Tuesday, June 30, 2020

July National Day Celebrations

July
National Parks & Recreation Month 

July 1
Canada Day / Dominion Day
Creative Ice Cream Flavors Day
International Chicken Wing Day
International Joke Day
National Postal Worker Day

July 2
I Forgot Day
World UFO Day
Photo credit: Cornelia Kopp on Visual Hunt / CC BY-ND
July 3
Compliment Your Mirror Day
Grant Wilson’s Birthday (Ghost Hunters) 
Disobedience Day
Eat Beans Day
Stay out of the Sun Day
3-5 Roswell UFO Days 

July 4
Independence Day (U.S.)
Photo on Visual Hunt

International Cherry Pit Spitting Day
National Country Music Day
Sidewalk Egg Frying Day

July 5
Build A Scarecrow Day
Photo on Visualhunt.com

National Apple Turnover Day
National Bikini Day
Work-a-holics Day

July 6
International Kissing Day
National Fried Chicken Day

July 7
Chocolate Day
National Strawberry Sundae Day

July 8
Body Painting Day
National Blueberry Day
Photo on Visual hunt

Video Games Day

July 9
National Sugar Cookie Day

July 10
Teddy Bear Picnic Day

July 11
Cheer up the Lonely Day
National Blueberry Muffins Day
World Population Day
E.B. White’s birthday

July 12
Different Colored Eyes Day
Pecan Pie Day

July 13
Barbershop Music Appreciation Day
Embrace Your Geekness Day
Fool's Paradise Day
National French Fries Day
Photo on Visualhunt.com

July 14
Bastille Day
Pandemonium Day
National Nude Day
Shark Awareness Day

July 15
Be a Dork Day
Cow Appreciation Day
Photo on VisualHunt.com

National Hot Dog Day
Tapioca Pudding Day

July 16
Fresh Spinach Day
World Snake Day

July 17
Peach Ice Cream Day
World Emoji Day
Yellow Pig Day
17-20 National Ventriloquism Week 

July 18
National Caviar Day

July 19
National Daiquiri Day
Photo credit: RobW_ on Visual hunt / CC BY-NC-ND

National Ice Cream Day
National Raspberry Cake Day

July 20
National Ice Cream Soda Day
National Lollipop Day
Moon Day
Ugly Truck Day
Space Exploration Day 

July 21
National Junk Food Day
Ernest Hemingway’s birthday

July 22
Hammock Day
Photo on Visualhunt.com

Ratcatcher's Day

July 23
Vanilla Ice Cream Day

July 24
Amelia Earhart Day
Cousins Day
National Tequila Day
Tell an Old Joke Day

July 25
Culinarians Day
National Chili Dog Day
National Day of the Cowboy
Threading the Needle Day

July 26
All or Nothing Day
Aunt and Uncle Day
Parent's Day

July 27
Take Your Houseplants for a Walk
Take Your Pants for a Walk Day
Barbie-in-a-Blender Day 
National Milk Chocolate Day

July 29
International Tiger Day
National Chicken Wing Day
Photo credit: rick on Visualhunt.com / CC BY

National Lasagna Day

July 30
National Cheesecake Day
Father-in-Law Day
International Day of Friendship
Paperback Book Day

July 31
Eid-Ul-Adha
Mutt's Day

Second Look Book Review: The Whimsy Witch Who Wasn't (Tales of Xest Book 1) by Donna Augustine

The Whimsy Witch Who Wasn't (Tales of Xest Book 1)
by Donna Augustine
May 4, 2020
374 pages
When they kidnapped me to Xest, they thought I was a nobody, another lowly whimsy witch to work in their factory. They couldn't have been more wrong.

Everybody has bad days, stories of horror and woe. Unless they have the wind calling their name and ghosts telling them they have bad debts, I don’t have time to listen. I’m too busy with the hot guy who yelled at me because of some stupid feather, and the strange people jumping through puddles and kidnapping me to Xest.

If you don’t know where Xest is, join the club. They say it’s somewhere north of North, and east of East. It sure doesn’t look like any place I’ve ever seen.

So yeah, top that day and maybe I’ll hear you out. Right now though, I’ve got to go help the hot guy keep the darkness at bay over by the Unsettled Lands, while trying to not blow things up. It’s the only way I’ll ever get back to Salem.

Tippi was living a life in the shadows, trying to blend into the background so no one could see here. Her boss begged her to sit in on a séance even though Tippi knows that it is fake but gives in, nonetheless. When things go differently than expected, Tippi finds herself being kidnapped and taken to a world that is nothing like hers, Xest.

When Tippi’s kidnappers sell her to the factory her only goal is how to get back home. Tippi is considered just a lowly whimsy witch who has little to no power and she doesn’t disagree with the assessment. She even tries to use it to get back home. When Hawk sees Tippi in Xest, he knows that she is the one that can help him with the Unsettled Lands.

When Tippi starts working for Hawk it’s hard to tell what their true feels are for each other or if they even know they have feelings towards each other. It does not help that Belinda is constantly thinking that Tippi is a threat to what she wants for herself, Hawk. The other employees are more welcoming to Tippi than Belinda and even Hawk for that matter which makes her stay in Xest just a little more tolerable.

This is a new series by Augustine and it’s as imaginative as always and was truly a pleasure to read.


Getting 5 sheep




Denise B


About the Author:
Website-FB-Twitter
Donna Augustine was an odd child, had a brief moment of conformity in early adulthood and then decided to embrace her craziness as the years rolled by. It's her inner crazy that she credits with coming up with the ideas for her books. One part hypochondriac, a few dashes of paranoia, topped with a sliver of uptight and delivered with a relaxed flair, she kicked the proverbial box down the yellow brick road a couple years ago to embrace her true self.

She can be reached by a carrier pigeon, set free in a south by north direction, where she resides in Neverland with her two Siberian cats. Cats who, by the way, aren't as hypoallergenic as she believed they'd be.


For the conventional minded, and those of you without a pigeon on hand, she can be reached at donna@donnaaugustine.com. She responds to most emails within three dusk periods.

P.S. For those of you looking for the discarded box, it was sitting beside the road for a while but has since disappeared completely.

Book Review: Flame: A Dark Kings Novel by Donna Grant

Flame: A Dark Kings Novel
by Donna Grant
June 30, 2020
Publisher: MacMillian, St. Martin's Paperbacks
407 pages
ASIN: B07YJGZ9QY 
ISBN: 9781250182937
If she believed in destiny, she would believe they were meant for each other.
But that fire was put out long ago. . .

Living among the Dragon Kings, Cain has spent lifetimes learning to distrust both mortals and Fae. He is a warrior born—and every instinct demands that he fight to keep his own kind safe. But when a fringe member of the Dark Fae contacts the Kings with an urgent warning, Cain is torn for the first time. How can he trust this beautiful creature when resisting his primal attraction to her is battle enough?

Noreen is horrified by what her kind and the malevolent Others are planning for the Dragon Kings. Dark Fae or not, there are lines she will not cross—even if it means risking her life. But she never imagined that she would risk her heart until she meets Cain. She wants him with a soul-deep desire that frightens her…and endangers them both. Is saying goodbye to everything Noreen has ever known worth a love that will span time and realms?


Noreen is a dark fae who becomes horrified at what the Others plan to do to the Dragon Kings, so she comes out of hiding to message dragon shifters. Cain, one of the Dragon Kings,is attracted to her, and escapes with her to the former realm of the Fae where Noreen had lived as a child until her parents were killed by a Dragon King, supposedly destroyed during a war. Instead, they find a section healed and thriving with plant life and animals.

If you are looking for a way to escape these days of the Pandemic, books are a great way to do it, and this novel will fill that bill nicely, with romance, fantasy, dragons, and more.

I gave Flame: A Dark Kings Novel 4 sheep.



Reviewed by Pamela K. Kinney

About the Author:
Website-FB-Twitter
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Donna Grant has been praised for her "totally addictive" and "unique and sensual" stories. Her latest acclaimed series, Dark Kings, features a thrilling combination of dragons, Fae, an immortal Highlanders who are dark, dangerous, and irresistible. She lives with her two children and an assortment of animals in Texas. Visit Donna at www.DonnaGrant.com

Monday, June 29, 2020

Book Review: It's a Wonderful Midlife Crisis (Good To the Last Death Book 1) by Robyn Peterman + giveaway

It's a Wonderful Midlife Crisis  (Good To the Last Death Book 1)
by Robyn Peterman
February 16, 2020

394 pages
Genre: Paranormal Women's Fiction
A Paranormal Women's Fiction with a bit of class, and a lot of sass, for anyone who feels like age is just a number!

Whoever said life begins at forty must have been heavily medicated, drunk, or delusional.

Thirty-nine was a fantastic year. I was married to the man I loved. I had a body that worked without creaking. My grandma, who raised me, was still healthy, and life was pretty damned good.

But as they say, all good things come to an end. I'd honestly love to know who' they' are and rip them a new one.

One year later, I'm a widow. My joints are starting to ache. Gram is in the nursing home, and dead people think my home is some kind of supernatural bed and breakfast. Gluing body parts onto semi-transparent people has become a side job—deceased people I'm not even sure are actually there. I think they need my help, but since I don't speak dead, we're having a few issues.

To add to the heap of trouble, there's a new dangerously smokin' hot lawyer at the firm who won't stop giving me the eye. My BFF is thrilled with her new frozen face, thanks to her plastic surgeon, her alimony check, and the miracle of Botox. And then there's the little conundrum that I'm becoming way too attached to my ghostly squatters… Like Cher, I'd like to turn back time. Now.

No can do.

Whatever. I have wine, good friends, and an industrial sized box of superglue. What could possibly go wrong?

Everything, apparently.

All in all, it's shaping up to be a wonderful midlife crisis…



Loved, loved, loved this tale of a 40-year-old widow who is trying to recover from a horrible 39th year. She lost her husband, her loving grandmother, who raised her is in a nursing home, and she is now seeing ghosts and finding random ghostly body parts around her house! Is she just highly stressed? Going crazy? Maybe just becoming attuned to some special abilities that she didn't even realize she had? Yeah, I'd go with the last one! Grandma has some "splaining" to do!

I am wondering where this author has been for me. She reminds me so much of a few of my favorite authors like Shannon Mayer, Amanda Lee, and a host of others that write in this fashion. Her story grabs you from page 1 and keeps your nose in the book with her great storyline, laugh out loud humor, great supporting characters, and relatable (except the body parts thing) thoughts of the aging female psyche. PLUS, it has a seriously 'rockin' cover and title!

I can even imagine my husband appreciating Daisy's use of superglue almost as much as I appreciated the 'Grim Reaper'! I loved Daisy, her group of friends and the fact that each day seemed to open up a whole new world of revelations for her.

From Paralegal to Ghost (Death) Counselor....who wouldn't want to be her? This is book 1 of 3, and I guarantee you I also loved book 2 and will devour the 3rd installment when it comes out in August!!

Getting 5 "keep your head on" sheep!




Jeanie G


Chapter 1
"No. Way. Are you freaking serious?" I screamed as I flattened myself against the wall of my laundry room with a thud, trying not to hyperventilate. "There's a hand in the laundry basket. There's a hand in the laundry basket. There's a hand in the damn laundry basket." 
Sliding carefully along the wall so the unattached appendage didn't jump out and grab me, I eased my way out of the tiny room and sprinted to the kitchen. It had a door that led outside, just in case the hand was up to no good.

Wait. What kind of good could a lone hand in a basket of dirty laundry be up to?

No good. That's what kind of good a companionless hand could be up to.

"I'm nuts," I muttered, closing my eyes and pressing my fingers to my temples. Forty was supposed to be the new thirty, according to all the magazines. If this was forty, I was going to take a pass. I'd only been forty for three hours and it was already seriously bad. The solitary hand was the rancid icing on top of a really crappy birthday cake.

Pacing my kitchen and keeping my eyes peeled for more random body parts, I spotted the empty coffee container and almost cried. Handling the ridiculously absurd while un-caffeinated was not going to end well.

"I don't have the energy for this right now," I told no one in particular, since I was alone. "Who did I screw over in a former life that I'm dealing with this shit?"

Unfortunately, I'd been seeing semi-corporeal versions of dead people for a few weeks. I'd become the kid from the Sixth Sense except that was a movie and this was real life… and my dead people did not look like Bruce Willis.

Up until now, all my deceased buddies had done was stare and laugh—or so I'd thought. There was nothing quite like being the butt of a cadaver's joke… that was, if the hand was a joke and not a warning that I was going to be six feet under soon.

"Isn't it enough that you freaks follow me around? Now you're leaving body parts in my dirty clothes? For God's sake, today's my birthday and this behavior is totally unacceptable. I almost puked. And let me tell you something," I bellowed to the empty kitchen. "If I'd thrown up because one of you idiots thought it would be hilarious to put a hand in with my dirty panties, you'd be cleaning that mess up. Are we clear here?"

Of course, there was no answer. There was never an answer. They didn't speak—just silently accompanied me to the grocery store and around my house. They were very partial to reality shows. I'd started leaving the television on all night so they didn't wander into my bedroom while I slept. Thankfully they hadn't discovered where I worked yet. However, I had no doubt that was coming soon.

"Come on, you guys. It wasn't funny." Maybe reasoning with them would work. Hell, I didn't know if they were real or if I was imagining them. There was a fifty-fifty chance I'd lost my mind. "I think I've been pretty nice about letting you stay here rent-free. I don't deserve to be given a heart attack at seven in the morning."

Again, no answer.

Again, maybe I was nuts.

Was there even a hand in my laundry basket? Maybe it was a fleshy, skin-colored winter glove. Since it was October and I lived in Georgia it was doubtful. Not to mention, I didn't own any fleshy, skin-colored winter gloves. I had a little more fashion sense than that. Until I had my iced coffee with an extra-large squirt of chocolate syrup, I wasn't going to test the theory.

Pleasant. I'd be pleasant. A nice conversational tone might prevent another gag-inducing prank… or not. "Okay, I'm going to eat and leave the house. Whoever left their hand in the laundry room needs to remove it before I get home or I'm going to…"

What the heck was I going to do with a disembodied hand? Should I put it in the freezer? Should I bury it? Damn it, if I buried it, did I have to do it at the cemetery on hallowed ground instead of my yard? It would suck up, down and sideways if it popped out of the ground during a backyard barbecue. What if I got busted at the graveyard for burying a hand and had to do time in the big house? God, the heinous consequences were endless.

Terrified to open my cabinets, I debated how hungry I was. Breakfast was the most important meal of the day, but if there were eyeballs next to my oatmeal, I'd have to check myself into the loony bin.

From out of nowhere, a partially translucent woman tore around my kitchen, wailing in like a banshee—and ironically, she was missing a hand. Had the weirdos been trying to kill each other? Wait. That made no sense whatsoever. They were already dead. The varying states of decay were a dead giveaway—pun intended.

"You have got to be kidding me," I shrieked as I scrambled up onto the kitchen table in fear for my life.

Could I make it out the door and into my yard? Crap, I was still in my nightie and it was chilly today. Furthermore, what in the hell was I going to do outside? Call for help to get the handless dead woman out of my kitchen? Not too many choices here.

"Stop," I shouted in the voice I'd learned to use during my self-defense class at the Y.

She did.

Now what?

The woman was trembling from head to toe. Where her hand should have been was just shredded skin—if you could call grayish papery-looking stuff skin. No blood at all. If she was alive in the normal sense of the word, I'd guess her age to be somewhere in her late sixties. She was attractive in a ghostly way.

"Did you, umm… lose your hand? I asked, not quite believing I was conversing with someone I was fairly certain wasn't there.

She simply stared and cocked her head to the side.

"Maybe you don't speak English. Or maybe you were brain dead when you died so it isn't functioning now that you're not exactly alive. Or maybe you were mute in life… or maybe I'm insane," I added for good measure as I cautiously got down off the table.

She came a little closer, and I jerked back. The rules were wildly unclear.

"Stay where you are," I warned, holding up my hand and hoping she understood sign language. "If you promise not to body snatch me or eat me, I think I can help you out.

Still she said nothing as I carefully made my way to the laundry room to retrieve what I assumed was her hand.

"I'm using a bath towel that's seen better days in case you're a disease-carrying zombie." Never in my life did I think I would utter those words in a sentence. "So, I'll toss it to you in a sec."

Surprisingly, my gag reflex didn't kick in. Dead stuff usually set it off. However, she seemed so upset about her hand, I was okay. Strange. I approached her with extreme caution. I held out her hand, and she held out her stump.

Oh. Hell. No.

Did she want me to reattach it? How did you reattach something to what was little more than a ghost? Her hand felt real, and she looked real enough, even though I could see through parts of her.

"Here you go," I said as I tried again to give her the towel-wrapped body part.

She wasn't having it. She simply stood there with her arm extended and waited.

"I'm not a doctor. Not real sure what you want me to do."

Her eyes were huge in the hollowed-out sockets—watery blue and filled with what I guessed were tears. I was tempted to take her in my arms and hug her, but I still wasn't positive she wouldn't take a chunk out of me.

"I suppose I could glue it back on," I suggested hesitantly. I knew there was some superglue in the junk drawer. I had no clue if there was enough to glue a hand back on. "Superglue can hold a big fat guy attached by his hat to a steel girder, according to the commercial," I told the woman as I put her hand on the table and searched the drawer. "It might work on your hand."

Damn, I was a slob. The drawer was full of stuff I didn't need. However, I did find my eyelash curler, a few tampons, last month's electric bill and the superglue.

"Mmmkay," I said, assessing the situation.

I was going to have to touch her to make this work. I was hoping to live longer than forty years, but if my time was up—it was up. Maybe all the dead people were hanging out to let me know I was soon to be a goner. It would be nice if I went out doing something kind for someone. Reattaching a dead woman's hand wouldn't have been my first choice, but it was the only one I had at the moment.

"Here goes nothing," I mumbled as I bit down on my lip and covered the stump with the goopy glue.

She watched in fascination as I then picked up her hand and connected it to her stump.

"I think I have to put pressure on it for at least one minute for it to hold. I'm pretty sure that's what the guy in the commercial did. But to be safe, we'll do it for two.

She looked at me. I looked at her. The silence was awkward and loud. If I was imagining the bizarre exchange, I needed some help immediately. Twice I thought I should start a conversation to be polite. I was Southern. It was in my DNA.

"Today's my birthday," I told her with a weak smile that I was fairly sure resembled a grimace. I was still hoping she wasn't going to bite me. I needed to stop watching zombie movies.

The woman kind of moan-grunted in response. Since my life might still be on the line, I nodded and thanked her. Feeling the need to smack myself in the head, I refrained. If I dropped her hand, all hell could break loose.

After what felt like two hours, the two minutes were up. I stepped back and waited for her hand to crash to the floor. It didn't. She held it up and moved her fingers. I was shocked that the superglue worked on her tendons too. Wait. Attributing normal to the impossible was nuts—like me.

"Wow," I said with a surprised laugh. "Can't believe that worked. Does it hurt?

As expected, she said nothing that made any sense, but she did give me a smile before she faded away.

I sat down heavily on the kitchen chair and mentally went over what had just happened. It was outlandish and unreal, and I couldn't even talk to anyone about it. I was on my own in Crazytown.

I supposed if there was anything to be thankful for, it was that she wasn't a flesh-eating zombie. She was just a dead person with a problem and I'd solved it for her. Note to self… stop watching horror movies.

The knock at my door pulled me back from my screwy introspective thought. Who was here at seven in the morning? The ghosts never knocked. They just appeared when they felt like it. I peeked through the peephole and audibly sighed in agony.

It was Stan—my latest mistake. Actually, my only mistake in a seriously long stretch of celibacy, but definitely a mistake.

Getting back into the dating scene twelve months after Steve died was too soon. I wasn't ready for it. However, the bottle of wine I'd consumed at Patsy's Bar and Grill last night didn't agree with my assessment—not that it was a date. It was a booty call that never should have happened. Ever. At least I didn't stay the night. A walk of shame at three in the morning was far classier than when the sun was out.

I'd already done surgery on a dead woman. It wasn't fair that I now had to deal with Stan.

Happy birthday to me…

"Hi Stan," I said as I opened my door enough to be polite, but not far enough to invite him in.

"Hello Daisy, you're looking lovely today," he said with an overly confident smile on his handsome face.

Glancing down, I realized I was still barely dressed. I hopped behind the door and poked my head out.

"Stan, what can I do for you? It's kind of early."

"I'm really sorry about last night, Daisy," Stan said without any hint of apology in his perfectly cultured voice. I was sure he'd dressed in the pink polo shirt and starched madras pants with painstaking care. "I can usually go longer than that."

Kill me now.

"It was great," I lied and gave him a smile that I prayed didn't look like I was constipated.

Stan was a nice guy with a job. He was extremely good-looking and had the personality of a box of hair. What on earth had I been thinking? Actually, it was the merlot that had done my thinking for me. I was an idiot. Casual sex wasn't in my wheelhouse. I knew better. And accountants in madras pants didn't equate to good sex—or even good conversation.

"I was just wondering when we had intimate relations last night… Did you… umm?"

"No. No, I didn't, but no worries," I insisted politely while trying desperately to ignore all of the floating entities that had popped up to see the show. Stan had no idea six semi-corporeal strangers were standing behind him watching my mortifying life play out in full color. Far be it from me to clue him in. I knew I was going crazy. No one else needed that info.

"I'd be happy to, you know…" Stan said as he made the peace sign with two fingers and then shoved his tongue between them.

"Good God, no!" I shouted on a gag and then slapped my hand over my mouth as the slightly decaying old man hovering over Stan's left shoulder laughed like a loon. "I'm good—really. I have to go visit my gram at the nursing home in a bit and then get to work."

"Can I see you again?" Stan asked as he made sure his meticulously gelled hair was still in place.

It was.

"I think maybe we should just be friends," I said diplomatically, considering all I wanted him to do was leave.

"Is it because I could only go for ten minutes?" he asked with a slightly perplexed frown on his ridiculously pretty face.

"Actually, it was two minutes," I corrected him. "But it's not that at all. It was a very energetic two minutes."

"Thank you," he replied with a satisfied smirk.

It was all I could do not to roll my eyes. The laughing dead dude rolled his buggy eyes for me and I almost giggled.

"Welcome. However, I'm not in the right place for a relationship right now. It's not you. It's me. You're just too… umm… perfect for someone else. You deserve someone who likes to shop at preppy stores. I, you know, don't want to hold you back, and I'm not good at math, so… ahh," I stuttered, searching for more inane crap to spew. He wasn't an asshole. He just wasn't for me.

And I wasn't ready for any of this. It wasn't Stan's fault. I had my own intimacy issues. However, it was all kinds of stupid to have gotten drunk and tried to work them out with someone who was less appealing than eating a full bag of plain rice cakes.

"I see what you mean," Stan said as he nodded seriously then glanced over at me with pity. "While the sex was outstanding, I'm far smarter than you."

"I'm sorry… what?"

Correction. He was a complete asshole.

The hanging specters didn't like that one either. They flew around Stan like a freaking tornado. It was difficult to focus on the boring man on my porch with all the hoopla going on.

"Well, I do have two Masters and my CPA license. And you're just an attractive widowed paralegal with a great rack," he said in a socially acceptable, pleasant tone, clearly unaware he was an asshole.

There were several ways to handle the situation. One was to kill him, but I had too much going on to spend any time in prison for murder. Plus, I'd never killed anyone. My fortieth birthday wasn't a good day to start a life of crime. This was a small town and I didn't need that kind of reputation. The second was to escort him right out of my life.

I knew exactly how to do that.

"Stan, I'm going to suggest you leave before I tell you that you have a tiny penis and I wasn't exactly sure we were having sex at all. You wear too much aftershave and if you're going to manscape, you might want to have a go at your back. So, unless you want to hear all that, you'd better sprint your preppy, pencil-pushing ass off my porch."

"Can I call you?" he asked through the closed door as I slammed it shut.

I didn't grace the request with an answer. It was embarrassing and unbelievable that I'd spent even two minutes of time I couldn't get back on a jackass with a mini man tool who thought he was smarter than me.

God, I missed Steve. I mean, we had our problems, but he wasn't hairy.

I was done dating. Forever. Forty, widowed and single was starting to sound very good.

Now I just needed to deal with the visible to only me weirdos hanging out in my house. However, I had to give it to them. They were very supportive when Stan was talking smack.

After a full two and a half minutes of contemplative thought—which was thirty seconds longer than Stan's performance last night—I decided to ignore my uninvited houseguests. I was completely out of coffee and the lack of caffeine made me slightly dangerous. I'd just go on with my day and block out the fact I was hanging on to my sanity by a thread.

***

"Turn it up, baby. Bob Barker mumbles and I won't get the damn price right if I can't hear the old coot," Gram shouted from her bed as I slapped my hands over my ears and winced.

"Pot, kettle, black, old lady," I muttered with a grin as I handed my beloved grandmother her hearing aids. "Try these. Bob's on fire today."

"Hate 'em," she griped as she adjusted her bed so she was sitting more upright. "With those little nuggets in my ears, I can hear every damn sound in this here prison I'm in. Happy Birthday, my Daisy girl!"

"Thank you." I kissed her wrinkled cheek and breathed in her sent—Ivory soap and dime store perfume. It was the best smell in the world. "You like the bed?"

"Love it. You're my best girl," she said with a wink as she smoothed the wild dark hair out of my face. "The love of my life."

The bed had cost me almost three full paychecks and the nursing home had pitched a fit when I'd moved it in, but I'd prevailed. Gram called her new home a prison, but I was onto her. I knew she secretly loved it. She played poker several nights a week while lying in her new bed and from what I'd heard from the nurses, she was juggling three paramours at the moment.

The visual of my ninety-year-old grandmother with a man-friend was alarming. I pushed it to the section of my brain labeled don't go there ever. To reprogram the disturbing images, I started folding Gram's housecoats.

"The show is rigged and I think Bob's had him a little nip and tuck. However, I wouldn't kick him out of bed for eatin' crackers," she informed me and everyone within a five-mile radius.

"I just ate a banana, Gram. Can't listen to you talking about getting horizontal with Bob Barker," I said as I nonchalantly glanced around the room and peeked under the bed. Thankfully it was clear—no ghosts and no unattached appendages.

They'd been following me constantly and I wasn't sure what they wanted. Terrified at first, I'd gotten used to them… kind of. I had no choice really. It was either accept that I'd become a dead-people magnet or buy a straitjacket and commit myself. Hell, I still wasn't sure they were really there. The only thing I was certain of was that I was losing my marbles.

"Daisy, I can't do it now cause all my programs are coming on, but I have some stuff you need to know before I become one with the earthworms," Gram said as she put her hearing aids in and then pulled them right back out.

"You're not dying anytime soon. If you leave me, I'm traveling straight to Hell and yanking your sorry deaf ass back up here."

"Hell ain't so bad. I got a condo with air conditioning reserved." She cackled with glee until Bob came back on the tube and began describing the final showcase.

I'd had enough of the big wheel and guessing the price of microwaves. The Game Show Network was on 24/7 in Gram's room. If I had to guess, I'd have to say the episode we were watching was from the 1970s. I had to get to work anyway.

"Gram, I'll stop by tonight. Make sure you eat today."

I kissed her forehead. She waved me away as not to miss a second of Bob.

At least she was happy.

I wished I could say the same for myself.




About the Author:
Website-FB-Twitter
NYT and USA Today best selling author, Robyn Peterman writes because the people inside her head won't leave her alone until she gives them life on paper. She writes snarky, sexy, funny paranormal and snarky, sexy, funny contemporaries.

Her addictions include laughing really hard with friends, shoes (the expensive kind), Target, Coke with extra ice in a Yeti cup, bejeweled reading glasses, her kids, her super-hot hubby and collecting stray animals.

A former professional actress, with Broadway, film and T.V. credits, she now lives in the south with her family and too many animals to count. Writing gives her peace and makes her whole, plus having a job where she can work in her sweatpants works really well for her.



Giveaway
$100 Amazon Gift Card
Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

Sunday, June 28, 2020

Excerpt: Beast (Salvation’s Bane, #2) by Marteeka Karland + giveaway

Beast (Salvation’s Bane, #2)
by Marteeka Karland
June 26th 2020
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance
Fleur: Never in a million years would I have expected a woman I considered a friend to betray me in the worst possible way. Yet it happened. Drugged and in the back room of a BDSM club, I was about to be used in a brutal way. Until he exploded to my rescue.

Beast: I’m Salvation’s Bane’s enforcer. My job is to protect. So when I notice something amiss in the BDSM club Bane owns, I’m there to shut that shit down. What I find is a woman who ignites passions inside me better left alone. What will she think when she finds out the lengths I’ll go to protect what’s mine? I come by my name honest. When it comes to protecting my club, or my woman, I’m the most ferocious beast you could ever imagine.


EXCERPT:
His own chuckle surprised Beast. He wasn’t the kind of man who laughed much. “The only rule you need to worry about is to do what I tell you. Beyond that, there aren’t many rules. Don’t betray the club. Don’t talk about anything you see here unless it’s with me. That’s it. The girls will probably test you, but that’s normal.”

“Test me?”

“Oh yeah. They got Vicious’s ol’ lady drunk at the first party she went to.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Well, once her inhibitions were gone, she put on a show like no one had ever seen. And we own two strip clubs.”

“Wow. Was she pissed?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know what she said to Vicious in private, but I can tell you it backfired mightily on the girls. They all got laid, but every single man in the club had visions of Lucy in his head when they fucked, I can tell you that.”

She opened her mouth then closed it. Tried again. “I have no idea what to say to that.”

He snorted. “Not much to say. Everyone had a good time and Vicious learned a thing or two about his ol’ lady. Mainly that she’s an exhibitionist.”

“Holy shit!”

That got a chuckle out of him. Again, it startled him that the sound came so easily. It made his chest feel funny, too. OK, so it wasn’t the sound of his laughter that got him. It was the woman in front of him. She made him do it so easily. Almost casually. Every time he did it, he could see her lips twitch. Most of the time, her smile followed. And it was a glorious smile. Fucking glorious! Just like the sunshine he’d nicknamed her.

“Yeah. That’s what we said. They tend to not be discreet about fuckin’. Vicious has always been up for a good time, but I think he’s met his match in Lucy.”

“I think I better sleep on this. You know I’m probably not going to do anything like that while I’m here. Right?”

“Sunshine, no one expects you to. Join in the fun, watch, or don’t participate in any way. Stay for the food until you see it’s goin’ in a way you are uncomfortable with. No one judges.”

She yawned and stretched, pulling his shirt tight over her tits before she adjusted it absently. Thing nearly swallowed her whole, but she’d gotten tangled settling into bed. “What about you? You judging me for what happened in the club?”

That hit him like she’d slapped him. “Sunshine, none of that was your fault.”

“I didn’t have to walk in there. I could have said ‘no’ to Debbie. I willingly went into a BDSM club, knowing what went on there.” She shook her head slightly. “More precisely, I thought I knew what went on, but that’s not the point.”

“Then what is? ‘Cause, I gotta tell ya, I’m not likin’ where you’re goin’ with this.” Did she really think he’d take advantage of her just because she was in a place like that? “I work there, honey. I’m there every fuckin’ night it’s open. I’ve seen lots of women come and go. Literally. In all senses of the word. All different shapes, sizes, colors, and sexual orientation. They come there for even more different reasons. Some want to fuck anything moving anywhere they can. Others want to find a Dom who can care for their needs, not all of them sexual in nature. Then there are the ones who are just curious. They come in wanting to watch and fantasize. I think you fall into the latter category, though, I bet I could make you want to try at least some of the shit goin’ on in there.”

“In your dreams, big guy.” She yawned again. “That’s not me.”

“Whatever you say, Sunshine.”

He sat back in the chair he’d pulled near the bed and sprawled out. It wasn’t the most comfortable place in the world, but he didn’t want to leave her alone until Doc said it was OK. The longer he sat there, the more uncomfortable it got. And not because of the chair. Picturing Fleur at one of the club’s wild and rowdy parties was getting him hard. Maybe she’d participate, maybe she wouldn’t. But she’d watch. She’d be there. He’d just bet he could coax her behind a palm tree or something. If not, he’d still get to enjoy watching her watch others.

Fuck.

“Gideon?” That sleepy, sultry note to her voice was the nail in his coffin. His cock was sprung like a fucking teenager. Barely suppressing his frustrated groan, he sat up a little straighter.

“You all right, Sunshine?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m fine. I just… well, that chair can’t be comfortable. Why not go on to your room? I promise I won’t get up by myself. You’ve done enough for now.”

“This is my room. And I’m not leavin’ you by yourself. Just go back to sleep.”

There was another long silence. Then, “Beast.” Her tone brooked no nonsense, a bit of a dominant tone to it when he was certain that wasn’t her core personality. He also noticed she used his street name, not his given name. “Just get in the fucking bed, will you?”

“Snippy little thing, huh?”

“I’m not lying here while you’re in that stupid chair like a dumbass. There’s plenty of room in here for both of us.”

“Not afraid I’ll take advantage?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll take advantage. But I’m not in a position to be taken advantage of by you, and you’re not the kind of guy to push it.”

He stood and crossed to the bed. Instead of going around to the other side where there was more room and he wouldn’t crowd her, he slipped in close to her small body. “You sure about that?” He took her little hand, his big one wrapping completely around her wrist with room to spare, and pulled it to his crotch. “‘Cause I ain’t sure my own Goddamned self.”

Instead of pulling away, she wrapped those slim fingers around his cock through his jeans. “Absolutely,” she answered. Did she sound a little breathless? “If that was the kind of man you were, you wouldn’t have rescued me from those creeps in the first place.”

Beast let go of her wrist but covered her hand with his, pressing it against his dick so he could move a little and have at least some of the friction he wanted. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, woman.”

About the Author:
Website-FB-Twitter

Romance author by night, emergency room tech/clerk by day, Marteeka Karland works really hard to drive everyone in her life completely and totally nuts. She has been creating stories from her warped imagination since she was in the third grade. Her love of writing blossomed throughout her teenage years until it developed into the totally unorthodox and irreverent style her English teachers tried so hard to rid her of. Now, she breathes life into faeries, space hunters, werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters, and a few just plane ole ordinary people. She loves to see the awkward, self-conscious band geek get the captain of the football team and make him beg for it.

GIVEAWAY
Blitz-wide giveaway (INT)
$10 Amazon gift card 

Saturday, June 27, 2020

Q & A with Coralie Moss for the Sister Witches Urban Fantasy Series + giveaway


Q & A with Coralie Moss for the Sister Witches Urban Fantasy Series

#1. Tell us something about your writing process.

Writing is a very visceral activity for me. I’ve been told I’m a ‘kinesthetic learner’, which basically means I learn-by-doing. Yep, my parents loved having a kid who leapt first and looked later and I have the scars on my knees to prove it.

When I’m in the idea stage of a new book or series, it really helps if I give the lead character some skill that I already know at least a little something about. I can always change all of that later, but it helps to have a starting point that feels familiar. The writing process goes more smoothly too if I set the story—at least at first—in a location where I’ve lived. I need sensory input, and sense-memories, to jumpstart the writing process.

I based some of the magic system in this series on needle crafts, like sewing and embroidery, because I love to work with my hands and I know how to do all that stuff. I set the first book in Northampton, Massachusetts because I lived there for three years, and I visited it often when I still lived in New England. It has tons of bookshops and cafes and an all-women’s college, and it felt very natural to place ‘Needles & Sins’ along one of its side streets, in one of its granite and brick buildings.

#2. Who designs the covers for your books?
My cover designer is the very talented—and very patient—Elizabeth Mackey. Working with her is so much fun that I sometimes wish I could just make up book titles and have her design covers for them! We’ve worked on ten covers together now, and our process starts with me looking through sites like Shutterstock and Neo-stock for images. I like to give Elizabeth an idea for the cover model, as well as images of objects that are important to the book.

For Once Blessed, Thrice Cursed’s cover, three things were important: I wanted the model looking over her shoulder, in a pose that says, “Hey, come on, let’s go explore”. I also wanted a staircase, open doors, and *magic* sparkling from her hands. For the follow-up novella, Demon Lines, I wanted a handsome ‘demon’ guy on the cover. He got a staircase, too, but his was more elegant. He’s a prince after all.

#3. How do you come up with your character names?
Naming characters is another favorite thing—could I just make up book titles and character names, and design covers?! For the Sister Witches series, it became clear there would be three sisters (and no secret sisters. Or brothers, lol). Their names were unusual, and they came in alphabetical order: Alderose, Beryl, and Clementine. But Clementine’s personality came to me first and for whatever reason, I felt that she would be the easiest to write. I think I might have poured a lot of the love I feel for my own sister, into her.

Clementine’s sisters have been a lot more challenging to figure out. Both Alderose and Beryl have secrets they keep from each other, and sometimes I want to yell at them for it—but then I wouldn’t have as much of a story to tell. 

I find that clothes are important to developing each character. Alderose loves leather everything, probably because she’s a butt-kicking, knife-wielding witch. Beryl has all of her clothes made for her, and she loves vintage-style dresses, interesting shoes, and handmade lingerie. There’s a reason for all that—which we’ll learn about in book #4. And as for Clementine, she’s into jeans and her dog, Sitka. Until she meets Laszlo. And then she’s into demons, too.


Once Blessed, Thrice Cursed (Sister Witches Book 1)
by Coralie Moss
November 30, 2019
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Clementine Brodeur must untangle her dead mother’s legacy before the clock runs out.

My name is Clementine and my magic is making me lose sleep.

My two sisters and I have forty-eight hours to find someone our talented mother could not. If we don’t succeed, someone will die.

My magic allows me to see memories the dead leave behind--which forces me to relive the moment my mother was attacked by fae.

I must tell my sisters what I’ve seen, because I know what we need to do. Except I’m afraid they’re done with my “leap now, look later” escapades.

They’ve had my back for over twenty years. Why wouldn’t they have it now?

**Get it FREE!!** 



About the Author:
Website-FB-Twitter Coralie Moss loves everyday heroines and complicated witches, layered magic and earthly moments, and will always believe in the power of love. Whether she’s writing Urban Fantasy or Contemporary Romance, her characters get her up in the morning and Assam tea keeps her going. She lives on Salt Spring Island, British Columbia with her HEA, their son, and two globe-trotting rescue cats. 

Giveaway
$15 Amazon 
Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!