Dear Hero by Hope Bolinger and Alyssa Roat / #SpotlightPost #ReleaseBlitz @RABTBookTours @alyssawrote @HopeBolinger @INtensePub



Cortex and V need a new nemesis.

Cortex’s last villain dumped him, and V got a little overeager and took out her hero prematurely. They meet on Meta-Match, a nemesis pairing site for heroes and villains. After throwing punches at each other behind coffee shops and hiring henchman to do their bidding (mostly just getting them coffee), they realize they have a lot more in common than meets the eye.

And they may have a lot more hero and villain inside than they realize. 



Spotlight Post

Thank you, Hope Bolinger, Alyssa Roat and RABT Book Tours


About the authors

Hope Bolinger is a literary agent, multi-published novelist, and proud to call herself a nerd. When she’s not procrastinating and catching up with followers on social media (@hopebolinger), or collecting 700+ bylines, she participates in local theater, models for the runway, and dresses up in costumes for no apparent reason.

Alyssa Roat loves books and writing in all forms. As her “day job(s),” she is the publicity manager for Mountain Brook Ink, a literary agent with Cyle Young Literary Elite, a manuscript editor with Sherpa Editing Services, and a freelance writer with 200+ bylines in local and international publications. She has a slight obsession with Captain America and has watched all of the Marvel movies more times than a healthy human should.


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The Dentist by Tim Sullivan / #GuestPost #BlogTour @damppebbles @TimJRSullivan



DS George Cross #1

A homeless man. Violently strangled. No leads. Except his past.

An outsider himself, DS George Cross is drawn to this case. The discovery of the dead man’s connection to an old cold case then pulls Cross in further. Convinced this is where the answer to the murder lies, he sets about solving another that someone has spent the past fifteen years thinking they’ve got away with. Cross’ relentless obsession with logic, detail and patterns is what makes him so irritatingly brilliant. It doesn’t exactly make him popular with colleagues or his superiors, though. He has numerous enemies in the force wanting to see him fail. Red flags are soon raised as suspicious inconsistencies and errors in the original detective’s investigation come to light. Now retired, this ex-cop has powerful friends in the force and a long-standing dislike of Cross. Set in picturesque Bristol in the Southwest of England, it’s not long before the city reveals its dark underbelly, in a case of intriguing twists and turns whose result astonishes even those involved. Difficult and awkward, maybe. But Cross has the best conviction rate in Avon & Somerset Police. By far. Will this case put an end to that?



Guest Post


I have spent my entire career in TV and movies. As a director but as things turned out mostly as a screenwriter. I like to think I’ve done pretty well. I’ve worked in both the UK and Hollywood. I’ve written and directed my own movie JACK AND SARAH and have written scripts for six produced movies with a seventh coming out next year. I’ve enjoyed it thoroughly, being paid to do something I love in a world in an industry I always dreamed of being part of. But there is a problem with this. I’ve also written dozens of screenplays – all commissioned and paid for – that have never seen the light of day. This is par for the course in Hollywood. The number of projects in development far outstrips the number of movies produced. This means you can spend maybe two years working on a project for no-one ever to see it. After a while it doesn’t matter how much you’re being paid, the frustration just builds and builds. It’s like writing a manuscript for a novel and then just putting it on a shelf.

The other difficult part of the process is that you are constantly having to address and take into account other people’s opinions and notes. From development people, to producers, studio executives, directors, and finally actors. It is definitely a collaborative process but more often than not, something gets lost along the way. With so many voices there is always a danger of a script just becoming a consensus and often middle of the road for it. What happens then? Well some of them get made, as we know, but the others get consigned to the bin of development. But even before that happens there is a long, agonising wait, while people decide whether or not your movie is going into production. You’re always waiting on someone. A director to say yes. An actor to commit. A studio to greenlight. Of course when a film goes into production it’s a fantastic feeling. But on balance it’s quite rare.

In animation there are even more voices and opinions because it is a very different process. It has to have many voices by the very nature of it. You have to accept as a writer that it’s not the same as live action. You’re just a small cog along with others in a very large and complex wheel. The great difference in writing on an animation movie is that, most of the time, you’re actually in production as you write – which is fantastically rewarding.

With publishing having changed so much recently, particularly self-publishing, I decided to write my first novel. This was in part because I’d done a lot of research for a project that wasn’t going to happen and I didn’t want to waste it. I, of course, have agents and managers who could put me in touch with publishers, but I decided to go it alone. I just didn’t want to wait on whether a literary agent would take it one. Whether a publisher would publish it. Not out of arrogance, but impatience. I also didn’t wanted others second guessing what my readership might want to read. I wanted to find out what they thought directly and with the internet, readers are quick to let you know what they think! I could name the date that people would be able to read the unadulterated version of my book. I hoped it would be good but was confident enough to let the public decide that. I obviously employed an editor – a prize winning novelist who also edits and teaches creative writing – and a proof editor. I got hold of a cover designer who works for a lot of major publishers. Basically I was in control and the public would be able to read my book as I wanted them to. It’s been absolutely liberating. I’ve been in charge, for better or worse. I’m doing this blog tour because I decided to, not anyone else. It’s wonderful.

THE DENTIST seems to be going down well and the second book THE CYCLIST comes out on September 2nd. I know that because I chose that date and worked towards it. No-one else’s decision to wait on. Whether the books do well do well will depend on how they go down with readers and how well I publicise them. No-one else.

Thank you, Tim Sullivan and Damppebbles Blog Tours


About the author

TIM SULLIVAN made his first short film before graduating from Cambridge University. His ambition to become a screenwriter was formed not so much by this experience but as an attempt to foil his father’s determination to turn him into a lawyer.

Within weeks of leaving university armed with a law degree he had met the film maker Derek Jarman and persuaded him to commission an original screenplay from him entitled BOB UPADOWN and so a career was born.

A few months later he joined Granada Television as a researcher. Here he was commissioned to write the first of many television scripts for the company. Two sitcoms entitled THE TRAIN NOW LEAVING and THE GREASY SPOON followed by the crime dramas MYSTERIOUS WAYS and MAIGRET.

While at Granada he was selected for the prestigious Directors’ Training scheme when only 26. Previous encumbents had included Mike Newell, Roland Joffe, and Michael Apted, more recently Julian Farino. Among other credits he directed CORONATION STREET, MADE IN HEAVEN, THATCHER THE FINAL DAYS and THE CASEBOOK OF SHERLOCK HOLMES with Jeremy Brett.

During this time he also co wrote the screenplays for the movies A HANDFUL OF DUST starring Kristen Scott Thomas, Judi Dench and Alec Guinness and WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TREAD starring Helen Mirren and Helena Bonham Carter, both with producer the legendary TV producer Derek Granger (BRIDESHEAD REVISITED).

Upon leaving the bosom of Granada and venturing into the wild wide world of the freelance film maker he wrote and directed the movie JACK AND SARAH starring Richard E Grant, Samantha

Mathis, Ian Mckellen, Judi Dench and Eileen Atkins. This led to a commission from New Line Pictures to write the screenplay WALKING PAPERS based on the Jay Cronley novel of the same name.

This screenplay came to the attention of execs at Universal and Imagine who then asked Tim to do a page one rewrite of a western for Ron Howard entitled THE PRETENDERS. Tim enjoyed working with Ron for over a year on this.

He then wrote an original screenplay, PERSONAL SHOPPING, which was promptly snapped up by Paramount for producer Scott Rudin.

He spent four months working for and with Jeffrey Katzenberg at Dreamworks animation as a production writer on the movie FLUSHED AWAY. Impressed by his work Katzenberg commissioned him to write a script for SHREK 4 which wasn’t used as a different storyline was decided upon as a director came on board.

During this time he was actively involved in British television directing the last ever ninety minute episode of the BAFTA award winning series COLD FEET. As well as a TV movie for ITV called CATWALK DOGS written by Simon Nye.

He was commissioned by the BBC to write a pilot for a TV series he invented called BACKSTORY as well as another pilot for the ITV network entitled OFFSPRING.

He also wrote HIS MASTER’S VOICE for the BBC as a radio play starring Rob Brydon which was broadcast in 2015.

He recently wrote the screenplay for LETTERS TO JULIET starring Amanda Seyfried and Vanessa Redgrave.

Oscar winning producers of The King’s Speech, Iain Canning and Emile Sherman then commissioned an original screenplay from him entitled THE WEDDING DRESS.

Tim is writing and co-producing and co-writing an animated feature screenplay for Hasbro and Paramount which is in production and scheduled for release in 2021.

He has now embarked on a series of crime novels featuring the eccentric and socially-awkward, but brilliantly persistent DS George Cross. Set in Bristol in the south west of England, Cross’ methods often infuriate his colleagues and superiors “not so much a thorn in my side as a pain in my arse,” according to his boss DCI Carson. But his conviction rate, thanks to his dogged persistence and attention to detail, is the best in the force. The DENTIST is in the first of a series.

Tim lives in North London with his wife Rachel, the Emmy award-winning producer of THE BAREFOOT CONTESSA and PIONEER WOMAN.

He is currently the UK chair of the Writers’ Guild of America (West).


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Tipping Point by Michelle Cook / #SpotlightPost #BlogTour @rararesources



A tale of loss, manipulation, and the search for the truth

What would you risk to turn back the tide?

Essie Glass might have been a typical eighteen-year-old – had life not dealt her an early blow.
Struggling to come to terms with the loss of her family in a terrorist attack, and left with nothing, Essie’s not kidding herself about her world. She wants change, and she’ll be honest about it, whatever the cost. From behind her keyboard, that is…

After all, this is England, 2035. Earth’s climate continues its accelerating collapse. A powerful elite controls the disaster-weary population with propaganda, intimidation, and constant surveillance.

By all appearances, Alex Langford is a respected local businessman – until Essie discovers that he’s a murderous conspirator who’d see the planet die for his fortune.

When their paths collide, Essie must decide: how much is she really willing to pay for her honesty?

Her choices, and the events she sets in motion, pit her against both enemies and supposed friends as she risks more than just her life to thwart them.

Will she succeed in revealing the truth? And will she survive?



Spotlight Post

Thank you, Michelle Cook and Rachel’s Random Resources


About the author 

Michelle lives in Worcestershire, UK, with her husband Daniel, their two young children, and a cat called Lyra Belacqua. By day, she works for the NHS, a job which she has almost as much passion for as fiction.

Her first joyful steps into creative writing were at the age of ten, when the teacher read out her short story in class. A slapstick tale of two talking kangaroos breaking out of a zoo, the work was sadly lost to history. Still, Michelle never forgot the buzz of others enjoying her words.

More recently, she has had several flash pieces published, was long-listed for the Cambridge 2020 prize for flash fiction, and placed first in the February 2020 Writers’ Forum competition with her short story The Truth About Cherry House. Tipping Point is her debut novel.


Author Link



Book Link

The Graveside Bride by Angela Goldsmith / #Interview @DrownedOphelia_

“On a Dark Tumultuous Night….And at the Dying of the Light…”
So begins Mr Lawrence Pinchpenny’s descent into a long, tormented, and haunted night. Visited by the mysterious, frightening, and ghostly apparition of The Woman in Grey. The spectre of The Graveside Bride. But why does she haunt his dreams?




When and where do you prefer to write?

The simple answer is that I try to write whenever I can. Anything I see, hear or feel can spark my imagination. It could be a word or idea, or question and it can inspire a whole world of creative activity. Anything could light the fire and lead to a good idea for a character or story. I find that I am always imagining, plotting out story ideas or often just daydreaming!

At the moment I type up most of my work on my laptop in the bedroom of my flat because I share with other housemates. But I often sketch out ideas in pen and paper in a notebook on the kitchen table, late at night, then type it up later.

I often find my imagination fires with more clarity at night.

When I was in college I always used to write at night! Sometimes even overnight. I would start writing at six in the evening when it was getting dark and write for what felt like five minutes, look up and suddenly realise it was six in the morning and the birds where singing outside my window and it was getting light again. What had felt like five minutes actually turned out to be about twelve hours. I would just get so engrossed in the story, getting lost, wondering where my imagination would take me. Trying to fathom out what would happen to these characters next, how, and why?

It always felt like a great creative purge where I could just explode onto the page a whole world of productive ideas and industry.

I do not do that so much now though. I try to keep to sociable day-light hours, from about 10am to 8pm. Although I am not sure writing could ever be described as sociable unless it is collaborative.

Do you have a ritual?

Not really no. I just hope that the ideas flow and that I do not get too distracted by social media and other things. I feel like my laptop is a portal into another world, and I love creating the images and details of that world. There is probably an element of pure escapism to it, which hopefully comes across in the writing.

Do you like a drink or something to nibble on while you write?

COFFEE. COFFEE and more COFFEE! Coffee galore! Yes, unfortunately I drink gallons of coffee, which is probably not good for me, but there you go.

I try not to nibble too much. BUT. I find that nibbling on rice crackers, fruit and Ryvita, (I try to be healthy!) Help me to focus on my work. They do help to sharpen the mind, “ The little grey cells,” as Poirot might say. I try not to get distracted by the call of the biscuit tin. Although every now and again….

Do you consider writing a different genre or do you already do that?

I write in lots of different genres. I read and write lots of ghost stories and thrillers. Actually, these lend themselves well to writing at night when spooky and scary images are heighted by the darkness, and shadows. Imagination is alert and more accessible to creating ideas out of and things that go bump in the night.

But I also have written children’s stories, and I would love to write a YA series with a strong female protagonist. A female detective, perhaps.

At the moment I am writing in the fantasy genre, which is new for me, but I always think you should challenge yourself to read and discover new or other genres that you may not have investigated or invested in before.

What are your favourite books?

Wow. How long have you got. I think my favourite book of all time is Mary Wollstonecraft Shelly’s Frankenstein.

But I also love other classics like Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre, Edgar Allan Poe, Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey, and Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights.

Oh, I love Henry James’ The Turn of the Screw also.

I also love more contemporary writers such as Margaret Atwood and Angela Carter. I like Susan Hill’s novel the woman in Black as it is a very scary ghost story which when I first read it, I read straight through in one sitting, because I could not put it down. And that is a very rare thing for me to do.

I also adore crime fiction by Ian Rankin, I have all the Rebus books. Mark Billingham, and John Grisham. Cormac McCarthy is an amazing writer.

I like some horror too. I enjoy reading Stephen King

I love the YA series Mortal engines by Philip Reeve and I loved The Fault in Our Stars by John Green.

Actually, my favourite books that I have read recently are Big Little Lies by Liane Moriarty and Earthquake Bird by Susanna Jones which probably defy any of these genres.

Do you sometimes base your characters on people you know?

No. Not really. I cherry-pick qualities, personality traits from different people I have met or know. They are usually am amalgamation of different people I have met. Sometimes the look of a character can come from the distinctive look of someone you just happen to see sitting on the train. You never talk to them, but you think, yes my character would dress like that, or cross their legs that way, or wear those glasses, or talk on the phone like that.

If you had the chance to co-write a book. Whom would it be with?

Probably have to say the Bronte’s. I think I would love to walk across the wild moors with them, I love walking and I often find I am at my most creative when I am out on long walks.

Just be in their pure world of imagination. I love the fact that all the Bronte siblings created these wild, gothic worlds together. They would write together, and their stories developed from their games and play. I think that is the purist from of imagination. Unhindered, unrestricted, just magical.

Do you take a (digital) notebook everywhere in order to write down ideas that pop up?

I am probably a bit old fashioned, but I prefer good old-fashioned pen and mini pocket notebook. I can quickly scribble down an idea wherever I am. But I find ideas tend to stick with me, they stick in my head as if waiting for an outlet of expression. Waiting for me to finally shape them and craft them into a narrative. I find them hard to shake off, like this idea needs to be written down. And I have to find the narrative form to tell that story.

Which genre(s) do you not like at all?

I struggle with sci-fi and some romance and chick-lit. Unfortunately, it just does not appeal to me.

I have not read a massive amount in these genres, I must confess, but I find them hard to hook into.

I would never rule out reading books from these genre, as I have previously said, and I am not dismissive of them at all. But they do not catch hold of my imagination.

I prefer a good crime novel or detective story.

If you should travel to a foreign country to do research, which one would you chose and why?

I have always thought I would quite like to travel to Egypt. I think I was inspired by mystery stories set in the tombs and catacombs of the kings and queens.

I would like to write an adventure/mystery or perhaps horror/detective story, set around the time of the great architectural excavations and explorations. Investigating the pyramids, hieroglyphics, and treasures, but also the grave robbers who violated and exploited these sites for their own gains. And then sold the treasures for money.

Actually, I would love to go to Canada. (I have never been, but it has always appealed to me) To find some small town, remote, isolated. Somewhere off the beaten track. And write a mystery story, suspenseful or a thriller. Perhaps with Magic Realism.

Thank you, Angela Goldsmith


About the author

Angela Goldsmith is an Actor and Writer and Scriptwriter from London.

Angela has a BA (Hons) degree in English Literature. As an actor, Angela was trained by RADA  trained teachers.  

As an actor Angela has appeared in many Theatre, Film and Television productions, Social media Advertising campaigns and Music videos. . 

The Graveside Bride is her first published novel. 


Author Link

Instagram: angie22goldsmith



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Appius and Virginia by G.E. Trevelyan / #SpotlightPost @EyeAndLightning @abandonedbook

A rediscovered work by one of the most exciting novelists of the 1930s

Virginia Hutton resides in a London club for single women, living a tedious life which never changes from year to year. She decides to take on a bizarre experiment and buys a young orangutan and names him Appius.
She takes him to a cottage and spends years in isolation trying to raise and educate him as if he were a human child.
Virginia tries to teach the ape how to eat, sleep, read and speak like a human, all the time keeping the project and Appius hidden from the world. Over eight years, her stern teaching methods begin to bear fruit, but do Virginia and Appius really have the deep mutual understanding she craves?

Appius and Virginia was first published by Martin Secker in 1932 and is now republished by Abandoned Bookshop, the imprint which aims to uncover the best books that have been forgotten or lost sight of. It is the imprint’s first physical edition.



Spotlight Post

Thank you, G.E. TREVELYAN and Eye and Lightning Books


About the author

G.E. TREVELYAN is the epitome of a ‘forgotten’ author. She was born Gertrude Eileen Trevelyan in 1903 into a family of means. When she was an undergraduate at Lady Margaret Hall at the University of Oxford, she was the first woman to be awarded the Newdigate Prize for poetry.
She then moved to London, where she quietly began a literary career. Appius and Virginia was her first novel, and its unusual subject matter piqued reviewers’ interest. Leonora Eyles wrote in the TLS on the book’s first publication: “There are times when it is painful to go on reading, but impossible to shirk it.” It still has power today, with Brad Bigelow of Neglected Books pointing out that Virginia’s need to validate her existence by connecting with an ape means Appius and Virginia “may be one of the most powerful stories about loneliness ever written”.
Trevelyan wrote another seven novels before her flat was bombed in the London Blitz, and she died of her injuries in 1941.



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16 NOVEMBER 2020 

Eternal Forever by Syl Walters/ #GuestPost #BlogTour @rararesources @waters_syl




Fame, glory and… foul play!

Jessie was a shop worker dreaming of the big time, then YouTube found her. But staying in the limelight requires meticulous management: pop stars are made not born.

With awards night approaching, the pressure’s on for Tito, Jessie’s manager, to whip her into shape. Getting so close wasn’t in the contract, but then neither was him being murdered in Spain.

Alone and scared of the negative publicity, Jessie turns to Mack, her account manager at Eternal Forever, the UK’s first digital legacy management agency. But Mack’s got his own issues: the company’s fast running out of cash, his key developer’s on the turn and a blogger’s suicide looks suspicious.

With the assistance of J-Pop, Mack’s assistant and wannabe reality TV star, Jessie turns sleuth. But in a world where everybody’s watching, it’s hard to escape. Reputation is everything and some people will do anything to protect it.



Guest Post

How to write when you don’t feel like writing.

Syl Waters

The thing about the muse, is that it is very capricious.

Lots of famous authors and artists have heralded their muses throughout the years, whether it’s an actual person or an alcoholic drink, or some other vice of some description, the idea of a muse is romantic.

Very romantic.

But the idea of a muse, dispels the notion that there’s any work involved in the act of writing. If you’re visited by the muse, so the popular narrative goes, your fingers tip and tap and produce stellar work (allegedly your best work) in crazy short time periods. This work will likely go on to being the acclaimed work you later have to confess you wrote with the assistance of the muse. Thus boosting the legend of the muse.

Every writer (whether they admit it or not) longs to be visited by the muse. The muse, we are told, is a magical mythical being that solves every writing problem in a flash.

Sadly, most writers never get the flash.

Most writers have to accept the grim fact of life that writing is a chore that is to be cherished, but also done.


Indeed, many an epic tale has never been told on account of the writer waiting around for the fabled muse to turn up.

Tomorrow, they tell themselves, tomorrow the muse will arrive and all will be well in the world.

But then tomorrow arrives and the muse gets delayed like a bus. And the writer is waiting, hanging around like a discarded cigarette butt at the bus stop.

It is at this stage when downbeat and disheartened, a writer may give up. Why write when I don’t feel like writing? You tell yourself. Writing should be about joy and happiness, it shouldn’t feel like a job! Is another popular belief that enables a further path to procrastination.

Because that, really, is all this thought process is. Writers are renowned for procrastinating – hence the function and purpose of the mythical muse. And the wait for its arrival.  

But writing when you don’t feel like writing, can be a pleasurable pastime. Writing because you have to is the only way to get to writing because you want to. And that may sound counter-intuitive, and likely it is, but the process works.

Words work. And the more you get down (whether you’re in the mood or not), makes you feel better. Thus starts the virtuous circle of writing: the more you write, the more you want to write, and the more you want to write, the more you write, and the more you write, the better you become, and the better you become, the better you become!

And that may sound such a simplistic cycle and like some trickery of the mind, and likely it is. But the fact remains; when you write, when you don’t want to write, you end up writing when you don’t want to write. And if you followed that: that is how you trick your brain into writing when you don’t want to write!

Thank you, Syl Waters and Rachel’s Random Resouces


About the author 

Most people know crazy cat ladies are a ‘thing’, but I’m a proud crazy guinea pig lady! I love fun in the sun and plenty of cocktails. My happy place is flip flops. I write stories to keep me company – my characters ensure I’m never lonely and always smiling (when I’m not tearing my hair out!)


Author Links

twitter: @waters_syl

insta: @mrbob.guineapig



Book Links

West of Tomorrow by D.B. Sayers / #Extract #BlogTour @RABTBookTours @DirkSayers



Fate hunts us down in our sleep.” Clay Conover, retired Marine officer turned corporate trainer has successfully re-careered and has a long-term plan. A plan grounded in a sense of duty, loyalty, and tempered by clear-eyed realism. Unfortunately, Clay’s plan doesn’t account for the hiring of Sheera Prasad. Young, hungry and ambitious, Sheera has an agenda of her own.

In the collision of wills that follows, Clay is confronted with a choice that will define him, not simply professionally but personally. Will he take the ethical high road, or opt for self-serving rathionalization? West of Tomorrow is an intelligent romance, laced with corporate intrigue, betrayal and the undiscovered phoenix living in all of us.




Clay Conover and Sheera Prasad inch closer to caving into their mutual desire for each other.

Chapter 11—Tempting Fate

Monday, November 30, 2009

The door to the suite closed decisively. “Good morning, Alistair,” Nina chirped.

“Good morning yourself.” Clay heard the hinges to Alistair’s office door creak as he opened it.

Shit, he thought. He’d forgotten the WD-40 he’d promised. Clay pulled out his planner and was scribbling a note in it when Sheera walked in.

“Good morning, Clay.” She walked between their desks and set purse and laptop bag on the return of her desk. “Do anything special for Thanksgiving?”

“Had my daughter and her boyfriend over for dinner. Instead of turkey we had ham and twice-baked potatoes. After dinner we watched the Packers pound the Lions.”

Sheera inspected him like she’d discovered a new specie. “You don’t strike me as the football type.”

“Hard to grow up in the Midwest without developing at least a passing interest,” Clay replied. “What about you? What’d you do for Thanksgiving?”

“Slept in for starters. Then Nan had Neill over for turkey. He brought three bottles of wine and a couple movies to watch. I fell asleep half-way through the first one. When I woke up, the TV was off, and I could hear them at it in Nan’s bedroom. So I retreated to the guest room, put on a pair of headphones and played dumb in the morning.”

“Considerate of you.”

Sheera flashed him a self-satisfied smile. “I’m an incredibly considerate girl. Besides, Nan is so overdue.”

“You knew her from college, I think you told me?”

She nodded. “Sorority sisters and roommates most of the time.” Sheera turned back to her desk, pulled her laptop from its bag and docked it, knocking a pen off the desk. She leaned over to retrieve it, giving Clay an opportunity to enjoy her skirt climbing high up her thigh.

Does she do that intentionally? he wondered. Not that I mind… “How are you coming on the scenario adaptation?” he asked.

Sheera looked up at him, still straining to reach the pen on the floor, her hem climbing even higher. “To be honest, I haven’t worked on it since we talked about it with Alistair, the other day. It’s been on my mind, but…” She captured the pen and straightened up. “I need to get cracking, don’t I? Especially in light of Alistair’s warning.” She frowned. “My bad. I’ll get on it today.”


Napali’s oozed atmosphere more appropriate to a date than a business lunch with a partner. Sheera decided to tease. “You and Alistair come here often?” she asked after a tall blond seated them. She glanced at the menu then eyed him mischievously over the top of the menu.


She smiled. “Well! Don’t you know how to make a girl feel special?”

“You’ve earned it,” Clay told her. “I’ve been riding you pretty hard—”

“Have you really? Oh, right…the project.”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“Do I?” Sheera’s eyes glowed with amusement. Clay looked down and she relented. “You’re right I do.” Clay’s eyes came up to meet hers.

“Okay. What can I get you?” A waitress in an immaculate maroon dress and spotless white apron stood next to her, pen poised over her order pad.

“I’ll have the Coast Salad, without macadamia nuts,” Sheera told her. “And iced tea.”

“Make that two,” Clay seconded, “but I’ll take the macadamias.”

“Perfect.” She scribbled and left.

“You said something this morning about growing up in the Midwest,” Sheera noted. “Nan, my best friend grew up in Chicago. What about you?”


“It’s mostly farm country, right?”


“Pretty slow-moving.”

“Very,” Clay affirmed. “At least back then. Not many distractions, either, which was good for my academics.”

“I can imagine,” Sheera retorted. “What else could you do? Watch the corn grow?”

“It wasn’t that bad. I grew up in a college town, swam competitively and was a lifeguard three evenings a week and every weekend. Add in homework and chores at home, it kept me out of trouble.”

“Which college town?”

“Ames. Iowa State University is there.”

“And your family…are they still there?”

“Moved on,” Clay told her. “What about you?”

“Hartford. My father taught Business Administration at UConn Hartford.” She frowned. “Growing up, it felt like they brought India along with them.”

“Isn’t that natural? Clay asked. “Even as we evolve, don’t we still crave the familiar?”

“I suppose…and don’t misunderstand me. I’m proud of my heritage, but I wanted to grow up American.” She shook her head. “Baba wanted me to grow up a proper Indian girl who just happened to live in America.”

“So you pushed back.”

“Oh, did someone rat me out?”

“No, but I sense…what…an interest in self-determination?”

Sheera felt herself go a little buttery. “Perceptive…and kindly put.” She shrugged. “Neighbors would probably have used rebellious to describe me. By the time I got to high school, we fought pretty much every day about something.” She chortled. “More like everything. Hemlines, dating, curfews, etc, were common themes, and to be honest, I enjoyed getting him riled up, after a while. Which is why I went away to college.”

Clay nodded. “Understandable.”

“Yeah well, Baba didn’t. When I came back for Spring Break my freshman year, my father had arranged for a transfer to UConn.” Sheera shook her head. “My mother handed me the application almost before I set my suitcase down in the hall.”

“Subtle,” Clay remarked.

“Here we go…” The waitress plunked down their salads and refilled the iced tea. “Anything else?” she asked.

Clay shook his head and she vanished.

Sheera picked up her fork and stabbed aggressively at her salad. “Even though he used Mother as a messenger, I knew Baba was behind it and it pissed me off.”

“So what did you do?”

“We fought about it every day for a week, but he wasn’t budging.” Sheera’s lips twitched mischievously. “So I pretended to cave. I filled out the application and gave it back to Mother to mail. After Baba left that morning for the school, I snatched the application from the mail box.”

Sheera harpooned another clump of salad. “When I got back to Northwestern the next semester, I checked into work-study and scholarship grants.

“I managed to cobble together a couple grants and a job to supplement them. When I went home after my freshman year, I played dumb until Baba wondered when we were going to hear from UConn. I kept saying, ‘any day now, any day now.’”

“Didn’t he eventually check?”

“Oh yeah.” Sheera took another swallow of iced tea.


“The shit hit the proverbial fan. He said things to me I knew he didn’t mean, but it still pissed me off. I went to my room and stayed there. When Baba left the next day, I packed, emptied my bank account and headed for Nan’s. Her folks let me flop there until school started.”

Clay shook his head. “And how long did it take before he tracked you down.”

Sheera laughed, soundlessly. “Good guess. Took less than a week. I should have known, in retrospect.”


“Nan’s father came home to our shouting match in the entryway to Nan’s place. Baba turned to him and demanded he ‘uninvite’ me.” She shook her head. “You’d have to know Harmon Telchik to know how that landed.”

“He said no, I guess?”

“Politely but firmly. And then unbeknownst to me, made a few calls to Northwestern and got me a really killer internship. And by the end of the year, I had a full scholarship to boot.

“Nan’s Mom, whom I just adore, helped Baba patch things up with me and the Telchiks became like a second family.”

“Quite a story. Thanks for sharing.” Clay looked at his watch. “We should probably head back.”

“Yeah. I’m a long way from finished with that damned scenario.”

Clay drove back to the office in a silence Sheera didn’t break. But Clay’s eyes were eloquent. She could feel them, every time she uncrossed or recrossed her legs, to the whisper of her nylons. His interest kindled a thrill of power mixed with arousal.

Did he know? Did he know she knew? Sheera couldn’t be certain, but something felt different between them. A palpable tension—physical and more. The drive back to the office was too long. And too short.

Thank you, D.B. Sayers and RABT Book Tours


About the author

Dirk came within a cat’s whisker of never publishing. Through two frenetic professional careers first as a Marine officer and then as a corporate trainer, he started way more stories than he finished, until full retirement left him with the focused attention he needed. West of Tomorrow, his first novel draws on his experience with the military, corporate America and the unpredictable nature of life.

Since then, he has published Best-Case Scenario, Act I of Nyra’s Journey a New Adult romance, Through the Windshield, Drive-by Lives an anthology of short stories and Tier Zero, Vol. I of The Knolan Cycle. He currently lives in Laguna Niguel where he surfs,  snow skis in the winter and facilitates an author’s critique group.


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Hell & Back by Julie Rowe / #Extract #BlogTour @RABTBookTours @julieroweauthor @entangledpub




Outbreak Task Force, Book #5


Racing to lock down the CDC’s deadly virus samples from terrorists, ex-Special Forces medic Henry Lee partners with Ruby Toth on the Outbreak Task Force. But the terrorists always seem one step ahead. As they work side by side, Henry’s taken with how Ruby accepts and respects him, instead of pitying him for all he lost overseas, including his leg. Ruby’s hiding something, though, and Henry fears she’s been leaking sensitive information. Terrorists have kidnapped her brother, and now microbiologist Ruby Toth faces a horrible choice. If she doesn’t give them a vial of Small Pox as ransom, her brother will die. She knows her prickly—yet very hot—boss, Henry, could provide the help she needs. But she joined the CDC to root out insiders plotting to unleash a bio-engineered pandemic, and she can’t trust anyone. Not even Henry.




“Stop sniveling and do it,” she said to herself. “If you don’t, they’ll kill Nate.”

After taking in a couple of deep breaths, she walked to the four liquid nitrogen–only freezers.

She opened the one containing the smallpox and searched for the correct storage slot. It was there, just like it was supposed to be, along with 138 other biological samples.

The vial was so small. About the size of her pinkie finger. Huh. She really could put it in her bra.

No. No, she couldn’t do it. Hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of people would die.

She very carefully put it back. Her brother would die if she didn’t do this. She reached out, then hesitated. Did she truly have no choice?

Her mind conjured up the images of millions of people infected with smallpox. All the bodies in body bags piled in heaps and being buried in massive mass graves.

The image of her brother, his body riddled with bullet holes and blood, fought for air time in her head.

There was really only one choice she could make.

She plucked out the vial, double-checked the label, then closed the freezer. She turned, half expecting to see Henry standing behind her, but the room was empty. Relief stole some of the energy out of her muscles, and she had to force herself to keep moving.

She stood under the disinfectant spray, the vial clutched in her fist until her suit was thoroughly washed clean. The sample went inside a clean rubber glove as she went through the disinfectant process, then she opened the door leading to the hallway and elevator.

Arms crossed over his chest, Henry stood in the doorway, his face a mask of rage and disgust.

Rage and disgust aimed at her.

Ice froze her in place. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe.

Nausea rose in a hot, bitter wave and threatened to hijack her entire body. She fought it down with several convulsive swallows, her muscles so tense her bones threatened to break.

She was dead.

Her brother was dead.

Henry advanced—one step, two.

She backed up. Going around him was impossible—he took up too much space in the doorway. She had no doubt he’d squish her flat as a tank rolling over an ant hill.

Only after the door swung shut did he speak.

“What. The. Fuck.” The words came out of his mouth like bullets out of a gun. Each one physically rocked her back as pain blossomed across her chest.

What was there to say? She’d betrayed everything she believed in when she’d grabbed that vial. Her actions weren’t defensible. Not really. Anyone else would insist there was no negotiating with terrorists. They played with no rules of engagement.

“Why?” he barked out.

“D-do-does it matter?” Her whole body was shortcircuiting, including her mouth. “I d-did it.”

Thank you, Julie Rowe and RABT Book Tours


About the author

Full-time author and workshop facilitator, Julie Rowe’s first career as a medical lab technologist in Canada took her to the North West Territories and Fort McMurray, Alberta, where she still resides. Her most recent titles include Search & Destroy book #4 of the Outbreak Taskforce series and Trapped with the Secret Agent book #1 of the Trapped with Him series. Julie’s articles have appeared in magazines, such as Romantic Times Magazine, Today’s Parent magazine and Canadian Living. Julie facilitates communication workshops at Keyano College in Fort McMurray, and has presented writing workshops at conferences in the United States and Canada. 


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Against My Better Judgement by B.T. Polcari / #Extract #BlogTour @RABTBookTours @btpolcari




Mauzzy and Me Mystery, Book 1

When freshman year at the University of Alabama draws to a close, Sara Donovan finds herself grappling with the same old question—listen to her head or follow her heart. What she ends up doing is purchasing an Egyptian

souvenir funerary mask, and after a mysterious phone call, she’s certain a ring of antiquities smugglers are operating in Tuscaloosa.

With finals never far from her mind and her return to ‘Bama hanging in the balance, she should be studying. Instead she launches her own investigation to prove her mask is indeed a stolen artifact, and not a cheap trinket. When it comes time to snoop, Sara is more than ready, or at least she was until a hot new teaching assistant moves in next door.

Suddenly she learns things are never as they seem. Ever.




With the sudden onslaught of authority blasting my senses, I jolted upward and fell into the rack of cute blouses. My hand lost its grip on the huge cup. The other hand instinctively shot out to catch the falling soda, at the same time ejecting my phone deep into clothes-rack oblivion. An unhealthy, protracted clatter indicated the landing didn’t go too well. I caught my balance halfway into the colorful summer collection of what appeared to be very fun tops. At least I saved the soda from making me the proud owner of a complete summer collection of stained fashion wear.

I nonchalantly edged my body around, fighting off multiple tendrils of fabric clutching and grabbing at my head and shoulders. I popped my head out of the blouses, and after clearing disheveled hair from my eyes, was confronted with the no-nonsense visage of—a mall cop. On a motorized two-wheeled scooter.

From within my inner sanctum of the clothes rack, I laid on him all the cool innocence and southern sweetness I could muster. “No, but thank you for asking. Everything is okay, officer.”

Thank you, B.T. Polcari and RABT Book Tours


About the author

After a long career as a business executive, B.T. Polcari tried to retire. Spoiler alert: he’s really bad at retirement. Bowling, tennis, and sailing can only keep you busy for so long, so B.T. is now pursuing his childhood dream of becoming a published author.


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The Unravelling by Liz Treacher / #Extract #BlogTour #LoveBooksGroupTours @liztreacher



For Ella Aldridge, a brilliant Classics student, life was supposed to be exciting. Thirty years on, she’s stuck in the suburbs in a boring job and a failing marriage. Even her daughter, the one she gave it all up for, seems distant.

But a sinister encounter on platform three is about to change everything. Under the watchful eye of a shadowy ticket inspector and his mysterious associate, Ella finds herself spiralling into a murky underworld where portentous signs appear from nowhere, thoughts are stored on memory sticks and speeding express trains may be more than they seem. As she begins to lose her grip on reality, Ella embarks on an extraordinary journey that touches everyone around her, forcing her to confront the biggest question of all.

By turns poignant, chilling and tinged with dark humour, The Unravelling is a novel full of heart and beauty, about the myth and magic of everyday life, and the sacrifices we make for what really matters.




Derek turned down a side street into the multistorey car park where he’d left his car. He paid for his ticket at the machine on the ground floor, opened the door of the stairway and clanked up the stairs. Shafts of light shone through small, square windows. Some landed on the concrete floor of the stairway like golden lozenges, others shone on the wall, lighting up the brickwork. An unusual image; he should have brought his camera. Derek continued to climb, eventually reaching the rusty metal door that led onto the roof. It opened with a creak and he was on top of the car park. The sun was out, its long rays stretching along the rooftop towards his car. The shadows were long too, transforming his Mini into a Cadillac. It was nice to be back in the open air and Derek took a few deep breaths. Below him he could hear the rumble of traffic like distant thunder, but up on the roof it was peaceful. No other cars, no other people. Hold on – there was someone else. A figure stood close to the edge, looking down. Surely he wasn’t going to jump? No, he looked too poised, standing tall and straight as if he was guarding the town. The sun caught the top of his head, giving him a halo of light, like an angel. Another chance of a photo – missed. There had been so many over the years. Funny how he always remembered the ones that got away. And what was the figure looking at? Derek wandered towards the edge, at the other end of the roof from the angel, and gazed out over Ketterstone. The tall towers of the shopping centre gleamed in the sunshine, dwarfing rows and rows of Victorian houses, some residential homes, some converted into shops. Beyond the shopping centre, the flume of a swimming pool poked towards the sky. Then a park – the green expanse of grass no bigger than a snooker table from this height. He looked down. Cars were moving slowly along the busy street. People walked past, showing him the tops of their tiny heads before disappearing again. Pigeons, like feathered dots, pecked in the gutter. As he watched, Derek was seized by a strange sort of vertigo. He’d experienced something similar as a boy. Instead of being repulsed by the pavement below, he felt drawn to it. He had an impulse to jump, to fall into the air. He wanted to dive down and feel that split second of total freedom – hear the rush of air in his ears, see the earth flying up towards him. ‘How long would it take?’ Derek swung round. The angel was standing beside him. Except he wasn’t an angel; he was a man with dark hair, green eyes and a black jacket. A car-park attendant, perhaps. ‘How long?’ He asked again. ‘Before you hit the ground?’ ‘I wasn’t planning to jump!’ Derek realised how defensive he sounded. ‘But not long, I guess. Hardly time to pray.’ He gave a nervous laugh. ‘Is that what you’d do?’ asked the man. Derek laughed again. ‘I don’t know what I’d do, and it doesn’t matter, because I won’t be jumping.’ He pointedly got his car key out of his pocket. ‘Tempting though, isn’t it?’ The man smiled snidely and Derek saw a flash of perfect teeth. ‘No,’ he said, walking purposefully towards his Mini, turning his back on the unnerving man. ‘It isn’t.’ ‘Got your ticket?’ So he was an attendant. Derek waved his prepaid ticket in the air, but he didn’t look round. He jumped into the car, started the engine and reversed out of the parking bay. Got your ticket? It felt as if the man was mocking him. As he turned to go down the ramp that led from the roof, Derek glanced in the mirror. The man was standing near the edge again, haloed in light, so much light that he couldn’t tell which way he was facing, whether he was looking towards his car, or the other way.

Thank you, Liz Treacher and Love Books Group Tours.


About the Author

Liz is a writer and a Creative Writing Tutor. She has already written two romantic comedies, set in 1920, called The Wrong Envelope and The Wrong Direction. Her third novel, The Unravelling, published by Skelbo Press is a new departure into a darker, contemporary style. When not writing or teaching, Liz works as an art photographer and a love of images inspires her writing. She is married with two children and lives in the Scottish Highlands by the sea. 


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