Book Promos From Authors Attending The Springfield OH Book Fair
Genre - Magical Realism
Sale Price - 3.99
Have you ever had the same dream, repeatedly, never knowing exactly why? Twenty-one-year-old Dee Fosco has, and she can no longer ignore it, or the voice that has spoken to her since she was a little girl.
The novel, Viper, tells the story of a girl growing up in the isolated hills of Kentucky, with her deeply depressed mother. The beat-up trailer they now live in is cramped and full of the memories of the past, and Dee’s mother, who is getting through life with numerous medications, is in constant grief over her failed marriage. She is a religious person who doesn’t take well to Dee’s constant plagues of dreams and visions. Her ability to take on the emotions of others – her mother’s being the most draining - keeps Dee suspended in a state of distress. Though she feels alone, there is always someone with her - a guide who speaks to her - giving comfort when she feels alone.
Her dream involves a family - happy and well adjusted, something Dee wasn’t used to in her own life. She watches as the mother and father cherished the boy and girl, laughing, playing, and loving one another.
Then one night, she sees these happy images change and now there is only a father and son in the little cabin. Over time, the boy turns into a man, tortured with demons that have been forever working to change him. Her guide reveals images of this place, Viper, Kentucky, and though she is warned of the danger that is imminent, she is pulled to go to Viper, if not for the sake of this mystery man's soul - then for her own.
The Double D Ranch (a Fortuna, Texas novel)
Genre: Contemporary western romance
Longhorns and lingerie...
Much to the chagrin of foreman Josiah, Jessie Davidson wants a romance reduction. But the Double D Ranch hides a secret. Since inheriting the property, Jessie kept her grandmother’s hoard concealed, but now she’s found the courage to purge the unwanted items: steamy novels, thousands of them. Romance has to go! Donating the books is a good thing, right? Not when coupled with a dare.
The dare spirals out of control. The ante is upped when caches of the spicy books, left in barber shops, pool halls, and pubs, challenge others to join the fad. A perverted prankster runs amok playing on the town’s fantasies. Book clubs are formed. Plots acted out. In a town saturated with romance, Jessie finds her love life underdeveloped.
Keep Jessie safe. It’s the promise Josiah Barnes made to Jessie’s dying grandmother. He aims to honor it, even if it means protecting Jessie from himself. Failing her in the past has him on high alert when the Double D becomes ground zero for the arousal avalanche sweeping the town. As a full-support, silent partner, Josiah will do anything to augment the Double D. But when Jessie starts selling handmade lingerie, keeping his hands to himself is easier said than done…
Will she shelve happily ever after like a rejected novel, or open her heart and start a new chapter?
This week's blog challenge delves into practically everyone's fantasy: winning the lottery. What would I do if I won the lottery?
First, I gotta ask: how much? After all, some ambitions can't be fulfilled without obscene amounts of money. So, let's just pretend that I won the Mega Millions drawing yesterday: $522 million.
After swooning and then picking my stupid self off the floor, I'd make plans to blow a million or five: a new house, new vehicles, updated everything. Top quality. My husband and I would travel for two or three months. And then we'd return, glad to be home and looking forward to moving into a new house. Of course, I'd hire people to take care of the house and grounds and barn(s) and livestock because I loathe housework and I'm getting too damned old to enjoy mucking stalls.
You didn't think I'd get rid of the critters, did you? Heck, no! If I had that kind of money, I'd probably add to the herd by indulging my penchant for taking in rescues. That, of course, would mean hiring farmhands to take care of the livestock and trainers to do their thing. The agricultural aspect of the estate would also supply us with almost everything we need and the surplus to sell.
If we're really going to indulge in fantasies, then I'd have a castle built upon vast acreage. What girl doesn't want to live in a castle? As mistress of my own quasi-modern fiefdom, I'd build a village for folks engaged in cottage industries: brewer, farrier, weaver, potter, glazier, etc. Of course, I'd have to go hog wild and turn the castle into a resort or hotel of sorts, offering people the castle experience, but with modern day amenities like indoor plumbing and chocolate.
Yes, chocolate is an amenity and one I prefer not to live without. Now, if only money could buy eternal youth, beauty, and good health. <sigh>
Hey, this is my fantasy. Don't scoff.
Part of my fantasy in winning a fabulous fortune like that would involve setting up businesses to train and employ people. I have high standards, but I'd pay those people wages commensurate with those high standards. I establish a school with a classical curriculum, because kids need more than screen time to learn: they actually need to do things.
Yeah, there's a strong social element in my fantasies. The kind of money dreamed of here wouldn't change the world, but it could and would change that little corner where I live. I think it would be a good change.
What would you do if you won the lottery?
By Kristalen Babb
Some people use writing as a hobby, while others use it as a career. I, on the other hand, use writing as a therapeutic stress reliever. Although writing isn't my only stress reliever, it's one I use often in addition to gospel music. Just to clarify things, I don't say I'm a writer, but a person who expresses her emotions through words. I mostly write to re-read what was written. I went from writing in my journal (as early as first grade) to writing my first book, my autobiography titled Behind Every Smile. So, yes, my emotions led me into writing.
It's not what I went through that inspired me to write, but how I went through those experiences that drove me into writing. Discovering, only through my storms, were there blessings in disguise. In every circumstance I faced, I focused on what I learned from rather than an understanding/knowledge of a situation. Sometimes, the lesson was a simple answer to my many questions, including understanding why I'm disabled.
Despite my disability, I was raised by a neglectful mother. Yet, I paid attention to how my mother ran her house. My life consisted of daily physical abuse, starvation, and endless cleaning, just like the typical Cinderella story. I found not a prince, but a social security check. My mom’s ways play a big part in how I live today, minus the starvation and beatings. I watched things: from Mom budgeting expenses to how she stocked up on household items. Beatings made me angry enough to defend myself when I had to fight other students who assumed I could be bullied. The pain from the poles and extension cords made me strong enough to take a typical punch, since those are less painful compared to my mom’s way of discipline.
On top of the emotional and physical pain, I became mentally disturbed when wrongly convicted for things I never did. Jail opened my eyes to the field of justice field and inspired me to seek justice for me and others like me. Jail only does two things for you mentally, and you either use it for the good or the worst. I chose to use the experience for the good, determined to make a better future for myself. Needless to say, my trials led me into becoming an inexperienced, self-published author.
Not really knowing the do’s and don’ts, mistakes were made as I published my book. Learning from my mistakes and solving my problems, I ended up publishing my book three times with three different publishing companies. My goal for my readers is to discover their blessings within their storms. This unplanned journey of writing led me to different connections and opportunities, such as this essay. Now that I'm a self-published author, only God knows what I'll learn/experience, for my path has just begun.
The gig economy means that work comes in fits and spurts. Freelancing, at least thus far in my experience, confers a feast or famine business: either I'm swamped with work or there's not much in the way of paid projects.
I try to look at the bright side during lulls in paid work. The lull gives me more time for prospecting new clients and new projects. The lull gives me more time to update my website and LinkedIn profile. The lull gives me more time to work on my own manuscripts.
Prospecting takes a surprising amount of time. From networking on LinkedIn to checking freelance boards to sending out proposals customized to each RFP, I spend a lot of time looking for paid work. It's too bad that the prospecting effort doesn't command pay.
The new availability of time also enables me to do other things, like go out to lunch with friends. Squirreled away in my office with naught but a dog and some cats for company, even this introvert sometimes craves human interaction. I look forward to those short excursions out of the house.
The problem with lulls in business is that I feel guilty spending the time working on my own manuscripts. If royalties from published books contributed, say, half my income, then I would feel much more comfortable about devoting those business hours to that "job." But, to be brutally honest, book sales this year have been dismal. I'm not sure whether that's because my stories suck, my writing sucks, or the market sucks.
Yeah, yeah, I know: marketing, marketing, marketing. The book fairs I attended did no good whatsoever; I'm hoping the next two will justify the expense and effort expended. If not, I doubt I'll attend any such events in the foreseeable future. Last year I hired a publicist to handle the marketing, because that is not my forte. Through her efforts, my social networking has greatly expanded. Whether that expansion has translated into any book sales, I can't say. To the best of my knowledge, there's no way to track conversions like that. We're going to delve once more into Facebook advertisements. The book of the month deal will be expanded for the full month rather than the first week of each month. (That's right, folks, the featured book will be discounted to $0.99 for the full month.)
Anyway, it's discouraging.
Also discouraging is the sheer prevalence of pirate sites. From July 1 to today, Blasty.co completed 276 "blasts" of sites guilty of infringing upon my copyrights. That's 18.6 percent of all blasts (1,477) completed in the last 12 months. If each of these sites illegally distributed just one copy of any of my books, that's a minimum financial loss of $517. That might not sound like much overall, but it means a lot to me. It's pretty likely that these sites illegally distributed more than one copy of my work before Blasty slapped them with DMCA notices.
Here's a hint to my fellow authors: Subscribe to Blasty. It's more efficient than any single human being and a lot less expensive than a copyright attorney.
With all the doom and gloom of dismal sales, copyright infringement, and a lull in paid gigs, one would think I'd do something else--like try out another genre. The problem is that I like what I write. I like the genre. I like what I do.
Despite the setbacks, I wont quit. I certainly won't stop writing my stories.
When she had finished the simple meal and swallowed another cup of that strange, fizzy water drawn from the Pool of Dreams, Thelan pressed a kiss to her forehead and bade her sleep. Before she could begin to ask the questions that clogged her throat and crowded her tongue, her eyes shut and darkness welcomed her again into its gentle embrace.
Gwenda was again ready with a tray of food when she woke.
“I need to get up,” Catriona insisted. “I need to figure out what happened.”
Gwenda, who had been nothing but caring thus far, assumed a stern expression and said, “My lord insisted you eat and eat you shall.”
Catriona struggled against the slippery silk sheets and found her strength quickly depleted. She sank defeated against the pillows and could not help the tears that trickled from her eyes.
“Go away. Please,” she begged.
Gwenda tilted her head as she pondered what to do. Should she obey her mistress’ request? Should she fetch the master and admit her inability to deal with his mate’s inexplicable distress?
“Do I not care well for you, my lady?” she asked, her voice beginning to tremble with the disturbing thought that maybe she would be punished for not alleviating her mistress’ distress. The captain had a reputation for being a demanding taskmaster.
“That’s not the problem.” A soggy sniff accompanied the denial.
Gwenda risked boldness: “I do not understand. You are the delight of the captain. You are given every luxury. Why are you not pleased?”
Catriona closed her eyes for several seconds, then struggled to sit up. The young woman aided her with gentle competence. She tried to explain: “I had a life. I was married to a good man. I had children and grandchildren. I had a job. My life was fulfilling and I looked forward to retirement if the cancer didn’t kill me first. Then one day after work, I was kidnapped, taken from all that was familiar. I remember pain, oh, God, the pain, but I was not conscious. I remember waking in unfamiliar surroundings beneath a man who used my body before I could even protest.”
“I can understand how the change must bewilder you,” Gwenda ventured with caution, “but why would you object to the captain’s touch? He is most handsome, as well as powerful. I have heard he generously rewards good service”
Catriona leaned her head back further against the soft pillows. “Because I did not choose this.” She lifted a hand, ran her gaze over the slender arm and noted the extra joint in each long finger, the ivory claws. She repeated, “I did not choose this.”
“You are exotic and rare,” Gwenda said and bravely offered a reassuring pat on her mistress’ shoulder. “Bards have already crafted ballads memorializing your transformation beneath the twin moons at the behest of the midnight and dawn swifts.”
Catriona sighed. “I don’t feel exotic and rare; I feel weird and … just weird.”
Hard boiled, scrambled, over easy, and sunny side up: eggs are the musings of Holly Bargo, the pseudonym for the author.
Looking for a place to swap blogs? Holly Bargo at Hen House Publishing is wanting to Blog Swaps in 2018. For more information:
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