Wednesday, August 14, 2013

As Luck Would Have It with author Gemma Halliday!

We are honored to feature author Gemma Halliday's latest release here on the Book Boost!  In fact, leave a comment and tell us about a stroke of luck you've had and be entered to win a copy of the book (sponsored by the Book Boost)!

C' know you wanna get lucky!


Luck Be a Lady
Tahoe Tessie Mysteries Book #1   

Tessie King has just inherited the biggest casino in South Lake Tahoe, Nevada: the Royal Palace. What she didn't bargain for are the problems she'd inherit with it.

Having left Tahoe years ago, the underbelly of the casino trade is a far cry from the art world Tessie is used to. High-stakes cons, inside jobs, wise guys... Tessie quickly realizes she's in way over her head. And things go from bad to worse when questions start to arise about the nature of her father's death.

Enter FBI agent Devin Ryder, member of the Nevada Organized Crime Task Force. He's had his eye on the Royal Palace for months, and with the suspicious death of its leader, Ryder now has Tessie squarely in his sights. If Tessie doesn't want to be running her casino from behind bars, she needs to find out how her father really died, who's behind it, why, and how to get them into Agent Ryder's hot little hands before he gets his hands on her. All the while catching a con-man, beating the competition, and running a multi-million dollar business.

Tough job? Fo'get about it. All in a day's work for this lady luck.

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Friday, August 9, 2013

Don't Worry, Be Happier with author Lynn Crandall

Chat with romantic suspense author 
Lynn Crandall today at the Book Boost!

I always considered myself a glass-half full kind of person. I don't know why, other than that's the preferred personality type in our society, it seemed to me. No matter what, see the rainbow in all things, is a common message.

But…I was wrong about myself. I saw myself as a happy person, one who makes lemonade out of lemons, when in truth, I was more like Eeyore, the little grey donkey in the Winnie the Pooh books who lived in a part of the Hundred Acre Wood that was called Eeyore's Gloomy Place. Like Eeyore, I was a person who almost expected the worst things to happen. The worst was inevitable. I thought I had evidence of that truth. If I planned a trip to the lake, it was likely to rain. If I wanted the contractors working on the garage to show up and complete the project on time I was engaging in wishful thinking, setting myself up for disappointment. I was happy, but a realist, I told myself. If I expected to be disappointed by something or someone, it was only because I was a realist. Better to see the truth than to be disappointed with reality.

Boy, that sounds so gloomy. And so not the truth for me anymore.

I think what we focus on is what we experience. I may have been conditioned from childhood and young adult experiences to set my bar low for happiness, but that was a defense that I no longer needed or wanted.

When I began writing my eyes opened up to the simple but amazing things around me. I started seeing that people on the whole are pleasant and interesting, and if they're having a bad day it's just a part of life, not something that proves the world is an unhappy place. I smiled first and the world around me shifted into something far more pleasant and full of possibilities. I could change my outlook and my experiences. Anything was possible. All these revelations taught me that I could be fundamentally happy, blissful, accepting whatever came my way. I could contain disappointment and unhappiness in a different way that let it pass, not take up residence in me. As writing introduced me to a deeper connection with things that stimulated my senses, my mind, and my heart, I felt gratitude. Happiness happened a lot more often.

According the Secret Society of Happy People website, there are a number of things we can do to boost our happiness quotient. Two pretty easy ways they list are to engage in life in meaningful ways and surround yourself with happy people because happiness is contagious.

Another way to create happiness is to take a look at what's causing sorrow or helplessness or any number of inner beliefs that shape life experiences. It naturally leads to dispelling misconceptions that create unhappiness.

In my early years of writing, I wrote a short story about a character who felt defeated. To her, the sun was always shining somewhere else. In the space of the short story, though, the character faced her inner context in which she framed her life experiences. She realizes her thoughts were making her see life through a perspective of helplessness and despair, when all around her were wonderful and supportive things. She was missing all that good stuff with her attitude, so she opened to change and made happiness happen.

Changing a personality bent doesn’t happen overnight. For we Eeyore's of the world, it takes trust and believing that we can contain more joy, it's safe and it's possible, and available to us all.

A Note from the Book Boost:  I hear you, Lynn.  Thanks for the insightful post.  I'm still a little bit more on the "realist to avoid disappointment" side.  I know that there is still a chance that I'll be disappointed either way, but I feel better prepared this way.  I envy the changes you've made, though.  Good for you!


Uncovering secrets and exposing truth are all in a day’s work for private investigator Sterling Aegar. But when her latest case threatens to reveal her own buried feelings for an old love, Sterling runs for cover.

A body in the bathtub and pleas from a jilted wife to find her wayward husband mean a welcome break from the usual humdrum cases Sterling and her sister, Lacey, are called to investigate. But when Sterling’s old flame, Detective Ben Kirby, walks into the murder scene, she feels her world spin out of control. Danger from thugs and murderers poses no greater threat than the peril she’d suffer if she lets daredevil Ben get too close.

Seeing Sterling for the first time in two years is for Ben like drinking in a healing tonic. He could never forget the way it felt to run his hands over her delicious curves or the way she touched his soul. She remains the one person who can make the emptiness in his gut go away. Finding the murderer is his job, but protecting Sterling from seriously dangerous people is his mission.

As the case unfolds, Sterling and Ben not only solve the murder and locate the missing husband, they confront secrets that set them each free from a painful past.


It’s no use, Sterling fumed. Her brain refused to work. She sorted through the case files at her office, willing her emotions to stop tormenting her as she recuperated from a long, sleepless night. The benign sounds of Michelle keyboarding in the outer office did little to interrupt the mindless emotional turmoil of last night’s restlessness.

In the darkness, thoughts of Ben and how it used to be, what she’d done to him, replayed unrestricted by the distractions of daylight. And now, in the light of day, the thoughts, haughty and determined, challenged her sanity, coaxing her to give them room to do their work.

It troubled her that the warning flags were up again. What were they trying to say? Were they warning her of a big problem with the case? Or were they trying to tell her to beware of involvement with Ben? It could lead to more pain, and she knew it.

Two years ago she’d told him it was over. Loving him had been so easy, but then the fear welled too greatly inside of her. With Nicholas’s death, she’d realized more than ever that a heart open to love was also a heart vulnerable to excruciating pain and insurmountable loss.

Silly girl. You’d actually believed in a happily ever after. The breakup had been difficult, but she’d only done what she needed to survive. And even when Ben had finally accepted that they weren’t going to be together, endorsing her decision to quit police work was quite another matter, something he’d railed against with all his usual unrestrained gusto.

But Sterling knew in time she’d get over Ben. And fortunately she didn’t need his permission to make a life as a private investigator. He didn’t even have to like it.

To make sure no one would get close enough to leave her hurt and broken like her mother, she’d made a life for herself invested in independence. She’d dated a few times, but quickly questioned, what was the point? She had friends and companionship, and she didn’t want anything more. Lacey liked to point out that Sterling’s single-minded devotion to her profession was her own way of building walls against the world. Maybe so. Maybe no one would get in. Especially not Ben Kirby. It didn’t have to make sense to be right for her.

Sterling dropped her forehead into the heels of her hands. If only life hadn’t cruelly smashed them up against each other again. If only Ben would stop forcing her into a corner where she questioned her decisions.

Want More Lynn?

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Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Analyze This with author Tony Thorne

Meet author Tony Thorne 
today on the Book Boost & find out 
about a chance to win FREE books!


The occupation of writing Genre Fiction, to many non-professional enthusiasts, is a serious hobby, and mostly unpaid labor. To genre editors nowadays, it must seem there are more writers around now than readers.

Perhaps it's a way to express and analyze one's feelings about the world, and where it's heading, and one’s place in it. Years ago, to become your own psychiatrist, all you needed was pencil and paper; but nowadays, your laptop is more convenient. Anywhere can become a couch and writing is more socially acceptable than talking to yourself.

I had some initial success as a budding Sci-Fi writer but then gave it up to spend thirty five years as a design engineer and business executive, starting an R & D company in England, then developing  product lines. The Queen awarded me an MBE for one of them. Then I began setting up marketing outlets, crumpling the competition, getting the best out of my staff, listening to their problems, and solving them, even my own when I could find the time, and if I could.

Then I became brain-drained to an American Corporation, and set up all their international operations, based in Switzerland. It was an offer I could not refuse. Eventually however, I began to resent the rat-race, the never-ending battle just to stay level, let alone to advance, and I was filled with remorse at the neglect of my home-life and family. My conscience simply refused to believe my contrived excuses and justification for what I was doing.

So, one day I threw it all in and went to work for myself, back in England. Not as a writer of fiction, but as a computer programmer, specializing in developing AI software, to generate business programs.  However, with no more international traveling I had more time to start writing fiction again. The day came when my first acceptance arrived. I knew I was progressing when, on re-reading the item, I found I was dissatisfied with it. The magazine printed it in its last ever issue, but it did pay me.

More of the smaller magazines and genre websites began to take my work. I’ve published several collections of speculative tales, appeared in many anthologies, and won a couple of awards plus a few competitions. I had my first novel published in the US by Eternal Press, last year, and have received a contract for the first sequel to it.

To conclude this therapeutical discussion, I confess I still crave to be recognized as a really successful writer, but I’m not getting any younger and time may be against me. However, I believe I may have discovered that there can be contentment in researching the limits of one's abilities, without necessarily reaching them. It seems the trick is to get almost as far as you believe you can, and stop just before that.

A Note from the Book Boost:  I totally agree that writing is a form of therapy.  Where else can we calm the voices in our head?  Nice, insightful post there Tony and I wish you best of luck in achieving your writing goals--it is never too late!


Thirty speculative yarns, with a twist in their tails, selected from the original award winning trilogy. Almost anything can happen in that magical tropical Canary Island, and in these quirky stories it usually does. Includes an introduction by the legendary SF writer, Harry Harrison, plus a bonus new tale to both chill and entertain you.


A few months later, the local Tenerife newspaper came out with the news that a JURASSIC MICRO PARK would be open for business the following holiday weekend. The rest of the newspapers and TV channels soon picked up the story and, on the opening day, the queues were enormous.  Extra railings had to be placed around the access area, to cope with them.

The long impatient wait to get in was well worth it though. The viewing area comprised a large glass walled enclosure containing a miniature jungle with several open pasture areas inside it. Little herds of tiny vegetarian dinosaurs browsed happily, feeding on the clumps of fast growing genetically modified Bonsai trees. There was also a miniature lake in one of the open areas, where the occasional miniature diplodocus could be seen paddling around  from time to time, with its long neck mostly up out of the water.

For the benefit of the public, there was a large raised observation gallery all around the enclosure, with closely placed sets of binoculars around it. Viewers were able to see the fantastic creatures in detail. There was also a large transparent roof held up in position over the enclosure. It was suspended from a set of computer controlled apparatus, and could be lowered and effectively sealed if for any reason the environment needed modifying, such as for climate control in the winter.

The whole project was a huge success. Viewing became only possible by purchasing reserved tickets, timed and dated. The money rolled in and the stockholders, and the employees, were delighted; until one day, when unexpected problems began to happen. The first was, when it was realized, that something very hungry was devouring the vegetarian dinosaurs. An unknown predator was at work.

Want More Tony?
Visit the author on the web today:

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Contest Time:

There's a deliberate error somewhere in The Best of The Tenerife Tall Tales.  The first person to spot it and send me an e-mail gets three free e-books of any of my titles (see The second person gets two books, and the third lucky winner gets one..! The contest stays open until the third one is in.

Monday, August 5, 2013

Take a Ride Through History with Author Becky Lower

Welcome historical author Becky Lower 
to the Book Boost!

Being Part Of A Wagon Train

I’ve always harbored the notion I was born in the wrong century. The Little House On The Prairie books were a big part of my childhood and I fancied myself in Laura’s boots. As an adult, I purchased land in the West Virginia mountains and built a log cabin. Many a weekend was spent in the wild with no running water or toilet until the house got put together. I read the journals of the women who traveled west by wagon trains and pondered what it would be like to be a part of that trek. I thought the only way I’d ever experience that era was to write about it.

That is, until a friend brought to my attention the National Road Festival, held every year on the third weekend in May.

The Historic National Road was the first federally-funded highway in America and stretches 600 miles through six states from Maryland to Illinois. At the height of its popularity, the Historic National Road handled more than 200,000 people each year, heading west to join up with the wagon trains, or heading east to sell their livestock and goods. By having the government designate the entire road as a National Scenic Byway—All American Road, its significance to the settlement of the western United States has been preserved for all to enjoy.

Every spring the residents of the communities along the Historic National Road help preserve the legacy of this highway to the west by holding a festival. The towns along the road hold various activities during the festival, from reenactments of life in the early days of our country to quilt exhibits and more.  A leisurely weekend along the route will give you time to discover antiques, ethnic foods, local artists, music, and an assortment of other events any time of the year, but the third weekend in May is truly a special time.

Part of the festivities involves a reenactment of the major method of transportation for the early users of the National Road. A wagon train caravan, where participants dress up in costume and drive wagons from Grantsville, Maryland to Uniontown, Pennsylvania, is the most amazing part of this festival and is eagerly anticipated in each town it rolls through. Reservations to be part of this wagon train are available to the public and you can either do the route from east to west or vice versa. The actual miles covered by wagon are only a small portion of the trek made by our forefathers, and lasts for five days, but it’s long enough to give everyone a taste of what it was like to be part of a wagon train, and makes us grateful to hop in our cars for the remainder of the journey at the end of our trek.

I’d love to sign up to be part of the wagon train next spring. Do you think I could write it off as a business expense? More information on the National Road Festival can be found here.

A Note from the Book Boost:  This sounds very interesting and I hope you get a chance to experience it, Becky.  I love history but just enough to know that I'm glad I don't live in the past.  I need my modern conveniences.  :-)  Best of luck with the release and thanks for joining us.


Basil Fitzpatrick was born into a life of privilege. In 1856, at 23 years of age, he is the owner of the St. Louis branch of the family banking business. He has his pick of the ladies and life by the horns. Temperance Jones and her family are far from privileged. Her father is a circuit-riding preacher from Pennsylvania. But the rumblings of a war between the North and the South force the preacher to move his family to Oregon rather than to take up arms against his fellow man. However, hardship and sickness have slowed their pace, and they are forced to spend the winter in St. Louis, waiting for the next wagon trains to leave in the spring.

Basil is drawn to the large family the moment they roll into town, partly because they remind him of his own big family in New York. But also because of the eldest daughter, Temperance. She is a tiny, no-nonsense spitfire who is bent on fulfilling her father’s wish to get the family safely to Oregon. Basil is only interested in finding a mistress, not a wife. He knows if he allows Temperance into his heart, he is accepting the obligation of her entire family and their quest to settle in Oregon. He wants Temperance like he has wanted no other, but the burden of her family may be too much for him. And he can’t have one without the other.


Temperance sputtered and fumed, breathing fire as the door to Basil’s apartment staircase closed behind him. That no-good, self-centered ass! How dare he say their friendship had been destroyed by her ambition! If they’d truly been friends, he would have stood by her and championed her clever attempts to get her family moved westward. But once he introduced her to Jake, it was as if he’d turned his back on her. She could take him turning his back on her as a woman, but not as a friend. She yanked open the door and ran up the stairs.

“How dare you!” She didn’t bother to knock at the top of the steps, she was so angry.

He turned to face her, but didn’t reply.

“Well? How dare you say that I’m the one who turned away from your friendship? You’ve become my best friend here in town, Basil, and I miss our good times. You never come to the restaurant anymore, and you barely talk to me at all here. Do you want me to quit? To leave?”


“Yes, what?”

“If you know what’s best for you, leave, right this minute.”

“Why? Because you’ll tell me something I don’t want to hear?”

Basil crossed the room to her in two strides. He placed his hands on either side of her face and growled, “Not because of what I’ll tell you, but because of what I’ll do.” He lowered his mouth to hers, crushing her tender lips beneath his own.

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Thursday, August 1, 2013

Mom on a Mission with Author Lynda Kaye Frazier

Win a Copy of Rescued From the Dark 
and meet Featured Author 
Lynda Kaye Frazier

Research is an important tool for a writer. This is why mine makes my family nervous.

For a story to be believable, a writer has to have knowledge about what their book is about. Whether it is about a farmer struggling in the 1800’s or a novel about strangers meeting in an exotic resort, you have to be able to describe your setting so that the reader can see it. In order to picture the surroundings and believe the events that unfold in front of them it takes research.

I write romantic suspense and with my story lines I have to do extensive research on terrorists groups and FBI Agents. When I began to write I decided to not tell my children what my stories were about because of an event that gives us many laughs now, but not so many back then. Let me explain why I knew my research would make my son cringe.

My oldest son was in college on an ROTC scholarship at the time of the 9-11 attack. He was still in the Navy Reserves and I just assumed he would not be pulled into active duty so close to the end of his senior year. Like so many others, I was glued to the TV, watching the horrific event when my phone rang.  I dropped my coffee cup and knew it wasn’t going to be a call I wanted to take. One of those moments that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. I answered the call and it was my oldest son, John. He said his Commander called him and told him he was pulled back to into active duty. I was very upset.

Now don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I’m not proud of all our children who protect us every day. I just wanted my son to finish his last year of college first. I decided to pull the parent card and tell him that he couldn’t go.  He laughed and told me it would be okay. Well that didn’t reassure me so I told him I was going to call the President and he laughed again. I told him I knew George Bush when he was the Governor of Texas, I met him personally so we were on a first name bases.

He continued to enjoy my little rant and all I could think was to never laugh at an angry mother. I was searching the web, reading all the stories about that day and I came across an e-mail for the White House, not the President, just the White House. I thought, why not? It would make me feel better and no one would ever see it. I figured it was just a generic one that went to a black hole. Well, I told our President that my son was not allowed to come out and play war games with him. He had homework to do and stayed out too late so I grounded him for the next four months. I made a few more motherly jokes on how bad little Johnny was and how he would not be able to play until he learned to share with others and do what his mother told him to and that I would let him know when I thought he was ready to have his restrictions lifted.

I hit send and had a good laugh because it made me feel better. I have three children in the military and I’m very proud of each one of them. Their sacrifices help keep us safe each day.

A few days passed and I truly forgot what I did until I checked my e-mail and saw that I had a response from the White House, Military Division. I about died because in the e-mail I sent I never gave my name, my sons name or what branch of the military he served in. I hesitated and even thought about just deleting it, but my curiosity got the best of me and I opened it. In the return e-mail they had my name, address, phone number and my sons name, rank and commander’s name. I knew after the first few sentences I was in a lot of trouble.

The message was short and sweet. They informed me in the first paragraph about the important role my son played in their plans and that whatever orders he received it would be in his best interest to comply fully. Then, in a joking manner, they told me that my son did not need my permission to play war games with the U.S. military because they were his mother now and the President didn’t need my permission for anything.

I sat there just staring at the screen and then I laughed hysterically. After I composed myself I called my son. He never says "hello" when he picks up, he answers by asking "what did you do?" He said he just got a call to come to the base for a meeting.  I felt so bad, I offered to fly down and go with him and he got really quiet then said, "Mom I’m twenty-three and don’t need my mother to go with me, I just need her to stop harassing the President.

To make a long story short, he was asked to keep his mother from sending anymore e-mails to the President especially during a time of war.

When my two boys went to Iraq they first told me it was going to be okay, then continued to instruct me to not e-mail, or call the President. I would just make matters worse for them and for me. 

After I informed my children about what my book was about I asked my boys for some information. I told them I had researched terrorists groups and terrorist camp but needed some help. They both begged me not to do anymore research online. They told me that I was probably on a White House watch list and they were probably tracking what I did.  Looking up bomb making and terrorist activities would get me more than an e-mail from the White House.

Research is an important tool for every writer and my children understand that, they just wished I wrote vampire stories or fairy tales.

A Note from the Book Boost:  Hope all your children are safe at home these days and please thank them for their service.  Best of luck with your book writing and research!


She has no memory of their love...

Kidnapped by terrorists and sent into a drug-induced coma, FBI intern Mercedes Kingsley awakes with no memory of her ordeal—or the intimate interlude that left her pregnant. Convinced her child was fathered by her ex-fiancĂ©, she walks away from the only man she has ever loved, determined to make things work with her ex, a man the FBI suspects is implicated in her abduction.

He knows the truth, but no one will listen...

FBI undercover agent Jason Michaels remembers what Mercy can’t and those memories are breaking his heart. Forced to keep his distance from his lover and their unborn child, Jason risks his life to protect Mercy from a cell of international terrorists who have vowed to get the secrets locked in her memory, no matter the cost. Can Jason convince Mercy to trust him until she remembers their past, or will he lose her to a man who will trap her in a nightmare world of darkness from which there is no escape?


An explosion ricocheted behind Jason Michael’s eyes as the pressure mounted in his head. The rush of panic consumed him. He struggled to move, tried to swallow, but nothing. His throat burned as the flames engulfed his lungs. He needed to breathe but couldn’t. Shit. He strained to make out the muffled voice, but the pounding in his ears erased all hope. His head started to spin and he succumbed to the realization, this was it, the end. He won. The flames dampened and his heartbeat slowed as the drums subsided, then the voice became clear.

“Give it to him now you son of a bitch. What were you thinking? We still need him.”

In a split second, Jason sucked in a breath, causing stabbing pains to shoot through his chest. Every muscle fiber burned as the cold blast of air shot through his lungs releasing the oxygen his body craved. He arched his back, raising his chest up to pull in more air when his head snapped to the side and the crack from his neck echoed in his ears. The pain ripped through his jaw, racing across his cheekbone. Before he could gather his senses, intense burning set his face on fire. What the hell?

The slap against his cheek stung, and his eyes snapped open. He wrenched upright, hitting his head on the roof of the SUV. His gaze darted back and forth looking for something familiar until he locked onto the ice-cold stare of the devil himself, Shaun Flanagan.

Damn, that was close. Jason could not blow his cover, even if it meant he would die as David Logan and not Jason Michaels.

“You’re finally awake, my boy. We almost lost you,” Shaun cold, emotionless laugh caused Jason’s blood to boil. “You stopped breathing, I think. It’s hard to tell with this new stuff. I hope you’re not too injured. We’ve got work to do.”

Jason’s vision blurred, but his other senses were sharp. Shaun had known exactly what the drug would do and the burn in Jason’s throat was a harsh reminder. Shaun’s sarcastic tone spoke volumes to him. He was evil and did not play by anyone’s rules but his own. Jason had spent the last two months undercover, playing their games and doing their dirty work to buddy up tight to this family.

He’d earned his spot with Thomas Flanagan, but his son Shaun had issues trusting anyone, even his own father.

Jason’s anger burned inside of him, but he couldn’t afford to make mistakes, not now. He was too close. It’s time to step it up, but first the drugs had to stop. He rubbed his aching jaw with one hand, clenching his other into a fist to hide his visible shaking. He had to get control of this game before he lost everything.

Want More Lynda?

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