Friday, 25 October 2013

Blog Tour: Prayer for the Dead by Nicki Scalise

Banner ~ Prayer for the Dead
Title:   Prayer for the Dead (Revenants in Purgatory, #1)
Author:  Nicki Scalise
Genre:  Paranormal Romance 18+
Publication Date:  September 30, 2013
Cover Design By:  Rene Folsom at Phycel Designs
Event organized byLiterati Author Services, Inc.

SynopsisCover Prayer
 This is the story about a girl who lived, died, and met a guy… in that order.
Is it possible to find true love and happiness, while condemned to purgatory until the end of days?
Olivia Brennan wasn’t eager to find out. Working for a division of Purgatory and Associates, her job consisted of one headache after another, caused by the impatient souls waiting to move onto eternal paradise. After a hard day at work, she was most content to stay home, watching reruns or reading a book. Aside from a few friends occasionally forcing socialization, her afterlife was nothing special.
That all changed the moment Drake walked into her life. He was handsome, charming, and had a sadness behind his eyes she could relate to. It seemed that Fate had finally brought her a kindred spirit…
But could Olivia move past her own dark regrets of the life she left behind or would falling for him demand the ultimate sacrifice—herself?

Add to Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18466354-prayer-for-the-dead

 Purchase Links

  
About the Author
Author PictureNicki Scalise lives in Colorado with her husband. They share their home with four dogs and a chinchilla. The animals pretty much run the joint, the humans just pay the bills. Prayer for the Deadis her debut novel.









Connect with the Author:  Website | Facebook |Goodreads | Blog | Twitter


 Tour-Wide Giveaway 
Open internationally. Signed copies of Apocalypse: An Anthology by Authors and Readers, Paranormal Anthology with a Twist, Prayer for the Dead and Stalkers Anthology (not pictured). There will also be bookmarks, A Prayer for the Dead keychain, and an I  <3 Indie Authors bumper sticker.



Deleted Scene from Prayer for the Dead
This is the original opening chapter for Prayer for the Dead. I scraped this scene because I felt it lacked “punch”. I must have reworked the opening to the novel a dozen times before settling on the chapter I chose. This one was missing Olivia’s humor and sarcasm. That’s a key component to understanding the character and it needed to be included upon meeting her for the first time. This chapter hasn’t seen an editor’s pen, so it’s a little rough, but I hope you enjoy reading what could have been.


Cover PrayerIt was early Friday morning and I had a new arrival due at any moment. I always try to greet them when they first walk in the door. I find it makes the transition easier to see a smiling face or at least it did for me.
At 8:32 on the dot my new ward and her escort breezed through the front doors.  The new ward appeared young and a quick peek into her file confirmed my suspicions. Her name was Maggie. She was nineteen years, four months, eight days, fourteen hours and thirty seven minutes old. I shook my head, I hated getting the young ones.
Maggie held her hands tight in front of her. Her short blonde hair barely poked out from beneath the hood of her grey Colorado State University sweatshirt. She had the appearance of a little pixie. Her blue eyes were wide with fear and wonder.
She was accompanied by her Reaper named Hannah. The Reaper was adorned in all white and her long blonde hair gave very little in the way of contrast to her clothes. Hannah had once told me the look was intentional, it gave the impression of purity, someone you could trust. Our eyes met and she stole a side glance at the young woman. She didn’t need to say it but we were both thinking it.
Maggie was too young to be here, too young to have died.
The roads in Colorado had been snowy that morning. Maggie had been on her way to class. Some yahoo driving too fast for conditions, spun into oncoming traffic, hitting Maggie’s car head on. She was killed instantly. Instead of making it to class in time to take her midterm she wound up here, in purgatory.
I approached slowly and met them in the middle of the expansive lobby. I gave a quick nod in greeting to Hannah which she returned before I addressed the co-ed. “Hello Maggie. My name is Olivia and I’m going to be you’re liaison”
I reached out to shake her hand and she reciprocated absently. I spoke clearly using small words. I did this intentionally. Most wards are usually in shock upon arrival. It’s better to reel them in slowly then bombard them with a bunch of jargon that will slip in one ear out the other.
Maggie’s eyes were still sweeping around the lobby but I pressed on “Do you understand what happened and where you are? Did Hannah explain that part to you?”
She nodded.
“Okay, I’ll be taking you on from here.”
Maggie’s eyes stopped scanning. When she spoke there was an edge of panic to her voice “Liaison to what? Taking me where? What does that mean?”
“All it means is that I’ll be taking care of you while you’re here in purgatory and you’re parting ways with Hannah.”
Maggie’s eyes got wide and she grabbed ahold of Hannah’s hand with both of hers. She shook her head emphatically just like a small child under threat of being parted from their mother on the first day of grade school. Maggie didn’t know Hannah any better than she knew me, but Hannah was familiar and that made her safe in this uncertain period of transition. It’s not an uncommon response for the departed to become quickly attached to their Reaper. After all, it’s the first face a soul sees when they die.
Hannah laid her free hand on Maggie’s shoulder keeping her voice calm and soothing as she reassured her that it would be all right and that I could be trusted. The tension started to melt away from the girl’s face as she listened.
Watching a Reaper work has always been fascinating to me. Their magic is similar to hypnotic suggestion and they get this kind of melody to their voice when they are ensorcelling a soul. Ever heard someone who’s had a near death experience say they felt a strange sort of calm wash over them? That would be the Reaper’s doing. They’re present for those near death experiences, they take the souls of those whose time is up and put back the ones that popped too soon. They’re the reason souls end up in my office rather than roaming around aimlessly not knowing how to proceed with their afterlife.
Once Hannah was finished working her mojo, she said goodbye to Maggie. The new ward and I walked down the hallway to the elevators, as we waited for the car to arrive she turned to me.  She was fidgeting with the seam of her sweatshirt, her eyes focused on the floor. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.” I knew what was coming before she even opened her mouth. It’s the same first question I get from everyone passing through the front doors. It was the same first question I had asked.
“Why am I in Purgatory?”
It’s a common misconception that Purgatory is hell. Nothing could be further from the truth. I like to think of life as a flight from New York to Hawaii and purgatory is the layover in Des Moines. Just a quick pit stop while your family and friends pray away your sins so you can move onto the next destination.
You see the moment you die, the sins you committed during the course of your life are tallied. Then it’s up to all the loved ones you left behind to absolve your sins with prayers. The more you sinned, higher the chances you’ll be stuck here for a while. It’s a quota thing. Those prayers don’t necessarily mean a free pass to eternal paradise they just clear the soul so it’s free to move on. Sometimes a soul will move onto Hawaii and sometimes it goes straight to Tijuana.
When I was done reciting the quick cliff notes version, Maggie seemed satisfied with the answer. I knew better though, all new arrivals have a million and one questions, most of which I do not have the answers to. I’m low man on the totem pole here, a glorified desk monkey if you will. I have enough security clearance to my job and not an inkling more.
“How long have you been here?” She asked. The doors to the elevator dinged open and we stepped inside.
The personal questions I hated most. I knew people asked because they were out of their element and wanted to find something familiar to cling to no matter how insignificant. Problem is one answer from me never satisfies. It only opened the flood gates to more questions that I really didn’t care to respond to.
“Ten years.” Her face looked horrified before I quickly recovered “Don’t worry you won’t be here that long. I’m a special case and won’t ever leave.”
She gasped “That’s horrible! Why can’t you leave?”
I punched the button for the second floor as the doors slid shut “Well, because someone has to live in Des Moines.”


Banner ~ Prayer for the Dead

Friday, 4 October 2013

Guest Post: Why all genres are important; even the ones you hate.

Why all genres are important; even the ones you hate


book-genres-300x213Genre readers will know the feeling of inferiority. That sense that you’re asking for something that’s just wrong. Approach the assistant in a bookshop to ask if they have any fantasy novels, and they’ll shout, ‘How disgusting, you should be ashamed of yourself’, before leaning in and whispering, ‘Meet me out the back in five minutes.’
By virtue of being human, we have a need to put things into categories: people, books, animals, cheese. It’s meant to make things easier for us all, but more often than not it seems that the reason we segment the world around us is simply to make it easier to find something new to hate.

Judging books like we judge danger
Most of this comes from a lack of understanding. We make opinions of everything in a split second. It’s probably a throwback from when we used to be prey for certain things. We had to be able to decide whether that tiger was a threat, or if he just wanted to offer us delicious sugared cereal. Now, we don’t have so many threats, but that ability to make judgements in the blink of an eye remains.
Which is why we often dismiss things which we later come to love, if we give them the chance. Have you ever finished describing something you are trying to recommend to someone by saying, ‘But it’s actually really good’? We know certain things put people off, and we want to pre-empt that judgement.

The literary world verses the speculative fiction realm
For the literary community, the argument against fantasy and science fiction is that they aren’t real. Quite a bold accusation to make for any lover of fiction. If I’m honest, though, a lot of the things that put the literary community off fantasy are the things that embarrass me about the genre I love. Everything is ‘Book 1 of the Such and Such Trilogy’, for example. There’s always prophecies, and so much capitalisation: ‘Of course, that was before The Coming.’ I don’t think there is any other genre where it would have been possible, as it was with fantasy, for me to stop reading a book after 14 pages due to excessive capitalisation.
But you can also argue that literary fiction has its flaws. I’ve read a few literary books during university, and from what I could tell, the whole point of the genre is that nothing happens and that’s apparently a good thing. The author shows off how much they know about a certain subject by ranting on about it at length, then a character sneezes, the book ends, and it’s all supposed to mean something.
Of course, this too is just as bad as the ‘Fantasy is all goblins and pixies’ argument. Each and every genre has its merits. And the real merit of any genre is not what it contains, but what it says.

What does a genre really mean to you?funny-i-love-books-quote
We all choose the genres we love because those are the ones that speak to us the most. Reading is many things, and I think a big part of it is about belonging, identifying, and engaging. We want to escape to a world we feel completely comfortable in, and to jump into the life of another and instantly connect with their story. Does it matter if that love story is about 18th century nobles or an elf and a man? I don’t think so. My inferiority complex that stems from being a speculative fiction writer tells me that the latter sounds silly, but I try to ignore it.
Paranormal romance is big right now, and appeals mainly to teenage girls. The rest of us may look down on it, but of course it doesn’t speak to us. It’s not meant to. The genre’s popularity with that demographic comes from the fact that it talks to a part of them that none of the rest of us can. Which is what makes reading a book an incredibly personal experience.
Different genres have meaning to different people. They communicate different ideas, concepts and philosophies. To dismiss one genre because it doesn’t mean anything to you is like dismissing all the languages in the world that you can’t speak. In our quest for connection, different things will satisfy our desires and needs. Part of the magic of being human is that we are all unique. Why should we scoff at the fact that individuality has produced a raft of different ways in which to tell a story?
All genres are important, even the ones you hate.


RewanWeb-20About Rewan Tremethick

Rewan is a semi-bearded writer with tight jeans and a sometimes irrepressible need to create surrealist comic metaphors. When not spending his time writing as a freelance copywriter, he is spending his time writing as a novelist. Rewan has written two niche murder mystery books for Personal NOVEL, which you can have printed to your specifications, including changing the characters names for your own. His debut novel, Fallen on Good Times, about the soft-boiled paranormal detective Laslo Kane, is due to be published in March 2014 by Paddy’s Daddy Publishing.
‘Like’ his Facebook page to find out more about Rewan, his latest news and blog posts.

Thursday, 3 October 2013

Guest Post: Why do you need an editor?

WHY DO YOU NEED AN EDITOR? 

by Susan Uttendorfsky of Adirondack Editing.


Karen invited me to answer this question on her blog. This is my humble opinion, but since copy editing is also my business, you’re right to be somewhat skeptical of my answer. There will be authors who disagree with me. But if you research the topic, you’ll find I’m not the only one—writers included!—who feels this way. 

First, let me assure you wholeheartedly—You Are the Expert on Your Book.
Not me, nor any other editor. You. You wrote it, you’ve revised it (hopefully), you’ve researched it—they’re your ideas and hard work. A copy editor’s job is to ensure, to the best of her ability, that the manuscript (MS) contains no errors, that it has been written as well as possible, and that you shine like the star you are. After all, you finished writing an entire MS! Do you know how marvelous that is? Do you realize how many “writers” start a book—or more than one—and never finish? <Applause>
So, you may ask, “If I’m such a wonderful expert, why do I need you?” Great question!  editing-stack-of-paper-red-pen-353x179
It’s because you are such an expert on your MS that you are physically incapable of finding all the errors. Be honest. Can you look at your MS objectively? Can a new mother—after nine months of pregnancy and hours of hard, sweaty labor—impartially see the wrinkled, scaly, misshapen being just introduced to her? No. Only the unbiased eyes of another can detect the flaws while still appreciating the baby for the miracle it is.
You are welcome—and definitely encouraged!—to use all the revision techniques you can find: read your MS aloud; read it backward, word by word or paragraph by paragraph; search for the “ly” adverbs, the “to be” verbs, and the “could/would”s to see if they’re necessary. Have at least two beta readers give you their feedback, be involved in a critique or writers’ group, and put your MS away for several weeks before reviewing a final time and running a concluding spell check.
If you don’t want to bother with all that work, definitely hire a professional copy editor. And if you do take the time to accomplish those tasks, hire a professional copy editor anyway. Trust me; inevitably, there will be something you missed. On an important marketing promotion for myself, which I pored over for hours, I missed “PalPal Accepted.”
Your eyes will read what you believe you wrote or wanted to write. A copy editor will read what you actually wrote.
paper-edit-afterPerhaps after publishing without an editor, you will be lucky to find only simple errors, like inconsistent use of toward/towards, overuse of a pet word or action, or a “he” that should have been “her.” Or it might be something much worse, like a character name change missed half the time, stating that Harlem is downtown from the Planetarium in New York City, or misspelling your own name or the title. Don’t think it can’t happen to you! These are real-life examples from MSS I’ve copy edited.
You spent a lot of time, hard work, and sleepless nights on your MS. Whether you’re self publishing or submitting to an agent or publisher, don’t you want it to be the best it can be?
Copy editing is not a luxury or an unnecessary expense. It’s an investment. High-quality material results in higher sales. And good editing doesn’t have to cost a fortune. There are many professional, affordable editors available.

Want to know more about Susan Uttendorfsky and Adirondack Editing?  Click HERE.


Thursday, 26 September 2013

Thursday Treat!


It's Thursday again!  Wow, doesn't time fly when you're having fun?

I thought today I'd give you a snippet from Charlotte.  Book 1 in my Pride & Prejudice Continues series.  It's the book that kicked it all off for me, and so you can imagine that I'm very proud of it.  Also, in 2013 it was awarded a BRAGMedallion for excellence.  I was so excited when the president of IndieBRAG told me, as you can imagine.

Because the book is so precious to me, I thought I'd share the entire first chapter with you, my readers.

Have a wonderful day!

Karen xxx




I ask only a comfortable home.  How many times had Charlotte’s words to her friend Lizzy come back to haunt her recently, reverberating round her head, tormenting her?  What price was she paying for her comfort? 
She shuddered as she looked around her sitting room, which Lady Catherine, their patroness, had decorated and fitted out and was not to her own taste at all.  The wallpaper, although expensive and elegant, was heavy and oppressive.  She sat and thought about the changes that she would have liked to make to the room.  After a while, she began to feel more at ease again.
Her sanguine attitude, of which she so confidently assured Lizzy, her oldest friend, had left her long ago.  She often felt dread at the thought of intimacy with Mr Collins and avoided it as much as she could do.  The act often repulsed her, but she knew she had to steel herself for this very night because, as he left the breakfast room that morning, he had given her one of his strange flirtatious waves, a sure indicator that he felt amorous. 
Charlotte knew little of the state of marriage when she had married Mr Collins.  Her mother’s advice to her was to bear it as well as she could do, but this meant nothing to her until her wedding night.  She remembered thinking at the time that if someone only warned young girls of the marriage beds, then they would not marry in the first place.  Perhaps then, it was better that they usually knew nothing and were innocent of such things, or there would be no more marriages and certainly no more children.  Her stomach knotted at the thought of her own experiences.  The thought of their fumbled encounters in bed made her feel uncomfortable, and she hurriedly turned to her new book 'Langue des fleurs'.  She stroked the cover page, and more of her own words came back to haunt her: I am not romantic, Lizzy.  And yet here she was, holding and enjoying reading a book on such a romantic subject.  Charlotte was beginning to realise that she did not know herself at all. 
* * *
Mr Collins had interrupted Charlotte’s walk through the woods that morning by rushing to her to declare the arrival of Colonel Fitzwilliam at Rosings Park, their patroness’s home.  Why this caused her husband to be in such a flutter, she did not fully understand.  He was waving his hat and bidding her make haste.  She sighed and asked herself if the inhabitants and guests of Rosings Park were to be always her highest priority.  She did not return to the parsonage with the called-upon haste, but instead took her time picking some late wild flowers to study in her book. 
Upon her arrival, she found the house and servants in pandemonium, for all his shouting and flapping, Mr Collins had not produced the haste, which he so desired, but had made all about him unable to discern whether they were coming or going.
She rolled her eyes. “My dear, calm yourself, and explain to me what has happened.”
“My dear Charlotte, I cannot emphasise enough how valuable the patronage of Lady Catherine de Bourgh is to us and the sovereign importance of performing the duty owed to her.  She has written to us and requires us to be present at dinner tonight!  We must prepare ourselves!” He bellowed breathlessly, staring about him as if his wife and their servants all should have understood this perfectly. 
The clock bell chimed in the sitting room, and Charlotte patiently counted each chime taking the time to calm her nerves and temper before she spoke.  “There, as we have heard, Mr Collins, it is only eleven o’clock in the morning.  There is indeed no need of haste and we are in no danger of being late at all.  We may proceed with tranquillity.” 
This, however, would not suit her husband, who flapped his way into the sitting room to examine the clock - because it must have been faulty.  He remained standing there for some minutes, examining in turn the clock and his pocket watch, which both, Charlotte was sure, declared the same time. 
She left him to his activity and retired to her room to rest.  She sat at the table and looked out of the window.  She knew when she met him that he was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of nature had been little assisted by education or society.  When she tried to rescue her friend Lizzy from him by inviting him to Lucas Lodge, she knew he had come to Longbourn on a wife hunt and knew him to be awkward and foolish and, subsequently, his feelings for her to be entirely of his own imagining.  He declared such passionate feelings for her as she knew he could not possibly truly feel on such a short acquaintance, but here an opportunity had presented itself.  Charlotte had long felt herself to be getting past her bloom.  She smiled at the thought.  She had never had a bloom.  And she was plain-looking, especially next to her dear friends, the Bennet sisters, although she had the blessings of good sense and intelligence.  She had heartily feared that she would never have a proposal of marriage and that she would end her days a spinster and a burden to her family.  Yet there he had been, standing in front of her, professing an ardent love for her, and in so doing, also unwittingly declaring he was a silly man indeed. 
She had not needed long to deliberate on whether to accept his hand or not.  At twenty-seven years old, and close to being declared a spinster, the decision was easy for her to make.  She had always thought that happiness in marriage was entirely a matter of chance.  That to be ignorant of the defects of one’s future spouse was best.  Mr Collins’ had been her only proposal of marriage, and she was sensible of it and doubted whether she would ever receive another.  With that in mind, and knowing that Mr Collins was an excellent match for her, and feeling a sense of duty and obligation to her family, she accepted.  She consoled herself with thoughts of bringing happiness to her family.  It pleased her to become mistress of her own house, and the thought of having children to occupy her time gave her pleasure.  That is exactly what she did now, regardless of her heavy heart.
* * *
Mr William Collins sat down in his study and looked out of the window too.  He liked that room, his study and book room, as it afforded the best possible view of the road in case Lady Catherine's carriage pass by.  He was acutely sensible of his considerable fortune in his patroness the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Her beneficence and his known connection to her had been invaluable to him.  He felt it keenly.  He could not have hoped for a more propitious living and a better patroness.  He hardly could understand why his wife did not feel it as keenly as he did.  Perhaps she does not have the capacity to feel as deeply as I do, he mused. 
He thought back over the events leading to his marriage to his Dear Charlotte and blushed at the memory of the unfeeling and impolite way in which his cousin Elizabeth had refused the offer of his hand; he could not have borne to stay in that house any longer.  To his vast relief, his dear Charlotte had come along, invited him to Lucas Lodge, and saved him from further humiliation.  Although he had promised never to reproach Elizabeth on the subject again, he could not but feel saddened that none of the Bennet girls would continue at Longbourn and take their mother’s place as mistress of the house upon their father’s demise, when subsequently he took possession of his inheritance.  However, he did congratulate himself on having been saved from an unfortunate match, as he must now view the hoped-for alliance between himself and his cousin Elizabeth since the infamous elopement and subsequent marriage of her youngest sister, Lydia, to the notorious cad and blackguard Mr George Wickham.  Mr Collins was heartily relieved that he had escaped the misfortune of having to call such a man brother-in-law. 
Turning his attention to the pile of letters on his writing desk, his eyes fell once again upon the wedding invitation from Longbourn.  A double wedding.  As exciting and fair a prospect it was for all those concerned in Hertfordshire, he could not but feel deeply the pain and disgrace that Lady Catherine now felt upon the announcement of her nephew’s marriage.  To be married to a woman whose position in society was so far beneath their own upset Her Ladyship so much, she could not even bring herself to utter Elizabeth’s name without shaking and starting to weep. 
“Yes,” he nodded to himself, “as Lady Catherine says, Pemberley is to be thus polluted.” 

He had, of course, driven to Longbourn and sought an audience with both Mr Bennet and Elizabeth,
being sensible of the high standing, which he believed he had in that family, but neither of them seemed to take his kindly meant advice with any seriousness and, in fact, seemed to deem his visit with levity.  He could not understand it. Surely, they would not wish to be the cause of injuring such illustrious families as the de Bourghs, the Fitzwilliams, and the Darcys?  Yet the wedding was to take place, the evidence of which was on his desk before him.  He felt honour-bound, as Mr Bennet’s heir, to attend, but equally duty-bound to Lady Catherine to refuse.  He contemplated his predicament for some time and then, taking his Bible in his hands, drew out his hassock from under the desk, turned, and knelt down, leaning his elbows on his chair to pray.



(Copyright © 2013 Karen Aminadra)




CHARLOTTE is available through all major stockists.

Amazon.com
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Kobo
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WHSmith
Waterstones




Wednesday, 25 September 2013

Character Profiles: Hunter S. Jones' September Ends!

Today I am pleased to have three character profiles from Hunter S. Jones' September Ends to share with you :-)

September Ends is out 1st October!



ABOUT HUNTER S. JONES 

The art form I create is much more interesting than anything you will ever know or learn about me. However, since you ask, I am author and entertainment blogger Hunter S. Jones from Atlanta, GA. Born in Tennessee, I am now an Exile on Peachtree Street, which is the name of my personal blog. I have lived in Tennesse and Georgia my entire life, except for one 'Lost Summer' spent in LA.

I was always a complex kid. Music is my first and true love although I have no musical skills or abilities.. Throughout my life, I have written something/anything. My first 'gig' was for an indie/alternative rock rag in Nashville, Tennessee. Since then I have published articles on travel, fashion, history and art.

My debut novella, Fables of the Reconstruction, was released October 2012. The short story, Magic in Memphis, is included the Moon Rose Publishing anthology, A Celtic Tapestry. Take a peek at my blog for ExpatsPost.com.

Find out more about Hunter S. Jones HERE.


SEPTEMBER ENDS

September Ends is a contemporary romance with erotic and supernatural elements. It reveals the intricate web of passion and desire which ensnares Liz Snow, Pete Hendrix and Jack O. Savage. The story is told through Liz Snow’s diary, Jack O. Savage’s poetry and insights, and from letters sent across the Atlantic. Traveling throughout the lushness of a summertime in Tennessee and Georgia, September Ends journeys into the elegance of London’s West End and is finally settled in the countryside of Cornwall, England, a decade later.

September Ends is the story of sin, redemption and salvation through love, because love happens when we least expect it.

September Ends is out 1st October!


LIZ SNOW

I am Liz Snow, Elizabeth October Snow, from Atlanta, Georgia, USA. Actually I’m from a small town in north Georgia called LaFayette. My grandfather died suddenly when I was young, then I saw my only brother die in a useless traffic accident. So, you see, I’m not your typical girl. Years of anti-depressants, alcohol and bad relationships have damaged me emotionally and I hide myself in my career as a software executive. I never really knew what love was until meeting Peter William Hendrix III of Chattanooga, Tennessee. Or at least that’s what I thought until Pete’s betrayal…

PETE HENDRIX

I’m successful, some say handsome, attorney Pete Hendrix of the firm Hendrix, Hendrix & Smith in Chattanooga, Tennessee, USA. I attended undergrad at Vanderbilt University, graduated law school with honors and returned to Chattanooga to run the family law firm. I live the life my mother always wanted for me and as often as possible, go to my cabin on Walden Ridge. There, I swim in the clear, cool water from the cave, read and spend time in solitude looking onto the scenic Sequatchie Valley, the sacred hunting grounds of the Cherokee Nation before the Trail of Tears. My life is structured and secure. But, I never expected to meet a girl like Liz Snow. I loved Liz with my heart and soul. Then, she discovered my secret…

JACK O. SAVAGE

English poet, novelist, and founder member of The Renaissance Bards trio of spoken word artists, Jack O Savage leapt to prominence on being expelled from Jesus College, Oxford for allegedly plotting an arson attack on the college in which he supposedly planned to 'raise English successist complacency to its foundations', though no charges were ever brought against him. The Sun tabloid newspaper ran a story proclaiming POSH POET GETS CHOP referring to Savage's 'chopper protest' in which he was arrested for 'leaping atop a 17th century oak refectory table and lewdly flaunting his generous masculinity' at a formal disciplinary hearing, a gesture which he later repeated in public and which subsequently went viral on YouTube, receiving over 100 million hits in under two hours.

September Ends is a collaboration with an English Poet.  Click HERE to read about how it came about and was written.






Friday, 20 September 2013

Guest Post: Elodie Parkes - release day!

Today I have the enormous pleasure of  having Elodie Parkes as a guest on my blog :-)
Elodie Parkes is a British author writing romance, erotic, contemporary, and often with a twist of mystery, paranormal or suspense. Her books are always steamy, cool stories and hot love scenes.
Elodie lives in Canterbury with her two dogs. She works in an antique shop by day and writes at night, loving the cloak of silent, darkness that descends on the rural countryside around her home.
She has also released titles as an individual indie author.
So here she is….
Hi Karen,
Thank you for inviting me to the blog today to talk about my latest romance release, Jake Snow

The book is the story of Bethany Snow’s brother. Bethany is the leading female character in my erotic romance, ‘The Last Time’ and people who read the book early in its release always wanted to know more about Jake. I had his story in my head and so here it is.

‘The Last Time’ takes place on a movie location and that’s where Jake and Bethany, who are private investigators are sent by their agency to deal with hate mail being sent to a movie star there.
‘Jake Snow’
It’s two years since his sister got married and Jake has been working cases alone. He’s tired and hoping to find love too when we meet him in this book. This time the story takes place in the fashion world and Jake gets caught up in the strange happenings in an atelier.
The idea for the movie location book came to me when I was invited to watch a shoot by an indie film maker. The idea for the high fashion setting for this book was seeded about the same time when I went to watch a fashion show with friends. I was on holiday overseas, with them. We had attended a dance theatre, and then later in the week a fashion show. I knew immediately that I would write a story about the world of fashion. The idea of placing Jake Snow in this world came after I had written, The Last Time.

anotherbiggerjakecoverreal copysmaller
A new romantic mystery from Amazon best-selling author, Elodie Parkes

Jake Snow

Private detective, Jake Snow, has grown tired of working alone since his sister Bethany married, and stopped working on field cases with him. He’s chosen less high-powered cases as he decides against teaming with another partner from the Black Agency. Gradually Jake realizes he wants the kind of love his sister found, and a different job…
When he’s sent on what he thinks is a simple surveillance assignment, just before he’s due to take his requested extended leave, he finds a tangled web of lies, and a fashion designer in trouble…
The question is will he also find love?
With steamy love scenes and a twist of fun, this book is 18+



Read an excerpt G 13+ rated

It was seven o’clock as he lay on the bed. He closed his eyes, and pictured Pixie’s lovely face and her mouth. He let himself think about kissing her. He fell asleep promising himself that he would ask her out.
Jake’s cell phone woke him up. He clawed at it only managing to toss it to the floor instead of pick it up to answer. Fuck it.
He scrambled to the side of the bed and hung over there to reach the phone. It was his sister Bethany calling. She greeted him and he perked up, shuffling to sit up in the bed.
“Hi Bethany, it’s good to hear from you. What’s happening?”
“Jake, I miss you, and every time I hear your voice I think about coming back to work. How is work? Brandt tells me you’ve applied for holidays. That’s not like you Jake, you never take holidays.” Jake could hear a hint of concern in her voice and smiled. He missed her too.
“Work is a bit of a drag to be honest. Partly my own fault though because when Brandt asked me to team up with another detective for some high profile cases, I didn’t want to, so the jobs I’ve been doing lately have been, ‘less interesting,’ I guess you could say.”
“I’d like to see you. Seth would too. Come over here, have some time with us. It’s a beautiful place.”
Jake smiled again. “I’d like to Bethany, I just have a job to finish…it’s a weird one. There’s a young woman involved too…I like her Bethany…she’s lovely.”
“Have you asked her out or let her know you like her? I bet you haven’t. I’d like you to have someone. I can’t tell you how great it is to be loved.”
Jake ran his hand through his hair. “I haven’t said anything to her because it’s early days I only just met her and it’s a bit complicated. We don’t all fall on the client and seduce them the night we meet.” He laughed then because that was close enough to what had happened between his sister and her husband. “Then again it worked out well for you…”

COPYRIGHT ELODIE PARKES 2013
*****

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Jake Snow, a sweetie, sexy, strong…looking for love and the person responsible for the theft he’s currently investigating.

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