Tuesday, November 4, 2014

Nancy Fraser and the Muse Presented by @GoddessFish



AUTHOR Bio and Links:


Like most authors, Nancy Fraser began writing at an early age, usually on the walls and with crayons or, heaven forbid, permanent markers. Her love of writing often made her the English teacher’s pet, which, of course, resulted in a whole lot of teasing. Still, it was worth it.

When not writing (which is almost never), Nancy dotes on her five beautiful grandchildren and looks forward to traveling and reading when time permits. Nancy lives in Atlantic Canada where she enjoys the relaxed pace and colorful people.

Website: www.nancyfraser.ca

Blog: http://nancyfraser.ca/wordpress/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/nfraserauthor  @nfraserauthor

Facebook: http://facebook.com/nancyfraserauthor

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7206382.Nancy_Fraser


What's your favorite book you've written?
It’s not just a book, but a series of novellas. Called the Golden Decade of Rock and Roll, the first 4 are already out and story #5 (Dream Lover), comes out in December. The stories are set from 1955-1964 and the titles are all Rock and Roll song titles from each of the ten years. The covers are beautifully vintage and include a jukebox and record background. The stories themselves reflect the romance of the time period.


What was the hardest book to write and why?
Actually the one I’m working on now has been an emotional rollercoaster and it’s taking me far longer than it should. It’s the third book in a proposed five-book, co-authored series of post-Civil War romances. What’s making it nearly impossible to complete is that my writing partner passed away in May from cancer. I want desperately to finish the book in her honor, as well as the rest of the proposed series. However, sitting down and actually writing has been difficult.  I’m pretty sure Patti’s up there teaching the angels how to write romance and cursing me out because I haven’t finished the book!

What tips would you give a new writer?
This is a question I love to answer. First of all, develop a thick skin and do it quickly. Also, accept the fact that there will be things you’ll need to let go. It’s inevitable that your editor is going to ask you to change the one scene you thought was perfect. Get good (and fast) at promotion even before your book comes out. Social media is an absolute (we barely had email when I started writing). However, it can also be a huge time-suck if you don’t learn how to manage it before the book comes out. And, finally, organize everything. Develop a separate “media” folder for every book so that everything you need (tweets, FB posts, bio, buy links, blurb and excerpt) is in one document. Your bio should also change slightly with each book. Keep the beginning the same but tailor the ending to fit the book you’re promoting (e.g., if your story has a family aspect talk about your children/grandchildren or pets; if your story is historical talk about your love of travel or the timeperiod). It doesn’t have to be a long drop in, just a sentence or two.

How much if any influence do you have on cover art
It depends on the publisher. I actively write for 4 different publishers at the moment. They all use a “cover art” form and I do my best to be as detailed as possible, including downloading images and including them when I turn in the paperwork. The very sexy, award winning cover of my co-authored historical, The Lawman’s Agreement, was actually created from an image I’d purchased through a stock company and included with my form. I also worked with the same cover artist on a contemporary months later and, again, she used my choice of photo. With my R&R novellas, I worked with the cover artist to develop the recurring them (jukebox and record) and then the artist chooses the character to add to the cover. The cover design for The Muse was exactly as I’d invisioned the characters. Then, on top of that, the cover artist blew me away with the sepia tone and splash of red lipstick.


What are your current projects?
Obviously finishing the third book in our post-Civil War series is first on my agenda. I’ve also signed a contract with Decadent Publishing to do another 1920’s erotic romance. The Mysterious Mrs. Pennybaker is based on a true story of a woman who worked as a spy during WW I with a lot of steamy sex (and two men) thrown in for good measure.
As well, the sixth book in my R&R series is due soon. AND, I am also working on a vintage historical/rework of a Grimm fairytale for Decadent Publishing’s Beyond Fairytales line.


Describe your writing style in ten words or less.
The creativity black hole: Grandma’s “just” writing. She can babysit.


Personal Questions

What did you want to be when you grew up?
Exactly what I am, a published author. Dreams do come true if you’re patient and/or stubborn.


Do you ever wish that you had an entirely uncreative job, like data entry or working in a factory?
Been there, done that. I’ve done everything from waitressing to training customer service agents for call centers. No thanks. I’ll take writing, even if it’s only a FB post, any day!


If you came with a warning label, what would it say?
Warning: prone to fits of weirdness. May require straight jacket or laptop in order to restore sanity.

What is your favorite comfort food?
Homemade banana pudding.

If you could have three wishes granted, what would you wish for?
Good health for myself and my family. A NYT bestseller and a sexy, younger man who appreciates a mature woman.




The Muse
by Nancy Fraser

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BLURB:

Privileged Hyde Park socialite, Susan Leland, wants more from life than being a rich man’s daughter. She wants excitement, daring, but most of all, she wants to explore her sexuality. A chance meeting with artist Evan Forrester, a man she’d met purely by ‘accident’ months earlier, leads Susan on a journey of sensual discovery that not only includes the handsome Evan, but also sultry torch singer, Holly Winters. Together, the singer and the artist uncover Susan’s utmost desires and unleash her inner vamp.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

EXCERPT:

Susan tapped lightly on the solid oak door leading to Evan Forrester’s downtown loft. The building was old, in parts dilapidated and smelling of mold. The three-story climb to his studio had been precarious, with more broken stairs than good ones. The urge to turn and flee ran rampant through her thoughts. She still couldn’t believe she was actually taking him up on his suggestion.

She hesitated. She hadn’t pictured him being destitute, a starving artist unable to afford something better than this run-down building. As hard as she tried to ignore her inner voice, she couldn’t hide her concern for the safety of her situation. Eager to be out of the dark, damp hallway, she knuckled the door a bit harder, stopping just short of actually using her balled-up fist to pound the old wood.

From behind the barrier, she could hear the shuffle of footsteps, and held her breath in anticipation. When the door opened, she let her breath out on a sigh of relief.

“You’re here,” Evan said, his gaze flaring as if she’d caught him by surprise.

“You said one o’clock,” Susan reminded him. She made a rather deliberate show of staring at her bare wrist. “It’s five minutes of, according to my watch.”

He stepped back and allowed her inside. Unlike the dark entryway and corridors leading to the third floor, his loft was filled with color, vivid splashes of paint adorning walls full of original artwork. Windows rose from floor to ceiling, allowing the early afternoon sun to shine through, unimpeded by draperies of any kind. Sparsely furnished with nothing more than a few chairs and a small kitchen table. Susan wondered what lay behind each of the three doors along the back wall.

“Truthfully, I didn’t think you’d show.” He waved his hand in a circle, the arc encompassing the entire open living area. “I don’t get many Hyde Park society girls in my studio.”

She raised her chin a notch. “Whether you realize it or not, I’m not like most Hyde Park girls.” When he didn’t comment, she reminded him, “You said I could make up for the accident by posing for you. I’m here to make amends for—as you put it—the pain and suffering my recklessness caused.”

He chuckled, the teasing lilt of his voice drawing her attention to where he stood. It was then she realized he was dressed in little more than a pair of tight- fitting denim rousers and an unbuttoned shirt. A sparse patch of short curls adorned his well-muscled chest, trailing downward to disappear inside the waistband of his pants. His feet were bare and his dark hair tousled, as if she’d awoken him from a sound sleep. His second laugh, this one much heartier than the first, told her she’d been caught staring. A sudden wave of heat rushed her cheeks. Her pulse raced.

“As I said last night, I don’t do formal portraits.”

His words drew her gaze back to his face, his mouth, the fullness of his lips. She raised her head and nodded. “Let’s just get this over with, please.”

He crooked his finger and motioned for her to follow. “Bathroom’s through there, if you need the facilities.” He opened the door to the middle room. “This is my bedroom. You can change in here, if you’d like. There’s a dressing gown hanging on the back of the door.”

“Change into what?” she asked. Her throat suddenly as dry as a pile of cotton batting, she slipped out of her lightweight coat and cloche and laid them at the foot of the bed.

Evan shook his head; his eyebrows arched and wagged teasingly. “Into as very little as you’re comfortable with, Miss Leland. I prefer totally nude, but if you’d like to leave your fancy drawers on, I can use my imagination.” He motioned toward the wooden table in the corner of the room. “There are some props, jewelry and the sort, over there, if you’d like to doll yourself up.”

“Anything else?” She did her best to put a sarcastic bent to her question yet feared her voice trembled too much to make the right impression.

He lowered his gaze from her face, across her body, down her legs, settling at last on her ankles. The intensity of his perusal made her toes curl.

“Take off those shoes and put on a pair with ankle straps. Preferably black. There should be a pair in the closet that will fit you.” He turned toward the door, stopping to add, “My studio is in the next room over. I’ll prepare a fresh canvas. Don’t take forever. I have someone coming at three.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~


 Now on sale at for 99cents.


GIVEAWAY:
Nancy will be awarding a $15 GC to winner's choice of an online book retailer to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour, and another randomly drawn winner will be awarded a Reader's Coffee Mug (US/Canada - $5 GC for international winners). A $10 GC from the online book retailer ofthe host's choice will be awarded to a randomly drawn host.
the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here: 


 a Rafflecopter giveaway

Thanks Nancy and GoddessFish for stopping by,

Friday, October 31, 2014

Released Today - Deputy's Bride by @AnitaPhilmar

Anita1 Hi, everyone,

 I'm so excited about Deputy's Bride. It is the next book in my Naked Bluff, Texas series. Remember back in book one "In Deep Water," we meet Texas Deputy Bo Kildare. Well, he's back in a book of his own. This story is a little longer than the first two books in the series. What can I say, lawmen can be so demanding.


TG-DBRiDE-300x450

  See book in Kindle Store
. Texas Deputy Bo Kildare is looking for a special kind of lady, one that is willing to meet his special requirements. No sweet little virgin will do, he wants a woman who knows how to please a man, perhaps two.

 Recently widowed, Sarah Elizabeth Foster-LaFever has lived in the public eye for the last few years and wants out. Her reputation as Micah LaFever’s wife has left her penniless and without many viable options until Bo comes calling. Now, she believes she found the perfect man until her past rears its ugly head.

Can murder and corrupt dealings keep these two lovers from making it to the alter?

Warning this is a very hot book, menage, threesome...

Excerpt: “God, when is he going to get here,” Sarah muttered and strolled to the freestanding, oval mirror in the corner.
Critically, she examined her silk dressing gown’s high collar. Unable to breathe with every button running down the front of garment secured, she’d only connected a few at her waist. The dark red robe highlighted her creamy complexion and light blonde hair.

Through the open at the top, she viewed the curve of her breasts and the tight fit of her corset. The cream color almost matched her skin, creating the illusion that she was nude underneath. Tugging aside her wide skirt, she examined the long line of her legs. She’d opted to omit her bloomers. One, because with the fire raging in the fireplace, she was hot. Two, because she thought Mr. Kildare should get a glimpse of what he’d receive if he decided to make her his wife.

 Granted from what Madeline had told Sarah, the man wanted more than a dutiful wife. He sounded as if he were more like her deceased husband. Micah enjoyed playing extreme bedroom games.

 She frowned, thinking how much she’d missed sex in the last year. Not because she hadn’t had the chance to indulge. More because she hadn’t wanted to fall victim to the same power hungry crowd that Micah had belonged. She’d done enough for those bastards and she had no intentions of doing... 

Knuckles hammered against her door.

 Brushing a nervous hand over her hair, she offered up a silent prayer that everything would work out before she rushed back to the doorway. After a quick breathe, she asked, “Who is it?”

 “Bo Kildare, I was sent by Madeline Cowden.”

A masculine tone rang from the other side.

 His voice alone sent shivers racing over her skin. She flipped back the lock and inched open the door. “Yes, she said you might be stopping by.”

You can read more on my website http://www.anitaphilmar.com/DeputysBride.html

Hope you enjoy,

 Anita
www.anitaphilmar.com

Monday, October 27, 2014

The Spotlight is on Choices by Pamela S. Thibodeaux




Blurb: Best-selling novelist and songwriter, Camie Rogers has penned numerous accounts of the secret love she holds in her heart. Country-Music Superstar Kip Allen has changed from the shy, humble boy, to the epitome of “star.” Can the two rediscover each other after one night of his Home is where the Heart is Tour?

Excerpt: Too soon, the concert was over, and security officers rushed her backstage. Waiting in the shadows apart from the throng of frenzied fans vying for autographs and pictures, she watched with concern as Kip raked his fingers through his hair. He heaved a tired sigh, insisted on no more autographs, and then headed for his dressing room.
Camie stepped forward, "Just one more autograph?" Kip turned at her soft request. His eyes lit with recognition, and he gave her an unreserved smile.
"Camie!" He enfolded her in a big hug. "What are you doing back here?"
A flush warmed her skin at the velvety-roughness of his voice. "I won the prize package from the radio station. You know: Front row seat, backstage pass, autographed C.D., etcetera, etcetera, etcetera." Her heart raced at his nearness, her body trembled in his strong embrace. Feeling way too comfortable in his arms, she disentangled herself and took a step back. 
 He grinned. "Great. You look good."
Her heart skipped a beat. "So do you." Electricity sizzled between them.
Always had.
Even in high school.
Theirs had been a subtle romance, underscored by sensual currents that hummed whenever their eyes met or they ventured into a conversation, both too shy to take the relationship further.
"What ever happened to us?"  She wondered aloud, finding it difficult to speak past her heart hammering in her throat. "I still get all tongue-tied when you're near." He smiled, that lazy, heart-stopping grin that drove females from age five to fifty into a frenzy.
 "You do?" he queried, pulling her closer once more.
The husky softness of his voice sent delicious shivers down her spine, and she choked on a yes.
"Me too." He stroked her cheek.
Her senses swirled at the tender touch. She placed her hand over his and gazed into his sea-green eyes. Whether a moment, an eternity, or the simple span of a heartbeat passed, she wasn’t sure, but she relished the encounter. He dropped his hand from her face and broke eye contact.
"I don't know what happened. I wanted to roam, you wanted a home." He chuckled at the corny rhyme.  "Sounds like the makings of a hit."

Purchase Links:
Pelican Book Group http://pelink.us/13N5j5g



Author bio: Award-winning author, Pamela S. Thibodeaux is the Co-Founder and a lifetime member of Bayou Writers Group in Lake Charles, Louisiana. Multi-published in romantic fiction as well as creative non-fiction, her writing has been tagged as, “Inspirational with an Edge!” ™ and reviewed as “steamier and grittier than the typical Christian novel without decreasing the message.” 


Links:
Website address: http://www.pamelathibodeaux.com  
Twitter: http://twitter.com/psthib @psthib

Thanks Pam for sharing,

Anita

Friday, October 24, 2014

#FallingIntoLove with Knight of Stone - Highland Gargoyles @lisacbooks

Knights of Stone
Highland Gargoyles 1


Gargoyles, tree witches, and wolf shifters have divided the Isle of Stone after a great battle twenty-five years ago. When Kayla, a tree witch, hears about the unconventional rock concerts in the gargoyle’s territory, she sneaks from her coven and into their territory to see for herself. Night after night, she returns to see one in particular shift into human form and play guitar at these unconventional shows.

For several nights, Mason has kept watch for the pixie-like female. He plans to seduce her, thinking she’s a visitor from another island. When he discovers she’s one of the tree witches, he retreats, attempting to keep his distance. The temptation is strong, but forbidden.

Kayla and Mason attempt to meet in secret, but other elements on the isle command their attention. A magical cloak created by the three clans on the island is thinning, leading to repercussions for all the clans. Kayla and Mason are caught in the middle of it, and their actions may change the fate for all.

This novella was originally released as part of the USA Today bestselling Highland Shifters paranormal romance boxed set.

Excerpt
A stagehand with tartan draped over one shoulder climbed onto the stage and walked to the closest statue. He fastened the kilt over its shoulder and around its waist with a thick belt, covering the statue’s massive thighs. Kayla flushed, picturing why the coverings were necessary once the transformation began. The kilt had become a key detail in her fantasies about the guitarist, since it was the only clothing he wore. The stagehand continued dressing each statue with the same brilliant blue tartan worn by the gargoyle clan.
The last vestige of sunlight disappeared from the sky, and night draped the stage like a closing curtain. The statues loomed, dark silhouettes barely discernible by the crescent moon with the backdrop of the craggy cliffs and the rugged peaks of waves in the Atlantic Ocean behind them. The murmur of voices was replaced by silence. Waiting…
Five torches blazed on the stage all at once, lit by an unseen force. The audience erupted in cheers as the dancing lights from the flickering fire basked the statues. The flames lowered, casting the gargoyles in an eerie, almost reverent glow.
Movement. So slight, Kayla wondered if it was simply a play of light and shadows in her anticipation for the change. She fixed her gaze on the statue in front of her, the one she’d gravitated to each time she’d had sneaked out to see the show. Its massive gray form stood straight on two legs built for sturdiness. Its chest jutted out proudly. Gray wings with detailed feathers etched in the stone arched from a point below its shoulder blades. Eyes cast straight ahead on a face that appeared to be a mixture of canine and lion. Its right hand twitched, so slightly she would have missed it if she hadn’t stared so intently. Then a clawed foot inched forward.
Murmurs of astonishment burst from the crowd as the transformation began. Their cries of fervor grew louder as the monstrous statues transformed into taller, slimmer figures with the bronzed skin of warriors who battled under the midday sun. The tartan fabric fell over their thighs as they stood erect, covering their nudity.
Kayla barely blinked, mesmerized as always, as the statue before her stood to full height, taking on the form of a human male, but with beautiful raven wings. Hair just as black snaked rebelliously past his chin. The stony eyes flickered with animation, turning to a mossy green. His deep gaze seared the audience, seeming to burn anything in the path. When he found Kayla, he stopped. His expression was unreadable, but the intensity in his unblinking eyes made her swallow. She froze under the scrutiny as if hypnotized, unable to break eye contact. Her stomach lurched, heart pounded, and every muscle in her body tightened, fueled with blood now scorching through her veins. His penetrating appraisal affected her so. When his eyes took on a smoldering glint, her skin tingled and a red-hot awareness grew between her thighs.
He broke the stare and continued to assess the audience. She gasped, not realizing she had been holding her breath, and panted while she tried to breathe at a normal rate.
He turned on robust legs and strode to a guitar stand. She tore her eyes from him to note the other gargoyles. They, too, had shifted into the form of striking males. One had black hair draped further down his back, one had long blond hair, and two had reddish-brown hair—one wavy and shaggy, the other straight. They took their place at other instruments. She sought the guitarist again and caught the first sound of the pick striking the strings. On hearing the guitar projected through the amp, the crowd roared again, pressing Kayla forward.
The freak show was about to begin.
Spotlights flooded the musicians, powered by solar panels near a massive amplifier. The guitarist continued playing and the others joined in, playing a raucous crossover between hard rock and heavy metal. The one with long blond hair grabbed hold of the microphone and belted out a shattering cry that sounded like a call to battle. The crowd went pin drop silent to listen and then cheered in unison as the band played on. The front man sang piercing growls and low croons about the Knights in Stone, the protectors of the ancient forests, battling against the evil tree witches.
Kayla’s coven. 


Buy now:



About Lisa Carlisle:
Lisa Carlisle is a USA Today Bestselling author of romance and suspense. She loves stories with dark, brooding heroes and independent, caring heroines.  Her travels have provided her with inspiration for various settings in her novels, including deployments while she served in the Marines. She lived in Parris Island, the California desert, and Okinawa, Japan. She also backpacked alone through Europe, and lived in Paris, France, as an au pair before returning to the U.S. and buying a book store. She now lives and works in New England with her husband, two children, a cat, and many fish. 

Connect with Lisa:
Website: http://www.lisacarlislebooks.com 
Twitter: https://twitter.com/LisaCBooks - @lisacbooks


 Thanks Lisa for sharing,

Anita

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Ashley York - The Saxon Bride #FallingIntoLove Romance



 photo TheSaxonBride2_3001_zps7dac8919.jpg

Blurb: In war torn England the battle lines between Saxon and Norman are clearly drawn. The Saxons must fight for everything they have in the hopes of winning their country back from the Normans who are determined to break their resistance. Rowena Godwinson, the sole remaining member of the defeated royal family, stands proudly against the Normans that would trample them underfoot.

When the new King decrees she marry a powerful Norman knight, her subjugation appears to be complete. The handsome soldier with the kind brown eyes and gentle touch is a threat to her determination to defy the interlopers. Can she hold firm to her Saxon heritage and refuse to give in to his advances?

John of Normandy resists marriage and wants only to prove himself worthy of William's trust but when rewarded by King William with the gift of an earldom and a Saxon bride, he balks at marriage, driven by the guilt of knowing her father died by his sword. However, John's reluctance is soon replaced by a deep desire to please this woman and win her over as well as her people.

 As their people look to them for guidance and peace, can John and Rowena find a love that unites all of England?


Bio: Always an avid romance reader herself, Ashley York enjoys bringing history to life through vibrant and meaningful characters, writing historical romance novels full of passion and intrigue set in the 11th and 12th century British Isles. Her newest release, The Saxon Bride, is the first in the Norman Conquest series.
When she is not writing, talking about writing, or thinking about writing, Ashley relaxes with visits to the local pubs listening to live Celtic tunes. She lives in southern New England with her husband and 3 very spoiled animals.

links: www.ashleyyorkauthor.com
email: ashleyyorkauthor@gmail.com
Twitter: @ashley1066york
EXCERPT:
A Norman. I have been given to a Norman to wife.
Rowena Godwinson, daughter of the late Earl of Essex and the last living member of that powerful Saxon family, stood before her reflection in the polished brass. The wedding gown passed down through three generations of Godwin women before her, draped softly across the shoulders, skimming down her waist and falling over the tips of her deerskin slippers. She blinked back with vacant eyes.
Fear tripped up her spine and her stomach clenched. She had lived among the victors for nigh on five years now. Their disdain for her people was quite obvious. Now the man who had usurped her own uncle as rightful king at the Battle of Hastings had ordered her to marry. With both parents dead, she was his ward.
Rowena clenched her teeth and turned to the window. She glimpsed the slate roof of the chapel beyond the trees where the nuptials would take place this very day. Her family's chapel. Countless celebrations with uncles, close friends, and more cousins than she could name, had taken place there. Those were happy years.
"My lady?"
Rowena looked at the drawn face of her handmaiden, Joan. The blonde sheen of her hair, long gone with the stress of the circumstances and occupation they were all forced to live under.
"Yes?"
Joan gulped. "Do you think he will be kind to you? Tonight, I mean?"
Rowena's breath caught in her throat. The marriage bed. How would her husband treat her? With kindness? As her husband, he gained much by this union. A lot of responsibility, yes, but also power. Some men loved power.
She tipped her chin up.
"I believe he will be kind as I will give him no reason not to be."
Joan's eyes rounded. Rowena smiled tightly.
"Fear not, Joan. I will be amicable."
"My lady, would that I could impart upon you my own knowledge, but I have none. Your mother's death before she prepared you leaves you in a bad way."
"Perhaps he will be a gentle man. John." His name was all she knew.
"Yes, my lady. He is one of William's most trusted knights."
"A warrior." Rowena's tone was flat and for an instant she saw again her father. Cold and dead. Blood all around. She forced the memory aside. "Then he will be a good protector."
"Yes, but of whom?"

Wow, what a book,

Anita