Saturday, July 19, 2014

What's Wrong With Being Indie

It seems that every time you read a review of an indie book publication, somewhere you will read it needs to be edited…or…could use correct punctuation…or…I didn’t like the ending.
Why?
First of all, when you find a mistake, PLEASE let us know so that it can be corrected, like immediately. When anyone writes, we see what is in our head, not what is on the page. I’ve paid a lot of money for editing. I also have paid a lot of money for books from the major publishing houses with spelling and punctuation mistakes. This is not the sole provenance of indie publishing. Nothing’s perfect. Please let authors know when you find a mistake. It would really help.
Secondly, let’s talk about punctuation. Have you ever considered that many authors misuse punctuation as an expression of their art? Oftentimes, writing is an art form, not an exercise in composition. You can play with fiction. Maybe the punctuation is the way the author wants it-a vital part of their creation. Didn’t Faulkner win a Pulitzer for doing funky stuff with, or without, punctuation? Indie musicians become rock gods because of an early riff or the wrong drum beat. They are considered geniuses for their ‘mistakes’. Why aren’t indie authors who misuse words or punctuation viewed much the same?
Lastly, you don’t like the ending. You don’t like the ending? What’s that all about? Yes, we live in a world where you can choose the ending of some TV shows, but c’mon, we’re talking about books. Since when do you get to choose how a book ends? The ending is chosen by the author. As a matter of fact, the entire book is the author’s concept. Currently, some authors ARE experimenting with allowing fans to choose the ending. You work with us, we’ll work with you. How’s that? Remember, writing is an art form…
Indie music is glamourized and glorified, which is completely understandable. When that indie scene started, the word from the major recording labels was that indie musician’s weren’t good enough to get a record deal. Doesn’t that sound like what is currently going on in the publishing world, only with authors? Now, don’t get me wrong, should a major publisher chose to sign me, I would graciously accept the offer. (I’m not holding my breath.) Until that day dawns, I will, and more importantly, I CAN publish as an indie author.
Wasn’t the American Revolution ignited by an independent writer named Tom Paine? Throughout history, indie writers have taken on many genres, forms and roles. Love us and all our flaws because we have the courage to publish independently. Get with today’s indie publishing revolution because we’re not going away. For those who already support us, thank you. Your dedication and insight mean a great deal.
Next time you read an indie book or story, find reasons to fall in love with it. Does it inspire you? Is it original?
We’re writers. Don’t hate us because we’re imaginative. We’re reclusive. We’re enigmatic. Will you accept our work, or laugh at us? Either way, we wish to share our dreams and visions with you. Join us. Give us a bit of your time. Instead of buying that cup of coffee which will eventually find its way to a landfill, download someone’s book. You won’t regret it, I promise.
So what’s wrong with being indie? Absolutely nothing. Free your mind and enjoy the ride.
Special first anniversary blog. Originally published July, 2013 via Medium.com


Monday, July 14, 2014

What's Your Secret? CONFESSIONS Now Available!

CONFESSIONS of a SEX ADDICT 
is now available on Amazon for only 99c. Four sexy stories of love, magic, surprises and secret trysts by four hot writers - 
Jinni James, Elodie Parkes, Electra von Drego and Hunter S. Jones. 
What's your secret?

Secrets revealed.
One hot summer, four sultry stories. 
An erotic anthology with a twist, set in contemporary New Orleans.

Meet Andi, the bartender from Nashville who won't be faithful.
Drew, the seducer or the victim?
The anonymous one, the one who watches.
Jennifer the cougar, she's a good girl, really.
The moderator, friend or predator?


Love. Magic. Guilty Pleasures.
Love is the drug.

Friday, June 27, 2014

The Mutinous Boomer Speaks!

Confessions of an Instinctively Mutinous Baby Boomer
and her 
Parable of the Tomato Plant


Special blog post written by the Mutinous One 

Marsha Roberts

A few weeks ago I  released "Confessions of an Instinctively Mutinous Baby Boomer" as an audiobook - truly a labor of love. My best gal friend also happens to be a fabulous actress I've worked with for years: Della Cole. You see, I'm also a theatrical producer and Della and I have traveled the globe together entertaining American troops and their families, here in the states and overseas. I share some of these adventures in my Mutinous Boomer book and since Della was actually there during many of them, she is able to bring a personal warmth to the narration that you rarely hear in an audiobook. Reviewers have often commented that my style of writing is like sitting down with an old friend, sharing life lessons over a cup of coffee. Della's approach to the narration definitely captures that tone and I couldn't be more pleased that she's my "voice."

~~>> AUDIO SAMPLE <<~~

Of course my book is also available as an ebook, which means that if you have a Kindle, the Whispersync technology is available, where you can listen to it when you like, then when you're ready to pick it up and read again, it's synced up to where you left off! Amazing how they do that! Plus, for those who would rather curl up to a physical book, Mutinous Boomer is also in paperback.

What is my book about? It's about what happens when real life collides with real miracles! Is it a memoir? Yes, in a way. Is it spiritual? Certainly, in that everything is. Do I reveal my deepest, darkest secrets? A few of them. Why should someone want to read or listen to it? I'll quote one of my reader's reviews, "If you believe in miracles, or if you don't and you would like to, read this book." Or listen to it!



Links








Sunday, June 22, 2014

ROCK STAR ROMANCE by LISA GILLIS

ROCK STAR ROMANCE TRILOGY AVAILABLE!!!



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VIEW AND BUY LINK TO THE BOOK SET 
(Feel free to add your own affiliate code)

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 BLURB

They are friends in public, lovers in private. In an age of sex, drugs, rock and roll, they want it all. But 'all' has a different definition to everyone. What happens when sexy drummer Matt Loren wants bandmate Jules Breaux as more than a bedroom plaything? Is her love more than a four letter word?

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ABOUT THE SERIES

NEW ROCK STAR ROMANCE RELEASE!

Love Rock Stars?

Last summer, Lisa Gillis debuted her new series Six Silver Strings.

The G-Strings Set starring Jack Storm, rock star, and single mom Marissa Dupleux won us over with a sinfully sexy yet moody musician, and a slightly star-struck heroine. Throw in a couple of dogs, a precocious toddler, sizzling chemistry between Jack and Marissa, and this cast is not easy to leave behind.

This summer brings the D-String Set and a whole different decade for our rock star reading addiction.

Matt Loren and Jules Breaux grew up on opposite coasts. However, the first steamy meeting between the two, makes it more than obvious that six states wouldn't have kept these star-crossed lovers apart forever.

Jules, daughter of two jet-setting parents, is a rebel, and a borderline alcoholic in the opening chapters. Matt, who turns up in Los Angeles to meet his estranged father, is responsible in every way. The two are drawn together by their love for music, and talent for composing it. In the creation of a band, they become fast friends-and just as quickly become more. They hide their steamy affair for the sake of the band. At least, that's their excuse to each other and themselves. As the chapters move along, each have their own reasons for embracing a noncommittal relationship as tightly as they embrace one another when no one is looking.

This hot love affair, and the tension that comes with it, spans almost a decade during a time when saying "I'm sorry" wasn't as easy as having a cell phone at the fingertips and time when keeping tabs on an ex wasn't a social network page away.

The series is released as a box set, which means hours of uninterrupted summer reading ahead.

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EXCERPT

“How many times can I apologize?”

With the chair in her hand, and magazine in other, she couldn’t fend him off when he retaliated by pulling her back against his wet length, and by grabbing her. He couldn’t seem to get enough of the little bit of weight gain covered at the moment by her bikini top.

“Can I help it if I like your apologies?”

Jules tried to glare at him, but she couldn’t. The memory he’d just alluded to was only a few weeks old. They had been alone in his bedroom, and she couldn’t even remember what she had been sorry for. It had been something silly… just an excuse to goof off… to fool around… to go down.

The blush heating her face had to be visible even in the hot sun. Thankfully, both Candi and Marc were somewhere on a wave far behind them as Matt was just coming in from an attempted ride on the board. Several people were scattered on the beach, but seemed to be paying no mind to them. It was a good thing. Because Matt must have remembered the aforementioned apology in detail as soon as he said it.

“You have only yourself to blame.” Jules told him when she felt his plight.

“That’s just not true. I blame you. Surfing in your little bikini. Sitting here in your little bikini…”

His hands had dropped to her waist. Maybe in self-defense to remind her she was a human shield. Water dripped from his hair as he bent his head, speaking his seductive words right next to her ear. Seducing her in front of at least a dozen people, ankle deep in high tide, at high noon.


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SOCIAL CONNECTIONS

Browse Lisa Gillis Personal Web Page

Friend Lisa the Drama Queen Gillis on Facebook

Visit Lisa's Kindle Author Page

Google Plus

Lisa's Blog

Twitter

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AUTHOR BIO
Lisa Gillis resides in Texas, and often references this state in her books. Writing is a recent passion, and she strives in her books to blend a perfect mixture of fantasy and reality. Her love for music, bands, and concerts inspired her Strings Series. When she is not writing those little voices out of her head while listening to music, she is making her own noise on drums or guitar. You can visit her at http://www.rockstarreads.com/

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Tell us a bit about your newest series The daughter of an iconic 60's rock star, is torn between making a name for herself in the 70's and quietly living a simpler life, and of course there is a steamy romance involved, with a hot musician.

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Tuesday, June 17, 2014

SURVIVING the STORM by Sherry A. Burton #SummerMustRead


Following a tragic year, Abby thinks she is making a wise choice when she agrees to marry Jacob. While admittedly not in love with him, he has always made her feel safe and protected. That feeling quickly dissipates when he reveals his true colors on their wedding day. With no means to escape, Abby must decide her fate. Not willing to bend to her new husband’s rule, she is in a fight for survival, and a desperate race to discover what secrets he is keeping from her. Secrets that threaten to destroy the very foundation of her soul. Set in New Orleans during a storm that devastated so many, Surviving the Storm is a tension-building tale of suspense that does not let up until the two storms collide.

This is one of those fantastic books that you just have to read. If possible, I would give it ten stars. Yeah, it's that good. Get your copy today on Amazon!

Sunday, June 15, 2014

Presenting AMBER LEA EASTON & DANCING BAREFOOT

We are pleased to present:

Jessica Moriarty appears to have it all—a successful career as an architect, a loyal group of friends, a gorgeous apartment, and an on-again-off-again affair with Boston's most eligible bachelor. Behind this “perfect life” fa├žade, Jessica hides the loss she feels over giving up her dream career as an artist, copes with a destructive relationship with her alcoholic mother, and struggles with heartbreak over a lost love.

Jacques Sinclair only needs his cameras, a backpack, and a good pair of walking shoes. A world-renowned photographer, he is a man without boundaries. Despite fame and fortune, he still yearns for the woman who shattered his heart when she vanished from his life five years ago.

A chance meeting brings Jacques and Jessica back together. Reunions aren't always planned or welcomed, but chemistry has a way of revealing what is denied. Ensnared in a web of sabotage and conspiracy—carefully constructed by people who want to control their lives—Jacques and Jessica struggle to trust each other, break free from the status quo, reclaim their love, and build a life of extraordinary possibility.


Amber Lea Easton is a multi-published fiction and nonfiction author. Smart is sexy, according to Easton, which is why she writes about strong female characters who have their flaws and challenges but ultimately persevere. She currently has six contemporary romance and romantic suspense novels out in the world: Kiss Me Slowly, Riptide, Reckless Endangerment, Anonymity, In Between, and Dancing Barefoot. Her memoir, Free Fall, is dedicated to suicide prevention, awareness, and helping others navigate the dark journey of grief.

In addition, Easton works as an editor, freelance journalist, and professional speaker. She speaks on subjects ranging from writing to widowhood. Some of her videos on romance writing have appeared on the international Writers & Authors television network. Current radio appearances are linked via her author website, http://www.amberleaeaston.com.

Easton currently lives with her two teenagers in the Colorado Rocky Mountains where she gives thanks daily for the gorgeous view outside her window. She finds inspiration from traveling, the people she meets, nature and life’s twists and turns. At the end of the day, as long as she's writing, she considers herself simply to be "a lucky lady liv'n the dream."

Easton also publishes under the name Dakota Skye who has one paranormal erotic romance, Blurred Lines, currently available and another, Deadly Decadence, due out in the fall of 2014


 

Amazon Author Page: viewAuthor.at/AmberLeaEaston

Excerpt One (short)

 

She stood on the threshold of the bookstore dodging patrons and pedestrians. Ten past seven. Regret sagged her knees. For the second time in her life, she labeled herself the Queen of Self-Sabotage. As if leaning against a fierce wind of remorse, she pushed the door open, and forced one foot in front of the other.

“I’m looking for Jacques Sinclair.” She forced the words from a too-dry throat.

“I’m sorry, you just missed him.” The employee didn’t look up from the stack of books she arranged on a table.

Missed him. She nodded without truly understanding how she could have undermined herself like this. Again. “He’s really gone then?”

The girl worked as if she hadn’t spoken, head down, oblivious.

Her gaze connected with the cover of Jacques’s book. Legs heavy and unsteady, she maneuvered toward the display until she touched the cover with her fingertips.

Rome.

Closing her eyes, she smelled the overpowering scent of the roses, felt the early morning breeze against bare skin, sensed him moving behind her, tasted him on her lips, heard the low sound of his voice saying her name.

“Excuse me, do you know if Mr. Sinclair is staying in Boston tonight?” she asked.

The woman looked at her as if she were a stalker. “He probably went back to New York. His gallery exhibit isn't until next weekend.”

“Back to New York?” Information overload crashed her system. So close. The same side of the Atlantic. She braced herself against the counter.

“He lives in New York,” she answered as if speaking to a small, slow child.

“Right. He has an exhibit next Saturday. I saw that in the article...what gallery?” She handed over her credit card and blinked at the cover again.

"The Bliss Institute."

Breathing ceased again and she silently cursed Fate. Her friend Miranda owned the Bliss Institute. What was happening? Did Jacques know that? Of course not, how could he? She felt like an insane woman on the precipice of a major nervous breakdown.

“Are you all right?” The woman grabbed the book and slipped it into a bag.

“Perfect, never better.” She needed a martini…she’d give her life for a martini. Oblivion sounded like heaven right now.

The girl handed her the receipt before stepping away as if afraid of catching the insanity bug.

Six weeks. Jacques planned on being in Boston for six weeks.

Laughter from upstairs halted her retreat. As if dragging her legs through mud, she walked toward the stairs. With every step, memories overpowered her. Laughing in bed with rain falling outside open windows, whispered secrets in the dark, sharing wine directly from the bottle, feeding each other bread with their fingertips.

Him asking her to marry him, her saying yes.

Her throwing it all away for reasons that now seemed meaningless.

“We should go, Jacques. We’re running late. Miranda's already at the restaurant.” A stick-like man with shaggy brown hair and black-framed eye glasses appeared at the top of the stairs.

She stood on the bottom step, one foot poised to ascend, her hand on the railing and blocking the way. She clutched the bag to her side and turned to flee.

“Jess?” The quiet question stopped her descent. “Jessica Moriarty?”

She gripped the railing and looked up at him.

Jacques stood at the top of the stairs, blond hair falling across his forehead and skimming his ears, different from the picture on display, more like it had been when they'd known one another, shaggy and disheveled. Emerald eyes snapped with fire as his gaze raked over her from head to foot. A cobalt blue shirt had been stuffed into black jeans, half in the waistband and half out as if he simply didn’t give a damn. He’d rolled the sleeves to his elbows, exposing tanned forearms, and a leather bracelet twisted around his left wrist. He walked toward her like a predator who’d cornered his prey. Slowly...surely. Sexuality oozed from his pores with every step he took.

She stepped back and swallowed the rush of saliva that flooded her mouth.

He stopped two stairs above her. “Running away from me again?”

 

***

Excerpt Two (Adult Content)

 

He stalked toward her until her back collided with her easel. His hands gripped the top of the canvas, arms pinned her where she stood. “I haven’t wanted to remember you in a very long time.”
“I suppose not.”
“But I have.”
“Me, too.”
“Are you happy?”
“What do you mean?” She folded her arms across her chest.
“Did you make the right choice? Leaving me? Leaving our life together? Tell me you’re happy and I’ll walk out of your life forever.”
“What does it matter? I can’t undo it.”
“Why is it a difficult question for you to answer? Why can’t you tell me that you have no regrets? I want to hear it.”
“Of course I have regrets, but so what? What good does that do us?”
“That’s why I came here tonight, to see…”
“See what? I’ve done what I said I would do.” Pride forced her head high. “I’m up for associate partner at my firm. I’m a good—no, great—architect. We both succeeded without each other. Good for us.”
“You’re lying. You’re not happy.” His hand framed the side of her face, forcing her to look at him. “I see it in your face. It’s like you’ve died. You're living in the past, which tells me you're not that thrilled with the present.”
“When did you get so mean?” Too tired to fight, tears blurred her eyes. “Get out. Enough insults for one night. Just go.”
“Why are you still wearing my ring?” His voice was low and powerful in the small room.
“Why do you?”
“My ring.” Dark blond hair covered his left eye when he bent forward, only a breath away from her face. “Why are you wearing it? Does it mean anything to you or do you simply think it’s pretty?”
“Please go.” She flattened her hands against his chest, but wished she hadn’t. The feel of his hard body beneath her hands liquefied her bones.
He slammed his hand against the canvas, knocking it to the floor behind her. “You just left. One day we’re living together, talking about creating a future, and then you walked away without
ever looking back.”
“I look back in my own way. Often, too often, I need to grow up like you said.” Her lungs deflated like air from a balloon. Breathing ceased. I needed to come back here to—”
“To be safe? To do the right thing?” He had her backed against the easel. “I thought you would at least stay in touch with me, the man you supposedly loved, the man you said
you wanted to marry, the man you said you needed…but you disappeared.”
“You had my address. I didn’t disappear.”
“You let me go without a word. Until today, I hadn’t heard from you in years, yet here you are wearing my ring.”
“I said I was sorry.” Every inch of her quaked with restrained emotion. “Leave now. Go. Good luck with your exhibit, the workshop, with your life, all of it. Just get the hell out of my house.”
“Do you know why I brought your address with me? Do you?”
“You wanted to tell me off, right? That’s why you came here, to hurt me.”
“I wanted to show you how much I don’t care.”
“Doesn’t that show me how much you really do care?” She lifted her chin, determined not to cry.
A fraction of an inch separated their bodies. She dragged her gaze over the opened buttons of his shirt, over his neck, over his lips until resting on the deep green of his eyes. Damn, the man rocked the word 'sexy'.
Boldness replaced caution.
Standing on tiptoes, she smoothed her hands along the front of his chest. Touching him again was like coming home from a long, exhausting journey.
He shook his head once as if trying to clear his mind. Only once. He stared at her lips. His hands curled around her forearms, but he didn’t push her away.
“Kiss me,” she whispered against his mouth.
“No,” he whispered as his hands slid up her arms before cupping the back of head.
"I dare you."
"Never."
"I know you want to."
"I don't."
"Now who's the liar?" she asked, her teeth tugging at his lower lip.
Their mouths met in a kiss that melted her skin like candle wax, turning them into one being, one entity consumed by desire. To hell with restraint and regret. She needed this, needed him, here and now.
Passion overrode all other thought or senses. Her hands stroked his back, kneading and searching. Every sense was alive with his touch, with his kiss. The need for him was an ache that burned deep. Hot. Necessary. Urgent. Primal
God, she had missed this, missed him.
He ripped her tank top in two and tossed the material aside.
His hands squeezed her breasts while his mouth devoured hers.
She yanked his shirt free from his jeans and shoved it high on his chest, needing his skin against hers more than she'd ever needed anything in life. Clothes fell away, bread crushed beneath their bodies, wine spilled from an overturned bottle at their feet.
They fell against the easel, knocking the canvas and paint in every direction. A tangle of limbs, they made eye contact for a moment, chests heaving, breathing labored.
"This is wrong," he muttered against her skin.
"Right. Always right with us." She sank her fingernails into his shoulders.
"What the lady wants, the lady gets," he said, a predatory gleam in his eyes.
His hands worked at pushing her yoga pants over her hips while his mouth claimed her breast.
She looped her toes in the waistband of his underwear and yanked them over his thighs. Her hands sought his erection while her back arched with every stroke of his hands and every lick of his tongue.
He ground himself inside her with the intensity of repressed rage. Her legs wrapped around his hips, holding him as close as possible as he plunged deep inside her.
Sex had never been tame with him, but this was animalistic. This was raw. Teeth sank into skin. Nails scraped against each other's bodies. They rolled together, locked as one being. Streaks of yellow and red paint lined their faces, stuck in their hair, no one cared.
Waves of pleasure rolled through her veins like a tsunami until all strength left her body. She laughed, breathless, as her mouth sought his again in a kiss filled with satisfaction and surprise.
"Is this what you meant by a do-over?" He shoved his hands through her hair, palms framing her face, and stared into her eyes. His chest rose and fell against hers.
"Not exactly, but it'll do," she whispered, still out of breath, heartbeat slamming like a caged bird's wings inside her chest.
His mouth sucked on her lower lip, tongue teased hers. "I don't know what to do with you, Jessica Moriarty."
"You've always known exactly what to do with me, Jacques Sinclair." She repeated the words they'd always said to one another. She dipped her finger into the wet yellow paint on the canvas beneath his head before smearing it across his chin and over his mouth.
He grabbed her hand, linked his fingers with hers and stared into her eyes. Laughter faded. “This shouldn't have happened. I lost control, I always lose control around you.”
He rolled away and stared at the ceiling. Then he stood and pulled a piece of cheese from where it had stuck to his shoulder. Without looking at her, he dressed.
Rattled from the sex and his reaction, she stumbled to standing, grabbed the blanket from the sofa and wrapped it around herself. Man, she was on a roll today with fucking up her life.
He walked down the stairs without saying a word.
She returned to the kitchen to find him still waiting. She'd hoped he'd gone. Back against the wall, he finished buttoning his shirt. He hadn't bothered to wipe the streaks of paint from his face and hair; then again, neither had she. When he lifted his gaze to hers, he looked agonized.
"I didn't intend on that. I should go," he said.
“Stay. Don't go. Maybe we should talk or something.”
She wanted to scream, stomp her foot like a child, fall to her knees …anything to make him stay.
“There is someone else, Jess. Life moved on without you.” His quiet words sliced her heart into a million pieces. “I came here for answers, to understand. I didn't intend to rip your clothes off. I only wanted to understand why you left me. That’s all.”
“And now you understand?”
“No.” He shook his head, a slight grin curving his lips. “But I accept that I will never understand.”
She rubbed the palm of her hand over her face. Of course he had someone else. She had discarded him like a used napkin.
“You're serious with this woman? What you said about the different women all the time was just to hurt me, right?”
“Yes to both questions.”
A chasm ripped through the room, creating a space larger than the ocean that had once separated them. She felt the loss of him again, more powerful, more poignant than before.
“I wish it wasn’t like this between us…”
“I’m still the same man you left in Italy. The reasons you left haven’t changed. I’m a gypsy at heart, never in one place longer than six months or so.” He looked at the matching ring on his finger and blew out a long breath.
“Please leave. Your girlfriend must be wondering what the hell you’re doing.” She hugged her arms across her chest and tapped her foot against the floor. “Please leave, Jacques.”
“Am I wrong? Are you happy? Tell me I’m wrong about you. Tell me that you love being an architect. Tell me that you honestly don’t regret leaving me.” With every word, his face mirrored the agony she felt.
“Tell me that you have no regrets, that you are happy with your life as it is now.”
“My life is damn near perfect.” She forced a smile. “Partnership is in sight, remember? Corner office here I come. I have everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s a fucking love fest.”
“It is time I let this go then.” With a quick movement, he pulled the ring from his finger and laid it on the back of the red chair.
She stared at the ring against the faded fabric. “Please don’t leave it. Like you said, it’s yours.”
“Keep it, throw it away, it no longer matters to me. Be well, bella.” Door open, he hesitated at the threshold and looked around the room before meeting her gaze again. Bella. The word hung in the air as they stared at one another, the language of Italy dancing in her memory and tugging at her heart.
Caro…” she whispered.
Without another look back, he closed the door behind him.
She listened to the fall of his footsteps on the stairs, the outside door opening and closing, and folded his ring into her palm. She pressed the closed fist against lips still swollen from his kiss. Silent tears streaked her face.
"What have I done?" Back against the door, she slid to the floor. The question she asked had no answer. Even she didn't know if she meant the past or the present; conflicting emotions meshed together in her brain like the various paint streaks staining her skin.
 
 
dancing barefoot tablet
But first a taste of the early reviews...
4 stars
via Avid Reader:
"I loved this
story.
It was refreshingly honest, brutally tragic, and at times lyrical in it's flow. Their connection was so intense that as I read it, I was like this absolutely cannot survive. Love this intense and in your face has a slow burn to it, and will torch everything in i's path until it is stamped out...There was nothing contrived about it. I felt like I was literally a fly on the wall and this was happening in reality and not fiction land. I liked them both, probably one of the best couples I have ever read."...read entire review http://goo.gl/R191Sa
5 stars via ChristophFischerBooks
"Conflicting emotions and insurmountable chemistry cause both of them to reassess the past, their current lives and priorities. Easton shows the magnetic and hypnotic effect of physical and emotional attraction very well and the gradual crumbling of outer facades and deep inner resolve. This is a romantic fantasy written in a convincing and heart warming manner and with enough complications thrown in to make for a very entertaining and gripping read."...read entire review http://goo.gl/R191Sa
5 stars via Sglas, Amazon reader review:
"Excitement, intrigue, twists and turns! Dancing Barefoot has it all. Very hard to put down." read entire review http://goo.gl/R191Sa
GET IT TODAY!!
Amazon: myBook.to/DB
Link to the prequel, In Between: an Italian love story, that is a permanent free read on the author blog (14 chapters total): http://goo.gl/T9XCOj
Tune in for more:


Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Meet PM Briede and Wild Fire!



Book Blurb:

I know their secrets. 

Most people would end their relationships with these men. These men who betrayed my trust, and in some cases, my heart. Unfortunately for me, I’m not most people. Hell, there are times when I wonder where and when my common sense abandoned me. 

Then there’s the war. The war you don’t know about. The war I shouldn’t know about. But I’m centered in it because I’m a pawn of higher beings, angels. Well, ex-angels. Exiles, to be exact. 

The only way to stop this exile rebellion is to track down its instigator, prove it’s not someone I love. Only problem is that exiles can hide their face from the world if they choose, and most do. Then there’s that pesky fire, the ignes iudicii, which doesn’t just kill you, but burns you out of existence, out of history, altogether. 

All I have to aid me in my quest are these men, until one of them betrays me. So here I stand, Charlotte Grace, essentially alone.


Book Excerpt:

Having been used and abused by exiled angels for most of my life, I have had enough!  A line was crossed with what they did to Wesley, and in turn what they did to me.  I am tired of being manipulated; tired of being a pawn.
Walk away, you say?  I desperately wish I could.  But trust me, you don’t want me to.  It could be your life if I did.  And at this point I can’t anyway.  I can’t stand by any longer and watch people get hurt; watch people die.

The Presidential campaign is coming to a close and the exiles plan is becoming clearer every day, chaos and destruction across the globe.  Wars, terror, violence, everything we think is senseless and random are all just tactics to turn humanity against itself.

So this is it.  Charlotte Grace is going on the offensive, backed by my secret weapon, Olivier.  An exile himself who can no longer stand idly by.  I may not be much, but you better hope that I’m enough.

Excerpt:

Moving to put the phone to my ear, I froze before it got there.  An update broke over the prerecorded news segment to report another shooting at the parade in the heart of downtown New Orleans.  This time the feed was live and you could hear the rat-ta-tat-tat of gunfire.  The field anchor was huddled behind the news van reporting that the gunfire seemed to be coming from multiple directions and police were working strategically to get people to safety.  His incessant “everyone needs to remain calm” vexed me because the people who truly needed that information most weren’t exactly watching the news at the given moment.

A hollow “Charlotte” kept calling out over the noise of the TV, making it eerily like I was there on Canal Street.  I vaguely realized Olivier was talking with someone on his everyday cell.  When the blood splattered from either the anchor or cameraman getting shot, my stomach flipped and had I had breakfast, I would have lost it.  Whatever had been in my hand fell and shattered against Paige’s hardwood floors.  The picture went black and that was when I blinked and took in the chaos taking place in the house.

Olivier and Paige were racing through the rooms, cell phones firmly planted in their ears.  Paige’s oldest son, Spencer, was standing beside me and it took me a moment to comprehend he was not only saying my name but also trying desperately to put something in my hand.  Finally, the words sunk in.  “Aunt Charlotte, it’s Uncle Wesley.  He says it’s urgent that he talk to you.”

I took the phone and ran back out to the backyard, to the relative stillness, throwing myself on the swing.  His name was the only thing I got to say.  “God, Charlotte!”  Anxiety laced Wesley’s voice, making it shrill.  “You gave me a heart attack.  Are you alright?”  He didn’t pause to allow me to answer.  “Never mind, they called us to inform us of all the shootings.  We just got word that the school’s band was in the midst of the scene.  Students are down and I was petrified Cheval and you were there.”  Everything he said afterward I didn’t hear.  We were supposed to be there but Max, my boss, refused to let us go, what with my attackers being out and Detective Winters saying I needed to avoid crowds.

“Oh, my God!” I exclaimed.  “Max and Liam are there for us, have you heard anything?  Wait, you said they were down?  How many?  How bad?  What do you know?”  The questions came rapid fire with no time for an answer before I posed the next.  My heart was racing from worry, for our students, for their families, for my friends.  The breaths were harder to take and I quickly found myself hyperventilating.

“LOVE!”  His raised voice acted as a defibrillator for my lungs, so to speak.  The shock caused me to take the deep breath I needed to keep from passing out.  “That’s it, breathe with me, Charlotte.”  Instructing me as if we were in a birthing room, Wesley helped me regain control.  “I don’t know anything else.  From the images we’ve seen, people are just on the ground.  We don’t know if they were shot or are trying to take cover.  Look, I’ve got to go but I needed to hear your voice.  I’ll keep you posted and the campaign is headed home.  We should be there tonight.  I love you.”

I had just enough time to say the words back before the line was dead.  Olivier burst through the door and ran to me.  “Charlotte, we have to go.  Paige and I are going to the scene.  I’m going to try and help as many as I can.  The police are going to escort you and the boys to the school.  I’ve talked with Max.  He’s okay as well as the bulk of our students but he wants the school closed tomorrow.  He needs you to handle the logistics of getting in touch with the families.”

It took me longer than normal to process all Olivier had said.  When I asked how he was going to help he shifted.  His crooked nose straightened.  His face grew longer.  His hair became shorter and turned black and his skin took on an olive hue.  It was a minute before I recognized the face Olivier now wore.  It was the one I’d named Jeff from after the attack.  Olivier answered the question in my eyes.  “You’ve already given me a backstory with the police.  Paige can get me close to my students.”  It wasn’t until he took me by the shoulders that I realized I was shaking uncontrollably.  “Charlotte, it’s going to be okay.  But Paige and I have to get going.  Do not leave the school until Breaux or I get there.  Do you understand?”
“Yes, you think you’re going to be that long?  Why do we have to go to the school?”  I asked when I finally found my voice as Olivier shifted back to the face I knew.

His arm slid around my neck as Olivier kissed my forehead.  “Carissime, you’d never forgive me if I left Paige in the midst of all that bedlam and something happened to her.  I’d never forgive myself.  You’ll be safe at the school.  The house is a logistical nightmare for one patrolman to guard.  With everything going on downtown there isn’t anyone to spare to keep you safe.  Keep the boys with you and barricade yourself in your office.  I hate that I have to choose.  I know I’ve said I’d always be there to protect you.  But I know you, of all people, understand why I have to choose Paige, choose our students.  I have to go.  Look out for yourself.  I need to have you to come back to.”

Before Olivier could slip away from me and submerse himself in danger to protect my friend, I caught his neck and kissed his lips.  “You look out for yourself, charissimus, and make sure to come back to me.”

A quick smile turned up the corners of his mouth.  “Immortal, remember?  No matter what, I’ll come back to you.  I’ll always come back to you.”  Then he was gone.

PM Briede
BIO:
I am a lover of all things artistic. I grew up surrounded by the performing arts both as a spectator and performer. That love of creation and design is the fuel for my writing now. Being able to create and entertain is a dream come true.
The imagination is a powerful thing, able to take you places you never dreamed. I write realistic fantasy. The idea of the possible having impossible explanations fascinates me. That idea is the driving force behind the Charlotte Grace series.
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Look for an exciting announcement regarding PM's newest release, Ashes, later this week!