Almost Royalty – Worst Breakup Ever Contest (International)

Almost Royalty – Worst Breakup Ever Contest (International)

Almost Royalty – Worst Breakup Ever Contest (International) Courtney Hamilton’s “Worst Breakup Ever” Contest (International)

Courtney Hamilton is giving away a signed copy of her novel, Almost Royalty, to the top 2 winners! To enter, all you have to do is tell her:
What is your “Worst Breakup Ever” experience? Share your story in the comment section below.



After the contest has ended, Courtney will personally read every participant’s entry and pick the top 2 worst breakup stories. The winners will be announced through Courtney’s Facebook page, Twitter, and blog. This contest will also be hosted on various blogs, social media sites, and forums found in the “Participating Websites” section of this post.
Only 99¢



Enjoy the “Worst Break up Ever” contest and, for the first time, download your Kindle copy of Almost Royalty by Courtney Hamilton for only 99¢!

Download the novel here:

Terms and Conditions for Entry Eligibility
No purchase necessary to enter. Sponsored by Forrest Thompson Publishers. Giveaway ends August 5, 2014 at 11:59 PM (PST). Open Internationally. 18+ years of age. Void where prohibited. Winners will be announced on Courtney Hamilton’s blog at, Eco-chain of Dating Facebook Page, and @ecochaindating. Winners have 48 hours to claim their prize once they are chosen, or their winnings will be forfeited. By entering the giveaway, you give Courtney Hamilton and Forrest Thompson Publishers permission to repost your story or recite it in a video for media purposes. Forrest Thompson Publishers reserves the right to withdraw or terminate this contest at any time without prior notice.
Participating Websites: The full list of participants in Courtney’s “Worst Breakup Ever” Contest is available on her blog at:

Let the Worst Breakup Stories Ever begin!



Guest Author Heather Hildenbrand Q & A

Guest Author Heather Hildenbrand Q & A

33-2Babs….When did you know you wanted to write?

Heather …. Hmm. Well, I loved writing when I was a teen but I had no idea back then that you could write and make a living at it. Besides, most of what I wrote back then was angsty poetry and other hormonal-infused stuff that teens write/think about. SO, I guess I would have to say in 2010, when I wrote my first novel, is when I officially “knew.”

Babs…..What would you like your readers to get out of books?

Heather …. TRUE LOVE is NOT just a fantasy. All that romantic love and passionate warm fuzzy stuff IS real. I know, because I found it.

Babs…..Do you have a current project in the works?

Heather… Yes! I have a surprise coming on 7/29. A project so big and new that I can’t talk about it until July 29 when it drops. But it’s super exciting and involves one of my current series. I can’t wait to tell you guys!

Babs…..Do you have a ritual when you are writing? ie coffee, music, food etc

Heather … Silence. I write best to silence. No kids yelling in the background. No music. No movies. Sometimes, I wish I could be like some of my writer friends and work while watching movies–maybe then I would be more caught up on Vampire Diaries–but sadly, I cannot. Silence works best for me. I like the quiet.

Babs…..Hobbies outside of writing?

Heather… motorcycles! I have 3. 2 in Virginia and 1 in Guam. (I live in both places depending on the month of the year.) I love motorcycles and the beach. Luckily, I live near the ocean regardless of which house I’m spending time at.

Babs….What book or books are you currently reading?

Heather… I JUST finished Unravel Me by Tehereh Mafi *sigh* I LOVE her brain. I would marry it. For real.

Babs….If you could be one character from one of your books who would it be?

Heather …. I sort of feel like I AM Summer from A Risk Worth Taking. That one is based on the  true story of my love life. But since I based her on me, let’s pick a different one. Hmm. I would have to say Victoria from the Dirty Blood series. I like her tough choices more than some of my other characters’ tough choices, if that makes sense.

Babs…Favorite drink?

Heather… coffee. and wine. and sangria from thisrestaurant in Guam that I love

Babs…..What is your favorite ice cream?

Heather … anything with the words “fudge” and “brownie” in it. Preferably together.

Babs….What is your favorite food?

Heather … chips and salsa. And anything with a tortilla.

Babs…Anything else you would like to add? ( links to any blogs/sites to follow etc)

Heather .. here’s my “stalker” links. I am mostly on FB — especially when I’m supposed to be writing. So, find me and let’s talk books!

Thank you for taking the time to answer these questions and being a guest on the blog.

Heather … thanks for having me!


Heather Hildenbrand was born and raised in a small town in northern Virginia where she was homeschooled through high school. Since 2011, she’s published more than eight YA & NA novels including the bestselling Dirty Blood series. She splits her time between coastal Virginia and the island of Guam and loves having a mobile career and outrageous lifestyle of living in two places.

Heather is also a publishing and success coach bent on equipping and educating artists who call themselves authors. She loves teaching fellow writers how to create the same freedom-based lifestyle she enjoys. For more information and find out how to create your own OutRAGEous Life.


#ReadOn July 19 4pm EST #interview with @coreenecallahan @authorJPSummers with #Giveaway via @CrossroadReview

#ReadOn July 19 4pm EST #interview with @coreenecallahan @authorJPSummers with #Giveaway via @CrossroadReview

#Join #ReadOn July 19 4pm est #interview with @coreenecallahan and @authorJPSummers with #Giveaway via @CrossroadReview

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Spotlight on Ella James

Spotlight on Ella James


Red & Wolfe Part One by Ella James

Contemporary Erotica Novella

When Sarah “Red” Ryder loses her job as an art critic for a Boston newspaper, she’s brokenhearted. Worse than that? She’s broke. Her boyfriend recently left her – for a tatted-up hottie with a dick – so she’s stuck paying her hefty apartment rent alone. After two months unemployed, there’s no money left. With no immediate family to turn to, Red reaches out to her estranged grandmother, a reclusive writer living on an island off the coast of Charleston. Several days later, Red receives $30,000 and an invitation to visit.

James Wolfe is not Red’s grandmother. But he beckons her. Red has the ability to give him something he needs. He won’t take “no” for an answer, and he doesn’t mind screwing her over. He lost his conscience six years ago, when he was tried for the murder of his wife. Since then, life is about him – and the paintings he does under the mysterious pseudonym “W.”

Wolfe needs the island to keep painting. To live his life away from prying eyes. To keep up the anonymity of “W.”

Once he sees Red, he finds that he needs her, too. And Wolfe will have her. Any way he can.

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About Ella James

Ella James is a Colorado author who writes teen and adult romance. She is happily married to a man who knows how to wield a red pen, and together they are raising a feisty two-year-old who will probably grow up believing everyone’s parents go to war over the placement of a comma.

Ella’s books have been listed on numerous Amazon bestseller lists, including the Movers & Shakers list and the Amazon Top 100; two were listed among Amazon’s Top 100 Young Adult Ebooks of 2012.

Website / Twitter / Facebook



The Silence by Alison Bruce Tour July 2014 & Giveaway

The Silence

by Alison Bruce

on Tour July 2014

Book Details:

Genre: Fiction, Thriller, Crime

Published by: Witness Impulse

Publication Date: 06/24/2014

Number of Pages: 293

ISBN: 9780062314208

Purchase Links:


DC Gary Goodhew searches for the link between an old woman’s terminal illness, a brutal murder, and a series of suicides in Cambridge.
Joey McCarthy is stabbed to death in a parking lot in a random act of violence. Shortly afterward, Charlotte Stone’s terminally ill mother dies and then, within weeks, two of her teenage friends commit suicide. With her home life disintegrating and both her father and brother racing toward self-destruction, Charlotte realizes that her own personal nightmare is just beginning.
When Gary Goodhew, a loveable, warm-hearted detective, finds the body of another suicide victim, he is forced to recall some deeply buried memories of an investigation that had a profound effect on him-memories that lead him to Charlotte Stone. Working together, they begin to wonder whether all these tragedies are somehow linked. And if they are, who will be the next victim?


a Rafflecopter giveaway

Read an excerpt:


Libby wrote: Hi, Zoe, thanks for the friend request. How are you? I

heard you died.

‘Doing well for a dead person. LOL.’

There was a gap of a few minutes before Libby replied. Sorry, that was bad taste.

Then there was a gap of a few minutes more.

‘I heard about your sister,’ Zoe wrote. ‘You know she was in my year

at school?’

Of course. Your profile picture comes from your class photo. I think you’re standing just behind Rosie. She’s got a funny look on her face, told me once how you pulled her hair just as the flash went off.

‘Yeah, I was in the back row and we were all standing on gym benches. The kids in her row were messing around, trying to get us to fall off. Mrs Hurley saw me wobble and yelled at me. I tugged Rosie’s hair to get my own back. I reckon that was Year Seven or Eight. I don’t remem- ber seeing Rosie much after that.’

Libby had hesitated over the keyboard. She didn’t want this to become nothing more than awkward and pointless chit-chat. She had an opportunity here and, although she guessed it was going to be difficult to get things started, she knew that she needed to do it.

I have a proposition . . . a favour, I suppose. You see, I don’t have anyone to talk to. Rosie’s death left a hole, but there’s more and, if I’m honest, I’m struggling a bit. I’ve tried writing it down, but it just doesn’t

work. I get so far, then I’m stuck. So I wondered if I could message you?

‘Do you think that would work?’

I don’t know, but I’d like to try. I thought you might ask me some ques- tions, prompt me to look at things differently. Or maybe I just need to let things out, I’m not sure. The point is, I need to talk.

Those first messages took up little space on her computer screen, yet Libby felt as though getting even that far had taken up the equivalent effort of a 2,000-word essay. She had worked hard to balance her words, to load them equally between truthfulness and understatement. I need to talk had been a tough admission, as it stank of being unable to cope. The last thing she had wanted, through all of this, had been to load anyone else with any part of this burden. But she now accepted that it was the only way to move forward. She thought of Nathan and wished she could speak to him or her parents even, but they were almost as inac- cessible as her brother.

And what about Matt?

No, when she looked at him she recognized what other people saw when they looked at her. It was a hollowness that scared her.

She read Zoe’s ‘Okay’ and nodded to herself. This was something

she had to do.

I’m not sure where to start, she told Zoe.

‘Begin with Rosie.’

Libby took a deep breath. Rosie, Rosie.

Rosie was in your year, Nathan was one year below, and then there was me, two years below him. I’m 18 now, just to save you working it out, and I’m at sixth form college. The course is a bunch of ‘A’ levels and the college propectus calls them a ‘Foundation in Accountancy’. I’d always wanted to work with small children, but I assumed I’d just leave school and get a job in an office or something.

Instead I chose this course. I gave them all the spiel but, in truth, the only reason I’m doing it is because they were the same ‘A’ levels that Rosie took. She was going to get a degree. She wanted to be a primary school teacher one day, and I bet she would have managed it.

I’m explaining it this way because it shows what Rosie and I were

like; how we were similar but different. On a parallel track except I was always a little bit behind, and a little bit in her shadow.

‘But she was three years older?’

Yes, and I’m almost the same age now, but I still haven’t caught up with her in so many ways. And you’re misunderstanding me if you think I feel that’s a bad thing. I was happy in her shadow: it was always a safe and comfortable place to be.

For my entire childhood I could look up and see Rosie and Nathan. Rosie teased Nathan, and Nathan teased me; that was our pecking order. And if Nathan ever upset me, Rosie stepped in, or the other way round.

I can’t remember one single time when I didn’t have one or other of them to look after me.

Anyhow, now I feel like I need to follow in her footsteps, at least for a little while. I’m not ready to let go of her yet, so I sit in the same lectures and try my hardest to get grades as good as hers. That’s what got me through school. It’s like she’s been there before me and I can feel her looking over my shoulder. She says ‘Go on, Bibs, you can do it.’ No one calls me Bibs any more, and I wouldn’t want them to.

Then after a gap of almost twenty minutes, Libby added, Can I mes- sage you tomorrow?

‘Of course.’


What do you know about Rosie’s death?

‘Just bits and pieces – you know how fragments of information fly about.’

Can I tell you?

‘Only if you want to.’

The short version is that she went to the cinema and never came back. The short version is important to remember, because to me that’s how it happened. I was in my bedroom – my hair was three or four inches longer then, and I was straightening it. Rosie heard me swear- ing, came into the room and finished the section that I couldn’t reach properly.

I told her she looked nice, but I was too wrapped up in my own night out to pay her much attention; later that night, Mum and Dad asked me what she’d been wearing and I just couldn’t remember. I knew that, when she put the hair straighteners on my dressing-table, I noticed that she’d had her nails repainted a slightly metallic shade of purple.

And that’s really all I could remember. I can’t remember which cinema, which film or if she said who she was going with. I can’t remember a single word she said, just the touch of her fingers as she separated the strands of my hair, and the colour of her nails as she finished.

I tell myself that I can’t remember all those things because I never knew them, that she’d never shared the details with me. I don’t believe though that she would have ever gone to watch a film on her own. And I find it equally hard to believe that I wouldn’t have said, ‘Who are you going with?’

I went to the beauty salon a couple of weeks later and bought a bottle of that same nail polish. I’ve still got it in my drawer.

I returned home just before 1 a.m. I came back in a taxi and, as it pulled up, I noticed the lights on in our front room, with the cur- tains open. I could make out Mum and Dad standing apart from one another. It was only a brief glimpse but I felt uneasy and hurried inside.

Nathan was there too. You can see our kitchen as soon as you walk through the front door and he was standing by the kettle, pouring boil- ing water into three mugs.

‘What’s happened?’ I mouthed at him.

‘They tried to ring you because they can’t get hold of Rosie. But your

phone was off.’

In that case, I reasoned, they wouldn’t get hold of me either, would they? Why were they so worried about her when they weren’t worried about me?

I can’t really remember how I felt at that moment. I think I wondered why there was this amount of fuss. Or maybe I realized something was up. Mum’s always been a bit paranoid, and Rosie had only passed her driving test a few months before.

Dad called through from the front room and asked me what Rosie had said to me about her plans for the evening. Mum snapped at him, told him to get to the point. He snapped back.

Then he turned to me and started, ‘It’s probably nothing, but . . .’ Even now those words always fill me with dread.

Rosie had told Mum that she’d be back by eleven. No biggie on its own, but Nathan had been playing an away match for the Carlton Arms pool team, and she’d promised him a lift home. Her phone kept going straight to voicemail, so he waited for her till 11.30, then rang our par- ents as he walked home.

Like I said, it never took much to make Mum start worrying, and this was plenty. Nathan said she’d made Dad phone the police at half-past midnight. I suppose there wasn’t much the police could say at that point, except to let us know that they’d had no incidents involving anyone called Rose, Rosie or Rosalyn, or with the surname Brett.

Straight after I got home, Mum told him to call the police again. He was kept on hold for a while, and said they were being very polite and understanding, but I could tell that they’d left him with the feeling that he was totally overreacting.

I don’t know if you remember much about my dad, but he’s a stub- born bloke, and when he makes his mind up about something, it’s really hard to get him to shift. ‘That’s enough now,’ he decided, and demanded that we all go and get some sleep.

So of course Mum started to argue with him, and he refused to budge. I looked at Nathan, and he just raised his eyebrows. It wasn’t like we hadn’t seen it all countless times before.

We left them there to wrangle, although I don’t remember hearing another sound from them.

I lay down on my bed fully dressed, and let the rest of the house think I’d gone to sleep. I heard Nathan’s door close, and imagined him in the next room, doing exactly the same. I don’t think I slept at all. Maybe it wasn’t like that, but that’s how I remember it.

If I did stay awake, it wasn’t because I was scared for Rosie. I didn’t believe for one second that I’d never see her again. It was more that I kind of felt out of kilter.

Funny phrase that: out of kilter. I don’t even know what a kilter is. And that’s the point. I knew something was up, but I didn’t have enough experience to guess . . .

Libby’s intended words had trailed off to nothing. The minutes ticked by as she tried to finish the paragraph, but didn’t think she could. For a moment she was tempted to delete the whole page, but that would amount to avoiding talking about Rosie. She could promise herself to type it again, but she knew that it wouldn’t happen.

She pressed ‘send’.

Zoe’s reply was typically short: ‘Can you tell me what happened?’ Libby gave a little smile. In Zoe’s photo she had cropped dark hair

and the type of face that looked serious even in the middle of a grin. Zoe didn’t need her messages surrounded by frilly words. This was exactly the reason she had picked Zoe to talk to; with her it was okay to be blunt, which in turn took away the excuse to give up. Libby typed quickly.

They found Rosie’s car first, parked up on a bridge crossing the A14. Her body was about half a mile away down on the carriageway. She’d been run over. More than that, actually, but I think, to explain it all . . . I just can’t do that right now.

Can I just say ‘multiple injuries’ and tell you the rest some other

time? The press referred to it as suicide.

The police were more cautious and listed other factors: bad weather, poor visibility, heavy traffic and so on. The A14 is notorious for its high accident rate. They never found out what had really happened. At least that’s what they told us, but I have a feeling that they did know. They just couldn’t prove it, and in the end, the verdict was left open.

I couldn’t grasp it at first. It didn’t seem possible. Even at Rosie’s funeral it didn’t seem real, then finally, when I understood that she really was dead, the questions started to form in my head. Little things at first. Had she ever made it to the cinema? Which film had she seen? Who had she gone with?

I asked myself: what was it that had prompted her to drive out any- where near the A14?

I also wondered how long it’d taken for her to die. I didn’t go to the inquest, Mum and Dad were there, but I could hardly ask them. It’s questions like that which make me worry that I have become overly morbid.

My list of questions grows, and I can’t stop it. And when I don’t have proper explanations, I start to invent the answers. It’s a bad habit and I feel like my life is only half lit now, and instead of looking to the light, I’m turning towards the darkest corners. I’ve got it into my head that there is some evil lurking just out of sight. And I’m straining to see it.

You see, I thought things couldn’t get worse, and that losing Rosie was enough.

In fact, it was enough. But what has happened since is too much.

Author Bio:

Alison Bruce was born in Surrey but moved to Cambridge in 1998. She is the author of three other Gary Goodhew books, Cambridge Blue, The Siren, and The Calling. She is married with two children.

Catch Up With the Alison:

Tour Participants:

Social Media do we really need it?

Social Media do we really need it?



I know what you are thinking, yes of course we need social media and you would be right.  No matter if we are a blogger, reader, author, publisher or agent we all need some type of social media.  Yes, it can be tiring or addicting depending on how you want to look at it.  There are going to be some we like more than others and some we just down right don’t want to use.  I won’t go into all of the ones listed above but a few that I like to use.

Twitter is good for starting conversations and getting to know your readers or authors.  The draw back, you only have 140 characters but with the use of hashtags and tiny urls it can be worth it.  There are some sites like Hootsuite that you can schedule your tweets so you don’t have to spend so much time on them.  You do need to be careful, you do not want to spam your followers with always saying buy my book etc etc.

Facebook is a good for sharing cover reveals, getting a signed contract from a publisher, sharing your authors to new readers, starting street teams or a special group for yourself. You can schedule posts on your page just like on Twitter so you don’t have to spend so much time on it. There are a lot more things you can do on Facebook such as parties and groups like mentioned before.

Pinterest is a good way to get your covers out to new readers. Easy to pin your covers and people can come by and re-pin it to their boards. A great way for new readers to find you and they can make a whole board just to your books.  A win win. It is easy to use once you get into it.

Some people don’t want to use social media but now a days it is relevant to get the word out about your books or authors to get noticed.


Author Sarah Greyson

Author Sarah Greyson

Today we have the honor of having a teaser and author info by Sarah Greyson.



“Guys wait here. Give Emma and I a minute alone please,” Michael requested, knowing how
anxious everyone was, knowing they only had a few precious minutes.
Michael led Emma into the living room by placing his hand on the small of her back. Just being
near her threw him off center. How could he function in a normal environment knowing how
she affected him? He led Emma to the other side of the room, away from the men and they
both looked out the window. Across the street the wind was battering some tangled wires and
Michael stood behind Emma wrapping his arms around her waist careful to avoid her injury.
“What is it,” he whispered into her ear.
She felt the familiar tingle down her spine at his breath in her ear. She pushed back, closer to
his chest. “Promise me something before you go . . .” she begged Michael.
“Anything,” he whispered inhaling her earthly scent.
“Promise me that . . .” Emma stared at her feet. How could she tell Michael everything she felt
for him? There weren’t words to explain what she was feeling, and she had an extensive
vocabulary. She didn’t even know how to put words to her feelings, because she never
bothered to name them or recognize them before. Words written by Gustave Flaubert from his
novel titled Madame Bovary came to her mind, “. . . human speech is like a cracked kettle on
which we tap crude rhythms for bears to dance to, while we long to make music that will melt
the stars.” The quote precisely summed up her feelings for Michael. She had no way to express
“What is it? You are starting to worry me,” he whispered against her neck.
Gathering her courage and her assertiveness, she asked, “Promise that you will come back to
me.” Michael exhaled the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Emma, that is one promise I will
gladly make.”
“But you have to keep it, Michael,” she said, fighting back the teardrops. If she looked at him now, she
would lose it. He turned her around and met her glistening eyes. She saw the emotions reflected back to
her. Tears streamed down her check, and he thumbed them away.




Sarah lives in Virginia with her husband, two children, and four spoiled animals. She earned her Bachelor’s Degree in Communications with a concentration in Professional Writing and her Master’s Degree in Education.

When she is not writing or spending time with her family, she loves reading sizzling romantic suspense novels that make her blush. She loves a glass of pinot grigio, back-yard barbecues with friends and family, and helping her kids with their homework (in that order).

Her interests span all genres: from Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger to Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury to Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen to Slave by Shari Hayes to The Art of Happiness by Dalai Lama XIV. Sarah’s favorite genres are contemporary romantic suspense and erotic suspense; the types of novels she crafts. While the concepts are familiar and comfortable, she brings her own unique story and personality to everything she writes. She loves the feeling of crafting a spicy, action-packed novel. Writing is her passion. She wants to leave her readers breathless after experiencing the intense ride that is her novel.







Twitter: @sarah_g_greyson

Guest Author Judith White

Guest Author Judith White


A Method to Madness is on sale from the 7-14 for Kindle for .99 cents.

It’s January 1943 and things are slow for Sam Flanagan, Detroit private detective. He’s about to call it a day and return to the woman he shares a home with; his eighty two year old grandmother, when in walks Chicago socialite Phyllis Killburn. She’s the daughter of the late tire tycoon, Alden Whitaker, and she’s got troubles. It seems her husband may be stepping out on her with another woman and he’s keeping a big secret as to his involvement with the military. She wants to know what’s going on and she’s willing to pay big bucks for the information. Sam travels to the Windy City and looks up his longtime friend, Harry Blevins, journalist for the Chicago Tribune. With Harry’s assistance, and with the inadvertent ramblings of his grandmother, will Sam be able to put all the pieces together to solve what is happening within the walls of the Whitaker Estate to stop a murder plot? The deeper Sam digs into the case, he uncovers more twists. Does Sam find a method to this madness?



Baker’s Keyboard Lounge, Detroit’s hotspot for jazz—it’s there that Sam runs into his childhood friend, Johnny Delbeck, and Johnny’s got a problem. A little over three months ago, Johnny and his wife, Grace, took in her niece. Myrna Lou Stevic had been nothing but trouble for her mother, Grace’s sister, and her step father. Grace thinks she can turn the girl’s behavior around by getting her into a new school and getting her involved in the church youth group. One Monday in April, the seventeen year old was sitting on the porch of the Delbeck’s Dearborn home one minute, and in the next, she was gone. Did she just walk away on her own—something she’s done in the past—or did something more sinister occur? This is what Johnny hires Sam to find out. Five days before Easter 1943, Sam tries to ensure her presence for the holiday. But when he starts asking questions, the picture others paint of this girl isn’t pretty, and it’s obvious there are few who really like her. The Detroit private detective wants to solve Johnny’s problem—and he wants the ending to be a good one. Can he find the girl and return her to the home in Dearborn, safe and sound?


10531142_10202758052012738_2022337182_nShe waltzed into his office on a hot Saturday in July. She wanted Sam to exonerate her husband of the charge of murder. But the murders occurred over nineteen years ago…and that wasn’t the worst of it! It happens that her husband was Carlo ‘the Confessor’ Andolucci, the once notorious Purple Gang member. Sam knew this name all too well…Carlo Andolucci had brought devastation to the Flanagan family. There was no way he’d take on this case to help this woman…or would he? Once he discusses the matter with others, he begins to hear a side of Andolucci he didn’t know. Had Sam held on to a belief that was wrong all these years? Only by rethinking his decision to take on this case will answer that.

Coming out soon….




About the author

Biography Judith G. White holds a degree in secondary education with a major in history from Western Michigan University. She currently works part time at The Henry Ford, America’s Greatest History Attraction, where her life has been enriched by meeting dignitaries, entertainment personalities and leaders in business and industry. She’s traveled throughout the lower forty eight states and toured Great Britain. History, reading, playing word and trivia games and, of course, writing, is what she likes best. She makes her home in a southern suburb of Detroit along with her husband, Jim; two children, Brandon and Erin; and two dogs, Sadie and Orie. Beginning with reading Nancy Drew at an early age, Judith loves the mystery genre and hopes her detective, Sam Flanagan, will be just as endearing to the public.

Musa Publishing

Musa Publishing


Have you heard of Musa Publishing?  Let me tell you about them you will be as surprised as I am.

Musa Publishing started on 2011 with four digital publishing professionals. They have made the dream a reality. Now that the reality is here, Musa has become the home to debut YA novelists and NYT/USA Today bestselling authors, award-winning books and literary chapbooks, the latest in speculative fiction to the lost treasures of an American science fiction pioneer—and all at reasonable, affordable prices. So whether you’re an author, looking for a home for your latest book, or a reader, looking for the best digital fiction without paying an arm and a leg for it, Musa has something for you.

And finally, Musa is committed to not only publishing new talent, but giving our writers, interns, and staff the knowledge and information they need to successfully negotiate the industry. We teach our authors how to promote themselves online and offline, giving them skills that every author from the Big Six to the tiniest micro-press needs in order to sell their books. We have created a master class program, where authors, agents, and other industry professionals teach everything from ‘how to write a proper query’ to ‘how to spot a scam agent or publisher’. With the tremendous sense of community already built among the Musa authors and staff, writers find that they aren’t negotiating the book industry all alone, but as a member of a tight-knit Musa family who stand at their sides, promoting and encouraging and congratulating them the entire way.

We currently have twelve imprints and one more on the way. Some genres are YA, YA-GBLT, Romance, Historical, Horror, Mystery/Suspense, and Paranormal, Speculative fiction, Erotic romance and much more. We have something for all readers. We offer specials and you can find more about those on our website. A few imprints have their own blog as well.

Penumbra is our Speculative Fiction Digital Magazine. Each issue comes out each month and right now, we have Penumbra eMag Volume 1 FREE. Please come check us out here.

So come by and check out some great books and you might just find a great new author and publisher.

Author Christina Mercer

Author Christina Mercer


Christina Mercer is an award-winning author of fiction for children and young adults. She took Writer’s Best in Show at the 2012 SCBWI CA North/Central Regional Conference, was a Semi-Finalist in the 2010 Amazon Breakout Novel Award Contest, and won Honorable Mention in the 21st Annual Writer’s Digest Self Published Book Awards. She holds a degree in Accounting from California State University at Sacramento and a Certificate in Herbal Studies from Clayton College of Natural Health. Christina resides in Northern California enjoying life with her husband, two sons, four dogs, and about 100,000 honeybees

                                             ~*~BOOK LIST~*~

Arrow of the Mist series
Honey Queen