Radio Programming and Branding

Public Relations & Marketing
Date Published: 03/10/2015
Publisher: Library Tales Publishing
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Radio Programming and Branding: The Ultimate Podcasting and Radio Branding Guide is designed to offer techniques for broadcasters, radio bloggers, radio entrepreneurs and students who wish to start and run their own radio show or station. This book will help you improve your craft and effectively develop a winning brand that attracts attention, followership, and, ultimately, advertisers.
About the Author


Gary Begin, the founder and president of Sound Advantage Media, a radio programming consulting firm, possesses over thirty years of radio programming experience. Begin’s programming and on-air experiences have included diverse markets such as Tampa and Sarasota, FL, Providence, RI, Saginaw, MI, Hagerstown, MD, Columbus, GA, Portland and Waterville, ME.  Begin attended Dean College in Franklin, MA and has continued to enhance his skills with regular attendance at many programming seminars. In addition to Sound Advantage Media, Begin also owns Gary Begin Voice Talent, providing voice talent services for clients all across the United States.
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Reprogram Yourself for Unstoppable Self-Confidence

 

Self-Help / Motivational
Date Published: May 23, 2017
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Squash Self-Doubt and Worry
Self-doubt can hold you prisoner and leave you wondering if anyone can set you free. In reality, the only person who can unlock your self-doubt cell is you.
Of course this doesn’t mean you must go through the process alone. With Kristi Patrice Carter as your guide in her newest book, Reprogram Yourself for UNSTOPPABLE Self-Confidence, you can learn how to squash self-doubt and worry to become a more self-confident version of you.
 

 

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Reprogram Yourself for Unstoppable Self-Confidence by Kristi Patrice Carter

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About the Author

Kristi Patrice Carter’s mission is to help people live their best lives—one self-help book at a time. She is driven by her passion for sharing her knowledge and a hope for inspiring and empowering people around the world to achieve their life goals.
A force to be reckoned with, Kristi Patrice Carter has a BA in English from the University of Illinois at Chicago, a Juris Doctorate from Chicago-Kent College of Law, and over eighteen years of writing and marketing experience. She’s also a wife, mother, author, and serial entrepreneur.

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Romance Rock Stars Giveaway

RomanceRockStars.com is hosting this giveaway. Winners must be 18 or older. United States and Canada only to ship the Kindle Fire. Otherwise, we can send the money for the kindle fire by amazon giftcard anywhere in the world. We will not sell or distribute your email address or any other information to any other company. Your information is for our blog only, to notify winners, and send prizes.
Grand Prize is a Fire Tablet with Alexa, 7″ Display, 16 GB + 3 ebooks  and a second winner will receive a $10 Amazon Giftcard.
Backhand by Elise Faber
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Freeze Frame by Freya Barker


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When the Sky Falls

Thriller / Espionage / Conspiracy / Historical
Date Published: March 24, 2017
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“What makes you believe a lie? I’m not asking how you know someone is lying. What makes you believe? Because if you don’t understand how that works, then you won’t know when you’re being manipulated.”
In 1938 the War of the Worlds hoax panicked millions of Americans, then in 1988 another fictional media broadcast convinced nearly half of Portugal that sea monsters had risen from the ocean to destroy their cities. A team of CIA agents was sent to study the aftermath of this 6th Skyfall Event in the hope that they could turn it into a weapon of war. When the team consultant turns up dead, everyone scrambles to be the last man standing: the one who will decide if or when the sky falls.

Excerpt
 “What makes you believe a lie? I’m not asking how you know someone is lying. What makes you believe? Because if you don’t understand how that works, then you won’t know when you’re being manipulated.”
William Stephenson, The Nature of Sky Fall Events
Porto, Portugal. October 30, 1988. 8:13 p.m.
            The lights flickered and went dark, that’s when it started. Luis reached up and adjusted the bulb with his fingers. The hot glass burned his skin. He gritted his teeth as the sensation grew stronger. He doubted the bulb was the problem. The TV, fan and even the street light outside the apartment all died in the same moment. “Is this normal for an earthquake?”
            Car headlights flashed through the windows reflecting off Renata’s long, dark hair. “It’s not an earthquake. They already said that.”
            Luis let go of the bulb. Only a moment ago, the emergency broadcast system had come on the air. It’s strobing red light, and high pitched siren blared through every apartment. It was followed by men in lab coats being interviewed. They warned everyone that something was coming, and before they could finish the power cut out, the one thing they had said was, “it’s not an earthquake.”
            The street outside the window was still lightless, and Luis went to check the fuse box. It wouldn’t do much good. If the entire neighborhood lost power, it clearly wasn’t a fuse, but at least it was something to do.
            Renata took his hand. Her fingers trembled. “It’s not the fuses; it’s not our lights. Let it go.” Behind her, the old cement walls were spidered with cracks. They had been like that when they moved in.
“I don’t know what else to do.” He pressed his lips together and looked out the window. Outside, a family loaded into a car; the trunk overflowed as the father kicked at it until the latch held. They piled in, each with a pack on their lap. The mother sat in the passenger seat. In her hands, she held a pistol. Her husband got in, and the car roared to life. A few people emerged onto the street carrying packs, or bags. They all headed east, away from the coast. That’s where the scientist said it would start, on the coast.
“The phone lines,” Renata’s voice wavered, “They use a different power source than the electrical grid, right?” She wiped at beads of sweat forming on her forehead. “For emergencies, right?” She swallowed hard. “I’ll try and call my mom,” She picked up the receiver and held it to her ear. The lines in her face deepened the longer she held the phone. She frowned and jabbed at the disconnect lever several times. “The phones are dead.” Her skin paled. “The phones,” she licked her dry lips, “are dead.”
Luis was still for a long time. Strange muscles deep in his stomach twisted. Something terrible was happening, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. He didn’t even know what it was. There was a worry in her soft brown eyes; he wanted to protect her, keep her from feeling this way. He walked over and put his hand on Renata’s cheek then kissed her. “We’re leaving.”
She nodded towards the bags they’d started to prepare midway through the broadcast. “Do you think this will be enough?” She rested her head on his chest.
The electricity surged back, lights blazing to life. The TV flashed it’s red warning again. After a moment, it changed to a camera feed from inside a helicopter. A reporter bobbed in and out of the frame. “We’re flying over the city of Vila de Conde, only a few kilometers from Porto.” He pointed to something off camera. “While it seems a much weaker force is headed this way, it will strike here first. That should give us some idea of what to prepare for.” The wind whipped his hair wildly and drowned his voice out. The camera focused in over the ocean. White edges of curling waves shifted as they crashed against the shore. City lights reflected on the water; then the whole city blinked out. “What the hell?” The camera jerked up over the blackened city. A loud guttural cry screeched through the TV speakers, and the reporter’s voice shouted, “What in God’s nam—” The image on the TV shook and rotated like someone dropped the camera, then the screen cut to static.
Every beat of Luis’ heart pounded in his chest, teeth, and fingers. He waited for the static to end, for someone to come back, to tell them what happened.
Renata grabbed his hand; her pulse was rapid; throbbing in the vein on her neck. When she spoke, the words sounded strange like her mouth was dry after hanging open for too long. “What’s happening?”
Through the window, they saw a car slam into the small market across the street. Glass shards toppled down and shattered on the hood. Two men got out and kicked at the remaining jagged edges. With sacks in their hands, they hustled inside and filled the bags with food and supplies. They tossed them into the backseat and doubled back for more. A box of spaghetti fell out of the passenger side and burst open. Noodles splayed out on the pavement, breaking under the boots of the men as they hurried back and forth.
“I need to get something.” Luis rushed to the bedroom and pulled a pistol from under the bed. He loaded it and placed several ammo boxes in a bag before returning to his pack in the living room.
The static on the screen finally ended. A news anchor sat at a desk; sweat dripped down his face. He wiped at his brow. “It’s clear now, from this footage.” A small image on the side of the screen grew larger. It was a distant shot of the city of Vila de Conde. The entire coastal edge was gone. The hotels, resorts, beach houses. All gone. Some bits of rubble smoldered in the darkness. “This has been some sort of attack.” He stopped, and his face became stern. He sprayed saliva as he shouted at someone, “I can’t … God damn it … I can’t say that on TV. No one will believe it!” He shoved the desk over and stood; then turned and walked a few steps towards the back of the set.
A husky male voice came from off screen. “Do you believe it?” There was a pause, but the anchor kept walking. The husky voice spoke again, pleading this time, “Someone has to tell them. They have to know.” He yelled with urgency in his voice, “We saw them!”
The newscaster stopped and looked over his shoulder at the camera. “Tell them to run.” He disappeared off camera, and the screen went to static.
The lights flickered a second time, then went dark. Luis held his hand over his mouth. He stopped breathing for a moment and counted his heartbeats. He waited, but the lights didn’t come back.
With heavy packs strapped to their backs, Luis and Renata staggered into the street towards their car. A traffic jam built up behind the vehicle that had crashed into the market. People dashed inside, stealing food. The narrow European street swelled with a growing mob as they disembarked their cars to investigate the problem.
A man got into the obstructing car and attempted to reverse out. The center of the frame teetered on the curb, and the wheels spun over the slick cobblestones.
A massive man with a thick beard exited his truck. “What’s wrong with you?” He thrust crude gestures with his hands, then stopped and summoned the other stalled drivers to the stranded car. He pantomimed his intention.
Seven men gathered around the small European car and tipped it onto its side, but the vehicle still blocked the road. They shoved and kicked, but the road wouldn’t clear. Thick-beard threw up his hands, gathered his gear from his car and started walking.
Luis’s eyes widened. “I don’t understand it.”
“Do you need to?” Renata gripped his shoulder, the tips of her nails bit into his skin. “They told us to run.”
Abandoning their car, Luis and Renata joined the panicked herd. They ran, shoved and bumped into each other as they maneuvered around the empty cars. The weight of the pack made Luis unstable as people jostled against him. As each person collided into him or reached out to stabilize themselves, his balance wavered. The straps dug deep into his shoulders. The heavy load labored his run. People were constantly pressing past. He made Renata go first so he could keep an eye on her.      
A tall man with wide shoulders shoved Luis into the side of a car. He stumbled and grabbed the mirror to keep from falling. Renata screamed. He turned as she plummeted to the ground a few feet away, disappearing into the mad swarm of human bodies.
Luis surged forward ramming people until he found her. He tried to help her stand, but the mob kept pressing forward, and Luis fell on top of her. A foot crunched down on his hand; then a knee jabbed into his ribs. Droves of people crashed against his body. His hair got caught on something, and it ripped a patch from his skull. A trickle of blood dripped from his scalp onto Renata’s face.
Luis pressed his lips to her ear. “The gun is in my pack. Fire the gun.” He didn’t feel her searching the bag, too many hands, knees, and elbows jabbed and thrust into him, but he heard the gunshot, next to his ear. It thundered, and his whole body tensed. The thundering didn’t end. His ear rang, and it felt like someone was trying to hammer a nail into his brain. He saw Renata’s face, she was shouting, but he couldn’t hear her anymore, couldn’t hear the crowd, the waves of pounding feet on stone, just a high-pitched pierce in his ears.
The crowd stopped pressing down on him. They’d backed away. He got to his feet. Renata still lay on the ground. Luis dragged her into the bed of a truck. She cried and kept trying to say something, but he couldn’t hear it. Her face flexed in pain. He scanned her body and saw the ankle. Human bodies, human feet don’t bend like that. The tibia seemed to be jabbing down through the foot, forming a large bulb at the bottom, and the ankle swelled thicker than her leg.
The crowd swarmed back. Luis slumped down beside her. His eyes lingered on her face, her eyes. She couldn’t walk, not on her own. Whatever was coming would catch them. How will you take care of her? Luis took the gun from her hands. He studied the pistol for a long time, its dark oily finish, the weight of it in his hand, a weapon. If he couldn’t run, then he would fight. He crawled out of the truck bed to the car just behind. He rested the pistol on the hood and stared out into the darkness. Luis saw the white curling waves. Whatever it was, came from the ocean, he knew that. He waited a moment, watching the water, trying to see it. Nothing, just darkness. He pulled the trigger then looked at Renata. Broken. Helpless. His eyes welled up with tears. Fight. Even if you can’t see it. Fight. He fired again, fired until the gun was empty.
——
            Pedro stood on a grassy hill overlooking the city of Porto. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Flashlights bobbed in the dark like swiveling dots, spreading away from the coast and into the countryside. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. It came away with a mixture of dirt, sweat, and mud. He’d marched his family through the dust cloud of the exodus. He and his wife, Beatriz, had fought with sticks to protect their young children as they ran through the streets. The blood streaks on Pedro’s knuckles were only partly his. He reached for the canteen around his neck and poured out a small handful of water to wash his hands.
            Beatriz slipped her fingers through Pedro’s gray-streaked hair. “Can I have a drink?” In her arms their two-year-old slumbered, dirt crusted snot clung to his nose. One arm hung loosely away from his body.
            Pedro lifted the canteen to his wife. “Anything new on radio?”
            She finished her drink. “Still just static.” She kissed her son on his forehead, and her wet lips came away powdered with dust. “I turned it off an hour ago. We should check again.”
            “Yeah.” Pedro nodded and headed towards the tents and campfire. His two older children were sprawled out next to the flames. On a tree stump sat a battery powered radio, its antenna tilted toward the city. He could make out the larger buildings by moonlight, but nothing electrical brightened the horizon. He flipped the radio on. Static buzzed through the speakers.
            “You have to help it.” Beatriz approached and placed her hand on the antenna. The static cleared, and a voice filled the camp.
            Pedro’s entire body stiffened at the familiar voice. The reporter who had refused to say what he had seen, the news anchor that had walked off the camera. The man who told everyone to run. His voice was heavy with emotion. He admitted he was an actor, and the entire scare had been a hoax. He took a deep breath and repeated the message.
            “Holy mother of God.” Pedro dropped his head into his hands. “It wasn’t real. None of it was real.” His voice trembled. “We left everything.”
            Beatriz stumbled and then lowered herself to the ground. Her eyes welled up. “We’re safe.” She kissed her son repeatedly. “We’re safe.”
            Pedro jerked up. “Safe?” He raised his voice, the tone sharp, “Safe?” He thrust his arm towards the city and pointed. “They lied to us.” He picked up a rock and lunged to his feet, running towards the distant city. He hurled the stone into the open plain below. “Why!”
            After a long moment, Beatriz pulled him close. “The power is still out. That was real. Something happened.”
            Pedro stared down at the city. The flashlight dots had changed direction, but the city remained dark. His body numb, he slumped down, never taking his eyes from the city. The message on the radio continued to repeat. It had been a hoax, a lie. The radio cut to static and a single light sparked in the city. It grew into a massive flame taller than any building. The fire burned brighter throughout the night but never spread. Something had happened, not the lie they told, but something.
——
The Old CIA Building, Langley Virginia. 10:09p.m.
Silas Cooper sat behind his desk reviewing surveillance reports. His black hair slicked with a heavy gel that reflected the light. He ran his hand through it and some collected along the edge of his finger. He rubbed it aggressively into his skin until only a sheen remained. Someone knocked at the door but opened it before Silas could respond.
Costly, in a vested suit, entered holding a stack of Portuguese Escudo bills bound with a rubber band. He swaggered over to Cooper’s desk and tossed the money down. “Guess what?”
“I don’t have time for your bullshit. What do you want?” Silas’ lips curled downward, and his chin tightened.
Costly flashed a crooked, toothy grin. “There’s been a Sky Fall Event in Portugal.”
The room went still and Silas chuckled. “Finally.” He let out a contented sigh. “How big?”
“Half the coast. Multiple cities.”
“Jesus.” Silas’ smile faded. “Where’s Stephenson?”
 “Shit, you’re not going to like it.” Costly hung his head. “As far as we know he’s in London —“
Silas cocked his head to one side, then back to the other. He pointed at his colleague with the file in his hand. “Now, I know you’re full of shit. I ought to break your teeth for this.”
Costly held up his hand apologetically. “No jokes. It happened, and he is that close, but,” he directed Silas to wait with an index finger. “He doesn’t have his plane with him. He’ll have to take the trains, and that should buy you some time.”
“Not enough.” Silas pocketed the money. “Get me Stephenson’s list. Cross out anyone not fluent in Portuguese or Spanish.”
“Already done.” Costly pulled a file from his briefcase. There were two columns of names; all but one were crossed out.
“Jay Nichols,” Silas read. “What’s his experience?”
“Two weeks here in Langley.”
“Are you God damn kidding me? You want to feed a puppy to the lion?”

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Goodreads Book Giveaway

When the Sky Falls by Joseph Bendoski

When the Sky Falls

by Joseph Bendoski

Giveaway ends May 31, 2017.

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About the Author

Joe Bendoski study psychology in college and was fascinated by all the insights it provided into human behavior, only to realize most the information never reach people, and when it did, rarely was it in a form that allowed for practical application. He started writing non-fiction, but soon came to understand how few people read that genre and began the difficult transition into fiction writing. His non-fiction works include; the Chemistry of Attraction and the Language of Emotion. 
He worked as the head writer for the television show ‘Saved by Grace.’ After being frustrated with comments like “make this scene cheaper,” “What’s my motivation?”, and “Do we need this scene?” he deiced to go in to literature.
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Twitter: @JBendoski
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Where it All Began

 

Christian Fiction
Date Published: re-released April 2017
Publisher: H&H Publishing
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Sandra Baker thought her life was going perfectly until she found out she was pregnant. Her boyfriend doesn’t want the baby and pushes her to have an abortion. After the procedure, Sandra spirals into depression losing her relationship and nearly her job. When she meets Henry, a Christian man, who displays God’s love, she begins to wonder if God can forgive her and more importantly if she can forgive herself.
EXCERPT
The delicate paper menu held only a few choices, and my eyes widened at the prices. I should have thought to ask where we were going before I agreed. I didn’t have the money to spend so much on dinner, especially since Peter had moved out and money was much tighter. My heart thudded in my chest as I quickly scanned for the cheapest item on the menu; even the side salad was nearly fifteen dollars. How do people afford this? Well, the salad comes with bread and a bowl of soup, so at least it should be enough to fill me up.
                The waiter, clad in a white dress shirt and perfectly pressed black pants, appeared just as I laid the menu down. “Have we had enough time?” he asked politely, glancing at each of us before focusing his attention on Philip, who took the lead in ordering.
                 “Yes, we’ll have two glasses of your finest red wine and two plates of the steak and lobster, grilled medium well.” He handed his and Raquel’s menus to the waiter.
                “Very well,” the waiter nodded and turned his attention to me.
                I swallowed. “Um, I’ll have the side salad and the tomato soup.”
                The waiter cocked his head. “Will that be all miss?”
                My face flushed, and just as I was about to answer, Henry jumped in. “Yes, and the same for me please.” He handed our menus to the waiter.
                The waiter nodded. “Yes, sir, and anything further to drink?”
                Henry glanced at me; I shook my head. “No, water will be adequate for now, thank you.”
                As the waiter turned away, I regarded Henry. Who was this man, and why was he being so nice to me? He caught me staring and shot me a small wink as he picked up a piece of bread.

 

 
About the Author

Lorana Hoopes is an inspirational romance and children’s author originally from Texas. She now lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and three children. When not writing, she can be found singing or acting on stage or kickboxing at her gym. You can also find her hosting her show Write the World where she interviews authors and writers. If you are an author and want to be featured, be sure to contact her.
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Conflicted Interest

 

Title: Conflicted Interest (The Conflicted Series Book 1) 

Author: Ava Starke 

Genre: Contemporary, New Adult, Sensual Romance 

Release Date: February 14, 2017 

Hosted by: Buoni Amici Press, LLC. 

Theo flies to Athens for a wedding with a plan: stay for the vows, raise a toast, and get the hell back to work. He’s staring down the barrel of the biggest gamble of his career, and can’t afford the distractions of a glamorous city or desirable women; neither of which excite him much anyway.
Until he meets Audrey.
Brilliant, ruthless, and set on conquering the finance world, the young exec would rather be catching a London red-eye, than a mangled wedding bouquet. But when tall, mysterious Theo pulls her onto the dance floor, all thoughts of clients and contracts vanish. The man is intoxicating; his warm touch lingers long after his hands have left her body. They’re from different cities and different worlds—it would never work.
And yet she’s haunted by the brush of his lips against her throat, the delicious press of his body…
But Theo is keeping secrets that could break Audrey’s heart and destroy everything she’s worked for. In this careful dance of power and seduction, has Theo finally met his match?
Conflicted Interest is the first steamy instalment of the sensual contemporary romance Conflicted Series, intended for ages 18+.
This was my first time in Athens. I’d never before had a reason to come, and even this visit was limited to a strict twenty-four hour window. I had tickets for the Turkish team’s football match against Spain the following afternoon in my home city of Istanbul. Wedding or no wedding, this was a match I would not be missing. There were few things I cared for in my life: family; work; football; and, of course, women — predictably, in that order.
The church was tucked just beneath the overbearing hilltop of the Acropolis, a minor player within a much larger scene. Feeling the steam rising from beneath my suit, I stepped into the entryway of the tiny Orthodox enclave and peeked my head in the door to add my face to the congregation.
My mind was wandering, and I imagined how the night would end. Given the last minute brevity of my visit, I hadn’t precooked anything on Tinder, my preferred “dating” app. As a member, I could arrange meet-ups in the days leading up to my trips from anywhere in the world; and that suited my frequent-flier lifestyle perfectly. The application was not without its socially engineered “bugs” though. In London, I had to screen for prostitutes; and in Russia, I once matched with the ex-mistress of a local billionaire who insisted that her former boyfriend had bought her a five million dollar flat in the Khamovniki District of Moscow. Apparently, she was ready for an upgrade. Having far more interesting investments to make, I never heard from her again.
A man couldn’t lose with the app. Either one had a fun hook up or collected excellent cocktail party fodder; and given the grueling travel and difficult hours of my job, I didn’t have time for anything more.
Tonight’s wedding reception party would inevitably go on late. This was more or less the Mediterranean after all; but I was in a state of detox from an intense week of business travel to the U.S., London, Munich, Istanbul, and now this crumbling relic of classical antiquity. I was tired, and it was entirely possible I’d end up in my room asleep before the dancing even started.
An elderly woman tugged at my sleeve, telling me she wanted to inch by me. Stepping aside, I saw the church was painted in white with gold and light-blue accents. Dark, ornately-carved wooden doors created a dramatic scene behind the altar; and large bronze chandeliers with red stained glass hung from the ceiling.
I surveyed the crowd. There were clear distinctions between the locals, probably family, and the wedding couple’s more international friends. I assumed the global constituency was mostly David’s American friends from home, with a smattering of the occasional coworker. There weren’t many young women, maybe fifteen at most — a small pool to pick from.
I redirected my attention to the bride and groom at the front as they walked circles around the altar together. I always found this to be a strange yet amusing custom at Orthodox weddings. Delia, David’s new wife, was beaming with honest joy; and he stood beside her in muted delight. Delia was elegant and statuesque in a long, figure-hugging silk gown. She was a well-known model in New York, and David had scored above his bracket when he landed her as his fiancé. I felt a pang at witnessing their mutual happiness.
My last significant relationship had ended abruptly following my move to Istanbul. I had invited my then girlfriend, Susanne, to move to Turkey with me; but she’d insisted her work in Berlin was too important to her. Nevertheless, I’d really wanted to start a family. At the time we’d been trying for a baby, so we continued on for a few months flying to see each other weekly until I came to the stunning realization that she was cheating on me back home with our neighbor.
It was just as well, since now I questioned whether having a family was even realistic given my lifestyle.
I hadn’t procured anything of lasting importance since; but then again, I was always working. In my thirty-five years of wisdom, love seemed fraught with disappointment.
I’d yet to find a relationship that was worth its intensive investment; and while I knew my energy was better spent at the office, I still held out hope that one day I might find someone who would prove me wrong.
I continued my survey of the little room farther to my right and spotted a row in the back filled with more guests.
Rising from the back corner, she slowly stood up from her wooden seat and signaled to an older man to take her chair. He rejected her proposal and stood taller in his dignity. Smiling, she signaled again to the chair before turning in my direction. In her sky-blue dress and shoes in hand, she made her way toward where I was standing. I wanted her to slide by me as she was sliding past others: the skirt of her dress sweeping their knees as she moved out of the narrow row. She was American; I knew it. European women wore their shoes in church, and they remained for the entirety of the ceremony out of polite obligation.
The straps of her dress were thin and taut against her skin, bracing themselves to hold her breasts in place. I pictured the straps snapping upon the slightest touch. As she passed by me, her shoulder brushed the fabric of my suit jacket. She left out the back doorway as the growing crowd increasingly cornered me into a rear pulpit.
There must have been a hundred people captured inside the small gilded room of spiritual fortification that had a capacity for thirty. I could feel the waves of heat swelling and swirling between the congregation. The ceremony was wilting us all like flowers in a febrile summer; so with no end in sight, I sneaked back out the door to follow her.


Ava Starke is an author, entrepreneur, philanthropist and undeniable feminist dedicated to creating romance novels and serials that help readers find their escape and inspire their sexiest selves. A transplanted-native of Los Angeles, she now lives in South Florida.


7 Days With You

YA Romance
Date Published: 11/04/2017
 Publisher: Leap of Faith Publishing
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Sean Johnson’s life as a small-town farmhand has been nothing but predictable, but when he meets Sophia Hillingdon at the local animal sanctuary, she gets him out of an eighteen-year rut, away from the mundane existence on the farm, and a grieving, drunken father.
Sophia is the first person who understands him and makes him believe that he might get out of their small town, who tells him, he has the potential to be whoever he wants to be and do whatever he wants to do.
But as their relationship unfolds, it is the most devastating of news that will change both of them forever.
Excerpt
Her face was nearer than it had ever been. Her skin felt smooth and warm. All I could do was lean further into her, losing myself in the moment. And then there were her piercing blue eyes-even more extraordinary up close. Before I knew it, I’d brought my hands to her chest as our parting lips collided. We kissed for hours, inhabiting each other with such force as our bodies rolled across the cooled grass. She was the change I had been searching for. It was the first time I realized; I could be anywhere in the world, but nowhere without her.
About the Author

Hugo Driscoll is a 25-year-old British author and content writer for an online publication in London.
When he’s not working, you can usually find him writing in the basements of cafes or looking serious in black and white photos.
You can also find Hugo on Twitter, Facebook, and his personal blog, which he updates regularly.
Seven Days with You is his first novel.
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Chosen Path

 

 

Erotic Romance
Date Published: 4/28/2017

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Yumiko Itsumoto wants it all. An accomplished artist and feared attorney, she gets what she wants, all else be damned. Now she wants love, even if it means charting a new course for her life, but changing course can be dangerous.  In mere moments, she tumbles from the dizzying pinnacle of success into a bottomless abyss of murder and treachery.  Yumiko will not live happily ever after—not this time—but can she at least find a way to stay alive?
Editor’s review 
Author J. Whitney Williams follows CARRIED AWAY—his surprisingly intelligent and deftly written debut—with a story that is even sexier, more thrilling and more enthralling than the first.
Again taking the reader on a trip across the world, meeting strange people in strange places via a prodigious narrator, CHOSEN PATH follows Yumi, a powerful and apparently dispassionate supporting character introduced in book one. But appearances deceive. Here, the reader is immersed in Yumi—into the very depths of her complex mind, her conflicted yet determined soul, her insatiable sex drive.
When Yumi encounters the woman who she presumes to be the fiancée of the love of her life—perhaps her only true love—she has every reason to seize the opportunity that presents itself to erase the woman from both of their lives forever. It’s no wonder Yumi is the prime suspect for the unfortunate woman’s swift and seemingly heartless murder. Unable to recall herself, Yumi assumes the worst, too. It wouldn’t be the first tragic fate to befall someone who stood in her way—or the last—and cameras don’t lie.
In CHOSEN PATH, Williams explores the very essence of what makes us human. The protagonist, a uniquely flawed yet extraordinarily likable woman of many talents and trades, demonstrates the jealousy and manipulation we see in ourselves and despise in others. At the same time, we’re drawn to Yumi. Geisha. Samurai. Assassin. Pseudo-royalty. Nothing happens to her; she creates. If we all shaped our own circumstances, our destinies, as adroitly as she, what paths would we choose and where would they lead us?
 Review
This novel is unlike what you will probably expect. It has some steamy moments, but for me it was not about the sex. It was more about the growth and characters lives than it was an Erotic novel.
It has a deeper undertone of choices and destinies. I think that it will open your mind to a deeper thinking than you expected going into it.
Definitely not for those looking for a just a quick romp, but if you are looking for something more, than I would recommend this.
About the Author 

A mathematician by training and computer programmer by trade, J. Whitney Williams lives and works under the X in Texas, thinking too much and speaking too little.
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d4

 

Speculative Fiction 
Date Published: Jan. 31, 2015
Publisher: Cinnabar Press
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A clairvoyant young woman finds her visions of the future to be a nuisance, until she discovers that she is hardly unique. An entire group of seers has learned how to profit from their knowledge in ways that Ariel has never considered. Another group is obsessed with using their talents to understand a dark future they cannot ignore.
An alliance with either crowd looks dangerous, given that they both seem a little crazy. There is no possible way to help them both. Worse yet, each group is convinced that Ariel is more than a potential asset; she’s the one thing that they must have in order to fully succeed.
Excerpt

Once they arrived, they were met by their assigned host and taken to an ultramodern lounge where they could shower privately and change into swimwear. Ariel studied the famous murky turquoise water as they walked, and the combination of all the shades of blue and green in the mist created a feeling of wonder unlike anywhere she had ever been. She marveled at the many small geysers that shot into the air and at the sheer size of the stunning lagoon.

She’d already been told that there would be a catered lunch, time to relax in the healing waters, individual massages and skin treatments, and more spa time before the group headed to what was certain to be a lavish dinner. Under other circumstances, this could have easily been the best day at work ever.

Bloody Marys and pretty little snacks greeted them, along with Ulfur and his apologies that Baldur had been detained and would be arriving later. Several of the board members, however, were already enjoying the private lagoon, he added. Might he suggest that the Ullow staff take this occasion to get to know them better?

Ariel dutifully headed off to the mandatory shower, her most business- and family friendly one-piece in her hand. It wasn’t exactly a burqini, but it was the young woman’s moral equivalent of one, the swimsuit you can wear around your boss and your great-uncles. She had just stepped under the hot water, her eyes closed as she enjoyed letting her muscles relax after the travel, when her skin jumped. The touch was electric and familiar and she opened her eyes to see Baldur’s arms circling her from behind, his right hand moving up to quickly cover her mouth.

“Don’t scream,” He hissed. ”You’ll embarrass us both and to no end. Just hold still and let me concentrate. I need to understand what happens when I touch you. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want information.”

Ariel turned enough to see that Baldur had on his swim trunks, and true to his word he kept his arms and hands around her waist, leaving her bare breasts alone. His eyes were closed. He pressed his entire body hard against her back, and she couldn’t help but notice that he was having the expected response to holding a naked woman in a shower, but he made no move to do anything about it.

She was even more annoyed that he had chosen to run his little experiment while she had no clothes on and he did, and she considered several moves she had learned in self-defense classes over the years. Coming down hard on his instep with her heel seemed like her best bet. Oddly enough, it was his very touch that gave her the ability to see how effective that and other moves would be. She hesitated.

There wasn’t much she could do about being naked at this point, so why not gather a little intel of her own? If her experiences with Siarnaq were any guide, Baldur was now seeing weeks and months ahead, but at his natural pace. That meant he’d be getting quick little snippets of information, probably of the kind he was most used to handling. She was going to bet it had to do with fluctuations in stock prices at some time in the future.

She, on the other hand, was more than a helpless woman being held in a shower stall. For all that Baldur took, he could not help but give back to her as well. Touching him, she saw the near future, not in his little snippets but rather at her own natural pace.

She saw him walking out of the stall, in less than a minute, with no harm done. He would be silent, too engrossed in trying to remember the new information to apologize, thank or threaten. It was the most likely and the least messy alternative. As she realized that, it became a near certainty, and then the wave of time washed over the moment and the soon-to-happen became the now and it then it became the past, and Ariel found herself standing alone and naked in a shower stall. She reached for her towel.

 

About the Author

Sherrie Roth grew up in Western Kansas thinking that there was no place in the universe more fascinating than outer space. After her mother vetoed astronaut as a career ambition, she went on to study journalism and physics in hopes of becoming a science writer.
She published her first science fiction short story long ago, and then waited a lot of tables while she looked for inspiration for the next story. When it finally came,  it declared to her that it had to be whole book, nothing less. One night, while digesting this disturbing piece of news, she drank way too many shots of ouzo with her boyfriend. She woke up thirty-one years later demanding to know what was going on.
The boyfriend, who she had apparently long since married, asked her to calm down and  explained that in a fit of practicality she had gone back to school and gotten a degree in geophysics and had spent the last 28 years interpreting seismic data in the oil industry. The good news, according to Mr. Cronin, was that she had found it at least mildly entertaining and ridiculously well-paying  The bad news was that the two of them had still managed to spend almost all of the money.
Apparently she was now Mrs. Cronin, and the further good news was that they had produced three wonderful children whom they loved dearly, even though to be honest that is where a lot of the money had gone. Even better news was that Mr. Cronin  turned out to be a warm-hearted, encouraging sort who was happy to see her awake and ready to write. “It’s about time,” were his exact words.
Sherrie Cronin discovered that over the ensuing decades Sally Ride had already managed to become the first woman in space and apparently had done a fine job of it. No one, however, had written the book that had been in Sherrie’s head for decades. The only problem was, the book informed her sternly that it had now grown into a six book series. Sherrie decided that she better start writing it before it got any longer. She’s been wide awake ever since, and writing away.
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Twitter: @cinnabar01
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Elfin Nights

 

Fantasy Erotic Romance
Chronicles of the Four Courts, Book 2
 
Date Published: May 1st, 2017
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A fae Knight’s life belongs to the monarchies, but for Finn of the Morrigan, his life comes second to his heart. And his heart belongs to his ladies.
The changeling princesses of the Springtime elves share a unique bond with their Knight—a bond that must remain perfectly secret. When the Queen of the Elves discovers their passionate love, she curses and exiles Finn from the elfin lands forever. With their guardian sent away to a lifeless wasteland, the royal changelings have no defense when the unseen enemies of the Four Courts attack, and the House of Elves falls.
To save his loves, Finn will need to break out of prison, undertake a perilous journey across the lands of Thairy, face wicked creatures, rogue Knights, and one of the most dangerous monsters in the fae world.
The enemy will soon learn what it means to provoke a true Son of War.
Excerpt
 
“Finn.”
I spun at the note of dread in Nineva’s voice. Her eyes gone wide, she stared at me. The flower dropped from her fingers, unnoticed. “You have to go back,” she said in a harsh whisper. “Back home…to the apartment. You have to go now.”
I tightened my arms around Neri. “What do you mean, lass? I don’t aim to go anywhere until you and Nerissa are well!”
“We will be fine, our Knight! In Tír na nÓg we will recover, but you must go!”
Neri twitched in my arms. Whatever spooked Nina, she caught onto it now too, and she turned her face up to me.  “Finn, she is right! You must go, quickly, before—”
I glanced up, distracted from her by a sudden discordant hum, somewhere up above us. It drew my focus for a brief instant, but then seemed to fade.
“I’m sorry, milady,” I mumbled. “What did you say?”
“Finn, please!”
Nina was practically shouting at me, and Nerissa’s fingers grasped at my collar. I blinked at them, confused. Then the damned humming snagged my attention again. I glanced up and around in agitation.
“Can you stand, Neri?” I asked in a low tone. I eased her down to her feet, all the while keeping an eye on the sky. The sound never increased in volume, but all the same it intensified. My instincts bristled along the back of my neck. Sidling a bit to keep both girls behind me, I sunk into the simmering heat of my magic, letting it bubble and boil up through my limbs. Ready for attack.
“Girls,” I murmured, hardly noticing Neri’s small hands tugging at my arm. “When I say so, you must go back through the circle and close it.”
“Finn, no!” Neri squeaked. “Ignore them! She is distracting you!”
“Knight, you must run!” Nina pleaded. “Please, you must!”
“We’re about to be ambushed,” I explained. The humming surrounded me. It resolved itself, turning into…
Buzzing.
“Wasps,” I grated, and I whipped around to shoo the princesses back through to Connlas Hall.
I realized then that I’d been trapped.

 

About the Author
When she isn’t visiting the worlds of immortals, demons, dragons and goblins, Brantwijn fills her time with artistic endeavors: sketching, painting, customizing My Little Ponies and sewing plushies for friends. She can’t handle coffee unless there’s enough cream and sugar to make it a milkshake, but try and sweeten her tea and she will never forgive you. She moonlights as a futon for four lazy cats, loves tabletop role-play games, and can spend hours pencilling naughty, sexy illustrations in her secret notebooks.
Brantwijn has two romance series currently in-progress with Champagne Books. She’s also had short stories published in several small press anthologies. She has author pages on GoodReads and Amazon, and loves to see reader comments on her work. Her short stories and audio readings occasionally pop up her website, www.brantwijn.com

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