Featured Author: Kerry Peresta

Author Kerry Peresta is here today with a guest post and a heart-pounding excerpt from her book, The Hunting. After getting not one but two bad reviews this week, I can totally relate to Kerry's guest post about the necessity for writers to develop a thick hide. Thank you, Kerry, for reminding me! By the way, everyone who leaves a comment on the tour page will be entered to win a $20 Amazon gift card! Anyone who purchases their copy of The Hunting before January 6 and sends their receipt to Samantha (at) ChickLitPlus (dot) com, will get five bonus entries.

About the author:

Kerry Peresta's publishing credits include a popular newspaper and e-zine humor column, "The Lighter Side," short stories in the published anthology, That One Left Shoe, and her debut novel, recently released by Pen-L Publishing, The Hunting, contemporary women's fiction.

She spent twenty-five years in advertising as an account manager, creative director, and copywriter before deciding to devote more of her time to writing.

She is currently working on her second novel, participating in writing conferences, and serving on the leadership team of the Maryland Writers' Association.

Kerry was a single mother for many years to four great kids, all grown and successfully carving out their own unique paths. Her debut novel, The Hunting, is available on Amazon.com and her website. She and her husband live in the Baltimore metro area.
Connect with Kerry:
Website | Facebook | Twitter |

Guest Post by Kerry Peresta

A Writer Must – Above All Else – Develop Rhinoceros Hide

“I would advise anyone who aspires to a writing career that before developing his talent he would be wise to develop a thick hide.”
—Harper Lee, Writer's Digest

"If you're gonna try to write, the first thing you gotta do is develop rhinoceros hide," Warren (Rip) Ripley, author of the successful Storme Wyatt mystery series, told me ten years ago, dark eyes full of mischief. "Rhinoceros hide," he repeated.

This little nugget of wisdom lodged deep in the back of my mind, root strands snaking around my brain until it presented in my frontal lobe about the same time as my first novel released. Now, I cling to his words like a kid with a kite on a windy day.

My first publishing experience was a fluke: the associate editor of a local newspaper asked me to write a humor column after one of my letters to the editor got a flurry of response. Thrilled, I immediately asked about salary. My glee unpeeled itself from the ceiling and thumped to the floor when the editor said, "Well, no salary, but you get publishing credit, and that's worth quite a lot." Seriously? My first getting-published lesson: no creds, no moolah. Reluctantly, I agreed to write an 800-word column FREE once a week in order to establish a public writing profile.

The responses to my humor articles ranged from raging to rhapsodic. I learned later that simply to get response was a major triumph, but as a writer-virgin, I was unprepared for the negative stuff.

My first hater comment caused a few emotional tailspins until I remembered my friend Rip's admonition. I grasped the edges of an imaginary rhinoceros-hide-cape and plopped it on with virgin-writer zeal.

This seemed to help. Until the same hater commented again and again. In print. Publicly. The rhinoceros-hide-cape slipped from my shoulders. I researched a few brethren humor columnists (not that I was in their league, but hope springs eternal) and stumbled over Dave Barry's legendary columns. I was shocked to find that his hater comments not only bounced off him, he recycled them into new material.

I located my protective cape and slid it back on. With fresh eyes, I revisited the comments and laughed myself silly. Of course! Wasn't mocking your enemies a Biblical truth of sorts? The subtly-admonishing, follow-up column was delivered with fear and trembling plus several gallons of sarcasm.

I bit my fingernails waiting forty-eight hours until the article published. Had I made the wrong decision? Would all my comments be hater-comments from now on? I quickly thumbed through the paper on publication day, reading it over a few times, sweat beading my forehead. Then I logged onto the paper's website, where comments had already sprouted. To my surprise, my readers pummeled my detractors, encouraging them to lighten up. My confidence soared. The haters were undeterred, and ramped up the mud-slinging. The newspaper was delighted with all the attention.

Lesson learned: Developing a tough hide not only insulates from detractors, it frees a writer to write from deep places of honesty instead of trying to please everyone, which absolutely kills creativity.

Two years down the road I completed a novel. It was exhausting and glorious at the same time. The query turndowns body-slammed me to the floor. Picking myself up was harder. I joined a critique group. Got involved with the Maryland Writers' Association. Locked in on friends that encouraged me. This helped me get up, stay up, and keep going. I renounced the dratted second-guessing and fear of rejection that plagues most writers and dragged my tattered rhinoceros-hide cape back into place.

Lo and behold, I was picked up by a small publisher and received a couple of stunning reviews on advance copies of my novel, The Hunting. My beta readers loved it as well. I was delighted! In a manic moment born of euphoric hysteria, I signed up for four weeks of fiction writing classes culminating in a group critique of a short story assignment. By this time, I figured my hide was tough as nails, so why not hone my skills?

I pulled out one of the sections I'd lopped off my novel during rewrite and shaped it into a short story. In final critique responses, I received three wild applauses, four ho-hums, and one total washout. The total washout response was from my instructor.

I self-consciously caressed my rhinoceros-hide-cape, lifted my chin, and thanked the group for their remarks. A positive takeaway: the three wild applause responses had been from the target demographic for my novel, women 35-65. I ran home, made adjustments based on the critique, and put it on my website, bouncing back with a vengeance. The adjustments made it better, and I didn't collapse in self-defeat. A huge win!

I've learned I cannot – and don't have to – please everybody.

And neither do you.

Merry Christmas, and a have a crazy, wonderful, inspired, New Year!

About The Hunting:

Isabelle Lewis, top advertising salesperson at the Chatbrook Springs Sentinel newspaper, has a habit of falling in and out of marriage. After her last divorce, she shoved the emotional pain into a compartment in her brain to deal with later. With three teenagers to raise, bills to pay, and sales quotas to meet, introspection was a luxury she couldn't afford. Her mind needed a happy place.

When Isabelle (Izzy) discovered online dating, it immediately became her favorite stress reliever and best friend. Often, she'd steal into the night after her kids were asleep to meet someone new. One fateful evening, the hunt for the perfect guy took a sinister turn when the mystery man she met turned out to be her worst nightmare! Reluctantly pulled into a web of lies, Izzy is forced to confront her demons.

Snarky, suspense-filled, and real, The Hunting is an exquisite entwining of the crippling emotional fallout of divorce with the quest for a healthy, fulfilling relationship. This inspirational story rivets!

Excerpt from The Hunting       

I sit in my car a minute, adjusting to the darkness of the garage. My eyes land on the kids' car tucked in already, and I know they are inside the house, either asleep or going that direction, because I'd talked to them on the way home. I shake off the feeling that something is wrong, get out of the car, start up the stairs to the kitchen, reconsider and click on the overhead light in the garage to sniff around.

Brightness illuminates the area. Rakes, loppers, an air pump, and various gadgetry cling to a pegboard nailed to one wall; an aging lawnmower sits in a far corner with its best friend, the gas trimmer. Metal shelving climbs the back wall, loaded with fairly common family paraphernalia. My eyes scan the cement floor and the kids' car, searching for signs of inappropriate activity. I smell old grass, a little oil that has leaked from one of the cars, gas, paint thinner.

My heels striking the cement garage floor in the middle of the night remind me of old Law and Order episodes, where Eames and Goren discover a body in the garage, draped halfway out of a car, drenched in blood. I should stop watching those shows. Then I see it. Not tonight, my mind screams. Tonight? After this horribly long day? My stomach clenches in fear.

A tightly folded, small, white square mocks me from the windshield of my kids' car. What time is it, anyway, I mutter to myself as I cautiously approach the car, lift the windshield wiper, and hold the small square gingerly between thumb and forefinger. I grab my phone from my purse with my free hand and click the screen on. Almost midnight.

Self-pity, despair, and several other emotions I have no energy to identify zip through me at warp speed. I turn off the garage light and climb the three stairs into the kitchen, firmly locking the door behind me. The note sails through the air and lands on the kitchen table.

I scroll quickly through my contacts to find Detective Faraday. His phone rings several times, a groggy voice answers. “Yeah?” Cough. “What?”

"Detective Faraday?” I whisper.

“You got him. What’s up?” I picture him wiping his eyes and focusing on a clock by his bed. Maybe a lovely wife by his side, sleeping. I feel awful for interrupting him at home.

“I got another note,” my voice is hushed, and has begun to warble. I am whispering because I don’t want to alarm the kids, but the stress has rushed to every extremity and overtaken my vocal cords. I cannot stop shaking. Detective Faraday is instantly alert.

“Okay. This is Izzy, right?”

I shake my head, realize someone on the other end of a phone call cannot see a head shake, and murmur “Yes.”

“All right, I'm going to call and get a patrol car out there immediately. What does the note say? By the way, we have analyzed fingerprints on the note, and it is definitely the man you indicated, so he is not using an alias. That’s good news, because it means he’s not trying to hide, and it’s probably not pre-meditated. Probably just a reaction to a personal crisis. Which, unfortunately, you seem to be triggering.”

“So what should I do?” I whisper.

“Read me the note, Izzy,” he says, calmly.

“It was on my kids' car.” I feel tears forming. One trails slowly down my cheek. I slap it away.

“Oh, man,” Detective Faraday whooshes out a long sigh. “You weren’t home, then? But your kids were?”

“Yeah, and I'm pretty sure the garage was locked. They know they are supposed to shut the garage door when they get home, no matter what.”

“Izzy, is there a window in your garage?” I think a minute. Yes! There is one in the small storage room at the back of the garage, one we never use.

“Well, yes, there is one in a storage room, but – ”

“Is it locked?” he barks. I start to cry.

“I don’t know! Why is this happening?”

“Go check, Izzy, right now. Keep me on the phone while you do it. Take a flashlight or a bat or something with you. I'll wait.”

The implication hits me that he wants me to find a weapon before I check the window. Seriously? I quietly enter my sons' room and pluck up the bat that is leaning against their bookshelf. They stir, but do not wake.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Got a bat. Heading for the garage.”

“I'm with you, Izzy. Be careful.”

His voice is reassuring and I am thinking how grateful I am for our police force. Funny. I am grateful now, but just let me get a speeding ticket. I enter the garage, and tiptoe toward the closed storage room door, my heart beating violently. I hold the bat in my right hand and turn the knob slowly with my left. The darkened room emerges bit by bit as the door creaks open. Light from the garage spills into the room, illuminating old cans of paint, a broken lamp, basketballs, a football, boxes. I push the door open further, and see the window, which is located high on the wall, shards of cobwebs hanging from the edges.

I lift the bat in pre-strike position as I push the door all the way open. I hear Detective Faraday’s breathing on the phone.

“What’s happening, Izzy?” he says, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin.

I locate the string that turns on the lone light bulb in the room, and pull. The forty-watt bulb creates an eerie glow. To my utter and profound relief, the room appears empty.

“I am in the storage room. It’s empty.”

I lean the bat against one of the boxes and look around.

“How often are you in that room, Izzy?”

“Rarely. It’s for stuff we don’t have room for. Kind of forget sometimes, that it’s here.” 

“Okay,” he says, “go to the window and check the lock.”

My nose wrinkles in disgust. “Okay,” I say and move aside two squashed storage boxes. Looking around, I locate something to stand on, and reach up to check the latch. Push up on the window, which holds. Try again, and it reluctantly slides open. “It’s not locked,” I say, miserably.

“Lock it,” Detective Faraday says. “Don’t worry, Izzy, we'll get him."


Buy the book at Amazon.com

Featured Author: Stacey Kade

Stacey Kade, on tour with CLP Blog Tours, is here today to talk about her mystery novel, Bitter Pill. She's also written a great guest post with which I'm sure most authors can identify, and she's giving us a taste of Bitter Pill with an excerpt. Read on!

About the book:

Rennie Harlow is having a bad year. She had a handsome husband, a good job, and a renovated condo in Chicago. Now, thanks to one "exotically beautiful" paralegal, she’s divorced, faking her way through a writing career, and living above her hypochondriac mother's garage back in Morrisville, the small town she couldn't leave fast enough at eighteen. On top of all of that, she just found Doc Hallacy, the local pharmacist, dead behind his counter. And the worst part is, he's the third body she’s stumbled across this year. 

Jake Bristol has lived in Morrisville his whole life. A former bad boy turned sheriff, he doesn’t believe it’s just Rennie’s luck or timing that’s the problem. He thinks she’s too nosy for her own good. The last thing he needs is her messing around with his murder investigation so that she can freelance for the Morrisville Gazette. But as they both delve deeper into Doc's death, they find that things don't add up. This isn't a robbery gone wrong or the work of a desperate junkie. Someone has a secret they're killing to keep. The only question is—who's next?

Interview with Stacey Kade

How long have you been writing, and how did you start?

I’ve been writing for publication for about seventeen years now. Now, mind you, I haven’t actually been published for that many years! :) That was just when I started with the intention of completing a book and querying for an agent.

I started writing seriously once I graduated from college. I’d taken a job as a copywriter and project manager and figured out that it was an entirely different kind of writing that I wanted to do.

Do you have another job outside of writing?

I’ve been fortunate enough to be a full-time writer for the last three years or so.

How did you create the plot for this book?

Trial and error? :) I was actually working on revising another book in a totally different genre when this idea came to me and would not leave me alone. Normally, I limit myself to one book at a time so I don’t get too distracted. But I was frustrated with my attempts to revise the other book and this story was calling to me, so I gave in.
It was the first mystery I’d ever attempted writing. The first draft was only 80 pages long, and that was mainly because I let Rennie and Bristol go straight to the correct suspect. Ha! It was only after I sat down and studied the mysteries that I’d read and loved for so many years that I figured out what I was doing wrong. Which was a lot, in that initial draft.

How do you get to know your characters?

Honestly, I don’t feel like I really know them until after I’ve written a draft of the book. But I always start with writing down everything I know about them—-including the facts I know will never make it into the finished book. And even then, things change as I get a better sense for who they are during the writing process.

I also “cast” all of my characters. I find actors who represent the character in my mind, and that always helps a great deal. 

When you start a new book, do you know what the entire cast will be?

Ha! Nope. New people crop up all the time and surprise me. Sometimes they’re just passing through, a secondary or tertiary character; other times, the entire plot changes around that person. I’ve learned not to ignore anyone who drops in unexpectedly. ;)

Tell us about your favorite scene in the book.

I love the scene where Rennie goes inside the Parkmueller house for the first time. It’s played for humor obviously, but her surprise at finding all of that junk crammed into every inch of the house works on another level as well. Rennie believes that she knows everything that goes on in this tiny town. The fact that Mrs. Parkmueller had this secret that Rennie knew nothing about means that maybe other people have secrets as well.

What song would you pick to go with your book?

For whatever reason, there was a LOT of Bruce Springsteen on my playlist for this book ("Glory Days," "Tunnel of Love," etc.) The one song I’d pick for this book, for Rennie and Bristol in particular, is “I’m On Fire.”

Tell us one weird thing, one nice thing, and one fact about where you live.

Fact: I live in a subdivision that was abandoned by the builder during the real estate crash in 2008 or so.

Weird thing: Because of the fact above, there are empty houses, ranging from completely finished to just giant holes in the ground, all throughout our tiny neighborhood.

Nice thing: The few of us who do live here know each other pretty well. It’s like a small community inside of a much larger one!

Do you ever get writer’s block? What do you do when it happens?

I have kind of a controversial take on writer’s block. :) I don’t believe it exists, at least not in the way people usually think of it. Writer’s block, or being stuck, as I prefer to think of it, is a signal, a symptom rather than the disease.

It can mean a couple of different things. 1) You’ve run out of conflict or tension in your story. In other words, the main story problem may not have been solved yet, but the urgency behind solving it has gone flat. Or 2) you’re trying to make your character behave in a way that is out of character in order to suit the story.

Most of the time, it’s that last one that gets me!

To fix it, I go back to the last scene or chapter where it felt like the story was really flowing and try to find where it went off the rails and then send it in a new direction.

What do you like to do when you’re not writing?

I love story in all forms, so I’m a huge movie and television buff. If I’m not writing or reading, I’m at the theater or trying to catch up on my recorded shows.

If you could take a trip anywhere in the world, where would you go?

England! I’d love to see all the historical sites and museums. Especially anything and everything related to Jane Austen. I love her books.

I do too! Can I go with you?! Tell us what you're working on now.

I just turned in a first draft of the final book in my young adult Project Paper Doll series. Which is both thrilling and a little sad too. When you live with characters in your head for years, it’s amazing to see them finally reach the end of their journey but there’s also a small sense of loss. They don’t need me anymore, you know?

Of course, I’m not quite finished with that book yet!  Revisions are coming…

Guest post by Stacey Kade

Breaking The Rules



I cheated. I'm a cheater. I two-timed a book. More than once now, actually.

The standard wisdom, which I happen to agree with, is that a writer should focus on one book at a time. Otherwise, you end up with a bunch of started manuscripts and nothing finished. The new shiny idea calls to you, and you abandon your work-in-progress, over and over again. Because even the most enjoyable story turns into work at some point, and it becomes difficult to keep going.

I was in the middle of revising another book when Bitter Pill showed up in my brain. It was completely the opposite of the book I was supposed to be working on: contemporary, non-paranormal, and a mystery, for heaven's sake.


I tried to ignore it. I really did. I eventually jotted down notes for it (which I highly recommend, by the way, to help you remember the ideas when you need them) and attempted to set it aside.

But one night, after a long evening of revising that seemed to be going nowhere, I couldn't fall asleep. I found myself getting out of bed and grabbing my AlphaSmart. 

I climbed back under the covers and wrote the first chapter of Bitter Pill that night by the glow of a book light. (I didn't want to wake my husband.)

That chapter flowed out of me with a smoothness and ease that was such a relief and a delight compared to the frustration I was experiencing on my official project. I was hooked, then and there.

So, I struck myself a little deal. I'd work on my revisions and make real, definable progress earlier in the day. And if I did, I could "sneak out" at night and work on this new fledgling story. (I was also still working full-time as a copywriter during this time. I wasn't sleeping much!)

The entire first draft of Bitter Pill was written between the hours of 10 p.m. and 2 a.m. with that book light illuminating the screen of my AlphaSmart and HGTV on in the background to drown out the sound of my typing (my poor husband).

And what I discovered was that the revising on my "real" project started going a lot faster and more smoothly. Was it the bribe of being able to work on a passion project at night if I did well? Sure, maybe that was some of it. 

But looking back on it now, I think it was more that I was putting too much pressure on myself with those revisions. I was questioning every decision, every change. I had paralyzed myself with self-doubt and the desire for perfection. 

Working on a fun project, one without a contract or any associated expectations, helped rebuild my confidence, helped me break free. It reminded me that writing was fun and that I just needed to let go a little.

Now I know that focusing on two projects in two different stages (drafting and revising, for example) can actually help me when I get stuck. I still have to be careful, of course, to make sure I'm staying on track for deadlines and not letting my extra-curricular project get too much attention.

But when that impulse comes to jot notes on another project, I don't ignore it. I don't even try. :) I open my notebook to a fresh page and start writing. If it becomes my fun, secret project, so be it. If not, those ideas will be there waiting for me when I'm done with my current book. Either way, it's the right (write?) thing for me to do. :)


Every book writes a little differently. Sometimes you have to make adjustments to your process. Sometimes you have to break the rules and find what works for you.

Excerpt from Bitter Pill

Bristol rubbed his face wearily, then stared at me, his warm brown eyes too intense. “How do you get yourself into this? The first person found on the scene is usually a viable suspect for the murder. But not in this town, not with you.”

“I can’t help it, it just happens.” I tried not to sound too plaintive.

“No, Rennie, lightning strikes just happen.” He shook his head with a tight smile. “You are a walking disaster.”

Stung, I shoved the thermos lid back at him, sloshing coffee onto the leather interior, and jabbed my car keys into the ignition. “Screw you, Bristol.”

He sighed. “Rennie…”

“What?” I jerked the gearshift into reverse.

He started to say something then shook his head. “I’m going to need you to come in to make an official statement.”

“Not till this afternoon.” I lifted my chin defiantly, daring him to challenge me. “I have to get home to explain to my mother that she’ll have to wait for her prescription and then I’ve got an interview with Gloria Lottich.”

“Fine. We’ve already got your prints on file, so we can rule out anything you touched.”

His mouth tightened and he hesitated for the slightest of seconds. “We’re going to need your shirt.”

“What? Why?” I looked down at myself and saw, for the first time, a splotch of blood shaped like a tear drop on the stomach of my pale blue t-shirt.

“Crime lab will want to make sure that’s Doc’s blood and not the killer’s.”

I swallowed hard, struggling against the urge to pluck the fabric away from my skin. “So, I’m just supposed to drive home topless? This is Morrisville. There are laws about how long Christmas decorations can stay up. You’re telling me there are no ordinances about half-naked driving?” I asked, discomfort setting my tone a little too close to rude.

He walked back to his squad car, tossing out the remains of the coffee in the thermos lid on the way. He returned with a paper bag and a bright blue bundle of fabric. The fabric, a t-shirt, he handed to me, while he held onto the bag.

I put the car back into park and unfolded the t-shirt. The front had a small patch of writing over the left side in the shape of star. Morrisville Sheriff’s Office, it read. Interdepartmental Softball League. I flipped it over to look at the back. Bristol 17.
“Your softball shirt?” I asked. God help me, despite the circumstances, I loved the idea of his name on my back, his shirt against my skin. Bad, Rennie. Bad, bad.

He shrugged. “Unless you have a better idea.”

I shook my head. He stood and turned his back toward the window, blocking the view from the side of the car. That helped, but it didn’t keep anyone from looking through the windshield. I sighed. Oh, well, what little I had, they were welcome to see. Besides, Deputy Sheffey appeared to be occupied with taking notes anyway, and the first curiosity-seekers on the scene had their attention focused on the pharmacy door, now blocked off with crime tape.

I yanked the bloodied shirt off over my head, silently thanking whatever voice of caution in my brain had urged me to wear proper undergarments this morning. Much to my chagrin, bras were more wishful thinking on my part than a strict necessity. However, it would have been nice if the voice of caution had also recommended a little more time on my hair this morning—-I could feel it standing up in messy spikes, like a blonde tumbleweed on top of my head. Very attractive.

I thrust my arms through Bristol’s t-shirt. The familiar smell of him, the clean scent of his clothing, surrounded me. I tugged the rest of the shirt down into place, loving the feel of it against my skin even as I knew it was wrong. After all, Bristol’s shirt smelled good, like him, because it had been recently laundered…by his wife, Margene.

Without thinking, I bumped his arm with the back of my hand to let him know I’d completed my wardrobe change. As usual, he’d rolled his shirt sleeves up, revealing tanned and strong forearms. I jolted slightly at the warmth of his skin against mine, and my heart flipped up and twisted in my chest, like a paper cutout on a string in the breeze.
Bristol turned around and opened the paper bag. I dropped my bloodied shirt inside.

“So, how’s Margene?” I asked Bristol, as I always did when I started having trouble remembering he was married.

His face closed down, like he’d shut some internal door against me. “Fine.” He didn’t really sound surprised at the strange conversation twist I’d thrown him. “Getting ready for the Garden Show.” He closed up the top of the bag with precise, crisp folds in the paper.

“Right,” I said. Margene had been more than happy to settle into her role of Mrs. Sheriff, second only to Mrs. Mayor, Gloria Lottich. Margene and I’d also gone to school together, although she was a couple years younger than me. She’d moved to town in the seventh grade when her father took a job at the propane factory. By her junior year in high school, she’d worked her way up from trailer trash to co-captain of the varsity cheerleading team, second only to Laura Brown. Apparently, Margene’s ambition had limits. Word was, she’d caught wind of Jake’s upwardly mobile plans as soon as he’d returned to town from the Army and she’d trapped him with her reportedly magnificent thighs. Chelsea was born barely inside of wedlock, and then all Margene had to do was sit back and wait while Jake’s star kept rising.

“And Chelsea?” I asked.

“Finishing fifth grade in a couple weeks.” He frowned at me, highlighting those marvelous wrinkles near his eyes.

Time to change the subject again. “What about Max?” I asked.

“Max,” he repeated with a frown.

“Yeah. Editor of the Gazette, nosiest human being alive?” I waited for some flicker of recognition from Bristol and got a grim nod. “He’s going to want details for a story. Time of death, potential motives, the weapon…”

Bristol frowned. “I don’t want to share any of that information with the public just yet. Incidentally, I think you’re right about the cane being the murder weapon.” His eyes dropped to the phone in my lap. “I don’t want that part in the paper, got it?” He rubbed his face, the stubble on his chin making a rasping sound against his hand. “I’d rather not have anything in the paper just yet.”

I shook my head. “Max is sitting right over there.” I pointed at the Gazette office. “It’s not like he can’t see it for himself. You know him, he’ll print something. Better he get most of the facts from a reliable source.”

“You run all of it past me before anything hits the printer,” he said.

I made an exasperated sound. “We’ve been through this before. I get the lecture from you about responsible media. Then I turn around and get the freedom of the press speech from Max.” I glowered at him. “I should put the two of you in a room together and let you duke it out.”

Bristol’s mouth twitched upward in a smile. “Wouldn’t be fair.”

“Why not?”

“Max could convince a snake to go vegetarian. I just have a gun.”

I pretended to consider his words. “True enough. I guess my money’s still safe on Max.”
“Oh, ha, ha.”

I smiled at him reluctantly. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”

About the author:

As a former award-winning corporate copywriter, Stacey Kade has written about everything from backhoe loaders to breast pumps. But she prefers to make things up instead. She's the author of two YA series from Hyperion: The Ghost and the Goth trilogy (The Ghost and the Goth, Queen of the Dead, and Body & Soul) and Project Paper Doll trilogy (The Rules, The Hunt, and Book 3 TBD).

Stacey lives in the Chicago suburbs with her husband, Greg, and their two retired racing greyhounds, Tall Walker (Walker) and SheWearsThePants (Pansy).

Connect with Stacey:
Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads |

Buy Stacey books:
Amazon

Featured Author: Julie Moffett

CLP Blog Tours brings Julie Moffett here today to talk about her fourth Lexi Carmichael mystery novel, No Place Like Rome, published by Carina Press (Harlequin).

About the book:

A Lexi Carmichael Mystery: Italy might seem like a long way to go to hide after a disastrous date. But when sexy uberhacker Slash (no, that’s not his real name) asks me to go with him to Rome on an investigation, the timing is sort of perfect. My messed up love life becomes the least of my worries though, after the dead body, the near-kidnapping, and the discovery of a top-secret encrypted file that even I can’t hack. With time running out, there’s only one thing to do: call in the legendary Zimmerman twins and my best fluent-in-Italian friend, Basia, to crack the code. Now if only someone could help me solve the mystery of whether Slash is flirting, or if all the kissing is just one of those “when in Rome” things… But when we finally uncover the secret someone would kill to keep, it’s up to me to solve the case and save the lives of my best friends. Just another week in the life of geek-girl Lexi Carmichael. Read about Lexi’s previous adventures in No One Lives Twice, No One To Trust and No Money Down.

Excerpt from No Place Like Rome

I’ve loved listening to music since I was a little girl. Not because I’m musically gifted, but because notes, themes, chords and tempo all have an intrinsic mathematical logic that speaks to me. After all, music is defined by its numeric divisions, such as a beat, a measure or a bar. Musical scales are actually harmonics based on the numerical ratios present in the Fibonacci series, which are a sequence of integers beginning at zero and one and continuing with each new number being the sum of the previous two.

I know all of this because I’m a geek first-class. My name is Lexi Carmichael and I’m a mild-mannered twenty-five-year old who, thankfully for music aficionados, is not employed in any part of the music industry. By day, I work as the Director of Information Security at a hot new cyber-intelligence firm just outside of Washington, D.C. By night, I’m a gamer, book nerd and fangirl (Bond, Star Wars, Dr. Who, Lord of the Rings). I’ve got long brown hair, no discernible curves and zip in the social skills department. I double-majored in mathematics and computer science at Georgetown University with a specialty in cybersecurity. Ask me to talk about a rigorous axiomatic framework or computational complexity theory, and I’m all over it. Ask me to make small talk and I’ll imagine myself jumping off a bridge.

Yet here I am, dressed in my fanciest dress—okay, it’s my only dress—and attending an opera at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C., with a man whose social skills and intellect far exceed my own. Small talk is inevitable, and I have a sad feeling that my observations on the Fibonacci series in Don Giovanni won’t fill more than a few minutes.

My acquaintance’s name is Slash, which is short for “backslash” in hacker lingo. I’m pretty decent myself at the keyboard, but Slash is a hacker of extraordinary ability. Of course, Slash isn’t his real name but so far he’s never felt compelled to tell me what his family named him at birth. In fact everything about Slash is a mystery, except that he assures me he’s Italian-American and he works, at least partially, for the NSA, where I was once gainfully employed. He’s so good at what he does that he’s watched around the clock by a team of FBI agents who I’m pretty sure are instructed to kill him rather than let him fall into enemy hands.

Tonight, Slash looked jaw-droppingly handsome in three piece suit and tie. I’m pretty sure this isn’t a date because I’m quasi-seeing my boss, Finn Shaughnessy, and Slash knows that. But Finn’s and my situation is fraught with complications and I’m having a hard time sorting it all out. Maybe Slash doesn’t care about Finn or maybe he does. I wouldn’t know either way. Technically, the word date wasn’t mentioned once in relation to our evening. So, as far as I know, this is just Slash’s goodwill gesture to expand my personal horizons into areas, up until now, unexplored.

Interview with Julie Moffett

Julie, you have thirteen published novels--wow! How long have you been writing, and how did you start?

Well, I published my first book in 1993. I wrote it because publishing a novel was something I’d always wanted to do. It was a Scottish historical romance with a strong heroine and two leading men. It wasn’t overly sexy, just an unusual romance featuring a woman who had to choose one man, even though she loved them both. Luckily, I was clueless that this was not standard at the time, and sent in the manuscript on my own to several New York publishing houses. I had two offers on the book within two weeks.

I actually wrote my first book in the second grade when I penned a love story between Prince Valen and Princess Tina who met, fell in love and got married on Valentine’s Day. I still have it. It was a big hit with all the girls in my class. The boys held their noses. After that I won a 3rd grade poem contest about a haunted house. I followed up that with a stint on my college newspaper, and later moved into international journalism. Eventually I got brave enough to pen a novel for publication purposes.

What do you like best about writing?

I love writing because the voices in my head finally get heard! It’s a wonderful, magical, frustrating and agonizing process.

What’s your least favorite thing?

My least favorite part is putting my bottom in a chair and writing every day. Writing and wrestling with my Muse is really hard work.

How did you come up with the title No Place Like Rome?

My first novel in the Lexi Carmichael series, No One Lives Twice, is a word play on a Bond movie because my heroine, Lexi, is a Bond geek (and in the spirit of full disclosure, so am I). Since then, I have kept NO as the first word in all the titles in the series. I love the title of the latest book, No Place Like Rome. One of the main characters in the series, a sexy uberhacker named Slash, is Italian-American. He enlists Lexi to go with him to Rome to help his uncle who is accused of hacking money from the Vatican Bank. I’m not sure Rome will be the same after a visit from Lexi!

Do you have another job outside of writing?

I do. I am a proposal writer for a defense contractor in the Washington, DC area. Proposal writing is quite similar to fiction on occasion! 

How would you describe your book in a tweet? (140 characters or less.)

Get your geek on in No Place Like Rome with hacker extraordinaire, Lexi Carmichael. Spies, Geeks, and Lies, oh, my! #mystery #romance #adventure

Do you outline, write by the seat of your pants, or let your characters tell you what to write?

I write with an outline. I know, boring. I’m a total plotter. Think Dragnet: “Just the facts ma'am.” I need to know the plot up front and all the way to the end, including the series arc. That doesn’t mean things don’t sometimes take an unexpected turn. They do. But I’ve always got a goal in mind. I really wish I could write by the seat of my pants, have curly hair (it’s as straight as it gets), and brush my teeth with my eyes closed. But we are who we are.

Do you have imaginary friends? When do they talk to you? Do they tell you what to write or do you poke them with a Q-tip?

My first imaginary friends were the Chipmunks when I was three years old. I kid you not, Alvin was my closest buddy. My mom said the Chipmunks hung around for some time. As I grew up, I just replaced the Chipmunks with other characters in my head. Finally, I decided to write stories about them. My characters talk to me all the time, no Q-tip required. The first time I heard an audio book of one of my novels was surreal. The voices in my head were actually talking aloud! That was a real ‘whoa’ moment for me.
 
Sophie’s choice: Do you have a favorite of your characters?

I think my favorite character is Lexi herself. She’s such a conundrum. She’s smart enough to know she needs people and a life outside her “virtual existence,” but she doesn’t know quite how to go about it. Enter her best friend, Basia, who is essentially the expositional character in the series. She plays off Lexi’s inexperience and offers suggestions to help bring her out of her geek shell with sometimes—-well, most of the time—unexpected results.

Are any of your characters inspired by real people?

Honestly, things, people, and events in real life inspire me. A lot. So, to know me is to be in danger! You could be in my next novel in one form or the other.

Are you like any of your characters?

I think there are definitely parts of me in Lexi. I’m also a lot like her best friend, Basia, but much less of a fashionista!

What song would you pick to go with your book?

Here is the soundtrack that I typically listen to while I’m trying to write... “Mommy, play with me, please,” “Can I have a popsicle?” “Mom, he’s in my stuff again!” “He breathed on me.” “MOM!!!” 

I'm not sure that's on YouTube, but I've heard it often! Who are your favorite authors?

Okay, I like Michael Crichton, Robert Crais, Dean Koontz, Lisa Gardner, Stephen King, Tess Gerritsen and Nora Roberts/JD Robb, among a thousand others. Favorite book of all time: Watership Down by Richard Adams. The rabbit fantasy thing just does it for me every time.

Which author would you most like to invite to dinner, and what would you fix him?

Oh, Lexi and I would have a blast at dinner eating cookie dough ice cream and chocolate éclairs. But a dinner with Slash would be eventful to say the least. A good Italian wine, some spicy pasta, all while playing a game of strip poker. Hmmm...

What book are you currently reading and in what format (e-book/paperback/hardcover)?

I just finished The Farm by Emily McKay. It’s a young adult vampire novel. It’s not my typical reading fare, but someone whose taste I trust highly recommended it to me, and I enjoyed every page. I just purchased I Am Malala: The Girl Who Stood Up for Education and Was Shot by the Taliban. I’m looking forward to reading that book, too. Both of them are in e-book format.


Do you have a routine for writing? Do you work better at night, in the afternoon, or in the morning?

Are writers with young children allowed to have a writing routine? I simply snatch every writing moment I can find. Someday, I’ll have a real writing schedule, or at least I hope so!

If you could take a trip anywhere in the world, where would you go? (Don’t worry about the money. Your publisher is paying.

Egypt. It’s on my bucket list to see the pyramids. Then I could know for sure if they were engineered by aliens or not.

What are you working on now?

Just finished up the next book in the Lexi Carmichael series, tentatively titled, No Biz Like Show Biz, and should be sending it out to my editor any moment now. Lexi goes undercover on a reality television dating show to catch a hacker. Hilarity ensues, of course!

Of course! And I'm looking forward to hearing more about it!

About the author:

Julie Moffett is the award-winning author of thirteen published novels in the genres of historical, paranormal fantasy, and time travel romances, and action/adventure mysteries.

She grew up as a military brat (Air Force) and has traveled extensively. Her more exciting exploits include attending Kubasaki High School in Okinawa, Japan, backpacking around Europe and Scandinavia for several months, a year-long college graduate study in Warsaw, Poland, and a wonderful trip to Scotland and Ireland where she fell in love with castles, kilts and brogues.

Julie has a B.A. in Political Science and Russian Language from Colorado College, a M.A. in International Affairs from George Washington University in Washington, D.C., and is nearly finished with her M.Ed. Able to speak Russian and Polish, she worked as a journalist for the international radio station, Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty in Washington, D.C. for eleven years, publishing hundreds of articles. She now works as a proposal writer and research advisor for a defense contractor in the Washington, D.C. area.

Julie is a single mom with two sons, who keep her quite busy. She belongs to Romance Writers of America and Washington Romance Writers where she served six years on the organization’s Board of Directors. She was also the Market News Columnist and Feature’s Editor for the organization’s monthly newsletter, Update, for eleven years.


Connect with Julie:
Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads 


Buy the Book:
Amazon  

Featured Author: Christine Meunier

Christine Meunier is treating us to excerpts from two of her books today. New Beginnings is book 1 in the Free Rein series for pre-teens, and In Pursuit of a Horse is book 2. And check out my interview with Christine from when she was here in June to talk about her book, Horse Country--A World of Horses.

Book 1: New Beginnings:

A job transfer for Jacqui King’s father means that the 10 year old and her family have moved interstate. Jacqui is excited that the move has allowed her family to take up a lease on a large property.

Since she could remember, Jacqui King has had a love for horses. Now with the family’s move she wonders if her dream to learn to horse ride could come true. Jacqui’s mum Kate plans to turn the property into a place where they can offer horse agistment, only concreting Jacqui’s desire to have a horse of her own.

On a property titled Genesis, it does indeed seem that the new beginnings for the King family are looking promising.

Excerpt from New Beginnings

Jacqui hurriedly finished her breakfast, keen to see all of the property that morning.  It was half past eight already and her mother had told her that rain was forecast for the afternoon – she needed to get moving!

Pulling on a jacket and a pair of gumboots she stepped off the front porch, running to the back of the house.  Here were the two paddocks she’d looked out at through her bedroom window.  She unlocked the large gate into the first paddock, being sure to lock it after her in spite of there being no horses on the property.

Jacqui dodged puddles as she walked the perimeter of the paddock, looking at the fences.  She patted the pen and paper in her jacket pocket, making sure that they were where she’d put them.  The fencing looked old but ok to her, but she wasn’t sure what horse fencing should look like.  She made a note to ask her mother if she knew.

Jacqui made it to the end of the first paddock and decided to go through the gate into the second.  She wanted to turn right and continue around the perimeter of this first paddock she’d entered, but to the left of the next paddock in front of her it looked like there was an arena of sorts and a few figures riding horses.

Curious, she climbed over a small hill that was made up of a large concrete pipe covered over with soil.  Water trickled through the pipe and into a large ditch that lined the paddock fence.  Jacqui made a note on her piece of paper to tell her mum about it later.
She left the gate open to this second paddock, wanting to get closer to the arena quickly.  She grinned as she watched three people riding their horses around an arena at the trot, being instructed by another figure standing in the middle of them.

A horse riding school?  We live next to a horse riding school!

Jacqui ran closer, standing at the fence line to watch the three moving across the middle of the arena and then changing direction.

“Don’t forget to change your diagonal as you change direction!” their instructor called out, correcting one rider.

Jacqui looked at the three horses, two brown in colour and one a reddish colour.  This she knew to be chestnut because of her mother’s gift of a horse book a year ago.  The horses looked so lovely to Jacqui that she lost track of time watching them.  She sighed when the lesson seemed to come to an end, the instructor letting the group of three out of the arena where they disappeared from view.

Jacqui watched for awhile longer but it seemed that no one else was coming to ride in the arena for her to watch.  Shrugging her shoulders she continued on down the fence line, knowing that this paddock was the end of their property in one direction.

New Beginnings is the first book in the Free Rein Series.  For purchase details and updates on the series, visit www.freereinseries.com. The books can be ordered directly from http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/christinemeunier

Book 2: In Pursuit of a Horse:

Jacqui King has settled in well at her family’s new property Genesis. She has even made some horsey friends.

Jacqui’s two close friends Hannah Johnston and Geordie Smith have been told by their parents that they are allowed to each get a pony. It so happens that Hannah has an Aunt Jan who breeds and trains ponies for a living.

An invitation is extended to the girls to come to Jan’s place for a short stay to ride her ponies and find two to buy. Jacqui is thrilled at the idea of learning to ride better.

Even more exciting is the fact that at the end of their stay, her two close friends will be brining their ponies back to agist at Genesis. Even if she isn’t getting her own pony, Jacqui is delighted for her friends and eager to help them each find their perfect first pony.

Excerpt from In Pursuit of a Horse

“So!  Who’s ready to meet the horses?” Jan asked in a businesslike manner.

Three excited girls exclaimed yes very quickly.  Jan laughed and led the way to one of her closer paddocks.  The four stood at the gate as she pointed out the four ponies that lived here.  Jan described their colours and markings first so that the girls knew which she was talking about.  Then she detailed their personalities, ages and gender.

Jacqui loved that she knew each one individually and was able to provide so much information about them.  She decided she wanted to be able to do this with any horses that were agisted at their property Genesis.

The group moved on to the next paddock as Jan led the way.  This one housed six ponies and again the girls were introduced to each one.

Jan also showed the girls the two stallions that she had on the property and used to breed her mares to each year.  She explained that she kept her broodmares – the ones she used for breeding – separate from the riding ponies that she introduced to saddle and then sold on to other people.

Jacqui loved the set up of the whole property and excitedly talked about this with Hannah and Geordie that night as they lay in bed.  Hannah knew her aunt’s place well but it had been a little while since she had visited and she was just as excited about this adventure as her two friends were.

They discussed in the dark of their room that night which ponies they would try out first.  Jacqui had a dream of owning a little grey pony so she’d chosen one of the two grey horses to ride first.

Geordie had chosen a little chestnut mare that reminded her of the horse she rode at the East Riding School where she had lessons.  Hannah hadn’t minded which horse she rode first, so had asked her aunt if she could recommend one.

Jan had pointed out that the six horses in the second paddock she’d shown to them were all between the ages of six and ten and that they were all fairly quiet.  She said she’d be happy with the girls riding any.  She’d obliged Hannah however, and pointed out a little bay pony for her to try first.

Excited about their ride the next morning, the three fell asleep talking of all the ponies they’d been introduced to that afternoon.  Jacqui managed to thank God for this time with her friends and riding horses before she succumbed to slumber.

In Pursuit of a Horse is the second book in the Free Rein Series. For purchase details and updates on the series, visit www.freereinseries.com. The books can be ordered directly from http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/christinemeunier.

About the Author:

Christine Meunier considers herself introduced to the wonderful world of horses at the late age of 13 when her parents agreed to lease a horse for her. She started experiencing horses via books from a young age and continues to do so, but recognises that horses cannot be learnt solely from books.
She has been studying horses from age 16, starting with the Certificate II in Horse Studies and is currently undertaking her Bachelor of Equine Science via distance education.


Christine has worked at numerous thoroughbred studs in Australia as well as overseas in Ireland for a breeding season.
She then gained experience in a couple of Melbourne based horse riding schools, instructing at a basic level before heading off overseas again, this time to South Africa to spend hours in the saddle of endurance and trail horses on the Wild Coast.
Particularly passionate about the world of breeding horses, she teaches equine studies focused on breeding, at a TAFE, Victoria, Australia.

Christine writes a blog about equine education which you can view at equus-blog.
You can also check out her debut novel which was released in July 2013 at horsecountrybook.com and the Facebook page for Horse Country, or visit the Free Rein series on Facebook.

Release Day Party: The Migraine Mafia

Welcome to the Release Day Party & Giveaway for

The Migraine Mafia

By: Maia Sepp Genre: Humor, Contemporary,Women's Fiction
Release Date: December 13th, 2013

About the book: 

On paper, Viive McBroome lives the perfect life--a key player in a fast-paced, technical field, one promotion away from real success--but that's only if you ignore one little problem.

Sandwiched between one migraine and the next, Viive's life is like those choose-your-own-adventure books you read as a kid, only less fun and with a lot more drugs. And lately, as her bosses politely march her toward a vacation that might never end, even the good days feel like a struggle for survival.

Faced with frustration from her loved ones and the dark machinations of a new colleague, Viive feels herself getting pulled under by guilt, apologies, and workplace shenanigans. But then she meets the Migraine Mafia, a quirky, vibrant support group, and her fragile camouflage begins to crumble. She discovers that a room full of strangers just might be able to change the way she views her illness--and realizes that if she doesn't learn to ask for help, her health isn't the only thing she stands to lose.

Sometimes painful, frequently hilarious, always entertaining, The Migraine Mafia is the story of one woman's life-altering decision to thrive in the face of chronic illness.

Where to Purchase The Migraine Mafia:

Amazon | iTunes  || Kobo  | Barnes & Noble 

About the Author, Maia Sepp:

Maia left the tech sector to write about sock thievery, migraines, and...the tech sector.

The Sock Wars is her debut novel. The first chapter of The Sock Wars was published as a short story/novel excerpt titled Irish Drinking Socks, and became a Kobo bestselling short story. The Sock Wars has been a top-100 digital bestseller on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and the iBookstore, as well as a genre bestseller on Kobo.

Maia's next novel will be released in December 2013: The Migraine Mafia, a story about a nerdy thirtysomething's quest to come to terms with a chronic illness. 

Connect with Maia:
Website  | Facebook |  Twitter 

Giveaways!

There are two giveaways for the Release Day Party...

Giveaway #1
Maia Sepp will be giving away a $50 Amazon gift card to a lucky winner via the Rafflecopter below!

Giveaway #2

Plus, one lucky commenter at each stop will win an eCopy of The Migraine Mafia. To enter to win simply leave a comment below. One commenter will be randomly selected! Good Luck!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Feaured Author: Natalie Damschroder

Multi-published author Natalie Damschroder is here today to talk about her romantic suspense novel, A Kiss of Revenge. Find out about Mary, her writing tips, books she loves, and where she would go if she could go anywhere in the world. And don't miss an excerpt from the book after Natalie's interview.

About the book:

Marriage is completely over-rated, especially after Reese Templeton’s quadratic failure. She’d rather settle down to a solitary life of owning a bakery—after she tracks down the man responsible for her husband’s death and making her a human tazer full of enough electricity to short out a city block or send a man into cardiac arrest with just one kiss.

But the alluring P.I. Griffin Chase is stirring up those feelings of need again. Only this time, her desire to be in his arms has nothing to do with her fear of loneliness and everything to do with the current charging through her body every time he looks at her...touches her.

Griffin hasn’t remained at Reese’s side just because of the spark that has nothing to do with her super-human talents. He’s willing to compromise his rock-solid principles so she can find closure. But before they can move on, he must help her catch her late husband’s killer, staying on track before she has a chance to exact her revenge. Because leading Reese to jail in handcuffs may just break his heart for the final time.

Interview with Natalie Damschroder

Natalie, you've published 15 novels, 7 novellas, and 15 short stories. Wow! How long have you been writing, and how did you start?

I’ve been writing for about 20 years, since right after I graduated from college and got married. I’d slowly come to the realization that writing was my main skill, I lived in an area where it was impossible to use my degree in geography and environmental studies, and I loved to read romance more than pretty much anything else. My mother was a writer, and I’d spent a lot of time rebelling against the idea, but that probably also made it easier to embrace when the time came. :)

So you write full time?

I do freelance editing and proofreading for a few clients and work part time in a chiropractor’s office. It’s a juggling act, but gives me some stability as well as flexibility.

How would you describe your book in a tweet? (140 characters or less.)

She’ll stop at nothing to find her husband’s killer. But will vengeance set her free, or become a darker trap?

Do you outline, write by the seat of your pants, or let your characters tell you what to write?

My favorite analogy is flying (by the seat of my pants) in the dark. I plan about as far ahead as the headlights show me. If I get an idea far enough in advance of when I can actually try to write it, I’ll brainstorm pieces of it—-mostly backstory and broad concepts. The characters are whole to me in the sense that I feel as if I am them, though of course I don’t know much about them until it’s uncovered. The plot almost always evolves as I go.

What books have you read more than once or want to read again?

Before I had kids, I had a lot of books I read over and over. The Little House books more than anything, and then Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys and Carolyn Keene, and then Sandra Brown and Nora Roberts. And then I just didn’t have time to read stuff more than once, and now there are always so many new books out there it’s just impossible. :)

The one current exception is the Harry Potter series, which I listen to on my iPod every year after the football season is over.

When you start a new book, do you know what the entire cast will be?

Nope. Most of the time I know the hero and heroine, and the rest of the cast pops up when they’re called for. It’s one of the most fun parts of the job, discovering their importance unexpectedly. I often don’t know who the villain is until the book is a fourth done, and sometimes they’ve been there all along!

I’m constantly on the lookout for new names. How do you name your characters?

I, too, am on the constant lookout for new names! I really love unique names, though I force myself to use normal once sometimes. :) I used to work for a workers’ compensation case management company, and when I came across cool first or last names I jotted them in a journal. If that’s not handy and I need a name, I use Name Shake (an app on my iPod) or the phone book.

I'm definitely going to check out Name Shake! Thanks for the tip! Do you have a routine for writing? Do you work better at night, in the afternoon, or in the morning?

I used to. I don’t know what the heck I’m doing anymore! LOL I used to be a night owl and had my most productive time between 9 p.m. and 1 a.m., even though my brain always seems to want to write mid-morning, no matter what else I’m doing.

I’m still a night owl, but I have to get up at 5 or 6 and can’t handle that little amount of sleep anymore. So when I write it's all haphazard, depending on the work schedule, client projects, and deadlines.

Where and when do you prefer to do your writing?

On retreat! Unfortunately, that’s only once a year. My local writing group goes to a convention center out in the boondocks where we can do nothing but write and relax for 3+ days. It’s such a luxury not to feel guilty for writing. :) Every couple of years, a few of us get together at a friend’s beach house (in January LOL) and do the same thing.

Sounds wonderful. Where’s home for you?

I love this question. It’s more complicated than you’d think! LOL I grew up in Western Massachusetts, and New England is home. I feel different when I visit the Rhode Island beaches or drive up I-95 in Connecticut or visit family (or my daughter, who is now in college in Boston). But when I was 16 we moved to a tiny village halfway between Albany and Hudson, NY. We lived in a renovated 200-year-old colonial while I was a senior in college, and I LOVED that house. I want that house. I lonnnng for that house!

And now I’ve lived in central Pennsylvania longer than I ever lived anywhere else (21 years). It’s where my kids were born and grew up, and is literally home.

What three books have you read recently and would recommend?

The Whole Truth by Jody Wallace. I love her brand of humor and clever hand with the paranormal.

Spirit and Dust by Rosemary Clement-Moore. Her voice is so compelling, and I adore her characters.

Out of Control by Stephanie Feagan. She has fast-paced romantic adventures set in really unusual places. This one is set in the world of oil drilling.

What do you like to do when you’re not writing?

Favorite things (besides reading): Watching NFL football; going to local pro soccer games with my kids; going to the movies.

If you could take a trip anywhere in the world, where would you go? (Don’t worry about the money. Your publisher is paying!)

I would really like to visit the cottage where I was born, in South Ruislip, England. My dad was in the Air Force, and I was a year old when they came home. My mother always wanted to take me back, but she died about 10 years ago, and we never made it. I think it will be heartbreaking to do it without her, but I want to see it, anyway. (Or at least the town, since the cottage might be gone by now.)

I hope you get there. So what are you working on now?

We’re in the final stages of my next Entangled Ignite, Hearts Under Siege, which will be out in February. It’s a best-friends-to-lovers story with a spy twist and is full of secrets and angst. It might be my favorite book!

It sounds fantastic! I hope you'll be back to tell us about it.

Excerpt from A Kiss of Revenge:

Griff smiled, and Reese’s stomach did a whole flippin’ somersault.

“I had meetings at the office in Boston and was headed back to DC. I thought I’d stop in and see how you’re doing.”

She grabbed a towel to wipe off her ice-cream-sticky hands. “Crestview is not on the way to DC from Boston.”

He shrugged and pointed at the butter croissants in the bakery display case. “Close enough.”

With a pair of tongs, she selected the biggest croissant and put it on a plate. “Coffee?”

“Of course.” He leaned against the counter and folded his arms. “You have anything for me to check out?”

She shook her head. “Not at the moment.”

“What about him?” He jerked his head toward the sidewalk outside, where Andrew Laine stood talking to the couple who owned the hardware store. “He giving you any trouble?”

“Not anymore. I told him I was married.”

She cursed herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Griff’s gray-blue eyes darkened, his rock-solid chin tightening. He’d obviously meant “trouble” because of Reese breaking the law, not because the chief of police had asked her out.

“You’re not thinking—”

“No!” She grabbed the towel again and swept it over the few crumbs and coffee drips on the counter, scrubbing vigorously at one dried spot. “I didn’t want to shove him too far away, that’s all. As long as he had an interest, I could keep track of what he knew.” Even if it kept her on edge and fried her equipment. “Anyway, he knows now. It’s fine. You don’t have to worry.”

“You pay me to worry.”

That wasn’t strictly true. Griff was co-owner of a multi-city private detective firm. He ran Chase Investigations in Washington, DC, where Reese had lived before the plane crash. Reese had hired him to help her track down clues about whoever had tried to kill her. But they’d become friends. He’d helped her through physical therapy, been a sounding board while she dealt with her new reality, and was the only person on earth who knew what that lightning strike had done to her body.

“I’m paying you to do research,” she reminded him. “You choose to worry.”

He grinned and shook back his shaggy dark-blond hair. “You make it hard not to.”

Another group came in, and he retreated to a table with his breakfast. Reese saw Kimmie eyeing him, and the young woman flushed at his greeting. Reese couldn’t blame her. He had the classic “hunk” build, with a broad chest, narrow waist, and shoulders shown off by a tight gray T-shirt. His gray-blue eyes were nothing special at first glance, but they sparkled at everyone and made his charming smile even brighter. No doubt that smile was what pinned Kimmie in place now, wearing a slightly stunned expression.

Reese wasn’t immune, but her friendship with Griff had become one of the most important things in her life. It was something she’d never had before, and she was going to treasure it as long as it lasted.

About the author:

Natalie J. Damschroder is an award-winning author of contemporary and paranormal romance—-Love with a Shot of Adrenaline. She sold her first book in 1999, and 2014 will see the publication of her 15th novel. She grew up in Massachusetts and loves the New England Patriots more than anything. (Except her family. And writing and reading. And popcorn.) When she's not writing, revising, proofreading, or promoting her work, she does freelance editing and works part time as a chiropractic assistant. She and her husband have two daughters she's dubbed "the anti-teenagers," one of whom is also a novelist. (The other one prefers math. Smart kid. Practical.) You can learn more about her and her books at http://nataliedamschroder.com.

Connect with Natalie:
Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Entangled Publishing

Buy the book:
Amazon | Natalie's Amazon page

Featured Author: Welcome Cole

Virtualbookworm.com brings Welcome Cole here to promote his fantasy/adventure novel, The Pleasure of Memory, Volume One of the Blood Caeyl Memories. Today Cole has a guest post and an excerpt from the book.

About the book: 



Beam is a smuggler, a murderer, and a rogue, who lives by the age-old rules of "Finders, keepers" and "To thy own self be true". Abandoned by his family and raised in a run-down priory by an old monk, he is consumed by his anger. He measures the worth of the world's citizens less by the character of their hearts than the gold he can pick from their pockets.

However, when he receives a mysterious message from his long dead mother, his carefully constructed rules of priority and self-interest are changed forever. Wrapped within that message is an ancient map that leads him far south to the reservations of the Vaemyn, a race of savages forcefully sequestered from the world by the civilized Allied Nations. Once there, he searches through a burial ground the size of a small city where he finds an ancient artifact called the Blood Caeyl, a rare red crystal carved in the image of a sensuous eye that he believes will make him rich beyond his dreams.

In his flight, he crosses paths with Chance Gnoman, a powerful Water Caeyl Mage. When Chance recognizes the Blood Caeyl, he explains the importance of the artifact in the war that is about to ensue. The artifact begins to change Beam, awakening the memories of a thousand lifetimes, and with those memories, the powers of a god.

Guest Post by Welcome Cole

The Evolution of the Blood Caeyl Memories:

The Pleasure of Memory was born from a dare. Or perhaps challenge is the better description. Years back, I was discussing the art of writing with a dear friend, a fellow devotee and author of fantastic fiction. We were discussing the evolution of The Story. The conversation was something akin to a literary version of the creation versus evolution debate. Did the best stories evolve through careful structuring of the plot and characters prior to the actual writing, similar to God’s Seven Day Plan? Or did they grow organically from the kernel of a planted idea, flowing initially as a kind of free association that gradually evolves into a life form?

I clearly favored the latter.

To prove his point, my friend then initiated the challenge. He provided me with an opening sentence, and double dog dared me to grow it into a story. The opening line he graciously delivered to me was “It’s a good day to be you,” written as a quote. Looking at that seed, I was pretty certain it wasn’t an acorn that could grow a mighty oak. I figured I’d be fortunate if it grew a milkweed.

After several fruitless months of writing, wadding, trashing, writing, wadding, and trashing, I decided to take a more scholarly tack. I cheated. I took a concept I’d been playing in my head for about a year, but hadn’t yet started on, and I placed the dare sentence at the beginning of it. Now, in all fairness to myself, I have to say that I still wrote this story organically from a simple premise and without benefit of a storyboard, but while starting from a different seed. However, in using his second dare seed, the concept of my original premise was dramatically changed. You might say this story arose from genetically modified stock.

Three books later, the project has evolved into a complex story of good versus evil, of a man forced outside the comfort zone of his own greed and self-importance, of the allies he unwittingly finds among his enemies, of his metamorphosis into the human and, ultimately, god he was destined to be.

Excerpt from The Pleasure of Memory

Beam landed on his hands and knees in the wet, muddy grass.

It was dark. Shadowy figures encircled him, but he couldn’t make out the details through the pouring rain and cloak of night. He tried to stand up, but the pressure of a sharp point in the back of his neck convinced him to stay where he was.

He grudgingly settled back on his knees and gave a silent curse. He didn’t need to see anything. He knew exactly where he was. The bastards finally had him.

He squinted up through the hammering rain. A clap of thunder rocked the night, followed by a several brief pulses of light. He couldn’t make out their faces, but the shimmer of their mail against the distant lightning was unmistakable.

He dropped forward and slapped the wet grass. “Stinking savages!” he cursed into the rain.
“Stand up, skeechka!” someone called over the crackling roar of the downpour. The voice was female. This warrior was a Vaemyd, a female Vaemyn, though there was nothing feminine in her tenor.

Beam spit some water back into the grass and again squinted up into the rain, aiming in the direction of the voice. “I’m comfortable right here, thanks,” he called back, though he could barely see her.

“I told you to stand up!” she yelled, “I’m not inclined to tell you twice!”

The sword point twisted viciously against his neck. Beam disappointed himself by wincing. He was confident it’d drawn blood. His mind drifted back to his own sword nestled snugly in its scabbard on the stone floor of the tunnel five minutes below him.

Another peal of thunder rocked the night. A lingering flash of lightning briefly unveiled the silhouette of the Vaemyd standing directly above him, illuminating her long enough to reveal her sleeveless armor and her bare, muscular arms glistening against the rain. He tried to look off to the sides, to evaluate the odds, but the sword in his neck convincingly dissuaded him. Still, he was certain there were at least three others.

He again slapped the wet grass. “Bad bloody luck!” he cursed.

“Nay, you’re wrong there,” she called through the rain, “Luck isn’t even in the equation.”

“Get that damned blade out of my neck. I'm unarmed.”

An explosion rocked the night. Beam flinched. It was too loud to be thunder. Despite the sword pinned to his neck, he managed a peek back behind him. The savages had opened the other half of the lid to the tunnel. The open round hatch gaped up into the dark rain like a radiant, mocking laugh.

A second sword found his right flank, and a third dug into his left. The blade on the right twisted a little harder than it needed to.

“Easy!” he yelled up at the offending savage, “Do that again, and I’ll slap you back into diapers!”

Something struck the back of the head. He collapsed into the grass. He wasn’t sure if he was hearing another peal of thunder or just the ringing in his ears. Before he could recover, the warriors dragged him up to his feet. His skull was throbbing. His legs felt weak as wind.

The Vaemyd pressed in close. “You’re damned mouthy for a man with three blades against his flesh,” she said into his face, “You’re either fearless or stupid. Which is it?”

She was nearly his height and as solid as an oak. Another rip of lightning threw her wet face into light. Her features were chiseled and commanding, betraying neither compassion nor humor. She wore her pale hair bound back in the severe Vaemysh tradition, laced up so tight even the rain seemed unable to penetrate it. Water streamed down her face and dribbled from the sharp horns curling up from under her earlobes, but it did nothing to diminish the malice in her eyes, which were as blue and cold as ice.

“Strange,” she said to him, “I’d expected you to be bigger. All this fuss about such a little man. I find it rather disappointing.” Her eyes looked almost serpentine in the greenish light radiating from the open hatch behind him.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Beam said back, “A Parhronii dandy could’ve evaded your girls.”

“Have your laugh, skeechka. It’ll be your last pleasure.”

Beam shook the rain from his face. “I’ve heard that from your kind before,” he said, “You threaten and threaten but never seem to follow up. I was beginning to think you weren’t really trying.” He spit more water into the grass.

The blade on his right twisted into his ribs again. This time it stole his breath away. He tried to turn on the man, but was quickly subdued. The bastards had a solid lock on his arms, cocking them mercilessly behind him.

“Keep it up, you savage prick!” he snarled over his shoulder, “I’ll feed your jewels to you before we’re done!”

“You’ll have to excuse their zeal,” the Vaemyd said, “My trackers thirst for your blood. You’ve been a monumental irritation to them these past months, jh’ven?”

Beam again flipped the rain from his face, but said nothing.

“However, I do have an offer for you,” she continued, “I give you my word that if you answer my questions directly, I’ll make your death quick and painless.”

“And if I’m stubborn?” he said through the rain.

“I let my warriors have their way with you. You look strong enough that you might last a week or more before their fires.”

The fear that statement left in its wake disappointed him. “Do you really think I’m intimidated by you?” he forced himself to say.

She smiled at that, and leaned closer, whispering, “I’m confident of it.”

About the Author:

Welcome Cole is a writer of fantasy, contemporary novels, and urban fiction. He spends his time in the lakes and forests of Traverse City, Michigan and in the desert and mountains of Castle Rock, Colorado. He has degrees in Nursing and Business Administration, and writes at every opportunity. His book, The Pleasure of Memory, will be followed up shortly with his contemporary fiction novel, Henry’s Re-entry. The second volume of the Blood Caeyl Memories, The Shadows of Memory, will be released in early 2014.

Buy the book:
Caelstone Press | Amazon | Virtualbookworm.com
ISBN 978-0-9894249-1-2 (softcover) $16.95. ISBN 978-0-9894249-2-9 (hardcover)