Tuesday, August 30, 2011

The Story Behind the Story with Guest Blogger: Kathyrn Meyer Griffith

Meet author Kathryn Meyer Griffith today at the Book Boost.

She's here to tell us the story behind the story and here's what she had to say...

In 1990 or so I’d just got done releasing my first three paperback novels with Leisure Books, a romantic historical (The Heart of the Rose, 1985) and two romantic horror books (Evil Stalks the Night, 1984 and Blood Forge, 1989), and because I wasn’t making much money on them, was looking, as most so-called restless young authors were doing, to move up in the publishing industry.

So I wrote snail mail letters to three established authors of the day – Dean Koontz, Stephen King and Peter Straub – asking for a little advice and a little help. What do I do next? I want to be one of the big dogs running in the big races. I want to make the big bucks. Be famous like you. (Ha, ha. I was so naïve in those days!)

Well, Stephen King and Peter Straub never answered my letters but one rainy fall night I got a phone call from Gerda Koontz (Dean Koontz’s wife) and she said Dean had gotten my letter and wanted me to have a name of a brand new agent who I should call or write to and say I was recommended by him. If I thought it strange that Dean Koontz himself wasn’t actually talking to me I was told by Gerda that he was a shy man and had had a particularly hard couple of months because of family problems (I think it had something to do with his father in a nursing home or something, but can’t exactly recall now) and he’d asked her to call me.

She often did that for him, as well as helping him with the business side of his writing career. He (through her…and I got the impression that he was actually nearby telling her what to say the whole time) said I had to have an agent (I didn’t have one) and then he gave me the name of an ambitious one, Lori Perkins, just starting out and his advice on what I should do to advance as a writer.

I do remember being incredibly touched that he, a famous busy novelist that I admired – I loved his Twilight Eyes – would take the time to talk to me, even through his wife. They were both so sweet and we talked for nearly an hour all about writing, books and everything.

I took their advice and contacted that agent and she agreed immediately to represent me on my fourth book, Vampire Blood, no doubt, because I said Dean Koontz had recommended her to me. Name dropper! But Vampire Blood was the reason I’d contacted those famous authors in the first place.

I thought it was the best book I’d done so far and wanted it to go to (what I thought at the time) would be a better publisher than Leisure Books, which contracted and hog-tied their writers with a horrible ‘potboiler’ one-size-fits-all ten year contract with low advances and 4% royalties. Yes, I got a whole whopping 14 cents a book in those days, but, I must confess, they did print thousands of paperbacks each run and had a huge distribution area. I thought I could do a lot better.

Anyway, Lori Perkins wanted me to send her the book and she did like it and eventually sold it, and then three others zip-zip-zip right after, to Zebra Books (now known more as Kensington Publishing) at 6% royalties and double the advances I was used to getting. They slapped a sexy blond vampire with a low dress on the cover and a hazy theater behind her. Lovely colors. I thought it was an eye-catching cover. I was so happy. I thought I’d made it! Again, so naïve.

Vampire Blood. A little story about a family of vicious killing vampires who settle in a small Florida town called Summer Haven and end up buying and fixing up an old theater palace to run, and pluck their victims from, and a divorced, down-on-her-luck ex-novelist and her worn-out father, who along with friends, help thwart them. I based it on this family I knew in our small hometown who ran a theater. It was their whole life. And they were delighted to be the template for the vampire family and novel.

So Vampire Blood came out and did very well for me, second only to my Zebra 1993 Witches. As the years went by it went out of print and when, twenty years later, Kim Richards at Damnation Books contracted my 13th and 14th novels, Before the End: A Time of Demons and The Woman in Crimson, she asked if I’d like to rerelease (with new covers and rewritten, of course) my 7 out-of-print Leisure and Zebra paperbacks – and I said a resounding "yes"!

So…here it is…Vampire Blood…twenty years later, alive again and better, I believe, than the original because my writing then was done on an electric typewriter, with gobs of White-Out and carbon paper (I couldn’t afford copies), using snail mail; all of which didn’t lend itself to much rewriting. And in those days, editors told an author what to change and then the writer only saw the manuscript once to final proof it. Who knew what those sneaky editors were slipping in inbetween and before the final book was in an author’s greedy little hands.

Hey, and I was working full time, raising a son, living a life and caring for my big extended family in one way or another, too. Busy, exciting, loving, happy and sad times. Times and people I will never forget.

A Note from the Book Boost: This is an amazing story, Kathryn. This book has certainly come a long way. And as a fan of Dean Koontz--color me very impressed. So glad you found your way to Eternal Press (where I'm also a proud author) and as a former Leisure author myself--I can totally relate. Hey--I'd expect nothing less of Vampire Blood than to have it live on--vampires are immortal after all. Thanks for joining us and please tell us more about the book!


For years the vampire family lived in the shadows, hidden by the night and people’s disbelief; feeding on animals or throw away people who would never be missed. But as the family moves into an old theater, and uses it to cover up their crimes, the youngest of them are restless and determined to live as they like. Recklessly. Killing and feeding when and where they want. Feeding on who they want.

Only the parent vampires have managed to keep them in check.

But no longer.

Unaware of the night stalking menace, the townspeople of Summer Haven, Florida, blithely go about their daily lives until, one by one, they begin to disappear. Screams are heard in the night. Fear grows. The lost are never found…alive.

But Jenny Lacey and her father, who are hired to renovate the old Grand Theater, can’t escape when they find themselves caught up in the middle of the vampire’s war. And, in the end, it’s up to Jenny, her brother, Joey, and her ex-husband, Jeff, to get rid of the bloodthirsty fiends
that are destroying their town…if they can.

Want More Kathryn?

Visit her here: http://www.bebo.com/kathrynmeyerG

Check out her Eternal Press books here:

And, pick up your copy of Vampire Blood today! Click here.

Monday, August 29, 2011

Taking a Dip in the Genre Pool with Guest Blogger: Gianna Bruno

Win a copy of Hot Chocolate Kiss
and The Journey today at the Book Boost!

Author Gianna Bruno joins us to discuss her unique genre mix and here's what she had to say...

I'm Gianna Bruno, most often known as a writer of paranormal fantasy and erotica. I have always thrived on the challenge of inventing new worlds featuring supernatural creatures to balance out my "real world" characters and plots. It always begins with reality, and as is the case with The Journey, some historical time and place. But very soon that blurs and my imagination takes flight, just like the giant Damselfly who brings Hamil and Milena to the Sea Otherworld.

Most of my stories begin with snippets of dreams or real life adventures. I live in New York City, which is a treasure trove for urban fantasy and magical realist writers. But since I’ve lived a good bit of my life in southern New England: Boston, the North Shore of Massachusetts and Vermont, moving from urban to ex-urban settings, and from fantasy to reality, is so much a part of my life, I’ve learned to see the magic, taste it, feel it.

It doesn’t matter if I’m on a subway, exploring the back roads and byways in Salem and environs, watching hurricane driven surf crash onto a beach, or battling the wind to get down a steep, icy slope. The witches, fairies, ghosts, and occasional alien invade my subconscious and implore me to chronicle their stories and adventures.

My latest Eternal Press release, The Journey, began as a dream about a woman walking through a snowy wood and meeting a fairy. Milena is a witch who lives on the outskirts of Salem just before the start of the Civil War. The fact that the Underground Railroad was active in that part of Massachusetts, best known for its prejudice against witches (though it had waned by that time), created an interesting twist and gave Milena a clear mission and sense of purpose.

The result was a traditional fantasy with splashes of fairy magic, witchcraft, voodoo, action, and adventure in a historical setting. I suppose I should mention it’s highly erotic–as a story that explores the dark depths of humanity needs to be.

So it's a bit disconcerting to be in the middle of writing a collection of contemporary erotic short stories, and no fantasy has crept in yet! Well there might be a futurisitic orgasm meter involved, but that might be science fiction except it's too totally possible and might already be in the works.

At Home With Peter and Sandra chronicles the adventures of a couple from the suburbs of anywhere seeking to re-invent their relationship. They branch out from experimenting with just themselves to a host of erotic adventures. It's humorous, five flames, and I am having a great time writing it.

I'd love to have folks weigh in on how I'm doing in this new endeavor. You can read a blurb and excerpt of At Home With Peter and Sandra (click here).

A Note from the Book Boost: I've written almost every genre with the exception of horror (and I've thought about that one, too). I think genre hopping is great fun and wish you best of luck with your new endeavor. Please tell us more about your latest release.


They don't hang witches in Salem anymore, but Milena's punishment is being shunned. When her lover Thomas' ship is lost at sea, she fears he perished with the rest of the crew leaving her alone in a town bracing for a war over slavery, but still rife with an older form of prejudice.

Milena travels into the Forest and Sea Otherworlds to search for him, paying the fairies for her passage with bodily pleasures. Circe, the evil mermaid holding Thomas hostage, demands even more. She faces off against Circe in her underwater lair, endures the wrath of a colony of escaped slaves, and learns the terrible truth of what led to the shipwreck that left Thomas as its only survivor.

On the long journey, Milena learns to use her powers in ways she never imagined and discovers surprising truths about her own past. Left questioning everything she has ever believed, she must make the choice whether to return home with Thomas or stay in the Otherworlds forever.


Milena prepared a place on the floor, but before she could lie down, Hecabe's chanting and rocking began anew. Her eyes opened and stared into Milena's.

A male voice spoke. "Meet me in the forest. I have news of Thomas. Time grows short."

Her hands shook as she pulled on her boots and drew a cloak over her nightdress. Why had she not sought Hecabe's counsel sooner? She ran into the woods, fearing it might already be too late. Dead branches snapped under her feet. Clumps of wet snow fell from the pine boughs and landed with a thud on the sodden earth. A colony of bats flew overhead, headed for the safety of the thick forest growth.

Mist rose from the snow. Fairies materialized and swarmed around her; the furious beat of their wings raised a high-pitched whine.

Half as tall as she, they seemed fashioned out of silver strands of gossamer, clothed in cloaks of snowflake lace. Females, Milena surmised, noting their firm, full breasts and silver haired pubes through the translucent garments.

The fairies surrounded and guided her along the path for a good distance, until her feet were soaked and freezing.

A male fairy appeared, clad in the same lacy garments. He stood two heads taller than the females, his organ dangled nearly to his knees. A deep growl vibrated in Milena's ears raising a spiral of fear along her spine. He smacked his lips like a pig at the slop trough.

"I am Hamil, the guardian of the Forest Otherworld. Fear not, sister. I mean you no harm.

You have prayed for news of your lost one who lives still. The creatures of the Otherworlds have conducted his pleas to you over sand, ocean and through the woods. We can take you to him."

His was the same voice channeled through Hecabe, another sign the fairy spoke the truth.

Thomas lived, and she had to find him.

"Guide me there." Milena noticed how Hamil's almond shaped eyes surveyed her.

He cocked his head to the side and a smile spread over his face. "Surely you don't expect passage without payment. And your coin means nothing to us."

"You demand my body, but I have pledged fidelity to another." Milena affirmed, both disconcerted and intrigued by the now pulsing phallus.

"He suffers far worse than shall you. The creatures of the sea are having their way with him."

Hamil stroked her arm with his webbed green fingers.

Milena shrunk from him. She needed Hecabe's guidance before agreeing. "I must prepare for the journey."

"Your word will seal the contact, dear Milena. Then you will begin the first leg of your sojourn." He took her by the hand, his touch as soft as a spring leaf.

Want More Gianna?

Visit her website here: http://giannabruno.com

Follow her blog here: http://giannabruno.blogspot.com

Pick up your copy of her book today! Click here.

Contest Time:

Leave a question or comment for Gianna and be entered to win a PDF of Hot Chocolate Kiss and The Journey, with a personalized note.

**Winners for Book Boost prizes are drawn the first week of the following month and posted in the Recent Winners box in the right hand side of the blog. Check back to see if you are a winner and to claim your prize! Please leave your contact information in your blog post!**

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Summer Breezes By with Guest Blogger: Amy Corwin

Win a copy of A Rose Before Dying and meet author Amy Corwin today at the Book Boost!

She's here to chat about the end of summer and beyond and here's what she had to say...

The end of the summer has always been such a special time for me. When I was young, it meant the excitement of going back to school, seeing friends, and the start of a brand new year where anything was possible. As I grew older, this season kept that thrill. The weather cooled, and we could return to the woods and gardens to hike, camp and garden.

Now, one of my favorite things at the end of August is to travel to the mountains, particularly along the Appalachian trail, to watch the birds migrating south. All those confusing fall warblers in eclipse plumage that seems to be mostly shades of olive and brown…they blend into the foliage so well that it’s a heart-thumping miracle when you spot one. Then there are the kettles of hawks hanging on thermals and circling lazily…how can you resist spending a day with friends watching the sky for the graceful, lazy swoop of a Broad-winged Hawk?

A few years ago, we dug out several plots for gardening. Now roses, flowers, vegetables and herbs grow in rampant glory and although they suffer during the hottest months of summer, as the weather cools, they put out another effort that is the best of all. The leaves of the trees turn brilliant colors and the sky has never been a more brilliant blue as a backdrop for the flowers. And to our delight, the apples ripen, and the roses put on a final, magnificent show as summer glides into fall.

There is so much to enjoy and celebrate that it would be impossible to ignore the seasons in our books. The time of year is a critical element of the setting and often becomes almost another character. In fact, I’ve had editors remove some of my descriptions because of “point of view” faults where the wind or rain has developed its own point of view and interacts with the characters. One day, I may grow bold enough to write “STET” when an editor tells me to remove those passages and leave the Season as yet another character to enrich the story.

Here in North Carolina, when hurricane season sets in, it can truly be an adversary and a devastating force to challenge our heroes and heroines. In my mysteries, the weather always sets the mood and in books like A Rose Before Dying a dreary, cold rain adds to the problems besetting the hero as he races to prevent another murder. The hopeless chill reflects his mood when he fears he may be too late to save those dear to him, and the rain intensifies to become nearly as villainous as the murderer.

In Smuggled Rose the story takes place in late winter to early spring, a time when life is just returning to the garden. That sense of a new beginning underscores the theme of redemption and new hope, and resonates with the heroine’s own interests, as she is an avid rose gardener awaiting the first green leaves of spring. When the story begins, the rose garden is nothing but thorny sticks, however they grow and blossom just as the heroine does.

Properly handled, the seasons are incredibly important to both our lives and our stories. They reflect the rhythm of life and without that element, books would be poor, drab things without resonance or life.

Celebrate the joys of the seasons and take a bite of the first crisp, fall apples. You won’t regret it.

A Note from the Book Boost: What a beautifully written post and tribute to the changing seasons, Amy. Thanks for joining us today. I live in the too hot southern U.S. and I can hardly wait for the season to change down here. Come on Fall! :-) Please tell us more about your book.


Only Sir Edward had the motive, the opportunity, and a garden full of the identical roses sent to each victim before their death.

The first victim was Sir Edward's ex-mistress, a woman who threw him over for a younger man. After receiving a mysterious rose, she dies while alone with Sir Edward. Then a second rose is delivered and a deadly game commences, where roses are the only clues to save the next victim.

However, Charles Vance, Earl of Castlemoor, refuses to believe his uncle, Sir Edward, could commit the murders, even when the renowned head of the Second Sons Inquiry Agency warns him there may be some truth behind the rumors. “The roses are Sir Edward's attempt to cast suspicion elsewhere.” “Misdirection.” Or so the whispers say.

Convinced he can prove his uncle's innocence, Vance enlists the aide of notable rosarian, Ariadne Wellfleet, little realizing his actions will involve the Wellfleet household in the killer's game.
Before the week is out, Charles receives another rose.

And someone else is missing.


“Is this our only clue, then?” Charles arranged the two calling cards in front of him before gently rewrapping the spray of yellow flowers. “Did anyone see the flowers delivered?”

“No. The butler found the first bundle on the stoop when he opened the door for Lady Banks and Sir Edward to attend church services. They assumed I’d left it there as a surprise when I arrived.”

“Surely the accident didn’t occur on your way to church?” Charles asked, appalled.

“No—no. We went for a walk. Later. In the garden,” Sir Edward said. “There was a shot. She fell into my arms…”

After a moment of silence, Gaunt picked up the threads of the story to spare Sir Edward. “The second note and rose were left at the French doors leading to the garden.”

“Inside the house?”

“No. Outside,” his uncle said.

“And no one saw anyone?” How was that possible?

“No. No one but me. The servants said no one but me had visited or been in the garden. The constable did his best. He questioned several of the lads—known poachers—but they all had witnesses to verify their whereabouts at the time. Then he had to look elsewhere. By then, the whispers had started. I was alone in the garden with her. They said I did it. I was the only one there.”

Charles touched his uncle’s shoulder. “Nonsense. Obviously, someone else had been there. Had she argued with anyone?”

“No!” The single word exploded from his uncle’s white lips. “No. She argued with no one. This was—inexplicable. Inexcusable. She was an innocent victim. I—I believe it was aimed at me. The taunting flowers—what other reason could there be for those bloody roses?” He voice rasped with barely suppressed emotion. “He killed her—so they weren’t meant for her. The flowers were a message to me.”

Want More Amy?

Visit her website here: http://www.amycorwin.com

Follow her blog here: http://amycorwin.blogspot.com

Pick up a copy of her book today! Click here.

Contest Time:

Leave a question or comment for Amy and be entered to win a copy of A Rose Before Dying in the format (print or e-book) of the winner's choice.

**Winners for Book Boost prizes are drawn the first week of the following month and posted in the Recent Winners box in the right hand side of the blog. Check back to see if you are a winner and to claim your prize! Please leave your contact information in your blog post!**

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

There's Something About Mary with Guest Author: Mary Abshire

Meet paranormal author Mary Abshire today at the Book Boost!

We recently had a chat with her and here's what she had to say...

TBB: Where are you from?

MA: I grew up a Hoosier (in Indiana), but I spent a lot of time with family in Arizona. My in-laws are from Louisiana, but the mosquitoes and flying roaches keep me from visiting much. Love the food. Hate the critters, and there are plenty!

TBB: Tell me about it. I live in the south and the mosquitoes are the size of gators down here. Tell us, when and why did you begin writing?

MA: I dabbled with writing in my early twenties, but didn't do anything with the short story I wrote. With other priorities consuming my life, I gave up writing. My heart just wasn't all there at the time. A couple of years ago, I realized I had time to write. I gave it a try and realized I enjoy writing very much. I shopped my first two novels around, but after time I decided to shelve them and move on. They really need some serious work and I'm more interested in writing other stories. Maybe one day I'll revisit my YA paranormal. It had a good plot, but for a first novel, it really needs work.

TBB: What is your latest news?

MA: My 4th Soul Catcher novel, Love Conquers All Evil, just came out. Also, I recently finished my WIP, The Quest. It's the sequel to my UF novel, The Awakening, which comes out January 2012 from Lyrical Press. After I polish The Quest, I'll shop it around and see what happens.

TBB: Congrats on your success! That's a lot of projects. What would you say is your most interesting writing quirk?

MA: I drink a lot of water. Seriously. I suck down water bottles like my life depended on the substance. In a normal evening (3-4 hrs writing time on average), I drink at least 4 bottles. I'm a waterholic. And yes, I recycle.

TBB: Sounds healthy. I do the same thing but with Pepsi. Not quite as healthy. LOL What advice to you have for other writers?

MA: Write every day, even if you only write 500 words or a page. Read too, every day. Don't let rejection stop you from going for your dream. I can't tell you how many times I got rejected. I shrug it off and move on.

TBB: Sage advice. Since you read every day, what book are you reading now?

MA: First Grave on the Right by Darynda Jones. I love it.

TBB: I've heard great things about this one as well. Now for a couple quirky questions for you to help readers get to know you better, what is your favorite breakfast food?

MA: Special K with vanilla and almonds. Yum!

TBB: Special K was a nickname I had in high school. :-) How about music, what song lyric gets stuck in your head most often?

MA: "And it feels better than love" by Hurts. The song is so damn catchy I can't get the lyrics out of my head.

TBB: I've never heard it. I don't think. But thanks for sharing and for joining us today. Do you have any final words for our readers?

MA: Thank you for stopping by. My 4th Soul Catcher novel is now available. When I started writing the series a little over a year ago, I never thought I would have 4 books out in less than a year. Needless-to-say, it's been very exciting and busy for me. I enjoyed writing each one, but this latest is my favorite. I'm not sure if I'll keep the series going. I have several different projects going on right now. Since the Soul Catcher series was my first, it will always have a special place in my heart. Long live Jessie and Drake!

TBB: Thanks, Mary and good luck on the series. Please share a blurb and excerpt with us before you go.


Welcome to arctic Alaska, free from vampires and home to humans, demons, and werewolves.

After months of moving and hiding from the VETOV, Drake and Jessie settle into a small Alaskan town. They soon discover a serial killer is on the loose and it's a demon stealing good souls. As Jessie mingles with locals from the demon community and investigates the murders, she bumps into a werewolf she had hoped she would never see again. More trouble arises and Jessie reaches out to Alan, the Alpha she met in Arizona.

Together, Drake and Alan seek to eliminate the threat against Jessie, but removing the werewolf may come with a steep price for the Alpha.

In a matter of a few days, Jessie battles for survival, and her own soul, while maintaining a feverish love for Drake. Demons and werewolves won't stop this half-demon soul catcher from sending evil souls to hell, or spending eternity with her noble vampire.


"So now that I'm here, what will you have me do?" I asked.

"That is a good question. What shall I do with you?"

I glanced over my shoulder at him. In Jeremy's image, I could look at him and not feel any emotion. When he appeared as Drake, my heart ached.

"I could keep you here as my personal slave, which intrigues me, or I could send you back," he said.

My lower lip quivered. Both options made me want to vomit. Bottom line, I'd never see Drake again. I didn't care what happened to me anymore. Stripped of hope and the man I loved, nothing could cheer me up.

"I admit, you are a valuable asset to me in the living world. However, the longer I stare at your beautiful body, the more I want to keep you for myself."

"I don't care what you do with me. Just decide," I said, staring at the tranquil sea. Decide and let me move on.

He chuckled. "Jessie, you are one of my favorites. I can sense the fight still within you. I like that."

A dark shadow loomed from above, drawing my attention away from the conversation. Shielding my eyes from the bright sun, I glanced up and found a massive pair of wings in the sky. I peered closer. The wings connected to a man's body. Holy shit!

The winged man dropped like a cannonball from the sky to the beach. He smacked the ground hard, creating a tremor that made my teeth chatter. The glasses on the counter shook, spilling tea over the rim of one of them.

"What the . . . ." I said softly.

"Indeed," the devil said. He passed me and headed for the winged man.

I ran to catch up, staying off to the side of the devil. My feet slipped in the sand and I flung out my arms, trying to keep from falling. A few feet ahead, the man kneeled on one knee with his head down. His large brown wings contracted toward his body. Where on Earth, er—hell, did such a creature come from?

The winged man slowly lifted his head and rose. He had short, blond hair shining in the sun. Muscles graced his bare arms and chest. A pair of tight pants covered his lower extremities and legs. I marveled at his large size. Even without his wings spread, he was a robust creature, and well over six feet in height. Something else I noticed about him. He had a soft sheen around him, a glow that magnified his beauty.

Want More Mary?

Visit her website here: http://www.maryabshire.com

Follow her on Twitter here: http://twitter.com/maryabshire

Pick up your copy of her book today! Click here.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Sultry Seasons with Guest Blogger: Berengaria Brown

Chat with erotica author Berengaria Brown
today at the Book Boost!

Here's what she had to say about writing with seasons...

I have two stories set at Christmas. One is a short MM story about two men who meet while rehearsing for a Christmas musical presentation (Noticing Nigel). Most of the action takes place inside, but there is mention that it's cold, but fine, when they leave the conference center for lunch.

The other story, also an MM, (Perfectly Presented) involves shopping for gifts for disadvantaged children. The weather is very cold, but not snowing.

I have one story set at midsummer (Turning Up the Heat). The hot weather is very much part of the plot of that story, and the fact that an air-conditioner is running all day. I have another story set on summer vacation at the beach (Summer Sizzle). The heat is not mentioned, but they swim, so it's obviously not cool.

But all the rest of my books? I confess the weather is usually fine if the characters are outdoors. It may not be warm, but it's not too cold to go walking, and it never seems to snow.

Clearly I'm missing some of the seasons. I obviously need to think of the possibilities of what characters could do on a cold, snowy day. Likely, they wouldn't be shoveling the walk!

I do use the scents of being outdoors. The sweet smell of flowers, the scent of barbecue wafting across the air, and the refreshing sensation of a cool breeze on sweaty skin after some hot outdoor sex.

In a Halloween story (Dogged Pursuit) the characters are under the trees down by the river in the evening. The season there is important, as it adds a sharp edge of expectation to the story. The “what if” factor.

In different books my characters go hiking, or just for a walk. They climb sand dunes and hills, They swim at the beach. In one story a character with a broken leg does rehabilitation exercises at a local swimming pool (Rose's Renaissance). In another book the two heroes actually meet at a swimming pool (Fire and Light).

I love plants, flowers, gardens, so several of my books are set around those features. In one the triad goes on vacation to a resort (Double Satisfaction). In another they work at a botanical garden (Blooming Love).

A Note from the Book Boost: Thanks for sharing details of how you used seasons and settings in your stories. Please give us more about your latest release.


A series of naked, well-endowed statues in the local park encourage lovers Fleur, Ricky, and Heath to indulge in some hot, naughty public sex. But is there more to these statues than rock-hard abs?

Lily and Flynn have been trapped inside a statue since last Halloween. When a mischievous god with a love of all things sexual swaps them for the trio of lovers, can the strength of their love set them all free?


Heath was staring up at a statue of a woman wearing nothing much, with one huge breast exposed.

“Climb up and kiss it, Heath and I'll take your photo,” called Fleur.

Heath shrugged the backpack off his shoulders and took a run up to the statue, catching hold of her elbows and kissing the breast, before dropping back to the ground.

The three laughed over the rather blurry photo on Fleur's phone then Heath picked up his backpack and they continued walking around the little path, which took another turn.

“We seem to be walking around this never-ending hedge-thing. I wonder what it is,” commented Fleur.

Still another turn took them to the opening in the hedge and a sign.

“It's a maze! Oh awesome, come, on,” called Fleur running inside. “Right or left?”

Ricky scanned the sign, but there was no key to the maze there. “Likely we'll be stuck here for a hundred years, slowly starving and turning into skeletons,” he wailed in as mournful a voice as he could manage.

“Our bones will be found by archeologists on a dig in the year 2100,” added Heath in a sepulchral tone.

But Fleur just laughed, turning right and left as they meandered through the maze.

After half a dozen dead-ends, and just when Ricky was getting tired of the game, they found themselves in the center of the maze. There was a cluster of benches to sit on, and a fountain.

Predictably, in the middle of the fountain was a statue of a man and a woman, dressed in long cloaks and very little else, in a clinch.

“You know, people say art today is pornographic, but when you look at statues like the ones in the Gardens here, they're definitely anatomically correct,” said Heath.

“Oh yes. Just think of all the famous paintings we studied in school. Most of them were naked too. And David,” added Fleur, licking her lips.

“David who?” Ricky wasn't following her conversation.

“Michelangelo's David. Now he's mighty easy on the eyes.”

Want More Berengaria?

Visit her website here: http://berengariabrown.webs.com/

Follow her blog here: http://berengariasblog.blogspot.com/

Pick up a copy of her book today! Click here.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Any Witch Way with Guest Blogger: Angie Fox

Chat with author Angie Fox and win a Demon Slayer book today at the Book Boost!

Angie's here to chat about her popular biker witches and here's what she had to say...

A lot of writers I’ve talked with have always known who they are. I envy that. Because for many years, I tried to be somebody else. You see, I’m kind of quirky. I like going on odd adventures. I like meeting new people. I was the kid who would rather hang out at a Renaissance fair than go to the ball game.

And because I love to read, eventually I decided I wanted to be a writer. But in order to write the kinds of books people wanted to read, I decided I had to be very serious. No more playing around. And as far as listening to my inner voice? Forget it. I’d never written a book before. This was not the time to trust my instincts. Instead, I had to take classes. So I signed up for these writing classes that taught me how to outline and how to write scenes on note cards and how to shuffle those note cards around and even how to put them on cork boards and make color coded note card charts.

Now don’t think I’m knocking classes. I did learn a lot. But my problem was, I had somehow convinced myself that someone else’s way was the right way to do things. As a result, my writing life was hard and it was tedious and sometimes I’d get frustrated and want to chuck the note cards at my shelf full of writing books, but I didn’t because I wanted to tell my stories and I thought that was the way to do it.

The end result? I wrote three mysteries that didn’t sell. Worse, I had an agent tell me that I had humor creeping into a murder scene – not good when you’re oh, so serious.

When I’d get comments like that or when I couldn’t look at one more chart, I’d retreat with the books I loved to read. I can go through several books a week and some of my favorite authors include MaryJanice Davidson, Katie MacAlister, Kerrelyn Sparks and Elizabeth Peters. Then, suitably fortified, I’d go back to ignoring my influences – the authors whose work I loved – in order to write what I thought I “should” be writing.

Until one day, I snapped. I’d been working hard on some new note cards – color coded – when I received a longish letter from a respected agent. He’d read my third book and thought it would probably sell. But he hoped it didn’t. He said I was compromising my voice. I was writing for someone else. How he could tell that from those words on the page, I’ll never know. He said that book wasn’t my, “breakout book” and that I should write something else.

It was painful to read, because I knew he was right. I didn’t know exactly what I should be writing, but I decided to pull that mystery from consideration. I needed to relax and have fun for a change. So I decided to write a book just for me, a book I knew wouldn’t sell. It had to be about the excitement, about the love of books and writing. I was so excited by the idea that I had trouble sleeping that night.

Then, a few nights later, I was up at three in the morning feeding my infant son and a fun idea popped into my head – what if a straight laced preschool teacher suddenly learns she’s a demon slayer? And what if she has to learn about her powers on the run from a fifth level demon? Ohhh and wouldn’t it be fun if she’s running with her long-lost Grandma’s gang of geriatric biker witches?

I could write the kind of book I liked reading – quirky, different – a book where I could build my own world and make up my own rules. I banished all note cards. I let my natural voice come out, even if it was kind of offbeat.

Instead of a 20-page plot outline, I had a 5-page list of ideas, one of which included “but little did they know, all the Shoney’s are run by werewolves.” Instead of following the rules, I broke a few. Instead of painstakingly writing over the course of a year, I giggled my way through the book and had a complete manuscript in five months.

The opening chapters did well in contests and caught the eye of an editor, who asked to see the whole thing. That same editor bought the book less than a week after I finished it. And a year later, that book ended up on the New York Times bestseller list.

Now that I’ve learned to follow my instincts, I’m writing what I want to write and loving every minute of it. It’s just so important to trust yourself and follow you instincts – in writing and in everything else.

Perfect example – in this second book, The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers, my protagonist is really coming into her powers. The first book was funnier because she was thrust into this magical world with no preparation. Now, the second book has a darker edge because she’s learning what that all means to her.

As I was writing it, I thought, “Can I abandon some of the quirkiness? Will readers follow me on this journey?” But I had to do it because in my heart I knew the story required it. The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers could be funny, and serious.

And again, in A Tale of Two Demon Slayers and The Last of the Demon Slayers, I made the love story deeper, hotter. It was what had to happen in the book. And boy, was it fun to writer. But what would readers think? Luckily, I learned my readers don’t mind a little heat.

In order to write the books I needed to write, I had to trust my instincts. Thank goodness, I’ve learned how.

I’d like to give away a copy of The Accidental Demon Slayer today. Just take the What’s Your Biker Witch Name? quiz, tell us your biker witch name and you’re entered to win! Details on where to find it are down below.

Want More Angie?

Visit her website here: www.angiefox.com

Read an excerpt, click here.

Pick up your copy of her book today! Click here.

Contest Time:

Visit Angie's webpage here (http://quiz.angiefox.com), take the Biker Witch Name quiz and then come back here to post your results. One winner selected at random will win a copy of The Accidental Demon Slayer.

**Winners for Book Boost prizes are drawn the first week of the following month and posted in the Recent Winners box in the right hand side of the blog. Check back to see if you are a winner and to claim your prize! Please leave your contact information in your blog post!**

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Romance Defined with Guest Blogger: Margaret West

Chat with author Margaret West today at the Book Boost!

She's here to help us define Romance...what is it anyway? Here's what she had to say...

If I had to define it, I’d say that romance is the very essence of life. Without it you will forever miss out on an essential component which makes you whole. It brings identity to your relationship. Distracted and occasionally jaded from the daily grind of life, it is quite possible to forget that your partner ever had feelings. The flame that once seared your veins with passion, filled your heart with bliss, begins to diminish into a pale glow of insignificance. Complacency sets in. The silent and fatal murderer of relationships.

So where does romance come from? Extravagant gestures, flowery words? No, that is just a tiny part of it. Romance comes from the heart. William Shakespeare once wrote, "Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind. And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind." Hence the saying, love is blind.

To hold onto love there has to be romance and that’s why I became a romance writer.
When the real world gets too much to bear, sometimes it’s nice to slip into a fictional reality. Become a silent observer in an unfolding romance. Feel the characters pain; become involved in the twists and turns, as the story unfolds. My life is full of romance every day because my husband and I put ourselves out to make sure it’s like that.

The most romantic thing he ever did for me was when we were first together. We had been dating a month. My car was clapped out and dead on its wheels and I was struggling to get the children to school on time as it kept breaking down. One morning he posted an envelope through my door and inside was a key and instructions to walk up the road and take the first left. I did as I was told and parked up was a little blue mini, covered in flowers with a huge pink bow on top. It wasn’t brand new, it wasn’t pristine, but it was like a Rolls Royce to me. He had spent all his free time fixing it up (he was a mechanic) just so I would have a car that was safe for me and the children. Inside was so full of flowers, I couldn’t get in to test drive it lol That memory has stayed with me for sixteen years and it never fails to make me smile.

Not all romances are great, some end bittersweet. But I hope yours is always filled with flowers and grace.

A Note from the Book Boost: I love this post, Margaret. It is so true. This week, my hubby and I will celebrate our wedding anniversary and romance will blossom. But it is important to keep this feeling shining through every day of the year. Thanks for sharing your story with us. Please tell us more about your latest book.


Justin stood in the lounge, oblivious to the cobwebs that covered the ancient furniture and the smell of decay caused by the rotten timbers which held the two hundred year old cottage together. This was his home now. The mansions and servants were long gone, along with his money and title.

When Abbey had failed to
return to him on her sixteenth birthday, despair had swallowed him into a terrifying darkness. Days, months and years turned into one long torment, with only Adrinia for company. If it hadn’t been for the reveal spell on the coin, she would still be lost to him.

He knew she was different from birth. She had a light in her sapphire eyes that all
the others lacked. Hiaxzel, the demon of subterfuge, saw Abbey was different too and told him to get her mother to make a will and enclose the coin with the reveal spell on it. Nothing stayed lost forever if the reveal spell was used. All he had to do was make sure that the will reached the right legal man. He would then make sure Abbey got her inheritance – and him.

Adrinia was right too, not that he’d admit it to her. Over the years, the previous
Abigail’s he’d spell bound had begun to change. They were too promiscuous, hard and unfeeling. Nothing like his dear wife, whose gentle nature had charmed him from the start. He tried so hard to get her back. But each time was a miserable failure. He knew there was a penance to pay for altering the laws of nature maybe that was it. All the other Abigail’s, made in her image, were his cross to bear along with the cruel fact his wife would never return to him. How deep that loss rankled him. But now he had Abbey. Someone to love and who would eventually grow to love the real him, without all the spells and potions.

Her body was unsullied. He felt a warm flush of lust envelop his body at the
thought. A virgin. Something he had never experienced, even with his wife. There would be no other man’s child in Abigail’s womb when she came to him. He would never be second best again.

Justin grimaced with distaste as he looked out of the grimy window. It was a long
time since he had touched anyone clean. He had to make do with slaves sent by Agrat-bat-mahlaht when the need took him. She might be one of Satan’s wives, but she wasn’t one for cleanliness with herself or her offerings. Abigail’s virginity was like a cleansing balm to his festering body and he wanted her desperately.

Abbey had to love him. The alternative of spending eternity with Adrinia sent a
shiver of horror down his twisted spine. She wasn’t even real to the touch. Her body was just a vague shimmering darkness, which possessed a sharp tongue that cut deep into his patience. She may be a queen, but Abigail was a goddess.

Nothing Adrinia did could match that. Justin took a deep breath and released it in a
loud hiss. The curls of air which followed reminded him how cold and empty the cottage was. But Abigail would soon bring the warmth back. To his heart as well.

Justin turned and faced the empty room, his smile sly and insidious as he gazed at
the squalor around him. The cottage needed more up to date, comfortable furnishings. A larder full of fresh food and most importantly, a bed fit for a queen. His forked tongue flicked out of his mouth salaciously. Silk sheets. Her body looked soft and delicate. It needed gentle persuasion to give up its secrets. His loins began to ache when he thought how close he had come to possessing her. Before the light had almost blinded him. “Soon my love,” he whispered. “Soon you will feel me within you and you will cry out my name in ecstasy.”

Justin staggered slightly and gripped the rotting window frame as the ground below
his feet heaved. A terrific crack rented the air as the floor imploded and filled the room with sharp wooden splinters. Then, like poison spewing from a canker, a stream of shadow demons poured from the hole.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” he greeted, throwing his bony arms wide. “It’s
time. My queen’s arrival is imminent and there’s much to do.”

Adriana, hidden in the darkest shadow of the room, sucked in her breath and
exhaled in an angry hiss of injustice at Justin’s words. “I’m the only queen here, Justin Montgomery,” she whispered. “I think he needs a reminder of that, don’t you Aslow?” She stroked the dark shape nestled in her arm and smiled. “It was hard enough getting rid of Justin’s slut of a wife. The soul seekers asked a high price to entomb her soul. I wonder how much they’ll want for his precious Abigail.”

Want More Margaret?

Visit her website here: www.margaretwest.net

Follow her blog here: http://magsx.blogspot.com/

Pick up your copy of her book today! Click here.

Post #300 Celebrated @theBookBoost


Just a note to thank all our Followers, Authors, and Supporters for an amazing 300 posts here at the Book Boost!

Now back to our regularly scheduled program...

Write on,
Kerri Nelson
Owner, The Book Boost

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Summertime Blues with Guest Blogger: Norah Wilson

Win a copy of The Merzetti Effect and
meet author Norah Wilson
today at the Book Boost!

Here's what she had to say
about the end of summer...

The End of Summer
(or It’s Never as Bad as You Think)

The grass is still green and the leaves have not yet begun to change, but you can just feel it, can’t you? The end of summer is just around the corner. The birds don’t start to squabble … er… I mean sing quite so early in the morning. The sun takes a few minutes longer to rise, and there’s an early morning chill to chase away. Living here in Atlantic Canada where our summers are so short and our winters so long, it sends a shiver up my spine to notice these things. But I have an extra reason for dreading the departure of summer and those long, long days of sunshine. I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder, or SAD.

Depending on its severity, SAD can really sap your ambition. In my case, it makes me want to eat carbs non-stop, sleep, and steer clear of social interactions beyond the necessary ones. Yep. Full on hibernation mode. Of course, I can’t succumb to it, even when the temperatures plunge and the snow begins to pile up. I get out as much as I can, walking my dog morning and night if the weather permits. I take Vitamin D, eat lots of protein and fruit and vegetables high in Vitamin C, and otherwise try to fuel my energy and mood. I even use a light therapy lamp. And of course, I have close writing friends to drag me out when I would rather crawl into bed and re-watch the last season of Supernatural or Justified.

But forget about the toll Seasonal Affective Disorder takes on me. Think about my characters! When I’m struggling myself, it is unbelievably hard to try to connect with my characters and truly feel their emotions. (Though it comes in handy when you want one of them to be bitchy and monosyllabic!) On those days when my SAD is at its worst, it’s a painful struggle to write. For instance, with The Merzetti Effect, I wrote some of the love scenes during such a period. It would take me days on end to force out a scene that didn’t make me want to turn a blowtorch on my keyboard and walk away. Yes, those scenes came out hard and I didn’t have much hope for them. Frankly, I thought they were wooden and lackluster and awful.

But then a funny thing happened. The days started to get longer again. The snow started to melt and I could just feel spring in the air again. And when I went back and read those scenes, I was amazed to see that they were fine. No, they were better than fine. Some of them were incandescent. I don’t know how I did it, but somehow I’d pulled it off.

So if there’s a lesson to be taken, I guess it’s this: Whatever artistic endeavors you are engaged in – writing novels or poems or songs or composing music or painting or drawing – remember that if you’re seized by Seasonal Affective Disorder or any other form of depression, fall back on and trust the craft that’s gotten you this far.

Yes, fight back. Yes, take the best care of yourself you possibly can. And hell yes, dig as deep as you can when you sit down at that keyboard and reach for those emotions. But in the end, realize that you are not the best judge of your work at this point. Just do the best that you can with all those tools you’ve worked so hard to master, and when you’re done – this is the important part – resist the urge to destroy it. Just park it for a while and come back to it later, preferably when your own frozen emotions have started to thaw. Not only might it not suck, it might be pretty darned good!

A Note from the Book Boost: This was a very interesting post, Norah. Thanks for sharing your experiences with us and please tell us more about your book!


Dr. Delano Bowen has searched over a century for a cure for his vampirism. At last, he's found it in nurse Ainsley Crawford, a descendent of the Merzetti family, carriers of an anti-vampirism agent. She has no idea of the genetic gift Delano is reaping. When danger threatens, he draws her close to protect her. But when attraction flares, hot and urgent, she could literally be the death of him.


Ainsley’s momentum as she entered the study carried her right past Delano. Belatedly, she caught a glimpse of him in her peripheral vision, standing still as a statue just to the left of the door.

“Over here,” he drawled. “You seem to have overshot me.”

She rounded on him, a flush warming her neck. The rat. No doubt he’d positioned himself there strategically so she would blow right past him. Well, she refused to feel like she was overreacting.

“Dammit, Delano, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I thought you’d had quite enough rude shocks to cope with.”

She made no attempt to stifle a snort of disbelief. “Really? So it was my welfare you were concerned about?”


“And the fact that I might have declined the job had I known the boss was a blood-sucking vampire didn’t enter into your decision-making process?”

His face hardened. “I shouldn’t have to explain to you, of all people, that there’s no sucking involved. And to answer your question, yes, that did enter into the equation. But frankly, I don’t think it would have been a deal-breaker, had I told you. You still have that crippling need to feed your bank account, and a decidedly lackluster reference from your employer.”

“But I deserved to know!”

“Know?” His face hardened still further, making him look even more remote. “You want to know, Ainsley? Then you shall know.”

Suddenly, he was beside her. Just like that. One second he was standing twelve feet away, his features perfectly distinguishable. Then, the very next instant, he was there, right there, mere inches away, too close for her to adjust the focus. All she’d seen was a blur of motion.

“God!” Her hand leapt automatically to the pulse hammering in her throat.

“Not even close.”

He drew his lips back in a caricature of a smile, and before her eyes, the two upper cuspids telescoped into pointed fangs more fearsome and lethal looking than those of her attacker. Reflexively, she jerked back, but his hand shot out to grasp her wrist.

“Don’t go all weak-kneed on me now, Ainsley. You want to know? Then watch and learn.”

Then he raised what she realized was a unit of blood and sank his teeth into it. Holding her gaze, he squeezed the plastic bag, creating the pressure required to push the blood into his venous system.

She watched, half revolted, half fascinated.

It took thirty seconds. Maybe a little longer. When the bag was all but empty, he wrenched it from his mouth. Her eyes dropped to his teeth, to the elongated canines that gleamed red with blood. Then, drawn by motion, her gaze dropped to his chest. Beneath the black cashmere sweater he wore, his chest heaved as though he’d just run a marathon.

Or as though he were sexually aroused.

Her gaze jerked back to his face, and she sucked in an audible breath.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

Pure need had chiseled his features into brutally hard planes and angles. It blazed from his dark eyes and escaped in gusts from his still parted lips.

And deep in her belly, a dark, matching excitement unfurled.

Oh, God.

He’d said it was pleasurable for a woman. Intensely so. She’d doubted it then; nothing about her own experience had been anything but horrifying. Of course, that had been an assault, an act of violence, the equivalent of a rape. This would be different. Her blood thrummed with the certain, inborn knowledge that Delano Bowen could bring her pleasure beyond imagination.

Her skin tingled. His breath on her flesh was a caress. Beneath the man’s shirt that Eli had procured for her, she felt her nipples tighten and her stomach muscles contract. Oh, God, yes.

She let her eyelids drift down, let her head fall back, tilting it to the right to expose her neck. Trembling with the force of a raw and unfamiliar need, she waited for the searing kiss of his teeth.

His grip on her wrist tightened to the point of pain. She gasped. Her eyes flew open, but he’d already released her. Once again, he stood on the other side of his study, this time with his back to her, shoulders tight and tense.


“That was nothing personal.”

She blinked, watched him dispose of the spent blood bag in a bio-hazard waste disposal unit mounted on the wall. Calmly, he took a paper towel from a dispenser, wiped his mouth, then disposed of it, too.

“Excuse me?”

He turned to face her, his face once again composed and controlled, though his voice was slightly thicker than normal. “It’s just the bloodlust. It’s awakened when we feed.”

She blanched. This happened to all vampires when they fed? “You mean all those males who came to the clinic….?”

“I’m afraid so.” An apologetic smile curved his lips. “And perhaps more than a few of the females. Which is why we offer them a private, safe environment for their infusions. It takes a few moments to regain complete control afterward.”

Great. Her face burned. He’d had what amounted to a basic physiological reaction that would have happened with or without her presence, and she’d practically leapt on him. She closed her eyes again, this time in utter humiliation.

“Lighten up on yourself, Nurse Crawford. You may not have known about vampires and the delights of blood-sharing, but your primitive brain does.”

She blinked. “My primitive brain?”

“The primitive arousal center of your brain, yes. It knows, Ainsley.” His voice was like velvet brushing against her skin. “It’s as deeply embedded in your instincts as the fear of serpents or saber-toothed tigers or lightning. Don’t punish yourself for what it remembers.”

No. Un-uh. She wouldn’t have reacted the same way had this happened with any of the clients she’d processed in his clinic. Not even the one who bore a strong resemblance to Alan Rickman, right down to the voice, and she adored the hell out of Alan Rickman. Truly, madly, deeply adored him. But she was happy to take the out he offered.

“Well, that’s a relief. I was beginning to think—” Omigod! Her words trailed off as another thought occurred to her. That’s why he hadn’t wanted to draw her blood that time. But she’d pushed and pushed until he relented. That’s why he’d practically fled afterward. What might have happened if she had but looked into his eyes?


She blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

Want More Norah?

Visit here website here:

Follow her blog here:

Pick up your copy of her book today! Click here.

Contest Time:

Leave a question or comment for Norah and be entered to win a copy of The Merzetti Effect.

**Winners for Book Boost prizes are drawn the first week of the following month and posted in the Recent Winners box in the right hand side of the blog. Check back to see if you are a winner and to claim your prize! Please leave your contact information in your blog post!**

Monday, August 15, 2011

Top Five Publishing Lessons with Guest Blogger: Paula Wiseman

Meet author Paula Wiseman today at the Book Boost.

She's here to discuss the things she's learned about publishing and here's what she had to say...

Any new experience brings a fistful of lessons learned. In December 2010, Contingency, my first book released, followed closely by my second book, Precedent, in April 2011. Here are a few things I've discovered on this adventure.

1. Writing a book is just the first half of publishing a book. All that stuff I'd spent years learning, the how-to-write stuff... it was no help once I became a marketer. The learning curve is just as steep but with a huge time crunch added on. I learned to listen to the readers, and I noticed what they respond to. For example, we learned my readers are big Kindle fans, and they enjoyed seeing preview quotes and chapters before the book came out. Every book and audience is different, and figuring out what doesn't work is valuable information, too.

2. There is a ton of good advice out there. I couldn't possibly follow all of it. I also learned that occasionally that advice contradicts itself, and sometimes it just doesn't "fit". For example, if you write by the seat of your pants, then advice on a systemic, highly structured, note card-driven plot-mapping technique will make you nuts. I discovered a few industry professionals- writers, agents and editors- that I really like and I stick with them. I follow them on Twitter and subscribe to their blogs.

3. My second book was a lot like my second child. I knew more of what to expect, but it was still a unique experience. The release didn't garner as much hoopla from others, but I was just as excited. Of course, as with a second-born, it's tempting to bury all the excitement in a flurry of comparisons. The truth is, the two books work together bolstering each other.

4. ISBN numbers are much cooler when they are yours. I never knew I could be so proud of a 10 or 13 digit number. Also, the Library of Congress registration certificate comes in an envelope that looks a lot like junk mail. Be careful not to toss it!

5. Expect the unexpected. Even though I researched the process, and had a decent idea of what to expect once the books published, there was much more to it. Shipping, display ads, taxes, crashing websites, blog guests, reader emails, and more. Every day brings new surprises and challenges, and except for the occasional hiccup, I wouldn't trade any of it. With a new book releasing in the fall of 2011, it looks like the lessons won't stop any time soon.

A Note from the Book Boost: Thanks for sharing your experiences with us today, Paula. Please tell us more about your latest release.


After years of believing Chuck’s affair is behind them, Bobbi’s marriage is tested again when Tracy Ravenna resurfaces. Tracy’s not alone, though. Jackson Charles Ravenna is the newest student in Bobbi’s first grade class and the spitting image of her husband. When Chuck decides to pursue joint custody, they discover Jack isn’t the only secret Tracy’s been hiding. As Tracy’s past begins to threaten their future with Jack, Bobbi is forced to face the unsettling truth about God’s grace. But this time, what will it cost to forgive the unforgivable?


Bobbi charged across the lobby, her jaw set, fire in her eyes. Before he could react, she banged his office door closed behind her. “So help me, God, if you knew about this, Chuck, I will divorce you right now!” She threw a packet of papers across the desk.

“What are you talking about? If I knew about what?”

“I asked you!” Bobbi leaned across his desk, pointing a finger at him. “I asked you specifically if she was pregnant!”

“Who? Tracy? She wasn’t.”

“Read that last name on my class list! It’s her son!”

Chuck picked up the papers without taking his eyes off his wife. He swallowed hard and adjusted his glasses, then skimmed the top sheet until he found “Jackson Charles Ravenna.”

A wave of squeezing pressure hit his chest. “How do you know—?”

“Next to last page,” she snapped.

He looked away from her icy glare and carefully turned pages. This had to be a misunderstanding, a mistake of some sort. His eyes ran down the sheet looking for “Jackson Charles Ravenna.” He immediately recognized Tracy’s handwriting. Before his mind blasted in a thousand directions, he looked back up at his wife, battling to maintain calm in his voice. “Now Bobbi—”

“Don’t patronize me!” She slammed her hand down on his desk. “You look me in the eyes and tell me the truth. Did you know about this boy?”

“No.” He locked eyes with her. “I’m as shocked as you are.”

“I doubt that,” Bobbi shot back. “She hasn’t tried to contact you?”


“Have you tried to contact her?”

He could feel heat rising under his shirt collar, and his pulse began to pound.

“Chuck, answer me,” Bobbi seethed with quiet fury.

Chuck wished she were still yelling. “When I split the firm and sent Pete to open the Kansas City office …” Her clenched jaw twitched ever so slightly. “I checked with the Missouri Bar to see if she was there.” Bobbi dropped her head and huffed. “That’s all, I swear. I’ve never, ever tried to find a phone number, an address, or anything.”

“Say it without blinking.”

“I haven’t had any contact with Tracy in seven years.”

“That’s about to change,” Bobbi smirked, and pointed at the class list. “He’s yours, isn’t he?”

“He couldn’t be. She told me she took care of everything.”

“And of course she wouldn’t lie.” Bobbi rolled her eyes at him, and jabbed a finger toward the packet. “Look at his birth date.”

“April eighteenth. So?”

“Do the math.”

Chuck’s blood ran cold as he counted backwards nine months. He looked up from the paper into his wife’s eyes, as her anger gave way to fear and uncertainty.

“Bobbi, I don’t know what to say …” He wanted to cry, yell, throw something, punch something, and then rip the papers up in little tiny pieces.

“Almost to the day, isn’t it?” she said quietly.

Want More Paula?

Visit her website here: www.paulawiseman.com

Follow her on Twitter here: www.twitter.com/paulawiseman

Pick up your copy of her books today! Click here.

Friday, August 12, 2011

There is a Season with Guest Blogger: Sarah Gilman

Win a copy of Out in Blue and meet author Sarah Gilman today at the Book Boost!

Here's what she had to say...

It’s August. Where I live in northern New England, that means summer is almost over. Cold weather often sets in during September (though I admit the climate has been unusual the last few years, so you never know). Around here, it is not uncommon to trick-or-treat in the first snowfall of the year. My husband’s home town sits at an elevation that can see snow in early October, less than two months from now!

My debut novel, Out in Blue, is set locally in my home state of Vermont during autumn. Judging from the tourist influx during the fall, Vermont is well known throughout the country for fall foliage. Even though I see it every year, I love the annual color display, which reaches its peak in my hometown around my birthday.

“Please come in, both of you. It’s friggin’ northern Vermont out here.” —Jac, Out in Blue

Autumn in Vermont can get chilly, and Out in Blue is set during a cold snap. The foliage colors are at peak, but the weather has been cold enough for ice to form on ponds and streams. Prolonged time in the water is a hypothermia hazard that one of my characters has to deal with.

While crafting the novel, I was careful to not bog down the pace with excessive description, but I made of a point of highlighting the autumn foliage season in several scenes. When writing, authors use all the senses to bring the world to life. I loved how the vibrant colors of the autumn foliage added life to the some key scenes in my novel.

Sunlight backlit the deep red leaves that surrounded them. —Out in Blue

Readers, tell us, has the time of year played a large role in any of your favorite books?

A Note from the Book Boost: An interesting thought here, Sarah. In our real lives, weather often pays an integral part in things we do during each day. So why shouldn't it play the same role in our books? All I can tell you is that in the books I write, it is typically very hot. I live in the deep south after all where we have 4 seasons but they are fall, spring, summer, and HELL! Thanks for joining us, please share more about your book.


In a violent world where fallen archangels are hunted for their valuable plumage, Wren knows one thing for certain: the human woman who saved him from a poacher attack will die if she stays with him. The demon responsible for his parents’ gruesome deaths two decades ago pines for the chance to rip apart any woman who stands under Wren’s wing.

Wren doesn’t expect Ginger to stay by his side once she discovers his ability to drain life with a mere touch, yet she lingers. When an unusual talent of her own reveals the location of Wren’s father, Wren’s isolated world implodes. With the help of the demon protectors he’s sworn never to trust again, Wren risks everything to rescue his father, confront the demon who stalks his and Ginger’s every step, and claim his eternity with the most courageous woman he’s ever known.


Ginger Magellan glanced up when a man entered the café. His arm was marred by a tattoo of a bloody knife and scattered feathers, the insignia of the archangel poachers. After ordering an espresso at the bar, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed. Ginger wrapped her hands around her coffee and stared into the dark brew, but she listened to the poacher’s conversation.

“The house has been abandoned for years, but it’s the right place. I saw him fly in the fog this morning. Devil has a balcony entrance on the third floor.”

Devil. Ginger hid a snort of disgust under a fake cough.

The poacher continued after a moment. “Yeah, white wings, black markings. It’s Wren, for certain. And not a Guardian in sight. He’s all ours.”

Ginger tensed. No Guardians? Why would an archangel be without his demon bodyguards?

“Meet you there in thirty? He’ll be back before the fog clears.” The poacher accepted his espresso from the barista with a charming grin. She refused his payment and wished him luck. He blew her a kiss and left the café.

Clenching her teeth, Ginger tucked a twenty under her untouched coffee and rushed for the exit without waiting for change. She stepped into the foggy autumn morning, shivered, and buried her hands in her pockets. Two police officers chatted next to their cruiser, but she turned and hurried in the other direction. Archangel poaching, though technically illegal, was applauded and encouraged by most of the human population. She couldn’t trust the police.

She’d warn this “Wren” herself.

Ginger couldn’t let the poachers hunt and kill Wren like an animal. Neither the demons nor the fallen archangels were the Lucifer-like monsters most humans feared them to be—even though she’d never seen an archangel, they were so rare after centuries of poaching. A demon had raised her as his own and remained her best friend as much as her “father,” twenty-eight years later. She needed to call him; he’d know what to do.

Ginger jumped into her little Chevy, shut the door, and pulled out her cell phone. Why would an archangel be living around here? And without Guardians? Even Vermont was too populated for a being with a twenty-foot wingspan to hide. Was this archangel out of his damned mind?

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