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text 2017-12-11 12:35
Blog Tour: Fairy Wishes 1-2-3 by Michele Barrow-Belisle with Giveaway

Today’s stop is for Michele Barrow-Belisle’s Fairy Wishes 1-2-3. We will have info about the book and author, and a great giveaway. Make sure to check everything out and enter the giveaway. Happy Reading :) 


A tale of two little fairies of different ethnicities, backgrounds and environments, who are envious of the things the other gets to do…from catching shooting stars to playing the guitar.   They decide to trade places, but soon realize that being someone else isn't as much fun as they thought. The girls quickly discover the importance of just being themselves.

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A dreamer at heart, Michele Barrow-Belisle has always lived with one foot in this reality and one foot in another, one of her own imagining. So it follows that she would grow up to write about and sculpt the characters from those enchanting worlds she knows and loves so well. As a fan of everything romantic, her young adult novels are populated with witches and vampires and faeries. Michele resides in southern Canada with her hubby and son who indulge her passions for writing, reading, lattes, and most of all chocolate.   She also loves shoes.   Did we mention the chocolate?

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a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Follow the tour HERE for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!

Source: snoopydoosbookreviews.com/blog-tour-fairy-wishes-1-2-3-michele-barrow-belisle-giveaway
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text 2017-12-07 15:01
The Fate of Kings

Mark Stibbe is a guest on my blog today, announcing his new release The Fate of Kings and discussing the relevance of late 18th century politics to modern times. 

 

Source: samanthawilcoxson.blogspot.com/2017/12/the-fate-of-kings-and-its-relevance-to.html
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text 2017-12-07 12:35
Blog Tour: The Year of Loving by Traci L. Slatton with Excerpt and Giveaway

Today’s stop is for Traci L. Slatton’s The Year of Loving. We will have info about the book and author, and a great excerpt from the book, plus a great giveaway. Make sure to check everything out and enter the giveaway.

Happy Reading :) 


Art gallerist Sarah Paige’s world is crumbling. One daughter barely speaks to her and the other is off the rails. Sarah is struggling to keep her gallery afloat in a tough market when she learns that her most beloved friend has cancer. In the midst of her second divorce, two men come into her life: an older man who offers companionship and stability and an exciting younger man whose life is as chaotic as hers.   Sarah’s courage, humor, and spirit strengthen her, but how much can she bear, and what sustains her when all else falls away?

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IN THE BEGINNING, THERE was my bohemian poet mom and square attorney dad, who met at a concert and shared only three interests in common: rock and roll, Renaissance art, and me, Sarah Melissa Paige, conceived in the backseat of a Chevy Impala to the strains of Deep Purple. How do I know this? My Jewish mom never had a clear sense of boundaries. She would say the most outrageous things, not just to me but to anyone, at any time. “Sarah was a vaginal birth and I nursed her until she was eleven months old,” she would tell a store clerk, while I winced. It was one of her lovable quirks. That’s what my Scotch-Irish/Cherokee dad would say, with a small smile. I still miss them every day. Their death was one of the great losses of my life. Painter Frida Kahlo, my soul sister because of her mixed heritage and her devotion to art, had remarked, “There were two great accidents in my life. One was the trolley and the other was Diego. Diego was by far the worst.” Sometimes I felt that way about the two great catastrophes of my life: my parents’ deaths and my marriage to my first husband George Calhoun, the rich WASP with the perpetual sneer of condescension. George would never forgive me for the humiliation of my leaving him for an impecunious artist. But let’s move past George. Let’s go to the end of my second marriage, to the realist painter Clifton. I was in my gallery in Chelsea, working on an article for American Artist magazine. I was trying to explain why excellence, beauty, and the artist’s skill were more important than the overvalued and empty wasteland of post-modernism. You can see I’m a woman with strong opinions. Rosa, my assistant, came in from the front room. “Sarah, you hear the printer?” she asked, pausing to check her makeup in the reflection of a glass frame. She dabbed at her mascara with her pinky. “A fax came in.” “Something from Clif’s lawyer. Or George with a snotty note about not being able to reach me via email,” I guessed, in an absent tone. “Nothing I want to see.” Will Michelangelo’s Doni Tondo illustrate my point about the supreme rapture of the human form? I smiled at her. She sparkled back. “Weren’t you waiting for something?” “Alex’s meds,” I remembered. I pushed back from my desk and hurried over to the printer, where a prescription lay in the out box. “Want me to run it in?” Rosa asked. “I’ll go,” I answered. I had been writing for two hours, and it was a cold, drizzly day with no foot traffic, so no customers to come in and peruse the beautiful representational paintings I sold. April is the cruelest month. So, on the flimsiest of whims, without bothering to shrug on my coat, I headed out into my life. The pharmacy was located only a block up on Eighth Avenue. I banged into the door with my umbrella. A gust of wind caught me just at that moment and blew the umbrella inside out and I tumbled through the door askew, my umbrella struggling like a trapped animal and my Jimmy Choos sliding out from under me as if I’d skidded on a candy bar wrapper. ‘Cartwheel’ would be an accurate description. Which explains why my linen skirt was up around my waist like a belt. “Now that’s an entrance,” a man said, his deep voice amused. He bent down and offered his hand. I fought my linen skirt down to cover everything that was on display. It’s not like I wear shorts over my thongs —which had twisted up inside my lady parts. Leaving everything on display. I groaned. He cleared his throat. “Don’t worry, I’m a doctor.” “You’re not my doctor,” I said, furiously, batting his hand away. I managed to scramble to my knees and yank my skirt to a more appropriate semblance of coverage. What is it about linen? It goes out of its way to be uncooperative. I have a theory that clothing designers have a hidden agenda to torture women. Of course, it served me right for wearing linen in April. I just loved the navy blue, forties’ era suit I’d found in a consignment shop on Greenwich Avenue. Note to self: check out usability standards before purchasing vintage clothes. That blasted umbrella was determined to thwart my efforts, so I dropped it and pulled myself up via the shelves of cough suppressants and analgesics. “Glad that’s so,” the man murmured. Was he still ogling me? I didn’t answer because I’d managed to sweep the display of Robitussin onto the ground. I bent over to pick them up. “Ahem,” the man said, and his rich voice thickened with the effort not to laugh. I glanced and he was pointing. At my behind. The back of my skirt was still bunched up around my waist. I’d stuck my ass in his face. I grasped my skirt by both sides and jerked downward as hard as I could. The waist button popped off. Luckily the zipper stayed firmly sealed, or everything I have would have been revealed. Again. The man laughed outright. I held the skirt closed with one hand while I shook the other index finger accusingly in his face. “Listen, you!” I started, accusingly. He blinked, bemused and amused. He was tall and toned, with fine, poreless skin, cropped black hair, and the kind of substantial nose that certain men carry off very well indeed. It struck me how silly I looked. I broke up with laughter. After a few seconds, he took off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and blinked a few times, laughing with me. “It’s not often you find a beautiful woman who can laugh at herself.” “Yeah, well, if I couldn’t, I’d have been in big trouble a long time ago,” I murmured. He had nice dark eyes. There weren’t enough crow’s feet or the lines of laughter and sadness that reflect the gravity of a life fully lived to put him in his forties. I smiled. “Thanks for the compliment.” For a moment, the most delicious, open softness encompassed us. We smiled at each other a little sheepishly. Then I remembered why I was there. A new prescription for my younger daughter Alexandra. Maybe this one would be the magic bullet that kept her from shooting herself in the foot. I desperately wanted it to be, and I could only pray that it was, as I’d been praying for the last few years, watching Alex get herself tangled up with one bad decision after another and get herself thrown out of two schools. She was now at Devon Town, the private school of absolute last resort in Manhattan. If she could graduate, she could still attend a decent college. I shrugged and waved to the hot man who was at least ten years younger than me and I walked back to the pharmacist. I handed him the scrip. Katsu, the pharmacist, an old Japanese guy who came to every show at my gallery for the free food and drinks, shuffled unblinkingly off to the back as if he’d never seen me before in his life. I sighed. “Excuse me, miss.” It was the hot man, looking carefully at my left hand, where I wasn’t wearing a ring. I perked up. The skin stretching across the cheekbones of his angular face deepened in color. He cleared his throat. “Would you like to get a cup of coffee?” “Sure,” said Katsu, who had returned. “Venti half-caf cappuccino, wet and fat-free. Would you get me a scone, too?” “Not you,” the young doctor said. Katsu shrugged and then looked at me. “I have it in stock. Come back in an hour.” He turned back to the doctor. “Hey, doc, just coffee, or will you buy me dinner, too?” The doctor grimaced and followed me as I walked toward the front of the store. He touched my elbow lightly as I reached for the door. “About that cup of coffee?” I straightened myself, which was hard to do with one hand, because the other hand was still gripping the waistband of my skirt, to keep it closed. “You don’t have to buy me coffee just because I stuck my ass in your face.” He looked embarrassed and I noted again how smooth and silken his skin was. I remembered being 38. From the vantage point of 48, it seemed innocent and hopeful. He said, “This is not about your ass.” “You don’t like my ass?” He flushed and looked about twelve years old. “Your ass is very nice. That’s my professional opinion.” “You think I’m a professional?” I demanded, in a tone of outrage. He flushed a brighter shade of red. “Coffee. Just a cup of coffee.” “You’re sweet.” I sighed while I smiled. I had baggage older than he was, and I’m not talking about the dinged-up Tumi cases I take to Europe on scouting trips. “But …” He had straightened his back and shoulders and was listening hard— the antennae were practically standing straight up atop his head. “It’s flattering, but I don’t think so. Thank you anyway.” A few minutes later, torn and bedraggled, I stood in the door of my gallery. Rosa glided over to me. She’s of Mexican and Finnish descent, an actress and a dancer with cascades of black hair and striking pale blue eyes. She’s fresh and juicy and sassy. I was newly aware of every wrinkle on my face and every dimple on the back of my thigh. With her lissome dancer’s body and face still unlined in her late twenties, Rosa was a better fit for Dr. Gorgeous than I could ever be. What the hell was he thinking, asking me out for coffee? “Why are you staring at me?” Rosa demanded. She narrowed her big vivid eyes at me. “What happened to your skirt?” “My umbrella,” I muttered. “OK, don’t tell me.” “I tripped over my umbrella,” I amended, not knowing that was when I woke up in a dark woods in the middle of the journey of my life. There’s a flux to the divine comedy of life, the way it empties out, grows full, and then cracks to empty out again, so that fullness can be reborn. I still don’t know if my heart can stretch to encompass all the shattering. But, in that moment, I was just thinking that I should have accepted that cup of coffee. I think I would have enjoyed it. “Strip it off, Mamacita, my sewing kit is in my purse and there’s twenty minutes before I leave for my audition.” She waggled her fingers at me. “I’ll take it off in the back office,” I said. I was still clutching the skirt to keep it closed properly. “I’ve been naked in public enough for one day. And thank you.”

Traci L. Slatton is the international bestselling author of historical, paranormal, and romantic novels, including IMMORTAL (BantamDell) and BROKEN; the award-winning dystopian After Series which includes FALLEN, COLD LIGHT, FAR SHORE and BLOOD SKY; the bittersweet romantic comedy THE LOVE OF MY (OTHER) LIFE; and the vampire art history romp THE BOTTICELLI AFFAIR. She has also published the lyrical poetry collection DANCING IN THE TABERNACLE and THE ART OF LIFE, a photo-essay about figurative sculpture through the ages. Her book PIERCING TIME & SPACE explores the meeting ground of science and spirituality. Her latest novel THE YEAR OF LOVING follows an art gallerist through a steamy love triangle and a challenging year of love and travail. This story seeks to answer the question, What sustains you when all else falls apart?  Links

 
 
 
 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Follow the tour HERE for exclusive content and a giveaway!

Source: snoopydoosbookreviews.com/blog-tour-year-loving-traci-l-slatton-excerpt-giveaway
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text 2017-12-06 12:35
Blog Tour: An Unstill Life by Kate Larkindale With Excerpt and Giveaway

Today’s stop is for Kate Larkindale’s An Unstill Life. We will have info about the book and author, and a great excerpt from the book, plus a great giveaway. Make sure to check everything out and enter the giveaway. Happy Reading :) 


When your whole world is falling apart, what are the chances you’ll find love in the most unexpected of places?   Livvie feels like she’s losing everything: her two best friends have abandoned her for their boyfriends, her mother continues to ignore her, while her sister, Jules, is sick again and getting worse by the day. Add in the request Jules has made of her and Livvie feels like she’s losing her mind, too.   Her only escape is in the art room, where she discovers not only a refuge from her life, but also a kindred soul in Bianca, the school “freak”. Livvie’s always felt invisible, at school and at home, but with Bianca, she finally feels like someone sees the real Livvie. As the relationship deepens and it comes time to take the romance public, will Livvie be able to take that step?   Livvie’s about to find out if she has what it takes to make the tough decisions and stand up for herself—for the first time in her life.

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Bianca pulled up in front of my house, which sat in darkness, not even the porch light on to guide me. I must be late. Mom always switched off the light at midnight, whether we were home or not, letting us know she was aware we’d missed curfew. I’d hear about it tomorrow. Or maybe not.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said. “And … thanks. Again. Like I said, you’re always rescuing me.”

“Maybe I think you’re worth saving.” Bianca wasn’t looking at me. Her eyes were turned to the open window. The words sounded simple, but they weren’t. They lay across the seat between us, pulsing in shades of pink and red.

“Thanks?” The word felt awkward in my mouth. Would she still think I was worth saving if she knew I was thinking of ways to kill my sister? I shoved the thought away as I climbed out of the car. “See you in school.”

“Yeah. See you.” Bianca turned, her eyes glittering under the streetlights. “Hey, Livvie?”

“Yeah?” I ducked my head back through the door.

“I really like your painting.”

I jerked back in surprise, knocking the back of my head on the door. “My painting? You mean the still life?”

She nodded. “Yeah. It’s really good. It’s like everyone else is painting the surface of the things, but you’re painting what’s underneath. The real apple. The real flowers. It’s got—” She stopped, searching around as if she’d find the word she was looking for hanging in the air, ripe for plucking. “Well, it sounds totally corny, but it’s got soul.”

My face grew warm. “Thanks,” I mumbled. “But yours is way better.”

She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “No. Mine’s clever. It’s thought out. But there’s no passion in it. Yours has that.”

I giggled. “Passion? For a bunch of fruit and flowers? I hope not.”

She smiled, too, the flicker of movement so small I could have missed it. “Well, yeah. It’s not the most exciting subject. But if you can inject that much life into something so stupid, just think what you could do with something you really care about. Like that thing you did with the song. That’s something special.”

I sank back into the seat, the springs wheezing beneath me. My ears blazed, and I knew my cheeks were just as red. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. Even Mrs. DeWinter dismissed my music pictures as irrelevant swirls of color, while Mom considered all painting and drawing to be a frivolous waste of time.

“Thanks.” I stammered again.

“No, thank you.” Bianca lit another cigarette, the fiery end punching a hole in the darkness.

“What for?” Smoke burned my eyes, making them tear. At least, I thought it was the smoke. I couldn’t remember the last time someone complimented me or made me feel special. I brushed at a wet spot on my cheek.

She took a long drag and turned to her open window before exhaling into the night. “I’ve always been the best at art. I never had to work hard to be the best either. Now I have something to work for.”

“Oh.” I admired the ease with which she admitted to being the best. “Okay.”

Silence filled the car, but it was a warm, comforting silence.

“I have to go.” The reluctance in my voice surprised me, and I realized I didn’t want to leave. And not just because Bianca’s words flattered me. I recognized the truth in them. “I have a curfew. And I’m late.”

“Sure. Wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.” She turned the key and let the engine struggle to life again.

I watched the way the light gleamed off her shiny red lips. Surprised, I realized I wanted to lean over and kiss them, wanted to see if she tasted of the raspberries I always tasted while in her presence. I scrambled out of the car, putting distance between us as fast as I could. My heart raced in my chest.

 

Having spent a lifetime travelling the globe, Kate Larkindale is currently residing in Wellington, New Zealand. A marketing executive, film reviewer and mother, she’s surprised she finds any time to write, but doesn’t sleep much. As a result, she can usually be found hanging out near the espresso machine.   Her short stories have appeared in Halfway Down The Stairs, A Fly in Amber, Daily Flash Anthology, The Barrier Islands Review, Everyday Fiction, Death Rattle, Drastic Measures, Cutlass & Musket and Residential Aliens, among others.   She has written fourteen contemporary YA novels, a few of which other people are allowed to see. She has also written one very bad historical romance. She is currently working on a new YA novel and ghostwriting an autobiography.

Links 

Website *** Facebook *** Twitter *** Amazon *** Goodreads

 

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Follow the tour HERE for exclusive excerpts and a giveaway!

 

Source: snoopydoosbookreviews.com/blog-tour-unstill-life-kate-larkindale-excerpt-giveaway
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text 2017-12-06 07:10
Release Boost - Off Duty

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Off Duty by Kristen Hope Mazzola is NOW AVAILABLE! FREE WITH KINDLE

 

UNLIMITED Amazon → http://amzn.to/2z9VtkQ

Amazon UK→ http://amzn.to/2ANZ5JO

 

 

OFFDUTY_LIVE

 

Cover Model: Robert Kelly Cover Photographer: R+M Photography

 

 

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ADD to your TBR → http://bit.ly/2hq32As

All information is here → http://www.kristenhopemazzola.com/off-duty.html

 

One kiss - that's all it took For her to go from off limits to my off duty lover. For years we worked side by side and in an instant everything changed in the best way possible. Jessica McBee was my best friend, my partner on the force and my only weakness. When Myla Hayes, the wife of the captain of the NY Otters hockey team, is being harassed, we have to work together to take down the suspect. But how can I let her be in the line of fire when I'm in love?

 

*** If you missed the Kitty's Book Spot! Review - CLICK HERE!! ***.

 

 

 

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EXCERPT:

 

Whistler

 

I would never forget the first fatality I had while on the job. It was staple gunned into my mind – plaguing me, haunting me. I watched as the life of a mother was snuffed out, feeling her last breath escape her lips in the freezing rain in the middle of the road.
Early evening, in terrible weather with black ice covering the asphalt, my partner and I got the call. I had been on the job for only a few months – needless to say I was not prepared for what we were about to encounter. I was a young buck, fearless, ready to be the big bad hero – swoop in and save the damsel in destress. What a fucking joke that idea was. Up until that point, the worst that I had dealt with was a drug bust gone wrong were a UC was shot in the shoulder by a kingpin. That was child’s play compared to what I was about to witness.

 

With lights flashing, my partner pushed the engine of our squad car to her limits – flying down the road to the intersection. It only took minutes and we were on the scene. Off in the distance, the whaling of horns and blaring of sirens signaled that the ambulance and firetruck were already in route to our aid. We were the first to arrive out of all responding units and I wished that that hadn’t been the case.

 

The scene was what you’d expect from a damn movie. An eighteen-wheeler was jackknifed, slid off onto the shoulder with a four door Sudan plastered to its grill like a damn bug stuck in the grate. The entire driver’s side of the car was smashed in, the horn was blaring, the windshield was blown out. The driver had been expelled from the car, the passenger’s head was a bloody mess on the side window. Neither were moving. The truck driver whaled in agony as he frantically tried to open the cab’s door.

 

“Sir! Try to remain calm!” My parented was a senior officer, he knew what he was doing. He sprang into action as I froze in my seat Get the woman!” Todd screamed at me as he flew out of the driver’s seat. “I’ll try to get the girl out of the car.”

 

I rushed to the lady that was sprawled out on the frozen pavement, her limbs thrown about as she lay on her back, gasping for air.

 

Looking down into her pleading eyes, I tried to figure out what to say. But, what do you say when you know that someone is fighting for their life? How the fuck are you supposed to comfort a stranger when they are dying right in front of you?

 

“Ma’am. Can you tell me your name?” I asked trying to assess her injuries.

 

“My daughter!” She cried, “Help Myla!”

 

“My partner is with her. He’s got her. What’s your name? Can you tell me your name?”
She started to gurgle as blood poured from her lips. Her skin drained of color. Her body shook. Her eyes got wide. I pulled her mangled, bloody body into my arms, rocking her while trying to comfort her last moments on this earth.

 

“You’re going to be all right. The paramedics are on their way. You’re going to be all right.” I repeated it over and over until the EMTs were rushing to my aid. They were too late. She had slipped between the cracks.


In pouring down, freezing rain, I felt her last breath leave her lungs. I watched as she blinked for the last time. I held her as she cried for us to save her daughter. In her last seconds, she was completely selfless. Her love for her daughter was at the forefront of her mind. That is true love. Right there, I learned what true love looked like in its final moments.

 

 

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About the Author:

 

I am just an average twenty-something following my dreams. I have a full time “day job” and by night I am an author. I guess you could say that writing is like my super power (I always wanted one of those). I am the lover of wine, sushi, football and the ocean; that is when I am not wrapped up in the literary world. Please feel free to contact me to chat about my writing, books you think I’d like or just to shoot the, well you know. A portion of all my royalties are donated to The Marcie Mazzola Foundation.

 

Author Links:

 

Facebook: http://on.fb.me/1fQ2eZI

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2eUz8P8

Twitter: http://bit.ly/1gZdki8

Website: http://bit.ly/1dBeHku Goodreads: http://bit.ly/184qzve

 

 

 

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