her face, staring at me as if I were an abomination, making up lies about my own father to get attention. I was certain she could hear the screams echoing through the halls. How could she not care? The anger welling up inside of me seemed to grow exponentially, threatening to escape my throat and bellow into the wind. Her own flesh and blood was being beaten, assaulted by a monster while she stood in the kitchen, hands on her hips. She disgusts me.

About the Author:

CJ Geisel is the author of the paranormal crime thriller “Lowcountry” series. She lives in Florida with her boyfriend, family, and dogs. She is an animal advocate, especially for those who are misunderstood or disabled. She also loves baking, photography, and travelling.

Website ~ Twitter ~ Instagram ~ Facebook

Buy the ebook and paperback at Amazon.

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If I Had Never Heard of Me, Would I Read My Book? by John C. Waite – Guest Blog and Giveaway

March 22, 2019 By 2 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. John C. Waite will be awarding a $50 Gift Certificate to Nuts.com to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

If I’d never heard of me, would I read my book?

Even if I had never heard of me, I would start reading this book. Why? The cover.

It says the story is about dolphins. Dolphins have been special to me all of my life, starting when I was a kid and encountered one in the surf at Grand Isle, Louisiana.

I grew up in New Orleans, and our family occasionally drove the hundred miles through the swamps and marshes of south Louisiana to get to Grand Isle, a sizable chunk of sand stretching along the state’s southern coastline. It was home to a recreational fishing enclave, and numerous weekend camps. I always had a great time romping in the surf or fishing with my father and little brother.

But one day while at play in chest deep water a monstrous grey beast came hurtling by, almost knocking me off my feet. I yelled for my dad and he was there in a flash. Seeing the dolphin chasing mullet as few feet away, he surmised why I had summoned him. He poo-pooed my fears and told me about dolphin, noting that they were known to have helped drowning people survive.

Shortly after that, I came across a book, a piece of kid’s fiction called Children of the Sea. It’s a story about a Caribbean boy who is befriended by a dolphin that saves him from drowning. The book follows the boy and the dolphin through a number of adventures.

I had that in my mental back pocket when my best friend finagled me a job at the Gulfarium in Ft. Walton Beach Florida for the summer of my senior year in high school. He was diving in shows there. My job didn’t have the oomph that the divers’ jobs had, but it was a paying position. For my time there I lived in the Gulfarium, and after hours would often jump into the main tank and explore. I quickly became “friends” with a couple of the dolphin, feeling particularly close to them based on my previous experiences.

It wasn’t all good. One of the dolphins, a young and over-sexed male, died in an accident. He had been a particularly active little guy, and most of the female divers avoided him while in the tank because of his somewhat amorous advances. But his death was a tragedy that affected all of the diving cadre. We gave him a fitting funeral.

With those experiences in mind, drawing the dolphin who are part of The Tursiops Syndrome wasn’t difficult. Plus, there are reams of studies dealing with the species Tursiops Truncatus, the common bottlenose dolphin. And of course, there are the television programs that featured dolphin.

But, the common perceptions should be taken with a grain of salt. They are not “Flipper.”

Dolphins are quite intelligent, but that intelligence applies to their world, not ours. They should not be thought of like a buddy. They are big, strong animals with lots of teeth. Respect them for their intelligence, but don’t make them mad.

The dolphins in The Tursiops Syndrome become tools of an unscrupulous human being.

Don’t be that person.

###

How do you get a nuke into the heart of the city? Maybe a dolphin can help. From Author John Waite, the tale of a police detective who matches wits with a mad scientist and terrorists intent on destroying America. When detective Hickory Logan joins Park Ranger Kevin Whitehead investigating the mysterious death of a dolphin she finds herself sucked into a far deeper whirlpool. Can she and Kevin stop the tide of terror that threatens to kill thousands or will they be fodder for a nuclear fireball?

A newspaper review described Tursiops thus: “The writing is, well, wonderful. Waite has a gift for dialogue and story-telling, and his plot is adventurous and perfectly paced.”

Enjoy an Excerpt

Red Logan hunkered down next to the Humvee’s left front wheel. He folded his lanky frame in several places to assure that the vehicle shielded him from rifle fire emanating from the house a hundred feet away.

A furious fusillade had greeted A-Company, first battalion, 407th Special Forces when their vehicles pulled to a halt in front of what was a rather strange building for northern Afghanistan. In the early morning darkness it looked for all the world like a California ranch-style home.

But there was no BMW parked in the driveway.

The firefight lasted less than fifteen minutes. There was only an occasional round pinging off the slate-riddled soil and infrequent bursts of automatic fire keeping the soldiers from charging the structure. Red wondered why the squads weren’t using some of the heavier weapons. He knew the unit armament included shoulder-fired missiles and a Carl Gustav 84-mm recoilless rifle but so far, the big stuff had been silent.

The tip had placed Azam al-Zawahiri, Al-Qaeda’s chief organizer for nine-eleven, in the house.

Numerous such tips over the past two years had come to nothing. Most of them originated in minds overly-motivated to garner the twenty million American dollars offered for the capture of several of the world’s most wanted terrorists.

At least one Osama bin Laden look-alike had been found dead. And it took weeks before authorities identified the body. The man had been killed and left in a house to which an Afghan citizen directed U.S. forces. Not only did he not get the reward he sought, but his countrymen also jailed him for mutilating the corpse by cutting off its hands and feet.

Army intelligence, a title Red thought oxymoronic, had considered tonight’s tip more credible than most since it had come in anonymously. The tipster hadn’t mentioned the reward. So the Special Forces unit had headed out in the predawn darkness for a two-hour drive north from Kabul into the mountainous terrain.

“Red?”

The voice belonged to the figure squeezed into the wheel well behind him.

He could barely see Jessie’s sinewy shape, strangely gawky where the video camera and its now-dark lights rested on her right thigh.

“Yeah, what?” he whispered.

“Should I get some video?” Jessie asked, cocking her left hand back over her shoulder.

“Hell no. We’re reporters, not soldiers. CNN’s not paying us to get shot. Just keep your ass down. There’s nothing to shoot.”

Before he could finish his sentence, an amplified Afghan voice rang out from the vicinity of the lead Humvee, imploring the occupants of the house to surrender. The answer was a three-shot rifle volley, the rounds pinging off the hard-pack and whining away into the darkness.

“Now,” Jessie said, pushing past Red and swinging the camera onto her shoulder, leaning on the Hummer’s hood.

“No.” Red yelled, trying to pull her to the ground. But it was too late. The light on Jessie’s camera flared brilliantly then died in a crash of glass and the harsh double bark of a Kalashnikov. The rounds zinged away into the darkness, but Red heard in the report the crunch of bone.

“Jessie.” he screamed.

About the Author:

Thousands of author John C Waite’s words flew past Alpha Centauri years ago, heading for the center of the galaxy, perhaps sparking an arthropod’s grin in route. Waite, a degreed journalist and retired Merchant Mariner has numerous writing and broadcasting awards to his credit, and millions of words in print and broadcast media. Originally from New Orleans he has called Panhandle Florida his home for fifty years, but still retains a taste for things Creole and Cajun. A recreational and professional sailor, his travels have covered the Caribbean, the Atlantic and Pacific coasts, portions of south and Central America, Canada, Hawaii, Ireland, Britain, and Europe. John resides in Pensacola, Florida. He is a father to four and grandfather to four. His books are available on Amazon.

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What Would I Tell a New Author? by Hawk MacKinney – Spotlight and Giveaway

March 19, 2019 By 23 Comments


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Hawk MacKinney will be awarding a $20 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

What Would I Tell a New Author?

Seems like it was about the same time Moses was leaving Kemet-Egypt that this writer was ‘new’. We writers are solitary modified nerds. We change the world – we handle the spotlight as part of our marketing, but all said and done, we like our solitude; i.e., peace of mind. Without it the creative juices are sidelined and crippled.

MAIN STUFF

 Write it. Edit it and edit it again. There’s no such thing as being done, but there is a caveat – one can over-edit and change good to pitiful.

 Don’t say NO to the person in the mirror.

 When words and actions don’t match…don’t sign any contract with anyone like that. Don’t be professionally associated with them – the marketing-publishing world is small – everyone talks.

 Don’t publish excerpts of your unpublished works on the Internet. That’s public domain, and most publishers usually won’t consider it after your manuscript has been published in any form.

PITFALLS

 Don’t throw anything away, including any scribbles/ideas/deletions, AND keep your backups current.

 Trust editors you know. Those you trust, listen to them. That doesn’t mean do what they say…but consider it. I shy away from editing others’ works—their work comes from their structuring of tales and characters, etc. etc. I’ve no access to those juices. I like editing my own work – sometimes as much as 12-20 times with each title.

 Watch out for quickie critiques from those who just talk instead of actually sitting down and doing the work of writing.

 Use rejections as personal opportunities to learn – especially from editors/publishers you trust. They’re rare as oak trees on the moon. If it was easy, everyone would be doing it—quality has always been rare.

 Ignore putdowns about “Have you published?” It’s jealousy and ego trouble. Are you an author? If you’ve written something you’re an author!

 Have a marketing budget. You’ve done the work. You’ve edited it; made it shine. Crow about yourself BUT DO NOT put others down. If you achieve success as a writer, you have an obligation to help other new authors.

 In presentations and Q&A audience participation panels, I-I-I-I and me-me-me are ego sputter and self-serving parades. Answer questions from the audience when asked, but if you are fortunate enough to be invited to participate on a panel, don’t use it to simply talk about yourself. For example, I often get asked about where I’ve taught/faculties/multiple postdoctoral degrees/commission officer military services, Dead Gold being Book 4 in a Moccasin Hollow Mystery Series and how I did so-and-so which I am happy to answer but only if asked. As writers, it is not our talents and gifts that make us what we are BUT how we use them. Runaway ego-putdowns ain’t cuttin’ it.

 Love your work. Never quit writing. An author is a loner in a room full of paper – ain’t it fun!

The dazzling lure of Olympic gold fame is a spotlight glare hotter than any fifteen minutes of fame.

During plans for a cross-country ski vacation, Aspen Police Department Criminal Investigation Division Detective David “Spinner” Krespinak and SEAL-bud Craige Ingram are ensnared by glamour, upmarket glitz and bling, and greed in the deadly champagne powder world of a money-gets-you-anything high-country ski-mecca. Body parts start turning up in the most unlikely places. As the two friends start their investigation, A hornets nest of the local elite do not want the publicity. For good reason it seems, they may be part of the mystery of bodies and body parts piling up at the morgue.

The closer they get to the killer the more confused they become. Who is behind the murders and mutilation? The list of suspects grows as they close the net on the killer.

The tender underbelly of Aspen is not what it seems. It is a raw open sore that oozes blood, drugs, and murder.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Spinner staggered the clutch and gear-shift. Kept his foot off the brakes as his vehicle slewed in the razor-edged chunky refreeze of the deep off-road ruts until coming to a stop. Killed the motor, and set the hand brake. Gusts of wind sliced at a square jaw on his devil-may-care rugged face as he climbed out and turned up the collar on his sheepskin coat. Big thick champagne-powder snowflakes clung for a moment to dust his dark hair, and just as quick blew-gone in the capricious strong up-slope drafts. He ducked under the fluttering yellow plastic ribbon with its black letters: POLICE LINE—DO NOT CROSS.

The charred black remains of the older model sedan slumped in a sooted blotched circle surrounded by undulating pristine white and candlestick-caked trees. It spoke loud and clear to Spinner—the burn had continued for some time after the storm. Wheel rims, frame, heat-crazed windows were still smoldering from hood to trunk.

As he walked toward her, salt-and-pepper-haired Pitkin County Medical Examiner-Coroner Candelaria Lopez didn’t have to look up. She knew the cadence of Spinner’s footsteps. “Looks like we have us a bungled hurried torch job.”

About the Author: Hawk MacKinney served in the US Navy for over 20 years. While serving as a Navy Commander, he also had a career as a full-time faculty member at several major state medical facilities. He earned two postgraduate degrees with studies in languages and history. He has taught postgraduate courses in both the United States and Jerusalem, Israel.

In addition to professional articles and texts on chordate neuroembryology, Hawk has authored several works of fiction—historical love stories, science fiction and mystery-thrillers. His titles are not genre-centered, but plot-character driven. Moccasin Trace, a historical novel nominated for the prestigious Michael Shaara Award for Excellence in Civil War Fiction and the Writers Notes Book Award, details the family bloodlines of his serial protagonist in the Moccasin Hollow Mystery Series—murder and mayhem with a touch of romance. Hidden Chamber of Death, the first book in the mystery series, was followed by Book 2, Westobou Gold and his latest, Book 3, Curse of the Ancients. All have received national attention. The Bleikovat Event was Vol I in The Cairns of Sainctuarie Science Fiction Series followed by Vol II, The Missing Planets. Vol III, Inanna Phantom is in final galleys.

Website | Amazon Author Page | Barnes and Noble Author Page

Buy the book at Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

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A Fool’s Circle by Suzanne Seddon – Q&A and Giveaway

March 12, 2019 By 9 Comments


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Suzanne Seddon will be awarding a $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

What is your take on critique groups?

I suppose everyone is entitled to their own opinions.

What is one of your writing quirks?

Getting too close to my characters. I see them and hear them!

What kind of writer are you?

A very truthful one! I don’t sugar-coat anything. I like to keep things raw.

What is your favorite genre?

My favorite genre has always been crime/fiction/thrillers

What is your day like?

Well, I have a teenage daughter who is Harry Potter mad! After I have listened to the latest conspiracy in the Potter world and she has gone to school… I’m a single parent. Loads of chores, etc. Then, in the afternoon, I sit down and start writing until my daughter comes home from school. I must have complete silence, otherwise I can’t write. It’s only once she has gone to bed in the evening, I can really get back in to my writing.

Kate Sanders has suffered many years of physical and mental abuse at the hands of her abusive husband Alan, and convinces herself that she is only holding the family together for the sake of her eight-year-old daughter. If it wasn’t for her best friend Jill Reynolds, she would have taken the suicide option a long time ago.

As she desperately seeks a way to escape, she is contacted by a solicitor. Kate’s old aunt has died and she has been left a small fortune.

For the first time, she sees the light at the end of the tunnel. She dreams of a fresh start, a new home, a new life. What Kate doesn’t know is that Jill and Alan have their own secrets, and are both desperate to get their hands on her money.

Kate soon finds herself falling for the charms of Jonathon Jacobs in what she believes to be fate finally intervening and offering her a second chance, unaware that each move he makes has been directed, orchestrated and well-rehearsed as he begs her to leave her husband Alan.

But is it all too late, as she finds herself in the frame for murder?

Enjoy an Excerpt

A blonde head bounced on the floor in time to the yelling. Rays of the early morning sun caught her golden hair, and motes of dust hung in the air. Sophie Saunders was eight years old. Kneeling down on the floor she played with her dolls, drumming Ken and Barbie against the carpet, her body bent forward, almost as if she were praying in her immaculately clean and pressed school uniform. But today her school uniform was the last thing on her mind. She bashed the dolls’ heads off the pink floor in unison.

‘Ring-a-Ring-a-Rosie,’ she sang aloud to herself as she tried to drown out the voices that rose up through the floorboards. The noises from downstairs were a regular occurrence, and fast becoming the norm. Sophie felt her dad’s anger, ever-present in his voice as it vibrated through her bedroom, positioned over the kitchen. Scared, she dropped her dolls, raising her arms and clasping her small hands over her ears. Sophie closed her eyes. Blinded, she felt for Barbie and Ken, gripped the toys by the legs. With one in each hand, she remained still for a moment, and as the voices intensified beneath her, she sensed them possessing the dolls.

‘You’re an old bag. I hate you!’ Sophie’s voice was deep and rough, as she rammed Ken’s head into Barbie’s chest.

‘Why are you always so nasty to me?’ She raised the pitch of her voice as she shook the dolls hard.

‘Because you make me want to vomit when I look at your fat ugly face,’ she growled.

‘Please stop being so cruel to me,’ she enunciated. ‘Who do you think you are? Don’t you dare tell me what to do, bitch!’ With each word, she struck Ken against Barbie, again and again, until finally Barbie’s head popped off and rolled across the carpet.

That hadn’t been her intention. She didn’t mean to decapitate the poor doll. Shocked, she stood up as she searched for the missing head. She found it under the bedside cabinet at the back by the wall. She crouched down, stretched out her arm and grabbed it. Sophie sat up on her knees, struggling to reattach the plastic head to its body.

‘Bloody shit! Why won’t it go on?’ The racket from below grew ever louder. ‘Bloody shit.’ Frustrated, she gave up, and flung the dolls across the room.

Downstairs, her father, Alan, almost lost his head. He shouted louder as his wife, Kate, persisted as the peacemaker.

‘As useless as a one-legged woman in an arse-kicking contest.’ His voice echoed around the large stark white room, drowning out the soothing music from the old radio sitting on the window ledge.

‘You’re one useless bastard!’ The barrage of abuse had just hit average level.

About the Author: Suzanne Seddon was born in 1968 in Islington, London. After leaving school she had many interesting jobs, from swimming teacher to air hostess, and was able to travel the globe. Now a single mum to her teenage daughter Poppy-willow, Suzanne spends her days writing and has written several articles for magazines and newspapers.

Growing up, Suzanne witnessed mental and physical abuse within her own family which strongly influenced her when she wrote her first play, A Fool’s Circle, when she attended the famous Anna Scher Theatre. Suzanne, however, was not content to leave it there and decided to go ahead and transform her play into a novel.

Not one to shy away from exciting challenges, she also wrote, acted, directed, cast and produced a trailer for the book around her hometown in Islington with the support of local businesses, who recognised the drive and importance of Suzanne and her work.

Suzanne is a passionate writer and she is determined to be heard so that the issue of domestic abuse is raised amongst the public’s consciousness, empowering others to speak out. She wants those who suffer at the hands of another to have their voices heard, loud and clear.

Publisher’s Author Page | Facebook | Twitter | InstaStalker | Twitter

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