Thursday, April 30, 2015

First Teaser Trailer for Fifty Shades Darker

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Cover Reveal! Imperfect Truth by Ava Harrison


I’m a blogger. He’s a writer.
He was my weakness. 
I was his muse. 

Once upon a time my marriage was built on love...
Until it wasn’t. 

Where had we gone wrong?
I had given up hope…

But then he messaged me,
And his words intoxicated me.
Made me believe in love again.

Made me believe in truth.
My imperfect truth…



The Beginning…
I don’t remember the last time I could truly say I loved my husband. To be completely frank, I believe it was before we even got married. You can hate me for this, but until you’ve walked a mile in my shoes you will never really know why I’ve done the things I’ve done.
Often I stare at him from across the room and repulsion courses through my veins, a feeling of dread, that this is what my life has become. I wonder why I can't just leave him. Why I can't find the strength to love myself enough and simply be happy.
Imperfect-Truth-teaser-2-2Was my life pleasant before I met him? Was I content? What’s missing now? I’m pretty sure I’ve never truly been happy. I’ve always struggled to find where I belong, but how can I belong somewhere when I don’t fit anywhere?
Sometimes I find myself picking a fight with him just so he will talk to me. All I want is a little attention from him. Good or bad.
It’s sick.
I know.
But living in the land of indifference has changed me. I reside here day and night until the moment I snap from his indifference. Then I lash out, rebel against what has become this norm. Although it’s not right, the reprieve from the emptiness when we argue is welcome.
  If I left, would he follow me?
  Would he fight?
  Would he even notice?

Copyright © 2015 by Ava Harrison 

Ava Harrison is a New Yorker, born and bred. When she’s not journaling her life, you can find her window shopping, cooking dinner for her family, or curled up on her couch reading a book.


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Excerpt & Giveaway for Voices (The Reincarnation Series, #1) by R.E. Rowe

Publication date: February 27th 2015
Genres: Paranormal Romance, Young Adult
Amazon / B&N

In a small town in Arkansas, two lives that seemingly have nothing in common will converge and change each other forever. A brilliant but tormented street artist and an ex-track star whose career was cut short by a heart condition.

Aimee DeLuca had a promising athletic career before her heart gave out during a high school track and field contest. Aimee struggles to find her way after spending time with a deceased grandmother during a near death experience. Reizo Rush is a street artist whose torment fuels his desire to add color to the gray walls of the city. But Reizo’s tagging and the two voices only he hears land him in perpetual trouble with both his teachers and the law.

During a chance encounter, the two quickly find out they have much more in common than love. When they stumble upon a century-old storm cellar hidden underground on Aimee’s uncle’s ranch, they unearth a cellar full of artifacts and a hundred-year-old Will. Once the news of the discovery leaks out, a drug-dealing teen and a mysterious soul named General are determined to bury the truth along with anyone who gets in their way.

Chapter One

Forty-three minutes without a heartbeat—a little longer than a sitcom. About the time it takes for first period at Theodore High. It’d been five years since I’d seen Grams. She looked amazingly happy, considering she was dead.
After waking up from heart surgery, the first words I uttered in the recovery room were“Did my team win?”
“Miracle, miracle,” a nurse whispered. I guess she thought I’d have brain damage.
Another nurse cried. A male nurse asked me if I’d experienced anything strange. He said some patientshave what they call a “Near-Death-Experience”—NDE for short. After all, I’d been officially pronounced dead before the doctors brought me back to life.
I told him, “No, nothingworth mentioning.” Lying was easier than telling the truth. There’s no way I’ll ever talk to anyone about those forty-three minutes—especially not Mom or her boyfriend, Hank. What would I tell them? “Hey, remember when I was dead? Well, I hung out with Grams on a bright day at Uncle Pete’s pond.”
Not a chance. I’d get taggeda wacko and locked up at Willowgate, just like the crazy kid from school.
The nurses told me it’d been a miracle that Ihad survived with only chest compressions until I arrived at the ER. I agreed, of course, but I knew different. Grams had said, “It’s your choice, dear. Stay here or return.”
Being a track star and honor student, I wanted to return.
And so I did.
I blink away these thoughts and slurp in a mouthfulof milky flakes while peering at the track star on the cereal box. The glint of excitement in the athlete’s eyes is familiar. But the feeling of adrenaline and winning races is a distant memory.
Gardenia perfume invades the kitchenas Mom scurries in and fills up a travel mug with coffee. She smiles while sinking a teaspoon of sugar into the mug. “Aimee, aren’t you excited?”
I place my bowl in the dishwasher and nod. “I guess. I’mmainly looking forward to painting at Uncle’s pond.”
Mom takes a paper sack out of the refrigerator and hands it to me. It’s been part of our daily routine for as long as I can remember. She sends me into the world each day with a kiss and a packed lunch.
“Uncle Pete will pick you upearly, but you’ll still need lunch. The artist must be fed.” She winks.
“Thanks, Mom.”
Her cell blasts some upbeat tune from the ancient past. “Let’s go. I’m presenting closing arguments in court this morning.”
I swim in Mom’s flowery wake as we walk out the door and into the garage.
Mom answers her cell, connecting it to the car’s hands-free device. “I’ll be at the office in twenty minutes.”
As usual, I push in my ear buds to avoid listening to lawyers’ramblings while we drive. Hopefully, junior year will be better if I get a car, like she promised.
Mom raises her voice. “I’m ready . . . I know, I know . . . it’s our responsibility.”
I gaze out the car window. My pulse quickens and my stomach churns. Even with the music distraction, I still feel Mom’s emotions. I let my mind drift as she navigates morning traffic.
Cancer took Grams’ life five years before my NDE. But when I saw her that day, she looked beautiful, like in the framed picture Mom keeps on her bookshelf. “It’ll be hard, darling,” Grams had said. “But I hope you’ll decide to return. There are still things for you to do.”
A couple of years laterand I still have no clue what “things” she meant.
I glance at Mom gripping the steering wheel and feel her nervousness and anxiety. It must be a big legal case for her today.
I remember the day I left the hospital. It was a shock, feeling the energy from things around me. It’s like suddenly feeling hot in an air-conditioned room or feeling chilly when it’sninety-degrees outside. It’s hard to explain, exactly, how I can feel excitement coming from saw grass swaying in the wind and strength emanating from oak trees baking in sunshine. I’m not psychic or anything, but my intuition is off the charts. It sounds ill and delusional, which is why I’ll never talk about it.
The first day back to school after my heart surgery was the worst. I quickly realized the people around me were crushing me with their emotions. Feelings of worry, excitement, anger, love, and hate swirled the school hallways from my classmates and hung over my head in class. Trying to concentrate on schoolwork while being flattened by so many emotions all at once was impossible in the beginning.
At first, my friends had been supportive when I needed my space. But soon they realized I’d changed for good. Gossiping about Kelly’s ridiculous shoe purchase and texting about Sharon and Roger hooking up after a Friday night football game became boring. Going to a pep rally to wait for the crazy kid to attack another mascot turned into a ridiculous waste of time. What’s the point of rushing around, worrying about what people think, or worrying about saying something stupid? All the little things used to stress me out. Not anymore. Now people do.
Mom drives the car up to the curb and stops in front of Theodore High School in the heart of Franklinville, Arkansas. Waves of anticipation and excitement from kids walking through the school gates roll over me.
I hesitate before pulling out my ear buds and fight the overwhelming urge to run. I’d usually pretend I was sick and ask Mom to take me home, but today is the last day of the school year.
I can do this.
A man’s voice from Mom’s office blasts from the car speakers.
Mom mouths to me, “I’ll call you later.” Then she leans over and kisses me on the cheek, exactly like she always does.
At the start of freshman year, I’d been the girl who set track records. I was thepopular girl with friends, the fashion trendsetter, and the designated shoulder to lean on.
I was all of that before I died.
But I wasnone of it after the doctors brought me back to life.

Chapter Two

Two voices moved into my skull six years ago and stayed.Not the fun, imaginary-friend kind. These voices are distinct. Clear. Talking whenever the hell they want. I’ve tried to make them leave, but nothing works. They just get more intense and argue, like I don’t exist. Telling me what to do, what not to do.
Dr. Stewart talks to Mom as if I’m not sitting two steps away on his examination table inside Willowgate Psychiatric Hospital—the oldest building in Franklinville.
“Let’s increase Reizo’s dosage for sixweeks.” He pronounces each word with a heavy Russian accent. “We are dealing primarily with auditory hallucinations.”
Stewart likes to use big words, but I know what he means. He thinks I’m crazy.
“I will clear Reizofor the last day of school, but he must be monitored...”
Dr. Stewartrubs his shaved head and shifts his lanky frame from one black shoe to the other. “There is a possibility it is hereditary...”
I want to punch something when Mom’s almond-shaped eyes well up with tears.
“Based on old family stories, Reizo’s third great-grandfather hadissues,” Mom says. Her voice wavers like a slide guitar as she twists her brown ponytail with three fingers.“His name was Wesley Rush. He was one of the first settlers in Franklin County.” She pauses as if to search for the right words.“When my husband was alive, he told me his Grandpa Wesley had been committed to a psychiatric hospital back in the late 1800’s.”
Mom clears her throat with a quick cough and adjusts the floral dress over her slim figure. “He heard voices too.”
The doctorlooks up from his clipboard and stares atMom with cold blue eyes straight from Siberia. “I see.” He scribbles something on a paper without looking.
From experience, I know distracting myself is the only way to get through the exam. I force a long deep breath and gaze at the only splash of color inside the whiteexam room and let my mind drift.
Just as I calm down, two voices start up in my head. In a failed attempt to get them to shut up a few years back, I named the lady voice Honesti and the guy voice Bouncer.
I told Reizo the meds would make him worse,” Honestisays in asoft voice.
No kidding. I straighten my back and readjust myself on the sheet of paper covering the exam table.
Poor Reizo. He was scared, wah,” says Bouncer in a husky rasp. “Baby man is weak, ain’t that right? He’ll never be ready. Pathetic. Just tell Stewart to take a hike. Grab a needle. You know what to do.
What a jerk.I nearly tagged his voice“Mobster,” but decided “Bouncer”was more accurate, since he pushes words in and out of my head whenever the hell he pleases.
I focus harder on the framed, crimson rose hanging at an angle as if it were wilting. Tracing the length of the petal edges with my gaze, I explore the picture like a honeybee searching dark voids for nectar.
“Wesleydied after an accident not long after he was committed,” Mom whispers to Dr. Stewart.
Bouncer continues. “Don’t blow it, pretty boy!
 “Died? Oh, I see.” Stewart writesagain on my chart and mumbles a series ofbig words.“Maybe we’ll try a new medication for a few days.”
Taking Stewart’s constantly changing pill assortment has been the biggest mistake of my life. My world crumbled. No more voices, just hissing static, dizziness, and drowsiness. At first, the silence worked for me, but not long after, more side effects kicked in and my creativityturnedto mush. The meds nukemy talent. I have zero energy. I’m dizzy all the time. I can’t concentrate, sketch, draw, use spray-paint to make three-dimensional masterpieces with “wildstyle” writing, or anything else artistically worthy.
Hell,when I’m on Stewart’s meds, I can’t even draw a simple oak tree. At best, I can barely manage a throw-up tag. Visualizing scenes to paint is impossible. Painting in 3D? No way. Drawing in two-dimensions? Hardly. I really had no choice—now I palm and flush the meds.
Some people do calculations in their head for a distraction. Rhyming words and poetry is what I do during examinations to distract myself. Lately it’s been the same poem, over and over.
I am alive. I am dead. Dreams strive. Feelings shred.
Keep your cool,” saysHonesti. “Dr. Stewart is almost done.”
Keeping my mouth shut, I stare at the thorny rose stem and imagine it puncturing my skin. The last thing I need is Stewart suspecting I’m not taking his ridiculous pills.
Dr.Stewart continues. “He will need to be committed againif there is another incident of violence. You know this, yes?”
Hello! I can hear you, jerk wad.
Mom reluctantly nods as I press hard on my temples. Dammit. I can’t spend my entire life with voices rambling all the time inside my head. But no way am I going to take Dr. Stewart’s meds either.
The sun rises. The sun sets. The dark prizes. The unpaid debts.
Adding color to the old brick and concrete around the city is my life. Creating works of art on public buildings and sidewalks is what I do. It’s who I am.
The time passes. The light goes. Lifeless masses. Spirit froze.
I refuse to lumber around like a creative zombie with no skills. I’ve been through all the possibilities.
Why should I care? Why do I cry? Spirits glare. Hopeless sky.
There’s only one way to evict the trespassers.
Exit Plan.

When Rick isn't dreaming, you'll find him trying to discover why, figuring out how, uncovering ancient mysteries, writing a crazy fun middle-grade or young adult novel, inventing something seriously cool, or learning something new. He enjoys participating in science camps, writing conferences and talking to groups about creative topics such as the process of inventing, building worlds for science fiction and fantasy stories, and the importance of dreaming big.

Rick is a lifelong inventor and a named inventor on over one hundred patents. He has degrees in Avionics Systems Technology, Computer Science and an MBA from Florida Institute of Technology. His experience includes a wide range of engineering, technology development and management roles ranging from aerospace systems to gaming systems. He is a proud member of the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI), the Delta Mu Delta Honor Society, and the Phi Kappa Phi Honor Society.

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Release Day Launch: Excerpt and Giveaway! SAVOR by Alyssa Rose Ivy

Jared is Vera's perfect man—until he opens his mouth. An incredible body and set of wings can only go so far when everything he says seems designed to make her mad. Still, she can't deny her intense attraction or the fact that he is the closest thing she has to a friend.

Jared doesn't go for bear shifters, especially ones that are related to his ex, but he can't resist Vera's charm or the way she understands him better than anyone else.

As suspicions build and loyalties are tested, Vera and Jared realize that they may not be able to trust anyone but each other. 

And don't miss the previous books in The Empire Chronicles!

Savor (The Empire Chronicles #4)
Alyssa Rose Ivy

“I’m glad you don’t want me dead.” He smirked. Even his smirk was sexy.

“I’d be on my own if you were.” I put my hands behind my head.

“And you don’t like being alone?” He studied me in the darkness. Sometimes I wished neither of us had night vision. It left you so naked, never having an opportunity to hide.

“I do most of the time.”

“But not always?” His eyes raked over my body. The fact that he could make such a platonic conversation feel sexual gave me even more reason to resist him.

“Why does it matter?” Often the best way to avoid a question is to ask your own.

“It matters because I asked it.” And there went his mouth again.

My annoyance gave me back my will power. “Put a shirt on.”

“Why?” He grinned. “Am I distracting you?”

“No, but we should go. The sun will be up soon enough.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t go with you.” He sat up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed.

“No way.” I moved to standing. “You’re not backing out.”

“Why do you care?” He stood with his back to me. “You can do this alone.”

“Of course I can.”

He turned to me. “Then why does it matter if I go my own way?” He pulled on his t-shirt, and a little part of me missed the view.

“Because we agreed to help each other out. I stick to my promises.” That was one of my good traits. The not so good traits weren’t worth reflecting on.

“Maybe I don’t.”

“You do.” I put a hand on my hip. I didn’t have time for Jared’s games.

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“You’re infuriating.”

I groaned. “And what are you?”


If I’d had liquid in my mouth I would have spit it out. “Not exactly the word I’d use to describe you.”

“Says the girl begging me to stay with her.”

“I never begged.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Would you beg?” His grin was his undoing.

“Is that how you like it, Jared? With your women begging?”

“I wasn’t talking about how I like my women.”

“Are you sure about that?” I grabbed my backpack and headed into the cabin’s small bathroom.

“Where are you going?”

I paused with my hand on the door. “To shower.”

Alyssa Rose Ivy is a New Adult and Young Adult author who loves to weave stories with romance and a southern setting. Although raised in the New York area, she fell in love with the South after moving to New Orleans for college. After years as a perpetual student, she turned back to her creative side and decided to write. She lives in North Carolina with her husband and two young children, and she can usually be found with a cup of coffee in her hand.

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Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Release Week Review & Giveaway for OVERRULED by Emma Chase

A Washington, DC, defense attorney, Stanton Shaw keeps his head cool, his questions sharp, and his arguments irrefutable. They don’t call him the Jury Charmer for nothing—with his southern drawl, disarming smile, and captivating green eyes, he’s a hard man to say no to. Men want to be him, and women want to be thoroughly cross examined by him.

Stanton’s a man with a plan. And for a while, life was going according to that plan.

Until the day he receives an invitation to the wedding of his high school sweetheart, the mother of his beloved ten-year-old daughter. Jenny is getting married—to someone who isn’t him.

That’s definitely not part of the plan.


Sofia Santos is a city-raised, no-nonsense litigator who plans to become the most revered criminal defense attorney in the country. She doesn’t have time for relationships or distractions.

But when Stanton, her “friend with mind-blowing benefits,” begs her for help, she finds herself out of her element, out of her depth, and obviously out of her mind. Because she agrees to go with him to The-Middle-Of-Nowhere, Mississippi, to do all she can to help Stanton win back the woman he loves. Her head tells her she’s crazy…and her heart says something else entirely.

What happens when you mix a one-stop-light town, two professional arguers, a homecoming queen, four big brothers, some Jimmy Dean sausage, and a gun-toting Nana?

The Bourbon flows, passions rise, and even the best-laid plans get overruled by the desires of the heart.

Amazon / B&N / iTunes / Indiebound / BAM


This is the first book by Emma Chase that I’ve read, but I have heard so many things about her other novels, that I had great expectations from Overruled.
Most stories start at the beginning. But not this one.
Overruled is the story of Stanton, Sofia and Jenny. Before you ask, it isn’t a love triangle. Well... it is, but not in the way you imagine it. Stanton is the badass defense attorney, his life is simple, as simple as it can be when you live a double life. One in Mississippi with his fist love and mother of his child, Jenny. The other in DC with his colleague and friend with benefits, Sofia. He takes everything for granted but life has other plans. Having two lives is hard, but bring them together and survive is even harder. In order to convince Jenny to cancel her wedding plans, he brings Sofia home in Mississippi. What goes on from there on... is a stubborn man, a canceled wedding, four broken hearts and a lot of fighting in the name of love.
Young love is strong. First love is powerful. But what you don’t know when you’re young—what you can’t know—is how long life actually is. And the only dependable thing about it, besides death and taxes, is change.
For a while I didn’t know who was the heroine of the story. Like Stanton, I found myself caught between Sofia and Jenny. And also like Stanton I couldn’t understand how everything in life could go so wrong, but I had very different reasons from his. Stanton is selfish and stubborn and a general pain in the ass. Jenny is the sweet girl who you’d expect to meet in the South. Sofia’s parents lived the American dream and pushed their children to study hard and become someone in life. So, for Sofia career is first, she doesn’t have time for love. I think I’ve expected a love triangle, but it is not.
I don’t think I ever did stop. It just . . . changed into something’ else. Somethin’ quieter, less crazed. When you’re young, you love fireworks ’cause they’re loud and bright and thrillin’. But then you grow up. And you see that candlelight isn’t so thrillin’, but it still makes everything better. You realize that the glow of a fireplace can be just as excitin’ as fireworks—the way it burns low, but lights your home and keeps you warm all night long.
             Overruled speaks about time, about young love and geowing-up. For Jenny and Stanton it wasn’t easy. At eighteen they were already parents, at nineteen they were in college, in different states. Being a parent isn’t easy, but trying to keep the love flame is even header. So Stanton and Jenny are still a couple every time he comes home but when he leaves they have an open relationship. But when he receives the invitation to attend Jenny’s wedding with another man, Stanton thinks that bringing the women he sleeps with to Mississippi to declare his undying love for the mother of his daughter is a smart idea. So, Stanton is really stupid sometimes. It was a funny book but also a book about love and time. One of the most beautiful things about this book is the love both Stanton and Jenny have for their daughter. Even when they think that everything is lost and they hate each other, they stay strong for Presley. I enjoyed it a great deal.
Most stories finish at the end. But not this one.
Hppy Reading!

By day, Emma Chase is a devoted wife and mother of two who resides in a small, rural town in New Jersey. By night she is a keyboard crusader, toiling away the hours to bring her colorful characters and their endless antics to life. She has a long standing love/hate relationship with caffeine. 

Emma is an avid reader. Before her children were born she was known to consume whole books in a single day. Writing has also always been a passion and with the 2013 release of her debut romantic comedy, Tangled, the ability to now call herself an author is nothing less than a dream come true.

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Book Blitz and Giveaway! Nearly Almost Somebody by Caroline Batten

Publication date: March 26th 2015 
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance
Purchase from Amazon

She’s nearly perfect – He’s almost the one

When Patrick’s caught in flagrante with a local beauty queen, his father delivers an ultimatum: one more newspaper scandal and Patrick will be out on his ear. Desperate not to lose his job at the family veterinary practice,
Patrick needs to avoid trouble – and girls like Libby.

The Broken Ballerina’s a headline waiting to happen, but mourning her short-lived career as a dancer, Libby casts a Wiccan spell to summon a new love: Good-looking, honest, non-brown eyes, English, good with animals… in a nutshell, she summons Patrick.

But fighting Libby’s love spell will be the least of Patrick’s problems when an old lady dies from a ketamine overdose – ketamine stole from his surgery.

Witchcraft, Scandal, Murder...

Will anyone find their perfect Somebody?

14 Things I’ve discovered on the road to becoming a self-published author

I’ve been writing since I first read a Sweet Valley High book and thought I could do better myself. Of course I couldn’t at the time, I was nine but over the years the years, I’ve also learned a few things. 
Please note, these are my experiences and may not be typical – in fact, they may be as far from typical as appears feasible whilst still sitting somewhere within the realm of possible... 

1. If you look at self-publishing as a hobby, it’s cheaper than horse-riding, diamond mining or going to the movies once a month. 

2. A brilliant book does not mean you’ll bag an agent/six-figure publishing deal. A brilliant book, kick-ass cover, slick editing, and selling a hundred thousand Kindle editions might. 

3. Submitting to agents is a form of self-flagellation. Horsehair shirts cost less and are emotionally less devastating. (Plus you can write about the experience later, publish that book on Kindle, give it BDSM tags and sell more copies than you would the dystopian YA thriller you were originally touting to agents.)

4. Having a blog is great - random strangers DO read your witterings. Some of them even buy your book. 

5. Signing up for does not guarantee you’ll be noticed by an agent the next day. It’s a website where you can learn key marketing skills such as, I’ll read your book if you read mine. Promise this one million times and you might hit the Editors Desk - this never leads to publication. Ever.

6. Signing up for does mean you can make your very own book trailer. 

7. Getting your first book professionally edited is a really good idea even if you’re not looking to self-publish. An editor will focus your style on the market/genre you’re really writing for, point out where your writing skills need work and you could end up with a manuscript an agent does want to read. 

8. Grammar and punctuation are not dark arts – they’re a skill every author can and ought to learn;

9. Signing up for does not guarantee you’ll be noticed by an agent the next day. It’s a website where you’ll receive reviews such as , ‘I hate chick lit and this shoe-based romance...’ and ‘I normally prefer steampunk erotica so this western romance...’ 

10. Some people do make it big - with very little effort it can seem.

11. Some people plug away for years and make pocket money.

12. That book you finished - it isn’t finished. Typing ‘The End’ simply means the editing can start.

13. Right now, on Amazon you can buy a book called Mail Order Tiger Bride Wars – it does what it says on the tin. That BBW shape-shifter piece of romance is currently ranked higher than #FORFEIT. Yet that doesn’t sting nearly as much an agent rejection letter because....

14. Three million reads on say people really like my books. 

And that’ll do, pig.

Caroline lives in the Lake District with her husband, small child and two Kune Kune pigs. 

She daydreams of one day owning a pair of Louboutin's and having somewhere fabulous to wear them. Until then, she'll be found plodding up a mountain in her trusty hiking boots. 

#forfeit is Caroline's debut novel. Her follow up, Nearly Almost Somebody is also available from Amazon.

One (1) ebook copy of Nearly Almost Somebody. Open internationally

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