#BookTour “Goldhammer (The James Flynn Escapades, Book 3)” by Haris Orkin

Goldhammer by Haris Orkin BannerJune 6 – July 1, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

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Synopsis:

 

A James Flynn Escapade

A young actress, involuntarily committed to City of Roses Psychiatric Hospital, plunges James Flynn into a dangerous new adventure when she claims one of the most powerful producers in Hollywood is trying to kill her.

Still convinced he’s a secret agent for Her Majesty’s Secret Service, Flynn springs into action, helps her escape and finds himself embroiled in a battle with a dangerous sociopath worth billions. In the process, he uncovers a high-tech conspiracy to control the mind of every human being on Earth.

With the help of his reluctant sidekick, Sancho, and a forgotten Hollywood sex symbol from the 1960s, Flynn faces off with Goldhammer and his private army in a desperate attempt to save the young actress…and save the world…once again.

Praise for Goldhammer:

“One of those books that has you laughing and turning pages well into the night.” —Len Boswell, Bestselling author of The Simon Grave Mysteries

“A riotous comic novel that’s also a legit page turner. A deftly plotted, swiftly paced thriller.” —R. Lee Procter, Author of The Million Dollar Sticky Note and Sugarball

“A fast-paced quixotic thriller that would make Miguel de Cervantes and Ian Fleming proud. The third James Flynn novel is a powerful cocktail of suspense, adrenaline and a whole lot of laughs. Orkin has the remarkable ability to keep the reader straddled between a genuine spy thriller and an off-the-wall comedy” —Joe Barret, Award-winning author of Managed Care

Book Details:

Genre: Comedy Thriller

Published by: Black Rose Writing

Publication Date: June 23rd 2022

Number of Pages: 240

ISBN: 1684339677 (ISBN-13: 978-1684339679)

Series: The James Flynn Escapades, Book 3 | Each is a stand-alone thriller

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

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Read an excerpt:

Chapter ONE

The Corsican wanted him dead.

Of that James Flynn was certain.

Somehow, the assassin had infiltrated Her Majesty’s Secret Service as a security officer. Flynn didn’t recognize him at first. The killer had put on a few pounds and likely had plastic surgery, but what he couldn’t disguise were his eyes. His cold, dark, pitiless eyes. The eyes of a sociopath. The eyes of an executioner.

The only question was when.

When would the Corsican come for him?

He told his colleagues what he suspected, but they refused to believe him. They claimed his name was Thomas Hernandez and that someone else on the security team had recommended him. They also said they fully vetted him. But Flynn wasn’t fooled. He tangled with the Corsican before. The man was relentless. A cold-blooded enforcer who started with the Corsican mafia but went on to do contract hits for the Sicilians, the Albanians, the Serbians, and the Russians.

Instead of waiting for the Corsican to come to him, Flynn decided to flush him out. Force his hand. Expose him for who he was and why he was there.

Flynn dressed in black denim and a black turtleneck and waited until 2 a.m. to make his move. He kept to the shadows as he trod the deserted corridors. He had no weapon since lethal weapons of any kind were now forbidden at headquarters. A foolish rule put in place by sheltered bureaucrats who had no clue. Luckily, not even security could carry a firearm at headquarters. All the Corsican had was an expandable baton and a Taser. Even so, the man was lethal enough with just his hands and feet.

But then, so was Flynn.

Flynn heard footsteps ahead and ducked into a conference room. He waited and listened as the footsteps drew closer. As they passed the doorway, Flynn peered into the corridor to see the Corsican lumbering forward, quietly peering in room after room. Suddenly, he stopped. Flynn felt a jolt of adrenaline. The air was electric. The silence palpable. Could the Corsican feel Flynn’s eyes on him? Flynn knew that scientists have identified a specialized group of neurons in the primate brain that fire specifically when a monkey is under the direct gaze of another. Humans also appear to be wired for that kind of gaze perception. Predators like Flynn and the Corsican can also be prey and have developed a sixth sense to alert them to danger.

The Corsican turned and he and Flynn locked eyes for a moment. Before the hit man could take a step, Flynn took off down the hall in the opposite direction. He heard the footfalls of the Corsican as he chased after him. Flynn had his route all mapped out. Darting down one corridor. Then another. Running until he arrived at a door that led down to the basement and the guts of the building. Flynn had picked the lock after dinner, knowing that this was the night he would lure the Corsican to his end. He had a license to kill and could have used it anytime, but Flynn didn’t exercise that power willy-nilly. Only as a last resort. He didn’t want the Corsican dead. He needed to know who put the price on his head. Otherwise who ever hired the killer would continue to send hitters until finally one succeeded.

The building that housed HMSS was huge and had a substantial infrastructure. The basement utility plant had mechanical, electrical, HVAC, and plumbing systems that fed water, air, and electricity all through the facility. Flynn moved from massive room to massive room, staying just ahead of the Corsican. He needed to lose him and lay in wait. Flynn was confident in his abilities, but to come at a killer like that head-on didn’t make much sense. Why give your opponents any edge at all?

Flynn ducked into a room that housed all the electrical panels, distribution boards, and circuit breakers. Conduit snaked everywhere and Flynn found a metal door secured with a heavy padlock. Using two straightened paper clips, he quickly picked the lock. The door led to an outside area protected by a chain-link fence topped with razor wire. The security fence surrounded three giant transformers and two massive backup generators the size of semi-trailers.

Flynn stood next to the door and strained his ears to hear approaching footsteps over the electrical buzz of the transformers. Faint at first, they moved closer. Careful. Slow. Stealthy. He saw a shoe as someone came through and Flynn took them from behind, using jiu-jitsu to slam them into the ground.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said the man Flynn had face down in the gravel.

“Sancho?”

“Get off me, man.”

Flynn released his comrade-in-arms and helped him to his feet. Bits of gravel still clung to his face. “I thought you were the Corsican.” Flynn’s British accent had a touch of Scottish burr.

“His name is Hernandez,” Sancho said.

“That’s not his real name.”

“And I’m telling you, he’s not the Corsican.”

“Don’t let him fool you, my friend. He’s not who he says he is.”

“Then why’d he call me? He knows I know you. He knows we’re friends. He asked me to find you. Talk to you. Calm you down.”

“Perhaps he wants to take care of you too.”

“Take care of me?”

Flynn heard the Corsican call to them, his voice deep and resonant. “You okay in there, brother?”

“We’re good,” Sancho said.

The Corsican walked in with two other men. All three wore the blue security uniform issued to those who guard HMSS. The Corsican looked at Flynn with his dark, merciless eyes. “You okay, Mr. Flynn?”

“Tell them who you are,” Flynn demanded.

“Thomas Hernandez.”

“Who you really are.”

The Corsican rolled his eyes and sighed. “That’s who I really am.”

Flynn aimed an accusatory finger. “I know who you are. Born Stefanu Perrina in Porto, Corsica. Contract killer for the Unione Corse, the Cosa Nostra, and the Russian mafia. Wanted by Interpol for fifty-two confirmed kills.”

“I was born in Hacienda Heights.”

Flynn glanced at Sancho. “The man is a master of deception. It’s kill or be killed with men like him.”

The Corsican drew his Taser and the other two guards followed suit.

Sancho raised his hands. “Whoa, come on now. Easy.” He stepped in front of Flynn as the Corsican fired. The Taser darts caught Sancho in the shoulder and socked him with fifty thousand volts. He screamed in agony as his whole body seized up and shook. His legs gave out and he fell on his side, helpless and twitching.

Flynn dove behind a generator before the other two guards could fire. Each guard stalked him from a different side. Flynn clambered up over the top and launched himself from above, tackling the Corsican. He wrenched away his reloaded Taser and shot one of the guards in the crotch. The man went down with a shriek as the other guard fired on him. Flynn fell to his knees and the darts parted his hair before hitting the Corsican in the chest. The killer crumpled as Flynn sprang to his feet and pulled the Corsican’s expandable baton out of its holster. Flicking his wrist, Flynn fully extended the menacing club and turned to confront the last standing guard.

Someone grabbed Flynn by the arm and Flynn elbowed him in the face. Sancho staggered back, holding his bloody nose. “What the hell, man?”

“Sorry, mate.”

Flynn heard a Taser fire and an instant later, two darts hit him in the side. Fifty thousand volts took him to his knees as another guard fired another Taser. Those two darts hit him in the stomach. Flynn lost control of every muscle in his body. And then he saw the Corsican looming over him with his own weapon. He shot the darts directly into Flynn’s chest. Right over his heart. Now all three lit him up with electricity. One hundred and fifty thousand volts rocked Flynn as they shocked him with charge after charge until the world faded into a tiny aperture that slowly began to close.

***

Excerpt from Goldhammer by Haris Orkin. Copyright 2022 by Haris Orkin. Reproduced with permission from Haris Orkin. All rights reserved.

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Author Bio:

Haris Orkin

Haris Orkin is a novelist, a playwright, a screenwriter, and a game writer. His play, Dada was produced at The American Stage and the La Jolla Playhouse. Sex, Impotence, and International Terrorism was chosen as a critic’s choice by the L.A. Weekly and sold as a film script to MGM/UA. Save the Dog was produced as a Disney Sunday Night movie. His original screenplay, A Saintly Switch, was directed by Peter Bogdanovich and starred David Alan Grier and Vivica A. Fox. He is a WGA Award and BAFTA Award nominated game writer and narrative designer known for Command and Conquer: Red Alert 3, Call of Juarez: Gunslinger, Tom Clancy’s The Division, Mafia 3, and Dying Light.

Catch Up With Haris Orkin:
www.harisorkin.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @HarisOrkin
Instagram – @HarisOrkin
Twitter – @HarisOrkin
Facebook – @AuthorHarisOrkin

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Tour Participants:

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#BookBlitz “Saving La Familia (La Familia, Book One)” by Donna Del Oro

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La Famlia, Book One

 

Romantic Suspense Comedy

Published: December 2021

Publisher: Extasy Books

 

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A romantic suspense comedy set in Silicon Valley, San Antonio, Texas and Nuevo Laredo, Mexico– a young Latina elementary school teacher, Dina Salazar, is asked by her Mexican-born grandmother to rescue her cousins from a dangerous Mexican drug cartel. After all, her stern grandmother tells her, she is the “smart one” in the family.The mission involves
convincing the DEA that her cousin and her cousin’s child will be killed by the new leader of this dangerous drug cartel if they are not rescued.


Another obstacle: Dina must contact her cousin and arrange a clandestine pick-up site in a Mexican-Texas border town. To do so, she has to recruit help from her hated ex-fiance, her quirky brother-in-law and a Hispanic DEA agent. Being an amateur sleuth is no picnic, but what’s a girl to do when “la familia” calls?

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About the Author

 Donna Del Oro is a bilingual, bicultural retired teacher who loves her Hispanic heritage. This labor of love was her way of immersing herself in a culture that has always influenced her. She lives in Northern California but
regards Texas as her second home.

 

 

 

 

 

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#BookBlitz “Boulong’s Cheese” by Ricky Ginsburg

Humor, Comedy, Satire

Published: September 30, 2021

Publisher: Black Rose Writing

 

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The introduction of a successful vaccine against Covid has produced the unintended side effect of rendering all gunpowder in the world inert. Every weapon from a six-shooter to an atom bomb is now useless. However, on a fifty-seven-acre island in the middle of the Doubs River that divides France and Switzerland, a dairy farmer’s prized cheese spread has gone into short supply and the world is about to go to war over its loss.

 “Boulong’s Cheese” is spitfire humor, biting satire, and just what the world needs now that the end of the pandemic is in sight. It pits the Queen of England against the new, bald President of the United States, and gives the Pope a way out of an embarrassing video. All the while, Boulong, the producer of the world’s most desired dairy products, tries to deal with his pregnant girlfriend and missing son.

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About the Author

Ricky Ginsburg is one of those writers who sees a flock of birds heading south for the winter and wonders what they talk about on their journey. His portfolio consists of nearly 400 short stories, more than half of which have found their way into various magazines, both paper and electronic, and seven novels, half by Black Rose Writing and the other half self-published. While much of his writing has elements of magical realism and humor, he also has a serious side, but keeps it in a small plexiglass box under his desk.

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#BookBlitz “Dead Serious” by Michael Malone

 

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Dark Humor/Comedy
Date Published: 6/10/2020
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“In the past five years, I’ve lost four grandparents, three uncles, two aunts, three cousins, five classmates, and my parents. Even a car died on me…”

Comedian Michael Malone’s life has been punctuated by tragedy. He’s been to over a dozen funerals, but just three weddings – two of which were for the same friend. No stranger to loss, Malone has had ample time to reflect on what it means to grieve, and how to move forward when you’ve outlived so many of your loved ones.

Dead Serious is a look inside Malone’s mind and journal since losing his parents; a dark-humored exploration of depression, suicide, grief, and religion. Designed to be opened and read at any page, this collection of journal entries, illustrated one-liners, and humorous musings combine to create an unorthodox self-help book for anyone who has ever lost someone close to them and doesn’t know where to go from here.

Comedy has always been the lens through which Malone chooses to view the world; a way to shine a light on the dark times so his audiences feel less alone, and less crazy, during their own hardships. Dead Serious offers readers his signature comedic comfort on all life’s ups, downs, and confusing in-betweens.

Michael Malone is an award-winning comedian, actor, writer, and film director who is currently based in Los Angeles, CA. He has been featured on Showtime, Comedy Central, FOX, Hulu, XM Radio, and his Amazon Prime special, Laugh After Death has over 2 million views. Michael is known for his dark sense of humor that breaks down the idiotic ways we deal with life, death, love, and sex.

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Quote from Brad’s foreword:
“If you have any doubt that the best humor comes from deep, dark places, this page-turner will make you a believer. Malone’s life journey, which he describes with blinding transparency and unforgiving irony leaves you laughing your ass off as he candidly exposes how he himself has risen from the bowels of depression and self-loathing to personal and professional success.” – Brad Garrett
SCROLL UP AND GRAB YOUR COPY TODAY!

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About the Author

Michael Malone is an award-winning comedian, actor, writer, and film director who is currently based in Los Angeles, CA. Michael has been featured on Showtime, Comedy Central, FOX, Hulu, XM Radio, and his one-hour special, Laugh After Death is now streaming with over 2 million views on Amazon Prime. Bits and Pieces is Michael’s first book, but not his first written work. Michael has a monthly column in Face the Current magazines that based on his popular storytelling podcast, Punched Up. Michael is known for his dark sense of humor that focuses on breaking down the idiotic ways we deal with life, death, love, and sex.

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#GuestPost Charlie Laidlaw of “Love Potions and Other Calamities”

LovePotion

Welcome to the long awaited blog tour for Love Potions and Other Calamities by Charlie Laidlaw! Follow along for tour details, exclusive content, and a chance to win a signed copy of the book!

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Guest Post

by Charlie Laidlaw

Love Potions and Other Calamities is a book that was decades in the making.  It was also first published in 2015 as The Herbal Detective.

I’m grateful that Accent Press acquired rights to it and, now that Accent have been acquired by Headline, that it’s being republished.  It completes my trilogy of standalone books set in East Lothian, just outside Edinburgh.

Rude and risqué, it’s also a book that I’m proud of, not least because it’s the book on which I really learned how to write, and which has guided my writing style ever since.

It started off being a rather spooky book set in the south of England.  It then moved to the Scottish Borders and became a quasi-police procedural.

Only later, when I realised that neither of those genres worked, did it become a rather wacky comedy.

My books are character and plot driven, and now balance humour with poignancy.  Love Potions was the journey that got me to where I am.

The idea for the book came to me at university when, for one module, I studied the Scottish history of the 17th and 18th century.

This was the time of the witch persecutions, which was really another chapter in the story of Christian imperialism.

In the early days of that imperialism, the church much preferred to assimilate by stealth.  For example, until 834, All Hallows was on 13th May – moved to 1st November by Pope Gregory to overlay an older pagan festival.  So too Christmas, to overlay the pagan winter solstice (also known as Yule, hence our Yule log).

Witchcraft’s journey to demonic intolerance took several centuries.  In 8th century Saxony, the death penalty existed for anyone killing a witch.  In 11th century Hungary, Charlemagne decreed that there was no legal remedy against witches “since they do not exist.”

Bit by bit, the church flexing its muscles, tolerance was chipped away.  By 15th century Hungary, the memory of Charlemagne now dimmed, a first offender found guilty of witchcraft was made to stand in the town square wearing a Jew’s cap, a symmetrical punishment alongside Europe’s other principal scapegoat.

Indeed, in many parts of Europe, the social exclusion of the witches was only matched by the social exclusion of Jews.  It was merely a matter for individual societies to pick the scapegoat which best suited their particular circumstances.

In the Alps and Pyrenees they burned witches, in Spain they burned Jews – for the simple crime of being either a witch or a Jew.  In 14th and 15th century Germany, it was the Jews who suffered; by the 16th century it was the witches.  In the 20th century, it was the turn of the Jew again, the cycle of persecution turning full circle in the ovens of Auschwitz.

The last person in the UK to be prosecuted for witchcraft was Scottish housewife Helen Duncan, jailed for nine months in 1944 because, a spiritualist, she seemed to know too much about the war effort.

The real story of the witch persecutions was the church’s successful PR campaign to define as evil everything that had gone before.  It was brutally effective.

But the cult of the scapegoat isn’t dead, and has contemporary resonance.  Take your pick from immigrants, benefits scroungers, health tourists, investment bankers, gays, gypsies, Muslims… the list goes on and on.

And that’s witchcraft’s relevance for today, because by picking scapegoats we are also defining our own prejudices and intolerances, and looking for somebody to blame for society’s ills.

That is the premise of Love Potions.  The central character, a gifted herbalist, may or may not be a witch…but just suppose that someone in the locality believes that she is, and also believes in the old punishment for a witch?

After all, one of the principal targets of the witch persecutions were the local wise women.  These were the local herbalists – and therefore pharmacist, doctor and midwife.  During the persecutions, it wasn’t a good career choice.

(As an aside, there is evidence that the demise of the wise women led to women giving birth of their backs.  The male medical profession that replaced the wise women thought it was more decorous).

For the book to work, my herbalist had to be more than one-dimensional.  To suspend readers’ disbelief, she has to demonstrate a real knowledge of herbalism.  To make her enigmatic, she also has to demonstrate a knowledge of wicca and wiccan spells – for example, using poisons.

In that regard, it’s a book I wish I had never embarked upon.  Having decided on its direction, I had to balance its idiocy with all those large dollops of herbal and wiccan facts.

All the herbal lore and wiccan spells in the book are therefore fact-based, a task that took forever to research!

I hope readers see beyond its humour and at least glimpse the real message the book contains.  That bigotry and intolerance are wrong.

It might be rude and risqué, but humour can sometimes be a good medium for making a good point.  I hope Love Potions does just that.

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Love Potions and Other Calamities

Expected Publication Date: November 7th, 2019

Genre: Comedy/ Mystery

Publisher: Headline

Welcome to the strange world of Rosie McLeod, an amateur detective with a big difference. Her deductive powers are based solely on the careful preparation and use of plants and herbs.

Love Potions and Other Calamities is pure comedy, with a bit of drama thrown in, as Rosie sets out to discover whether her husband is having an affair and, as the story unfolds, to solve a murder – before she becomes the next victim.

Rosie McLeod, pub proprietor and a gifted herbalist of some renown, is thirty-nine and holding, but only just. The talons of her fortieth birthday are in her back and her bloody, bloody husband hasn’t laid a lustful hand on her for months.

She has the fortune, or misfortune, to live in one of Scotland’s most famous places – the East Lothian village of Holy Cross, which takes its name from the legendary Glastonbury Cross that was spirited away – and subsequently lost – when Henry VIII purged the English monasteries. The cross of pale Welsh gold, reputedly buried within the village, had at its centre a fragment of emerald from the Holy Grail. The story is, of course, complete baloney.

But the association with the Holy Grail and the later witch persecutions of James VI mean that the village is as well known around the world as Edinburgh Castle, haggis or Loch Ness. It has been described as “the heartbeat of Scotland” and is a major tourist destination – many of whom visit the village with metal detectors, hoping to discover the elusive cross.

However, a sighting of a large, black cat by the local Church of Scotland minister sets off a chain of events that lead back twenty years and, although the villagers are blissfully unaware of it, to a woman’s murder. The black cat had last been sighted near the village some two decades before, and the minister’s predecessor was sure that it had triggered something evil. The villagers, of course, think otherwise.

Nothing ever happens in Holy Cross.

For fans of Mel Brooks and Monty Python!

Add to Goodreads

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Excerpt

Coincidentally, Rosie had once owned a black cat, although it was very small, and was eaten by an eagle on the Christmas morning she was given it. That was also the Christmas she stopped believing in Santa Claus. One minute, the kitten was on a scrubby patch of grass in their Sussex back garden, a round ball of black fluff, peering fretfully at her new world; the next, she wasn’t anywhere to be seen until, looking up, Rosie saw large and predatory wings disappear over the farmhouse roof.

She was at an age when she knew that bad things happened, but still believed that Christmas Day was somehow exempt: guns fell silent, everyone had enough to eat, and pestilence was postponed until Boxing Day. Her parents tried to console her by saying that eagles weren’t native to Sussex, searching fruitlessly in flowerbeds and, then, in the surrounding fields. In a way, that day had become a metaphor for her life: that in unexpected ways good things can be randomly snatched away. It felt like that now: sagging boobs, carpet slippers, a dreaded birthday – and the revelation of a precise delusion.

Available on Amazon UK and Amazon!

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About the Author

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I was born in Paisley, central Scotland, which wasn’t my fault. That week, Eddie Calvert with Norrie Paramor and his Orchestra were Top of the Pops, with Oh, Mein Papa, as sung by a young German woman remembering her once-famous clown father. That gives a clue to my age, not my musical taste.

I was brought up in the west of Scotland and graduated from the University of Edinburgh. I still have the scroll, but it’s in Latin, so it could say anything.

I then worked briefly as a street actor, baby photographer, puppeteer and restaurant dogsbody before becoming a journalist. I started in Glasgow and ended up in London, covering news, features and politics. I interviewed motorbike ace Barry Sheene, Noel Edmonds threatened me with legal action and, because of a bureaucratic muddle, I was ordered out of Greece.

I then took a year to travel round the world, visiting 19 countries. Highlights included being threatened by a man with a gun in Dubai, being given an armed bodyguard by the PLO in Beirut (not the same person with a gun), and visiting Robert Louis Stevenson’s grave in Samoa. What I did for the rest of the year I can’t quite remember

Surprisingly, I was approached by a government agency to work in intelligence, which just shows how shoddy government recruitment was back then. However, it turned out to be very boring and I don’t like vodka martini.

Craving excitement and adventure, I ended up as a PR consultant, which is the fate of all journalists who haven’t won a Pulitzer Prize, and I’ve still to listen to Oh, Mein Papa.

I am married with two grown-up children and live in central Scotland. And that’s about it.

Charlie Laidlaw | Facebook | Twitter

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For your chance to win a signed copy of Love Potions and Other Calamities, click the link below!

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Blog Tour Schedule

December 9th

Gwendalyn’s Books (Spotlight) https://gwendalynbooks.blog/

Quirky Cats Fat Stacks (Review) https://quirkycatsfatstacks.com/

Rambling Mads (Review)  http://ramblingmads.com

December 10th

Viviana MacKade (Guest Post) https://viviana-mackade.blog/

Breakeven Books (Spotlight) https://breakevenbooks.com

December 11th

Crossroad Reviews (Spotlight)  http://www.crossroadreviews.com

Dash Fan Book Reviews (Review) https://dashfan81.blogspot.com/

December 12th

B is for Book Review (Guest Post) https://bforbookreview.wordpress.com

I Smell Sheep (Review) http://www.ismellsheep.com/

December 13th

Life’s a Novelty (Review) https://lifesanovelty.blogspot.com/

Reads & Reels (Review) http://readsandreels.com

December 14th

Didi Oviatt (Spotlight) https://didioviatt.wordpress.com

Jessica Belmont (Review) https://jessicabelmont.wordpress.com/

Lunarian Press (Review) https://www.lunarianpress.com/

December 15th

The Invisible Moth (Review) https://daleydowning.wordpress.com

December 16th

Nesie’s Place (Spotlight) https://nesiesplace.wordpress.com

LoopyLouLaura (Review) https://www.loopyloulaura.com/

December 17th

I’m into Books (Spotlight) https://imintobooks.com

Turning the Pages (Spotlight) https://turningthepagesonline.wordpress.com

Cup of Toast (Review) https://cupoftoast.co.uk

December 18th

The Magic of Wor(l)ds (Review) http://themagicofworlds.wordpress.com

December 19th

This is My Truth Now (Spotlight) https://thisismytruthnow.com/

It’s All About the Books (Review) https://itsallaboutthebooksblog.wordpress.com/

The Bookworm Drinketh (Review) http://thebookwormdrinketh.wordpress.com/

December 20th

Entertainingly Nerdy (Spotlight) https://www.entertaininglynerdy.com

Banshee Irish Horror Blog (Review) www.bansheeirishhorrorblog.com

Book Dragons Not Worms (Review) https://bookdragonsnotworms.blogspot.com/?m=1

J Bronder Book Reviews (Review) https://jbronderbookreviews.com/

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#Review “Gray is the New Black (Guerilla Grannies, Mission 1)” by Jo Michaels

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5/5 Stars!

Grannies come in all shapes, colors, sizes, and ages. Yet still blue-haired, little old ladies come to mind at the mere mention of the word.

Fuhgeddaboudit.

While two of the group are grandmothers… and Pearl has blue hair… there isn’t anything granny-like about this group of fifty-something lifelong-friends.

Though they’ve lived normal lives apart and experienced too many of life’s milestones—betrayal, loss, divorce, and widowhood—Pearl, Ethel, Opal, Minerva, and Alma are back together now, living on the outskirts of Atlanta.

And they’re bored.

So what do a ballistics expert, a chemical engineer, an edged weapons expert, a martial arts master, and a former member of law enforcement do for excitement? They find a crime to solve before the police can muck up the works.

It’s while solving a bank robbery that this snarky, irreverent team of badass boomers come to the attention of a secret government agency and are recruited into service. Far-fetched? Okay, a bit, but it’s a good look for this group.

Gray is the New Black is such a fun read because the characters are so relatable. These women are not prim and proper matrons of society. They talk about aches and pains and aging, but they also discuss flirting, dating and sex. Especially Ethel! Insults and f-bombs are part of the endless banter but without rancor or spitefulness. These women are family and the deep love and respect they have for each other is the running thread through the story.

Bits and pieces of each woman’s life are shared as the story unfolds and while some questions are answered, I couldn’t help but want to know more.

I volunteered to read an ARC of Gray is the New Black as part of a book tour, but 1-clicked a copy even before I finished, and I’ve preordered book two. This is Golden Girls meets James Bond meets Mission Impossible and I’m here for it!

Enjoy!

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coverGuerrilla Grannies, Book 1
Women’s Action/Adventure Comedy
Date Published: December 9, 2019
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These aren’t your typical grannies.
Pearl Etta Riggs just buried her husband of a million years (no, not literally, but it felt that way sometimes), and her dear friends are trying to find a way to cheer her up. So, they meet for coffee and cheesecake at their favorite place, the Cheesy Cream Café. Ah, the taste of childhood.
Ethel spots the story of a local bank robbery in the paper, and pitches solving it as “it will give us something to do.” She begs, she pleads, and she… Flirts with the waiter?
Alma, always the level-headed one, cites the fact that the man may be one of those panty-sniffing rapists for the reason they shouldn’t. Consider that she was raised by a Southern Baptist preacher and always naysays; her friends rarely listen to her sage advice.
Opal and Minerva are all in, as usual, and they work with Ethel to wear Pearl down. Eventually, she caves, gets Alma on board, and…
You’ll have to read the book to find out what happens after that. What? Did you expect the author to give it all away in the blurb?
It’s a crazy thrill ride full of laughs and shenanigans as these women take the law into their own hands. What happens after is anyone’s guess.
After all, gray is the new black.

Purchase Links

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 Excerpt
Chapter 1
“Pearl, your husband just died. You could use some cheering up. We should do this.” Ethel put her forearms on the table, her hands clasped and her eyebrows wiggling, a smile on her face so big it turned her crow’s feet into eagle talons.
“He was such a good man.” Pearl’s heart constricted, and she dabbed at her eyes with the tissue again, trying to ignore the growing desire for action and adventure tickling the back of her mind. We could, but I’m not sure we should. We’re too damned old…
“It’s really warm in here. Why don’t you take off that hat, honey?”
That question snapped her out of her thoughts. She’d considered removing the thing several times earlier in the day, but she wasn’t sure how her friends were going to react to her new hairdo. Sighing, she relented, pulling the black, wide-brimmed cap off and closing her eyes, preparing herself for the onslaught.
Opal giggled behind her hand.
“You look like a couple of blue Easter eggs got busy on your head. What the hell did you do?” Ethel’s mouth was hanging open.
Indignation rose inside Pearl, and she squared her shoulders. “Like you have any room to talk. Your damned lavender streaks look like a grape-eating bird shit on your head.”
“Maybe, but that’s what I was going for.”
“Ladies. Calm down,” Alma said, patting their hands. “It’s not that bad.”
“The hell it isn’t,” Ethel muttered. “Makes her look like a school marm. An old one.”
Pearl stuck out her tongue.
“Hush, you two. You’re ruining my reminiscing.” Misty-eyed, Opal gazed around the diner, a soft smile on her lips. “I missed this place. Memories of our teen years came flouncing back through my head immediately with the smell of the coffee, the creaminess of the cheesecake, and even the waitresses shouting orders. I know we’ve been here several times since I moved back, but it never gets old. We didn’t have anything like this in Japan. Over there, it was mostly tea houses.”
“We remember.” Minerva pressed her lips together.
“Oh, yeah. I try to block that period out.” The smile disappeared.
“You always were an old softy.” Taking a long drink of her coffee and closing her eyes, Minerva reached out to pat Opal’s hand, seeming keen on changing the subject before she lost control of her emotions completely. “But I know what you mean. There was nothing that compared to this in Florida, either.”
Ethel ignored them and went back to her nagging, stabbing the front page of the newspaper for emphasis. “We have the skills, ladies. It’s not like it would be a difficult case to crack. Look at this loser.” She held up the paper and pointed at the man’s grainy security-footage photo.
He had a scruffy beard and a terrible haircut. Not an incredibly nefarious-looking fellow, but not very welcoming, either.
It was tempting, and Pearl was on the verge of saying yes when Alma butted in again.
“No. Noooo. Absolutely not, Ethel. You want us to go running all over the great state of Georgia trying to find a man that only made off with”—she squinted at the print and gulped—“half a million dollars?”
“There’s no such thing as only half a million dollars, sweetie. And yes, I do. Not only will it cheer Pearl up, but it’ll give our rusty educations some badly needed workouts.” Gently, Ethel lifted her cup and took a dainty sip of the strong brew. She sighed and put it back down. “I like my coffee like I like my men: sweet and white. Damn. This is good. Best coffee in Georgia!”
“Move your wrinkled old ass so I can go to the bathroom. This stuff’s going right through me.” Opal shoved, trying to get out of the booth.
With both feet planted firmly on the floor, Ethel pulled one side of her mouth into her cheek and lowered her eyelids halfway. “Or maybe I just want to sit here and see how long it is before you piss yourself.”
“You’re such a grouchy old bitch.” Minerva winked over her cup. “I love it.”
“Come on, Ethel. Let Opal out before she has to change her diaper.” Alma chuckled.
“Fine, fine.” Ethel scooted to the end of the bench and stood as she rolled her eyes. “Ow!”
“That’s what you get!” Opal retorted as she sprinted for the ladies’ room.
“What’d she do?” Minerva asked.
“Pinched me on the ass. Hard.”
Everyone laughed.
One of the waiters came over and asked if anyone needed anything.
Ethel leaned forward, her elbows on the table, coffee cup between her raised hands, and ticked her head at him, indicating that he should lean closer.
Pearl watched in earnest as the young man leaned down and put his ear close to Ethel’s mouth. Her lips moved, and her eyes sparkled.
His eyes widened, his face turning bright red as his jaw dropped.
When he straightened again, she winked at him, and he mumbled something under his breath before rushing away. She chortled, sipping her coffee, a look on her face like she was the cat that got the cream. “Where were we?”
“What was that about?” Minerva asked. “What did you say to that poor boy?”
“I don’t tease and tell.”
“Ethel, really; he’s half your age!” Alma turned bright red.
“Yes. Yes, he is. I figure, if I can grab ‘em young, they won’t keel over like my husband did.”
“You really have to let yourself off the hook about Leo, sweetie.” Minerva put her hand on Ethel’s. “He just had a bad ticker.”
“Yeah, right. He was only thirty-five and fit as a fiddle. Not really enough time to develop heart problems.”
Gazing at the other women, Pearl gave thanks they were back in her life. It was rare to find so many amazing women, and she loved having all of them around again after so many years apart. Her heart filled with the love of friendship and comradery they’d forged, and she stabbed her chocolate cheesecake gently, putting it in her mouth, the flavor bringing back so many memories.
“Can I get back in, or is your replacement hip not high-tech enough to get you to your feet again?” Opal crossed her arms over her bosom and cocked her head to one side.
In a huff, Ethel scooted out again and got to her feet. “My hips are all mine, thank you very much. Not a single shred of titanium in my…” Her face turned red, and she sat back down.
Opal, Minerva, and Alma knit their brows.
Pearl could barely breathe she was laughing so hard, but she forced an inhale so she could speak. “You almost lied!”
“Shut up.”
When the questioning looks of the others landed on her, she held up one finger and pulled herself back together. “Just think about it.”
A collective gasp went up.
“When?” Opal asked.
“How?” Minerva added.
“Did it hurt?” Alma’s face was so red it was bordering on purple.
Ethel grimaced. “About two years ago. You don’t want to know. Yes. A lot.” Slapping the newspaper again, she caught Pearl’s gaze. “Please? If not for me, do it for them.” Gesturing at the other three, Ethel stuck out her bottom lip. “Look how old and decrepit they’re getting. This will give them new life.”
Alma pressed her lips together and shook her head a tiny bit from side to side as she gave that look she was best known for. They were going to get into trouble if they went along with it, and Ethel would be the ringleader, as she always was.
A war broke out inside Pearl. She wanted to do it, but she knew they really shouldn’t. Nothing good ever came of Ethel’s ideas—well, rarely.
As though she could read their thoughts, she huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Y’all are no fun anymore. It’s not like we don’t have the skills. I was an upstanding officer of the law until a few years ago.”
“Seven, if you’re counting.” Alma smirked.
She got a look from Ethel that would’ve melted a car. “Fine. Seven, but Pearly is a chemical engineer! She could make us some knockout gas or something.” Turning, she continued as she pointed at each lady in turn. “You’ve knocked down whole buildings in huge cities without a single hiccup, you’re a freaking ninja, and there’s no one on the planet better with a blade than Minerva.”
“Gotta know how to use them if you’re gonna make them.” Minerva winked.
“I’m not a ninja,” Opal muttered into her coffee cup.
“Okay, martial arts master.” A laugh burst out of Ethel. “And a master of disguise, am I right?”
“That was way back in the eighties. I’m not even sure how to use all the newfangled stuff on the market.”
“So you’ll brush up on your skills!” She turned back to Pearl. “Please?”
“I’m afraid we simply can’t right now. We’re all too old, anyway.”
“Why can’t we, moneybags? Did Mansfield not leave you enough cash? And like hell we’re old. Gray is the new black, bitches.”
No one said a word for a long time, as though they were all sharing Pearl’s thoughts. It was an interesting idea, and she didn’t want to go home and sit in her newly empty house without Manny. There were too many crushing memories contained in those walls. Construction was nearly complete on the new house in Manny’s most recent development, Shady Pines, and she wondered if it would be better to occupy herself with something else until everything was done. Nearly all the houses were built already, there were only about ten to go, so she wouldn’t be busy with an agent on site yet. It had been Manny’s dream to build a whole neighborhood before letting anyone see it.
Her fingernails tapped the tabletop. Finally, she inhaled, but her pending speech was cut off by Alma once again.
“Ethel, you’re crazy as a Bessie bug. Forget it. No way. If I have to be the voice of reason, then so be it. We’re absolutely not doing this.”
“But, Alma, wh—”
She held up a hand and shook her head. “We don’t know what kind of criminal that man is. He might be a murderer or one of those crazy, panty-sniffing, rapist guys. When it comes down to it, we’re just five old women. Flesh versus gun, the firearm always wins—as you well know.”
Ethel’s hand moved to her shoulder, rubbing the place she’d been shot in the line of duty.
A phone ringing brought the conversation to a halt. Heart beating too fast, Pearl dug through her bag and pulled out the offending device, flipping it open and putting it to her ear. Her daughter, Katarina, was on the other end.
“Hey, Mom. Any idea when you’ll be home?”
“In a few minutes. Alma and I were just about to leave.”
“Okay. Do you want me to cook dinner?”
“No thanks, baby girl. I just had cheesecake. I’m all set.”
Katarina laughed. “You and that cheesecake. Be safe driving. I’ll see you soon.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
After flipping the phone closed, Pearl threw a twenty on the table, put her hat back on, and bumped Alma’s hip. “We need to leave. Katarina called.”
“That girl. You’d swear you were ninety the way she checks up on you all the damned time.” Ethel rolled her eyes.
Nothing would’ve given Pearl more satisfaction in that moment than smacking the shit out of something, but she held her temper. “She just cares.”
“Yeah, cares about losing her free babysitter.”
“Stop it! I love my grandchildren!”
“I never said you didn’t, but you’re in too deep. Your daughter and her husband can afford daycare.”
“Not today; okay, Ethel? Not today.”
Lines around Ethel’s face softened. “Okay. Sorry.”
“Y’all get up and give me and Alma hugs!”
Everyone squeezed Pearl extra tightly and told her to be safe.
Alma led the way to the car and got in on the passenger’s side, putting her seatbelt on right away.
She’d always been the levelheaded, law-abiding, church-going one. Any time there was trouble worth getting into, she’d shut Ethel right down with a snarky remark or soundbite of wisdom from dear old Daddy. What made Alma even more insufferable was, they’d avoided a lot of bad situations because of her naysaying. Her daddy had been a Baptist preacher, and he’d always threatened her with the wrath of God if she misbehaved. Though, if she ever wanted something badly enough, she always did it. Pearl knew that, and she planned to use it to her advantage.
Solving a local bank robbery was becoming more tempting by the minute. She was positive her crew of misfits could pull it off without a hitch. Everyone but Alma got excited when it was first brought up, and their eyes took on that gleam like when they were younger and were about to do something they’d never forget.
Pearl started the Caddy and put it in reverse after clipping her own seatbelt into place to avoid getting yet another speech about proper vehicle safety. As she backed up, she plotted a way to make Alma agree to take on the bank robbery case.
They were well on the road to home when Pearl started talking again, deciding the best way to get what she wanted was to use the new widow angle and a little fast talking. “You know, I’m not sure I want to be in that big old house by myself all day every day.” She glanced to the right. “Without Manny there, it’ll sure feel empty.”
“I can stay with you a couple of days if you want.”
Damn. “No, no. Kat will be there today and tomorrow with her family. I just meant when they leave.”
“Won’t you still have the kids every day?”
Damn! She’d forgotten about that. “I was thinking I’d ask if they can start daycare.”
“Really?”
“Mmhm. Ethel’s right. I deserve to have a proper retirement from raising kids.”
“You just have the one, like me. Not like it was that hard.” Alma smirked.
“I’m not saying it was hard, just that I’m tired of babysitting. Plus, it’s all I can do to lift that baby anymore.” Even as the words left Pearl’s mouth, she regretted them. Elizabeth was the sweetest baby ever, even more so than her mother had been.
“Pearl, I know what you’re doing.”
Alarm bells rang in Pearl’s head, and she sat up straighter behind the wheel. Trying to sound like she had no idea what was going on, she asked, “Oh? What’s that?”
After a deep sigh, Alma shook her head and closed her eyes. “Fine. If you want to do the bank robber thing, I’m in.”
“Really?”
“Yes, but just so you know, this isn’t a good idea, and it’ll probably end badly, but I’ll do it. For you. We really could use some flexing of our skills. I know I’m itching to blow something up.”
Pearl wanted so badly to squeal like a schoolgirl in that moment, but she kept her face as stoic as possible. “Well, if you insist. Wouldn’t want you blowing up things without supervision.”
“That’s not what I said!”
“Oh, look. You’re home!” She put the car in park and grinned. “Love you! I’ll call Ethel and tell her! Meet at my house at ten tomorrow morning! I’ll have Enrich make us brunch!”
Alma closed the door, and Pearl sped away, her cellphone already in her hand.
“Ethel? Alma’s in.”
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About the Author

 photo Gray is the New Black Author Jo Michaels_zpssgymhjib.jpgJo Michaels loves writing novels that make readers gasp in horror, surprise, and disbelief. While her browser search history has probably landed her on a list somewhere, she still dives into every plot with gusto, hoping “the man” will realize she’s a writer and not a psychopath about to go on a rampage. Her favorite pastimes are reading, watching Investigation Discovery, and helping other authors realize their true potential through mentoring. She’s penned the award-winning Pen Pals and Serial Killers series and the best-selling educational book for children, Writing Prompts for Kids, which has rocketed the kids that use it into several awards of their own.

Most of Jo’s books feature the places she’s lived: Louisiana, Tennessee, and Georgia. That’s given her a special amount of insight to what makes those locations tick. Her works are immersive and twisty, and she wouldn’t want it any other way.
Contact Links

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RABT Book Tours & PR

#BlogTour “A Heart in the Right Place” by Heide Goody, Iain Grant

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All Nick wants to do is take his dying father for a perfect father-son weekend in the Scottish coverHighlands. It’s not much to ask, is it? A log cabin, a roaring fire, a bottle of fine whisky and two days to paper over the cracks in their relationship.

However, Nick didn’t plan on making the trip with a dead neighbour in the back of his car. Or the neighbour’s dog. He really didn’t plan on being pursued by a psychotic female assassin intent on collecting body parts. And he really, really didn’t plan on encountering a platoon of heavily armed mercenaries, or some very hungry boars, or a werewolf.

A Heart in the Right Place – a horror comedy about setting out with the very best intentions and then messing everything up.

EXCERPT

A Heart in the Right Place is our new comedy horror novel. It ends up in the Scottish wilderness where Nick and his dad have to fight off evil crooks and mythical monsters. But it starts with a missed parcel and one of those “We’re Sorry We Missed You…” notes from the postman…

“Oz Bingley? Who on earth is Oz Bingley?” Nick asked of no one in particular. There was no one to ask. He was alone in his house.

Which was sort of the point. All morning he’d waited at home for the parcel to arrive. He should have been at work at the ChunkyMunky offices in Birmingham city centre but he’d taken an official duvet morning (they only got three a year) and waited for the parcel he knew was arriving.

He’d paid for next day, timed delivery. An extra twelve pounds it had cost him, but he couldn’t afford to miss this delivery. He’d been on high alert all morning, not daring to put on the radio or turn up the television in case he missed the knock at the door. He even went to the toilet in the dark so the noise of the extractor fan wouldn’t mask a particularly stealthy approach. That had been a mistake, on reflection. He’d been so worried about not wiping properly he’d been completely unable to go. He’d come out, walked past the front door on the way to the kitchen and there it was:

We have a parcel for you…

Sorry we missed you. Your item is:

There was a ticked box.

With your neighbour:
Oz Bingley, 42 Langollen Drive, Brandwood End, Birmingham

Nick fumed. Not as much as he would have done if they had ticked the box for being held at our depot, ready to collect the next working day. And at least it wouldn’t be a repeat of when the postman had left the parcel in your safe place. Said place being his bin. His actual wheelie bin rubbish bin. On bin day.

Nick still fumed.

Being forced to stay in, like a housebound oldster or a sickly child, even for a few hours had driven him near stir crazy. He could have been at work already, trying to fix the shitstorm which was the Kirkwood account. He could be at the gym, lifting weights and making a start on the New Year’s resolution he’d made five months ago. He could be in town buying an apology gift for Abigail. Or just getting drunk and leaving inappropriate and remorseful messages on her voicemail. Anything but waiting for a parcel which was apparently delivered by stealth ninjas.

How had they achieved this in complete silence? Why didn’t they knock the door or ring the bell? Nick went to the door and, looking past his beloved, imported Cadillac on the driveway, scanned the street for signs of the courier. Nothing. Maybe the slip had been there for hours.

He checked the address and crossed the street. Number forty-two was a large, detached house with a big brass knocker on the front door: a gurning lion’s face with a ring in its mouth. He banged it hard as the postman should have done at his house. It made a thunderous racket, which pleased Nick. There was nothing worse than knocking or ringing a door and being unsure whether it could be heard.

The noise set a dog barking inside. Nick listened intently. There was a low whining sound as well. No one came to the door.

He wondered what the appropriate time was to wait before knocking again. Knock too soon and it would appear rude. Wait too long and you were just waiting on someone’s doorstep doing nothing. He counted down from thirty to zero and then waited another minute before knocking again.

The barking dog set off again. He waited. Still nothing.

He looked at the card. Oz Bingley. 42 Langollen Drive.

Nick didn’t know his neighbours well. Tall fences made good neighbours and all that. He tried to recall seeing anyone coming in or out of that house. Was Oz a man’s name? He had a vague recollection an old woman lived there, but he hadn’t seen her for a while. Maybe she’d moved out.

He went back to his house and sat at the window, hoping to see Oz returning from some small task – like posting a letter. He checked the time and turned the TV on. He’d go and check again in an hour, and then he’d have to go into work.

Purchase Links

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Amazon UK     |     Amazon US

 ~~~

Goody and GrantAuthor Bio

Heide Goody is the stupid one in the writing partnership and Iain Grant is the sensible one. Together, they are the authors of over a dozen books.

The Clovenhoof series (in which Satan loses his job and has to move to Birmingham) has recently been optioned by a Hollywood production company.

Heide and Iain are both married, but not to each other.

Social Media Links:

Facebook   |   Website

Heide Goody Twitter  

Iain Grant Twitter

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G I V E A W A Y

Win a gorgeous Moleskine Passion Traveller’s Journal

(Open Internationally)

Giveaway Prize

E N T E R

“The Moleskine Traveller’s Journal” is a structured before and after record of every journey you make, from weekends away to life-changing trips and everything in between. Note down your travel plans before you leave and list all the things you hope to see and do, then add maps, photos, tickets and keepsakes when you return. The Traveller’s Journal is a place to dream, get practical and create a unique and lasting paper archive of your travels that you’ll want to revisit again and again.

  • premium box with themed graphics related to your passion
  • hard cover with themed debossing, rounded corners, elastic closure
  • 2 ribbon bookmarks
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  • tabbed sections to guide your note-taking
  • themed introductory pages
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  • Moleskine S.r.l. creates and sells FSC®-certified products”

*Terms and Conditions –Worldwide entries welcome.  Please enter using the Rafflecopter box below.  The winner will be selected at random via Rafflecopter from all valid entries and will be notified by Twitter and/or email. If no response is received within 7 days, then Rachel’s Random Resources reserves the right to select an alternative winner. Open to all entrants aged 18 or over.  Any personal data given as part of the competition entry is used for this purpose only and will not be shared with third parties, with the exception of the winners’ information. This will be passed to the giveaway organiser and used only for fulfilment of the prize, after which time Rachel’s Random Resources will delete the data.  I am not responsible for dispatch or delivery of the prize.

~~~

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“We Have Lost The Chihuahuas: A Great British Canine Comedy” by Paul Mathews

We Have Lost the Chihuahuas cover

We Have Lost The Chihuahuas: A Great British Canine Comedy

by Paul Mathews

Genre: Political/Humor & Satire/Comedy

99¢ at time of posting! KINDLE COUNTDOWN!

London, 2046. The British Republic has a new First Lady. She’s Californian, ‘in-your-face, for sure’ and she’s got big plans for a Buckingham Palace refurb. When her three Chihuahuas go missing, one man is determined to avoid getting dragged into it all. His name is Pond. Howie Pond – presidential spokesperson, retired secret agent and cat lover.

Meanwhile, Howie’s wife Britt is handed her first assignment as a National Security and Intelligence Service rookie – to solve the mystery of the missing canine trio.

Will Howie manage to slope off to the pub before he can be roped into help? Will Britt unmask the dognapper and grab the glory? Find out, in this crazy canine comedy from barking-mad British author Paul Mathews.

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“Cinderella-ish (Razzle My Dazzle Book 1)” by Joslyn Westbrook

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Cinderella-ish (Razzle My Dazzle Book 1)

by Joslyn Westbrook

Genre: Comedy/Satire/Humor

99¢ at time of posting! Kindle Unlimited!

All of The Prince Charmings of The World Can Just Suck It…

Daniella Belle wants nothing more to do with members of the opposite sex; instead, she’ll focus on what matters most—becoming a lingerie designer. That’s until she’s offered an opportunity of a lifetime by an annoyingly arrogant man who believes he can charm the panties off of every woman he meets.

Antonio Michaels has never had to work hard at anything. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he’s been served up a hefty life of entitlement. He’s handsome, charmingly arrogant, and dates a different model every month. When he meets Daniella Belle, a bombshell who seems unfazed by his mere existence, he finds himself captivated by her looks, her unrelenting potty mouth, and the fact he can’t stop thinking about her.

Will Antonio have to work hard to make Daniella believe he’s the man destined to sweep her off of her feet? Or will Daniella’s bad luck with men make her continue to doubt fairytale romances truly exist?

Set in Los Angeles, California and Milan, Italy, Cinderella-ish is the first book in the Chick Lit series of stories–Razzle My Dazzle–romantic tales with a splash of glitz.

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