Being a Good Guest #Blogger with Carin Kilby Clark #WriteTip #NonFiction #Parenting

One of my most favorite aspects about blogging is being able to feature other great writing on my blog. I’ve also had the pleasure of contributing to other fabulous sites within my parenting & family niche – and every time I send an article I try to maintain a certain standard; and make it easy on the blog owner.

While I do love to feature other writers, I’ve noticed that not every blogger/writer knows how to be a good guest blogger. There are a few steps you can take which will make the process much smoother for you, and for your article’s host.

Here are some tips on how to be a good guest blogger.

Be a good guest blogger by making sure your article is optimized. Pick a key word or phrase to focus on and make sure you optimize the article for that key word or phrase. This will benefit both you and the blog owner in that the more organic traffic your piece receives, the more likely the blog owner will invite you back and the more traffic that will end up circling back to you through the link in your bio.

Be a good guest blogger by optimizing images for pinterest and the web. I should probably start with the fact that you should always include at least one image with your post. If it’s not a graphical representation, you can always use a program like PicMonkey to make an image out of a quote or excerpt from the article. This will help with making the post pinnable, and by optimizing the image for search you will continue to drive organic traffic.

Be a good guest blogger by writing a stellar piece of content. You should always send a blog host your absolute best. As a matter of fact, when I guest blog I try to make that post even better than ones that are on my own site. The reason is that you want to attract new readers who will follow the link in your bio back to your site. This is only effective if your post is truly outstanding; and leaves the reader wanting to see more of your writing.

Be a good guest blogger by promoting your guest post. This is a very important part of being a good guest blogger. You must promote your work on the host site – don’t leave it all up to the blog host. It’s a shared responsibility to promote the content that you’ve written, and they’ve published.

Be a good guest blogger by hanging out and responding to comments. Engagement on your post is key. If you have readers who make comments – whether they ask a question, or add something to the discussion – it’s important that you are around to interact with them. Again, don’t leave it all up to the blog host as you, as the writer, are better postured to engage with readers on your post.

Carin Kilby Clark is the author of the ebook, Time Management Made Easy for Busy Moms: 5 Simple Tips on How to Control Your Time and Get Things Done (April 2014, Clue Consulting, LLC). If you want to learn how to finally put time on your side, then this book has the goods that you need – and for less than the cost of a cup of coffee. Buy your copy today!

Do any of these excuses sound familiar?

I’m just too busy

I have too much on my plate

There’s never enough time

I have to do it all

I don’t know how to manage it all

If you answered yes, then prepare to put an end to the overwhelm once and for all. In Time Management Made Easy for Busy Moms, Carin Kilby Clark shares five simple tips that moms can implement right away to improve how they control their time and get things done.

Time Management Made Easy for Busy Moms offers insight into the one major block that prevents us from maximizing our time, gives readers practical information that is easily applied to everyday life, and helps you along the path to your “aha” moments about how and why you’ve been ineffective in managing your time; and how to to finally put time in its rightful place {on your side, of course!}.

As the mother of three very active children who also works full-time, runs a business in her “spare” time, publishes a lifestyle & parenting site, manages a growing motherhood community, and regularly contributes parenting advice to many popular sites in the parenting/family life niche, Carin’s advice is solid; based on methods that she has successfully implemented in controlling her time and getting things done.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Parenting, Relationships

Rating – G

More details about the author

Connect with Carin Kilby Clark on Facebook & Twitter

IS YOUR CHAIR KILLING YOU? by @KentBurden #Wellness #NonFiction #AmWriting

You may not want to sit down, because what I’m about to tell you will shock you. In fact, what I’m about to tell you may rock you to your very core. But whatever you do, don’t sit down. The truth is:  most of us sit way too much, and all that sitting may be killing you. That’s right, killing you! I know what you’re thinking: “This guy is a being dramatic.” But according to some groundbreaking new research, this statement isn’t hyperbole at all. Sitting for long periods of time may be just as bad for you as smoking cigarettes. Now, unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past ten years, you probably know that sitting on the couch all day isn’t going to make you a healthy person. But what if I told you that even if you adhere to the government’s guidelines for daily exercise and work out for thirty to sixty minutes per day three to five days per week, you still may not be doing enough to counteract the damage that sitting for extended periods does to your health? That’s a shocking statement for most of us! Don’t sit down.

For years doctors, exercise physiologists, personal trainers (like myself), and the government have been telling you that if you eat sensibly, don’t smoke or drink to excess and exercise, you could significantly lower your risk of developing heart disease, diabetes, obesity, cancer, metabolic syndrome and a variety of other lifestyle diseases that currently plagues our society. However, new research suggests that although 30 to 60 minutes of exercise per day can help improve lung capacity, strengthen the heart muscle, improve circulation, burn calories, strengthen muscle fibers and connective tissue, lower stress hormones and improve brain function, sitting for long periods of time may be a health risk unto itself, much like smoking tobacco.

The unavoidable truth is that most of us spend the vast majority of our day seated. What I explain in this book is why extended periods of sitting are  detrimental to your health, and why you must get up and move regularly, even if only for a minute or two each hour. And what I will show you is how simple it is to fit regular, daily movement into your modern life at work and at home.

I am going to use my wife as an example. My wife is the director of marketing for an architectural millwork company. Her typical day goes something like this: She gets up at about 6:00 a.m. and does twenty minutes of yoga; she showers, gets dressed and gets ready for work. She usually has a couple of cups of coffee and a fruit smoothie for breakfast then drives about seven minutes to work (she is on the low side of commute time, as the average American commute is twenty-three minutes one way to work). She gets into the office at nine o’clock and goes directly to her desk where she proceeds to spend most of the morning working at her computer. About one o’clock she stops and has lunch. Most days she brown bags it, bringing something like tomato soup and a sandwich, or leftovers from dinner the night before, other days she runs out and gets something from a local drive through and takes it back to her desk. The afternoon tends to be more of the same unless she has a meeting. If she has a meeting she might drive to someone else’s office and have a seat for that meeting. She usually leaves the office for home at around 6:45. When she gets home she takes the dog for a brisk thirty-minute walk, then we sit down for dinner. After dinner we sit down together on the couch and talk and watch a little television, then toddle off to bed at around eleven.

Does my wife’s day sound familiar? It should, because that’s pretty typical for most of us. In fact, most of us don’t even get in the fifty minutes of exercise my wife fits in. After looking at her typical day, we found that she spent an astounding twelve hours in the seated position each day. With this schedule my wife would be considered to have what the government, medical professionals and personal trainers classify as an active life style. Her fifty minutes of exercise (twenty minutes of yoga and a brisk thirty minutes of walking five days a week) makes her “active,” which means she is the poster child for what all of us should be aiming for. But what about all that time that she does nothing but sit? Can those fifty minutes really make up for those other twelve hours? According to several new studies the answer may be no.

The desk job has become the norm in America and across most of the Western world. Many of us are virtually chained to our desks, working on our computers, answering emails, teleconferencing and doing Skype meetings. For most, the only reason to get up out of our chairs is to take a quick bathroom break, and then it’s back to the desk to type up that report or send out that follow-up e-mail. According to a poll of 6,300 people by the Institute for Medicine and Public Health, Americans spend an average of 56 hours each week just sitting. That’s up by eight percent in the last twenty years. We are also contending with longer commutes to work, leaving us sitting in our car fighting traffic for longer periods of time each day, and causing us to be more sedentary than ever before.  But it’s not just our jobs that encourage all this sedentary behavior; it’s also what we do when we are off work.

Sitting for extended periods of time is as bad for your health as smoking cigarettes. And exercising for 30-60 minutes a day isn’t enough to undo the damage from extended periods of sitting. Is Your Chair Killing You reveals shocking new research showing that sitting for long periods greatly increases your risk of developing obesity, heart disease, diabetes, stroke and cancer. Our bodies were designed to move constantly over the course of the day, but most of us sit for hours a day at work and at home! Fitness and wellness expert and award-winning author Kent Burden has created brief, simple movements you can incorporate into your daily life to combat the damaging effects of sitting. These simple movements, done standing for 1-5 minutes each hour will burn calories, energize and refresh you, and you won’t even break a sweat; you’ll even improve your back pain. This book is a how-to for weight loss and disease prevention. Read this book–you’ll be healthier in as little as 8 minutes a day.

Nominated for the Dan Poynter Global Ebook Awards and won honorable mention at the Los Angeles Book Festival

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Non-Fiction

Rating – G

More details about the author

Connect with Kent Burden on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://www.kentburden.com/

ENEMY OF MAN #Excerpt (Chronicles of Kin Roland) by @ScottMoonWriter #SciFi #GoodReads

KIN took a knee—a soldier’s pose that came naturally. Clavender stood with one hand on his shoulder. They watched the trooper and the town as a sea breeze spoke softly.

“I am glad these soldiers are from your Fleet,” Clavender said.

“You might not be if you were in my position,” Kin said.

She bent and looked into his eyes.

He waited until she smiled. Knowing she wouldn’t ask the question, he answered. “Fleet Command gave me a mission to kill every last Reaper on Hellsbreach.”

She touched his face. “But you could not do it.”

Kin looked away, surprised at his shame. She didn’t seem to judge him. She squatted, wrapping her arms and her wings around him.

“We are not different. I hide from my people so that I do not lead them to war and ruin,” Clavender said.

“I thought you were the last of your people. I mean, everyone assumed,” Kin said.

Clavender laughed. “Have you not seen the migrations toward the wormhole?”

“I thought those were birds. There must be thousands,” Kin said. He recalled the swarms of flying creatures passing far above Crater Town. The mysterious migrations were considered good luck by everyone on Crashdown.

“Not birds, but foolish young men trying to prove themselves. They will never reach it. It is too high and does not open as easily as a door,” Clavender said.

“You should go inside. The Fleet has a bad record with aliens,” Kin said.

“An odd thing, coming from aliens,” Clavender said.

Kin laughed.

“I will stay outside. Do not worry. I have hidden from my people for a long time. I can hide from yours,” she said.

Kin nodded. They stood, holding hands for what seemed like a pleasant lifetime.

The breeze shifted, bringing the smell of burned buildings mixed with the salty air. It stung Kin’s eyes. Wind wouldn’t disperse the odors until the smoldering huts cooled. Clavender probably didn’t appreciate the odors of destroyed machines, but they painted a picture for Kin, bringing back memories. He looked down on the Fleet trooper who gave up on the idea of capturing the hopper birds and stood like a statue. Kin listened for the quiet sound of gears in the assault armor.

He descended the front of the dune. The trooper turned to face him. Kin was glad the trooper was alert, even though they were destined to be adversaries. Fears of interrogation and torture seemed distant, because Clavender touched him. He laughed inwardly. He hadn’t been checking on her, he’d been seeking comfort. The Fleet would learn his identity and he would run, fight, or die. It was simple and unavoidable.

Kin Roland was a common name and he had taken many steps to hide who he was—a new identification number and plate in his arm, the meticulous and expensive removal of tattoos, and an assignment on a terra-forming mission that should’ve taken him to the very rim of Earth Fleet controlled space. But he couldn’t avoid scrutiny forever.

The false identity plate in his arm would not withstand a close, forensic examination. Someone would remember him. Orlan certainly knew him and this trooper that was so interested in him probably did as well. The question was why the trooper didn’t sound the alarm.

Kin still didn’t understand how he was able to board the Goliath in the first place. They had checked his finger prints and photograph—a moment he had dreaded but found unavoidable. Nothing. The security screener ran his picture and prints without finding a thing. Either the captain of the Goliath had known who he was and didn’t care, or the system was too big for its own good. Fleet intelligence officers, however, wouldn’t be fooled.

The trooper was shamming ignorance for reasons unfathomable to Kin. He hadn’t imagined the moment this person recognized him, but couldn’t figure why the trooper suddenly pretended ignorance.

“Let’s go to the meeting hall,” Kin said.

The trooper nodded, walking next to him.

Kin looked for Orlan, but couldn’t find him. The sergeant was uncommonly large, and since assault armor added a foot to a man or woman’s height, Orlan was seven and a half feet tall when wearing his full kit. Without armor, Orlan was thick chested, hairy, and had a face that looked as though it had once been handsome, but had been stepped on too many times. His eyes were watery and sickly, almost clear. Kin never trusted Orlan’s eyes, even before the man betrayed him. If Orlan recognized him—and he would—he wouldn’t hesitate to kill Kin.

“This isn’t the most direct path to the meeting hall,” the trooper said.

“Did your computer tell you that?” Kin asked.

“The computer is correct. Don’t you know your town?”

Kin shrugged. “I know this place like the back of my hand. I also know that if I walk down Main Street, people will see me and want to talk. It’ll take three days to get to the meeting hall.” Kin was impressed with his own bullshit. He picked his course to avoid Orlan, who would be shaking down Crater Town citizens like the thug he was.

Hellsbreach memories, ever present, rose to the surface. He took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled slowly. The urge to close his eyes was strong, almost as strong as the desire to return to his bed and sleep the day away. He never yielded to the post-traumatic stress and the melancholy that came with it.

Anxiety could give way to manic euphoria, much as it had when he realized he survived the first Reaper attack, but he didn’t know whether other veterans felt the same. He embraced the supercharged good feelings as often as he could, aware that he had probably lost his mind more than once. He scanned his environment and remained ready for anything, though the cinematic big screen in his head played continually.

Kin heard his younger voice screaming at his platoon as Reapers charged across sand and rocks. Sergeant Kin Roland, Class IV Weapons Master and unit commander, gathered his men and retreated behind a smoking row of Colossal Class Battle Tanks. The Fleet’s war machines leveled two cities before the Reaper ambush annihilated them.

Kin glanced at the unit motto stenciled on the side of an armor panel. Unstoppable HOE.

Unstoppable Hell on Earth. Tanker humor.

“First and Third squads, choose your targets. Fire at will.”

How do animals without heavy weapons destroy a CCBT column?

Burns tattooed broken hatches. Metal rods jutted from multiple barrels of each tank. Segmented wheel treads stretched across the ground—dead metallic snakes—sad, lost, and betrayed.

“Second and Fourth squads, hold right and left flanks.”

Hundreds of deadly humanoids charged Kin’s unit, armed with fists of lightning that they could throw a hundred meters and swords wreathed in fire. He had never seen Reapers like this. They reminded him of shock troops, aggressive and well-armed. Their leader carried a whip that cut burning arcs in the air, splashing acid in all directions. Weapons were a new development for Reapers but their fearsome ingenuity unnerved Kin.

The Reapers roared, voices full of clicks and scraping sounds.

“Double perimeter,” he ordered.

His best troopers moved to fire large caliber rifles and plasma guns, using the damaged tanks as cover. Some climbed on the twisted metal turrets for better advantage. They opened fire. Scores of enemies went down. Few stayed down.

“Fall back,” Kin ordered.

The outer line of soldiers ran for cover while the second team opened fire to protect them as they hustled toward new positions. Kin’s unit was being pushed back as far as they could go without fleeing into the desert. No cover or concealment existed beyond the Tanks. The Reapers would drive them beyond any source of water or refuge. One step into the sandy waste was a death sentence.

His unit fired weapons, but started edging back. They were good soldiers, but every one of them had seen how the Reapers fought. They didn’t kill in battle. That came afterward, when there was time for torture. The beasts liked to eat living meat.

“Stand fast! Hold your ground!” he yelled, when his men looked like they were about to break. “Hand to hand. Weapons up.”

Kin led the way with a sharp bayonet. He fired, charging into the wave of Reapers, never pausing to reload. The fight was close, bloody work, and he received more injuries through his armor than he could count. The rifle was torn from his hands. Without hesitation, he drew his sword—a weapon his superiors didn’t approve of—and thrust it through the mouth of a Reaper.

One of the psychotic beasts fell away from his attack after losing its hands. Another lost its head. The third refused to die even though the sword ran through its body. When he couldn’t free the blade, he abandoned it, hacking with the axe he pulled from the back of his armor. He didn’t see his unit through the enemies surrounding him, but had little time to search for them with Reapers slashing with claws and flaming weapons.

Just keep killing. Take care of business. Regroup later. But Kin knew there would be no time to regroup. Too many. I’m sorry, Becca, there are too many.

Mental images tormented him. He couldn’t understand the visions he saw, but felt each thought as a physical pressure in his brain. When he could no longer lift the axe or remain standing, he fell to his knees. Reapers pounced on him. He suddenly understood why he couldn’t see his unit. They had fled—every one of them.

Lost Hero

Changed by captivity and torture, hunted by the Reapers of Hellsbreach and wanted by Earth Fleet, Kin Roland hides on a lost planet near an unstable wormhole.

When a distant space battle propels a ravaged Earth Fleet Armada through the same wormhole, a Reaper follows, hunting for the man who burned his home world. Kin fights to save a mysterious native of Crashdown from the Reaper and learns there are worse things in the galaxy than the nightmare hunting him. The end is coming and he is about to pay for a sin that will change the galaxy forever. 

Books

Enemy of Man: Book One in the Chronicles of Kin Roland was written for fans of military science fiction and science fiction adventure. Readers who enjoyed Starship Troopers or Space Marines will appreciate this genre variation. Powered armor only gets a soldier so far. Battlefield experience, guts, and loyal friends make Armageddon fun. 

Movies

If you love movies like Aliens, Predator, The Chronicles of Riddick, or Serenity, then you might find the heroes and creatures in Enemy of Man dangerous, determined, and ready to risk it all. It’s all about action and suspense, with a dash of romance—or perhaps flash romance. 

From the Author

Thanks for your interest in my novel, Enemy of Man. I hope you chose to read the book and enjoy every page. 

If you have already read Enemy of Man, how was it? Reviews are appreciated! 

Have a great day and be safe.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Science Fiction

Rating – R

More details about the author

 Connect with Scott Moon on Facebook & Twitter

UNFINISHED BUSINESS #Excerpt by @Ted_Tayler #Thriller #AmReading #MustRead

After a brisk ten minute walk Colin was stood on the pavement opposite the Aberdeen Music Hall, the venue for the first gig on Maiden’s Hair’s mini tour of the United Kingdom. He gazed at the magnificent pillared façade of the former Assembly Rooms and reckoned it was an appropriate setting for its band members who were paying tribute to legends of the heavy metal music genre that he had always enjoyed.

He crossed the road and searched out the poster advertising that night’s performance. There were no surprises; every detail on the billboard was exactly as Colin had included in his laptop file. There were six group members, all Canadian born and bred. Although the original members of the real Iron Maiden were now in their mid fifties, these young men were in their early thirties, with toned muscular bodies and a full head of hair nestling on their shoulders. Each one was every inch the rock god that they were imitating from the original band as they looked out from the billboard dressed in their ubiquitous denim and leather uniform.

Gabriel Anderson the dark haired lead singer with a pilot’s cap under his arm; Vincent Gagnon, Jordan Campbell and Nick Williams who provided the three guitar identity of the legends they were paying homage to. Jordan’s twin brother John was eerily like Nicko, Maiden’s drummer and Brandon Taylor completed the line up on bass as he mimicked Steve Harris, Maiden’s founder member. Colin was mesmerised. He couldn’t wait to hear them play tonight; if only it could have been Iron Maiden themselves! Still, he had to admit that the playlist was everything it should be, all the early favourites and a few of the newer tracks as well.

Colin’s stomach was telling him he had missed breakfast. He checked around the sides and back of the imposing Music Hall building to make certain everything was where he thought and then he walked down Union Street to find somewhere to eat. When he was fed and watered he made his way the short distance to the public library, where he spent several hours whiling away the time until he had calculated that the Maiden’s Hair entourage would arrive, ready to prepare for tonight’s gig.

Around three o’clock in the afternoon, Colin wandered back in the drizzly rain and sure enough a large Mercedes truck was parked up by the stage doors of the Music Hall. There were two roadies and it was evident to Colin that they had only just started unloading gear from the back of the truck. A couple of young lads were fetching and carrying smaller items, such as boxes of microphones, metre upon metre of leads, microphone stands, plus all the paraphernalia a drum kit comprises, all enclosed in battered old covers. The heavy lifting and manoeuvring of amplifiers, speakers, PA systems and lighting rigs was best left to the professionals!

Colin approached the older roadie and asked ‘Frankie?’

‘Yes mate. What can I do you for?’ Frankie replied in an accent not from Montreal or Ottawa but straight from London’s East End.

‘The tour management sent me up to give you a hand. I’ve just got back from several years abroad and I need to get some time in driving on the left hand side of the road again! I guess the extra pair of hands will be useful setting up too?’ Colin said.

‘Brilliant!’ said Frankie ‘Billy’s inside with a couple of staff from this place and I’m just going to start offloading the heavy stuff. If you want to pitch in you’re more than welcome mate!’

Colin took hold of the speaker cabinet Frankie shoved towards him, hoisted it easily onto his chest and walked into the building. As he walked towards the stage he had a brief smile at the corner of his mouth. One phone call to a dim young girl in London at the tour management company’s offices and he had discovered the lead roadie’s name; it was like taking candy from a baby! Neither Frankie nor Billy was going to check up on him. They would be only too happy that there was an extra pair of hands around to help with all the grafting and driving that they had to do; when you’re pretty much on minimum wage why sweat it?

The next couple of hours were spent getting the kit onto the stage and setting it up. Colin had seen it done hundreds of times on a smaller scale in The Crown and had studied footage on ‘how to’ online, so he coped well enough on the stuff he was comfortable with and steered clear of anything that was foreign to him. He watched Frankie and Billy in action and made mental notes of the various steps he needed to go through on later gigs on the lighting rigs for instance, to stop anyone asking exactly where and what he was doing when he was overseas. Life on the road as a road manager is one helluva lot tougher than lounging about with a cocktail in your hand on the veranda of a luxury villa, but Colin was pretty fit for a guy in his early forties and he had his eyes on the main prize. Travelling with Maiden’s Hair and listening to them play virtually each night was a bonus. Each gig was taking him closer and closer to his first task; to avenge the death of his precious daughter.

The sequel to the award winning ‘The Final Straw’ sees Colin Bailey return to the UK after almost a decade abroad. With a new name and a new face he still has scores to settle. His meticulous planning takes him ingeniously across Scotland and the North of England ticking names off his list with the police completely baffled. 

DCI Phil Hounsell pitted his wits against Colin before and so he is sent to Durham where he teams up with super intelligent young DS Zara Wheeler; together they track their man to Manchester and then eventually south to Bath. 

The final scenes take place on the streets of the Roman city; Phil Hounsell’s family is threatened and in a dramatic conclusion reminiscent of Holmes and Moriarty at the Reichenbach Falls, the two men struggle above the foaming waters of the historic Pulteney weir. 

Buy Now @ Amazon & Smashwords

Genre – Thriller

Rating – PG-18

More details about the author

Connect with Ted Tayler on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://tedtayler.co.uk/

Rising Tide: Dark Innocence (Maura DeLuca Trilogy) by Claudette Melanson @Bella623 #PNR #YA

The bell rang, and we all moved to take our trays to the dishwasher.  I was trying to imagine whether Caelyn would be happy or not about my intended gift, so I really wasn’t paying much attention to where I was walking, my eyes focused on the half brownie I’d left uneaten in the corner of the tray.  I jerked my head up as I crashed into the back of the boy in front of me.  I watched in horror as my opened, but untouched, milk carton tipped over to soak the back of his dark, blue shirt, from the middle of his back to his waist.  It would be my luck that Wendy was right across from me in the second line.  She doubled over with laughter, dropping her own tray to the ground with a resounding clatter.  Every head in the lunchroom turned in our direction.

My face was so hot I felt like my head might explode.  I wanted to run away…desperately.  But my feet remained frozen to the floor, my face a mask of horror, waiting for the wrath of the human in front of me to rain down on my head.  He turned around slowly, his large, brown eyes full of shock.  I’d seen him around the school.  A senior.  My heart bounced out palpitations of fear.

Despite that, I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he was.

“Wow…that is cold!”  Not exactly what I was expecting, but he could have said way worse.

“I-I-Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I stammered.

He smiled…smiled…at me then.  It was one of those smiles that you know the person is putting their whole heart into.  His brown hair fell over his forehead, to one side, in careless bangs, the rest was long, tied into a ponytail that fell halfway down his back.  Before he’d turned around I hadn’t missed that the ends of it were also milksoaked, like his poor shirt.  He had full lips that were the perfect shade of pink, like the inside of a seashell.  They were spread wide in that cherubic smile of his.  Despite my terror, I was instantly smitten.

CHOSEN AS ONE OF 400 FOR THE SECOND ROUND OF THE AMAZON BREAKTHROUGH NOVEL AWARD FOR 2014!!!

ARE YOU A FAN OF VAMPIRE ROMANCE?

Rising Tide will sink it's teeth into you, keeping you awake into the wee hours of the night

Maura's life just can't get any worse...or can it?

Isolated and sheltered by her lonely mother, Maura's never been the best at making friends. Unusually pale with a disease-like aversion to the sun, she seems to drive her classmates away, but why?

Even her own father deserted her, and her mother, before Maura was born. Bizarre physical changes her mother seems hell bent on ignoring, drive Maura to fear for her own life. And her luck just seems to get worse.

Life is about to become even more bewildering when her mother's abrupt...and unexplained...decision to move a country away sets off a chain of events that will change Maura forever. A cruel prank turned deadly, the discovery of love and friendship....and its loss, as well as a web of her own mother's lies, become obstacles in Maura's desperate search for a truth she was never prepared to uncover.

Featured on one of the most popular health blogs on the internet as a giveaway!

Be sure to check out the blog on Maria Mind Body Health to win a free copy today! Go to Mariamindbodyhealth.com and check out the blog Chicken “Wild Rice” Soup for your chance to win!

Offered as a giveaway on Goodreads!

Head over to Goodreads for a chance to score a free copy today!

Featured on Litpick.com

Offer a review of Rising Tide on Litpick.com

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – YA Paranormal Romance

Rating – PG

More details about the author

Connect with Claudette Melanson on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://claudettemelanson.wix.com/author

NIGHT'S FAVOUR by Richard Parry @TactualRain #AmReading #Action #Fantasy

“We’ve got the prints back.”  Elliot banished the serenity with practiced ease.

Carlisle looked up from her computer — fucking thing — and gave her partner a stare.  “Prints?  From what?  The meticulously clean van?  Or from inside the bar with the ten thousand other prints?  No — you’ve got good news, I can see it from your face.  Something from the shotgun?”

Elliot’s smirk was almost unholy.  “You work too hard.  Maybe you should just take the rest of the day off.  Shoot some pool.  You’re clearly not made out for the long hours of real police work.”  He had a manila file, CONFIDENTIAL in faded red ink blocked out in capitals on the front.  He tapped on it with a finger.  “Leave this one to us.”

“You’re just sore you lost the bet.”

“I didn’t lose the bet.  It’s just been… deferred.”

“Deferred my ass.”  The murderer had been meticulous enough to stack the bodies in a single location, but had left two things out of place.  One, a body impaled on an elephant — sans head — and two, a severed hand.  The body had printed easily, ex-military records describing a man better off dead.  Sealed file, no name, but the memo from Defence had described an SAS officer deployed into Afghanistan, then dishonourably discharged.  The only thing longer than the crimes against noncombatants was the list of heroic missions.  The memo had politely suggested they contact Ebonlake Associates, a private security contractor known to pay good rates for men with moral flexibility.

It was on her to-do list.

No, the bet was all about the hand.  Elliot thought it had simply been misplaced, that they’d find a matching right hand, or maybe an arm.  Carlisle didn’t think so — the killer was too particular.  Forensics had done a pretty good job of assembling near complete cadavers from the remains, only a few pieces still out of place.  Smart money was on the hand belonging to someone who got away.

So far Carlisle was in the lead.  The hand hadn’t matched any of the bodies.  Sure, it was possible that it was all that remained of someone, but the killer hadn’t seemed to take trophies.  Complete corpses remained, albeit disassembled.  It wasn’t conclusive, but it wasn’t looking good for Elliot.

“Prints from the hand on the sidewalk.  Valentine Everard, works in computers.  Haven’t been able to track down his boss yet.  Everard’s on file — we got him for DUI a couple years back.”  Elliot flipped a page in the file.  “Here it is.  Vehicular homicide.”

“Let me guess.  He’s not turned up at the hospital yet?”  They’d thrown up nothing but dead ends at the ER when they called from the scene, the staff harried and unhelpful.  Yes, they were sure that they’d have noticed someone coming in without a hand.  Of course they’d call if something turned up.

“Nada.”  If anything, the smirk grew wider.  “So why’s a guy missing his left hand not turn up to the ER?”

Carlisle turned off her screen, grabbing her jacket from where it hung in a crumpled mess over the back of her chair.  “The only reason I wouldn’t go to the hospital is if I’d just killed twenty guys.”  One arm through her jacket sleeve, she scrabbled around the clutter on her desk for a notebook.  “What I don’t get is why you’re so happy.  This is only going to prove that I’ve won the bet.”

Elliot nodded.  “I just took your view, opened an office pool.  I might lose to you, but I’m going to win against — so far — five other fine detectives.”

“Even if you lose, you win?”

“Yep.”

Valentine’s an ordinary guy with ordinary problems. His boss is an asshole. He’s an alcoholic. And he’s getting that middle age spread just a bit too early. One night — the one night he can’t remember — changes everything. What happened at the popular downtown bar, The Elephant Blues? Why is Biomne, the largest pharmaceutical company in the world, so interested in him — and the virus he carries? How is he getting stronger, faster, and more fit? And what’s the connection between Valentine and the criminally insane Russian, Volk?

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Genre – Action, Thriller, Urban Fantasy

Rating – R16

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 Connect with Richard Parry on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://www.rage.net.nz

High Maga by Karin Rita Gastreich @EolynChronicles #AmReading #Fantasy #GoodReads

The energy of the forest pulsed at their feet, poised to respond to his bidding.

“There is your magic, Sir Borten,” Eolyn said, “Now here is what you must do. Bring together all the elements you just told me about, the earth beneath you, the air in your lungs, the water in your cup, and the fire in your heart. Imagine all of it coming together into a single brilliant point of light, and when you see that light, repeat these words: Ehekahtu naeom tzefur. Ehukae.”

The night thickened with his effort. After a moment, magic coursed up from the ground through his legs, filling his torso, wrapping around his heart. The strength of the vortex pulled a second current from Eolyn, and her magic tingled as it passed from her hands into his back. He drew a steady breath and exhaled the verse.

Eolyn withdrew.

Borten turned to face her. Steam rose from the water. His expression was incredulous, jubilant.

Eolyn clapped her hands in joy. “You see, Sir Borten? It is not so difficult after—”

Agonized screams ripped through her words. With a frightened cry, Eolyn took off toward the girls. She burst into the adjacent clearing and stopped short at the sight of a beast that swayed on long glowing limbs, a set of gaping pits where the eyes and mouth should have been. In one ebony-clawed hand it held Sirena, her chest torn open from throat to sternum, the shredded bodice black with blood.

Eolyn’s vision blurred. Her heart imploded. She clutched at her ribs, breath reduced to ragged gasps, knees buckling beneath her. Borten caught one arm and hauled her to her feet. Their eyes met.

All your senses open.

The knight released her and approached the monster with sword drawn.

Eolyn forced back the grief that had scattered her thoughts.

All your spirit focused on the task at hand.

Mariel crouched in the shadows, clutching Eolyn’s staff. Tears streamed down the girl’s face. Her shoulders shook like leaves on the wind.

“Mariel.” Eolyn’s voice was calm. “Set down my staff and climb the beech behind you, as quick and high as you can.”

“But Maga Eolyn—”

“Do as I say. If this goes badly, you are not to come down until dawn.”

With a sob the young maga fled up the tree. Eolyn called the staff to her. The water crystal ignited, casting an ivory light over the dwindling fire, illuminating the creature in full. The beast groaned, a needy howl born of insatiable hunger.

Eolyn stepped forward, coming around to Borten’s left.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered.

“Your sword may not be enough,” she replied.

Lands Ravaged. Dreams destroyed. Demons set loose upon the earth.

War strikes at the heart of women’s magic in Moisehén. Eolyn’s fledgling community of magas is destroyed; its members killed, captured or scattered.

Devastated yet undaunted, Eolyn seeks to escape the occupied province and deliver to King Akmael a weapon that might secure their victory. But even a High Maga cannot survive this enemy alone. Aided by the enigmatic Mage Corey, Eolyn battles the darkest forces of the Underworld, only to discover she is a mere path to the magic that most ignites their hunger.

What can stop this tide of terror and vengeance? The answer lies in Eolyn’s forgotten love, and in its power to engender seeds of renewed hope.

HIGH MAGA is the companion novel to EOLYN, also available from Hadley Rille Books.

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Genre – Epic Fantasy

Rating – PG-13

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Connect with Karin Rita Gastreich on Facebook & Twitter

Blog http://eolynchronicles.blogspot.com