Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Wanted: Wife Blog Tour - Author Top Ten Favorite Books

Title: Wanted:  Wife
Author:  Gwen Jones
Genre:  Contemporary Romance
Publication Date:  June 4, 2013
Event organized by: Literati Literature Lovers  and Literati Author Services


Andy Devine is advertising for a wife on a utility pole, and interviewing him is the last thing TV reporter Julie Knott needs. Especially after her cheating fiancĂ© just tweeted their disengagement. Now she has got to choose: get the story—or become it?
Wanted: Wife
Landed, Financially Secure 40-Yr-Old Male
* Handsome, but with old-school communication skills and a secret past *
Seeks Healthy, Athletic Female
* Preferably a pretty reporter with a messy love life who has never spent a day in the woods *
For Marriage and Family
* What could possibly go wrong? *
If you love the humor and romance of Rachel Gibson and Susan Elizabeth Phillips, don't miss the fabulous debut of Gwen Jones

Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/16089225-wanted

PURCHASE LINKS  (Paperbacks not available until July 2)

Barnes &Noble:  http://amzn.to/17TNMiT

Julie Knott tells you all about her Top Ten Favorite Books (in no particular 
1. The Portable Dorothy Parker – Edited by Marion Meade. 
As a reporter and a writer, Dorothy Parker has always spoken to me. She lived life large and was
fascinated by the weirdness all around her. I’ve always guided whatever I’ve done in my
professional life by her credo: Wit has truth in it; wisecracking is simply calisthenics with words.
2. The Time Traveler’s Wife – by Audrey Niffenegger.
A truly original story that illustrates the ephemeral qualities of love and its endurance. Get out
the hankies, though.
3. Outlander – by Diana GabaldonActually, the whole Outlander series which is going on what—seven books now? I’ve loved
every one of them, but this is the book that started it all. While on holiday in Scotland Claire
Beauchamp, a WWII era English nurse accidently walks through standing stones and falls into
the 1740s and invariably into the arms of gloriously romantic Jacobite rebel, James Frasier. How
do you say yum in Gaelic? I spell it Jamie. A rousing adventure all around.
4. Jane Eyre – by Charlotte Bronte
I read this book first as a girl and loved it ever since. Has there ever been a more enigmatic,
masterful and dashing romantic hero than Edward Rochester (except well, you know)? But
surpassing even him is the plucky, independent Jane. She’ll tell you all to go to hell.
5. Eleanor Roosevelt (Vol. 1) – by Blanche Wiesen Cook.
Why do many young women these days find their idols in pop stars, when there’s someone like
Mrs. Roosevelt to emulate? A pioneer in so many ways, she’s always aspired me to do better.
My favorite quote: You must do the thing you think you cannot do.
6. Blindspot – by Jane Kamensky and Jill Lepore
An affectionate send-up of the best of eighteenth-century fiction. A love story full of surprises
and wit and some really hilarious bon mots. Quite literally made me laugh out loud. Just plain
7. The Whiskey Rebels – by David Liss
A story of taxes, stock manipulation and corruption in the early days of the American republic,
partially set in Philadelphia. Really, really more than it seems and very entertaining. I loved its
hero and what he did for love.
8. The Devil in Winter – by Lisa Klepas
If it’s true rakes make the best husbands, then Sebastian, Lord St. Vincent, will win the highest
spousal award hands down. In my estimation the best Kleypas historical romance ever. And
that’s putting it into some supremely stellar company. Guilty pleasure? You betcha. Except I
haven’t a guilty bone in my body.
9. Naked – by David Sedaris
A collection of brilliant and hilariously funny essays on family, growing up and making it in the
real world. Sedaris has been called the “new Mark Twain.” Wry observations with just a twist of
the profound.
10. Making a Scene – Crimes and Indiscretions, Book 1 (Ellora’s Cave Edition) – by Trudy 
Another guilty pleasure, erotica department. An intelligent, sexy, funny tale, and one that Andy
and I read together. Or at least tried to…

About the Author

Gwen Jones, after spending years writing several unpublishable novels, decided to learn what she was doing wrong or give it all up. So after earning an MFA in Creative Writing from Western Connecticut State University, she’s now so good they even allow her to teach there. An unabashed born-and-bred native of Southern New Jersey and the Jersey Shore, she lives with her husband, Frank, and the absolute cutest cat in the world, Gracie.

Visit my website – Gwen Jones Writes
Like me on Facebook - gwenjoneswrites
Follow me on Twitter – gwenjones25
Become a fan on Goodreads ~ Gwen Jones

Buy Wanted: Wife in ebook or paperback!

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Sunday, June 9, 2013

A Way Back To You Blog Tour + $25 Amazon or Paypal Cash Giveaway

A Way Back to You

a way back

What would you do if you were given a second chance? Annabelle, whom nearly everyone calls Anne, has been stuck in the past for two years. Numbed by grief over her husband's unexpected death and overwhelmed with the responsibility of raising their three young children alone, Anne agrees to let a friend take the kids for the weekend while she tries to get some much-needed rest at her parent's home. But when Anne wakes up the next morning, she is suddenly sixteen again. And it just happens to be the worst day she spent as a teenager. High school the second time around brings unforeseen changes and frustrations, but remembering that her future husband, Mitch, has just returned from a mission and is living on the other side of town gives Anne hope. Getting Mitch's attention (for the second time) is more complicated than she could have imagined, but Anne discovers she is stronger than she believed possible—and there just might be a future for her after all.

Amazon * Deseret Book

Chapter 1

It had been one of those two-year-old-screaming, dead-battery-at-the-grocery-store, pile-of-bills-in-the-mail days. I fell into bed exhausted with, I’m ashamed to admit, a few chunks of oatmeal still in my hair. The mattress was starting to sag, and I tossed and turned a bit, trying to find a position that didn’t put my ribs in contact with the metal springs hidden under just a thin layer of padding. Finally, I managed a semicomfortable position and dozed off. I was awakened abruptly not fifteen minutes later by a wet coughing sound coming from the baby’s room. James was throwing up.
Three hours and two sheet changes later, I was ready to try again, this time blissfully free of oatmeal, thanks to the vomit-motivated shower I had taken. I didn’t even bother trying for a comfortable position. I could have slept on a bed of hot coals. I just flopped onto the bed, pulled the closest blanket up over me, and rolled over to check the clock. Four a.m. Good. I still had two and a half hours until I had to be up to drive carpool. That was enough time to get through at least one sleep cycle. It could have been worse.
My body didn’t agree with that assessment when the alarm went off. It protested strenuously, and I debated keeping the kids home from school just so I could sleep in for another hour. The thought of a nap was the only thing that dissuaded me from that idea. If the kids stayed home, that possibility would be gone. I forced myself out of bed and started our morning routine.
Shelley Inger accosted me in the school parking lot as I was zipping up Mallory’s jacket and handing her and Jenna their lunches. She walked toward me with a hip-swinging step that caused her high-heeled boots to click loudly on the asphalt. Her skinny jeans left little to the imagination, and her vividly highlighted hair wisped in the cold wind as she called out my name.
“Anne. There you are, darlin’. I was beginning to wonder if you weren’t sleeping in this morning.”
Her voice was a little too loud after the night I’d had, but I kissed Jenna and Mallory and sent them off before I turned to smile up at Shelley. She was at least four inches taller than I was, even without the heels. And the hair. So I had to look up quite a ways.
“What are you doin’ tonight? You got any big plans?” she asked.
I stifled a groan of exasperation. I had discovered quickly that living in a small town meant that everyone felt entitled to know everyone else’s business. I was the one and only widow under sixty in the neighborhood, so I had come to expect the constant stream of judgment, usually masked as sympathy sprinkled liberally by the more officious busybodies who tried to set me up with everything male between the ages of twenty-one and seventy. Shelley was usually the prime perpetrator.
“Oh, yes. Big, big plans. I have a mountain of laundry waiting to be done,” I quipped, trying to keep things light. My efforts were wasted. Shelley pursed her pink-lined lips in a blend of sympathy and censure.
big“Darlin’, you really got to get out of that house. I know what you need. Pete has a friend . . .” She stopped and frowned as I groaned out loud. “What? What is the matter with meeting someone? It’s been what, three years?”
“Two years and seven months.” I didn’t like the direction this was going.
“Okay, two and a half years. That’s long enough. Eventually you gotta find someone new. Pete’s friend is a great guy. He’s one of those intellectual types but good looking. Andhe’s only been married once—has a little girl close to Jenna’s age.” She delivered the description as if she were offering me a lottery jackpot.
And“Well, that’s a relief. That last guy was on, what, his fifth divorce?”
“Sixth, but hey, at least he had money. This one’s not rich, but he’s probably more your type.” She winked. I really couldn’t believe I was listening to this. It felt like high school all over again. Not something I was eager to relive. “He’s comin’ over for dinner tonight, and I know he’d be so excited to meet you. Pete can’t stop talking about you.”
Now that was funny. “Pete, huh? The man who never says more than two words together can’t stop talking about me?”
that“Okay, it was me. But Pete agreed when I said you were really cute,” Shelley said. She looked me over, taking in my sweatshirt and pajama pants, lingering a little longer at my hair. “Maybe you could wear that little black dress?”
My stomach clenched at the thought.
“Shelley, it’s really nice for you to invite me, but I don’t have a sitter,” I said. I’d let this discussion go on long enough. I wanted to get away.
“What about my Megan? She’s great with the little ones, and Mallory and Jenna can practically take care of themselves anyway. It’s not like you’ll be gone overnight . . . unless you really hit it off,” she laughed.
I cringed again. She might mean well, but could this conversation go any further downhill?
“Come on, Anne. At least think about it. Dinner’s at seven thirty. Okay?” She grinned again and then shimmied off to intercept Mrs. Walsh. Rumor had it that Mr. Walsh had been arrested for driving under the influence, and I guessed Shelley wanted to get the scoop from the source.
I stared after her, resenting her interference even while I envied how easy it was for her to talk to people. I got into my car and turned the key. The engine started on the third try. As I glanced in the rearview mirror to back out, I caught a glimpse of myself. Ugh. My hair was sticking out all over, thanks to sleeping on it wet. No wonder Shelley had been staring at me like that.
“Lovely,” I muttered, trying to smooth it. One lock of hair continued to flip out unnaturally like a neon sign flashing the words “She really let herself go.” It must have been the sleepless night, or maybe I was getting sick like James, but I had this horrible pain in the pit of my stomach that grew and grew. I thought maybe I was going to throw up, but instead the pain just pushed itself up and out in a huge sob. Tears followed immediately, and I struggled to see as I pulled out of the parking lot.
“Mommy sad?” James asked from his car seat in the back. I stuffed the pain back down and wiped my face, looking around the car for something to blow my nose on. Nothing. I sniffed.
“No, baby,” I said in a falsely cheerful tone. “Mommy’s fine. I’m just tired. Let’s go home and give you a bath, okay?”
James pouted at the suggestion. His little face was so cute that I couldn’t help smiling through the tears. I kept up a steady babble of toddler talk for the rest of the drive home. Anything to keep my mind distracted from that black hole looming inside me.
Two hours later I had James fed, bathed, and down for a nap. As I started another load of laundry, I came across one of Mitch’s old T-shirts. Mallory had been using it to sleep in, and I’d seen it dozens of times in the laundry. I moved to toss it into the washer, but my hands wouldn’t let go. The water kept filling the drum, detergent already foaming, but I couldn’t make my fingers release that shirt.
There was a stain near the hem, just a smudge of darker gray. I didn’t know what had caused it, but a flash of a memory surfaced—Mitch opening my car door at the grocery store while he tugged his jacket on and I caught just a glimpse of that small stain on the hem of his shirt. It was an insignificant memory, but it sucked all of the air from my chest.
All of the anguish, the loss, the emptiness washed over me. For more than two and a half years I’d done everything possible to avoid facing this reality. Maybe it would hurt less as time went on, or maybe I’d find that it had crept in gradually, softened by time. I don’t know exactly what I’d thought, or if I’d even thought at all. I’d just reacted to protect myself. Now it was clear just how false any of those ideas were. The pain hadn’t lessened. It had intensified as if it were breeding in the hidden recesses of my mind. Now that it was loose, it attacked mercilessly, crushing me to the floor of my laundry room with its weight.
I couldn’t catch my breath. My heart and lungs begged for oxygen, but there wasn’t room for any air to enter. Every nook and cranny of my body was suddenly filled with the fact that Mitch was really and truly gone.
Finally I sucked in a lungful of air, trying to clear the drumming pain away. But when I blew it out, it was nothing more than a small, piteous cry. I clutched the shirt to my chest and curled up beside the laundry baskets and let the grief have its way with me.
I’d spent the last two and a half years trying to keep the pain of losing Mitch at bay. It seemed like there was never a good time to really face it. I had the girls to care for. Mallory had been nine and Jenna five when Mitch died, and it seemed like all my energy went into filling their needs and helping them through the horrifying experience of losing their father. Then, just weeks after his death, I discovered I was pregnant. Everything changed at that point as I began focusing my efforts and energy into making sure that Mitch’s new baby would be healthy and loved.
Now, I’d been fighting this moment for so long that I thought I’d dealt with his death. I really did. How wrong I’d been. Now that the dam had burst, I didn’t know if I would ever be able to stop crying. Oh, how grateful I was that the children couldn’t see me like this.
They needed me to be strong for them, but there was no strength inside me right now. For some crazy reason, Shelley Inger popped into my head with her comment about my little black dress, and that started off a fresh wave of sobs. She couldn’t have realized that I had bought that dress for Mitch’s funeral. The thought of wearing it to impress a man was nauseating.
Minutes passed, then an hour, and I still couldn’t regain control. I gave up on trying to accomplish anything and just staggered back to my bedroom, collapsing on my bed. When James woke up, I put him in front of a movie and gave him sugary cereal to snack on. He stared at my red, blotchy face and wrapped his little arms around me, trying to comfort me in his baby way. That broke through the little bubble I’d managed to survive in since he woke up, and I started crying again. Luckily he was distracted by the brightly colored cereal and the animated figures on the screen, and I lay on the couch and cried, covering my face with a pillow when I couldn’t keep it quiet. By two thirty I knew I would have to pick up the girls soon. How could I drive like this? How can I live like this? my heart keened.
How can I live like this?I was utterly defeated. I called Shelley and asked if she could give the girls a ride home. I knew I was risking a mountain of gossip, but I didn’t care anymore.
“Sure, darlin’, but you sound awful. Are you okay?” she asked, her voice dripping with concern and curiosity.
“I think I’m getting sick,” I lied. What was I supposed to tell her, anyway?
“Oh, okay. Well, I’ll drop them off.” There was a pause, and I could tell there was something more she wanted to say. “This is just an excuse to get out of dinner tonight, isn’t it?” I fought back a fresh batch of wails and managed to answer.
“It really isn’t. I’m just not well today.” That last part was definitely the truth.
“Okay. I’ll see you in an hour,” she said. I thanked her and told her good-bye. It wasn’t until I hung up the phone that I realized from her comment that she was actually planning on coming in. I stumbled to the bathroom mirror and surveyed the damage. My hair was still sticking out all over, and my face was puffy. I was thirty-eight, but I looked at least ten years older. It shocked me into silence, my tears halted by the realization that it wasn’t just about the crying today. I’d been letting myself slowly decay since Mitch had died. I sank to the floor of the bathroom.

Author Emily Gray Clawson


Emily Gray Clawson describes herself as an author, mother, and youth mentor. Born and raised in Utah, she is passionate about her faith and great books and will share her love of both with anyone who will listen. Emily began writing at the age of seven, creating homemade picture books that she peddled from door to door. She self-published her first novel, Things Hope For, and is collaborating with Jennifer Graves on a book entitled A Sister’s Witness: The Powell Family Tragedy. With her husband, Richard, Emily founded two youth leadership programs, Handmaidens of Virtue and Mastering Knighthood. Trained in vocal performance in college, she has enjoyed including aspects of her training in this book. Emily and Richard are the parents of four children and live in Taylorsville, Utah.
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Saturday, June 8, 2013

Where NOT to Write Guest Post by David Estes + International Giveaway

Where NOT to Write by David Estes

First I’d like to thank the Promiscuous Diva for giving me the chance to come on her blog! She gave me a few topics to choose from, and I chose “Favorite Place to Write.” Awesome topic, one that I can hopefully make as entertaining as possible because of my unique writing circumstances.

You see, while I feed my fledgling full time writing career snack crackers and corn chips, I’m in the midst of a two-year trip around the world with my beautiful and supportive wife, Adele. So on any given day, I’m usually writing in a completely different place. But before I get into MY ALL TIME FAVORITEST PLACE TO WRITE, I want to tell you about some of the many places I’ve written my books, as well as tell you about a place I probably should NOT have been writing.

OK, here goes! Well, my burgeoning career started none other than on the Manly Ferry in Sydney, Australia. Yep, Aussies, that’s right! My wife is Australian, though I am not, and we were living in Australia, working glorious 9-5 jobs in the city, while living at Manly Beach. Every day we rode the Manly Ferry to the city, and that’s where I would write. Half an hour there, half an hour back, rolling on the waves, catching an occasional glimpse of a dolphin or two out the window. All in all, not too bad, eh? Squeeze in an hour at a cafĂ© at lunch in the city, and I was churning out about two hours a day, perhaps 2,500 words. That’s how it all started. That was definitely fun, but in the scheme of things, neither the ferry or the cafes were my favorite places to write.

Fast forward a year and a half. Four books published and it’s time to quit our jobs and do this full time, yeah! We decided that if I was going to write fulltime, we might as well make an experience out of it, travel the world the world for two years, meet people, live life to the fullest. So we took the show on the road, quitting our jobs, selling, giving away, or storing almost all of our belongings, getting plugged with more vaccinations than I knew existed. First stop: Hawaii!

Hmm, who wants to stay cooped up writing all day when you’re in sunny Waikiki, or on the North Shore of Oahu? Not me! Well, I thought, I’ve got a tiny laptop that can easily fit in the beach bag with everything else, so I might as well take advantage. That’s when I started writing on the beach. We bought a couple of cheap beach chairs and I would write while Adele would read and take photos. If I got hot, I took a dip. I was churning out LOTS of words now, somewhere in the 4-5 thousand mark per day, writing full time, publishing a new book every 2-3 months. Living the dream! Only…laptops aren’t really meant to be in the sun. Duh! We were on the beach and I’d just finished the sequel to The Moon Dwellers, and ZAP! FRY! BZZ! My laptop goes black. Like blank-screen black. Like pressing-all-the-buttons-won’t-get-it-to-do-anything black. NOOOOO!!! Yeah, I freaked. Not my best day. I’d saved a zillion times, of course, and even backed up parts on an external hard drive, but there was LOTS that was ONLY on the laptop’s hard drive, and if it was fried, I was completely ready to shamelessly break down in tears in a public place. Enter, my hero: Adele! She made some calls to a friend, who called a friend. A computer whiz friend. So I trustingly handed over my computer, and two days later, voila! Dead computer with SAVED hard drive.Wootwoot! Lesson learned, right? Well, sort of. I continued writing on the beach, but first we bought a nice beach umbrella. Ahhh shade! How obvious was that? Apparently not obvious enough for my pint-sized brain. In any case, I borrowed Adele’s computer to write the rest of the time we were in Hawaii, until I had a chance to buy a new one. OK, so was the beach my favorite place to write? Notwithstanding the fried computer incident (which, from this day forward we shall never speak of again), the beach was still NOT my favorite place to write. Too much sand trying to get into the keyboard, concerns about sudden rainstorms, lots of wind, distractions, etc.

Get to the point already! Where do you like to write? The pub?The library?A big, comfy chair somewhere in Morocco?A hammock in Mexico?Nope, nope, nope, and nope. Believe it or not, despite having travelled (so far!) for about a year to four continents, my ALLTIME FAVORITEST PLACE TO WRITE continues to be...drumroll…IN BED! That’s right, for me nothing beats waking up and getting right to it. And Adele is super supportive of this, uh, let’s call it a “creative choice” (because it sounds better than “lazy choice”). She brings me breakfast, coffee, and sometimes even lunch in bed when I’m working on a project. It’s comfortable, warm, and there are generally zero distractions. On a typical day I churn out 4-5 thousand words before lunch. Then Adele and I go out and enjoy the day in whatever city we happen to be in.

All in all, it’s an absolute dream come true, one that NEVER would have come close to coming true without the remarkable and selfless support of the bloggers, fan group members, beta readers, street team members, family, and friends who have supported and helped me along the way. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you thank you thank you, and HAPPY READING!

David Estes

"Water & Storm Country" (Country Saga #3)
by David Estes.

Quick Facts                                        
Release DateJune 6th 2013.                               
Genre: YA Dystopian.                                                
Formats:   Paperback (only at Amazon), Kindle, Nook, Smashwords         

The book is suitable for all audiences.

Book Synopsis
Huck Jones, the son of the admiral of the Soaker fleet, has a legacy to live up to. Haunted by the distorted memories of his mother's untimely death, he must face his demons and the man who raised him as he strives to take the courageous step forward into manhood. When he's transferred to the worst-performing ship in the fleet, everything he believes is called into question when he meets a lowly brown-skinned bilge rat girl. Huck walks a deadly rope...
Meanwhile, Sadie, destined to be a Rider in the Stormer army, seeks to avenge her brother's death at the hands of the Soakers. Trained hard by her mother, an experienced Rider, Sadie knows strength and determination more than most. Her father, a Man of Wisdom, has shown his cowardice more times than she can count. As her world and family fall apart, she must cast aside her anger and focus on the wisdom she's always brushed off as foolishness.
Amidst everything, a Plague ravages all, discriminating against no one.
When four worlds collide, lines will be drawn, sides will be chosen, victory will be sought. Death will be wrought. The mysteries of the Cure for the deadly Plague will be uncovered. Who will survive? And what will those who do learn about themselves and the ones they love?


When the weight of Gard's heavy hands lifts from the crown of my head, I look up and the war leader nods. I stand to cheers and thunder from stomping feet, stride toward the stables, invincible, where a horse is being led toward me.
With a sleek, black hide, long, black mane, and fierce brown eyes, she's everything I always imagined she would be. Stamping her feet, pulling at the ropes, snorting heavy plumes of breath out of her flaring nostrils, she's unbroken.
It takes four strong men, Riders, to control her, and even then, she's uncontrollable. Wild. Hungry. Mine.
As I approach, I notice a mar on the complete darkness of her coloring: A single patch of white sits high on her nose, almost between her ears, shaped like a butterfly. White wings.
Can she fly?
I'm still admiring her wild and untamed perfection, wondering where she was found, how hard it was for the Horse Whisperers to lure her close enough to capture her, whether she put up a fight, when one of the ropes are thrust into my hands.
Thankfully, I have enough sense to grab it firmly, to hold on, to remember the words my mother taught me, let them flow freely through my mind. I am yours, you are mine, we are one. A warrior and a steed become a Rider. Fight with me even as I fight with you. Separate, our strength is breakable, matched by many; combined, our power is above all, unstoppable.
The words roll over and over in my mind as I take the second rope, walking my hands up the thick strands, feeling them burn my palms as the horse bucks and strains against the bonds that are so foreign to a creature that has known only complete freedom while roaming wild on the plains.
Freedom is an illusion. I'm surprised to hear my father's words in my head while I'm so focused on approaching my horse. I shake my head and resume my chant, this time out loud, first as a whisper and then louder and louder as I get closer and closer. The horse isn't calmed by my words, but I know she hears them, because she's completely focused on me now, and I'm oblivious to the ceremony that continues behind me.
Passion. The name occurs to me just like my mother said it would, right when one of the Riders are thrown down when the horse charges sharply to one side."Passion," I say, and she stands perfectly still, matching the intensity of my gaze. "Sadie." She snorts, as if my name is but a cricket under the stomp of her grand feet. And so it is.
I shouldn't be this close, not at the first meeting. My mother told me, but it takes Passion to teach me.
She seems calm since I spoke her name. Her head even bows a little, and my mother said a wild horse will never do that. Already, our bond is special.I reach forward to rub the white butterfly on her nose.
Her drooping eyes suddenly flash with anger and her head bucks as she leaps forward, butting me, throwing me backward, nearly stomping on my leg as I skid across the grass.

The Author

David Estes was born in El Paso, Texas but moved to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania when he was very young. He grew up in Pittsburgh and then went to Penn State for college. Eventually he moved to Sydney, Australia where he met his wife and soul mate, Adele, who he's now been happily married to for more than two years.
A reader all his life, David began writing novels for the children's and YA markets in 2010, and has completed 14 novels, 12 of which have been published. In June of 2012, David became a fulltime writer and is now travelling the world with Adele while he writes books, and she writes and takes photographs.
David gleans inspiration from all sorts of crazy places, like watching random people do entertaining things, dreams (which he jots copious notes about immediately after waking up), and even from thin air sometimes!
David's a writer with OCD, a love of dancing and singing (but only when no one is looking or listening), a mad-skilled ping-pong player, an obsessive Goodreads group member, and prefers writing at the swimming pool to writing at a table. He loves responding to e-mails, Facebook messages, Tweets, blog comments, and Goodreads comments from his readers, all of whom he considers to be his friends.

Learn more about the author: 



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Friday, June 7, 2013

Book Blast: Eve of Samhain by Lisa Sanchez + Giveaway

Paperback, 216 pages
Published May 25th 2010 by Omnific Publishing

As a college senior and server at Hanaford Park's hottest nightclub, twenty-one year old Ryann Pierce's plan was simple: work hard, make lots of money, and avoid the ass-grabbers at all costs. What she never planned for was Quinn Donegan—the living, breathing advertisement for sinful behavior that waltzed into her life.

With an angelic face, a hard body and a butt-load of charm, Quinn had a way with the ladies—a lot of ladies. Cursed with a deadly, addictive touch, his trail of indiscretion blazed across five hundred years. Tired and jaded, Ryann is a shocking revelation Quinn didn't see coming.

Filled with desire, yet unable to touch one another, Ryann and Quinn embark on a daunting journey, battling frustrating physical limitations while exploring their new love. In a race against the clock, Ryann learns she must plead for Quinn's life before…the Eve of Samhain. Determined to end her lover's suffering, not even the danger dogging her every move can keep her from her mission.

“How much do you know about Irish mythology? Faeries, their queen?” He pursed his lips and waited for my response.

I shook my head. “Nothing. I don’t know a thing.”

“I see,” he said, and he sat back in his chair. “I suppose I should begin with a bit of history then. The Fae were an ancient race of beings that came from the great islands of the North. After being defeated in a series of battles with numerous otherworldly beings, as well as the ancestors of those who currently inhabit Ireland, the Fae retreated to the Isle of Apples, or Avalon, as you may have heard it referred to.”

My eyes narrowed in confusion. I’d never heard jack about the Fae, which I assumed were faeries. “Avalon? Like from the Arthurian legend?”

“Yes,” he said with a nod.

Huh … you learn something new every day. “So, uh … where’s that located?”

“Avalon? In the Otherworld, of course.”

I felt like smacking myself on the forehead. Oh, of course. The Otherworld. I should have known! I squelched my sarcasm and let him continue.

“The Fae queen, Morgana, was eternally young and beautiful, and desired by many, including one young and foolish courtier. Exceedingly handsome and gifted with the ability to charm those around him, the young libertine ravished his way through Morgana’s female courtiers, wooing them into his bed one by one. Narcissistic in the extreme, the young faerie cared not for the feelings of the women he took advantage of, and he boasted openly about his conquests to all who would listen. “He was, in fact, so sure of himself, the vainglorious idiot attempted to beguile the beautiful queen, claiming she would be his greatest conquest. Upon hearing his plan, the queen became enraged, cursing the young faerie. For five hundred years he would walk the earth, seducing women, a slave to their passion, driving them to insanity with lust and the illusion of love. His touch brought about a euphoric reaction to the women he courted, filling them with desire and longing.” He stared at his hands as he spoke, as though they were the spawn of the devil, and hastily placed them in his lap, out of his line of sight.

Hot and dizzy, I inhaled sharply, unaware I’d been holding my breath. I stared at Quinn, willing him with my eyes to continue, as my breath came in shallow pants.

“Nothing he did was real; it was all an illusion. Every touch, a lie. Never would he know true love or passion, as every woman he came across fell prey to the magic of the curse.” He paused for a moment and stared off into space as if he were remembering the story firsthand. Darkness flashed in his eyes. “For a time, he became angry, indifferent to the plight of the women. After ravishing them, he left, letting them pine away for his touch. There were a few women who became deadly, killing any other that dared to cross their unrequited love’s path.”

He stopped talking when he heard me gasp, and looked down, refusing to meet my eyes.

“What … what happened?” I asked, my voice barely registering above a whisper. His story was riveting.

“The faerie was unable to live with the destruction that lay in his wake. He discovered he had a few other talents that enabled him to strip the memories of those he seduced, saving them from their inevitable spiral into madness.”

“So he sleeps with his prey, and then erases their memories?” My hand shot up to my mouth.

“Yes,” Quinn replied quietly, his voice filled with shame. His head hung low, and he refused to meet my eyes as he spoke.

I reached out to him, wondering why he was so worked up over a work of fiction. “Quinn, it’s all right. It’s just a myth. Th—”

“No.” He shot up out of his seat, jaw clenched in anger. “It’s not all right. It’s torture.” His voice broke. His whole body shook, throwing off waves of anger, frustration, and sorrow. “To know every moment of your existence is a lie, a farce. To live each day knowing the women you touch will either have no memory of you when it’s all said and done, or suffer mindless insanity is pure, unadulterated agony!” He threw back his chair and stormed off, leaving me shocked and speechless.

My mind reeled. No way, Ryann. Don’t even go there. You like to reside in a little place called reality, where there are no such things as faeries.

His story was so compelling, though. The tale he wove seemed to meet all my unanswered questions about him. Not to mention, he spoke with such conviction, as though he lived it himself.

Could it be?

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Lisa's lifelong love of writing, coupled with her ability to weave together and intricate and compelling story has led to the release of her New Adult paranormal romance trilogy,the Hanaford Park series (Eve Of Samhain, Pleasures Untold, Faythe Reclaimed).

In her role as a busy stay-at-home and self proclaimed "cheer mom," on any given day Lisa wears a number of different hats. From taxi driver to chef,nurse to seamstress, laundry woman to enforcer, and, of course, writer, Lisa manages to keep everything together while caring for her husband and three children. The few spare moments left in her day are usually spent reading or writing, and if she's really lucky, possibly even catching up on some much needed sleep. Lisa and her family currently reside in Tracy, California.

Lisa is represented by the fabulous Brittany Booker of the Booker/Albert agency, and has two projects on submission and a third in the works.

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Wednesday, June 5, 2013

The Best Book Ever Giveaway Hop

The Best Book Ever Hop
This hop is hosted by The Best Books Ever and I Am A Reader, Not A Writer
Since this is The Best Book Ever
I'm giving away 1 book on the Best Book Ever List!
You can check out the books here
As usual the giveaway is open international!
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The Best Books Ever(US/INT)
I Am A Reader, Not A Writer (Int)
Phantasmic Reads (INT)
Katie's Stories (US)
Just a Booklover (INT)
Booklovers LaceyCat (US)
Forever 17 Books (INT)
BK Walker Books
Black Coffee, Brown Cow
Tifferz And Her Sisterz Book Review
ai love books (INT)
The reader lines (INT)
The Quiet Concert (US)
Lisa ~ MoonShineArtSpot
Books Beside My Bed (US)
Geo Librarian (Int)
LDS and Lovin' it (INT)
BookHounds YA (Int)
BookHounds (Int)
Always YA at Heart (INT)
Mother Daughter Book Reviews (INT)
Mary @SweepingMe (INT)
Bookworm Lisa (INT)
Stacy Claflin, Author (Int)
The Book Bag (INT)
Ketch's Book Nook
Mythical Books (INT)
From the Bootheel Cotton Patch
Patchwork Press (INT)
Carti nemuritoare
My Friends Are Fiction
My Friends Are Fiction
Reviews by Abby (INT)

Reading In Twilight (Int)
Fantasy Books List
The Book Sphere (INT)
Another World Of Books (Int)
Mia Fox
Tressa's Wishful Endings (INT)
The Rest Is Still Unwritten (INT)
Insane About Books (US only)
My Devotional Thoughts (International)
Awesome Nerd (INT)
Diane Estrella @ That's What I'm Here For.... (Int
Mandy @The Romance Bookie (US)
eveREADthings (INT)
Dee's Reads [US]
MoonShineArtSpot ~ Lisa
Promiscuous Diva (INT)
Rusty Reads (INT)
Bookish Outsider (INT)
Romance With A Book (US)
Read Now Sleep Later (US)
Rolling with the Moments (INTL)
Laurie Here - Contemporary Fiction and MORE - INTL
Sabrina @ i heart y. a. fiction (US)
Literary Meanderings (INT)
From the Bootheel Cotton Patch
YA Romantics (INT)
Rampant Readers (US)
Bibliophile Mystery (INT)
Another World Of Books (Int)
A Family Friendly Blog (US and Canada)
Lara Lacombe - Romance Can Be Deadly (US)
Thoughts About Life and Writing (International)
EM Castellan (INT)
Savings in Seconds
The "I Love Books" Club
Runaway Bridal Planner
This Mommys Gonna Lose It
Victoria Pinder
Cuzinlogic (Int)
Snarky Bird, Uber Nerd
Books Beside My Bed (US)
ST Bende -- Bende Books
JoAnne @ The Fairytale Nerd (INT)
Audios & More
Before Happily Ever After (int)
My Seryniti
Mug of Moxie (INT)
Sassy @ My Never Ending Pile of Books
Nicole @ Feed Your Fiction Addiction (INT)
Jennifer Lane Books (INT)
Dusty memories left behind
The Kids Did It
LazyDay.Ca (US/CAN)
Sonia Lal @ Story Treasury
GlitterWriter's Blog
I Love to Read and Review Books :) (INT)
My Bookshelf Is Hungry
Jessabella Reads (US)