Tag Archives: Drinks

Liquid Friday with Joseph R Kennedy

This week we are featuring author, Joseph R Kennedy and his new book: Nanecdotes: Confessions of a Thirty-Day Novelist  , a must read for any one who has been involved with NaNoWriMo.  By the way, Nanecdotes is available for free only today November 16th and next Friday November 30th, so do not miss this opportunity to get your laughs and a cocktail (sorry that one is not free) for your Liquid Friday.

Before we test our sense of humor, let’s hear from Joseph R Kennedy about his favorite cocktail for tonight:

I usually have whisky neat, but one of my favorites is the Irish coffee recipe from the Dead Rabbit in NYC, which is across the street from my job. Once the weather turns to winter, I look for having these, and I always get on New Year’s Eve on my way home from work.
INGREDIENTS
3 ounces freshly brewed coffee (I prefer Sumatra)
1¼ ounces Clontarf or Bushmill’s Irish whiskey
Bushmill
½ ounce demerara syrup
Runny whipped cream, for garnish
DIRECTIONS
In a 6-ounce tempered glass, stir together the coffee, whiskey and demerara syrup. Top with runny whipped cream and serve.
Ok, so lets grab a glass of this delicious sounding cocktail, kick our legs up and relax with Joseph R. Kennedy’s book:
My book Nanecdotes: Confessions of a Thirty-Day Novelist is out on Amazon as an eBook, and the paperback will be available soon. I wrote a number of humorous quips about NaNoWriMo, and other writers told me if I put it in a collection, they would buy it.  I included one in the blurb related to wine.
Blurb:
In a world where authors pledge to write a 50,000 word novel in the month of November, what could go wrong? Everything!
Characters who argue with their creators. Midnight desperation libations. Muses that inspire folly and fear. All are included in this collection of anecdotes … and a song!
Discover the wackiness of authors trying to write 1,667 words every day for a month.

nanecdotesRecycling: Most of the year.
“Honey, can you please put all the empty wine in the recycling. There’s like five of them just this week. They are picking up glass tomorrow.”

“Okay. I am a writer you know!”

Recycling: November
“Honey, can you please put all the empty wine in the recycling. There’s like fifteen of them just this week. They are picking up cardboard tomorrow.”

“Okay. I am a NaNo writer, you know!”

Nanecdotes: Confessions of a Thirty-Day Novelist is a collection of humorous quips inspired by National Novel Writing Month and thirty days of writing madness. All profits will be donated to support NaNoWriMo.
About the Author:

Joseph R. Kennedy is a long time I.T. Professional who is a part-time writer, and genealogy enthusiast. His current projects include a collection of quips, usually involving Josephwriting and anything involving literature, with an occasional nod to sports, genealogy, and the horror that is NJ Transit.

He is also an advisory board member for the New York Nineteenth Century Society, and a history enthusiast.

When not writing or reading, he can be found in various libraries or archives looking for Dead Kennedys, or doing steampunk related activities, like making a rocket jet pack.

He is a father of two adult children, lives in Northern New Jersey, and works in New York City.

Contacts:
facebook: https://www.facebook.com/roughhead/ (plenty of quips on here)

Liquid Friday with author Isabella May

This week we are featuring author and co-founder of popular online women’s magazine, The Glass House Girls Isabella May and her debut novel: Oh! What a Pavlova.

But before we dive ourselves in this mind boggling novel, we must hear from Isabella May about her favorite cocktail suggestion for tonight.

The Piña Colada. All too often it’s associated with Del Boy Trotter from Only Fools and Horses, but could a cocktail be more exotic whilst retaining its status as a classic? I’ve yet to come across a contender. 

A well-constructed Piña Colada (think the Waldorf Astoria’s cocktail bar in New York… or more recently, the offering I sampled at La Bulla Bar in Estepona, Spain), should do three things:

1) Harmoniously blend pineapple, Rum and coconut. Optimum balance is key.

2) Be served simply. Less is more… and a plethora of swizzle sticks, tinsel-coated straws, starfruit slices and umbrellas will not cover up poor mixology!

3) Transport me immediately to a lush Caribbean beach.

Oh, look! It’s time for elevenses…

 

And now without further delay lets dive into Oh! What a Pavlova:

 

Blurb:

Kate Clothier is leading a double life: a successful jet-setting businesswoman to the outside world, but behind closed doors, life with Daniel and his volcanic temper is anything but rosy. Some days – heck, make that EVERY day – cake is her only salvation.  Slowly but surely, the cities she visits – and the men she meets – help her to realise there IS a better future. And the ley lines of Glastonbury are certainly doing their best to impart their mystical wisdom… But will she escape before it’s too late?

 

Excerpt:

The Piano Bar was a tradition embedded firmly in the top ten of Corny Things to do in Bologna. Whilst the melange of confection and liquor was a feast for the senses (Steph was already cooing over the Zuccoto Semi-Fredo, mentally noting how she could re-create its perfection), the clientele were mainly tragic, brash or both. For a woman, it was a dodgy place to be. People were packed concertina-tight across the width of the bar, so that for someone as petite as me – and sadly we’re definitely only talking height – it could take several hours to wend your way through the maze of conversations. Bottom pinching wasn’t unheard of, pickpocketing either.

 

But for all that, there was something so compelling about gradually making your way up the stairs, drink in hand, to the famed lounge to feign sophistication whilst something wretched was being hammered out on the keys of the electronic organ, and an overenthusiastic, glitzy, blue-rinsed lady belted out a number from the golden ages, warbling pitifully whenever she hit anything higher than a top E.

As Henry handed me the umpteenth mixer of the evening, I turned a little too quickly, bashing straight into a tall middle-aged man.

“Hey watch it,” he said, flicking drips of liquid marmalade off his rugby shirt.

Oh, okay maybe he wasn’t quite middle-aged. I quickly decided that for a Silver Fox, he wasn’t all that bad looking either.

I felt a sharp tap on my back.

“It’s nearing midnight” said Daisy, as I turned to see my well-meaning colleague had started tapping at her watch as well. “We really ought to head back to the hotel. The morning only heralds Day Two, after all.”

Thanks, Daisy. That was close. I chanced to look over my shoulder, but thankfully he’d gone.

Steph and I followed the advice of our elder, ditched our glasses and turned to say our snappy farewells to the men, who were far too inebriated to understand what our plans were anyway.

“Ah choof off then, why don’tcha?” said Sebastian, at which point I don’t think I’d ever seen him look more like Eton Mess. “Talk about boring… it’s not even officially Thursday yet. Geez guys,” he pointed at Henry and Adrian, “you two really need to train your staff to last the distance.”

We snaked our way to the exit where Silver Fox stood, running his fingers through his hair whilst chatting with a group of men. Something told me – and my pulse – it would be impossible to slip past undetected.

“We meet again,” he said, as I chanced to unsuccessfully squeeze past him, my bust making more than ample contact with his shoulder.

“Hey, I’m so sorry about earlier,” I said with a giggle. “My boss will insist on topping me up every five minutes.” I was too merry to wonder whether that came across as a sexual double entendre.

Silver Fox, amused, seemed to have forgotten the soaking already. And I sensed that all too familiar book-fair-affair-twinge in my stomach as he studied me intently and his grin widened.

“So, I’m guessing you’re a P.B?”

I ignored yet another sharp tap on my back and gave him my ‘excuse me?’ face.

“A Publishing Babe,” he said, laughing cheekily.

Christ, how corny.

“Steph’s managed to hail us a cab, Kate. Time to say goodbye to your friend,” said Daisy, revealing my true identity.

“Well, that’s you told. See you around… Kate,” he said.

“Maybe you will,” I smiled, emphasizing my final word far longer than was necessary as Daisy tugged me out the doorway.

But the fresh air seemed to sober me immediately. As we sped back to the hotel, and Steph and Daisy pondered our four male colleagues’ likely actions over the encroaching hours, I lay my head against the taxi’s window, saddled with remorse.

You can’t keep doing this to him.

 

About Isabella:

Isabella May lives in (mostly) sunny Andalucia, Spain with her husband, daughter and son, creatively inspired by the sea and the mountains. When she isn’t having her cake and eating it, sampling a new cocktail on the beach, or ferrying her children to and from after school activities, she can usually be found writing. As a Co-founder and a former contributing writer for the popular online women’s magazine, The Glass House Girls – she has also been lucky enough to subject the digital world to her other favourite pastimes, travel, the Law of Attraction, and Prince (The Purple One). She has recently become a Book Fairy, and is having lots of fun with her imaginative ‘drops’! Oh! What a Pavlova is her debut novel… and her second novel, The Cocktail Bar, will be published 13th February 2018.

 

You can follow Isabella May on her website and social media here:

www.isabellamayauthor.com

Twitter – @IsabellaMayBks

Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/IsabellaMayAuthor/

Instagram – @isabella_may_author

 

Liquid Friday with J.T. Ellison

This week we are featuring J.T. Ellison, a New York Times bestselling author of psychological thrillers and her newest release: Lie to Me.

But before we indulge ourselves in this mind filling novel, we must, just must hear from J.T. Ellison about what is her favorite cocktail for tonight.

Whenever I have something to celebrate, and even
when I don’t, there’s nothing I love more than a
champagne cocktail. Simple, timeless, delicious. It’s
one of my go-to drinks, especially in steamy
summertime.

Champagne Cocktail
(makes 1 champagne flute)

Ingredients:
  • 1 Sugar Cube
  • Bitters
  • Brut Champagne
  • Maraschino Cherry,
    or a Twist
Directions:
  • Place the sugar cube in a chilled champagne flute.
  • (Angostura or Peychaud’s—I like mine soaked,
    YMMV).
  • Fill the glass with brut champagne or another
    bubbly (Cava or Prosecco make excellent CCs!), pop
    in a cherry or a lemon twist, and enjoy. Ching-ching!

So lets kick back and relax with this scrumptious cocktail in hand and finally check out Lie To Me.

Blurb:

Domestic noir at its best. Readers will devour this stunning page turner about the disintegration of a marriage as grief, jealousy, betrayal and murder destroy the facade of the perfect literary couple. New York Times bestselling author J.T. Ellison takes her exceptional writing to a new level with this breakout novel.

They built a life on lies.

Sutton and Ethan Montclair’s idyllic life is not as it appears. They seem made for each other, but the truth is ugly. Consumed by professional and personal betrayals and financial woes, the two both love and hate each other. As tensions mount, Sutton disappears, leaving behind a note saying not to look for her.

Ethan finds himself the target of vicious gossip as friends, family and the media speculate on what really happened to Sutton Montclair. As the police investigate, the lies the couple have been spinning for years quickly unravel. Is Ethan a killer? Is he being set up? Did Sutton hate him enough to kill the child she never wanted and then herself? The path to the answers is full of twists that will leave the reader breathless.

Excerpt:

PROLOGUE
IN WHICH INTRODUCTIONS ARE MADE
You aren’t going to like me very much. Oh, maybe in your weaker moments, you’ll feel sorry for me, and use those feelings of warmth and compassion and insightful understanding to excuse my actions. You’ll say to yourself, “Poor little girl. She couldn’t help herself.” Or, “Can you blame her? After all she’s been through?” Perhaps you’ll even think, “She was born to this. It is not her fault.”
Of course it’s my fault. I chose this path. Yes, I feel as if I have no choice, that I’m driven to do it, that there are voices in my head that push me to the dark side.
But I also know right from wrong. I know good from evil. I may be compelled to ruin the lives in front of me, but
I could walk away if I wanted.
Couldn’t I?
Never mind that. Back to you.
Truly, deep down, you are going to despise me. I am the rot that lives in the floorboards of your house. I am the spider that scuttles away when you shine light in my corner, ever watching, ever waiting. I am the shard of glass
that slits the skin of your bare foot. I am all the bad things that happen to you.
I steal things.
I kill things.
I leave a trail of destruction in my wake that is a sight to behold, wave after wave of hate that will overwhelm you until you sink to the bottom of my miserable little ocean, and once you’ve drowned I will feed on your flesh and turn your bones to dust.
You’re mine now. You are powerless against me. So don’t bother fighting it.
I hope you enjoy the show.

WE FIND A BODY
The body was in the woods off a meandering state road that led into a busy, charming historical downtown. It was completely obscured from view, deeply hidden, under several pine boughs and a thick layer of nature’s detritus. Synthetic clothing was melted to the flesh, making it difficult to tell the body’s race or gender at a glance. Closer investigation showed hair that was long and a curious shade: not blonde, not red, possibly chemically-treated. The left hand held evidence of rings, possibly a wedding set, and so the body was eventually determined as female.

The shroud of melt and bough had not stopped the forever daisy-chain progression of decay. Instar maggots and adult flies delighted in their found treat. A genus party started soon after. Diptera and Coleoptera were evident three days in, paving the way for the coming colonization of Calliphoridae. Though the body was burned beyond ready recognition, the insects didn’t seem to mind; it was simply a barbecue feast to them.

Outside of this natural progression, the body lay undisturbed for two days. Birds of prey flew in long, lazy circles overhead. Cars drove past less than fifty yards away, drivers unknowing, uncaring, that one of their own lay rotting nearby.

Three Days Gone, a stray but severe thunderstorm knocked free several of the funereal branches, allowing the body to be exposed, pelted by hail breaking through the leafy canopy. The heavy rains wet the ground and allowed the body to sink deeper into the muck, where it canted on its side.

Four Days Gone, the body was ravaged by a starving coyote, forty-two razor teeth shredding everything available.

Five Days Gone, the body disarticulated, the fire and the heat and the wet and the insects and the coyote and the natural progression of things breaking it down quickly and without thought to the effects this would have on the loved ones. The idea of a non-intact body was sometimes more than people could take.

Six Days Gone, they found her.

SOMETHING’S MISSING
Franklin, Tennessee
Now
Ethan found the note ten minutes after he rolled out of bed that Tuesday, the Tuesday that would change everything. He came downstairs yawning, scratching his chest, to… nothing. Empty space, devoid of wife.

Sutton always began her morning at the table with a bowl of cereal, a piece of fruit, and a cup of tea and read the paper, scoffing at the innumerable typos—the paper was going under, paying for decent copyediting was the least of their worries. A bowl full of cereal, a glass of milk and a spoon would be laid out for him, the sports page folded neatly by his seat. Always. Always.

But this morning, there was no evidence Sutton had been in the kitchen. No newspaper, no bowl. No wife.

He called for her. There was no answer. He searched through the house. Her bag was in her office, her cellphone, her laptop. Her license was stashed in her small wallet, all her credit cards present and accounted for, a twenty folded in half shoved behind them.

She must have gone for a run.
He felt a spark of pleasure at the thought. Sutton, once, had been a health nut. She’d run or walked or done yoga every day, something physical, something to keep her body moving and in shape. And what a shape—the woman was a knockout, willowy and lithe, strong legs and delicate ankles, tendons tight and gleaming like a thoroughbred. A body she sculpted to match his own, to fit with him.

Ethan Montclair couldn’t have a dog for a wife, no. He needed someone he could trot out at cocktail parties who looked smashing in a little black dress.

And not only looked good, but sounded good. He needed a partner on all levels—physical and intellectual. Maybe it was shallow of him, but he was a good looking man, drew a lot of
attention, and not only did he want his wife to be stunning, he wanted her to be smart, too. And Sutton fit the bill.

He knew they made a powerful, attractive couple. Looks and brains and success, so much success. That was their thing.

After Dashiell, she’d bounced back into shape like the champion racehorse she was, though later, when their world collapsed, she’d become tired and bloated and swollen with medications and depression, and she no longer took any interest in being beautiful and fit.

That she’d decided to start running again gave him hope. So much hope.

Spirits lifted, he went back to the sunny, happy kitchen and got his own bowl, his own milk. Made a pot of tea, whistling. Went for the stevia—no sugar for the healthconscious Montclairs, no, never.

That was when he saw it. Small. White. Lined. Torn from a spiral bound notebook, a Clairefontaine, Sutton’s favorite for the smooth, lovely paper.

This… thing… was incongruous with the rest of their spotless kitchen. Sutton was above all things a pathological neatnik. She’d never just leave something lying about.

All the happiness fled. He knew. He just knew. He’d been all wrong. She hadn’t gone running.

He picked up the note.

Dear Ethan,
I’m sorry to do this to you, but I need some time away. I’ve
been unhappy, you know that. This shouldn’t come as a big
surprise. Forgive me for being a coward. Forgive me, for so
many things.
Don’t look for me.
S

She was gone.
He felt something squeezing in his chest, a pain of sorts, and realized that his heart had just broken. He’d always thought that a stupid, silly term, but now he knew. It could happen, it was happening. He was being torn in two, torn to shreds. No wonder there were rites warning against this
What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.

God was ripping him apart in punishment, and he deserved it. He deserved it all.

He didn’t cry. There were no tears left for either of them to shed.

He put the note down carefully, as if it were a bomb that might go off with the wrong touch. Went to their bedroom. Nothing seemed out of place. Her brush, her makeup case, her toothbrush, all lined up carefully on the marble. Her suitcase was in the closet.

He went back downstairs to her office, at the back of the house. Doubled checked.
Her laptop was on her desk.
Her cellphone was in the charger.
Her purse was on the floor next to her chair.
Her wallet inside, the smiling DMV photo that made her look like a model.
Like a zombie, he moved back to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and got out the milk. Poured cereal in the bowl. Dropped the stevia into his tea. Sat at the empty table, stared at the spot where his wife’s head should have been.

What was he supposed to do now? Where could she be? He ran through the possibilities, the places she loved, discarding one after another. Surely he was wrong in his thinking. Surely she’d simply run away, to one of her friends. That’s where she’d gone. Should he call Ivy and see if Sutton was camped in her kitchen, instead of his? Should he give her some time, and space, like she asked?

She left without her things, Ethan. Sutton’s lifelines are her laptop and phone. It’s her office, her world.

A dawning realization. Sutton hadn’t shaken the depression, not completely. She was still prone to fits of melancholy. She might have done something stupid, crazy. She’d tried once before, after… Oh, God. Her words. Perhaps she was telling him exactly what she’d done.
I’m a coward. Forgive me. Don’t look for me.
He threw the bowl of cereal across the room.
“Bloody fucking hell. You selfish, heartless bitch.”

About J.T. Ellison:

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author J.T. Ellison writes standalone domestic noir and psychological thriller series, the latter starring Nashville Homicide Lt. Taylor Jackson and medical examiner Dr. Samantha Owens, and pens the international thriller series “A Brit in the FBI” with #1 New York Times bestselling author Catherine Coulter. Cohost of the EMMY Award-winning literary television show A Word on Words, Ellison lives in Nashville with her husband and twin kittens.
Follow J.T. online at Facebook.com/JTEllison14, on Twitter @thrillerchick, or on Instagram @jt_thrillerchick for more insight into her wicked imagination.

Praise
“[An] exceptional domestic thriller from bestseller Ellison… this standalone may be Ellison’s best work to date.”
—★ Publishers Weekly, starred review

“Wonderful … a one-more-chapter, don’t-eat-dinner, stay-up-late sensation.”
—Lee Child, #1 New York Times bestselling author of NO MIDDLE NAME

“Fans of GONE GIRL will gobble up this thriller about a marriage from hell, which moves at a blazing-fast pace and smoothly negotiates more twists and turns than the backroads of Tennessee. J.T. Ellison will keep you guessing every step of the way to the surprise ending!”
—Lisa Scottoline, New York Times bestselling author of ONE PERFECT LIE

“LIE TO ME twists you up, throws you into nail-biting action and unexpected revelations. Belt yourself in for this roller coaster ride.”
—Catherine Coulter, #1 New York Times bestselling author of ENIGMA

“LIE TO ME brilliantly combines a domestic noir thriller with a searing portrait of two writers trapped in a web of lies, betrayals, and murder. Sharply written and masterfully plotted, full of  hard truths about the creative life and modern marriage, Ellison has written her finest novel—a breakout page-turner certain to win her a wide audience.”
—Jeff Abbott, New York Times bestselling author of BLAME

“A wickedly good thriller about a picture-perfect marriage that is anything but, LIE TO ME has it all: murder, lies and betrayal. J.T. Ellison will have readers hanging onto the edge of their seats with her latest cunning tale.”
—Mary Kubica, New York Times bestselling author of EVERY LAST LIE

“Secrets, secrets, who has more secrets? Writers or wives? With more surprises than a kitchen sink casserole, in LIE TO ME, J.T. Ellison lets us in on what goes on behind the closed doors of both.”
—Helen Ellis, New York Times bestselling author of AMERICAN HOUSEWIFE

“Ellison knows how to deliver gripping psychological suspense… Appearances can be deceiving, but Ellison’s writing is not.”
—Library Journal

“…An astonishing and satisfying ending that makes for a fantastic reading experience.”
—RT Book Reviews

“[An] immensely readable domestic thriller… lush prose.”
—Booklist

Liquid Friday with Author Norah Bennett

This week we are featuring author Norah Bennett and her book Everything I’ve Dreamed Of.

But before we embrace this wonderful romance novel let’s find out what drink does Norah recommend for our readers.:

“So the drink I picked is called the Brandy Alexander. My main character bakes a lot, and what’s better than an alcoholic drink that tastes like chocolate to go with all the baked goods?! Plus brandy is always a good relaxing drink.”

INGREDIENTS

  • Ice
  • 1 1/2 ounces Cognac
  • 1 ounce white crème de cacao
  • 1 ounce heavy cream
  • Pinch of freshly grated nutmeg

INSTRUCTIONS

 

Fill a shaker halfway with ice cubes. Pour in the brandy, creme de brandy-alexandercacao, and the half-and-half. Shake well and strain into a cocktail glass. Sprinkle the grated nutmeg over the top. Tip: grind a fresh, whole nutmeg over the top of the drink and it’ll have more flavor than ground nutmeg from a jar.

So lets kick back and relax with this scrumptious cocktail in hand and finally check out Everything I’ve Dreamed Of:

Blurb:

Kate Willowbrook dreams of a life filled with beauty –– a man who loves her, friends, and a home. At eighteen, Kate’s dreams are replaced by nightmares when she witnesses a crime. Kate runs, everrything-ive-dreamed-of-evernightpublishing-dec2016-finalimagenever settling down or trusting anyone. Ten years later Kate discovers the small town of Lakes Crossing and Noah Reed.

When Noah’s wife is killed in an accident, he buries himself in work and family obligations, believing he will never find love again until he meets Kate. The more he learns about her, the more he is drawn to her and his protective instincts kick into overdrive.

Noah is everything Kate has ever dreamed of, but his take-charge attitude is scaring up old demons she fought hard to bury. If they can’t find a way to strike a balance that satisfies both their deepest needs, they could lose their second chance at love.

Excerpt

Kate pierced him with her green eyes. “I’m certain there’s no shortage of women who would be happy to go out with you. Why me?”

Noah’s cocky grin faded into a soft smile that stole her breath. His eyes darkened as he focused on her. She could feel the heat creeping up her cheeks again, and she couldn’t believe she asked him that question. She didn’t even know why she did, except that she wanted to hear his answer. If she let herself fall for this beautiful man, with a killer smile and the softest brown eyes in the world, she’d fall hard everrything-ive-dreamed-of-evernightpublishing-dec2016-vistaprint-mugs_panoramic-wraparoundand fast. If she were just a toy to him, one that he got bored of and discarded after a while, she’d be devastated. She had lost so much already and survived, but Kate wasn’t sure she could survive his games. If she allowed herself to hope and dream of a life with Noah but then lost it all, she’d crumble, and no amount of superglue would put her back together.

Kate waited for his answer, her eyes locked with his and he didn’t let her down.

“Yes, I won’t deny that I’ve dated other women and there are those who wouldn’t turn me down for a date, but they’re not you.”

Noah reached for her hand, and she let him feel the tremble that ran through her as he engulfed her small hand in his. He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers, never taking his gaze off her.

“You say you’re not special to anyone, but that’s not true. see

dandelion on a blue background

something special, someone special. I know we don’t know each other very well, but if you give us a chance to change that, together, we may be something special. We won’t know unless we try.”

Kate’s breath hitched, and her heart squeezed. Jesus, the man had a way with words. How did he know what she needed to hear? Now she understood what Roberta Flack meant when she sang, Killing me Softly. He was clawing at the door to her heart, and she didn’t think she was strong enough to resist him, even knowing that she may get shredded if she let him in.

Kate dropped her gaze again as they began to fill. Her breathing was ragged, and her heart broke its confines and was on the run. Whether it wanted to be caught by Noah or not, Kate wasn’t certain.

Special. 

Kate had waited thirty-one years to hear someone call her special. She struggled to rein in her emotions and push back the tears that threatened to roll down her cheeks. She wanted to go out with Noah so badly it hurt. She wanted to get to know him and to be a part of eido-touchhis world, but she was terrified. Good visited her very few times in her life. The instant it arrived, she began preparing for its departure. Good was a temporary visitor and a fickle one at that.

“Come on, Kate. I can sense you’re afraid. I swear I’m a nice guy. I’ll do my damnedest not to disappoint or hurt you. Take a chance. Take a chance on me.”

Kate heard the vulnerability in Noah’s voice. She explored his handsome face, a face she was sure she would never tire of admiring. All traces of his earlier cockiness vanished. Instead, it was replaced by a rawness, an earnestness, a tenderness she’d never seen before. That was the look Kate would remember for a lifetime. Years from now, she would say that was the exact moment she knew, if Noah Reed asked her, she would be his for a lifetime.

Kate let out a slow breath and with a soft smile, she whispered, “Okay, Noah Reed. I’ll take a chance … a chance on you. I’ll go out with you.”

About the Author

Norah lives a double life. By day she is a suit-wearing, prim and image1-jpgproper, professor, administrator, researcher, and lecturer. By night she is a PJ wearing dreamer and writer of books that make people sigh, smile, cry, laugh, fall in love and believe in second chances.

Norah lives in Andover, New Jersey with her husband of thirty years, a cranky geriatric maltipoo, and an obnoxious cockatoo who runs the house and terrifies all its inhabitants.

Norah discovered the joy and escapism that comes from reading at the age of twelve and swears books saved her life and her sanity. Through reading, she has travelled the globe and learned all kinds of equally useful and useless skills such as the proper way to eat a pomegranate, carve a watermelon, or bathe an elephant. These are skills she has passed down to her two daughters who are incredibly supportive, but often wish she had a wider scope of hobbies.

Norah has a long publishing history in academia, but she started writing fiction recently. In July 2016 she published her first work of fiction, R.I.L.Y. Forever with Evernight Publishing and in January 2017 her second book, Everything I’ve Dreamed Of, was also published by Evernight Publishing. Currently, she is working on her third novel, Six Months. Digital and print copies of her books can be purchased at Amazon https://www.amazon.com/R-I-L-Y-Forever-Norah-Bennett-ebook/dp/B01IFH66CK/

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Liquid Friday with author Katie Lewington

This week we are featuring author Katie Lewington  and her poetry collection: “Put Me Down, I’m Terrible.

But before we explore this insightful and entertaining work, let us discover what does Katie Lewington suggest for us this Friday evening to pair with the reading.

Some type of red wine. Probably Mateus.  I’ve been to Portugal a few times and they drink a lot of it there. Wine always reminds me of Portugal. I love the place.

mateus-bottleAbout the wine:

A brand of medium-sweet sparkling rosé wine, Mateus has been  produced in Portugal since  1942.  It is  styled to appeal to  North American and northern European markets.

So let us kick back relaxing with a glass of this fine sounding wine and discover more about “Put Me Down, I’m Terrible.”

Blurb:

In Put Me Down I’m Terrible, Katie Lewington explores mundanity: a couple making love in a car, a woman preparing for a date, a donut shop. But to say these occurrences are mundane is only half the story. In poetry as achingly familiar as it is uncharted, Lewington putmedownfeeds readers scenes of fumbling vulnerability, teeth-clenching honesty, and unrelenting self-awareness. There’s something in every poem that rings true; the awkward intimacy of a dentist appointment, the doldrum of Mondays, the inexorable journey of stray hairs. But Lewington takes these occurrences further, with precision as sharp as a knife, making the familiar strange and shaking up the norm. A walk of shame becomes a woman’s sphere for agency. Cold sores become a badge of power. New shoes, an insufficient patch. Uncompromisingly honest and hauntingly explorative, Put Me Down I’m Terrible is a celebration of the now, the everyday life, and the vulnerability that comes with it. As Lewington pens in one of the poems, “I don’t need to journey I’m gonna celebrate where I’m at.” Each poem is a celebration, and the collection, a festival unto itself.

Sample Poem:

Cursor   

cursor ran away with the N 
computer keyboard screamed -
get your greasy fingers off of me! 
the N halts, the cursor blinks
as if strangers
watching an argument taking place in the street
awaiting further pressure to move on and forward (like from the police)

my hand hovers removed from the board.

About the Author:

Katie Lewington is a UK based writer and has been drafting, editing and rewriting her bio since she started submitting to literary katiemagazines and journals two years ago. It isn’t as if she doesn’t know who she is, she just isn’t sure what is relevant.  Her creative writing can be read at https://katiecreativewriterblog.wordpress.com and https://gumroad.com/katielewington

She can be contacted through Twitter @idontwearahat

Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/Inbetweenbooks/

 

Liquid Friday with author Claudy Conn

This week we are featuring New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author of paranormal romance Claudy Conn and her Awakening  book series.

But before we venture into the series let us find out what is Claudy Conn favorite drink?

I am a Death by Chocolate woman and Chocolate Martini is definitely a nice way to go! LOL.”

Ingredients:

  • Chocolate sauce and sugar for rim of glass
  • 2 oz (60ml) Godiva chocolate liqueur
  • 1 1/2 oz (45ml) vodka
  • Ice
  • White chocolate shavings
  • Fresh raspberries

Preparation:

  • Dip the rim of the martini glass in chocolate sauce.
  • Dip the chocolate rim in sugar
  • Fill a large tumbler with ice cubesmartini
  • Pour the Godiva chocolate liqueur into the glass
  • Pour in the vodka.
  • Pour all the ingredients into a shaker. Shake well
  • Pour the mix into the martini glass that you rimmed at the beginning.
  • Garnish with shaved white chocolate.
  • Add some fresh raspberries. Slide the raspberries onto half a skewer for ease of adding to the glass.

Blurb For Harley-Awakening

USA Today bestselling Harley-Awakening

Harley has everything a vampire-white witch hybrid could want: wonderful parents, a hunky sort-of boyfriend, and a clan of loving friends. When that life is taken away from her, Harley doesn’t want book1freeto serve revenge up cold. She wants to serve it up now, and she wants to serve it up HOT. And then Kian enters her life and she knows, she just knows she is in trouble because it isn’t wise to let yourself look too long at a hunk that takes your breath away when you think his heart might belong to someone else. But what can you do, when he is in your face every single time you turn around and dark magic, and werewolves keep getting you into trouble?

Blurb For Awakening-Bray

Even as children they were forces to be reckoned with, but now Stevie and Wendy McChauncey and their friend Bray are all grown up. Stevie is a Druid high priest, Wendy is a Fios with blossoming Druid powers, and Bray has come into his majority as a Royal Fae Prince.

book2And when Cain Crowton, a powerful alpha werewolf surrounded with an aura of dark magic, moves into the peaceful town of Golden, nestled in the Canadian Rockies, Wendy, Bray, and Stevie will have to use all the powers they’ve developed. For Cain is not simply a werewolf. His body and mind have been taken over by Valmod, a demon from another realm.

Valmod tasted temporary defeat at the hands of Daoine Fae Kian and his vampire-shifter hybrid mate Harley. But he’s had time to recover and to plan his comeback. And he has chosen Wendy to be the mate by his side as he takes over the Human Realm, and beyond.

Blurb For Awakening-Wendy

What would you do if you awoke and found you were wolfen?
Wendy runs. She doesn’t want to hurt her loved ones and she needs to get control of the violence inside of her.
book3She was bitten by the alpha wolf, Cain, and because she was already a supernatural, the werewolf venom has a strange and devastating effect on her.

Tracking her is her Fae Prince, Bray who is determined to save her and find a remedy for the painful condition of turning with each moon. With him are her brother and her friend Kate.
Together, they fight an evil force, Cain, who is so much more than he represented himself to be. He wants and means to infiltrate the Human Realm, town by town and insinuate himself as the leading power.

Blurb For Awakening Cain

Rescued by Wendy and Bray, Cain emerges forever altered. The elixir he was administered to save his life is changing him. He is no longer werewolf, but shifter and Fae and the Fae inside of him is fighting for dominance.

book4All he wants is to get to his pack and tell them he is alive, but when he finds out that Beckett Rheams has taken over his wolves, he becomes obsessed with saving them and Maven. Maven had shared his bed, but, did he love her? Was she the one destined to be his mate? 

That is a question that will haunt him as Tara explodes into his world.

Tara is a Daoine princess who is trying to find redemption and prove herself to her queen and her family. Cain needs help, and she decides she is the one to help him. She is sure he needs Fae training. She is sure he is too good and not ready to face a creature like Beckett Rheams, and she is sure, she is the one to help him.

However, when these two meet, worlds collide in an explosion of sensations, with Rheams and Maven hovering with their own agenda.

Now, Harley Awakening is available free for download from Amazon.  Click here to get your copy now!

series

Excerpt from Harley Awakening

As I looked around I couldn’t help being proud of my mom as she laughed and hugged our guests. As always I was struck by her beauty. Her long red hair blowing in the summer breeze made her easy to find amongst the crowd of our friends. Dad liked to say I was her twin. I suppose I was, except for my eyes. I got his amber eyes instead of Mom’s green ones. I teased her a lot, telling her they were ‘witchy green.’

Dad pulled her in for a kiss. I made sure they saw me put a finger in my mouth as though to gag, and they laughed. They weren’t more than twenty feet away, and life at that moment seemed beautiful and perfect.

In a human’s heartbeat, all that changed.

A minute before they came, I felt it.

My mother and I had a moment together. I knew she knew as well. We both shouted ‘Run!’ at the same time. But there was no time, none, because our clan didn’t understand. Even as they heard us tell them to run, they looked around and hesitated.

Escape was not an option. Total and gripping fear raced through my body. A threat was no longer just in the air. It had arrived, surrounded, stormed.

“Harley,” my mother screamed and ran to me. She held up a vial she had produced from her jeans pocket. “Drink this, baby—now. Hurry.”

“What? What is it?” I asked and saw something desperate in her eyes, those beautiful, witchy green eyes, and it scared the shit out of me. I knew in that moment that the worst thing ever was about to take place. “Mom?”

“Drink!” she shouted as she poured the damned stuff down my throat. I choked on the first swallow and then took the vial away from her and downed it like I was doing a shot.

I saw relief on her face.

“Baby, I didn’t know it would be so soon. I knew, but I thought we had time. I’m sorry … I hoped I was wrong. I hoped we’d have more time. Today was supposed to be your big day, a party for your birthday. I am so sorry.” Tears ran down her lovely cheeks.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my clan begin to gather, back to back. Most of them were unarmed and unfit to take on what was coming, but the scent now was all around us.

Everything happened at once. I stood helpless … like when you reach out to save someone and right in front of you they are taken.

My world was shattered in that old cliché, that blink of an eye.

They came with wicked and bloody intent … they came. I had never seen werewolves that huge, vicious, and purposeful—and it was daytime. What the hell? I stood for a moment, horrified, as I watched my beloved friends try to fight them off. These werewolves were as large as horses, each one with eyes crazed with a vicious ‘kill intent’. Blood splattered everywhere as they attacked from every direction. It was a chaos of screams, painful bellows, and victorious howls.

Some of our clan tried to scatter, some stood to fight. All were being taken down and brutally torn apart. Blood covered the grass …

The atmosphere had the stench of blood, vampire blood—my clan’s blood….

About the Author

Putting pen to paper came easy. I needed to write–I loved to write, claudythus, writing was a given. Going through the process of creating a story—putting it together into a first novel and then presenting it to the world—quite another thing. Just out of school and painfully shy (and I really still am) knocking on doors and asking someone to read my book was (for me) a death defying feat.

I loved English—Irish–Scottish history and had traveled just enough to know the ‘look and feel’ of their beautiful countries. Hence, my regencies such as “Spring Gambit”, Sunday’s Child, and “Myriah” were born. Out of my regencies came my larger and sexier historical romances, such as “Cassandra”, “Blades of Passion”, and “Fire & Desire”, most of which were published by Fawcett. Many of my other titles can be checked out when you go to the links listed below.

However, my daughter lectured me and said that I should write about myself like I write my stories—so here goes…

While I have a fanciful imagination, I am a Capricorn—‘sure and steady’, and the obvious conflict leaves me jumbled. I have a computer, yes (invaluable), but I still jot down ideas on a scrap piece of paper, or a napkin in a restaurant. My imagination follows me wherever we go and sees so much more than meets the eye, and very often my husband will ask, ‘where are you now, baby?’

My dad was the one who clicked into my brain early on, and opened my mind to a world where a girl/woman could be so much more than ‘pretty in pink’. He told me to soar, and soaring for me, was writing.

We love horses and riding and when we migrated from New York to North Carolina we brought our barn with us—and yes, I’d rather muck out a stall than clean a house! My Irish, blue-eyed husband had to have a wolf and so we brought in our little hybrid wolf pup to our home. She is ¾ wolf/ ¼ German shepherd named Cherokee. Her 3 yr. old son (Rocky) is huge and eats everything and anything he can find and weighs more than 170 pounds!

Ireland and Scotland gave us the Fae and the Druids. In Ireland you can still visit the ‘Faery Mounds’. Think of the possibilities. I have and I’d love for you to join me as I explore them. So then, come with me and let’s see where we can go…

 

Liquid Friday with author Paula Scardamalia

This week we are featuring author, book coach and dream consultant for People Magazine Paula Scardamalia and her book: Weaving a Woman’s Life: Spiritual Lessons from the Loom.

But before we even dream of looking at her work, let us find out what is Paula’s favorite cocktail that she recommends for us this Friday evening.

Mojito with Citron Vodka

My favorite drink, especially in the summertime, is a mojito. I love the bright summery taste of fresh mint from our yard mixed with the tang of fresh lime juice. And unlike some mojito recipes that use mojitirum, I use citron vodka. The drink holds good memories of playing with friends in San Diego several summers ago at a hotel bar that had a special on mojitos. When I ordered one the bartender said she’d run out of rum but would use citron vodka and that I would like it. I did. And that’s the way I’ve fixed my mojitos ever since.

In large tumbler:
Put 12 large mint leaves with the juice from ¼ of a lime.
Bruise mint in lime juice, and then fill glass with crushed ice
Add 1 1/2 oz citron vodka (optional)
Fill glass with Mist Twist (old Sierra Mist) and stir.

Find a comfortable spot, put your feet up, take a sip, and relax. Ahhhh!  Time to check into the book.

Blurb

“The thoughtful and challenging spiritual lessons found here may indeed draw from ancient myths and the timeless activities of weaving-a-womans-life-195x300women of wisdom—but any man lucky enough to encounter them will learn as much about his own life textures as he will of the intricacies of female experience. This is a gentle and instructive book that reconnects all of us with some of the deepest fabric of our shared past and living present.” ~Joanna Bull, Founder of Gilda’s Club Worldwide

 

 

Excerpt from Lesson Five: Intention and Perspective—Creating the Vision

“Remember how many of our favorite fairy tales begin with a woman expressing her heart’s deepest desire? Often that desire, as in Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Thumbelina, and Rapunzel, is a woman longing to give birth to a child. The story does not really begin until the vision or intention is expressed. Then magic happens.

In order to wind a warp for the loom, I must first express or envision what I want to weave. The “story” of my weaving will not come to a happy ending if I wind a narrow warp of seven inches, put it on my loom, and then decide after the warp is threaded and tied on that I want to weave a shawl that is twenty-eight inches wide. I must then either unthread that warp, putting it aside, and wind on a new one that is the required width, or I can weave off the narrow warp first and then put on the wider warp for that shawl. Either option wastes time, effort, and perhaps even yarn. I will not be able to make up this loss later.

For our lives to unfold like the fairy tales of old, we must express the intention or vision for our lives—our heart’s deepest desires.”

Weaving a Woman’s Life: Spiritual Lessons from the Loom, won several awards, including a Bronze in the Self-Help category in Foreword Magazine’s 2006 Book of the Year Awards.

About the Author:

Paula Chaffee Scardamalia, dream consultant for PEOPLE Magazine (Country), is an author, book coach, and tarot and dream paulaintuitive. Since 1999, Paula’s shown writers how to use tarot, dreams, rituals and other intuitive tools to write stories from the deepest part of their imaginations. She’s presented workshops at small private events on the East Coast, and at both national and regional Romance Writers of America conferences and meetings, at the 2014 San Diego University Writers Conference, and the International Women’s Writing Guild summer conference. Paula publishes a weekly e-newsletter on writing, dreams, and tarot, and is the award-winning author of Weaving a Woman’s Life: Spiritual Lessons from the Loom.

You can learn more about Paula by following the link to her Divining The Muse website:

divining