Wednesday, 31 July 2013

Kiss Me in Paris Tour

 
 
Kiss Me in Paris 
Kiss Me in Paris is a standalone novel in the Kiss Me Series. Travel the world with the Deveaux sisters as they find love, and trouble, in all the right places.

When the city of love brings two lost souls together, only their darkest secrets can tear them apart.

Winter Deveaux tried love once. It didn't end well. Unable to open herself up to another heartbreak, she hides in her romance novels as she struggles to break out as a real author. She thinks Paris holds the answer to a new start, but when her nightmare follows her across the world, she's forced to face the darkness living like cancer inside her soul. If she doesn't, she might miss her chance to become the kind of writer she's always wanted to be. But more than that, she'll miss out on the greatest love she's ever known.
Cade Savage is heir to the largest ranching family in Texas. Part cowboy, part architect, Cade has his feet forever in two worlds. When he receives an acceptance letter from the school of his dreams, he must decide between family and destiny. But ghosts from his past still haunt him, and circumstances beyond his control may decide his fate.  When Winter and Cade meet, everything they believe about life, love and what it means to be happy is put to the test.  Will the magic of Paris pull these two lost souls together? Or will their darkest secrets tear them apart?


 
Kimberly Kinrade and Dmytry Karpov

Dmytry and Kimberly are the husband and wife writing team behind the KISS ME Series, Eye of Newt, Sunrise and Nightfall, Wanderlust, and The Fallen Series.

 
Kimberly is the award-winning, bestselling author of the New Adult paranormal romance series The Seduced Saga, the YA paranormal thriller/romance The Forbidden Trilogy, and children's fantasy series The Three Lost Kids. Dmytry writes fantasy—be it urban, dark or epic—is a musical composer, pianist, and designs books covers (exclusively for his wife's and their co-authored books). They live with three little girls who think they're ninja princesses with super powers and who are also showing a propensity for telling tall tales and using the written word to weave stories of wonder and magic.

Become a member of the Street Team for Kimberly and Dmytry: https://www.facebook.com/groups/455495037808558/


Connect with Kimberly online:


 
Connect with Dmytry online:

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Dmytry-Karpov/e/B00ACVO788/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1368367423&sr=1-2-ent
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5217069.Dmytry_Karpov


 
A Little Q&A with Kimberly Kinrade and Dmytry Karpov

Q: What was the inspiration behind this book?
KK: I first came up with the title of this book by looking at an illustration of the silhouette of a couple kissing in front of the Eiffel Tower, but it wasn't until Dmytry and I spent many hours and days talking through the characters and plot ideas that Cade and Winter finally became real to us.
DK: I wanted to write a contemporary novel that dealt with universal themes like acceptance and following your dreams. When Kimberly told me about her ideas for Kiss Me in Paris, it sounded like the perfect book for us to write together.


Q: Is there a particular theme or message you are trying to convey in your story? If so, what?
KK: Kiss Me in Paris has several thematic elements that I think has made it so relatable to readers. Cade and Winter both have dark secrets in their past that they're running from, even as they seek out the future and life they've always wanted. But they find they won't be able to live their dreams if they can't overcome their past. We all, I believe, have to face the truth of our pasts in order to fully embrace the life we were meant to have, and Cade and Winter learn this. It's also a story of friendship and family, between Cade and Winter, but also between Winter and her best friend, and between Cade and his father. Every relationship has a turning point, where you have to decide if it's healthy to be with that person or not. Cade and Winter both look at their closest relationships and finally are able to see past the pain so that they can learn the lessons those relationships were meant to teach them. Everyone who comes into our life is a mirror for us to learn something more about ourselves and our lives, and Cade and Winter are healed by this realization.

DK: Kiss Me in Paris is also a story of forgiveness. In order for Winter and Cade to face their past, they must be able to forgive others and forgive themselves.


Q: What's your next project?
KK: We're working on a serial novel, Seduced by Lies, which is the Seduced Saga, and also the next Kiss Me book, Kiss Me in Cairo, which features Autumn Deveaux, Winter's older sister, who finds trouble in Cairo when her boyfriend ends up murdered and she's the number 1 suspect. This book will be romance, but also a true mystery. We're hoping our fans enjoy the overlap of two fun genres.

DK: Both Seduced by Lies and Kiss Me in Cairo will have a lot of mystery. We're really interested in exploring the genre.

 
Q: Who is your favourite character to write?
 
KK: In this book it was probably Cade. I enjoyed seeing the world from his eyes and learning about architecture. He also had some intense family pain to work through that challenged me to write in a way that showed this pain and transformation without becoming sappy or overly emotional.

DK: In this book it was Winter, because she's just so funny.

 
Q: What do you like to do when you're not writing?

KK: I enjoy reading, spending time with Dmytry and our kids, watching movies, playing games with my family, and talking about books with Dmytry. At least, those are the things I ENJOY doing when I'm not writing. I also do laundry, clean the house, cook and wipe down the never-ending smudges of little fingers all over the house.

DK: I enjoy spending time with the kids (often we play card games) and cuddling with Kimberly as we watch TV shows, or as I like to call it, analyse story structure.


Q: Tell us 3 things about yourself that's not connected to writing.

KK: I studied French at the Sorbonne just like Cade and Winter. Before I had kids I studied martial arts and was close to getting my black belt. I can't stand the sound of people chewing, not even my own chewing.

DK: I studied acting in high school. I hate the taste of seafood. And I play piano.

 

Thursday, 25 July 2013

Fiction ~ Trapped! (ROYA #20)


For your reading pleasure, I’ve dug out a short thriller that I wrote back in 2002. Using the utmost restraint, I’ve copied it as it was originally written and resisted the urge to edit or make alterations; trust me, I wanted to! There’s a lot I’d do differently now, but it has a rough charm to it which I’m reluctant to tamper with. So you’ll simply need to put up with the filler words, hackneyed phrases, and my zealous use of the word “tried”. It was fun to revisit this old piece, especially when I see how much I’ve developed over the years. I hope you enjoy it, warts an’ all.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Trapped!


I tried to open my eyes again, but it hurt my head too much. I could taste blood and dirt inside my mouth. I moved to spit but the crushing pain in my jaw caused me to whimper. Bloody saliva dribbled down the side of my face from swollen lips. I was lying down? What the hell had happened to me?

I remembered being in the bar… Sylvia’s birthday. I remembered leaving with Rob, and then we parted ways at the corner of Frederick Street, then… then… Then what? I couldn’t remember! The dull ache in the back of my head spread across my skull and I felt myself spinning uncontrollably into darkness.

The sound of distant music brought me hurtling back to the threshold of my consciousness. Was that Glen Millar? I heard an agonising moan that sounded nearer. Realising that I had made the noise, I forced myself to mentally pull from the grip of the limbo that had so strong a hold. I strained once more to open my eyes, mustering all of my strength to combat the excruciating pain that I knew was to come.

It wasn’t bright, but my eyes stung and started to water, causing me to blink several times before I could even consider trying to focus on my surroundings. I brought a hand up to the back of my skull and held my breath as I tentatively placed my fingers to my crown. The sensation fo touching the sticky matt of hair did not in any way detract from the sharp jolt of pain that shuddered over my whole body, causing my arms and legs to twitch in protest.

I had a sudden flash of being in a dark street, a tall, well-built man approaching me, asking for the time, his voice deep and well spoken. I go to look at my watch, then suddenly he strikes out, his fist connects sharply with my jaw and I am knocked to the ground. He advances upon me, I am hit from behind…then…
darkness.

I looked around the unfamiliar room, my fear mounting as I did so. I slowly dragged myself to a sitting position on what appeared to be the base of a single bed. I looked down to where my head had been and in my rising panic I swallowed back the scream that rose in my throat. The dark patch of dry blood on the rough, grubby blue fabric told me that I must have been unconscious for some time.

The room was small, damp and bare, lit by a bare bulb hanging dangerously low. The walls were a dirty rust colour and appeared to have been stripped of paper. On closer inspection, I saw that they were in fact soiled from rising damp and were decaying. The floor was covered with rotten underlay, and here and there were patches where it had disintegrated completely, exposing the dirty planks beneath. The room smelled musty, like old damp clothes and newspapers. On the opposite wall there was a small window streaked with dirt. It was impossible to tell which side of the pane was filthier. Outside was pitch black, no orange glare from streetlights, no lights from other buildings, no indication of what time it was. Come to think of it, I didn’t even know what day it was. I felt the sobs rise in my throat and I whined like a child, unable to control myself. What the fuck was going on? Where was I? What the hell was I doing here? Who did this to me? I want my Dad…

The music continued to float through the walls and I recognised it as Moonlight Serenade. It had been a favourite of my Grandfather, but the fondness of the memory did little to soothe my nerves, and the melody took on an eerie quality that made me shiver. I was overcome with the notion that something terrible was about to happen. I swallowed back my tears and looked toward the doorway across the room. I strained to stand up, and walked unsteadily towards it.  Reached out my arm and turned the handle. It was locked. I vainly tried to push against it but I knew even as I did that there was no point. Trapped. I looked up at the window. It was high, but if I could reach it there was a good chance that I could squeeze out of it. I realised how crazy this idea was, as I had no idea how far from the ground I was, but I would scale the building if I damn well had to. Anything was better than waiting to see what was on the other side of that door.

I crossed the room to the window, trying to step as quietly as I could, for fear that any noise would raise alarm to unwanted company. My sand as I realised that I would never reach the latch without the aid of something to stand on. I looked towards the bed. It was my only hope. I hastily moved back across the room and tried to drag the light plywood toward the window as quietly as possible. It made a couple of dull thuds as I tried to lift one of the legs that had caught on the tattered underlay.  I bent down to try and detach the material from the bed leg.

“Looks as though you have a bit of a problem there.”

I froze. I recognised the voice as the one that had stopped me in the street. In two quick steps he moved toward me and grabbed me by the hair at the back of my head. I howled in agony as the pain from my fresh wound shot through my body like a bolt of lightning, which caused me to lose my balance. He flung me face down on top of the bed. I cried out, desperately trying to pick myself up. I succeeded in turning onto my side and I looked up at the dark figure. It was hard to make out his features as the light was behind him. He loomed over me, yet he did not reach for me. He just stood there, looking at me.

“What the hell do you want from me?” My voice trembled as I backed away from the large figure towering above me.

“Your father has something of great importance to us.  We decided to take something that was equally as valuable to him,” he drawled.

My eyes widened as I stammered, “I’m- I’m a hostage? But- but we don’t have any money!”

He chuckled menacingly. “I don’t care.” Then, in a low whisper, he leaned toward me, his face so close I could feel his breath on my cheeks, “Who said anything about a hostage?”

A strange sensation flooded through me and I balled my hand into a fist, bringing it up sharply, connecting with his groin. He doubled over and I sprang up and ran toward the open door. I cried out as I felt his arms wrap around my body, my own arms trapped beneath his crushing grip. I kicked wildly, causing him to stumble backwards, crashing down upon the small plywood bed base. There was an almighty noise as the bed broke and we both landed on the floor. He lost his grip for just a second. That was all I needed. I elbowed him in th ribs and rolled off his body and grabbed a broken plan from the bed. Hauling myself up, I swung and hit him across the face with it as he tried to sit up. The wood made a slapping noise as it met with the side of his head. I frantically repeated the action several more times, screaming like a wild animal as I did so, in a blind fury, not stopping until his face was battered and dripping with blood. I then kicked him as hard as I could in his crotch, and he groaned loudly as he fell backward, landing on the floor with a loud thud. That was my cue to get the fuck out of there.

I ran as fast as I could from the room, still carrying my makeshift weapon. I saw the front door at the end of the small hallway and made a beeline for it, hoping that no one stopped me on my way. I fumbled over the lock, frantically looking over my shoulder to make sure that I wasn’t being followed. I flung open the door and ran out onto a brightly lit landing. I had lived in Edinburgh long enough to recognise the badly painted walls and the foul stench of urine – a council block. I ran as fast as I could, the pounding of my  feet echoing loudly as I passed several doors that I knew would never open to me, no matter how loudly I knocked or screamed for help.. I finally found a lift, and I pressed the button wildly, as if repeating the action would make it arrive quicker. I looked over my shoulder. I was not being followed… yet. My heart was thumping loudly, hurting my chest, the years of smoking taking their toll. The doors opened and I jumped into the lift, pressing the ground floor button, trying to catch my breath. The doors closed in time for me to see Him stagger out of the doorway at the other end of the landing.

As the lift took me down I shook violently with sobs. Dear God, please, please let me live. If I get out of this I will never doubt your existence again and I promise to be a good person. Please, please, please!

I must have been on one of the top floors, as the lift took a good minute to reach the ground floor. As the doors opened I held the piece of broken wood up high, and it shook in my trembling hands as I slowly stepped out of the lift. He was nowhere to be seen.  I ran crashing through the entrance doors out onto the street and kept going.

I looked about as I ran, relief washing over me. I recognised my surroundings. I was in Dumbie Dykes. No wonder I hadn’t seen anything from the window of my small prison. Directly behind the housing scheme is Arthur’s Seat, and extinct volcano that looms so high it can be seen from most points in Edinburgh. It was also slap-bang in the centre of the city. I ran out onto the main road, and as if my prayers had been answered, I saw the yellow light of a vacant taxi. I ran out in front of it, waving my arms wildly. The cab screeched to a halt, and I ran round to the door and jumped in.

“Jesus Christ, what happened to you?” the cab driver asked, as he turned to stare at my battered face.

“I was attacked,” I managed to say between gasping for air, “Take me to the police station…”

“Nah, no way. I’m taking you to the infirmary, I’ll notify the police on the way.”

“Please,” I begged, “He’s still after me…”

The cab driver needed no further prompting and swung the cab around and drove toward the hospital. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’re going to be all right. You’re safe now.”

“I hope so,” I whispered, then slumped back as I fell into unconsciousness.

 

Comment on what I would have done differently: All the "trieds" and the "tryings" are awful! The filler words and the unoriginal phrases irritate me also. My desire is to rip this up and cut it down to its suspenseful essence. Removing the unnecessary commas and the repetitions to make a smoother, less cumbersome read, would be my starting point. I don’t like the way I’ve structured the last line. If I was to re-write it now, it would read something like: “I hope so,” the words exhaled in a whisper. I slumped and fell into unconsciousness.
I imagine in another eleven years I’d write it more differently still.

 

Wednesday, 17 July 2013

Shadow Embraced Tour


Guest Post from Shadow Embraced author Cheree Smith
 
What’s on TV
I know sometimes I really should focus more on writing, but I love just sitting down and relaxing in front of a good TV show, and there are some shows that I try to schedule all of my events and writing time around just so I don’t miss an episode.
 
Okay, so I’m a sucker for a good cop drama (most of them actually), but the series that I absolutely love and I don’t mind saying so is Law and Order: SVU. I love the realistic and serious problems that they tackle.
 
Another TV show that I love, although I haven’t been able to keep up with the latest season, is Supernatural. I absolutely love anything horror and paranormal, and what’s not to love about the eye candy of Ackles and Padalecki hunting down the bad monsters of everyone’s nightmares. Another thing I love about the show is that the creators know how to take the old stories and old creatures and put a new spin on, something that I always try to do with everything I write.
 
The last show that I absolutely love would have to be Revenge. All the intricate and constantly weaving storylines that keeps me guessing, this is definitely a show that requires me to pay attention to, but I love deep and complicated stories, especially when there’s a mystery to solve.
 
This year I have fallen out of love with a couple of series, Glee is one of those, and there are several others that I am dying to see when the new line-up premieres, such as the 100 and Tomorrow People. It should be interesting to see what the new shows bring us.
 
Shadow Embraced
(Haven #1)
 
No escape.
Those words haunt Scar’s dreams. She thinks the creature that terrorises her while asleep isn’t real, but when she’s abducted and taken to a reform school meant to contain creatures too dangerous to function in society, she starts to wonder whether she isn’t some monster.
She turns to an underground fight club full of vampires, werewolves and witches established by the students to control her urges, and who is she kidding, she loves to fight.
When fighters begin to disappear, turning Scar into the prime suspect, she must race to prove her innocence before her true nature is exposed.
 
The only problem is that she’s not entirely sure she’s innocent.
Amazon –  Smashwords
Add Shadow Embraced to your Goodreads list!
 
 
Looks good? Then you're in for a treat. Below is an excerpt from the first chapter. Enjoy!

Remember to Enter the International Giveaway!
(details at the bottom of this post)



Chapter 1
THE PALE GIRL KNOCKS ME BACK AGAINST THE fleshy wall of the crowd with a couple of hard smacks. I scramble away from a woman in a purple dress, my eyes on my opponent. Over the pulsing music, the crowd keeps up their tribal chant:
“Fight! Fight! Fight!”
This is my first time at The Basement – innovative name for a club set up on the second-storey. The dim lights and smoky atmosphere make the graffiti on the walls blaze. Between the pinball machines, sagging lounges, and the close-pressed crowd, there isn’t much room to manoeuvre.
“What are you waiting for?” the girl hisses. She could be Snow White with her porcelain skin and long, raven hair. “You started this. It was between me and her.” She extends one long finger towards my best friend, Alex.
Alex watches from the side-line. This is becoming the norm. Whenever we go out she always gets in trouble and I’m the one to fix it – usually with some bloodshed.
I don’t know what Alex did to piss this poisonous cow off, but now I want blood.
My opponent launches at me. I shield my face from her punches. It all comes down to waiting for an opening. She’s fast, almost as fast as me. It’s difficult to maintain my balance long enough to strike back.
I duck under a right hook and seize my chance. I throw an uppercut and knock her pale ass to the ground.
A single word roars through the room. “Scatter!”
The tight circle breaks and chaos erupts. The girl springs to her feet. The need to fight still blazes in her eyes, but there’s something else emerging as well. Her eyes change to a deep crimson. I stumble back, trying to suppress the cold fear swimming in my gut.
The woman in purple looms closer. Her dress drags along the floor as she moves. Grabbing my opponent by the arm, she whispers something in her ear.
The woman’s gaze meets mine. Her eyes are as white as quartz with a translucent glaze. I can’t take my attention off of her. I hadn’t noticed the long black stick she carries until now. Her body twists in my direction and she pushes people out of the way with her stick as she nears, dragging the girl – who thrashes and screams – behind her. The girl’s red eyes still focused on me.
I can’t move.
The room plunges into darkness, leaving only the faint bank of emergency lights marking the stairs.
“Come on, Scar. We have to get out of here.” Alex seizes my arm, forcing me back into reality. She pulls me towards the scattering of kids that remain from the mass exodus.
By the time we reach the exit, sirens howl above the noise. The only means of escape is cut off and people charge back up the stairs, taking refuge on the darkened dance floor. The cops block the exit and seal the room.
A strong hand grips my shoulder and jerks me backwards into a group of girls. I fall to the ground and heavy individuals trample on my legs. A cop forces my hands behind my back and secures them in cool metal cuffs.
He pulls me to my feet and leads me down the packed staircase.
“I’ve got it from here,” a familiar voice says as a hand clutches my shoulder. “I’m sure they still need your help inside.”
“Okay,” the cop says, relinquishing his hold of me. “If you’re sure.”
“I am.” The new cop takes me over to his car and unfastens the cuffs. Opening the back door, he says, “You know, I can’t keep doing this for you.”
I open my mouth to say something, but he cuts me off.
“I don’t want to hear it. We’ll talk about this at home.”
I slide onto the vinyl seat and close the door. “Sorry, Dad,” I whisper.
I lean my head against the cold window of the car door and wait for the car to start up. It takes about five minutes before Dad’s sitting behind the wheel and we’re heading away from the club.
An involuntary shiver creeps up my spine as the image of the woman in purple comes to mind. It really looked as if she was coming for me. I don’t even want to think about what she wanted. Turning my attention to the passing scenery, I shake all thoughts of that woman out of my head.
The streetlights forge speech bubbles of illumination in the air. A faint glow from the moon casts eerie shadows behind the dark clouds. The early morning streets of Sydney are still packed with people coming and going from clubs. Most of the girls look like they borrow all their clothes from their little sisters. The guys, on the other hand, choose a different style; fighting hard to keep their pants from falling down. For some reason, they think it’s an appealing look.
I turn my head to face the back of Dad’s seat. His messy auburn hair pokes out from beneath his blue hat. He takes an occasional glimpse at me from the central mirror.
The car slams to the right as we turn a corner and my heart jerks against my ribs. We stop at the curb in front of an aging two-storey redbrick townhouse. Dad gets out and moves around to my door. He opens it and waits for me to get out – without saying a single word to me.
I glance at the house. Mum stands in the open doorway, and she doesn’t look happy. She still has her nurse uniform on. Strands of tangled sandy hair fall free of her ponytail.
I stop in front of her. “Hi, Mum.” My voice comes out as a whisper.
Mum stares at me with puffy hazel eyes for a moment before turning around and going back inside.
“You’d better get to your room.” Dad enters the apartment and leaves me standing in the doorway. “Your mother and I will speak with you later.”
I force my legs to continue moving, staring at the brownish carpet that lines the floor.
Gripping the banister, I launch myself up the stairs. The scent of lavender and bleach drifting around me brings a nauseous wave to my stomach.
I rush to my room, ignoring the loud conversation coming from my parents’ room, and close the door behind me. All the movie stars and bands from the posters covering my walls watch me with accusing eyes.
Wiping the tears away, I throw myself onto the bed without even bothering to pull the sheets down. Feeling the soft mattress beneath me, I draw my eyes shut. I can only muster enough strength to kick my shoes off before the endless abyss of sleep overtakes me.
* * *
The scene plays out as if I’m watching a movie. I stand in a church. Don’t ask me why – I’m not religious, and I’m not even sure if I’ve set foot inside a real one. Thin streamers of light drift through the dirt encrusted stained glass, making spider webs glisten high up in the rafters. The few pews that remain standing sag. The rest is kindling strewn across the floor.
I move down the aisle. The floorboards creak beneath my feet. Each step launches billows of dust through the air. I can see it. A single mirror stands at the far end beside a pedestal that holds a golden chalice. Believe me, I don’t want to be anywhere near it, but my feet have a mind of their own.
The mirror is not normal. Its surface casts no reflection. All I can see beneath the glass is a vast sea of jet-black nothingness, and yet, I know something is hiding there within the shadows. Something that waits for me, watching me. That’s what scares me the most.
‘No escape,’ a voice that doesn’t sound human sneers.
A scent drifts past my nose and makes my mouth water. It smells like cinnamon and honey, but I know it isn’t. My gaze dances around the hall, coming to rest on the chalice.
As I reach out, every nerve screams I must have it. Using my other hand, I try to stop myself. I don’t want it, I only have to tell my mutinous hand that. It won’t stop. I grip the smooth stem. It pulsates with warmth. The thick crimson liquid swirls within the bowl. I raise the cup to my mouth and my heart races as the warm liquid touches my lips.
‘No escape,’ the voice repeats in a low growl.

 

Cheree Smith
 
Cheree Smith
Cheree Smith lives in a country town in Australia as a high school English teacher where she writes paranormal, horror and dark stories for young adults. She enjoys listening to and learning about legends and myths, watching scary movies and dreaming up new worlds where monsters can come alive. When she is not in her writing cave she can be found listening to music, even dabbling in the occasional writing of music or reading.
Website   Blog – Twitter – Facebook – Goodreads
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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Sunday, 14 July 2013

Poetry ~ A Find


In a bid to try and post more frequently, I started hunting out some of my old poems. I discovered this little number hidden at the back of one of my diaries. I wrote it around nine years ago about my boyfriend, who I then went on to marry last September. It's funny because time can change a lot of things. When you've picked up someone's dirty socks and heard them fart every day for nearly a decade, you can easily forget the aspects about them that first captured your heart. This was a nice reminder of why we are together. I'm sure this will be a nice surprise for him when he eventually gets round to reading my blog.

 
A gentle heart with strength of soul,

A mind ever-hungry to learn.

The softest touch yet a solid embrace,

A good ear to which others may turn.

An artist’s eye with a poet’s passion,

And character funny and bright.

Your talents many, your grumbles few,

You make the dark seem light.

Thursday, 11 July 2013

Preview: The Long Road Home - Jenna Pizzi (ROYA #19)

What if someone took away everything that you ever cared about? What if one by one you were stripped of everything you have ever known until there was nothing left? What if you didn't even realize what was happening to you, because it was by the hands of one man, that was driven by obsession to possess you, to own you. Christina never believed in love at first sight, until she met Michael. In the span of one summer, Christina finds her soul mate only to have him suddenly torn from her life. Her father is set up for a crime he didn’t commit, and her best friend Lani is swept up into a fairy tale of her own. Christina suddenly finds herself alone and vulnerable, with only one person left to turn to, Logan. Little by little she begins to fall under his spell. Logan will stop at nothing to get what he wants, and what he has wanted all along is Christina. He has managed to worm his way into her life, separate her from everyone she cares about, and steal the life she was meant to have with someone else. In a series of shocking events, the truth starts to unravel, and the true Logan Harrington is discovered for who he really is. Christina's friends fight for her to uncover the truth, and free herself from his web of deception. Will she piece the truth together, or will she succumb to his delusional lies?

The Long Road Home is a story about family, first love, betrayal & secrets COMING SOON!

The Long Road Home Fantasy Cast

 
 

Christina & Logan 



Lani & Michael 

 Tiffany & Daniel
Andrew & Carlotta


 
 






Steve








Like the look of this? Then make sure to watch out for
Jenna Pizzi's The Long Road Home
available soon.
 
Remember, if you have something that you think would be of interest to ROYA, email me at merrybawz@hotmail.com with ROYA and your name as the subject.

Monday, 8 July 2013

One Small Gesture

Over the years, I’ve come to learn that people have no idea how much they impact upon the lives of others. One small gesture from you; a forgotten phone call, un-confirming a set date, a small token of appreciation; all that can make a huge difference in someone’s life, and without you even knowing it.

There are times when I have doubts about my writing, what writer doesn’t? Then again, there are those occasions when somebody does or says something about my work that reassures me that I must continue. No matter what happens, I’ll always write. I’m not sure there’s anyone who could stop me. They might be able to put a stopper in it for a spell, but the likelihood is the desire will fizz inside until it bursts forth from its containment. Writing is what I do. It’s what I’ve always done, and the only thing that will ever change is whether or not I have a willing audience.

Recently I had one of those life-affirming moments, thanks to a thirteen year old girl who’d read The Ferryman’s Wife. I’m always pleased when someone from my target audience enjoys my work, but nothing compares to when they show me their appreciation via letters or cards. This girl in particular wrote me a letter, in her own words, and added a review into the mix. Reading it brought a tear to my eye. It fills me with immense pleasure knowing that my readers are experiencing what I’d intended them to when I created the story. While I won’t share what she’s written (out of respect for her, as well as keeping my inspirations to myself) I will say that her praise was enough to spur me on to complete a difficult section of The Heart Thief. She may never know how much she has helped me, but I have so much to thank her for. The letter will remain in my possession forever, but what she’s actually given me is something of much greater significance. She’s given me reassurance, and that is priceless.