BAREFOOT IN WHITE by Roxanne St. Claire

CMash May 20, 2014 1 Comment

ABOUT THE BOOK

About the series:

The original quartet of Barefoot Bay books introduced readers to four female friends who, while recovering from a hurricane and building a small, upscale resort and spa, all found love. Then there were three Barefoot Bay Billionaires who swept the most unlikely heroines off their feet on the sands of Barefoot Bay. Up next, three destination wedding planners who run The Barefoot Bay Brides, and each will have a love story of her own.

About the book:

In BAREFOOT IN WHITE, we meet Willow Ambrose who has fought a battle with the scale for much of her life, but she has finally won the war. She hasn’t just cut calories — she’s cut all ties to her past, too, and successfully carved out a new body and a new life. But when she comes face to face with someone who left an indelible mark on her heart years before, all that threatens to crumble.

Navy SEAL Nick Hershey is on medical leave, doing a friend a favor as a stand in “man of honor” at a beach wedding. He might not be that interested in the nuptials, but the wedding planner catches his eye the minute they meet. When he realizes Willow is a girl he knew in college — and a girl he unintentionally hurt to the core — he knows he has some making up to do.

Willow has learned how to beat every temptation…but Nick’s sweet as candy kisses just might be the one thing she can’t resist. However, the closer they get, the more the past threatens to tear them apart. Nick and Willow learn the hard way that they can’t change history, but does that mean they won’t have a future?

Read an excerpt:

EXCERPT – the first meet! Willow walks into what she thinks is a vacant villa on the resort property, there to deliver a welcome basket to a bride and her maid of honor who are scheduled to arrive later that day. There, she finds a naked man, air-drumming, and wailing a song written by her father…a man she soon realizes she knows:

Willow inhaled the briny bay air, stopping at the wrought iron gate that opened to Artemisia. Positioned on a rise, and angled so that the patio and pool faced the Gulf of Mexico, this butter-yellow villa was one of Willow’s favorites on the property. Setting the basket on the terra cotta steps that led up to the front door, she pulled her resort ID that doubled as a master key out of her pocket, unlocked the door, and scooped up the goodies to go inside.

The living area was darkened from sunshades on the windows, cool and quiet, with the welcoming aroma of sweet gardenias left by the Casa Blanca cleaning staff. Heading to the kitchen, Willow froze mid-step at the sound of…was that running water? No. A footstep? She listened for a minute, heard nothing, then—

“Will ya…will ya…be my girl?”

Singing. Someone was singing. Well, more like howling. Woefully off-key.

“Gotta know if it’s real, gotta know it’s forevah!”

Willow’s heart dropped so hard and fast the basket almost went with it. Was this some kind of joke? That song? That crappy, tacky, mess of metal that…that pretended to be a love song and paid for college and cars and everything else she’d had?

No one at this whole resort, on this island, or, hell, in the whole state of Florida, except for Ari and Gussie, could possibly know—

“No foolin’ around, for worse or for bettah!”

Son of a bitch, who’d found her out? Did Ari or Gussie tell someone that Willow’s father was a rock ’n’ roll household name? They’d promised not to.

Gripping the basket so tight she could crack the wicker, she marched into the hallway that separated the two bedrooms, calling out, “Excuse me!”

“Will ya…will ya…be my…”

“Hey!” She lowered the basket to peer over the top and…oh. Oh.

Ass again. It deserved a second look.

“Girrrrl!” Tanned, muscular arms whacked the air, and a dark head of wet hair shook, sending droplets all the way down to…oh, really, that rear end was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

“Come and take it, don’t ya fake it, we can make—”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The words caught in her throat, lost as her gaze locked on the bare-naked man air-drumming like a raving lunatic in the middle of the bedroom, totally unaware she stood behind him.

“Luh-uuuuve…” He destroyed the note, and not in the good way her father intended when he wrote the song. No, Donny Zatarain would probably weep if he heard his signature rock anthem being butchered by this idiot wearing nothing but noise-canceling headphones.

“Excuse me!”

His arms never missed a beat of the drum solo she had memorized before she was five years old, each stroke tensing and bulging muscles she hadn’t even known existed. She opened her mouth to call out again, but that was a waste of time. Anyway, this particular feast for the eyes was way too good to pass up.

“Will ya, will ya be my girrrrrl?”

But that song had to stop. She reached into the basket and grabbed the first thing her fingers touched: a nice ripe Florida orange. Yanking it out, she lobbed it as he hit the high C on “girl,” except he didn’t come anywhere near C, and the orange didn’t go anywhere near him.

Still, he spun around, jumping into a wide, threatening stance, both arms out like a warrior ready to attack. She blocked her face with the basket, peeking through the top spray of cellophane, silently thanking Ari for choosing clear.

Whoa, that was a big…man.

“What the…” he muttered after a second, whipping off the headset. “I didn’t hear you come in. You can put that down out there. Thanks.”

She didn’t move. Not even her eyes, which were riveted to…his…his…him.

“Thanks,” he repeated, the word tinged with impatience. “You can leave now.”

What if her client had come face-to-face with this? With that exposed…giant…breathtaking… She’d think this took “welcome package” to a whole new level.

“No, you can leave, because you are not in the right villa,” she said.

He scowled. Well, she assumed he scowled. It was difficult to see his face because she couldn’t stop looking at the rest of him.

“I’m in the right villa. Isn’t this Art..Arte…some flower that starts with an A?”

Was she in the wrong place? No, of course not.

Get a grip, Willow. He was just a naked man—okay, an exceptionally stunning naked man—and she had a job to do here. Which was to get him out of the villa.

“Artemisia,” she supplied, her arms starting to burn from holding the basket high enough to cover her face but still see. “And, yes, you are in the wrong villa, because we have guests booked to arrive soon, and you’re not one of them.”

He turned his hands skyward in a less threatening gesture, not that his hotter-than-a-thousand-suns body wasn’t threatening enough. “Yes, I am,” he said. “And if you will please turn around, miss, and leave that in the living room, we’re cool.”

“No, we are not cool.” There was an understatement. “Because I’m pretty sure you have more, um, body hair than the bride or maid of honor we’re expecting.”

He took a step closer, and she hoisted the basket high enough to completely cover her face.

“Man,” he said

“Excuse me?”

“I’m a man.” With two hands, he lowered the basket. “As you’ve obviously noticed. Man of honor. Not maid.”

The words registered, but not the meaning, because she was face-to-face with his broad chest and wide shoulders and a deep-purple tattoo of…oh, really? Was this God’s idea of a joke? That was the earth and star on the cover of Zenith, the number-one best-selling Z-Train record of all time. “Really?”

“Really. I’m the man of honor in Misty Trew’s wedding.” His tone was a mix of waning tolerance and growing amusement.

She finally lifted her eyes, finally coherent enough to process what he’d said, and realize the mistake was hers. “I get it,” she whispered, meeting cocoa-colored eyes as rich and inviting as the truffles in her arms, and a mouth that could be forgiven for whatever sour notes he’d hit with it, and…

Once more, the world slipped out from under her, this time because recognition nearly buckled her knees. “You’re…” Her throat closed.

“The man of honor.”

“No, you’re…” The one who…the boy who…no, now the man who…crushed her spirit.

“A male version of the maid.”

“You’re…” Nick Hershey.

“Naked,” he supplied, adding a slow, sexy, sinful smile. “But you’re not.”

She clung to the basket as if it were the last logical thing on earth because right now, it was. “I’m not…” How long had it been? Ten or eleven years since she’d lived in a dorm at UCLA? And he’d been right down the hall. “Thinking straight.”

“Clearly.” He laughed and reached for the basket. “Here, let me take your junk so you can stop staring at mine.” Placing the basket on the dresser, he held up a hand. “Just a sec. I’ll get your tip.”

BOOK DETAILS:

Series: Barefoot Bay Brides
Number of Pages: 336 pages
Publisher: South Street Publishing
Publication Date: May 3, 2014
ISBN-10: 098837367X
ISBN-13: 978-0988373679

PURCHASE LINKS:

Roxanne St. Claire

Roxanne St. Claire is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than thirty novels of suspense and romance, including three popular series (Barefoot Bay, The Bullet Catchers, and The Guardian Angelinos) and multiple stand alone books.

In addition to being a six-time nominee and one-time winner of the RITA Award, Roxanne’s novels have won the National Reader’s Choice Award for best romantic suspense three times, as well as the Daphne du Maurier Award, the HOLT Medallion, the Maggie, Booksellers Best, Book Buyers Best, the Award of Excellence, and many others. Her books have been translated into dozens of languages and are routinely included as a Doubleday/Rhapsody Book Club Selection of the Month.
Connect with Roxanne at these sites:

DISCLAIMER

I received a copy of this book, at no charge to me, in exchange for my honest review. No items that I receive are ever sold…they are kept by me, or given to family and/or friends.

ADDENDUM

I do not have any affiliation with Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble. I am an IndieBound affiliate. I am providing link(s) solely for visitors that may be interested in purchasing this Book/EBook.

Guest Author, Harper Collins/William Morrow, Partners In Crime Tours, Showcase

DARK SIDE OF SUNSET POINTE by Michael Allan Scott showcase & interview

CMash May 19, 2014 1 Comment

ABOUT THE BOOK

Lance Underphal was devastated by his wife’s death, and now, the down-and-out crime-scene photographer can’t let her go. He wakes up plagued by premonitions. The double shooting of an Arizona real estate developer and his mistress/bookkeeper immerse Underphal in a world of incomprehensible phenomena.
Frank Salmon, the homicide detective on the case, does his best to blow off Underphal’s “visions.” But the murders keep piling up and the visions are all too real.
Salmon pursues Underphal’s clues from a popular strip club to a failing community bank, adding a blackmailing stripper to the body count.
Underphal struggles mightily with his psychic curse, teetering on the brink of insanity. His only hope for redemption is the voice in his head, the voice of his dead wife. Stumbling through dark vortexes of murderous intrigue, he comes to realize his visions will either kill him or lead to the capture of a killer—maybe more than one.

Read an excerpt:

Whiting runs a trembling hand through thinning hair, his scalp hot and moist. They’ve got to do something about these numbers. Short stubble on raw cheeks twitches as he anxiously works his jaws. They could lose the whole damn project. Thirty million! He can’t believe it, he’s bet everything on this project. And with the hard-money loan, they’ve got a bigger nut than ever. Shit! Those hard-money bastards, they’re Rodriguez’s contacts. Of course they had to have the money to finish—all the construction cost overruns. Fucking Rodriguez. His fingers manically drum on the hardwood desktop, their nails ragged, bitten to the quick. They’re in way too deep to quit now.
Chewing his bottom lip, Whiting redials Rodriguez’s cell.
Rodriguez sounds out of breath, frustrated. “Damn Gary, whaddaya want?”
“Mike, we need to go over some numbers. Ya got a minute?”
Rodriguez gives a short chuckle then lowers his voice, “I’m kinda in the middle of somethin’.”
“Yeah, but . . .” Gary hears a thump, then a woman’s muffled words. “Hey, are you at the office? Who’s with you?”
“Yeah, like I said, we’re kinda in the middle of somethin’ here.”
Whiting hears giggling in the background.
To Diane, Rodriguez says, “Stop that.” To Gary, he says, “Diane’s never done it on the desk before.”
Whiting can almost hear Rodriguez’s leering grin.
In the background Diane laughs then says, “Do I get overtime for this?”
Now they’re both laughing.
“Damn . . . Mike, you guys . . . in the office?”
“Hey, don’t sweat it. It’s almost seven, no one’s around, yard gates are locked, lights are off. No one’s gonna know.”
Whiting hears Diane coo and then more giggling.
Rodriguez speaks closer into the phone, “That is, as long as you keep your mouth shut.”
“Hey, no problem. I don’t care what you do with Diane. She’s your bookkeeper.”
Diane lets out a short yelp and says “What was that?”
“Shit!” Rodriguez whispers, “Shit.”
“Mike, what’s going on?”
“Hold on, I think someone’s here.”
Whiting hears grunting, rustling, probably scrambling for clothes, the metallic snap of window blinds.
Under his breath, Rodriguez says “Who’s that?” He whispers to Diane, “Get your panties on.”
Whiting hears Diane whine, “I’m trying.”
He hears Rodriguez whispering to himself, “Who is that? Is that . . ? I’ll get that bastard.”
Rodriguez says, “Gary, hold on, I gotta take a picture with this thing, hold on.”
“Okay.” Whiting hears the blinds clacking.
He hears Rodriguez talking to himself, “Damn, it’s dark . . . but I think I got ‘em.”
“Mike . . . Mike?”
“Yeah, I’m back, hold on. Gotta check this out.”
Whiting clutches the phone in a sweaty hand, pressed hard against his ear. He hears a loud bang. A door slamming the wall? Too weird. He needs a Valium.
Diane screams. Rodriguez yells, “You, you asshole! What the fuck do you want!?!”
Whiting hears POP, POP! Screeching, a low grunt, loud thumps . . . POP, POP, POP! “Uh, uh, uh . . .” Guttural gasps. A long wail. High-pitched keening, its otherworldly echo raising every hair on goose flesh. Whiting drops the receiver, horrified. The plastic handset bounces off the desktop as it sinks in. They’ve been shot!

BOOK DETAILS:

Genre: Mystery
Published by: Telemachus Press
Publication Date: 11/19/2012
Number of Pages: 382
ISBN:
978-1-938701-94-8 ebook
978-1-938701-95-5 paperback

PURCHASE LINKS:

MICHAEL ALLAN SCOTT

Born and raised at the edge of the high desert in Kingman, Arizona, Michael Allan Scott resides in Scottsdale with his wife, Cynthia and their hundred-pound Doberman, Otto. In addition to writing mysteries and speculative fiction, his interests include music, photography, art, scuba diving and auto racing.
Connect with Michael at these sites:

Q&A with Michael Allan Scott

Writing and Reading:
Do you draw from personal experiences and/or current events?
Both. The Lance Underphal mysteries are loosely based on real life experiences over a backdrop of current events at the time.

Do you start with the conclusion and plot in reverse or start from the beginning and see where the story line brings you? I have a basic story idea and rough out the bones of the plot and characters in notes, then let ‘er rip. I compare it to jazz composition. Once I have the basic structure down, I improvise and let it take me where it will.

Your routine when writing?
Simple, really. I schedule my writing time for the week ahead, then do my best to adhere to my schedule. I track my progress weekly based on word count.

Any idiosyncrasies?
Hmm … depends on who you ask. I rarely write more than an hour straight, taking breaks and short walks when the mood hits to stay fresh. Sometimes I’ll listen to a particular piece of music to establish the emotional tone I want to achieve.

Is writing your full time job?
Yes, one of them. Sixty/seventy hour work weeks are common for me.

If not, may I ask what you do by day?
Of course I write and market my writing. Additionally, I own and operate a commercial real estate company.

Who are some of your favorite authors?
When it comes to mystery, James Lee Burke and Michael Connelly come to mind. And of course, Edgar Allan Poe.

What are you reading now?
I read several books at a time—keeps me from getting bored. The paperbacks include: The Death Artist by Jonathan Santlofer, The Deep Blue Good-By by John D. MacDonald, Bridge of Sighs by Richard Russo, and collection of Poe short stories edited by Michael Connelly titled In the Shadow of the Master. On my Kindle, I’m reading: Poe by J. Lincoln Fenn and Reconing by R.S. Guthrie. BTW, this list should not be taken as a recommendation.

Are you working on your next novel?
I just finished the first draft.

Can you tell us a little about it?
If I can’t, who can? 🙂 Titled Grey Daze, it’s the third Lance Underphal Mystery and is due out this summer. Like its predecessors, it is a hardcore contemporary mystery/thriller with a paranormal twist. Lance and his friends find themselves tracking down a crime ring that preys on the elderly. They find the killers and then it gets hairy.

Here’s an excerpt:
“It’s all white except for naked trees and grey light. Still and frozen like a perfect image etched in frosted glass. The snow, crystalline powder piled up in mounds, spreads along the riverbanks like a sparkling blanket of diamonds—the river, a mirror of blue ice. A hush as thick as the snow. Tiny flakes of icy fluff fill the air before my eyes. The only sounds are the hiss of my blades slicing virgin ice and my lungs pumping frosty breaths into a streaming cloud behind me like a quietly thundering locomotive. Pushing, my eyes water with the cold, blood pounding in my ears as my thighs burn. I glide into its beauty, nature’s elements in perfect balance, exhilarated as I rush into the outstretched arms of God.

Smiling and spent, I circle back and head for home, convinced this is as much of God as I’ll ever know. I soon see our cabin up ahead, buried up to the window frames in drifted snow. Its roof, a steeple of purest white—a curl of smoke drifting up from its chimney to disappear into the haze. It’s early, I wonder if she’s up yet. I want to tell her how beautiful it all is. Beaming, I lean into it. Can’t wait to see her.

I quietly hang my skates on a peg in the mudroom, careful not to wake her. Cringing as the hinges creak, I try to be quiet. Something’s wrong. As I pad softly across the cold flagstone, I hear her weeping. She’s on her knees, hunched over in the middle of the room, her back to me, facing the fireplace. Something’s very wrong. I want to rush to her, but I can’t. I force myself to take a step closer, then another. In a hoarse whisper, I say, “Callie?” She lets out a mournful wail from deep within as she turns to me, our infant son in her arms, blue and still. I reel from the blow. How can this be? We don’t have a son!”

Your novel will be a movie. Who would you cast?
Of course, I’m expecting all my books will be made into movies. In fact, the writing style is more visual than typical novels, custom-built for movie adaptation. That said, for the first book, Dark Side of Sunset Pointe, I envision Jack Nicholson or John Travolta as Lance Underphal and Ryan Gosling or Brad Pitt as Detective Frank Salmon.

Manuscript/Notes: hand written or keyboard?
All on a word processor. I can barely type fast enough to keep up. Hand written, OMG can you imagine?

Favorite leisure activity/hobby?
I love auto racing, scuba diving and photography. I do my best to work in photography with whatever I’m doing. I have a little more than 25 hours of Hammerhead and White Tip shark video from the last dive trip to Cocos Island.

Favorite meal?
A large T-Bone steak, thick and rare; real mashed potatoes oozing real butter; and a big slice of chocolate layer cake with dark chocolate icing. (okay, guess I’d throw in a salad, if I had to – a fresh Wedge salad with real blue cheese, bacon, fresh tomatoes and iceberg lettuce.) And the last time I had a dinner like this was at least ten years ago. Ah well … at least I can dream.

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DISCLAIMER

I received a copy of this book, at no charge to me, in exchange for my honest review. No items that I receive are ever sold…they are kept by me, or given to family and/or friends.

ADDENDUM

I do not have any affiliation with Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble. I am an IndieBound affiliate. I am providing link(s) solely for visitors that may be interested in purchasing this Book/EBook.

Guest Author, JKS Communications, Showcase

IN VELVET by Burt Weissbourd showcase & giveaway

CMash May 18, 2014 Leave a Comment

Synopsis

The northwest corner of Yellowstone Park is closed for bear management, and Rachel, a bear biologist, is discovering some very startling animal behavior—grizzlies denning in June, swans at their wintering grounds in summer, what appear to be Irish Elk, an extinct species, with huge palmated antlers. There are also horrific mutations in the young—elk calves with no front legs, earless bear cubs, and eaglets without wings. What has gone wrong? Why is this area closed? Who’s covering up these animal abnormalities in the Park?

A non-stop thriller set in some of North America’s wildest country, In Velvet takes you deep into the hearts of a hard case local detective and a Chicago cop as they take on a corrupt sheriff, a pathalogical poacher, and a lethal black ops manager to solve this ghastly mystery and restore the natural order in Yellowstone National Park

BOOK DETAILS:

Number of Pages: 280 pages
Publisher: Rare Bird Books, A Vireo Book
Publication Date: June 10, 2014
ISBN-10: 194020710X
ISBN-13: 978-1940207100

PURCHASE LINKS:

Burt Weissbourd

Burt Weissbourd writes character-driven thrillers. Reviewers describe his work as “brilliantly detailed, evocative … thrillingly suspenseful.” “His descriptions are luscious.” “An incredibly strong and intelligent female protagonist.” “[His] dark characters rank with some of Koontz’s and King’s worst imaginaries.”

Burt began his career producing movies, working closely with screenwriters, then writing his own screenplays.

A newcomer to Hollywood, he approached writers whose movies he loved — movies such as “Klute,” “Two for the Road,” and “Ordinary People” — and worked with those writers and others, including working with Ross Macdonald, a legend in crime fiction, on his only screenplay.

This was the “New Hollywood” (1967 – 1980), and he found writers whose work grabbed viewers viscerally, not with explosions but with multi-dimensional characters who would draw you into a deeply moving story.

Savvy actors wanted to play finely drawn characters in compelling stories, and before long, Burt was developing screenplays, working directly with Robert Redford, Lily Tomlin, Goldie Hawn, Sally Field, and Jill Clayburg, among others.

As a producer developing a screenplay, he looked for stories with strong, complex characters and a “rich stew” — that is to say, a situation with conflict, emotional intensity, and the potential to evolve in unexpected ways. This is exactly what he tries to create for the books he writes.
Connect with Burt at these sites:

Q&A with Burt Weissbourd

Do you draw from personal experiences and/or current events?
Yes, I draw from personal experience and current events, especially personal experience. In Velvet, my new novel, draws on more than twenty-five years of fly fishing thirty to fifty days a year with my children in Montana and in Yellowstone Park.

To a lesser extent, I draw on current events. Although I imagined the research and science in the book (with a very able virologist), there is actual research being done on thermophile – heat loving organisms – that live in Yellowstone’s hot spring pools. The heat resistant enzymes produced by the hot springs bacterium, Thermus Aquaticus, include a DNA polymerase called Taq, which is used in medical diagnosis and forensics, especially DNA fingerprinting.

Do you start with the conclusion and plot in reverse or start from the beginning and see where the story line brings you?
As a writer, I try to start with strong, complex characters and a “rich stew” — that is to say, a situation with conflict, emotional intensity, and the potential to evolve in unexpected ways.

Your routine when writing? Any idiosyncrasies?
I write, then rewrite, then rewrite again. I try to write every day, but since I also invest in financial markets, sometimes I don’t really start writing until after market close at 4:00.

Who are some of your favorite authors?
My favorite authors include Ross Macdonald, James Welch (The Indian Lawyer), Jim Harrison, Ross Thomas, Steig Larsson, and Scott Turow

What are you reading now?
I’m about to start The Book of Ash by John McCaffrey. I’m just finishing Maria Semple’s wonderful Where did you go Bernadette?

Are you working on your next novel? Can you tell us a little about it?
Yes I’m just finishing Teaser, the sequel to my first novel, Inside Passage. Here’s how I describe it on my website:

Teaser, the sequel to Inside Passage, takes Corey and Abe into the interconnected worlds of private school kids and the runaways who roam Seattle’s streets. Billy attends the Olympic Academy, where two friends, Maisie and Aaron, are experimenting with sex and drugs. They’ve become close to Star, a streetwise seductress who leads them down a treacherous path. Despite the best efforts of Abe and Corey, Maisie is abducted by the diabolical “Teaser,” a man determined to take revenge on her father, his former cellmate. Teaser is a mystery to everyone except Abe and Corey, who alone realize what they must do to rescue Maisie. They contrive a plan that shocks even them.

Your novel will be a movie. Who would you cast?
I spent years producing movies. When I think about In Velvet, I imagine it as long form television with no big movie stars. When I think about it as a feature film, I think of directors like Steven Spielberg – I think In Velvet could be like Jurassic Park. There are no big movie stars in that movie. Spielberg is the star, and I’d leave it up to him to cast the movie.

Manuscript/Notes: hand written or keyboard?
I use a keyboard to write and then hand write notes on the printed pages.

Favorite leisure activity/hobby?
My favorite leisure activity is fly fishing.

Favorite meal?
My favorite meal is BBQing wild boar and elk sausages.

Burt will be offering a weekly giveaway through Goodreads
**of copies of In Velvet throughout the Month of May**

DISCLAIMER

I received a copy of this book, at no charge to me, in exchange for my honest review. No items that I receive are ever sold…they are kept by me, or given to family and/or friends.

ADDENDUM

I do not have any affiliation with Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble. I am an IndieBound affiliate. I am providing link(s) solely for visitors that may be interested in purchasing this Book/EBook.

Guest Author, Showcase, The Story Plant

PRESSED PENNIES by Steven Manchester

CMash May 15, 2014 Leave a Comment

If you follow my blog, you know I am a big fan of Steven Manchester. I have reviewed Twelve Months, Goodnight, Brian, The Rockin’ Chair and his latest novel, Pressed Pennies. He is now touring with Pressed Pennies and is stopping by today. If you haven’t read his books, you are missing out!!!!!

STEVEN MANCHESTER

Steven Manchester is the author of the #1 bestsellers, Twelve Months and The Rockin` Chair. He is also the author of the critically-acclaimed, award-winning novel, Goodnight, Brian, as well as A Christmas Wish (Kindle exclusive), Pressed Pennies (due out May 2014) and Gooseberry Island (due out January 2015). His work has appeared on NBC`s Today Show, CBS`s The Early Show, CNN`s American Morning and BET`s Nightly News. Three of Steven`s short stories were selected “101 Best” for Chicken Soup for the Soul series. When not spending time with his beautiful wife, Paula, or their four children, this Massachusetts author is promoting his works or writing.
Connect with Steve at these sites:

ABOUT THE BOOK

Rick and Abby grew up together, became best friends, and ultimately fell in love. Circumstance tore them apart in their early teens, though, and they went on to lives less idyllic than they dreamed about in those early days. Rick has had a very successful career, but his marriage flat-lined. Abby has a magical daughter, Paige, but Paige`s father nearly destroyed Abby`s spirit.

Now fate has thrown Rick and Abby together again. In their early thirties, they are more world-weary than they were as kids. But their relationship still shimmers, and they`re hungry to make up for lost time. However, Paige, now nine, is not nearly as enthusiastic. She`s very protective of the life she`s made with her mother and not open to the duo becoming a trio. Meanwhile, Rick has very little experience dealing with kids and doesn`t know how to handle Paige. This leaves Abby caught between the two people who matter the most to her. What happens when the life you`ve dreamed of remains just inches from your grasp?

PRESSED PENNIES is a nuanced, intensely romantic, deeply heartfelt story of love it its many incarnations, relationships in their many guises, and family in its many meanings. It is the most accomplished and moving novel yet from a truly great storyteller of the heart.

Read an excerpt:

The night was beautiful, unusually mild for the season. “How about a walk along the river?” he asked. “The water fire is tonight.”

“What a coincidence,” she teased, and didn’t think twice about grabbing his hand when he extended it.

Hand in hand, Rick and Abby strolled along the river. Hidden speakers offered the eclectic sounds of primitive chants and tribal drums. Alluring smells of vendor delicacies wafted on unseasonably warm breezes. Side streets were cordoned off and police officers rerouted traffic. Amongst thousands of pedestrians, the walk along the river moved like a stream of warm pudding.

They felt comfortably alone in each other’s company, occasionally stopping to point out something they had spotted and wanted to share.

Although Abby only had two glasses of wine, she felt lightheaded—almost drunk.

As if lovers were sworn to secrecy, other couples offered subtle nods in greeting—with Rick and Abby returning each gesture.

Steel fire pits sat several feet out of the water, lining the middle of the river every thousand yards. Old, wooden boats filled with thespians dressed in black threw fresh-split cordwood onto each. Like swarms of angry fireflies, a million sparks scurried into the air. Bright orange and red flames licked at the black sky, as strong smells of burnt oak and cedar reminded folks of cozy summer campfires and the love that could be shared beneath a starry sky.

At the end of the path, Rick summoned one of the many hawkers to buy Abby a single red rose.

She accepted the gift with a smile. “Good thing this isn’t a date,” she joked again.

“Good thing,” he repeated.

After hugging him, she kissed his cheek. “Thank you for this wonderful experience, Richard,” she said. “I mean it. This night has been absolutely amazing.”

“I only supplied half of it,” he replied, and hugged her again. “Thank you for the other half.”

Walking slowly, they started back toward their cars.

* * *

Once they reached the parking lot behind the Blue Grotto, Rick turned to Abby and cleared his throat. “Let me take you out again this weekend.” It was more of a statement than a request.

Abby shook her head and kissed his cheek. “I’d love to, Richard. Believe me, I would. But it’s not just about what I want. I still need to get Paige settled in. She’s not used to…”

He placed his finger to her lips. “Okay,” he said, “then when?”

She thought about it and shook her head. “I honestly don’t know.” She shrugged. “But what I do know is that our timing couldn’t be any worse right now.” She searched his eyes. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Richard. I wish…”

He looked surprised and devastated, all at the same time. “Not even as friends?” he asked.

She looked deeper into his eyes. “I’d love that, but do you really think that you and I could just be friends?”

He smirked, and then shrugged. “I don’t know.” He thought for a moment. “A different place, a different time, I think you and I…”

“Who knows what the future holds,” she said, stopping him from saying any more.

“Friends then,” he said, and kissed her cheek. “I understand.”

“Thank you,” she said, but she could tell by his tone that he didn’t understand at all. “I’ll be seein’ ya,” she said, and hurried off to her car while she still had the strength.

“Yeah,” he said. “See you around.”

* * *

With his head spinning, Rick got into his car and began replaying every second of their time together. As he drove away, he could still smell Abby on his clothes and hoped the scent would last. It had been an eternity since he’d felt this way about anyone.

* * *

When her mom returned home from her “dinner with an old friend,” Paige was sprawled out on the couch, pretending to be asleep. Abby took a seat beside her. Even with her heart pounding in her ears, Paige dared not stir. Abby pulled the blanket over her and kissed her forehead. “Night, babe,” she whispered, and quietly stepped out of the room.

Paige slowly opened her eyes and took a deep breath. “Just the two of us, huh?” she whispered, and fought back the tears.

BOOK DETAILS:

Number of Pages: 355 pages
Publisher: The Story Plant
Publication Date: May 13, 2014
ISBN-10: 1611881358
ISBN-13: 978-1611881356

PURCHASE LINKS:

Guest Author, Showcase

Worldwind Tours Presents: TWO PERFORMANCE ARTISTS

CMash May 14, 2014 Leave a Comment

ABOUT THE BOOK

Hank and Larry are performance artists in San Francisco’s
underground performance art scene. But when the mind-numbing grind of their
corporate jobs drives them over the edge, they plot the ultimate revenge: to
kidnap their company’s billionaire CEO and brainwash him into becoming a manic
performance artist.

Fueled by the author’s performance art background, Two
Performance Artists is a screwball dark comedy about best friends determined to
tackle the American Dream with fish guts, duct tape, and a sticky AK-47.

Two Performance Artists is the first performance art novel
by a working performance artist, tackling themes like fame, narcissism, and
criticism, which are all timely in our “watch me!” age of reality TV,
Instagram, and YouTube.

A
first-round finalist in the 2013 Amazon Breakthrough Novel
Contest, the book straddles several genres—it’s a madcap adventure, a pulpy
action novel, a caper comedy, and a “bromance” for sure. One early
reviewer called it “Office Space meets Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas meets
Jackass.”

PURCHASE

Amazon – Kindle

Amazon – Paperback

Barnes & Noble – Nook

Barnes & Noble – Paperback

Apple – iPad

Kobo

ABOUT SCOTCH WICHMANN

Performance artist SCOTCH WICHMANN was launched into the
American art scene 23 years

ago with his debut piece, SNORTING MOUSE FUR, and
he’s been going strong ever since. Nominated with his performance troupe for
Best Comedy and Best Stunt at the 2013 Hollywood Fringe Festival, his work has
become known for its surrealism, physical endurance, and Dadaist comedy at
galleries and fringe festivals around the world.

For more about Scotch, visit:

Website and blog: www.scotchcomedy.com

Twitter: @scotchwichmann

Instagram: instagram.com/scotchwichmann

Facebook: fb.com/scotchcomedy

Book Review, Guest Author, Harper Collins/William Morrow, Partners In Crime Tours, Showcase

THE RICH AND THE DEAD by Liv Spector review & Showcase

CMash May 13, 2014 1 Comment

THE RICH AND THE DEAD by Liv Spector
Published by: William Morrow
Publication Date:
ISBN: 9780062258397
Pages: 320
Review Copy from: Publisher
Edition: TPB
My Rating: 4

Synopsis:
To solve the crime of the century, she’ll have to go back in time….

Welcome to Star Island, where Miami’s wealthiest residents lead private lives behind the tall gates of their sprawling mansions. It’s a blissful escape from the hot and dirty city—or it was, until New Year’s Day 2015, when twelve of the most powerful people in the world were found murdered in the basement of a Star Island mansion.

The massacre shocked the nation and destroyed the life of investigator Lila Day. Her hunt for the Star Island killer consumed her. But the case went unsolved, resulting in her dismissal from the Miami PD.

Now, three years later, life hands Lila an unexpected second chance: reclusive billionaire Teddy Hawkins approaches Lila and asks her to solve the case. But how do you investigate a crime when all the leads have long ago gone cold? The answer, Teddy tells her, is to solve the case before it happens. He’s going to send Lila back in time.

With nothing left to lose, an incredulous Lila travels back to 2014, determined to find the Star Island killer once and for all. But as she goes undercover among the members of Miami’s high society, she finds herself caring for—and falling for—people who are destined to die that fateful night. Now she must either say good-bye or risk altering the future forever.

My Thoughts and Opinion:
As in the synopsis, The secret Janus Society members, all twelve of them are murdered. But why? Why would someone want to murder the rich philanthropic organizational members that give so much? Detective Lila Day tried to answer these questions and arrest the suspect but that wasn’t to be and she was asked to leave the force. Fast forward three years and Lila is given a second chance to solve this cold case.

After the last word was read, my first thoughts on this book was it was a page turning read. One that had me guessing until the end, and not until the last few pages was the suspect revealed. The characters realistic, the settings visualized. The writing was impeccable.

But there was more to this book, elements that included science fiction and time travel capability. I am not a fan of these genres but felt that it did not take away from the story. At first, I thought that the science fiction would be the forefront but that wasn’t the case. The suspense was, because it was so palpable, that I was on the edge of my seat. This book held me captive. Highly recommend!

Liv Spector

Liv Spector was raised on Cape Cod and now lives in Canada. She has worked as an oyster shucker, dancer, farmhand, journalist, and teacher. A graduate of McGill University in Montreal, she received her MFA from Brooklyn College.
Connect with Liv at these sites:

Read an excerpt

PROLOGUE Star Island, Florida, is not so much a location on the map as a fantasy come to life. The hundred or so people lucky enough to live on its man-made shores exist as if in a waking dream— a dream as seductive, dangerous, and illusory as a mirage.

Nestled upon the turquoise waters of Biscayne Bay, a mere stone’s throw away from that wild and wicked boomtown, Miami Beach, Star Island has been home to movie stars, corporate titans, drug runners, and even a cult leader named Brother Louv, all of whom prized both its opulence and its isolation. But today, Star Island is synonymous with one thing, and one thing only.

The massacre.

All of the sins and scandals that took place on the island before the murders now seem like nothing more than child’s play.

By now, the details of the crime have been fervently hashed and rehashed so many times, on TV talk shows, around kitchen tables, and over cubicle walls, that everyone in the world knows the intricacies of the murders: On New Year’s Day 2015, twelve bodies were discovered on the Star Island estate of hotel magnate Chase Haverford, whose body was recovered among the dead. The victims were all, like Chase, high-profile fixtures in Miami’s social scene. Each had been murdered execution-style with a single bullet shot directly through the forehead.

The moment the news broke, the Star Island massacre took over the attentions of the world like a collective fever. From Tampa to Tokyo, from Kentucky to Kenya, the international media were breathless with talk about what many called the crime of the century.

For months, the hunt for the Star Island killer consumed the best and brightest investigators across the country and around the world. The CIA and the FBI each devoted a team to the case. A $10 million bounty offered by the father of one of the victims inspired countless home-brewed investigations. Yet even with the entire world on the hunt, the identity of the killer remained unknown.

And then, like any fever, the obsession with the Star Island massacre eventually broke. The press turned its attentions to another scandal. The cadre of investigators, tired of insurmountable dead ends and anxious to flee Miami before the summer humidity made the city unbearable, went off looking for new bloodstained bogeymen.

Long after everyone else had moved on, one local detective was left following leads, checking and rechecking evidence, and searching for a break in a case so cold even she knew there was little hope in catching the killer. Only one detective was foolish enough to care, and it nearly cost her everything.

CHAPTER ONE

The instant Lila Day knocked on the door to room 3746, the yelling from inside stopped. On the other side of the door, she could hear the hustle of loud whispers and shuffling feet—the sound of bad behavior being frantically covered up.

“Security!” Lila bellowed as she pounded on the door.

She looked at her watch: 4:13 a.m. “Figures,” she muttered under her breath as she knocked again, landing three sharp strikes upon the door. “Open up, now!”

One thing all her years as a cop had taught her, and this crap hotel security job had merely confirmed, was that the hour from 4:00 to 5:00 a.m. was always when the ugliest shit went down. By four in the morning, most of the partyers, drunks, and fun-seeking idiots had passed out, and the early birds were still asleep in their beds. Anyone awake at this ungodly time was, without fail, up to no good.

Lila had been working night security at the Hotel Armadale for the past eight months, and in that time, not one notable thing had happened. Usually her job meant busting hotel guests smoking cigarettes in the stairwell, or searching under couch cushions for watches reported as stolen. Tonight, though, things were different. She felt it in her gut.

A sharp and sudden smash came from inside the room. Once again, Lila banged on the door.

“Hotel security. Open the door!” she shouted.

She reached down for her weapon, an automatic impulse after years on the force. But there was no gun there—nothing but a flashlight. Hotel security officers were strictly prohibited from carrying weapons. Bad for business, her manager said.

“Christ,” Lila muttered. She settled for her flashlight, which she could use as a stand-in bludgeon if it came to that.

She banged on the door a final time. Then she heard a muffled cry, followed by what sounded like a heavy object being dragged along the floor. Someone was in danger. In an instant, Lila had swiped her universal key across the touch-screen door lock, kicked the door open, and stepped cautiously inside the room.

It was one of the hotel’s most expensive suites, with jaw-dropping ocean views and sleek furniture. Even on an off-season night like tonight, mid-July in Miami, when the vast majority of tourists were long gone, this room went for $5,200. But tonight, the suite looked like a war zone. A TV had been torn off the wall and smashed against the dining room table. The white marble floor was covered in broken glass and empty booze bottles. A chartreuse raw silk curtain had been ripped off the window.

Slowly, Lila skirted along the perimeter of the room, keeping her back to the wall.

She heard a door slam on the west side of the suite and followed the sound into the bedroom, where she saw a long trail of blood staining the white carpet. The blood stopped at the closed bathroom door. From behind the door, she could hear rushing water and heavy footfalls.

“Hotel security. Open the goddamned door!” There was no response.

With all of her strength, Lila slammed the butt end of her flashlight repeatedly into the doorknob until the metal ripped away. She took a deep breath and then, using all 125 pounds of her body weight, shouldered her way into the bathroom.

Two men, stripped down to their underwear, stood frozen in a Jacuzzi tub at the far end of the cavernous marble bathroom. A woman’s bare legs, tapering down to a pair of leopard-print high heels, hung limply over the tub’s side. The crimson trail of blood continued across the floor toward the tub.

One man was quite short, no more than five four, with a bleached Mohawk and a muscular gym body. The other was a hulking presence, about a foot taller than his friend, paunchy and covered in thick tufts of body hair.

A strong smell of vomit hung in the air. The sink and tub faucets poured with steaming hot water.

“Hands up,” Lila shouted.

“We weren’t doing nothing,” the short man said in a thick accent that Lila couldn’t quite place. He raised his hands slowly and stepped out of the tub. He took several steps toward Lila, close enough that she could smell the soured alcohol escaping from every pore on his body.

“Don’t move,” Lila warned, standing her ground. The small man stopped within arm’s reach of her. From his red-rimmed eyes and raw nostrils she could tell he’d been buried in drugs for hours. The woman’s legs had not moved.

“This has nothing to do with you,” the large man said in a tone so calm and measured that it made Lila’s skin crawl. “You should turn around and go.”

“That’s not going to happen, sir,” Lila said. If that woman was still alive, the water flowing into the tub would drown her within seconds. “Now, can you tell me if the woman is still breathing?”

The large man stepped out of the tub. “Everything is under control,” he said.

“That’s not what it looks like from here.” She inched closer to the tub, her hand wrapped around the flashlight.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the short man said, grabbing her left arm.

“Hands off !” Lila snapped. She tried to pull her arm away, but the man only tightened his grip, burrowing his fingers deep into the muscle of her biceps.

Lila could see from his eyes and the tense twitch of his jaw that the man had no intention of letting her go. She glanced over at the taller man, who was now standing shoulder to shoulder with his buddy. Two against one. If she was going to get the upper hand, she would have to strike first.

In one swift movement, she spun around, using the momentum of her torqued body to crack the flashlight across the short man’s cheekbone. He let go of her as he fell diagonally, clutching his face. Then she darted to the side as the larger man lunged for her, bringing her foot down on his leg, right above the ankle. She heard the stomach-churning sound of his bone breaking.

Howling in pain, the man collapsed to the floor, and Lila ran to the tub. The woman was naked, her arms akimbo like those of a rag doll. Her long blond hair was wet and hung in clumps around her bloody face. Grabbing the woman’s lifeless arms, Lila attempted to hoist her from the tub, but her wet, unresponsive body slipped out of Lila’s grasp. The woman crumpled to the floor with a thud.

Lila called 911 for help. Her boss had been more than clear that calling the cops was absolutely the last resort. Even though this was a matter of life or death, she knew he’d still give her shit for it. “This is hotel security requesting police and EMT at Hotel Armadale, room thirty-seven forty-six. I have a medical emergency and two detained suspects.”

As she was talking, she pressed her fingers to the inside of the woman’s wrist and was relieved to find a pulse. She was still alive, but she wasn’t breathing.

Just then, the short man got to his feet, stooping down to help his larger friend.

Lila shot back up, ready for round two. But the men weren’t coming toward her. They were shuffling frantically away in the direction of the door.

“Freeze!” Lila shouted. They stopped, looked at her, looked at each other, and took off for the hallway as quickly as they could, the large man dragging his mangled leg behind him.

Lila hesitated for a split second. Should she chase after the men, or try to get this woman breathing again?

“Fuck it,” Lila said. She brushed the blond hair from the woman’s face, used a wet towel to wipe away the blood and vomit, and bent down to hold the woman’s nose closed as she blew two long breaths into her lungs.

By the time the EMTs arrived, the men were long gone, and the woman was barely responsive. But at least she was breathing again.

After the woman had been placed on a stretcher and taken to the hospital, a couple of fresh-faced cops arrived on the scene. They were young enough that Lila didn’t know them from her years in the Miami Police Department; and if they knew of her, they didn’t say. For that, she was thankful.

Her cell phone rang while she was in the middle of giving the police a description of the men who’d fled the crime scene. It was her boss. “Get to my office, now.”

“I’m talking to the police,” she replied. “I’ll be down when I’m done.”

“Which is right this minute. Get your ass here, now.”

She took the elevator down to the basement, where her supervisor had his small office just off the kitchen. When she opened his door, he was on the phone.

“I got it. It’s taken care of. Not a problem,” he said, waving Lila in. She knew from the throbbing vein in the middle of his beet-red forehead that she was in deep shit.

“Yes, thank you, sir,” he said into the phone, glaring at Lila.

“Sorry that you had to be disturbed in the middle of the night over this.”

Danny Ramirez, her superior, was an unshaven smudge of a man with a phlegmy cough and an allergic reaction to hard work.

Like Lila, and most of the other shlubs who worked hotel security, he was an ex-cop. The difference was that he was retired with full pension, while Lila had been asked to leave the force. It was a distinction he never let her forget. He was a kiss-up, kick-down kind of guy. In other words, a complete prick.

Lila sat stiffly on a metal stool wedged between a wet vac and a fifty-gallon drum of olive oil, waiting for him to get off the phone.

“That’s right, sir. I’ll handle it. Yes, my pleasure.” Danny hung up the phone, then let out an enormous sigh, rubbing the heel of his meaty hand across his forehead. “Do you have any idea who that was?” he asked Lila.

She shook her head no.

“Thanks to you, I just had the distinct pleasure of getting my ass chewed out by none other than Jonathan fucking Golding, the owner of this very fine establishment. Do you know how many times he’s called me? Just guess.”

Lila shrugged. Saying anything right now would only be digging herself deeper into whatever hole she was currently in.

“In my six years of working here, I’ve only spoken to that man once before tonight. And that was on the day he hired me.”

“You’re acting like I did something wrong.”

“Do yourself a favor and shut your mouth!” he shouted. “I’ll take bullshit from Golding ’cause that’s my job. But I won’t take it from you. Do you have any idea whose fucking ankle you broke tonight?”

“I don’t know. A rapist’s? A murderer’s? I walked in on him and his little friend trying to kill a woman. If I wasn’t there, you’d have a homicide on your hands right now. Is that what you want?”

“She’s a whore who overdosed. That’s the end of the story.

The cops that are with her down at the hospital right now told me she’s not pressing charges. She’s staying very tight-lipped about the whole thing. Poor girl is just trying to keep out of jail herself. On the other hand, those guys you had so much fun bashing around already have their lawyers calling Jonathan fucking Golding demanding that you be brought up on aggravated assault charges.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. And now I’ve got Golding up my ass saying how bad this looks for the hotel. He’s trying to keep the whole thing contained. If this is leaked to the press, it’ll be a total shit show.” Lila sat there stunned. The worst she had expected was to be called out for letting the guys get away. But this wasn’t the first time she’d been read the riot act for simply doing her job. “I was warned not to hire you. But did I listen?” Danny shook his head. “You were a good cop. And you needed work, so I did what I thought was right and gave you the job.”

“And I’m grateful for that. Really I am.” Lila gave Danny a forced smile. “What I did tonight is part of the job you hired me to do.”

“For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve had a rotten habit of fucking with the wrong people,” he said.

“You mean rich people.”

“That’s one way to put it. Most people just call them the boss. And most people learn early to play nice with the guys who call the shots. It seems to me those are the folks you like to go after.”

Danny stood up, walked around his desk, and stopped in front of Lila. “I’ll need your hotel ID. Leave your uniform and flashlight in your locker. You’ll get a final check sent to you at the end of the month. As of right now, you are no longer an employee of Hotel Armadale.”

Lila sat silent for a moment, studying her boss. Under the fluorescent lights, his face looked slack-jawed and exhausted.

There was a mustard stain on his tie. He had always been sloppy, as a man and as a cop. All he ever really cared about was covering his own ass. The priorities of a coward.

Good riddance, she thought, standing up. She slapped her ID and flashlight on the table.

“You’ll land on your feet, kid.” Danny’s voice was a little strained from this attempt at positivity, but also relieved. She knew he’d been worried she would make a scene. But she wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing her protest. It was pointless. Instead, she just nodded as she left his office and closed the door behind her.

The moment Lila walked out of the Armadale for the last time, a wall of humidity hit her, the sun mercilessly bright overhead. It was only 7:30 a.m., and already the temperature was unbearable. Two thousand eighteen was proving to be the hottest year on record—and the worst year of Lila’s life.

Thoughts of her late mother’s hospital bills, her overdue car payments, her rent, and her frozen credit cards descended on Lila like the oppressive weather, making it almost impossible to breathe. She was broke, she was in debt, and now she was unemployed.

She was crossing the parking lot toward her car, her mind listing one worry after another, when a rapid clicking noise interrupted her thoughts. She looked up and saw an old man on the other side of the street, sitting in a midnight-blue Bentley and pointing a long-lensed camera in her direction. She swiveled around to see what he was photographing, but there was nothing behind her except the empty parking lot. Was he taking pictures of her?

Just as she turned back to the man, the car pulled away and disappeared around the corner. Lila stood glued to the same spot, staring blankly at where the car had been. Its exhaust fumes still hung suspended in the morning air. There was something about that old man, about this specific moment in time, that seemed intensely familiar to Lila, almost as if this had happened before.

She shook herself out of her momentary daze and climbed into her already sunbaked car, which felt something like climbing into a furnace. Déjà vu, she thought with a shrug.

The sun had only been up for an hour, and Lila’s day, as far as she was concerned, was already done

PURCHASE LINKS:

If you’d like to join in on an upcoming tour just stop by our sites and sign up today!

Follow the Tour:

REVIEW DISCLAIMER
This blog was founded on the premise to write honest reviews, to the best of my ability, no matter who from, where from and/or how the book was obtained, and will continue to do so, even if it is through PICT or PBP.
DISCLAIMER
I received a copy of this book, at no charge to me, in exchange for my honest review.
No items that I receive are ever sold…they are kept by me, or given to family and/or friends.
ADDENDUM
I do not have any affiliation with Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble. I am an IndieBound affiliate. I am providing link(s) solely for visitors that may be interested in purchasing this Book/EBook.

Guest Author, Showcase, WOW Tours

WOW! Presents: THE OPPOSITE OF EVERYTHING by David Kalish

CMash May 12, 2014 Leave a Comment

ABOUT THE BOOK

The Opposite of Everything is a hilariously fast-paced first novel for David Kalish. When Brooklyn journalist Daniel Plotnick learns he has cancer, his fortunes fall faster than you can say Ten Plagues of Egypt. His wife can’t cope, his marriage ends in a showdown with police, and his father accidentally pushes him off the George Washington Bridge.

Plotnick miraculously survives his terrifying plunge, and comes up with a zany plan to turn his life around: by doing the opposite of everything he did before.

In the darkly comedic tradition of Philip Roth and Lorrie Moore comes a new novel from author David Kalish, who draws us into a hilarious, off-kilter world where cancer tears apart relationships…and builds new ones.

David Kalish’s debut novel, The Opposite of Everything,
has won a first prize in the Somerset Fiction
Awards, a national contest that recognizes emerging
new talent and outstanding works.

BOOK DETAILS:

Number of Pages: 282 pages
Publisher: WiDo Publishing
Publication Date: March 11, 2014
ISBN-10: 1937178439
ISBN-13: 978-1937178437

PURCHASE LINKS:

David Kalish

David Kalish left a career as a big city journalist and became a fiction writer, earning his MFA from Bennington College. His first novel, The Opposite of Everything, was accepted for publication by WiDo Publishing, and he’s working on a second novel entitled Stoner Hero, which he often writes in his head while walking his two dogs in a forest near his upstate New York home.

In addition to the longer form, his short fiction has been published inTemenos, Knock, Spectrum, and Poydras Review, his non-fiction in The Writer’s Chronicle, and a short film of his, “Regular Guy,” was selected into film festivals here and abroad. As a reporter at The Associated Press, his articles appeared in major newspapers such as Los Angeles Times and The Chicago Tribune. He is currently working on a comedic theatre script for a Latin version of A Christmas Carol. He lives in Clifton Park, New York, with his wife, daughter, and two canaries, as well as those two dogs.
Connect with David at these sites:

Meet and Greet David Kalish

— Saturday, May 24, 2 p.m., Golden Notebook books, Woodstock, N.Y.

— Monday, June 2, 6 p.m., Mechanicville Public Library

— Saturday, June 21, 3 p.m., Open Door Bookstore, Schenectady, N.Y.

— Saturday, July 12, Book Store Plus, Lake Placid, N.Y.

— Saturday, July 19, Big Blue Marble Bookstore, Philadelphia

DISCLAIMER

I received a copy of this book, at no charge to me, in exchange for my honest review. No items that I receive are ever sold…they are kept by me, or given to family and/or friends.

ADDENDUM

I do not have any affiliation with Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble. I am an IndieBound affiliate. I am providing link(s) solely for visitors that may be interested in purchasing this Book/EBook.

Guest Author, Showcase

Can these books help someone you know?

CMash May 10, 2014 Leave a Comment

Spring has arrived! And with it comes warmer weather, flowers blooming and graduations!!!!

I received the following information in a newsletter that I subscribe to and wanted to share it with you. The author, Giacomo Giammatteo is not only an awesome author when it comes to fiction (Murder Takes Time, A Bullet For Carlos, Murder Has Consequences and more) but also non fiction.

Many young adults will be graduating college with a diploma in hand, and most likely, a lot of debt. The sad thing is, with the economy, there aren’t that many jobs available.

I think that these books would be the perfect graduation gift. Can they help someone you know?

No Mistakes Interviews…
…will teach you how to:
• Prepare for the interview.
• Identify the company’s primary need.
• Assess your skills as they relate to that need.
• Sell yourself as the solution.
No Mistakes Interviews will help you get the job you want.

BOOK DETAILS:

No Mistakes Careers
Number of Pages: 142 pages
Publisher: Inferno Publishing Company; 1 edition
Publication Date: February 21, 2014
ISBN-10: 1940313058
ISBN-13: 978-1940313054

PURCHASE LINKS:

Warning, reading this book might get you a new job.

If you’ve ever wondered why you didn’t get called for an interview—when you knew you fit the job—this book will explain why. Learn how to…
Keep your resume out of the trash!
◆ Discover the secret to a perfect resume.
◆ Learn the three most important parts of a resume.
◆ Find out how to get the hiring manager’s attention
◆ Learn which sections of your resume can put it in the trash.
◆ Uncover the magnificence of a perfect cover letter.

What makes me qualified to write this book?
I have been a headhunter for more than 30 years, and I have evaluated, screened, and edited a gazillion resumes. I know a gazillion sounds like a lot, and maybe it wasn’t quite a gazillion, but it was a lot of resumes. (more than a few dozen for sure)

I see people make the same mistakes over and over again. Mistakes that keep them from being considered for the jobs they want. That’s why I wrote this book—to help people get the jobs they really want.

So what are you waiting for? Want to know how to get that interview? Get the No Mistakes Resumes book. (It only costs about 2 cups of coffee.)

No Mistakes Resumes. Change your life today!

Danger! This book contains sarcasm, humor, and damn good information.

BOOK DETAILS:

Series: No Mistakes Careers
Number of Pages: 110 pages
Publisher: Inferno Publishing Company
Publication Date: June 11, 2013
ISBN-10: 1940313007
ISBN-13: 978-1940313009

PURCHASE LINKS:

Giacomo Giammatteo

I live in Texas now, but I grew up in Cleland Heights, a mixed ethnic neighborhood in Wilmington, Delaware that sat on the fringes of the Italian, Irish and Polish neighborhoods. The main characters of Murder Takes Time grew up in Cleland Heights too, and many of the scenes in the book were taken from real-life experiences.

Somehow I survived the transition to adulthood, but when my kids were young I left the Northeast and settled in Texas, where my wife suggested we get a few animals. I should have known better; we now have a full-blown animal sanctuary with rescues from all over.

At last count we had 41 animals—12 dogs, a horse, a three-legged cat and 26 pigs.

Oh, and one crazy—and very large—wild boar, who takes walks with me every day and happens to also be my best buddy.

Since this is a bio some of you might wonder what I do. By day I am a headhunter, scouring the country for top talent to fill jobs in the biotech and medical device industry. In the evening I help my wife tend the animals, and at night—late at night—I turn into a writer.
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