Saturday, March 22, 2014

Ideas for a Simple Eco-Easter











I never go all out for Easter. I always keep it simple, a few things in the baskets, a little bit of candy and goodies.
I have friends that treat it like it is Christmas all over again. I think that’s crazy.
I usually toss a few things in the baskets that the kids will need for the upcoming Spring and summer seasons- like a summer outfit or two and some outdoor toys: balls, garden gloves, sandbox toys, etc.
Simple stuff.
This year I am putting forth a little extra effort to make sure Easter is both simple and sustainable. Some Easter things I’ve always done in an eco-friendly manner. The kids baskets get used year after year. Sometimes they even get pulled out and used for other purposes.
My oldest son’s current basket (the toddler inherited his smaller basket) has been used at birthday parties and even at my wedding to hold napkins, silverware, etc. My daughter’s basket has been pulled out to be the door prize basket (it held all the little prizes) at birthday parties and my last baby shower.
We ditched that green, plastic Easter grass along time ago. Before even considering the eco-ramifications of the annoying stuff I just flat out got sick of finding it everywhere and trying to clean it up (the stuff never goes away).
If you like the fill factor of Easter grass but hate the icky plastic stuff you can opt for more eco-minded basket fillers. You can even make your own by shredding some of that paper in your recycling bin. Or you may consider natural fillers like raffia.
Then there’s the candy, I usually just get what’s available at the store. I try not to go overboard because they really don’t need too much of the stuff. You can always toss in healthier items like fruit, nuts, and natural fruit chews and roll ups (my kids may riot if I did only that without any candy at all).
There is also the option of organic candy. Sweet Earth Chocolates has organic chocolate bunnies and eggs. So does Allison’s Gourmet. If you want organic jelly beans check out the Natural Candy Store or Sugar Coated Organics. One of my grocery stores occasionally has organic goodies. I haven’t checked yet in the Easter aisle yet maybe they’ll have something good this year.
Now what else to add to their baskets that will be eco-friendly?
Start out by giving them items that are really wanted and will definitely be used.
Art supplies never go to waste in my house.
The Stubby Pencil Studio has a great selection of eco-art supplies for kids as well as toys, party stuff and other green goodies your kids would probably love. I know I see a few things my kids will love.
There are many online stores that now cater to eco-kids items. Eco-Artware has adorable stuffed animals made from old sweaters- piglets, elephants, penguins (I love these), kangaroos, and rabbits (perfect for Easter).
How about those eggs?
If you are making eggs that you’ll actually eat- cage free organic eggs are best… and natural coloring options. I’m considering trying some natural coloring but it sounds complicated and not as easy for the kids to do and in my house coloring eggs is all about the kids having fun.
Many of the eggs we color never get eaten. I know it seems like a waste but sometimes you just have to let kids enjoy themselves and not suffer from so much eco-guilt. I’m not going to stress and get all bent out of shape about it.
I am keeping things simple (eco and simple go hand in hand) so we don’t use a lot of garbage or make a lot of garbage and that’s the most important part of having an eco-Easter or eco-anyday.

Cover Reveal The Tears of the Rose






































The Tears of the Rose
Book 2 of Twelve Kingdoms
Jeffe Kennedy

Release Date December 2014


Friday, March 21, 2014

The Cowboy and the Vampire Ride Again



Let ‘er buck!
The Cowboy and the Vampire Reboot

The phrase “you can’t judge a book by its cover” is a lie. It’s a damn lie. People do it all the time. Art is truth.

To mark the upcoming May 2014 release of the third book in The Cowboy and the Vampire Collection, the series was treated to a gothic western makeover, with artwork commissioned exclusively for the series.

“We wanted to give readers something special and the new covers get right to the heart of the series,” said co-author Hays. “Go on and judge the books by these covers! They bring together the paranormal and the western elements perfectly, setting a dark tone with just a hint of the humor.”

“Each time you look at the images, you see something a bit different, even more of the opposites-attract romantic theme pops, and the overtones of simmering passion,” said co-author McFall.

Get caught up on the love between Tucker and Lizzie now before the release of book three. 


A Very Unusual Romance
The Cowboy and the Vampire
Book 1
Clark Hays and Kathleen McFall

“Deliciously dark.” – Booklist

Welcome to LonePine, Wyoming, where the best of the American west faces off against the rise of the undead. It’s a love story for the ages.

Worlds collide when a broke cowboy and a glamorous big city reporter fall lipstick over boot heels in love. But she carries a 2,000-year-old secret in her veins that will test their unusual romance.

Saddle up for a hilarious, existential gallop through the dying west with an army of ancient bloodsuckers in hot pursuit.




Blood and Whiskey
The Cowboy and the Vampire
Book 2
Clark Hays and Kathleen McFall

“Strong writing, funny characters … riveting.” – Kirkus Reviews 

Welcome back to LonePine, Wyoming. It’s like any other slowly dying town in the modern American West. Except it’s suddenly lousy with vampires.

Cultures clash as the vampire illuminati ride into town to settle ancient scores, test loyalties and thrash out a new world order. Can the fragile relationship between a cowboy and a vampire survive lust, betrayal and country music?

Grab the reins and hold on tight as Tucker and Lizzie stampede through rural America and across the vampire afterlife, desperate to protect their unlikely love.

A Tangled Publishing History


The first book of this series, A Very Unusual Romance, was published in 1999, long before the vampire craze. With comparisons to Anne Rice and Zane Grey, the book gained a devoted following with initial sales of more than 10,000 print units. Fast forward a decade, and the publisher (Llewellyn) brought out the book as a second edition in 2010, aiming to capitalize on the Twilight mega-hit. Meanwhile, the authors wrote the second book in the series — Blood and Whiskey — bringing it out under their own imprint (Pumpjack Press, 2012). In 2013, they gained the rights back for the original book, and now, with book three poised for publication in May 2014, the restored Cowboy and Vampire series has been redesigned with exclusive art and is coming out for the first time in 15 years as a complete collection. Yippi-ki-yay!

About the Authors:

Between the two of them, Clark Hays and Kathleen McFall have worked in writing jobs ranging from cowboy-poet to energy journalist to restaurant reviewer to university press officer. After they met, their writing career took center stage when they wrote the first book in The Cowboy and the Vampire Collection as a test for marriage. They passed. Clark and Kathleen now live in Portland, Oregon.

Connect with the authors:

www.cowboyandvampire.com

www.facebook.com/cowboyandvampire

@cowboyvamp (twitter)

@cowboyvampire (instagram)

About the artist

When asked about his biggest artistic influences, Aaron Perkins says there are too many to name, but when pressed mentions Gustav Klimt, Modigliani and the full-on art deco and nouveau movements, abstraction expressionism and surrealism. Aaron is also a big fan of concert poster art. That heady and diverse collection of inspiration shows up in The Cowboy and Vampire Collection covers.
Connect with the artist:

An interview with the artist here

His website: www.aaronperkins.com



Release Day Blitz Raging Storm by Brandy Nacole

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Thursday, March 20, 2014

Chapter One and Giveaway: Uncovering You by Scarlett Edwards


Chapter One
October 2013. Date unknown.
(Present day)

A faint hiss, like the sound of an angry cat, jars me from my sleep.
I open my eyes to pure blackness. I blink, trying to get my bearings. A vague memory forms in the back of my mind, too far away to reach.
Why can’t I see anything?
My breath hitches. Panic rips through my body as the horrifying answer comes to me:
I’m blind!
I scramble onto hands and knees and desperately claw at the dark, searching for something, anything, for my senses to latch onto.
A dim overhead light comes on.
Relief swells inside.
I plop back on my butt and close my eyes, taking deep breaths to dispel the rush of adrenaline released by my body. When my heart’s not beating quite so fast, I open my eyes again.
The light’s gotten brighter. I look up at the source. It’s far above me, like a dull, miniature sun. It spreads a little sphere around me, maybe ten feet in diameter. Past that, everything is swallowed by darkness.
An irksome memory keeps gnawing at me. But my head is too heavy to remember. I feel… strange. Kind of like I’m hung over, but without the telltale pounding between my ears.
Cautiously, I try to stand. My limbs are slow to react. They feel heavy, too, like they’ve been dipped in wet clay. I steady myself. Only when I’m satisfied that my knees won’t give out, do I strain my ears for that hissing sound again.
It’s coming from somewhere behind me. I turn back—and nearly smash my head on a gleaming white pillar.
What the hell?
The sound is forgotten as I reach out and brush tentative fingers against the pillar’s surface. It’s cool to the touch. Smooth, too. I put my other hand on it. If I had to guess, I’d say it was made of marble. But what is a lone, white marble pillar doing in the middle of this room?
The memory is like a gong going off inside my head. But trying to reach it is like grasping at a smooth, slippery stone at the bottom of an aquarium. Just when I think I have it, it slips through my fingers and falls even farther out of reach.
I walk a slow, measured circle around the pillar. If I tried wrapping my arms around it, I doubt if I could even span half the circumference. Something far in the back of my mind tells me I should be alarmed. I look behind me and frown. By what? A dark room?
No, you idiot. By the reason you’re here!
My eyes widen. The reason I’m here? I don’t… I don’t remember.
I wince and bring one hand to my temple. Why am I having so much trouble remembering?
I gasp as a second gruesome thought hits me. Did I lose my memory? Do I have… amnesia?
I sink down with my back to the pillar. Desperation starts to take over. I hold my head between my knees and close my eyes to focus.
My name is Lilly Ryder. I was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, on May 17th, 1990.
My eyes pop open. Joyous tears form in the corners. I do remember! I take a deep breath and try to keep going.
I was raised by my mom. I do not know my dad…
Suddenly, all my childhood memories come streaming back. Moving around as a kid. Never staying in one place longer than six months. All the cities I’ve lived in. All the apartments my mom and I called home. Even the revolving door of her boyfriends. There was Dave, and Matthew. Tom, and Steve. There was…
I shake my head to stop myself. I don’t doubt my memory anymore. But that still does not explain why I have absolutely no recollection of this place, or how I got here.
I push myself back up. The spotlight above me has gotten progressively brighter. The little enclosure of light doesn’t feel quite so tight anymore. I trail my eyes up the length of the pillar. I can’t see where it ends because of the light. But I can tell it’s tall, at least twenty, maybe twenty-five feet…
There’s also something about its surface that calls out to me. My hands itch to run over the smooth stone. A giggle bubbles up as I picture myself stroking it. The column is quite phallic.
I waver at the unfamiliar thought and have to catch my balance against the beam.
Focus, Lilly! I chide myself.
I have no idea where that thought came from. I have never been overtly sexual.
Nothing feels right. The fog that’s heavy on my mind is starting to lift, but not yet enough for me to understand—or remember—where the hell I am. This place is unfamiliar. I know that much. But right now, I feel almost like a surgery patient whose anesthetic kinked out: fully awake mentally, but completely impaired physically.
I go back to my memories. I can remember high school. I remember college. That’s where I spent the last three years of my life, isn’t it? Yes. Yes, it is.
“Hello?” I call out. My voice echoes into the surrounding gloom. “Is anybody there?”
I wait for an answer. All I get is the hollow repetition of my own voice.
anybody there, there, there…
I spent the last three years in college… but that’s not where I think I am right now. No. I shake my head. I knowthat’s not where I am. My memories are fuzzier the closer I bring them to today. Time feels… skewed. Freshman year’s easy to remember. So is sophomore, and most of junior… but things get weird toward the end.
I… finished junior year, didn’t I? Yes. Yes, I did. And then…
And then I took an internship in distant California for the summer, I remember with another gasp.
Suddenly, my mind is crystal clear. That pressing memory hurtles into view. It’s from yesterday. The last thing I recall, I was alone in a booth at an upscale restaurant. The waiter brought me a glass of wine. I took a few sips, contemplating my future….
Oh, God! Fear wraps a stranglehold around my neck.
The restaurantThe wine.
I’ve been drugged!
I can’t breathe. A suppressing tightness constricts my throat. I feel dizzy, and terrified, and most of all… ashamed.
Holy shit, Lilly, way to look out for yourself! My semi-mad inner dialogue pans with a generous dollop of sarcasm.
I’ve always known about the dangers of sick men preying on unsuspecting girls. I just never thought I’d fall victim to it.
I’ve been on my own since I turned eighteen, after the final falling out with my mother. I’ve always been proud of how well I managed. Even the shabby holes I’ve lived in while saving up college tuition were an improvement over living with her and all her low-life boyfriends. At least there, I had autonomy.
I’ve dealt with landlords selling crack on the side and the junkies they attract. Always, I’ve been known as independent, and strong—maybe offputtingly so. But, those were the character traits I had to develop to have any chance of getting ahead.
And all that lead to what? To this? To letting my guard down for one night and ending up… here?
Wherever “here” is, I think to myself.
The shock of the revelation has subsided a bit. I push off from the pillar. I can figure this out. I take a deep breath and look at my hands and feet. I am not bound. I pick at my clothes. They are the same ones I wore last night.
Do you know what might be lurking in the darkness?
I shove the meddlesome voice down. I don’t need more worries. Not now.
Carefully, I place one foot in front of the other and edge to the outer reaches of the light. The strange hissing noise has gone away. I don’t know when that happened. Maybe it was in my head the entire time.
I strain my eyes, trying to pierce the surrounding darkness. It’s impossible. I reach out with one hand and find nothing but air. This far from the pillar, I can barely see my outstretched hand.
“Hello?” I try again. “Who’s there?”
There’s no answer.
What kind of madman would do something like this? I wonder. What is hidden in the shadows?
Without warning, my imagination starts to run wild. Torture devices? Bondage equipment? Something… worse?
Snap out of it! I tell myself firmly.
I refuse to give in to despair, even if my entire self-preservation mechanism is on high alert. Despair is what whoever brought me here wants me to feel.
I will not succumb to that.
I look down at the floor. It is made of some expensive stone. I kneel down and brush my hand over the large, square tiles. They feel solid. Sturdy. They don’t belong in a dingy basement or a dirty warehouse.
Somehow, that thought strengthens me. Things aren’t quite as bad as they could be.
I stand up and peer into the black. I glance back at the safety of my pillar. If I venture past the light, I can always find my way back.
Go slow, I warn myself. Who knows what might be waiting for me out there?
I’ve seen the horror movies. Just because I don’t get the dungeon vibes here does not mean I’m not in one.
Haltingly, my foot reaches past the edge.
A thousand bright lights flood the room. I gasp and shy back, shielding my eyes on instinct.
After a few seconds, I lower my arm, blinking through the sharp pain that shoots through my head. I can almost groan. Light sensitivity, too?
Then I see the room.
Holy shit.
It’s huge. Massive. It must be at least five thousand square feet of pristine, flat space. I’m smack dab in the middle of it all.
The lights come from embedded ceiling lamps high overhead. Three of the walls, far away from me, are decorated with black and white abstract paintings created in bold brush strokes. The fourth wall is shielded by a heavy red curtain. The entire floor is made of rich, creamy white tiles reminiscent of steamed milk.
The ceiling is so high above me I almost feel like I’m in a cathedral. It’s made of exquisite dark oak beams.
But this is no church.
I do a slow turn. Something about this is all wrong.
So wrong.
Why am I here? What is behind the curtain? Other than the massive pillar and the paintings, there is nothing in the room.
If I’m being kept prisoner, why am I unbound? Why waste so much space on me?
I cup my hands around my mouth and yell.
“HEY! Anybody? Where am I?”
As before, I’m greeted with silence.
I take one more careful look around. If I got in, there must be a way out.
My eyes dart to the curtain.
Behind there.
I start toward it, my bare feet making determined slaps against the cold floor. I’ve not even gone ten paces toward it when I feel a small tug on my ankle.
I stop and look down. I discover a thread, so thin it’s almost translucent, tied loosely around my foot. The other end is attached to the base of the pillar.
I bend down and finger it.
What on earth is this?
The thread looks like it should snap with the smallest amount of force. I wrap my hands around it and tug.
It doesn’t give.
I frown, and apply a little more effort.
This time, it breaks in a clean cut.
I shake my head as I straighten.
Strange.
I half-expected something to happen when I did that. Alarms to blare, the lights to go off, something.
Nothing.
That’s when I notice a small white envelope leaning against the pillar. It’s right where the thread connects. In fact, it blends so well with the marble that I’m sure I would have missed it were it not for the string.
Exploration forgotten for now, I pick up the envelope. Maybe it will give some clue about what the fuck is going on.
It’s made of heavy paper. A wax stamp seals it, imprinted with a two-faced drama mask that I would find unnerving no matter where I saw it.
The only time I saw a wax-sealed envelope was when my ex got tapped by the Spade and Grave at Yale. I can understand the need for antiquity in New Haven. It makes no sense here.
My finger slips under the flap. I carefully ease it open. A foreboding sense of doom swirls around me as I pull the folded letter out.
I stare at it for a long minute. This is all so surreal. It feels like being caught in a bad dream. Once, I play myself right into my captor’s hands.
My natural inclination to resist, to fight back, tells me to tear the paper up without another glance. But that would be madness. The only clue I have to my whereabouts might be contained inside.
My thirst for information gets the better of me. I sit on the floor, cross my legs, and slowly unfold the paper.
It’s handwritten in swift, flowing blue ink. The rows of words make perfect strides across the page. Precision is the first word that comes to mind to describe the owner of the handwriting.
I set the sheet on the floor in front of me, lean forward and begin to read:

Two items require your immediate attention.
 1.   You may spuriously assume you are being held here against your will. Nothing could be farther from the truth. You are a guest. As a guest, you retain full ability to leave my home at any time. The door behind the drapes shall remain open for the duration of your stay. There are no physical barriers to speak of—though I would advise you to read to the end of this letter before making decisions based on a flawed understanding of your situation.
 2.   You may have already noted the new adornment around your neck. If so, well done! I applaud—

Adornment? I stop reading. What adornment?
I bring my hands to my neck. I feel the unfamiliar shape against my skin. Why hadn’t I noticed it before?
I scamper closer to the marble pillar to try to make out my reflection. I can’t see much, but I can make out the “adornment”. There’s a black collar around my throat. I touch it with one hand.
It’s smooth and flat. It’s made of some kind of matted plastic, like the edges of a computer screen. It’s not tight or uncomfortable.
It frightens me. If it warranted a place in the letter, there must be something to it. I need to get it off.
My fingers dart around the edges, seeking the clasp that opens it.
I don’t find one.
The collar is smooth inside and out. It feels like a single piece of plastic. I trail one finger around the rim on the inside, and, finding no discrepancies, do the same on the outside. Again, I feel nothing.
There’s no crack, no edge, nothing to indicate how it was put around my neck.
I jam all my fingers between my skin and the plastic and pull with all my might. The collar flexes ever-so-slightly but doesn’t give.
Dammit! I cry out and try again.
I pull with all the strength God gave me. It’s not enough. I try again, and again, and again.
Nothing.
I realize I’m panting at this point. The exertion has me almost hyperventilating.
I drop my hands. It’s just a stupid, harmless little piece of plastic. Why do I want it off so much?
Because the idea of having anything foreign touch your skin is repulsive.
The voice is right, as always. But what can I do? The collar is bound to be part of the mind game in which I’m an unwitting participant. Reacting the way I just did is probably exactly what my captor wants. He—and I am certain it’s a “he” now, from the wording of the letter—wants me to feel terrified.
I will not give him the pleasure. I return to the letter and continue to read:
…applaud your perspicacity! You should know, however, that it is not an ordinary collar. Contained inside is a small positioning chip and two electrodes. They become activated the moment you stray outside your designated safe zone.
The string around your foot offers a conservative estimation of the distance you may roam past the marble column. Stay close, and you will remain untroubled. I am told that the electric shock the collar provides, while not lethal, can be quite unpleasant.

Holy fuck!
My spine goes absolutely straight and I forget to breathe. Now the collar has meaning. It feels like a live serpent wrapped around my neck.
My eyes are wide as I look down to my foot. The piece of string is still there, but it’s not connected to the one linked to the pillar.
I’d ripped it like a moron.
How far do I dare go? I’ll have to retie the string—unless I find a way to get the collar off my neck, first.
Another thought occurs to me:
Maybe this is a bluff? Does the collar really have an electrode in it? It’s so thin. Where would it draw power from?
I stand up. Assuming the collar is rigged, and the pillar is the center point… but that’s just what he wants me to believe, isn’t it? The letter claims there’s a door behind the drapes. It could be my path to freedom. I would have to be an idiot to stay here without testing the boundary myself.
I can’t trust anything the letter says. But, I can’t give in to despair, either. My only choice is to contest everything that’s thrown at me. If this is supposed to be a battle of the wills, the guy chose the wrong girl to mess with.
I pick up the remainder of the string and hold it in my fist. I square my shoulders to the long, drawn curtain. I hold my head high. My free hand itches to tug at the collar, but I keep it still. If my captor is watching me—which I’m sure he is, because I’m positive there are cameras hidden all around me—I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me hesitate.
I take a deep breath and start toward the curtained wall. My strides are strong and purposeful. I will not waver. I will not turn back. Fear of a little shock will not keep me from testing the true limits of this prison.
The string goes taut, and I stop.
So far, so good.
It’s the next few steps that will determine everything.
I glance at the floor to mark my position. So, he expects to keep me in an invisible cage, does he? A cage of my own imagination?
Yeah, tough luck.
I drop the string and take one solid step forward.
Nothing happens.
I risk one more.
Nothing happens.
The corner of my lip twitches up in a hint of a smile. I called his bluff. But, I’m not home free yet. The veiled wall is another thirty-odd paces away from me.
I take two more steps forward, and, when nothing happens, start to walk more briskly.
My stroll is cut short by a sharp little zap beneath my left ear.
I tense and wait for more.
Well, color me surprised.
It looks like the collar does have bite, after all. When a second jolt doesn’t come, I can’t stop my smile from becoming a satisfied smirk. I knew the collar couldn’t possible have enough juice to hurt me. Where would the battery go?
Extremely pleased with myself, I venture onward, toward the curtain and its promise of freedom.
The violent torrent of electricity blindsides me. One second I’m on my feet, the next I’m writhing on the floor.
The current pours into me. I thrash about like a grounded fish. Fierce convulsions rock my body. And all I know is pain, pain, pain.
I can feel the source of it, snug around my neck. I’m helpless to fight the onslaught. My head flails about on the ground, throwing hair into my face. A high-pitched squeal sounds in my ears and I desperately hope that pathetic sound is not me.
My eyes roll up and all goes black.

Uncovering You
Scarlett Edwards

Genre - Dark Romance

Release Date - March 27th, 2014

Book Description:

When I wake up in a dark, unfamiliar room, I have no idea what's waiting for me in the shadows. My imagination conjures up demons of the worst kind.

Reality is much worse:

A collar with no leash. A prison with no walls. And a life stripped of meaning.

I am presented with a vile contract and asked to sign. It outlines the terms of my servitude. The only information I have about my captor are the two small letters inked at the bottom:

J.S.

Armed with only my memories, I must do everything I can to avoid becoming ensnared in his twisted mind games. But in the end, it all comes down to one choice:

Resist and die.


Or submit, and sign my life away




About the Author:

I live near beautiful Seattle, Washington.  I grew up reading all types of fantasy books before discovering the wonderful world of romances in high school.  Now, I spend most of my time writing about sexy men and the women who love them.




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Tour Feb 24- March 21

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Literary Meanderings 

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Darkest Cravings

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Midnight Musings with Bertena 

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Paranormal Romance and Beyond

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