Thursday, April 24, 2014

Welcome Catherine Peace

Like rock and roll? Well, I've got just the author for you. Come meet the characters from Catherine Peace's fantastic release Complete me. Now, here's Catherine....

With all the music posts I’ve written, I discovered that I’ve left out my favorite ladies of rock! I know, awful. I have a long list of women who rock my world, so let’s hop to it. Maybe you’ll find some new bands to love and adore.

First up is Pink. She’s an amazing performer and just all around full of awesome.

Next? Halestorm. Lzzy Hale has by far and away one of the absolute most amazing voices I have ever heard. She is my generation’s Joan Jett. Yeah. I said it. Well…typed it.

No list of ladies who rock would be complete without Heart. The Sisters Wilson are beyond amazing.

And here’s my curveball. Epica. I discovered them by accident, but I adore them nonetheless. Simone Simons have the voice of an angel. Epica is an operatic metal band. I know. Just go with it.

There you have it. Cate’s list of top ladies of rock. Feel free to add yours in the comments!

Monday, April 21, 2014

Welcome Zee Monodee

Let me welcome author Zee Monodee to my blog today.

Zee writes stories about love, life, relationships... in a melting-pot of culture.

Zee is an author who grew up on a fence – on one side there was modernity and the global world, on the other there was culture and traditions. Putting up with the culture for half of her life, one day she decided she'd stand tall on her wall and dip toes every now and then into both sides of her non-conventional upbringing.

From this resolution spanned a world of adaptation and learning to live on said wall. The realization also came that many other young women of the world were on their own fence. This particular position became her favourite when she decided to pursue her lifelong dream of writing – her heroines all sit 'on a fence', whether cultural or societal, in today's world or in times past, and face dilemmas about life and love.

Hailing from the multicultural island of Mauritius, Zee is a degree holder in Communications Science. She is a head-over-heels wife, in-over-her-head mum to a tween son, best-buddy-stepmum to a teenage lad, an incompetent domestic goddess, eternal dreamer, and an absolute, shameless bookholic. When she isn’t penning more stories and/or managing the Ubuntu line at Decadent Publishing, you can bet you’ll find her with her nose in her tablet, ‘drinking in’ a good book.

So welcome, Zee!

Her newest release Light My World is the second book in the Island Girls Trilogy for Ubuntu line at Decadent Publishing. Ubuntu is geared to African Romance. This delightful book slides toward Romantic Comedy with a touch of Bollywood an New Adult. It was released April 8, 2014. The heat level is sensual. Let's take a peek at the blurb.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that to find a prince, a girl has to kiss a few frogs along the way. But what happens when a modern-day princess comes across…an ogre?

So what if a girl has to kiss a few frogs to find her prince?

Tired of her Indian-origin mother’s relentless matchmaking, Diya Hemant is determined to find her Prince Charming on her terms. Armed with a definitive list of requirements, she is sure she’ll know her man when she meets him…

But looking and finding are two different things, especially on the tiny island of Mauritius…

When her path crosses surly British widower Trent Garrison’s, it’s hate at first sight. And though fate keeps pitting her against him, she’s certain he can’t be turned into a frog let alone a prince.
Can this modern-day princess overcome her own expectations and see beyond the ogre to the man beneath?

read an excerpt here...

He heard more than felt the car hit the back of the SUV, which had halted in a screech of tyres. The smell of burnt rubber filled his nostrils when the calm came back. He expected the airbag to blow from the wheel, but none released.
Better and better. The car wasn’t only tiny, it didn’t even have an airbag.
A wave of concern washed over him. He wasn’t hurt. At least, he didn’t feel any pain. But what about the other driver?
However, as he stepped out of the car, the worry drained away as another, stronger emotion settled in. Anger.
What sort of inconsiderate driver stopped like that in the middle of a main road?
The bloke should be tagged as a public danger. To top it all, he was going to be late to see his children.

Bloody hell!

His tall height allowed him to peer into the vehicle without much difficulty. He swept his gaze over the top half of the interior, and puzzlement replaced his fury. The car couldn’t be empty. Where was the driver? When had he had the time to get out of the vehicle?
Walking around to the front of the hood, Trent stopped in his tracks.
The body of an unconscious—or worse, dead—dog lay sprawled on the street. Sunlight glinted off its shiny, metal-studded collar. Must’ve been the reason behind the streak of light that had blinded him and the other driver, too, probably.

As he ran a hand in his short hair, he cursed again. How did the locals respond to accidents here? Especially when there was a death involved, even of a dog? Not something he wanted to find out, and not as a participant in this involuntary homicide.
With his hand on his mouth, he goggled at the dog that picked itself up and hobbled across to the other side of the road, before disappearing in between two rows of sugarcane. What the hell? What was it with this strange island? Couldn’t anything be predictable on it?

The muffled opening click of a car door broke the silence, and Trent stepped back to glare at the person getting out, more like slithering out, of the SUV.

A slim pair of legs emerged and wobbled for a second after the sandal-clad feet hit the asphalt.
When the door closed, he glimpsed a short denim dress hugging a tiny frame. Straight black hair brushed the shoulders and the lapels of the collar, and framed a lovely, delicate face. He had to blink a few times. The woman, or the girl, could pass for a life-sized doll. She stood no taller than five feet, so small he could probably encircle her waist with his hands. Her eyes were deep-set and dark, rimmed with black kohl. Her golden skin struck him as somewhat pale underneath her makeup, and she bit her full, pale lips, as if trying to work some colour into them. “Thank God the dog is alive,” she said in a light, youthful voice. “I sure would’ve hated to have killed it. Lucky there isn’t any damage.”

Her voice reminded him of laughter, and the tinkling of fragile crystal flutes. Shaking off the bizarre notion, a slow throb built in his blood. The overwhelming feeling settled as a twitch in his cheek, and he winced when a stab of pain shot from his clenched jaw. No damage? What about his car? “Miss, you demolished my car.”

Nothing betrayed her cool composure when she checked out his car before staring at him again. “Sorry, but you hit from behind. You’re at fault.”
He’d started to think that the delicate motion with her frail shoulder could topple her over, so much she seemed fragile. But the concern sputtered into outrage once her words registered. The cheek of the girl.

She’d stopped dead in the middle of the road. How the heck could it be his fault? “If it weren’t for you, none of this would’ve happened,” he snapped in a low growl. She pursed her full lips, and jutted her pointed chin out in a fierce way as she settled her hands on her hips. Craning her slender neck to peer into his face, she stood her ground. “Well, I should’ve killed the dog? This is what you wanted?”

“No, but—”

“And you wouldn’t have jammed into my car if you hadn’t been tailgating me.”

“I wasn’t tailgating you—”

“Yes, you were.” She poked a finger into his chest. “And you were speeding, at least a hundred where the limit is sixty.”

Could this girl be for real? “Miss, you were going faster than me, so don’t get on your high horse here.”

She poked him again. “Stop evading the issue. It’s your fault.”

Disbelief strangled his throat. She glared back, not in the least bit intimidated by the fact he towered above her by more than a foot. At the same time, he flinched under her accusing words. Kill the dog. Right. Like he’d have wanted to kill a poor animal. What was it about this scrap of a girl that had him so ruffled? A thought struck him. “Are you old enough to drive?”

“I’m twenty-four years old, for your information,” she said, spitting the words out at him.

So she could be held responsible for the accident. “My car is damaged, and it’s your fault.”

Blimey. They sounded like little children during kindergarten recess in the schoolyard. He should drop this matter, deal with her like the adult he prided himself to be. If she’d let him, though. Her dark eyes grew even darker as they narrowed on him. Fire, or ice, burnt in them. Her voice dripped with frost when she next spoke.

“I thought British men were supposed to be courteous.”

“I beg your pardon?” She’d done it again, struck him speechless. Unbelievable.

She fluttered her hand before her in an evasive gesture as she shook her head. “You know, proper British manners. Can’t say you’ve shown any so far.” How could she sound so righteous, as if she were the injured party?

“How do you know I’m British? Does it read not-from-Mauritius somewhere on my face?”

“Your accent,” she said. “You speak just like Hugh Grant.”

Hugh Grant? That pasty-faced pin-up?

Even better. Not. “Thanks. It’s a very positive compliment.”

Trent had the pleasure of seeing his sarcasm unsettle the unnerving Miss Know-it-all. Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession as she glowered at him. “You’re so….” She paused and seemed to search around for the proper word. “…obnoxious.”

And she was a brat. Nothing more.

Her barb hit home, though. He’d been called many things in his life, but this one was a first. And coming from a tiny lady like her, he didn’t know whether to laugh or be annoyed. He couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, he’d had such a verbal joust with someone. Loath as he was to admit, but tangling with her tickled him as stimulating as the encounter unnerved him. Blimey, he had no time to dwell upon that. He was getting late. And he itched to shut the little spoilt princess up.

“My, incredible,” he said. “A pretty head as yours came up with such a big word. I sure hope you won’t get a nosebleed from too much brain activi—” Yes, he’d been callous, but the sight before him horrified him more. He stood there, his jaw slackening as his mouth fell open.

“What?” she asked.

He pointed at her face. “Your nose. It’s bleeding.”

If you like what you've seen, check out the trailer with this link:

To purchase this book please use the links below

Decadent Publishing


Amazon UK

Barnes & Noble

AllRomance Ebooks

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Quiet Sunday

Sweet Sunday morning. Hope everyone is having a good day and taking time to look around and see the goodness in all the Great Architect of the Universe has put before us. I've got my cup of tea. The cat is sitting in the computer chair and I'm in the hard back chair from the kitchen table. Yep, all is right with the world. Let me sit here with my notebook and look out at the cows, the pines, and listen to the quiet. Yes, Welcome Sunday, too soon you'll be gone, replaced by that day which shall not be mentioned.


Saturday, March 15, 2014

SURPRISE! Lord Heartless has been released.

I'm so thrilled to announce that my first regency has been released. Lord Heartless is now available on Amazon.

An arranged marriage may be the death of Lord Landon Montague, a man who earned his rude moniker, Lord Heartless, through the distaste of the Ton. When he makes plans to collect on a debt from Lord Charles Gilbert by foreclosing on Holly Grove, Gilbert commits suicide. Only then does Lord Montague learn that Lord Gilbert has left a nineteen-year-old daughter, Juliet, at his mercy.

Lady Juliet Gilbert suffered the stigma of suicide as best she could. But losing her home and the servants who raised her and stood by through her father's drinking would be the last straw. Unable to secure a position, Lord Montague's offer of marriage gives her hope. All she must do is produce an heir. But arriving at Broadmoor proves more taxing than she anticipated for her dark Lord already holds an heir conceived out of wedlock.

Will this doom any hope of finding happiness and label him forever Lord Heartless, or will London's society have its last laugh on Shakespeare when Montague wins his fair Juliet?

Happy Reading,

Saturday, March 8, 2014

What makes a story?

I'm not sure I know how to answer that. A story we know has a beginning, middle, and end. It can be laced full of mystery, romance, murder, mayhem, laughter, and tears. But where do ideas come from?

I dream stories. They appear to me in snippets or grand detail depending on their mood. I hear the sounds of the rain or wind, the swish of silk, or pounding of the horses hooves. My hero and heroine have voices, dialect, even accents. They appear in the scene as if I'm watching the movie. Sometimes, if I am lucky, I awake remembering their direction. It's so easy then to jot down what I need to do. Other times, the visions are cloudy. I feel like Dumbledore attempting to reach out and pull the memories from his mind. Writing then becomes a bit more work than pleasure.

Because writing is a verb, I choose to do it. I let those sweet dreams take hold and give my feet wings of flight.

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Sneak Peak at an upcoming release Lord Heartless

In March, my publisher Decadent Publishing, will release my first Regency novel. I am happy to give my readers a sneak peak at Lord Heartless.

“A daughter.” Landon shook his head and stared at the dark, empty fireplace of his London home. He wanted to throttle Gilbert’s corpse. How could anyone gamble when they knew an innocent depended on them? Had Gilbert no priorities? Landon lifted his hand only to find his glass empty. Grumbling, he rose and made his way to the sideboard by memory. He reached for the glass container that held the whiskey.

Could it be Lord Gilbert knew my mother? They moved in the same circles. Who else would have told Gilbert he was unmarried? No, he mused, this type of meddling was better left to gossipmongers. They would have delighted in passing the information to his mother that since Gilbert’s death he had cut back at the clubs and attempted to clean up his reputation. A sigh pressed against his lips, but the mess already for naught. The source of his doom had been written in Gilbert’s own hand and delivered by solicitor to Black that very morning.

It made no difference. The Ton would never stand for him casting an innocent into the street. Despite his attempts at control, his hands shook as he poured another dram of whiskey into the glass. Cornered like a fox on a hunt. Their tongues would shred what little respectability he had left. A deep breath steadied his hand as he raised the glass high to the light. He gazed at the golden-brown liquid knowing it would not drown the memory, but it would make it easier to survive the night.

“One year from twenty. Even my mother could not have planned a trap better.” The sarcasm dripped from his lips. Four months. He had put it off long enough. Tomorrow, he would drive to Holly Grove and meet this Miss Gilbert. Then damn his soul, he would perjure it, and do the right thing in the eyes of the Ton. With a flick of his wrist, the liquid disappeared.

Check out other Sneak Peek Sunday blogs here...

Saturday, March 1, 2014

Join me today!

Good Morning,

I'm over at Petticoats and Pistols today talking about one of my favorite subjects, Texas. I'm also giving away copies of my two historical novels set in the great state. I hope to see you there.


Sunday, February 16, 2014

Waiting for Spring

I'm sure most of you have heard the old saying about never watching a pot because it won't boil. I'm thinking that is the same thing with waiting for spring. I don't know how you feel about it, but for me its been along difficult winter.

I've rejoined the work force so it means part of my day is spent driving to the day job and returning home to do the 'mom' thing such as laundry, cooking, cleaning, and taking care of the farm animals. With all this cold weather and snow, I've spent a lot of time hauling water or breaking the ice with a shovel, then scooping it out so the cow can get something to drink. The dog too has suffered. He's getting a bit on in age and his joints, like mine, don't take to the up and downs of Tidewater weather.

So, I sit here today and actually look at sunshine and wonder, how long till spring. I know it's around here somewhere. The more I look for signs the longer it seems to take. Well, here's hoping to see warmer temps soon.