Friday, February 28, 2014

Book Blast & Giveaway ~ Transcendence by @Savage7289

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TranscendenceSynopsis

It’s said that women and men are from two different planets when it comes to communication, but how can they overcome the obstacles of prehistoric times when one of them simply doesn’t have the ability to comprehend language?

Ehd’s a caveman living on his own in a harsh wilderness. He’s strong and intelligent, but completely alone. When he finds a beautiful young woman in his pit trap, it’s obvious to him that she is meant to be his mate. He doesn’t know where she came from; she’s wearing some pretty odd clothing, and she makes a lot of noises with her mouth that give him a headache. Still, he’s determined to fulfill his purpose in life – provide for her, protect her, and put a baby in her.

Elizabeth doesn’t know where she is or exactly how she got there. She’s confused and distressed by her predicament, and there’s a caveman hauling her back to his cavehome. She’s not at all interested in Ehd’s primitive advances, and she just can’t seem to get him to listen. No matter what she tries, getting her point across to this primitive, but beautiful, man is a constant – and often hilarious – struggle.

With only each other for company, they must rely on one another to fight the dangers of the wild and prepare for the winter months. As they struggle to coexist, theirs becomes a love story that transcends language and time.

Genre Pre-historical Romance

Expected Publication Date February 14th 2014

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excerpt

Looking down at my mate, my fingers reach out and brush strands of her beautiful long hair away from her forehead. The softness distracts me from her sorrow, and I pinch a few of the strands between my fingers to hold them out and look more closely. The firelight brings out the slight tinges of red in a few of the strands, but it is the texture that intrigues me the most.

As I look back at her face, I can see she is still frightened. Releasing her hair, I reach up and let the tips of my fingers touch the tear stains on her cheeks. I feel like crying for her—lost and alone out on the steppes. I touch slowly her cheek and jaw before my hand finds her shoulder and the incredibly smooth tunic covering her. Like her hair, I find it fascinating. I have never felt anything as smooth and soft. It’s lightweight, too—as if it were made from strands of a spider’s web.

I stroke her hair again to feel the difference between its softness and the texture of the clothing and find myself again fascinated by how soft and beautiful it is. I know I am very lucky to have found such an attractive mate though I am really just thrilled to have another person with me. As I take a deep breath, I inhale the scent of her hair, and the combination of sweet fruit and possibly some kind of flower confuses me—it is still too early in the season for buds to be blooming. Pulling her close to me, I run my nose from her hairline to her temple.

Definitely fruit.

She tenses again, and I’m reminded that she is sad and frightened about the loss of her people. I look into her eyes and tilt my head to the side, wanting her to know I understand. I touch my nose to her temple again—gently bumping her skin in a show of companionship.

Her tongue darts over her lips, and she makes her rhythmic sounds again. She is not as loud this time, but the noise is strange and unfamiliar to me. I continue to watch her closely until she stops making the sounds and lets out a long breath. She sniffs and turns away from me again but seems to have settled down somewhat.

I lay my head next to hers and strengthen my grip around her body. I keep my eyes open and watch the entrance to the cave until I hear her breathing slowly and regularly with sleep. Only when I’m sure she is no longer awake do I allow myself to do the same.

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abouttheauthor

Shay_Savage

Shay Savage lives in Cincinnati, Ohio with her husband, two children, and a variety of household pets. She is an accomplished public speaker, and holds the rank of Distinguished Toastmaster from Toastmasters International. When not writing, she enjoys science fiction movies, and loves soccer in any and all forms. During the fall, she coaches her daughter’s soccer team. Though she currently works in the technology field, her school background is in psychology, and she brings a lot of that knowledge into the characters within her stories.

 

 

 

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Cover Reveal ~ By the Fates, Fought by @patricia_eddy

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Title: By the Fates, Fought
Author: Patricia D. Eddy
Genre: Paranormal Romantic Suspense
Audience: 18+
Formats: eBook
Publisher: Patricia D. Eddy
Cover By: Ravven
Editor: Clare C. Marshall
Pages: 400 pages estimated.
Date to be published: 18 March, 2014
 
 
 
 












 

Blurb-


Spring in Gralvein brings Ealasaid peace. Six months to the day Raven found her shackled and tortured in the devil's lair, their public handfasting is the happiest day of her life. But a storm is coming. Devils join King Eideard's Guarda and watch Ealasaid constantly. Faolan's spies report Lobhdain is plotting. What is this mystical artifact he searches for?
When the devils attack and one of their allies disappears, Raven and Ealasaid fear they will never be safe. Can they manage a daring rescue? Or will Ealasaid lose everything she holds dear?
By the Fates, Fought is the second novel in the By the Fates trilogy. It contains several disturbing scenes, including brief descriptions of rape and torture and is meant for mature audiences. It ends on a cliffhanger. By the Fates, Fulfilled will be released in Fall of 2014.


 

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 abouttheauthor
clip_image006Patricia D. Eddy has been a writer all of her life. She used to sit at her parents' kitchen counter at an Apple IIe typing out short stories. She even wrote a few on their old typewriter. But it wasn't until NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) in 2011 that she ever came close to finishing a story she started.
Once that dam broke, the flood waters never receded. Patricia sits down to write every evening after dinner and quite often sees midnight come and go before she heads to bed. She doesn't sleep much. But she wouldn't have it any other way.
In her spare (HA!) time she runs, bikes, swims, yogas, pilates-es, reads, and is terribly addicted to Doctor Who and Sherlock. Apparently she has a thing for quirky British men.

 

 


 

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Thursday, February 27, 2014

Book Blast & Giveaway ~ Uncovering You by Scarlett Edwards

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clip_image002Uncovering You

Scarlett Edwards

Genre - Dark Romance

Release Date - March 27th, 2014

Book Description:

When I wake up in a dark, unfamiliar room, I have no idea what's waiting for me in the shadows. My imagination conjures up demons of the worst kind.

Reality is much worse:

A collar with no leash. A prison with no walls. And a life stripped of meaning.

I am presented with a vile contract and asked to sign. It outlines the terms of my servitude. The only information I have about my captor are the two small letters inked at the bottom:

J.S.

Armed with only my memories, I must do everything I can to avoid becoming ensnared in his twisted mind games. But in the end, it all comes down to one choice:

Resist and die.

Or submit, and sign my life away

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excerpt

Chapter One

October 2013. Date unknown.

(Present day)

A faint hiss, like the sound of an angry cat, jars me from my sleep.

I open my eyes to pure blackness. I blink, trying to get my bearings. A vague memory forms in the back of my mind, too far away to reach.

Why can’t I see anything?

My breath hitches. Panic rips through my body as the horrifying answer comes to me:

I’m blind!

I scramble onto hands and knees and desperately claw at the dark, searching for something, anything, for my senses to latch onto.

A dim overhead light comes on.

Relief swells inside.

I plop back on my butt and close my eyes, taking deep breaths to dispel the rush of adrenaline released by my body. When my heart’s not beating quite so fast, I open my eyes again.

The light’s gotten brighter. I look up at the source. It’s far above me, like a dull, miniature sun. It spreads a little sphere around me, maybe ten feet in diameter. Past that, everything is swallowed by darkness.

An irksome memory keeps gnawing at me. But my head is too heavy to remember. I feel… strange. Kind of like I’m hung over, but without the telltale pounding between my ears.

Cautiously, I try to stand. My limbs are slow to react. They feel heavy, too, like they’ve been dipped in wet clay. I steady myself. Only when I’m satisfied that my knees won’t give out, do I strain my ears for that hissing sound again.

It’s coming from somewhere behind me. I turn back—and nearly smash my head on a gleaming white pillar.

What the hell?

The sound is forgotten as I reach out and brush tentative fingers against the pillar’s surface. It’s cool to the touch. Smooth, too. I put my other hand on it. If I had to guess, I’d say it was made of marble. But what is a lone, white marble pillar doing in the middle of this room?

The memory is like a gong going off inside my head. But trying to reach it is like grasping at a smooth, slippery stone at the bottom of an aquarium. Just when I think I have it, it slips through my fingers and falls even farther out of reach.

I walk a slow, measured circle around the pillar. If I tried wrapping my arms around it, I doubt if I could even span half the circumference. Something far in the back of my mind tells me I should be alarmed. I look behind me and frown. By what? A dark room?

No, you idiot. By the reason you’re here!

My eyes widen. The reason I’m here? I don’t… I don’t remember.

I wince and bring one hand to my temple. Why am I having so much trouble remembering?

I gasp as a second gruesome thought hits me. Did I lose my memory? Do I have… amnesia?

I sink down with my back to the pillar. Desperation starts to take over. I hold my head between my knees and close my eyes to focus.

My name is Lilly Ryder. I was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, on May 17th, 1990.

My eyes pop open. Joyous tears form in the corners. I do remember! I take a deep breath and try to keep going.

I was raised by my mom. I do not know my dad…

Suddenly, all my childhood memories come streaming back. Moving around as a kid. Never staying in one place longer than six months. All the cities I’ve lived in. All the apartments my mom and I called home. Even the revolving door of her boyfriends. There was Dave, and Matthew. Tom, and Steve. There was…

I shake my head to stop myself. I don’t doubt my memory anymore. But that still does not explain why I have absolutely no recollection of this place, or how I got here.

I push myself back up. The spotlight above me has gotten progressively brighter. The little enclosure of light doesn’t feel quite so tight anymore. I trail my eyes up the length of the pillar. I can’t see where it ends because of the light. But I can tell it’s tall, at least twenty, maybe twenty-five feet…

There’s also something about its surface that calls out to me. My hands itch to run over the smooth stone. A giggle bubbles up as I picture myself stroking it. The column is quite phallic.

I waver at the unfamiliar thought and have to catch my balance against the beam.

Focus, Lilly! I chide myself.

I have no idea where that thought came from. I have never been overtly sexual.

Nothing feels right. The fog that’s heavy on my mind is starting to lift, but not yet enough for me to understand—or remember—where the hell I am. This place is unfamiliar. I know that much. But right now, I feel almost like a surgery patient whose anesthetic kinked out: fully awake mentally, but completely impaired physically.

I go back to my memories. I can remember high school. I remember college. That’s where I spent the last three years of my life, isn’t it? Yes. Yes, it is.

“Hello?” I call out. My voice echoes into the surrounding gloom. “Is anybody there?”

I wait for an answer. All I get is the hollow repetition of my own voice.

anybody there, there, there…

I spent the last three years in college… but that’s not where I think I am right now. No. I shake my head. I knowthat’s not where I am. My memories are fuzzier the closer I bring them to today. Time feels… skewed. Freshman year’s easy to remember. So is sophomore, and most of junior… but things get weird toward the end.

I… finished junior year, didn’t I? Yes. Yes, I did. And then…

And then I took an internship in distant California for the summer, I remember with another gasp.

Suddenly, my mind is crystal clear. That pressing memory hurtles into view. It’s from yesterday. The last thing I recall, I was alone in a booth at an upscale restaurant. The waiter brought me a glass of wine. I took a few sips, contemplating my future….

Oh, God! Fear wraps a stranglehold around my neck.

The restaurant. The wine.

I’ve been drugged!

I can’t breathe. A suppressing tightness constricts my throat. I feel dizzy, and terrified, and most of all… ashamed.

Holy shit, Lilly, way to look out for yourself! My semi-mad inner dialogue pans with a generous dollop of sarcasm.

I’ve always known about the dangers of sick men preying on unsuspecting girls. I just never thought I’d fall victim to it.

I’ve been on my own since I turned eighteen, after the final falling out with my mother. I’ve always been proud of how well I managed. Even the shabby holes I’ve lived in while saving up college tuition were an improvement over living with her and all her low-life boyfriends. At least there, I had autonomy.

I’ve dealt with landlords selling crack on the side and the junkies they attract. Always, I’ve been known as independent, and strong—maybe offputtingly so. But, those were the character traits I had to develop to have any chance of getting ahead.

And all that lead to what? To this? To letting my guard down for one night and ending up… here?

Wherever “here” is, I think to myself.

The shock of the revelation has subsided a bit. I push off from the pillar. I can figure this out. I take a deep breath and look at my hands and feet. I am not bound. I pick at my clothes. They are the same ones I wore last night.

Do you know what might be lurking in the darkness?

I shove the meddlesome voice down. I don’t need more worries. Not now.

Carefully, I place one foot in front of the other and edge to the outer reaches of the light. The strange hissing noise has gone away. I don’t know when that happened. Maybe it was in my head the entire time.

I strain my eyes, trying to pierce the surrounding darkness. It’s impossible. I reach out with one hand and find nothing but air. This far from the pillar, I can barely see my outstretched hand.

“Hello?” I try again. “Who’s there?”

There’s no answer.

What kind of madman would do something like this? I wonder. What is hidden in the shadows?

Without warning, my imagination starts to run wild. Torture devices? Bondage equipment? Something… worse?

Snap out of it! I tell myself firmly.

I refuse to give in to despair, even if my entire self-preservation mechanism is on high alert. Despair is what whoever brought me here wants me to feel.

I will not succumb to that.

I look down at the floor. It is made of some expensive stone. I kneel down and brush my hand over the large, square tiles. They feel solid. Sturdy. They don’t belong in a dingy basement or a dirty warehouse.

Somehow, that thought strengthens me. Things aren’t quite as bad as they could be.

I stand up and peer into the black. I glance back at the safety of my pillar. If I venture past the light, I can always find my way back.

Go slow, I warn myself. Who knows what might be waiting for me out there?

I’ve seen the horror movies. Just because I don’t get the dungeon vibes here does not mean I’m not in one.

Haltingly, my foot reaches past the edge.

A thousand bright lights flood the room. I gasp and shy back, shielding my eyes on instinct.

After a few seconds, I lower my arm, blinking through the sharp pain that shoots through my head. I can almost groan. Light sensitivity, too?

Then I see the room.

Holy shit.

It’s huge. Massive. It must be at least five thousand square feet of pristine, flat space. I’m smack dab in the middle of it all.

The lights come from embedded ceiling lamps high overhead. Three of the walls, far away from me, are decorated with black and white abstract paintings created in bold brush strokes. The fourth wall is shielded by a heavy red curtain. The entire floor is made of rich, creamy white tiles reminiscent of steamed milk.

The ceiling is so high above me I almost feel like I’m in a cathedral. It’s made of exquisite dark oak beams.

But this is no church.

I do a slow turn. Something about this is all wrong.

So wrong.

Why am I here? What is behind the curtain? Other than the massive pillar and the paintings, there is nothing in the room.

If I’m being kept prisoner, why am I unbound? Why waste so much space on me?

I cup my hands around my mouth and yell.

“HEY! Anybody? Where am I?”

As before, I’m greeted with silence.

I take one more careful look around. If I got in, there must be a way out.

My eyes dart to the curtain.

Behind there.

I start toward it, my bare feet making determined slaps against the cold floor. I’ve not even gone ten paces toward it when I feel a small tug on my ankle.

I stop and look down. I discover a thread, so thin it’s almost translucent, tied loosely around my foot. The other end is attached to the base of the pillar.

I bend down and finger it.

What on earth is this?

The thread looks like it should snap with the smallest amount of force. I wrap my hands around it and tug.

It doesn’t give.

I frown, and apply a little more effort.

This time, it breaks in a clean cut.

I shake my head as I straighten.

Strange.

I half-expected something to happen when I did that. Alarms to blare, the lights to go off, something.

Nothing.

That’s when I notice a small white envelope leaning against the pillar. It’s right where the thread connects. In fact, it blends so well with the marble that I’m sure I would have missed it were it not for the string.

Exploration forgotten for now, I pick up the envelope. Maybe it will give some clue about what the fuck is going on.

It’s made of heavy paper. A wax stamp seals it, imprinted with a two-faced drama mask that I would find unnerving no matter where I saw it.

The only time I saw a wax-sealed envelope was when my ex got tapped by the Spade and Grave at Yale. I can understand the need for antiquity in New Haven. It makes no sense here.

My finger slips under the flap. I carefully ease it open. A foreboding sense of doom swirls around me as I pull the folded letter out.

I stare at it for a long minute. This is all so surreal. It feels like being caught in a bad dream. Once, I play myself right into my captor’s hands.

My natural inclination to resist, to fight back, tells me to tear the paper up without another glance. But that would be madness. The only clue I have to my whereabouts might be contained inside.

My thirst for information gets the better of me. I sit on the floor, cross my legs, and slowly unfold the paper.

It’s handwritten in swift, flowing blue ink. The rows of words make perfect strides across the page. Precision is the first word that comes to mind to describe the owner of the handwriting.

I set the sheet on the floor in front of me, lean forward and begin to read:

Two items require your immediate attention.

1. You may spuriously assume you are being held here against your will. Nothing could be farther from the truth. You are a guest. As a guest, you retain full ability to leave my home at any time. The door behind the drapes shall remain open for the duration of your stay. There are no physical barriers to speak of—though I would advise you to read to the end of this letter before making decisions based on a flawed understanding of your situation.

2.   You may have already noted the new adornment around your neck. If so, well done! I applaud—

Adornment? I stop reading. What adornment?

I bring my hands to my neck. I feel the unfamiliar shape against my skin. Why hadn’t I noticed it before?

I scamper closer to the marble pillar to try to make out my reflection. I can’t see much, but I can make out the “adornment”. There’s a black collar around my throat. I touch it with one hand.

It’s smooth and flat. It’s made of some kind of matted plastic, like the edges of a computer screen. It’s not tight or uncomfortable.

It frightens me. If it warranted a place in the letter, there must be something to it. I need to get it off.

My fingers dart around the edges, seeking the clasp that opens it.

I don’t find one.

The collar is smooth inside and out. It feels like a single piece of plastic. I trail one finger around the rim on the inside, and, finding no discrepancies, do the same on the outside. Again, I feel nothing.

There’s no crack, no edge, nothing to indicate how it was put around my neck.

I jam all my fingers between my skin and the plastic and pull with all my might. The collar flexes ever-so-slightly but doesn’t give.

Dammit! I cry out and try again.

I pull with all the strength God gave me. It’s not enough. I try again, and again, and again.

Nothing.

I realize I’m panting at this point. The exertion has me almost hyperventilating.

I drop my hands. It’s just a stupid, harmless little piece of plastic. Why do I want it off so much?

Because the idea of having anything foreign touch your skin is repulsive.

The voice is right, as always. But what can I do? The collar is bound to be part of the mind game in which I’m an unwitting participant. Reacting the way I just did is probably exactly what my captor wants. He—and I am certain it’s a “he” now, from the wording of the letter—wants me to feel terrified.

I will not give him the pleasure. I return to the letter and continue to read:

…applaud your perspicacity! You should know, however, that it is not an ordinary collar. Contained inside is a small positioning chip and two electrodes. They become activated the moment you stray outside your designated safe zone.

The string around your foot offers a conservative estimation of the distance you may roam past the marble column. Stay close, and you will remain untroubled. I am told that the electric shock the collar provides, while not lethal, can be quite unpleasant.

Holy fuck!

My spine goes absolutely straight and I forget to breathe. Now the collar has meaning. It feels like a live serpent wrapped around my neck.

My eyes are wide as I look down to my foot. The piece of string is still there, but it’s not connected to the one linked to the pillar.

I’d ripped it like a moron.

How far do I dare go? I’ll have to retie the string—unless I find a way to get the collar off my neck, first.

Another thought occurs to me:

Maybe this is a bluff? Does the collar really have an electrode in it? It’s so thin. Where would it draw power from?

I stand up. Assuming the collar is rigged, and the pillar is the center point… but that’s just what he wants me to believe, isn’t it? The letter claims there’s a door behind the drapes. It could be my path to freedom. I would have to be an idiot to stay here without testing the boundary myself.

I can’t trust anything the letter says. But, I can’t give in to despair, either. My only choice is to contest everything that’s thrown at me. If this is supposed to be a battle of the wills, the guy chose the wrong girl to mess with.

I pick up the remainder of the string and hold it in my fist. I square my shoulders to the long, drawn curtain. I hold my head high. My free hand itches to tug at the collar, but I keep it still. If my captor is watching me—which I’m sure he is, because I’m positive there are cameras hidden all around me—I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me hesitate.

I take a deep breath and start toward the curtained wall. My strides are strong and purposeful. I will not waver. I will not turn back. Fear of a little shock will not keep me from testing the true limits of this prison.

The string goes taut, and I stop.

So far, so good.

It’s the next few steps that will determine everything.

I glance at the floor to mark my position. So, he expects to keep me in an invisible cage, does he? A cage of my own imagination?

Yeah, tough luck.

I drop the string and take one solid step forward.

Nothing happens.

I risk one more.

Nothing happens.

The corner of my lip twitches up in a hint of a smile. I called his bluff. But, I’m not home free yet. The veiled wall is another thirty-odd paces away from me.

I take two more steps forward, and, when nothing happens, start to walk more briskly.

My stroll is cut short by a sharp little zap beneath my left ear.

I tense and wait for more.

Well, color me surprised.

It looks like the collar does have bite, after all. When a second jolt doesn’t come, I can’t stop my smile from becoming a satisfied smirk. I knew the collar couldn’t possible have enough juice to hurt me. Where would the battery go?

Extremely pleased with myself, I venture onward, toward the curtain and its promise of freedom.

The violent torrent of electricity blindsides me. One second I’m on my feet, the next I’m writhing on the floor.

The current pours into me. I thrash about like a grounded fish. Fierce convulsions rock my body. And all I know is pain, pain, pain.

I can feel the source of it, snug around my neck. I’m helpless to fight the onslaught. My head flails about on the ground, throwing hair into my face. A high-pitched squeal sounds in my ears and I desperately hope that pathetic sound is not me.

My eyes roll up and all goes black.

 

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abouttheauthor

 

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I live near beautiful Seattle, Washington. I grew up reading all types of fantasy books before discovering the wonderful world of romances in high school. Now, I spend most of my time writing about sexy men and the women who love them.

Website - www.scarlettedwards.com

https://www.facebook.com/ScarlettEdwardsAuthor

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Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Book Blast &Giveaway ~ How to Be a Man by @TamaraLinse

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clip_image002How to Be a Man

Tamara Linse

Genre: Literary Short Story Collection

Publisher: Willow Words

Print

ISBN: 0991386701

ISBN-13: 978-0-9913867-0-3

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ISBN: 099138671X

ISBN-13: 978-0-9913867-1-0

ASIN: B00HKSLFSQ

Number of pages: 238

Word Count: 59,650

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Book Description:

“Never acknowledge the fact that you’re a girl, and take pride when your guy friends say, ‘You’re one of the guys.’ Tell yourself, ‘I am one of the guys,’ even though, in the back of your mind, a little voice says, ‘But you’ve got girl parts.’” – Birdie, in “How to Be a Man”

A girl whose self-worth revolves around masculinity, a bartender who loses her sense of safety, a woman who compares men to plants, and a boy who shoots his cranked-out father.

These are a few of the hard-scrabble characters in Tamara Linse’s debut short story collection, How to Be a Man. Set in contemporary Wyoming—the myth of the West taking its toll—these stories reveal the lives of tough-minded girls and boys, self-reliant women and men, struggling to break out of their lonely lives and the emotional havoc of their families to make a connection, to build a life despite the odds. How to Be a Man falls within the tradition of Maile Meloy, Tom McGuane, and Annie Proulx.

The author Tamara Linse—writer, cogitator, recovering ranch girl—broke her collarbone when she was three, her leg when she was four, a horse when she was twelve, and her heart ever since. Raised on a ranch in northern Wyoming, she earned her master’s in English from the University of Wyoming, where she taught writing. Her work appears in the Georgetown Review, South Dakota Review, and Talking River, among others, and she was a finalist for an Arts & Letters and Glimmer Train contests, as well as the Black Lawrence Press Hudson Prize for a book of short stories. She works as an editor for a foundation and a freelancer. Find her online at tamaralinse.com and tamara-linse.blogspot.com

 

excerpt

from short story “How to Be a Man”

Never acknowledge the fact that you’re a girl, and take pride when your guy friends say, “You’re one of the guys.” Tell yourself, “I am one of the guys,” even though, in the back of your mind, a little voice says, “But you’ve got girl parts.”

You are born on a ranch in central Colorado or southern Wyoming or northern Montana and grow up surrounded by cowboys. Or maybe not a ranch, maybe a farm, and you have five older brothers. Your first memory is of sitting on the back of Big Cheese, an old sorrel gelding with a sway back and—you find out later when you regularly ride bareback—a backbone like a ridge line. Later, you won’t know if this first memory is real or comes from one of the only photos of you as a baby. You study that photo a lot. It must be spring or late fall because you’re wearing a quilted yellow jacket with a blue-lined hood and your brother’s hands reach from the side of the frame and support you in the saddle. You look half asleep with your head tilted to the side against your shoulder, a little sack of potatoes.

Your dad is a kind man, a hard worker, who gives you respect when no one else will. When you’re four, if he asks, “Birdie, do you think the price of hogs is going up?” ponder this a while. Take into account how Rosie has just farrowed seven piglets and how you’re bottle-raising the runt and how you’ve heard your brothers complaining about pig shit on the boots they wear to town. Think about how much Jewel—that’s what you’ve decided to name the pig—means to you and say, “Yes, Daddy, pigs are worth a lot.” He’ll nod his head, but he won’t smile like other people when they think what you say was cute or precocious.

Your mother is a mouse of a woman who takes long walks in the gray sagebrushed hills beyond the fields or lays in the cool back bedroom reading the Bible. When your brothers ask “Where’s Mom?” you won’t know. You don’t think it odd when at five you learn how to boil water in the big speckled enamelware pot and to shake in three boxes of macaroni, to watch as it turn from off-yellow plasticity to soft white noodles, to hold both handles with a towel and carefully pour it into the colander in the sink while avoiding the steam, to measure the butter and the milk—one of your brothers shows you how much—and then to mix in the powdered cheese. You learn to dig a dollop of bacon grease from the Kerr jar in the fridge into the hot cast iron skillet, wait for it to melt, and then lay in half-frozen steaks, the wonderful smell of the fat and the popping of ice crystals filling the kitchen. When your brothers come in from doing their chores, they talk and laugh instead of opening the cupboards and slamming them shut. And your dad doesn’t clench his jaw while washing his hands with Dawn dishwashing liquid at the kitchen sink and then toss big hunks of Wonder Bread into bowls filled with milk.

When you wear hand-me-downs from your brothers, be proud. Covet the red plaid shirt of your next older brother, and when you get it—a hot late summer afternoon when he tosses three shirts on your bed—wear it until the holes in the elbows decapitated the cuffs. If you go to town with your dad for parts, be proud of your shitty boots and muddy jeans and torn-up shirts. It shows that you know an honest day’s work. Work is more important than fancy things, and you are not one of those ninnies who wear girlie dresses and couldn’t change a tire if their lives depended on it.

Be prepared: when you go to school, you won’t know quite where you fit. All the other kids will seem to know something that you don’t, something they whisper to each other behind their hands. They won’t ever whisper it to you. But they won’t make fun of you either because—you’ll get this right away and take pride in it—you are tough and also you have five older brothers and the Gunderson family sticks together. Be proud of the fact that, in seventh grade social studies, you sit elbows-on-the-table next to a boy about your size, and he says with a note of admiration, “Look at them guns. You got arms bigger than me.” It’s winter, and you’ve been throwing hay bales every morning to feed the livestock.

Your friends will be boys. You understand boys. When you say something, they take it at face value. If they don’t understand, hit them, and they’ll understand that. For a couple of months—until your dad finds out about it—your second oldest brother will give you a dime every time you get into a fist fight. The look on your brother’s face as he hands you those dimes will make your insides puff to bursting. Use the dimes to buy lemons at the corner grocery during lunch time. Slice them up with your buck knife and hand them out to see which of the boys can bite into it without making a face.

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abouttheauthor

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Tamara Linse grew up on a ranch in northern Wyoming with her farmer/rancher rock-hound ex-GI father, her artistic musician mother from small-town middle America, and her four sisters and two brothers. She jokes that she was raised in the 1880s because they did things old-style—she learned how to bake bread, break horses, irrigate, change tires, and be alone, skills she’s been thankful for ever since. The ranch was a partnership between her father and her uncle, and in the 80s and 90s the two families had a Hatfields and McCoys-style feud.

She worked her way through the University of Wyoming as a bartender, waitress, and editor. At UW, she was officially in almost every college on campus until she settled on English and after 15 years earned her bachelor’s and master’s in English. While there, she taught writing, including a course called Literature and the Land, where students read Wordsworth and Donner Party diaries during the week and hiked in the mountains on weekends. She also worked as a technical editor for an environmental consulting firm.

She still lives in Laramie, Wyoming, with her husband Steve and their twin son and daughter. She writes fiction around her job as an editor for a foundation. She is also a photographer, and when she can she posts a photo a day for a Project 365. Please stop by Tamara’s website, www.tamaralinse.com, and her blog, Writer, Cogitator, Recovering Ranch Girl, at tamara-linse.blogspot.com. You can find an extended bio there with lots of juicy details. Also friend her on Facebook and follow her on Twitter, and if you see her in person, please say hi.

 

authorlinks

www.tamaralinse.com

http://tamara-linse.blogspot.com

www.facebook.com/tlinse

www.twitter.com/TamaraLinse

www.pinterest.com/tlinse

https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/1481856-tamara-linse

Book Blast & Giveaway ~ Infinity Unleashed by @TLClarke_TLC

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Infinity Unleashed

Valkyries: Soaring Raven, Book #2

New Adult Paranormal Romance
Publisher: One Wish Publishing

Publication Date: November 29, 2013

Format: eBook and Paperback

I wanted him. No. I needed him. Boulder.
My body hummed just at the mere mention of his name. It was madness, given that there's so much I didn't know about him. For that matter, there was so much that he didn't know about me. The stakes were too high, especially when my true nature was being peeled away every day like an onion.
Could he accept me without judging?
It was hard to separate the celebrity life from the real deal. That's where most men failed, accepting the real me and not the persona they believed me to be. Most men couldn't, but then again, most men weren't Boulder.
He made me feel treasured... wanted... and protected. And after years of hardening my heart, and sealing it behind a steel cage, I was ready to give myself to him freely, knowing that he planned to take everything I offered with both hands. Plundering me until all I thought of, and wanted... was him.
**Mature Content Warning** 18+ for language, and adult situations.

 

 

booklinks

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Infinity-Unleashed-Valkyries-Soaring-Raven-ebook/dp/B00H6JW600/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1391230213&sr=8-3&keywords=sedona+venez

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/infinity-unleashed-sedona-venez/1117327561?ean=9780984499380

iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/infinity-unleashed/id738303117?mt=11

 

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  abouttheauthor

 

Sedona Venez pic

Sedona is a NYC girl (go Brooklyn!) and is obsessed with books. She also has a borderline unhealthy obsession with her iPad. Her favorite books... anything with rockers, hot alpha men and wolf shifters! Her love of music, tattoos and sexy musicians inspires her steamy and edgy New Adult and Adult paranormal romance novels.

Author contact links: Blog Facebook Twitter Goodreads Pinterest

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Book Blast and Giveaway ~ The S.E.R.A. Files - Volume 2 by @CTGreenAuthor

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clip_image002The S.E.R.A. Files

Volume 2

C.T. Green

Genre: PNR

Publisher: Soul Mate Publishing

Number of pages: Approx. 105

Word Count: approx. 30, 400

Cover Artist: Cass Green

Amazon

Book Description:

SATISFYING SIMON

Will satisfaction be guaranteed?

For Serena Roberts, getting to know her new SERA partner is an uphill task. Simon’s distant and ‘by the book’ demeanor is at odds with his playboy past. Serena believes she’ll never find out the real story behind the torture Simon endured at the hands of a demon nor discover a way past the Fae warrior’s ice-cold reserve.

Simon doesn’t mind his reputation for being hard to please, but when he meets Serena he finds there is something he cares about more than keeping his distance from others. As they hunt for a kidnapper can he trust Serena enough to leave them both satisfied?

PROTECTING PENELOPE

Angels and demons don’t mix. Prepare for an apocalypse.

Adar works as a special operative for SERA. He’s a demon who loves the thrill of close calls and blood-pounding action. But no way in hell is he ready to do protection detail for an angel. After all, everyone knows those guys are short tempered and deadly.

Penelope, a messenger angel, is minding her own business when she witnesses a crime. Now she’s under the care of a big, strong SERA agent and she’s determined to go for his heart. When the bad guys catch up with them and Adar is forced to unleash his inner demon, will the angel he’s fallen in love with still want him?

CATCHING FLAME

A fire prince always knows how to light a girl’s fire.

Saskia “Sass” Boots has been watching Flame, and he’s every bit as absorbing as his namesake. But as an agent with SERA, she’s determined to keep her mind on the job and off the fire prince’s smokin’ hot body. A pyromaniac’s on the loose and Flame is SERA’s top suspect.

When Sass announces she’s moving in with him, Flame knows it’s going to be hard to resist the girl of his dreams while chasing a murderer. There’s no way Flame is going to let some creep kill innocent people, but when things become heated, the scorching chemistry between him and Sass might prove a fatal distraction.

TOUCHING TORREN

SERA Agent. Werewolf. Guard Dog. No one said anything about ‘walkies’.

After Sophy Bancroft is blinded by a spell, Torren is determined to protect the human from a killer still at large. But for a werewolf, playing at being a guard dog is tough work. He hates deceiving the woman he’s fallen in love with, but until Sophy’s sight returns there’s no other way to ensure her safety.

Sophy’s delighted to regain her vision. When she discovers her beloved canine companion is a seriously gorgeous werewolf will she be able to trust him not to shed on the furniture, and more importantly, save her from the creature determined to end her life?

AFTER OBLIVION

Not even Hell itself is going to keep these lovers apart.

Mia Haviland and Avenian of the Fae mourned the loss of Oblivion, the demon prince who bound the three of them together. Now their lover is back and determined to re-take his place in Mia and Aven’s life.

Oblivion endured two years in Hell, imprisoned and tortured by a sadistic killer who escaped SERA’s justice. Now he wants his beloved Fairy and Fae back by his side and his captor’s head on a platter. Can he destroy his nemesis and convince Aven and Mia that neither Hell nor high water will ever keep him from them again?

 

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abouttheauthor

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Before becoming a writer C.T. Green worked in advertising for ten years. She also completed a Bachelor of Arts with majors in communication and literature.

C.T. Green now lives in regional Australia with her husband, children and extensive collection of animals - amongst which are the world's bossiest goldfish.

In between writing, i.e. arguing with her characters and occasionally posting to her blog, she reads, drinks vanilla coffee, kid wrangles, enters writing contests and avoids the goldfish.

 

 

authorlinks

http://www.ctgreen-author.com/

http://www.ctgreen-author.com/blog.html

https://www.facebook.com/C.T.GreenAuthor

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https://plus.google.com/+ctgreen/posts

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http://www.amazon.com/C.T.-Green/e/B009F86386