Friday, September 19, 2014

A Guitar With Too Many Strings Blurb Blitz

"Madness dances with brilliance" - a wild rock singer, a lonely white dolphin and other unworldly misfits emerge from their strange stories to challenge a young boy as to why. A gaunt tree leans wearily over them, like a guitar with too many strings. And the Angel leans on her gate, watching. - "Never seen anything quite like this"; "A unique & wonderful manuscript".

 - see for 57 reviews and ratings

"This is not a normal book with a normal story..."

It is the story of a rock singer and the unearthly harmonies plucked from a strange 13-string guitar; and of a bumptious honeybee encountering a strange little man on a planet that isn't there; and a tired, cynical old philosopher conducting a strange debate with a stone in the woods.

It is the story of a shipwrecked sailor, whose pet egg hatches into a strange seagull; and a worn-out, unworldly old lady dying in a strange land where no-one dreams; and a sad, downtrodden gardener tending a Wise Woman's strange, disquieting weed.

It is the story of a lonely white dolphin, and a tree - curiously shaped like a guitar with too many strings.

And of a young boy who discovers - with a little help from an Angel - The Seven Gifts - that came to Earth

"A most unusual and beautiful story"

"This is a book to make you think"

August 26: Our Wolves Den
August 27: Bunny's Review
August 28: Deal Sharing Aunt
August 29: Coffee Books and Art
August 29: The Cerebral Writer
September 1: Book 'Em North Carolina
September 2: Edgar's Books
September 3: Andi's Book Reviews
September 4: Long and Short Reviews
September 5: Lisa Haselton's Reviews and Interviews
September 8: A Book Addict's Delight
September 9: Margay Leah Justice
September 10: The blog of C.R. Moss
September 11: Rogue's Angels
September 12: Laurie's Thoughts and Reviews
September 15: Bookgirl Knitting
September 16: Literary Lunes Magazine
September 17: Book Suburbia
September 18: MAD Hoydenish
September 19: Sharing Links and Wisdom

Author Links:

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Guest Post: Starling by Racheline Maltese and Erin McRae

When J. Alex Cook, a production assistant on The Fourth Estate (one of network TV’s hottest shows), is accidentally catapulted to stardom, he finds himself struggling to navigate both fame and a relationship with Paul, one of Fourth’s key writers. Despite their incendiary chemistry, Alex’s inexperience and the baggage they’re both carrying quickly lead to an ugly break-up.

Reeling from their broken hearts, Alex has an affair with a polyamorous co-star and Paul has an ill-advised reunion with an old flame. Meanwhile, the meddling of their colleagues, friends -- and even the paparazzi! -- quickly make Alex and Paul’s real life romance troubles the soap opera of the television season. 

But while the entertainment value may be high, no one knows better than Alex and Paul that there are no guarantees when it comes to love in Los Angeles.

They talk so much that dinner takes forever. Paul's delighted because it means he's not crazy for feeling invested, even if he's self-aware enough to know he probably would be even if dinner had been merely a brief stop on the way to sex.

Eventually, though, they manage to push back from the table.

"Am I taking you to the couch or the bedroom?" he asks casually as he takes their plates to the sink.

"Bed," Alex says distractedly.

When Paul turns around Alex is crouched on the floor, petting Todd. It gets him in that weird biological place that seems reserved for attractive people interacting with small animals or babies.

After a moment, Alex looks up. "Sorry."

Paul shakes his head. "It's fine. Glad you're making friends. Let's bring the wine upstairs, too, okay?"
They're quiet on the stairs and it's awkward for a moment in Paul's bedroom. Alex finds himself thinking about the nights Paul spends alone. It's the mystery of adult and normal life in general that fascinates him as much as what Paul is like when his only company is himself.

He's not sure how much the room itself gives away; pale yellow walls, dark blue comforter, white trim around the windows and doors. The airiness of it is all California, but it lacks the blunt excess of his costars' massive and ugly houses. Even so, the contrast to his own apartment remains immense, and fills Alex with a certain degree of shame over his choices.

After Paul sets down the wine and glasses on the little table next to the armchair that resides in the corner of the bedroom, the silence stretches and snaps only when he finally takes a step toward Alex.

It's nothing then for Alex to close the rest of the gap and kiss him hard, pressing against him. Paul slips his hands into the back pockets of Alex's jeans and kneads at his ass.

"Clothes," Alex mutters as he starts frantically trying to pull Paul out of his.
They break apart only for the logistics of it all.

Alex winds up pushing Paul into the armchair. It's by the windows facing the bed, and it gives Alex a million ideas that range from sitting there getting a show to simply relaxing with his tablet while watching Paul sleep.
Right now, though, they're both naked, and Alex has remembered what it is to be brave.

As coauthors, Racheline and I get asked a lot about our writing process. And as coauthors of erotic romance books, we also get asked a lot about our writing process for The Sex.

To get the most pressing issue out of the way, co-writing sex is not particularly sexy. It’s actually usually absurd, with Levels of Ridiculous ranging from “Well that was awkward and amusing” to “Oh my god I can’t believe I just wrote that email about rimming and what character X’s history with rimming is and whether it’s remotely germaine to anything except our own understanding of the character help.”

But really, we write sex scenes the way we write any other scene: When we get to the scene, whoever has the time next goes for it, although sometimes there are expertise considerations. Racheline and I have very different personal histories, which allow us to bring a broad range of experiences to what we write -- in and out of our characters’ bedrooms.

And while Racheline and I do have moments of writing as a sort of creepy hive-mind (no, we have no idea how we both knew Paul’s cat in Starling was white with tabby splotches), when it comes to editing, we tend to play to our strengths and focus on different things. I’m in charge of continuity. Racheline, who is also a playwright and has a great ear for rhythm, hunts down repeated words and makes the prose generally as tight as possible.

Speaking of tight, in editing Starling, that became one of our rather surreal words of concern.

We were in the first or second round of Starling edits back from our publisher when I got what is possibly the most hilarious note on the manuscript from Racheline ever. To paraphrase, because the original has, to the relief of both of us, long since been resolved:

Character 1’s balls are tight. Because he’s about to come. Except I think we just said his ass was tight when Character 2 was fucking him. We need different words because I think that anatomically confusing. I CAN’T BELIEVE I JUST LEFT YOU THIS NOTE AND AM FULL OF SHAME BUT CAN YOU CHECK.

In other words, #EroticaWriterProblems.

So I cracked up laughing. And then I banged my head on my desk. And then I hit ctrl-f and ran a search for tight on the chapter in question. And then I banged my head on my desk again that that was a thing I had not only done, but a thing I needed to do, to polish our manuscript to its utmost. And then I emailed Racheline back with the good news for the book and the bad news for her:

Just ran a search. “Tight” only used once. So you imagined that.  But we’re good.

Starling is a novel we’re very proud of for many reasons. One of which just happens to be that we never did wear out the word tight in any of the book’s sex scenes.

Author Bios: 
Erin McRae and Racheline Maltese’s gay romance series Love in Los Angeles, set in the film and television industry, is published by Torquere Press. The first novel, Starling, was released September 2014; its sequel, Doves, is scheduled for January 2015. Racheline is a NYC-based performer and storyteller focused on themes of sex, gender, desire and mourning. Erin McRae is a writer and blogger based in Washington, D.C. You can find them on the web at

Our various social media links:

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Australian Tea Tree Oil Review

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Buy Here -
My Review:
5 stars
I loved using this! I'm moving, so I've been doing a lot of cleaning in my house. I didn't want to use a lot of bleach, especially since I have a cat, so I was looking for a healthy alternative. This was the perfect substitute. It cleaned well, and smelled good as well. I also used it as a substitute shampoo, using a recipe I found in the included book. It cleaned my hair and left it smelling nice as well. There are a lot of uses for this oil, and I can't wait to try them all out. I would definitely recommend using it.

I received one or more of the products mentioned above for free using Regardless, I only recommend products or services I use personally and believe will be good for my readers.

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Shadows of Damascus NBtM

Bullet wounds, torture and oppression aren’t the only things that keep a man—or a woman—from being whole.

Debt. Honor. Pain. Solitude. These are things wounded war veteran Adam Wegener knows all about. Love—now, that he is not good at. Not when love equals a closed fist, burns, and suicide attempts. But Adam is one who keeps his word. He owes the man who saved his life in Iraq. And he doesn’t question the measure of the debt, even when it is in the form of an emotionally distant, beautiful woman.

Yasmeen agreed to become the wife of an American veteran so she could flee persecution in war-torn Syria. She counted on being in the United States for a short stay until she could return home. There was one thing she did not count on: wanting more.

Is it too late for Adam and Yasmeen?

Shadows of Damascus to be released by Soul Mate Publishing mid January, 2014.

Hot cup of coffee in one hand, phone receiver cradled on shoulder, Adam dialed the phone number at eight thirty the following morning. A decent time. A woman’s soft voice greeted him.

“Good morning, ma’am. I’d like to talk to Mr. Pemssy?” He barely contained his excitement.


“My name is Adam Wegener,” he enunciated his words. “I want to speak to Mr. O. R. Pemssy.”

“Wrong number.”


“Damn it.” His excitement disintegrated like a popped balloon. He went back to the kitchen table and re-worked the letters again, only to end up with the same number. Frustrated, he crumbled the papers and threw them across the kitchen floor. To hell with this, he’d wasted enough time on this shit. If Fadi wanted something from him, he damned well better call him.

Hungry and angry, he stabbed a slice of toast and smeared it with peanut butter. Tension building in the muscles of his arms, he wanted to throw or break something. Instead, he swallowed the sandwich and went outside to work. Climbing astride his rusty old tractor, he cranked the motor.

Rising heat squeezed sweat from his body like a sponge with no regard to his fragile mental state. His mind crunched numbers without end while he worked. Thoughts of the cool fridge full of icy drinks beckoned him for an early lunch. He abandoned his tractor in the middle of the field, and headed home, discarding his wet shirt on the way. He walked around the kitchen, stomping papers. It felt good and satisfying. As satisfying as the icy Coke he gulped down. Needing to put things in order, he collected the discarded papers. When he reached to crush the envelope, his eyes landed on the Turkish stamp. A surge of excitement gripped his stomach. One more thing he needed to try.

Logging onto his laptop, he searched Turkey’s city codes for area code 216. Istanbul on the Asian side. He searched for the country code, then the time difference. Eight hours ahead put it close to nine p.m. in Istanbul.

He dialed the sequence of international code numbers and held his breath while the same ringing tone played with his nerves.

“’Allo?” A man’s voice greeted.

“May I speak to Mr. Pemssy?”

“Yust a minute.” The man spoke with an unmistakable heavy accent.

Adam dropped in a chair and closed his eyes in anticipation.

“I see you got my letter,” a deep voice said.

“You’re the one who sent it? Who am I speaking to?” Eyes wide open now. Could it be Fadi? Damn it, he couldn’t remember his voice.

“You know who I am. I can’t use my real name. How is zat hib of yours? Giving you trouble?”

Fadi. Same annoying accent. “What the hell is going on?” He grit his teeth and tried to ignore the mispronunciations. “Couldn’t you have given me your phone number in the letter, or called me directly?”

“I didn’t know if you still lived at that address, and I didn’t want my number to fall in the wrong hands. You’re not listed. I knew you liked to count things. That was the best I could come up with.”

“I too tried to find you many times. What can I do for you, man? What do you need?” Was there a better way to say he hadn’t forgotten Fadi?

“I need a favor. But I can’t explain over the phone. Get on a plane and come here as soon as possible.”

“You want me to fly to Turkey? You serious?”

“You promised to help if I needed anything, and I do. Desperately.”

Adam coughed to steal a moment. What the hell? Fly over there? Could he even afford it? He’d like to help the guy, but this was insane.

“Can’t just drop everything and leave. I’ll do my best to help you from here if you tell me what you need. Nothing illegal, you should know this upfront.”

“I can’t tell you, and I can’t stay on the line for too long. A life is at stake. Are you in or out?”

Adam was torn. Torn and ashamed to admit he looked for a way out of the promise he’d given years earlier. “Your life?”

Fadi remained silent for a few seconds.

He heard an agonized exhale.

“You’re my only hope.”

Writing Tips
Knowing what the next scene or chapter is going to be is crucial to staying fluid with the creative process. And it is so important to keep progressing in a writer’s world. Too many writers I know started on a wonderful story idea, but never got to finish their work, getting stuck on perfecting the scene at hand before moving to the next. Let’s face it, no matter how many times writers read their work, their critical eye will always find something wrong. Therefore, discipline and perseverance are needed.

One way to go about it is to map the work. Writing from a plot map gives structure to the work, and to the writer. When a certain section proves stubborn to nail down, the writer can move to another part of the plot, knowing what is needed there, and then gets back to the wrinkled scene. More often than not, the process helps unlock the problem, and the writer keeps going. I know a lot of writers who work this way, and they are able to produce coherent well-connected story lines one would never suspect they jumped between chapters and scenes during the creative process.

With my book Shadows of Damascus, I unknowingly used this method. The first thing I wrote was a scene in chapter five, and I anchored all the other events in the plot around that scene. Once I was satisfied I pinned it down the way I wanted, I moved on to other parts in the story, maneuvering my way between the chapters according to my mindset at the time while I worked. Suffice it to say, that is not a very effective way to go about creating a structured, sequential work like a book or a novel. For the kind of writer I am, and for the kind of story I had, it worked.

Author Bio and Links:
Lilas Taha is a writer at heart, an electrical engineer by training, and an advocate for domestic abuse victims by choice. She was born in Kuwait to a Syrian mother and a Palestinian father, and immigrated to the U.S. as a result of the Gulf war in 1990. She earned a master’s degree in Human Factors Engineering from the University of Wisconsin- Madison. There, Lilas met her beloved husband and true friend, and moved with him to Sugar Land, Texas to establish a family. She is the proud mother of a daughter and a son. Instead of working in an industrial field, she applied herself to the field of social safety, working with victims of domestic violence.

Pursuing her true passion for creative writing, Lilas brings her professional interests, and her Middle Eastern background together in her debut fictional novel, Shadows of Damascus.

Website     |     AuthorFacebook Page     |     Blog
Twitter     |     LinkedIn     |     Email:

Buy Links:
Amazon     |     Publisher

Monday, September 15, 2014

Tim on Broadway Blog Tour

Book Description:
Carolyn Sohier, the Greta Garbo of divas, is giving a once in a lifetime concert that Tim can’t afford to attend. Tim—an overweight, twenty-something virgin—regrets lending the hunky bag boy at the grocery store money that could have bought him a ticket. Tim needs to call in his debts, but money isn’t the only thing holding him back.

The first time Tim met Javier, he was blown away by the attention. He didn't often—actually ever—get a guy, let alone a hot one, pay attention to him. The problem, Javier is straight; yet he gives Tim mixed messages. Tim can’t get Javier off his mind, unless he is pursuing his love for theater—or talking with his best friend, Julia, about the “unattainable” crushes they share on some of the guys back home.

With the Carolyn Sohier concert fasting approaching, Tim struggles to get tickets. If he hadn't lent Javier the money to, well, have his way with him in the beer cooler at the store they worked at together, maybe Tim wouldn't have lost his job, and would be able to see Carolyn perform. But Tim’s learned his lesson from all this…or so he thinks.

Available at Amazon   Smashwords   iTunes   Kobo   Scribd   BN  Inktera
The entire first episode (over 70 pages) is available for free at Amazon

Chapter 1: America’s Got Divas

I put down my doughnut, picked up my iced coffee and took a sip. The extra-extra cream and extra-extra sugar gave me a nice little rush. It wasn’t quite as good as Starbucks’ but being unemployed I had to make the best of my homebrewed pot.
I had my cell phone cradled in the crook of my shoulder, talking to my best friend Julia. “With my Kindle,” I said, “I can read them without people staring at me on the subway.”
“I still can’t believe you like girly romance books,” Julia said. I could hear her slurping her own coffee, probably an iced Double Mocha Grande, being that she was at our old Starbucks in Salem. “You’re the only guy I know who has every Chippendale Publishing book ever released.”
I didn’t really but I didn’t want to quibble over details. “Oh my God,” I said, as a bit of powdered sugar sprayed from my mouth and landed on the blanket I had covered over me. I was getting ready to watch TV. “I almost forgot to tell you.”
She slurped some more of her coffee. “What?”
“Guess who’s doing a comeback concert?” I brushed the sugar dust off the blanket.
“Who, Cher?”
“No,” I said, raising my voice.
“I don’t know. You got me,” she said, and from her muffled speech, I could tell she was eating, probably a slice of carrot cake or a blueberry scone. I know what Julia likes. When she eats desserts, she usually goes for something that has a vegetable in it or some antioxidant fruit, because, of course, they’re healthier than my powdered doughnuts.
I pulled the blanket closer to me. “Carolyn Sohier,” I said. “She’s finally coming out of seclusion and doing a concert.”
Carolyn, who?” I heard the clinking of the fork against the plate. Carrot cake, I bet.
“Carolyn Sohier― you know, the singer who was in Witches of Salem, that movie we saw the night I slipped on the ice in Danvers? And she was also on Broadway in―”
“Oh, her. That movie was terrible.” I could practically hear her nose wrinkle in disgust. Julia was brutally honest. “Well, I liked it,” I said. “She’s an amazing singer.”
“She didn’t even sing in that movie,” she said, with her voice trailing off at the end.
“Well, it wasn’t a musical. But she did sing the theme song. Remember, we saw her on last year’s America’s Got Divas. She was the guest judge.”
“I suppose you’ll want me to go with you,” she said.
I clicked the remote control. “We’ll see. Tickets are expensive. She’s decided to come out of seclusion, out from her Greta Garbo cocoon. It’s a one-night only performance up in Bar Harbor.”
“Maine? Who the fuck gives a comeback performance in Maine? Bar Harbor, nonetheless. What, is she going to come out on stage riding a moose?” She laughed.
My neck was beginning to ache. I rubbed it. “I guess that’s where she lives. It’s a benefit of sorts.”
“So are you going to take the train or bus your ass up here to see her?”
By here Julia was referring to New England, where we had both grown up.
“You wanna go?” I asked.
“You mean will I go?” Julia wasn’t a huge fan of divas like I was, but she knew I had no one else to go with and wouldn’t travel alone.
“C’mon, you like her,” I said. “You even said her rendition of that Barry Manilow song was better than his.”
“Is that the song she sang when she shit herself on stage?”
“Whatever,” I said and tossed the remote onto the seat cushion next to me. Julia was referring, of course, to Carolyn’s fairly well-publicized stage fright. Carolyn had suffered a particularly bad spell several years back and, well, embarrassed herself on live television. It was pretty sad. Julia thought it was funny.
I turned as an ambulance’s siren rang out from the street below, followed by a blare from its horn. I hated the sound of ambulances. I got up to shut the window as it took a turn down Charleston Place.
“Five floors up and it sounds like the cops are right next door,” she said. “I don’t know how you can stand living in New York City.”
“It was an ambulance and I’m in Brooklyn.”
I looked at the wall clock, a gift I bought myself. It had logos from nearly all the big Broadway shows over the past two years. “Shit. It’s almost time for America’s Got Divas and I haven’t even set the DVR.”
“Alright, I’ll let you go. Besides, I should check the dryer.” She was at our old Starbucks across from the Laundromat. “Oh and how are you going to come up with the money to buy tickets for this reclusive diva? Didn’t you just get done telling me you’ve already spent this week’s and next week’s unemployment check?”
I didn’t want to get into it. “Javier,” I said. “This week, he’s finally going to pay me the money he owes me.”
“Oh, God. Not Javier.” I knew her well enough to know that she was probably rolling her eyes as she said it.
“Shut up,” I said, with no real force behind it. Julia could be such a bitch. She was always reminding me of the things I did wrong, which were plenty, and the things I should be doing to better myself, which, quite honestly, were spilling out of my inbox.
I didn’t want to be reminded of the humiliating experience I had had with Javier, the bagger at the Good Barn, my former place of employment. In short, he got me fired. “He’s getting money from his student loan,” I said. “He is going to pay me back on Wednesday.”
“We’ll see about that. Didn’t I tell you not to give him that money? Didn’t I tell you you’d probably never see it again? But no,” she said, holding onto the vowel a bit longer than necessary. “You still went off and gave it to him after giving him a BJ in the beer cooler behind Produce. He’s going to ruin your wholesome, good-natured reputation.”

Thanks so much for stopping by. So, why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?
Oh, thank you. I’m glad to be here.

A little bit about myself…the dreaded job interview question. Somehow here it doesn’t seem as bad.

Well, for starters, I come from Massachusetts. I recently moved to Florida to pursue writing—and an easier lifestyle than what I had in crazy Boston.

Here I am almost a year later and am busier than I ever thought of being up North. But I wouldn’t change a thing. I love it here.

I’m also openly gay and have a wonderful husband. Oh, I should also mention that we’re both owned by a twelve year old dog named Bandit. I think he’s more famous than I am. He’s even got his own blog.

How did you get started writing?
From a professional standpoint, I started looking at it more seriously when I started blogging back in 2005.(The site above that Bandit has since taken over.) It was early on, before blogs were big and I was fortunate enough to catch the wave—albeit a small one.

I wrote every day and with some positive feedback I was encouraged to dust off a novel I had written a few years prior. That novel has yet to be published, but it got me working on other works. 

What was the inspiration for your book?
Music. I am forever finding a song that strikes a mood, creates a scene and launches a story.

For Tim on Broadway, there were several songs that inspired me. The most notable was probably the finale from the Bette Midler film called The Rose. I’m a huge Bette fan. There’s something about her energy in The Rose, especially that last song, which I wanted to capture in writing. Tim’s fascination with Carolyn Sohier is The Rose come to life.

What’s the one genre you haven’t written in yet that you’d like to?
I haven’t written a sci fi piece. However, I have an idea I’ve been bandying about with a friend. Something about a gay astronaut…aliens…saving Earth from environmental disasters. I don’t know. I’m still letting the idea marinate. I guess the song hasn’t come out yet that would inspire me.

Are there any genres you won’t read or write in? Why?
I’m pretty open. But, you probably won’t see me writing the next werewolf or shape shifter series. Nothing against them. For me, I have to be grounded in reality. It takes a special writer to do that for me. That being said, one of my favorite TV shows is Once Upon a Time—talk about straying from reality—but what I like about that show is how they weave in “real” characters and settings. Plus, I have a huge crush on Prince Charming.

So, what are you working on right now? Got any releases planned, or still writing?
Right now I’m finishing up a short story for a Christmas anthology called Boughs of Evergreen. My piece in it is under the working title of One Nightstand, which is a tender story about a college guy searching for love in a casual hookup he has on Christmas Eve. The story was inspired, by Sam Smith’s “Stay with Me”. I love that song. The publisher is Beaten Track. It should be out right before Christmas. There’s some great talent in that anthology. So be sure to check it out. Plus, we’ll be donating proceeds to an LGBT youth charity. The project is very exciting to be part of. Plus, Beaten Track is a dream to work with.

Alright, now for some totally random, fun questions. Favorite color?  
Teal. (Sorry, this is the closest I could get to the color teal)

Favorite movie?
The Rose, go figure.

Book that inspired you to become an author?
Oh, s#@t that’s a tough one. I’d have to probably say Tales of the City by Armistead Maupin.

Alright, you have one superpower. What is it?
Flying. I think that would be so much fun. I occasionally do it in my dreams—real vivid lucid ones. I almost feel like I already know how to.

You can have dinner with any 3 people, dead, alive, fictitious, etc. Who are they?
Bette Midler would definitely be at the table. I’d then probably ask my mother to go; she just died a few months back and was a big Bette Midler fan also. My mom would be pissed if I didn’t conjure her up to see The Divine Miss M.

Who else? Let’s add God to the table. In whatever fashion he or she decides to show. Since I’d be resurrecting a dead spirit, I wouldn’t want Bette Midler to freak out and get all Hocus Pocus on me. I think God might be able to calm her down.

Last question: Which of your characters are you most like and how/why?

Oh, boy. From Tim on Broadway it would probably be Tim. I had a weight problem when I was a kid. Being fat really made a difference on how I saw the world, and, unfortunately, how the world saw me. I tried to bring that feeling of being an outcast into my book. In a way, we are all outcasts. That’s why I think so many can relate to the story.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

September 15 - Sharing Links and Wisdom 
September 16 - Pembroke Sinclair
September 17 - Fang-tastic Books
September 18 - Zipper Rippers
September 19 - Lisa’s World of Books

Monday, September 22, 2014  - Live Radio Show 11 p.m. Eastern

September 23 -  Author Karen Swart
September 24 - Shut Up & Read 
September 26 - Eclipse Reviews
September 29 - KayDee’s Place
October 3 - Accepted Wisdom 
October 9 - Books Direct
October 10 - Darkest Cravings
October 13 - Roxanne’s Realm

About the Author:
Rick Bettencourt is the author of Tim on Broadway, Painting with Wine and Not Sure Boys. He lives with his husband and their little dog, Bandit, in the Sarasota area of Florida. Rick originally hails from Boston’s North Shore where he learned to speak without pronouncing the letter “r”— and say things like “tonic” when he wanted a Coke, or “bubbler” when getting a drink from the park’s water fountain.

A few years ago, Rick was adopted by a Cairn Terrier named Bandit. Recently, Bandit moved Rick, and his husband of several years, to Florida to escape the New England winters and avoid being engulfed by snow drifts when going about their business.

When Rick is not being walked around the block by Bandit, he might be found working on a story about an underdog character triumphing over adversity. Or you might catch Rick watching The Walking Dead or Once Upon a Time, reading something like Running with Scissors or some personal development book, or writing to a group of folks on his mailing list.

In addition, Rick enjoys theater, art, old postcards, and amusement parks. He also loves to hear from his readers.

You can follow Rick on Twitter @rbettenc or subscribe to his mailing list at

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Twitter: @rbettenc

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