Wednesday, December 7, 2016

INTERVIEW: Suzanne Eglington, author of 'Beckham 101'


Suzanne Eglington is the author of the Kate and Robert Chronicles series. The three-book series follows the unfolding romance of top cop Robert Beckham and the ravishing Kate Quinn. The titles in the series are Inceptions, You and I, and the recently released Beckham 101. A fourth book in the Kate and Robert Chronicles series is forthcoming.

Suzanne currently resides in Central Massachusetts with her family.
 

WEBSITE 


About the Book:

BECKHAM 101 is the third installment in the Kate and Robert Chronicles by author Suzanne Eglington. Eglington invites readers into the intimate inner world of the newly wedded duo as they learn to navigate life as a committed couple. Settling down brings new perspectives and people into Kate’s and Robert’s lives, along with the exposure of more of Robert’s mysterious past. For Kate, being married to a top cop means managing both desire and reality.
Following a one-week courtship, Kate submits to her love for Robert, an intense super cop who has been patiently waiting for his opportunity to seize the one women he truly desires. Their quick marriage means frequent amorous entanglements, but it also means that Kate’s knowledge of her new husband’s personal history is limited. Kate must steady herself to cope with the slow unveiling of her husband’s past.
Being the wife of an influential and respected police officer means a change in lifestyle for Kate. Robert is fiercely protective of his wife and enjoys spending as much of his free time with her as possible. Marriage to Robert means Kate has inherited a family of high-performing cops who not only open their hearts for her but also provide protection when ghosts from Robert’s past threaten to harm her.         
In BECKHAM 101, the author introduces new characters into the series, including Robert’s best friend, Jimmy and Kate’s wise and skilled Uncle Jack. As with the two previous books in the Kate and Robert Chronicles, Eglington’s mission is to offer readers a respite from their daily lives. “First and foremost,” Eglington says she wants her readers to feel “I have entertained you with my characters and possibly left a lasting enjoyable impression that fed the passion and intensity of the love between Kate and Robert. Second, that I was able to take you away from your everyday routine to enjoy some downtime with a story you are falling in love with.” Beyond the steamy intimacy and the thread of danger embedded in her stories, Eglington’s books also highlight the lives of cops. “My stories are about the lives cops lead away from the police department. I want readers to think of the men behind the badge and the people who could be in their lives.”
By gradually revealing some elements of Robert’s past in BECKHAM 101, Eglington is priming readers for the fourth book in this sexy and suspense-filled series.

Amazon | Barnes & Noble



What first inspired you to write or who inspired you?

I was inspired to write upon going through my own personal divorce at the time. I needed a diversion to “take me away” from what I was personally going through and that is how The Kate and Robert Chronicles came to fruition.

At what age did you know you wanted to be a writer?

My first attempt was when I was pregnant with my first son at the age of 34. I never even finished that story.

Do you take notes when reading or watching a movie?

Never took notes, I only started reading about six years ago when a friend of mine suggested I read Stephenie Meyers “Twlight”. I complained to her daily from the first 4 chapters as she encouraged me to keep reading. It was the 5th chapter that hooked me and the first book away from school that I finished cover to cover. As far as movies those I strictly enjoy when I the time allows for it.


Has writing always been a passion for you or did you discover it years later?

I discovered it much later in life and it truly has become a passion.

Do you have a day job?  What do you do?

Oh yes, I do have a day job. I am the Director of Operations for a roofing company. My father, a successful man in my eyes, always said that work was the biggest interruption of his day… So true dad!

Can you name three writing tips to pass on to aspiring authors?

Yes tip number 1: Start!
Tip number 2: Do not weigh yourself down by keep going back and changing or correcting as you write. This will cripple you.
Tip number 3: Finish your story. You can go back after.

Do you let unimportant things get in the way of your writing?

Never! And sometimes I don’t even let the important things get in the way. I have been known that sometimes caffeinated beverages can replace several meals for me and that the house work can wait a few days…

What hours do you write best?

For me there are no set hours. Like right now, I have been up since 2 am writing.

How often do you write?

As much as my life lets me. Like right now I am writing a Y A fantasy/sci fi
Kind of like Clash of the Titans – Fantasy. This is a whole genre I do not know about so the story is constantly playing in my head and I am writing as much as I can away from my day job.

Are you an avid reader?

Unfortunately not at this moment, with writing and learning this book industry has taken up a lot of time. I hope to get back to my favorite authors and their works when I get some down time.

What are you reading now?

Roofing Contracts…


What are you currently working on?

I am currently working on the final phase to getting my 4th installment  She’s got the Jack: The Kate and Robert Chronicles out and available. I am also polishing up the 5th book from the series to submit for editing and This new Fantasy/ Sci Fi story.

INTERVIEW: Cheryl C. Malandrinos




Cheryl C. Malandrinos is a freelance writer and editor. She is the author of Little Shepherd and A Christmas Kindness. A blogger and book reviewer, she lives in Massachusetts with her husband and two daughters. She also has a son who is married.

WEBSITE | BLOG | TWITTER | FACEBOOK | GOODREADS


About the Book:

Ten-year-old Macy is waiting for her grandparents to arrive on
Thanksgiving. When the front door swings open, Grandma and Grandpa are covered with hugs and kisses. Crash! Everyone rushes in to find the dog gnawing a meaty turkey leg. Can Macy’s quick thinking save dinner?

Amazon | Barnes & Noble



What first inspired you to write or who inspired you?

Writing has always been a part of my life. It’s as natural to me as breathing. Now I just do it with the goal of publication.

If I had to think of anyone one in particular, it would be my middle sister, Terry. She began writing when we were kids and had a poem published in the local newspaper. I’ve always been impressed by her ability to get her work out there so early in life.

At what age did you know you wanted to be a writer?

My plan growing up was to be a teacher or a writer. As a mom, I’ll always be a teacher. With three books to my credit and a fourth under contract, contributions to numerous blogs, and the writing I do for business, I’ll lay claim to being a writer too.

Do you take notes when reading or watching a movie?

Only if I’m reading nonfiction. I’m a character-driven reader, so I totally lose myself in the characters’ lives and in figuring out why they act the way they do. The psychology of characters is fascinating—especially villains. Plot heavy stories are tough for me to read.

Since I’m a visual learner, movies are an excellent way for me to see how characters react. That helps when I have to show not tell in my work.

Do you have a day job?  What do you do?

I’m a real estate agent licensed in Massachusetts. It’s a wonderful career and I love what I do. My specialties are first-time home buyers and military relocation. My father, one of my brothers, and my father-in-law served our country. Helping active and retired military personnel find what they are looking for brings me great pleasure and is something I am passionate about. They deserve the best this country has to offer.

Can you name three writing tips to pass on to aspiring authors?

1.      Learn deep point of view. One of the best workshops I ever took was on how to write deep point of view. I’m definitely no expert on it, but it can transform writing and I am conscious of it when I write.
2.      Find a good writing time and place. If I tried to write when I get up in the morning it would be a disaster. My most creative time is after 9 pm. While sometimes you must take whatever time you can grab, learning when you are most creative and adjusting your schedule is more ideal. The same thing with where you write. I’ve trained myself to write just about anywhere, but the best spot is at the desk in my office where I can look out over the backyard into the woods and feel calm and enjoy the inspiration nature provides. Find that special place that works best for you.
3.      Attend at least one conference or workshop a year. No one except another writer understands what it’s like. You need to meet others who can appreciate your struggles, share in your triumphs, and inspire you to move forward. Don’t be afraid to invest in yourself.

Are you an avid reader?

Always. Even when life gets overwhelming, I carve out time to read. Though I’ve always read for pleasure, now I also read to learn the market. Doing this helped me to land my first book contract without a single rejection.

What are you reading now?

The Ghostwriters by Mickey J. Corrigan. It’s about a writer who is asked by a famous author’s ghost to write a sequel to his classic novel. I’ve ghostwritten before and this one sounded like a blast. It’s been great so far. Complex characters intrigue me.

What are you currently working on?

A middle grade novel that has taken me way too long to finish. I’m a slow writer. Historical fiction also requires research. This story is set in Reconstruction Era New England. I’ve had to look up fashion, learn more about female seminaries, and create a little town of my own for this story. For someone who flies by the seat of their pants, that’s tough. With everything else in life I am so organized. Writing is the one area my brain prefers to have less structure. 

Tuesday, December 6, 2016

Colorado Dream Book Blast



We're happy to host Charlene Whitman's COLORADO DREAM book blast today!  Please leave a comment to let her know you stopped by!


Title: COLORADO DREAM
Author: Charlene Whitman
Publisher: Ubiquitous Press
Pages: 450
Genre: Sweet Historical Western Romance

Yearning to become a concert musician, a young woman from New York travels to Colorado to purchase a violin, but when she meets a wild, untamable cowboy, her dream is threatened and her heart torn ...
In New York in 1877, Angela Bellini longs to become a concert violinist and get away from her abusive father. When her dream takes her to Greeley, Colorado, to purchase a violin from a master instrument maker, she learns she must wait three weeks until her violin is ready before she can head home.
Angela is determined not to let anything or anyone waylay her dream, but when she meets rough-and-tumble cowboy Brett Hendricks, her heart is torn. He is her opposite in every way—uncouth, cocky, and reckless. But she is hopelessly drawn to him, like a moth to flame.
Brett Hendricks is on the run—not just from an angry rancher who is tracking him down for shooting his son but from a dark and troubled past plaguing him with guilt and shame. A wild, untamable cowboy, Brett can break any horse with a soft touch and soothing word, but nothing in the world can bring him peace. He fears he will never stop running, never see his dreams of ranching realized.
But then, one evening, he hears sweet violin music that seeps deep into his soul--music that floods him with peace. He falls hard for Angela but knows she plans to leave Colorado. All his attempts to win her heart fail disastrously, and though he buries himself in the cattle roundup, when he helps thwart a rustling outfit, his enemies multiply.
Somehow he must find a way to gain Angela's heart and trust. And somehow Angela must break past her distrust of men to discover the love awaiting her with open arms.
Pick up your copy at:

Amazon



Book Excerpt:
Chapter 1

September 9, 1877
New York City, New York

The slap on Angela Bellini’s cheek burned, but not as fiercely as the hurt in her heart. The pain and disappointment smoldering there sizzled like hot embers, threatening to reduce her to a pile of ash. She glared at her father’s back as he stomped out of the room.
Why couldn’t her papá understand? She would not marry Pietro, no matter how wealthy his family was, no matter how many years her papá and his had planned such an arrangement. “It is our way, Angela,” he had told her again, his face hard and eyes dark and menacing, leaving no room for debate. “And you will marry him. You are twenty years of age—you are lucky he is still willing. You’ve made him wait long enough.”
When she forced her objections past the rock lodged in her aching throat, she knew what would follow. What always followed. Her papá’s rage erupted in a torrent of Italian curses that ended with a slap that knocked her nearly senseless against the foyer wall before he stormed out the apartment.
As she slid down in a heap by the front door, she had caught a glimpse of her mamá in the kitchen, her back turned to her in unspoken submission. Angela huffed. I will never marry and become like you, Mamá—squashed under the thumb of some man who wants only subservience and a crowded apartment full of squalling babies.
 She swallowed back tears. She would not cry—not today. Today she would take the first steps—real steps—toward her dream. And no one, not even the powerful and prominent Giusepe Bellini could stop her.
Their tiny stuffy apartment rumbled—as it always did six times a day and twice each night—from the Third Avenue El Train fifty feet away. The noise of the wheels clacking and the platform rattling mingled with the loud voices of her downstairs neighbors arguing—Mr. Paolino’s tenor to his wife’s shrill soprano. Outside her window, carriages clattered on cobblestones in sharp staccato, and shoppers and merchants carried on in boisterous conversation, sounding no more pacifying than an orchestra tuning their instruments.
On most days Angela could drown out the suffocating symphony of Mulberry Bend by rehearsing violin caprices in her head, imagining her fingers flying over the fingerboard, her right hand bowing the strings, eliciting the sweet and sonorous timbre of her instrument.
But on this stifling, humid September afternoon, the many pieces she’d memorized—no, absorbed into her very soul, as if food that nourished her—flitted away, out of reach, as she pulled down the heavy carpetbag from the hall closet—a bag that she’d found months ago stuffed behind a stack of wool blankets.
She stopped and listened. Her mama was humming in the back room as she folded laundry. Her two younger siblings were off playing with neighborhood children—in the street, no doubt, as the sweltering heat was worse indoors.
Angela’s hands shook as she dabbed her perspiring forehead and neck with a handkerchief and went through her mental list of all she would need on her trip. Not much—she’d only be gone ten, perhaps, twelve days, if all went as planned. She pushed from her thoughts her papá’s impending fury at her insolence and the resulting punishments that would await her upon her return. But she had made her decision, and there was no turning back.
Hurry, she told herself. Her papá had gone downstairs to the corner market, and while he often spent an hour or more on Sunday afternoons smoking cigars with the men of the neighborhood, discussing the politics of her close-knit Italian community and their various business ventures—and arranging their daughters’ marriages, she thought bitterly—he could return at any time.
In her bedroom, she gathered the neat stack of clothes she had put in her bottom dresser drawer, then stuffed them into the traveling bag along with her few womanly items, her prayer book, some sheets of music, and a spare pair of shoes. She checked her reticule and found the roll of bills—the money she’d earned over the last two years from babysitting and teaching music lessons through Signore Bianchi’s instrument shop on Second Avenue. She hoped it would be enough for the quality of violin she planned to buy.
Mr. Fisk hadn’t answered her inquiry regarding pricing in his letter. He merely assured her he would provide her with an exceptional instrument and that they would work out the financial details once she arrived in Greeley, Colorado.
Would her meager savings be enough? It had to be, for she couldn’t return to New York and face the audition committee without a proper instrument.
The director’s words still stung. “You’re a talented musician, Miss Bellini. But you bring shame to your craft by playing on such an inferior violin. Come back when you have an appropriate instrument.” The three committee members had politely frowned when she flustered an apology and hurried to the exit of the symphony hall, pressing down her humiliation and frustration as tears welled in her eyes.
Her papá could well afford to buy her a violin of exceptional quality, and every year at Christmas she begged him to indulge her love of playing with the purchase of a new one, but he only laughed in cool disdain and waved her away. “Give up your foolish dreams, Angela. Your place is in the home, with a husband and children. Not on the stage.” Her papá regarded music appropriate only at holidays and festivals and family gatherings, and only traditional song and instrumentation. He didn’t—couldn’t—understand this dream she nursed. The dream to play in the New York Philharmonic, to play on stage before an audience, to be a part of the creation of ethereal music that filled a great performance hall and moved listeners to tears.
To make matters worse, her older brother, Bartolomeo, sided with their papá, constantly nagging her to “get married already and stop being a burden on the family.” Although he was but two years older, he and Dora had three children. And Dora—and most of Angela’s other girlfriends from her school days, who were also married—gave her constant looks of pity, as if Angela was missing out on life’s greatest joy. But they just didn’t understand.
She had to fan the tiny spark of her dream to keep it alive, to prevent it from being snuffed out by her papá’s stern expectations and society’s demands. And it had nearly been extinguished a month ago, upon her papá’s brash public announcement of her engagement to Pietro—an arrogant youngest son of a successful wine merchant who had no love for music—none whatsoever. She harbored no hope that he would ever understand her passionate need to play the violin, and no doubt he’d forbid her pursuit of her dream.
And then she’d read an article in the Times about one George Fisk, a master violin maker in a newly founded town in the West—a place called Greeley. On a whim she’d written him. Why? She didn’t know. She could purchase a violin in Manhattan—one of sufficient quality. But there was something about the description of this man, Fisk. The way he spoke about the instruments he made. The care and time and love he put into each one. He built his instruments with a passion and love for beauty and music that resonated with her. For, she wanted more than a good violin. She wanted one that spoke to her soul, one made just for her. George Fisk promised he could provide just that. But she had to travel halfway across the continent. Was she willing? he’d asked her.
Yes, she wrote him. Yes, more than willing. Although, she’d never traveled outside of the city, and the thought of venturing into wild country, alone, made her stomach twist. But Fisk had told her not to worry. He would see to her accommodations and show her around his “wonderful little Western town.” And she had to admit—she was ready for an adventure.
She looked around her cramped tiny bedroom situated in a crowded apartment in a busy, noisy city. I’m more than ready for peace and quiet, and to get away from Papá’s mean spirit and violent temper.
What must it be like to stand under a wide-open sky spattered with stars, with no neighbors quarreling or trains rattling or horses’ hooves clacking on stones? Her heart yearned for such open space, for such silence. Silence that longed to be filled with beautiful music. She imagined nature itself performing a symphony of birdsong and coyote howls and water cascading over rocks. Those were some of the images her mind drifted to as she played, and she longed to merge her own musical voice to that of creation, if even just for a day or two.




About the Author


The author of "heart-thumping" Western romance, Charlene Whitman spent many years living on Colorado's Front Range. She grew up riding and raising horses, and loves to read, write, and hike the mountains. She attended Colorado State University in Fort Collins as an English major. She has two daughters and is married to George "Dix" Whitman, her love of thirty years. 

The Front Range series of sweet historical Western romance novels (set in 1876) includes Colorado Promise, set in Greeley, Colorado; Colorado Hope, set in Fort Collins; Wild Secret, Wild Longing, which takes readers up into the Rockies, and Colorado Dream (release date 11/15/16) and Wild Horses, Wild Hearts (release date 1/1/17).

Join Charlene's mailing list to get free books, news, and sneak previews of upcoming books and covers:
https://cslakin.leadpages.co/charlene-whitman-list-opt-in/.

WEBSITE | TWITTER | FACEBOOK | JOIN CHARLENE’S MAILING LIST



http://www.pumpupyourbook.com

Captain Hawkins Book Blast Today!



Join us for H. Peter Alesso's CAPTAIN HAWKINS Book Blast today! Please leave a comment to let him know you stopped by!


Title: Captain Hawkins
Author: H. Peter Alesso
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 207
Genre: Science Fiction

Jamie Hawkins was living on an obscure planet in the twenty third-century when on one fateful night—his life changed forever. His heroic effort to save the lives of innocent women and children, caught in the cross-fire of war, placed him squarely in the crosshairs of avenging soldiers.

A former marine, Hawkins was stunned when his rescue effort was seen as treachery. Unfairly convicted of treason by a corrupt judge, he was sentenced to life imprisonment at hard labor on an infamous penal colony.
 
Once in prison, his courage and perseverance won him the admiration and trust of his fellow convicts. While he was plotting his escape, an enemy attacked the planet--giving this daring warrior his chance. Together with his fellow prisoners, he launched a bold assault and high-jacked an enemy warship.

From then on, the rebel ship Indefatigable, engaged in multiple ship-to-ship and fleet actions until the exploits of Captain Jamie Hawkins became legendary.

PURCHASE:

Amazon


Book Excerpt:

The black of night had fallen, but Jamie Hawkins couldn’t sleep. Though the surgeons had patched up his many wounds, the remorseless pain persisted, even now, months after his medical discharge from the Marines.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Despite his desire to ignore the unwelcomed thundering blows, he answered the door to his country home and found his neighbor, tall scrawny seventeen year old Joshua Morgan, gasping for breath.

“Captain Hawkins, come quick! Come quick, or they’ll all be killed!”

“Who? What are you talking about, Joshua?”

“I’ve just come from the city—it’s a war zone. People are dying,” Joshua’s voice broke. “The hospital is taking care of the wounded and sheltering women and children, but its force shield is buckling.” He finished in a breathless rush, “It’s only a matter of minutes before it fails.”

A troubled frown creased Hawkins’s face. Their mothers had been friends and he had known Joshua since he was born.

Has the boy been drawn into the turmoil? He wondered.

Hawkins had listened to the broadcasts throughout the day, absurd in every detail; demonstrators declared that they were only protesting injustice, while the government insisted the violence was a last resort against rebels.

Which is the greater lie?

I told one of the doctors, I knew someone who could help. My flyer’s right outside, sir. You must come,” begged Joshua, his expressive eyes pleading.

A more kindhearted man, who possessed his insight, might have agonized over what was happening in the capital city, but though Hawkins was not unsympathetic, past adversity had left him more hardboiled and cynical than most.

“That’s not my concern anymore,” he said.

Joshua’s desperate voice squealed, “You’re a veteran. You could make a difference, sir.”

Hawkins put his hand on his hips, threw his head back, and barked, “Ha!”

Then, giving vent to a deep inner passion, he demanded, “What difference can one man make?”

As a Marine, Hawkins had been a hot-blooded warrior, always quick to action, so at this moment of great upheaval, while frenzied violence was playing out in the capital, he surprised himself with his reluctance to act. As he ran his hand over the long jagged scar that marred his chest, one thing was certain, the foolish mutinous passions of the people could only lead to ruin.

But the look that spread across the boy’s face was indescribable—it was as if he had just lost his hero.

“Alright, if you won’t come, at least tell me how to maintain the shield,” said Joshua, showing a daring and persistence beyond his years. “I’ll go back alone, but you must tell me what to do.”

“You have no idea what you’d be getting yourself into. All hell has broken loose. Can’t you see, you can’t contribute anything worthwhile, and most likely something terrible will happen?

“I must go back, my mother is a volunteer at the hospital,” said Joshua. Throwing back his shoulders with a determined jerk of his chin, he challenged Hawkins’s jaded gaze, pleading, “Please. Tell me how to fix the shield.”

Hawkins opened his mouth, but the words froze on his lips. The boy’s courage was a splash of cold water in his face, stinging his sense of honor. It wasn’t in his nature to send this boy to certain deathfor Joshua could never accomplish what had to be donenor it was in his makeup to let innocents be condemned to death with the hospital’s destruction.

A gritty resolve washed over Hawkins. He said, “Let’s go.”

***

Wearing a brown pilot jacket, tanned rawhide trousers with knee-high leather boots, calfskin gloves, and goggles, Hawkins skillfully maneuvered the single seat flyer at breakneck speed. Joshua desperately clung to him to stay on the back of the motorcycle-like vehicle--his arms wrapped tightly around Hawkins's waist.

What they saw was a madhouse--Newport was ablaze with savage fires that lit up the horizon--scores of them. Just hours before it had been a vibrant city, the capital of Jaxon, renowned for its culture and history, thriving with business and commerce, home to over a million inhabitants going about their ordinary daily lives, now it was a battlefield.

Though his home was a mere two dozen kilometers outside the city, it was impossible for him to fly directly there. There were several sharp mountain peaks in their way, one tremendous one, flanked by two smaller ones, causing Hawkins to race the engine of single-seat turbojet to gain altitude. The noise and vibration of the straining sputtering engine roared into the dark rainy night until they were able to ascend to three thousand meters.

When they reached the outskirts of the city, they descended to a hundred meters, but skyscrapers rose in their path causing them to fly directly over a paved highway that connected the planet's capital to the suburbs. It was swollen with traffic--pedestrians, motorcycles, trucks and cars--choking the road. There were people of every description; disheveled housewives and construction workers, unskilled laborers and local tradesmen, reeking hobos and sharply dressed businessmen, young and old, men and women alike, all seeking safety. Some carried cherished possessions while others brandished antiquated bullet guns, since the government had already confiscated most laser and plasma weapons. This crowded mass of human unhappiness snaked its way along its ill-chosen path intent on escaping the terrifying violence.

Is Joshua's mom in that mob? Hawkins wondered.

Those remaining in the city suffered under a shower of high explosive aerial bombs intermixed with artillery shells. With sirens wailing, Hawkins saw bombers overhead dropping death from the skies and heard the repeated firing of artillery in the distance. He couldn't tell who was doing the shooting.

After his initial reluctance to come, he agonized over whether he would arrive in time. A nearly impenetrable wall of smoke, flame, debris, and explosions added extra heart wrenching minutes to the journey.

Every two minutes a new wave of jets would be overhead and a new barrage of artillery shells would join in. The roaring fires pulsed, like the blind fury of an agitated buzzing beehive. Little fires grew into big ones, right before his eyes. Big ones died down under the valor of firemen, only to break out again a few moments later.

Hawkins saw the panic in the street. The city's civil-defense included shelters that were now overflowing with refugees. Many had left their homes and defied the flames to run to the bomb shelters distributed throughout the city, only to find there was no room for them. In addition to the death and injury, everywhere there was evidence of psychological trauma--children sat in rubble--their dead parent's bodies nearby. It was impossible to gauge how much more the citizens could take. Panic and raw nerves grew tighter with each passing minute. The people prayed for a respite--but there was little hope for mercy on this night.

Hawkins heard the crackling of the closest flames and the screams of victims and firemen, alike. Smoke blurred his vision and seared his lungs. Nevertheless, he kept going with Joshua clinging to his waist.

"Arf! Arf!" choked Joshua.

"Here cover your mouth with this handkerchief," yelled Hawkins over the uproar around them.

EEEEEEERRRR!!!

The sirens wailed.

Hawkins cursed.

"Oh, no," said Joshua. "Are we too late?"

"We're almost there," said Hawkins.

They heard detonations high in the air. The sky was alive with a deadly dance of destruction.

BOOM!

Then another--

BOOM!

Farther down the street, Hawkins could see soldiers breaking through the defensive ring of some diehard demonstrators, sending them fleeing in every direction. He couldn't quite make out what the people were yelling, but he could see one oversized banner fall to the ground.

It read, "Beware the Wrath to Come!"





About the Author


As a scientist and author specializing in technology innovation, H. Peter Alesso has over twenty years research experience at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory (LLNL). As Engineering Group Leader at LLNL he led a team of scientists and engineers in innovative applications across a wide range of supercomputers, workstations, and networks. He graduated from the United States Naval Academy with a B.S. and served in the U.S. Navy on nuclear submarines before completing an M.S. and an advanced Engineering Degree at M.I.T. He has published several software titles and numerous scientific journal and conference articles, and he is the author/co-author of ten books.

WEBSITE | GOODREADS

Monday, December 5, 2016

Erin Leigh Crisp's SIGHT UNSEEN BOOK BLAST #Christian #romance


We're happy to host Erin Leigh Crisp's SIGHT UNSEEN Book Blast today! Please leave a comment to let her know you stopped by!


Title: Sight Unseen
Author: Erin Leigh Crisp
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 198
Genre: Christian Romance

Emilia Phillips is looking for a career and a way out of her day job. She is not looking for a man to rescue her heart.

Asher Mason wants his life back. He lost his sight and the hero-life he loved in a millisecond. He no longer trusts his instincts, especially about women. But the sweet-smelling waitress in his favorite café tempts him to trust. As Emilia helps Asher relearn everyday activities, the two find themselves falling faster than either expected.

Can a woman love a blind soldier? Will she want a man who doesn’t recognize himself anymore? As Asher’s shortcomings become more apparent to him, the wedge forced between he and Emilia widens. Can Asher trust the same God that took his sight to direct his future?

Purchase:

Amazon


Book Excerpt:
“How long has it been?” Emilia could have bitten off her own tongue. 
His eyes glanced over again, but they didn’t see her. He gave one huge breath and shrugged, like it wasn’t important. “Three months.”
Only three months? And he was walking around town and ordering coffee? No seeing-eye dog, no dark glasses? She wanted to compliment him, but she figured he wasn’t the type of man to take it for what it was. Instead, she eased her hand onto his shoulder for a split second and went for humor instead.
“I should have noticed when you didn’t wink back at me earlier.”
His head shot up, and his cheeks tinged the darkest pink.
Emilia covered her giggle and shook her head. “I swear I’m kidding. I wasn’t flirting with you, but I really should have noticed earlier. My brother was born blind. He’s seventeen.”
The man looked curious, but he was still blushing and she decided not to press him. “Anyway, if you need anything, my name is Emilia. I’ll be here all week.”
His lips turned up in the smallest smile. She reminded herself that she wasn’t looking for a man. She took three steps away before he called her name.
Her feet stopped. “Yeah?”
He swallowed hard, his fingers linking on the tabletop. His eyes searched for her face. “I’m Asher Mason. Thank you, again.”
“It was my pleasure.” She turned and walked away, but the damage was already done. Her heart thumped crazily. Her cheeks heated. Her teeth bit down to stop the smile that threatened. And I’m in a load of trouble, she thought.




About the Author

Erin was born and raised on the Florida/Alabama state line in a small farming community which has served as inspiration for her novels. She believes the heart of a happy ending is God and His plan for the lives of His people.

In 2014, Erin published her first novels for sale.  She currently has eight full-length novels and one novella for sale on Amazon. Erin makes her home in Northeast Georgia with her husband, four children and two fish. Erin has a bachelor degree in Christian Counseling and enjoys photography in her spare time.
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http://www.pumpupyourbook.com

Saturday, November 26, 2016

Spotlight: 'UNEXPECTED PRISONER: Memoir of a Vietnam Prisoner of War' by Robert Wideman



Title: UNEXPECTED PRISONER: Memoir of a Vietnam Prisoner of War
Genre: Memoir
Author: Robert Wideman
Websitewww.robertwideman.com       
Publisher: Graham Publishing Group
Find on Amazon

About the Book: 

When Unexpected Prisoner opens, it’s May 6, 1967 and 23-year-old Lieutenant Robert Wideman is flying a Navy A-4 Skyhawk over Vietnam.  At 23, Wideman had already served three and a half years in the Navy—and was only 27 combat days away from heading home to America. But on that cloudless day in May, on a routine bombing run, Wideman’s plane crashed and he fell into enemy hands. Captured and held for six years as a Prisoner of War in Vietnam, Wideman endured the kind of pain that makes people question humanity.  Physical torture, however, was not the biggest challenge he was forced to withstand.  In his candid memoir, Unexpected Prisoner, Wideman details the raw, unvarnished tale of how he came to understand the truth behind Jean-Paul Sartre’s words: “Hell is other people.”

A gripping, first-person account that chronicles the six-year period Wideman spent in captivity as a POW, Unexpected Prisoner plunges readers deep into the heart of one of the most protracted, deadliest conflicts in American history:  the Vietnam War. Wideman, along with acclaimed memoirist Cara Lopez Lee, has crafted a story that is exquisitely engaging, richly detailed, and wholly captivating. Unexpectedly candid and vibrantly vivid, this moving memoir chronicles a POW’s struggle with enemies and comrades, Vietnamese interrogators and American commanders, lost dreams, and ultimately, himself.

With its eye-opening look at a soldier’s life before, during and after captivity, Unexpected Prisoner presents a uniquely human perspective on war and on conflicts both external and internal. An exceptional story exceptionally well-told, Unexpected Prisoner is a powerful, poignant, often provocative tale about struggle, survival, hope, and redemption.


About the Author: 

Robert Wideman was born in Montreal, grew up in East Aurora, New York, and has dual U.S./Canadian citizenship. During the Vietnam War, he flew 134 missions for the U.S. Navy and spent six years as a prisoner of war. Wideman earned a master’s degree in finance from the Naval Postgraduate School. After retiring from the Navy, he graduated from the University of Florida College of Law, practiced law in Florida and Mississippi, and became a flight instructor. Robert Wideman holds a commercial pilot’s license with an instrument rating, belongs to Veterans Plaza of Northern Colorado, and lives in Ft. Collins near his two sons and six grandchildren.

Connect with the author on the web: Facebook / Twitter / LinkedIn

Tuesday, November 22, 2016

Book Blast: An Enlightening Quiche by Eva Pasco

 

Inside the Book:

an-enlightening-quiche
Title: An Enlightening Quiche
Author: Eva Pasco
Release Date: August 22, 2016
Publisher: Infinity Publishing
Genre: Contemporary Women's Fiction
Format: Ebook/Paperback

Dysfunctional. Deceptive. Demure. More than meets the eye at face value, Augusta Bergeron, stuck in a holding pattern, engages in morally destructive behavior she attributes to maternal abandonment. In for a rude awakening upon eggs-huming her mother's quiche recipe, she unravels its significance and forsakes erroneous assumptions. Enlightened, Augusta feels compelled to redress all the havoc she's wrought in the aftermath of a tragedy.

Augusta:Tarry in northern Rhode Island with us unpretentious French-Canadians, eh?

Tried-and-true friendships tested. Quest for Mr. Right. Impoverished mill. Unleashed secrets.  Enriched by geographic entities, historic references, and regional culture--Blackstone Valley beckons.

PURCHASE AT: AMAZON|BARNES &NOBLE

Excerpt:

Augusta: Just as a note from Mrs. Blais had enticed me to sift through stowed away sagas inside a leather crypt and revived my dormant flair for writing, Tante’s recent memoir had me scrambling inside the keepsake box for the index card bearing the brunt of a quiche recipe whose basic ingredient of spinach packed a Popeye punch to knock the wind out of a brute. I glided my fingers over the scanty fragments of my mother’s legacy, absorbing her wretchedness through parched ink still resolute in its faded glory.

Genetically endowed with Simone’s temperament, exotic features, and allure, I followed in her footsteps. Both of us derailed off righteous paths and marginally skirted brinks of disaster from having suffered the scourges of maternal abandonment.

Tante’s memoir illuminated the significance of a recipe I intended to follow exactement in revival for my birthday gathering.  Though a breakthrough for me at the time, it hadn’t yet sliced all the way through the custard as to why Monique felt compelled to salvage this from a trash basket at my mother’s last known whereabouts for me to warrant its reclamation an enlightening quiche with far-reaching effects.

 ***
 An arrow’s fly shy of America’s fowl tradition, a presidium of pulchritudinous birds of a feather flocked together at my place to feast and frolic in observance of my birthday sans gifts per my request, same as last year and every year since turning the screws past thirty. Engraved-in-stone inductees Estelle and Paul held court at the heavyset dining room table while Noel and Jenny set up camp in the adjoining parlor, away from the adults and in control of the television set with chips and dip all to themselves. The honorable Marchands, add-ons by ultimatum as in “you’re coming or else,” seated themselves accordingly according to chivalric order with Norm and Oncle prevailing as heads of state at opposite ends of the mahogany ball & claw.  Though Lindsay made the A-list of invitees, she reserved weekends for spending time with her dad whom she affectionately tagged an absentminded professor. Monique, permanently exiled from attending family functions, prevented Tante from squaring off with the gal she squarely blamed for exerting her libationary influence on me through our pigs-in-a-poke camaraderie.

Oncle prefaced the sit-down repeating aloud his last year’s wish for me to make an honest woman of myself by getting married well in advance of my setting down chocolate mousse cake with dulce de leche cream and truffle ganache, another triumph by Pâtisseries Évocatrices.  Everyone with the exception of Norm let his comment slide by rewinding their stalled conversations.

Crediting my landlord with the memory of a non-Republican elephant and a disposition to get even, I believe he expelled an untoward remark as overdue payback for my having bested him in front of Lindsay when I divulged his struggles to squeeze into an army uniform and blabbed about his scrapbook.  While placing a serving platter of bite-sized slices of French bread hors d’oeuvres alongside a large bowl of salade verte, his jab stopped me in my tracks en route to the pantry for the quiche, stingily allocating a split second for me to reload and fire back a retort of last resort.

“The other day Bernard Paquin mentioned he saw you and some fella leavin’ Chuggers by the light of the moon makin’ a run for it. Maybe he’s the one!”

Well, if that didn’t divert their attention again! “Oh, was Bernard oot and aboot making one of his special deliveries at the Post?”

My Vancouver Canuck slapshot summoned the hokey expression, “the eyes have it” through the blank stares of those dumbfounded and confounded by an innuendo.  Norm’s eyes threw daggers at me, confirming his wife hadn’t confronted him about the girlie mags.  Yolande’s eyes darted everywhere and ultimately fixated on her hostess. “Tabarnak!  What are you waiting for? Bring out the quiche!”

Meet the Author:

eva-pasco
Undergoing a midlife renaissance, Eva Pasco rekindled her passion for storytelling by featuring flawed and feisty women over forty who grapple with, confront, and overcome their personal dilemmas to become empowered in making profound life changes for the better.

 VISIT HER AT: AUTHORS DEN|GOODREADS

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