All the days of

Monday, November 26, 2012

Cyber Monday Deals with Amazon

Today is Cyber Monday in the USA and there are big deals to be had at Amazon including some 100 top name eBooks that are selling for $3.99 and less. I have been browsing and I might be spending a bit more than my budget today!

And oh so tempting . . .

the Kindle Fire is only $159!

Friday, November 23, 2012

Book Tour: Infraction by Annie Oldham

FIVE THINGS TO KNOW WHEN STARTING OUT AS A WRITER

When I first started writing, I was under some crazy presumption that writing should be a natural extension of reading (which I loved to do). Then I actually got to the end of my first manuscript and came to a shocking conclusion: writing is hard work and it isn't glamorous. Here are five things you should know if you're just starting out:

Write. I know, you're saying, “Duh.” But guess what? The hardest part of writing is actually making yourself do it. So many people tell me, “I've always wanted to write a book...” You'll never be a writer if you don't write. Don't worry about beauty and perfection. Just get the words out.

Being a writer is hard work. It can be aggravating, painful, and isolating. One of the biggest hurdles is commitment. I know writers who have a daily word quota. That doesn't work for me. Some days the words flow; other days, the words are slower than tar. So I have a daily time quota If you're working full-time, have a family, etc., that could be as small as ten minutes or a half hour. As long as you write and do it consistently.

Have your dreams, but remember reality. I'm an indie author, and I love the path I've chosen. Do I dream about being a NYT Bestseller? Sure, but do I need that to feel fulfilled as a writer? Nope, not at all. Just remember that no matter if you're an indie author or traditionally published, being a best seller is a rarity compared to the thousands upon thousands of books published every year. Have your dreams—we all need them—but remember that your life won't end if you don't sell x number of books or make x number of dollars. Your life won't end if you don't contract with a big six publishing house. There are so many options for publishing these days. Just find the one that works for you.

Read. Read. Read. It helps you stay in touch with your chosen genre. It also helps you discover what works and what doesn't. Now that I'm four published books into my writing career, it's amazing how I read not only for enjoyment, but with an editor's eye of what I really like in a book and what drives me up the wall. You can't write in a vacuum, and reading helps improve your own work.

Don't beat yourself up. Writers (myself included) are dripping with self-doubt. I never talked to a writer that had enough confidence to say, “Yup, that book I just wrote? Every single person who reads it is going to be in awe.” It doesn't happen. There will always be someone (and most likely lots of someones) who doesn't like your work. That's okay. You've got to have a thick skin to be a writer. Take criticism where it's given and always try to improve your craft. Your best novel should always be ahead of you.

Infraction by Annie Oldham

“What's your name?”

I study him, study his fingers hovering over the notepad screen. I grab his hand. He tenses a moment and pulls back, but I look at him insistently and he relaxes.

Aren't you going to give me a number?

He smiles sadly. “No, I want to call you by your name.”

I watch him carefully, searching his eyes. They're black, almost as black as my hair—or what used to be my hair. I self-consciously run my palm over the stubble on my head. I can't read anything in his eyes. Jack's eyes are hazel, but deep in their colors and emotion. Dr. Benedict's are reflective, bouncing my face back at me. I don't want to trust him, but he's the first kind person I've come across here. Should that make me trust him even less?

Terra.

“I like that.”

I drop his hand.

“Now I just need to see your arm and get your tracker number.”

I go rigid, all of me freezing to the exam table. He must see the panic in my eyes because his lips turn down and several creases appear between his brows. He tugs on his ear absently.

“This is standard procedure, Terra. We just need to record who comes through here, give trackers to those who have chosen to, um, remove them. Or make sure there aren't any phony trackers.”

My fingers curl around the edge of the table, and I can't release them. I can't even blink.

“It'll just take a moment.”

He doesn't understand my paralysis. How could he? Those who have cut out their trackers are pretty common, especially among the nomads. But those who never had one?

Dr. Benedict steps forward slowly, as one might approach a frightened animal. He lifts a hand, his palm up. He looks submissive even. I watch as his fingers inch toward mine. They brush the skin, and his hand is warm. He gently pries my fingers from the table, and then gradually runs his fingertips up to my wrist and turns my arm over. His eyebrows raise.

“You've never had a tracker?”

I feel the color drain from my face, and I shake my head.

“Were you born in a city, Terra?”

I shake my head again and pull the towel closer around me, wanting to hide from him and the other questions that will surely follow, but he surprises me.

“I think that's everything we need for this exam.” He writes down a few more notes. “But you're not quite done here. You'll need to go through that door.” He nods to the right. “They'll inject a tracker.”

I'm to be branded. I'll never escape them now.

Saturday, November 17, 2012

SNEAK PEEK! Wolf with Benefits (Pride #8) by Shelly Laurenston

I am sooooooooo excited, Shelly has given us a sneak peek into the 2013 release in the Pride series. I cannot wait . . . I wonder if I can pre-order yet?

Edit: Pre-ordered

Back Cover Copy:

WOLF WITH BENEFITS

Sure, Toni Jean-Louis Parker has to be the responsible oldest sister to a crazy-brilliant clan of jackal siblings. But now she’s cutting loose for some hot, sweaty, no-commitments fun—and the sexy, slow-talking, swift-moving predator assigned to keep her family safe is just the right thing to shapeshift her love life into overdrive. Trouble is, he’s starting to get all obsessive wolf on her every time he looks in her direction…

Getting serious about anyone isn’t in Ricky Lee Reed’s plans. Hell, even now he doesn’t really have a plan—outside of catching whomever is threatening this dangerously brilliant family. But the more he gets of Toni, the more he’s howling for her. And whatever it takes to convince her that what they have is everything, well, this wily wolf is down for the sizzling chase…

EXCERPT: (Unedited/Unproofed)

WOLF WITH BENEFITS

From Brava

Available March 2013!

Her brother laughed and the sound of it made Toni smile despite the fact she didn’t really want to.

“Speaking of which, did you see Mom and Dad yet?” she asked him.

“Nope. They were sleeping by the time I went to bed.”

“I haven’t seen Mom since before I took Freddy to Aunt Irene’s hotel room yesterday . . . which makes me nervous.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know. Just feels like she’s up to something. She wanted me out of the house for a reason last night. I mean, she’d normally take Freddy over to see Aunt Irene herself.”

“You have a point.” Hearing the latest argument from their siblings, Coop’s head cocked to the side as they hit the top of those last stairs and started down. “Kyle and Oriana?”

“Of course. But Cherise is going to handle it.”

“She is?”

“She needs to try,” Toni reminded him.

“I wish her luck.”

“Look, it could be worse—” Toni began as she and Coop reached the last step, but Toni’s words were cut off when she saw her mother. Dressed comfortably in loose jeans, a B-52s T-shirt that was older than Toni, and her favorite battered “rehearsal” tennis shoes, Jackie headed toward the front door. Normally this was nothing for Toni to notice or remotely worry about . . . normally. But now Toni understood why her mother had avoided her and Coop last night—because her mother wasn’t alone.

“Mom?”

Still walking, but not turning around, Jackie said, “I know what you’re thinking, Antonella.”

“You have no idea what I’m thinking or you’d probably pop me in the mouth.”

“Trust me. I have a plan.”

Of course she had a plan. Jackie Jean-Louis always had a plan. She was a plotting little jackal who was always up to something as long as it benefited her career or her children. But unlike some musicians, who could be downright psychotic about their careers, Jackie was just sneaky. She never did anything to take someone else down. Jackie didn’t have to because she had full confidence in her skills as a musician. Ever since she had picked up her first violin at the age of three, Jackie knew that she was unbelievably talented and no one would ever be able to bump her out of the spot she’d earned as one of the world’s finest violinists. No one.

But Jackie wanted to take that next step. She wanted to be the mentor of the next “world’s finest.” She’d had lots of students over the years, many of whom had gone on to wonderfully successful careers. But none that were quite in her league. They’d never be quite as successful as she. Quite as well-known. She wanted that student who would turn her into The Great Master.

And that, Toni knew, explained the dog walking beside her mother. Not a shifter but an actual dog. The family hadn’t had a pet since the feral cat they’d found under their home that kept hissing at them. They’d give it food and, after a few years, it wandered away. It was the perfect pet for the Jean-Louis Parkers because they only paid attention to it when they felt like it. It didn’t need to be walked or taken to the vet or dealt with in anyway except to toss it some food and gaze at it for a few minutes when one of the kids needed “inspiration.”

But real dogs needed lots of things that no one in Toni’s family was capable of providing at the moment, including her and especially her mother.

Yes. Her mother. Who opened the front door and told the dog, “Go take your walk, sweetie. When you’re done, come back and scratch on the door. I’ll let you in.”

The adult dog, appearing to Toni’s eyes to be a rescue her mother had picked up somewhere, saw that open door as a bid for freedom. It bolted and Toni’s jackal ears immediately picked up the early-morning traffic barreling down the street.

Running purely on instinct, Toni jumped off the last step and bolted out of the house, following that dog right into the street. Moving fast, she tackled the dog, wrapping her arms around its slim body, and made a wild leap for the opposite sidewalk.

Toni had almost made it, but the truck speeding down the street still clipped her with its fender, sending Toni flipping over the hood of a parked car to land hard on her back in front of a stoop.

When she finally got her breath back, Toni opened her eyes and saw the wolf she’d met yesterday staring down at her. He was holding a coffee mug. With an annoying amount of calm, he sipped his drink and remarked, “Darlin’, at this point, I’m startin’ to think you’re sweet on me.”

***

The She-jackal’s eyes narrowed dangerously but when she opened her mouth, all that came out was a little “yip” sound. Ricky quickly rested his coffee cup on the wide stone handrail and rushed down the stairs to the prone female.

“Darlin’, I’m sorry to waste time teasing ya. I’ll call an ambulance.”

She shook her head no, but when she tried to take his hand, she cringed something awful and put her hand right back down.

That’s when two jackals came running over from across the street. One was an older female. Her momma, Ricky would guess. They had the same eyes. And a male, close to the She-jackal’s age.

“Toni!” the older female barked. “What the hell were you thinking?”

There went those eyes dangerously narrowing again.

“Mom,” the male warned, and that’s when Ricky realized this was Toni’s brother. He ignored the sense of relief he felt. “Not now.”

“This isn’t my fault,” the older She-jackal argued. “It isn’t.”

The male tried to take the dog that Toni still held with one arm, but the animal lay flat against her, its entire body shaking.

“Poor thing.” The male sighed. “It’s terrified.”

“Also not my fault.”

The glass and metal security door behind Ricky opened, and several adult wild dogs rushed down the stairs and surrounded the jackal.

“Are you all right, hon?”

“Been better,” Toni squeaked out.

“Not my fault,” the She-jackal pushed.

“Grit your teeth,” Ricky told Toni as he slipped his arms under her. “I’ll take you back to your house.”

“Oh,” the older She-jackal said, suddenly looking around. “That’s such a long trip... can’t we just bring her inside here?” She smiled sweetly at the wild dogs. “You guys don’t mind, do you?”

The wild dogs might not have minded, but from the way the She-jackal’s two children gawked at her, Ricky felt certain they did mind. A lot.

***

Toni knew her mother was sneaky, but holy hell, this was some hinky shit!

Using her own daughter’s brush with death to ease her way into the wild dog’s home was beneath even Jackie’s usual depths. Maybe even Kyle’s!

The wolf easily carried her inside the wild dogs’ home and down the hallway until he reached an enormous kitchen.

Why the wolf was here at all, Toni didn’t know. Maybe she didn’t want to know. All Toni did know was that her life was getting weird.

The wolf placed Toni’s butt on the stainless steel kitchen island so that she was sitting up. “So what hurts the worst?” he asked.

“Shoulder.”

“That’s what I thought. Because it’s not really in its socket.”

Toni sighed. “Great.”

“The dog is doing well, though,” one of the wild dogs pointed out.

“And that’s what’s important!” Jackie cheered, but when both her children gawked at her again, she quickly added, “You’re a hero! My daughter, the hero!”

A blond female wild dog pushed her way closer through the other dogs until she stood in front of Toni.

“Wolf is right,” she said in a thick Russian accent, “about this shoulder. But we can fix. Hold her, wolf.”

“Now wait a—” Toni protested.

The wolf scrambled up behind her, both legs around her hips, hanging well past her own long legs, and his arms around her waist, holding her tight.

“Got her!” he announced

The wild dog pulled her fist back. “I make this quick, jackal.”

“Hey! I don’t want you—owwwwwwwwwwwwww! You Russian cow!”

“See?” the Russian noted. “She’s better already. Who knew jackals were so tough?”

Coop leaned in, her brother cringing in sympathy. “Are you okay?”

“No!” Toni snarled.

“Make her sling,” the Russian ordered the others. She looked at Toni. “You’ll be fine tomorrow. I’m impressed you don’t cry like sniveling cat.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to.”

“All that matters is that you don’t. I loathe weakness. Like I loathe cats.” Then without another word, the wild dog walked out of the room.

“I’m weirdly freaked out,” Coop muttered, “and turned on all at the same time.”

Toni nodded. “I know.” Glancing down, Toni said, “Why are you still holding me?” she asked the wolf.

“I’m giving you my invaluable support, and my immense charm.”

“More like your immense bullshit.”

“Now, now, darlin’,” he teased, annoying her more. “No need to get so nasty just because you’re confused by your feelings for me.”

“I do not have feelings for you, other than pity for your mental illness.”

The wolf laughed while Coop suddenly raised his brows at her, and Toni shook her head at her brother. Tragically, she recognized that expression. Recognized it all too well.

“Don’t even—” Toni began.

“I’m Cooper,” Coop announced to the wolf, grinning at him. “The younger brother. Brother. Not boyfriend.”

Horrified, Toni snapped, “Cooper, stop it!”

“How y’all doin’? I’m Ricky Lee Reed. So glad you’re her brother. I’d hate to have to fight you for her.”

“No worries there,” Coop volunteered. “My big sis is very single and not even thirty yet."

“That is nice to hear.”

"And you already seem to know my very single sister.”

“I will kill you,” Toni warned. “I’m not afraid to.”

“I’m glad to know she’s single,” the wolf said, “but she’s playing hard to get while stalking me all at the same time.”

“I am not stalking you.”

“I feel like a little ol’ gazelle calf without its momma.”

Toni’s eyes crossed at that pathetic visual.

“Are you interested?” her idiot brother asked. “Because as I said, she’s very single, but she only deserves the best. I won’t hand her off to just anybody.”

“Hand me off . . . what is wrong with you?” Toni demanded of her sibling.

“I’m trying to help.”

“I don’t need help.”

“I tried to chat her up,” the wolf explained, “but she used y’all’s other siblings to confuse me.”

“Oh, the ‘are you my daddy’ move? Yeah. She’s been using that one for years.”

“You both are aware that I’m sitting here, right? In front of you?”

“She had a bad breakup,” Coop went on. “About a year ago. I was hoping she’d get over it sooner.”

“I can help with that.”

“That’s what I thought. I’ve had a few She-lion benefactors over the years, and they all say that wolves are great for that sort of thing. The casual hook-up, I mean.”

Toni looked around the kitchen. “Am I dreaming? Tell me I’m dreaming this conversation.”

“We’re real good for that until we find mates of our own,” the wolf explained.

“See, that’s what I’m thinking. Because her ex . . . not worth all this angst. Our father, who is a really great guy, still calls that man the ‘pimple on the cock of humanity.’”

“Fathers love me. I’ve got this winning smile.” And Toni didn’t have to turn around to know the wolf was showing that smile to her idiot brother. “Perfect Southern manners. I never cuss. I rarely get sloppy drunk and that’s only around my Pack if I do. And I treat my momma right at all times, and not just ’cause I’m afraid of her. Even though I kind of am.”

“That’s perfect.”

“Would you two stop it!” Toni, to her horror, started laughing, hating both males for making it happen. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend.”

“Not a boyfriend, darlin’. A hook-up.”

“I don’t need that, either. From you or anyone else.”

“But—”

“Shut up, Cooper!”

The males fell silent for a few moments until the wolf noted, “You do seem tense, though.”

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Book Tour: Detention of the Living Dead by Rusty Fischer

As you know, I love zombie books – so this is a treat having zombie author Rusty Fischer with us today.

Why I Write YA

By Rusty Fischer, author of Detention of the Living Dead

I always love it when a new YA book comes out because I get to take all I’ve done in the past year and start blogging about it for guest posts! So, this time around, I wanted to talk about something I rarely get asked, surprisingly enough -- Why I Write YA:

So… once upon a time, I was a teacher. Naturally, I taught English. But not just that, I also taught drama, history, social studies, school newspaper, computers, you name it, I’ve taught it. I started out in high school, then worked in middle school and was ultimately an elementary school computer teacher before being hired away by an educational magazine about eight years after I started teaching.

I wasn’t the bestest teacher ever. I mean, I tried to be; I really did. But all I really wanted to do was just pass a bunch of really great YA books around to the kids and watch them read. Or read with them. Or read to them. Or have them read to me. I think I would have been a really great Reading teacher, but of all the subjects I taught, that one was never open.

Still, I managed to do a lot of reading with my kids. In Social Studies, we read Number the Stars. In English, we read White Fang. Around Halloween, we read spooky stories, whatever I could buy a class set of with my Troll bonus points!!!

But deep down, I knew the kids wanted more. They wanted different. Most of them had already read Number the Stars or White Fang or Sherlock Holmes or Old Yeller or all the “school approved” stuff.

My favourite moments in teaching were when I’d catch a student borrowing a book from the class library to take home and read, voluntarily and “just for fun,” they’d say; something less educational like one of the titles from my Goosebumps or Fear Street collection.

And, oftentimes, the ones who reached for books from my lending library were the reluctant readers, ones who maybe dozed off while we read one of the classics as a class but really perked up if they found a story about sports or cheerleading or animals or something closer to their interests.

So later, when I left teaching and started writing full-time, first for an educational magazine, later for a book packager and ultimately for my own freelance clients, I made a promise that one day, someday, somehow, I’d find a way to write “fun” books for readers of all ages, but particularly YA.

And so here I am, years later, fulfilling that dream and grateful for every page, every opportunity, to do so. And I hope that, in some classroom somewhere, somebody is reaching for one of my zombie books and sharing a secret smile about something written just for them! And that’s why I write YA!

Yours in YA,

Rusty

About the Author

Rusty Fischer is the author of Zombies Don’t Cry, as well as several other popular zombie books, including Panty Raid at Zombie High, Detention of the Living Dead and the Reanimated Readz series of 99-cent living dead shorts.

Rusty runs the popular website Zombies Don’t Blog @ www.zombiesdontblog.blogspot.com. At Zombies Don’t Blog you can read more about Rusty’s work, view his upcoming book covers and read – or download – completely FREE books & stories about… zombies!

Blurb:

Maxine “Max” Compton is in detention when the outbreak starts; so are several other students when Max’s best friend Brie storms in – chomping on the thigh bone of their favorite Home Ec teacher, Ms. Watkins!

Brie is a zombie, and quickly starts biting everyone in the room – even her best friend, Max!

When the class realizes what happens, it’s too late; they are all zombies – and they’re no longer alone.

Now a thin grey man in a white lab coat is testing them; making them read, and once they can no longer read, the zombies are led from the room, never to be seen again.

One by one the zombies stop reading, all but a few of them, Max included. Oh, and that cute thug she’s been crushing on for years, Cory Winthrop!

That’s when Max learns that there are good zombies, and bad zombies. And if she’s to survive, she has to pick a side.

Who knew Detention could be this hard… or last forever?

Friday, November 2, 2012

Book Tour: Feels like the first time by Shawn Inmon

Every Life is a Story

I met Dawn, the love of my life, when she moved into the house next door the year I turned fifteen. She was three years behind me in school, so it took some time to realize that I loved her. For us, friendship came first. We spent hundreds of hours, sitting in the grass between our two houses, laughing, teasing and supporting each other through the trials of being teenagers in small-town America in the 1970s. By the end of my junior year in high school, I knew I loved her, but it took until mid-way through my senior year before I let her in on the secret.

One short year later, we had made a lifetime commitment to each other, but had also been banned from seeing each other by her parents. I said good-bye to Dawn, I thought forever, on Valentine’s Day 1979. Although I never stopped loving her, I didn’t see her again until December 1^st, 2006. When I did run into her again, completely by accident, it shook my world to its foundations.

After these events transpired, I began to realize that it was a story, and I wrote my book Feels Like the First Time. Now, after writing and publishing my own story, I have talked to dozens of people who said they related to our story of first love and lost love. Through these conversations, I have realized that every life is a story. Some are romances, some are action-adventure stories, and at least a few are comedies, but every life has a story arc.

With the changes in publishing over the last decade, telling that story has never been easier. When I first started writing Feels Like the First Time in 2006, I was intent on going to traditional publishing route – looking for an agent and trying to “sell” my story to a publishing house. By the time I finished it, I decided not to send out even a single query letter. The idea of being my own publisher had become too appealing to think of turning my own life story over to a stranger.

It was a steep learning curve for me, but I enjoyed every step in learning about editing, proofreading, cover design and interior book layout. It’s possible to do these things yourself, or you can hire professionals to do it for you. Before you get to that step though, you’ve got to write. And then write some more, and still more. Because I was an inexperienced writer, I wrote over two dozen drafts of Feels Like the First Time before I was ready to hire an editor to look at it.

I also recommend a thick skin. When I turned in the first draft of my story, it was over 100,000 words. When I hit “publish” five months later, it was 66,000 words. And that was after I’d already done dozens of revision on my own. Through the editing process, I kept a single mantra in the forefront of my brain: Whatever makes the book better. When you’re writing about your own life, it’s tough, but it’s good to get as much ego out of the way as you can.

Until you’ve done it the first time, the idea of sitting down and writing a book can be intimidating. That’s why I don’t recommend that. Instead, try just recreating various memories from your life, and telling them as stories. Write about your first kiss, or your first car, or when you lost someone close to you. Eventually, you may see a pattern emerging in those stories and a book might be in there, begging to be let out. Feels Like the First Time started as a series of emails between my oldest sister and I. It wasn’t until we had been exchanging those emails for two years that either of us realized it was a book.

Everyone has a story to tell, and it’s never been easier to share your story with the rest of the world.

Shawn Inmon is a husband and father, as well as a writer, Real Estate Broker, and member of KISS II, The Original KISS Tribute band. If you’d like to know what happened after he ran into Dawn in 2006, the answers are all in Feels Like the First Time, available in both Kindle and paperback on Amazon.

Romance/Memoir

Title: Feels Like the First Time

Author: Shawn Inmon

Date Published: 9/5/12

Blurb:
September, 1975: Shawn meets Dawn, his one true love, when she moves into the vacant house next door. Many people spend their life searching in vain for happiness, but he was lucky; finding it at the age of fifteen.

February 1979: Forbidden to see each other and feeling he is harming her by being in her life, he walks away from the love of his life, apparently forever.
December, 2006: After decades of sadness and mourning the girl that got away, he has a chance meeting with her that might change his life forever… again. Can the sweet bond of first love not only survive, but flourish?
Feels Like the First Time lets you share in the magic of young love in small town America in the 1970s. No matter how much the world changes, some things – timeless music, high school dances, making out in the backseat of a Chevy Vega, and of course true love – will always remain the same.

Excerpt

“That’s it then,” I said softly, almost to myself. There was nothing left to say. My composure was completely gone. Hot tears ran down my face, but I didn’t care. This was the moment I had done everything to both cause and avoid. It was possible I might see Dawn again at some future date, but I would never see this Dawn. She was so lovely it broke my heart to look at her.

I went to her and put my hands on her shoulders. I looked deeply into her eyes. I didn’t ask her to wait for me. I was trying to set her free.

“When we can see each other again, if you still love me, I’ll be there for you. I promise I’ll love you just the same.”

She nodded. Her tears streamed down her face and she looked away.

I walked out of her house, across the familiar yard and into the rest of my life.

Shawn Inmon

Author Bio

Shawn Inmon is originally from Mossyrock Washington, where his first book Feels Like the First Time is set. He has been a real estate broker in Enumclaw Washington for the last twenty years. Prior to that, he worked as a short-order cook, travelling T-shirt salesman, radio DJ, Cutco Cutlery sales rep, department store buyer, video store manager, crab fisherman, Kirby vacuum cleaner salesman, business consultant and public speaker. He is married to his high school sweetheart Dawn and has five daughters, five grandchildren and two chocolate labs named Hershey and Sadie.

CONTACT

Purchase Links

Friday, October 19, 2012

Book Tour: Dark Seraphine by KaSonndra Leigh

Dark Seraphine by KaSonndra Leigh

"Mom always says the angels walk among us. She forgot to tell me that sometimes they're not all fluffy and nice."

Seventeen-year-old Caleb Wood has seen people he calls the walkers since he was a baby. It didn't take long for him to realize something…no one can see these strangers but him. They never stuck around or tried to touch him. And they never said a word. That was until one day on the first day of class in his senior year when an incredibly gorgeous girl strolls into his life…and things are never the same again.

Soon Caleb realizes he has stepped into the middle of a growing conflict between two celestial races. And his ability to see the invisible ones, the half-breeds that want to modify the human race, just might be the only hope both he and the mysterious, but infuriating Gia have of making it out alive.

About the Author:

KaSonndra Leigh was born in Charlotte, North Carolina. She now lives in the City of Alchemy and Medicine, North Carolina. Her two sons, aka the X-Men, have made her promise to write a boy book next.

She holds the MFA in creative writing, and loves to play CLUE, Monopoly (the Indiana Jones version), and Pandora's Box (good writer's block therapy). She lives in an L-shaped house with a garden dedicated to her grandmother. It has a secret library complete with fairies, Venetian plastered walls, and a desk made out of clear blue glass.

Website / Facebook / Twitter

Excerpt:

There was no one in the classroom besides the two of us. To admit this girl made me feel a little shaky sounded weak. I put on a manly face, squared my shoulders, and sat in the desk behind her. The little kid in me still wanted to run away like a baby, though.

And then she laughed.

It was a high-pitched giggle, a normal girl’s sound. That wasn’t right. I don’t remember any of the other spirits laughing before.

“So you wanna run from me, huh? Go ahead. I’ll just find you like I always do, Caleb,” she said, still facing the chalk board in the front of the classroom. Her voice was smooth like a musical instrument, maybe a flute. Nah. It was more like a harp. I could listen to it all day.

But even her sexy pipes didn’t change the fact that she just read my mind. How did she do that?

“Are you going to run, or stay? I need a quick answer, because I have a lot to do today.” She turned her head to the side a bit.

“I don’t run from anything,” I said, trying to ignore the prickle in my underarms. Good thing I used my dad’s deodorant this morning. That old-timers stuff was strong enough to knock out anything.

She didn’t scare me as much as some of the other walkers, my nickname for them. But I wasn’t ready to get her digits either. As a baby, I remembered talking to a few of them. That ability disappeared sometime around my thirteenth birthday. This was the first time I spoke to one in four years.

“What are you people: angels, ghosts, or zombies?” I asked, my voice squeaking on the last syllable. What a dork.

“Can’t you be a little more creative?” She turned around in her seat to face me, an amused expression on her ridiculously gorgeous face. I sucked my breath. Her strange amber-hazel eyes pierced through me. The word beautiful didn’t do enough for this walker-girl.

“I thought I was pretty creative,” I said.

“Nope. Your ideas suck,” she said with a smug face.

“Nice. Thanks,” I said, getting annoyed.

“And I don’t sparkle in the sun, either. So scratch that one off your list too.”

I frowned. “Then tell me the right answer. And you can go ahead and explain how I won the honor of being stalked?”

“I’m a creative mix of many things. Feel better now?” She tilted her head. Blue-black hair flowed around her face as if it were made of silky thread. “So others have come before me?” She seemed to be talking to herself rather than asking me.

“Maybe,” I said. Why should I tell her everything? One thing I did know. At this rate, I was probably going to be committed to the loony ward on the first day of school.

“I’m going to need your help soon, Caleb. You have to be ready,” she whispered, her face suddenly serious. Right then, I knew my world was about to change…forever.

Friday, October 5, 2012

Book Tour: Not My Mother by Ashley Rae

I have a special treat today. I have this absolutely amazing guest blog by author Ashley Rae. It really touched my heart and I know it will do the same for you! Thank you so much for joining us, Ashley.

Turning Rock Bottom into a Springboard

by Ashley Rae

“I was set free, because my greatest fear had already been realized, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.” – J.K. Rowling

I used to laugh whenever I heard that tired maxim, “Things could be worse.” Even when I hit Rock Bottom, well-meaning friends and family would tell me that things could be worse.

A few months ago, I met a man who as a boy had been drafted to fight the war in Vietnam. He returned from war suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. A few years later, this man lost his young wife to cancer. Faced with his grief and three toddler daughters to raise on his own, he packed a backpack with all he cared to bring with him from that life and walked out the door. Jobless, homeless, friendless, that man has been living on Rock Bottom for more than two decades now. (I did not tell him that things could be worse.)

I'm not sure what my mother would have considered “Rock Bottom” in her life. Her too-short life really sucked. If I had to guess, though, I would say it was the months she spent recovering from the gunshot wound inflicted by her husband while that murderous man lived free, awaiting trial in the home he shared with their two young daughters.

When I was raped the first time, I thought that must definitely have been Rock Bottom. How could anything be worse than that?

Twelve years later, when my then-fiance literally dumped me and my one year old in the woods with as many of my belongings as I could fit in his car, leaving us homeless and penniless, well, that had to be Rock Bottom. But I still had friends, I had my education, we had couches to hop, so I remained optimistic.

Today when I reflect on the concept of Rock Bottom, I would say that it wasn't a singular event in my life. Rock Bottom was a state of mind. It was when I felt so overwhelmed with hopelessness and helplessness and worthlessness that I couldn't do anything but hurt and wish for death.

Rock Bottom was when my mother chased me out of the house at knife-point and no one would help me. Rock Bottom was when three coworkers raped me and I felt that I couldn't tell anyone. Rock Bottom was when I couldn't even curl into a ball because I was too fat to hug my own knees, so I curled around a pillow that muffled my screams and sobbed until I finally drifted into aching oblivion.

Rock Bottom was when I caught myself wanting to hurt my toddler to make him shut up just shut up, and realized that I was screaming at him just like my mother had screamed at me.

That last Rock Bottom was the turning point for me. I loved my baby too much to be the mother I'd survived instead of the mother my baby deserved, the mother I'd always wanted for myself.

In that moment, I fell to my knees, cradling my one-year-old, covering his face with kisses and begging God, Goddess, the Universe, and Everything to please please please help me, help me protect my child from the monster that raged inside me, please please please help me to heal myself and be the loving mother I was meant to be.

A couple weeks later, the Universe sent me home with a sister-of-the-heart to love me, shelter me, and encourage me as my mother should have, providing me with a space to release the past and create a future more amazing than I'd ever dared imagine.

In this new home, in a new city, I finally finished the thesis for my Master of Fine Arts degree in Creative Writing, a memoir in which I explored my mother's life, my father's life, and how their lives had shaped mine, culminating in the birth of my son. I poured it all out, all the horrors, all the pain, all the rage. And when I finished it, I felt like I'd removed a huge tumor from my heart.

A few months after I graduated, I found a publisher for my thesis, and I picked the book up again and read it through. It was like reading about someone else's life. I realized I couldn't publish it in that state. It was too dark, too depressing, too unlike the woman and mother that I'd grown into since finishing it.

My first book, Not My Mother: A Memoir, is the revision of that thesis. It captures the essence of the most desperate years of my life, the most heart breaking memories, and the most beautiful gifts. It explores the first shift that took place within me that empowered me to choose to climb once I hit Rock Bottom for the very last time.

My son is three now. It's only been two years, two amazing, challenging, beyond-imagining years since I knelt in the dark on that hard floor and gave myself to hope.

In the last two years I've learned how to dwell in the moments of beauty and love, how to ask for help when I've needed it, accept help when it's been offered, and how to be thankful for what I've had rather than resentful for what I have not.

In the last two years, my dreams have been coming true one by one. I published a book. I've turned my hobby of tarot reading into a way I support my family. I organize weekend retreats teaching healing, divination, and writing. I travel from festival to spiritual book store to healing center teaching from my heart. I am a single mother working from home, raising my precious child with as much love, patience, and respect as I'm capable. I love my life more every day. I wake up excited and brimming with gratitude.

My goal in life is to help as many people as I can to find their own paths to healing and love their lives as much as I love mine.

It's not that things can be worse – It's that things can be better. There is no Rock Ceiling. Things can always be even better than they are now. Things are getting better every moment of every day. For every moment of suffering there is a moment of bliss, of joy, of radiant love.

We all have the power to choose our Rock Bottom, to decide that things will never be worse than they were in that moment, that from this moment on we're making things better and better.

Author Bio:
Ashley Rae has a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing from the University of Central Florida and resides with her precious 3 year old in gorgeous Sarasota, FL. She leads weekend retreats for psychics, kids, and writers, and teaches workshops on using writing as a self-healing tool, developing intuition, and about The Incredible Vagina, which is simply the best title anyone has ever come up with for any class, ever. She is presently working on her second memoir, tentatively titled “Sentence Interrupted: Memoir of a Moody Mama.” Also a professional psychic, energy healer, and a Love-Your-Life Coach, there is plenty to check out on her website at http://AuthorAshleyRae.com.

Not My Mother: A Memoir
Genre: Memoir/Non-Fiction
Release Date: July 13, 2012

By the age of twelve, Ashley Rae had survived incest, child abuse, and the deaths of both her biological parents. Born to Baptists but raised by Buddhists, Rae found peace and healing on a Pagan spiritual path while obtaining her college degree and starting the career of her dreams.
Rae thought the hardships in her life were over...until she lost her job, started a new relationship, and found out she was pregnant with another man's child all in the same week. Terrified of cesarean surgery, Rae vowed to give birth to her child at home – but first, she had to find one.
Alternately haunting, humorous, and heart-warming, Not My Mother: A Memoir follows Rae over a nine-month quest to break her family's generational pattern of abuse and victimhood in order to become for her unborn child the mother she had always wanted for herself.

Excerpt:
From the moment Dad rushed us through the dark living room, too quickly for me to see her body, I'd been looking for my mother. Even after her funeral in Virginia, I kept looking for my mother. She came to me in my dreams and told me it had all been a mistake, and she wasn't really dead at all. I'd wake up and jump out of bed in a hurry to continue our conversation, then freeze and fold in half, hyperventilating as reality hit me.

At twenty-two, I had not yet explored how the violence that I couldn't remember witnessing affected my life and my relationships. Ike died when I was five. Mom hated him. His mom loved him. I, on the other hand, had never given myself permission to have feelings about this man who'd loved me and killed my mother. Until I saw him staring back at me through my mirror in the flickering light of a white candle.

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