Sunday, December 31, 2017

End of Year Reflection and Giveaway

Here we are, the end of 2017. I don’t know about y’all, but it’s been a crazy, busy year for me. Medical scares and revelations, new opportunities and challenges, multiple moves. And to top it all off, after many years and a lot of hard work, I graduated with my bachelor degree this month, bringing more joys and challenges (and limiting my ability to post these past few months). All in all though, 2017 was a good year for me, and so to send it off with a bang, I’m throwing one last giveaway (and my first giveaway of 2018). Let me know how 2017 was for you, and have a happy new year! See you in 2018!

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Friday, December 29, 2017

Movie Magic Review Tour


Sabrina Parker has spent her professional life creating unbelievable stunts and magical effects for movies and stage magicians. Now she needs some special magic to help her bring her movie to life. Her search leads her to the very unlikely stage of Walt Bryson, host of a long-running children’s television show in Beaufort, North Carolina.

Walt isn’t terribly happy about taking Hollywood’s call. He’s never sought the same notoriety as his colleagues Ian Logan and Andre Hawke. But there’s something about the beautiful, levelheaded Ms. Parker, and when he reads her screenplay, he knows he wants to work with her. For the first time in years, he’s willing to put tragedy behind him and make real magic.

Can Walt and Sabrina use love as their guide or will their past mistakes haunt their future?

“How long can you stay?”

He drew away and looked at her in amusement. “I’m here all night.”

“No, I mean this trip. How long is it?”

“Just til day after tomorrow, why?”

She couldn’t hide her disappointment. “Oh. Okay.”

He sat up on his elbows, looking down at her. “Why do I get the feeling that’s not the answer you wanted from me?”

She shook her head, trying—too late—to reassure him. “No, it’s just that Dylan has this actor who’s looking at a part in the movie. The male lead. And it’s kind of a big thing for the movie, and if you were there, you could see if he would even be able to learn the tricks. You know. For the movie. But it’s not—”

“I can stay.”

“What?” She looked at him incredulously.

“I can stay.” He brushed her hair back from her face with a gentle smoothing motion. “The show’s wrapped up, and I’ve got no plans for the rest of my life. What’s another couple of days?”

“Oh. Fantastic.” She relaxed into his arms. “That means there’ll be more time for this, then.”

“And that is the best news I’ve heard all day.”

My Review:
4 stars

I enjoyed this book. The plot was fun and full of details about the movie industry and Beaufort, NC (which I now want to go visit), which helped add to the story. Plus, the characters were engaging and interesting, and I liked the chemistry between Sabrina and Walt. I even enjoyed the secondary characters, though some of the storylines involving the secondary characters could have been cut, since they took away from Sabrina and Walt’s story without adding anything of value. Aside from that though, I greatly enjoyed this book, and would highly recommend it to anyone looking for a quick, fun read.

On a side note, I did not realize that this book was part of a series, and it does share some crossover characters from the other two books in the series. However, it works as a standalone, so you don’t need to read the others to enjoy Movie Magic (though I would recommend doing so).

*I received this book in exchange for an honest review.*

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Don’t forget to visit the other stops on the tour.

Author Bio and Links:
Michelle Garren Flye is an award-winning author of romance and women’s fiction. Reviewers have described her work as: “an engaging novel with charming and likable characters”, a story that “will make you believe in love and second chances”, and a “well-written and thought-provoking novel.”

Michelle placed third in the Hyperink Romance Writing Contest for her short story “Life After”. Her short stories have been published by the romance anthology Foreign Affairs,, and She has served on the editorial staffs of Horror Library, Butcher Shop Quartet and Tattered Souls.

Michelle has a Bachelor’s degree in Journalism and Mass Communication from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and a Master’s degree in Library and Information Science from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro. She is the mother of three and lives in North Carolina with her husband and their rapidly growing collection of pets.

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Friday, December 22, 2017

In Heat of Tropics VBT

Amid a sweltering Miami summer, a serial killer is haunting the city. Reporter Ingrid Sorenson is assigned the story and her primary source is brusque detective Rick Gonzalez. The pair clash, but sparks of passion ignite. They risk their jobs to give in to their desire, but mistrust of each other’s career motives wedges them apart. Then Ingrid gets a tip that leads her into the killer’s lair. She and Rick must choose between saving themselves or rescuing their love.

She arrived before the police had erected a tent around the victim, and even standing at the mouth of the alley, she could see the silhouette of a man reclining at an odd angle in the driver’s seat of a minivan.

A man murdered in his car. Just like the John Killings. Could the John Killer have returned to mark the year anniversary of his last murder? She tried to control her excitement. If it was the serial killer, this would be a huge story. And she just happened to be working that night.

Then that detective had shown up, wrenching her incredibly good luck to incredibly bad inside two minutes. She still didn’t even know the guy’s name. But maybe he wouldn’t be working the case. Maybe he was just on duty and got the callout, and maybe it wouldn’t matter if he was on the case. Her primary contact at the P.D. was media relations. Still, it was a bad break. Developing a personal relationship with detectives was the way to scoops. She didn’t need him possibly poisoning other cops against her. 

The coroner’s tech was photographing the body and the car. Detective Asshole was standing with folded arms, watching. Every now and then, he turned in her direction—checking on her. With her initial excitement fading to disillusion, a wave of tiredness overcame her. She wiped her forehead with her forearm. The air had cooled at this time of night, but it was still muggy. She trudged back to her car, posted a two-sentence brief online about a suspicious death in an alley north of downtown from her phone and headed home.

As she raced down the normally traffic-choked U.S. 1, she recalled that whole embarrassing video incident.  As Mel had predicted, she’d been hauled into Marlena’s office the next day to give her side of the story. Thankfully, Marlena had concluded that it wasn’t Ingrid’s fault. Why would an undercover operative be so reckless as to show up at a media conference? Still, Ingrid had been nervous that it would be held against her when she applied for the police beat, but it hadn’t. Neither did it seem to matter to Major Montoya when Ingrid had gone to the station to introduce herself as the new Star reporter. The only person who held the grudge was the detective, although he seemed to have landed pretty well if he was investigating homicides.

Despite being an asshole, he was cute, hot actually. But being an arrogant jerk seemed to be the required personality trait of good-looking men, as if they knew handsome guys were in short supply and acted accordingly. Still, Ingrid wondered whether something could’ve developed between them if the video thing hadn’t happened.

She had felt a frisson of … what exactly, attraction? … in that look they’d shared, and he must’ve rushed to get to the door before she left the press conference for a reason. She stopped herself. What-ifs were nothing but a trap of despair.  They didn’t bear thinking about.

She pulled into the driveway, tires crunching over the carpet of red berries fallen from the palm trees in her front yard. She was due back at work in a few hours for her regular day shift. She’d get some sleep and head back to follow up the homicide. If she could break the story that the John Killer had returned, and stay ahead on the story after that, maybe she could nab a promotion to a coveted slot on the investigative team. Then she’d never have to worry about running into Detective Asshole again.

Why we are hooked on romance?

Why are we so hooked on reading romance? I’ve often pondered this conundrum. Before we even crack open the cover of a romance novel, we know the plot setup, who the main characters are going to be, and of course, the ending is a given, yet we still keep turning the pages and buying romance more than any other type of fiction. The enduring attraction to love stories defies logic, but I guess that’s the point its not rational, its emotional, something akin to the Movie Kleenex Syndrome. I dont know about you, but when a movie makes me cry, I usually come out of the theater saying what a great movie it was.

Still, what is it specifically about romance novels that makes our hearts go rat-tat-tat? I figured if I wanted to answer that question I would start by looking at who exactly reads romance. No surprise here. According to the Romance Writers of America, 91 percent of readers are female. Some other interesting factoids about half of romance readers are married, most are middle-class, aged 30 to 54, and nearly 40 percent in the South. In other words, we are kind of average. Hmm, okay, so we’re looking to escape our humdrum lives, but there’s tons of ways to do that. I still wasn’t getting to the nut inside the romance shell.

I took a closer look at romance novel covers, at those hunky handsome studs who most of us will never get to date, who never would’ve given us average gals a second look. But there’s something more than their looks they are alpha males, symbols of masculine virility, so testosterone-tough inside and outside that they are unattainable.

Since high school, I have been attracted to these types the bad boys, the rebels with a devil-may-care swagger. They straddled chairs turned backwards and held their cigarettes between a thumb and two fingers. They drove muscle cars with engines that gave off throaty rumbles. They were cute, they were cool, and they totally ignored me. What I would’ve given to have had a bad boy fall in love with me!

Flash forward a couple years (okay, way more than a couple), and I did manage to land a few bad boys along the way. Problem is bad boys make bad boyfriends. The fantasy doesn’t hold up.

But in romance novels, it does. The heroine attains the unattainable bad boy, albeit after a bit of a struggle we do have to have some plot twists and turns. But she wins his heart, she gets her man! And boy, does she get him she reels him in and strings him up like a two-hundred pound marlin at the Key West dock. He is totally, devotedly hers because we all know that when Bad Boy gives his heart, it will be true and forever. Bad boys may have lots of belt-notches, but not being sentimentally squishy, they have room only to love one woman.

We want to be the one who succeeds in penetrating the Teflon male’s heart, a feat that countless other women have fruitlessly tried to pull off. And we all want that Romeo-and-Juliet kind of adoration, to be loved utterly and completely, simply for the virtue of being who we are. An idealized version of love, to be sure, but immensely gratifying to us women. Let’s face it, even today, we have lower self-esteem than men. Taming men who still dominate and control the reins of power in our society is a boost to our collective ego.

Aha! That was it! I felt I was striking the right chord, but I was still missing a note. What about the female protagonist? She obviously plays a key role. Who is the woman who attains the unattainable?

Our heroines, I noticed, are both smart and sexy. They successfully reconcile society’s mixed messages about women. Attractive women are not taken as seriously in the professional world. Intelligent women, on the other hand, are not seen as sexy. To land a mate, we have to be provocative, to succeed in a career, we have to be almost gender-neutral. It often seems we have to choose between one persona or the other. In romance novels, femininity encompasses both beauty and brains. We want both and as it happens, Bad Boy wants both. Its a combination so seductive, so irresistible, that he pursues the heroine relentlessly.

My bottom line conclusion –romance fiction is really about female empowerment. It’s about women getting what they want (Bad Boy), being allowed to be who they are (smart and sexy), and boosting their self-esteem with unconditional acceptance (true love). That’s why we read romance.

Don’t forget to visit the other stops on the tour.

Author Bio and Links:
Christina Elliott is a former Miami newspaper reporter and editor. She now writes spicy romantic suspense novels from Los Angeles, where she’s glad to report there are far fewer bad-hair days but sadly far less Cuban coffee. She is a member of the Romance Writers of America.

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Thursday, December 21, 2017

Once Upon a Christmas Moon Review Tour

Twelve Days to Love

When Archer Steele showed up at Calanthe Durand's failing plantation with an alligator over his shoulder, Cali thought she'd never seen a more handsome man. During the war she'd had to defend herself and her servants from both union and confederate soldiers. Independent and self-sufficient, she'd vowed to never marry.

But Archer Steele has different ideas. The first time Archer had seen Cali in town, he felt an instant attraction. He decided he'd do everything and anything to convince the beautiful Miss Durand he was worthy of her love. During the weeks leading up to Christmas, he gave her twelve gifts to in hopes she'd fall in love with him.

Excerpt from Twelve Days to Love:
“Enough love talk.” His grin spoke of the devil is disguise. “Let’s go for a walk. Call it a feeble attempt to court the woman of my dreams, the woman I want to convince she can’t live without me.”

Laughing softly, she cocked her head to one side, studying Archer Steel. “I’d like that. Let me grab a shawl. You’re not afraid of Mr. Lawson popping up.”

“No, not while I’m with you. He’s a sly and manipulative person, a man of no courage. He won’t battle me, but he will wait until you’re vulnerable.”

They walked down the stairs and along a path skirting the bayou. A soft breeze sifted through the cypress trees, stirring the hanging moss. The quiet time spent without conversation left a peaceful feeling within. This moment could last forever, if she had her way and if she admitted the truth, she could get used to having Archer by her side.

A gator slipped into the water as a crane flew by. Cali leaned her head against Archer’s arm, wishing for the past, for easier times. Her father would have made sure the chaperone was a few feet behind. Now there was no one guarding her or her virtue. She didn’t know if she cared. Maybe she wanted Archer to make love to her.

But she didn’t want to ever marry.

He turned her. Their gazes met and she licked her lips, wanting the kiss that now seemed inevitable. Slowly bending toward her, his lips met hers. They were warm and soft, so gentle she almost swooned. Swooning was in the past when women wore corsets. A corset had not molded her shape since the war began and her father left the plantation. Leaving the garment in the wardrobe not only freed her body but also her mind.

With her eyes closed she felt heat sweep within, knew the longing for a man. Fire enveloped her body and the small groan emanating was coupled with the same sound from Archer.

Did he feel the same way? They were doomed. No coherent thoughts made their way inside her head.

His hand touched her neck, one thumb on her jaw. She felt his tongue against her lips. Without thought she opened for him, acknowledged the touch inside her mouth. He deepened the kiss, exploring her, his hand running the length of her arm. She pushed into him, enjoying the hard muscles protecting her, enfolding her in his strength. She realized while she didn’t need protection, she loved the closeness. This was an intimacy she’d never understood or known, deeper than the bond between parents and daughter.

One hand on the small of her back pulled her closer, his kiss deepened. She slipped her tongue inside his mouth, teeth, tongue, a primal dual.

He pulled away, a grim expression on his face. “We need to stop.”

Licking her lips, “I’m not sure I want this to end.”

She heard his groan. “This kiss has to end or Sam will be out here defending your honor. I don’t want him to have to do that.”

“No one but me needs to defend my honor.” She bristled, wishing for one more kiss.

 My Review:
Coming soon
*I received a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.*

Don’t forget to visit the other stops on the tour.

Author Bios and Links:
Christine Young: Born in Medford, Oregon, novelist Christine Young has lived in Oregon all of her life. After graduating from Oregon State University with a BS in science, she spent another year at Southern Oregon State University working on her teaching certificate, and a few years later received her Master's degree in secondary education and counseling. Now the long, hot days of summer provide the perfect setting for creating romance. She sold her first book, Dakota's Bride, the summer of 1998 and her second book, My Angel to Kensington. Her teaching and writing careers have intertwined with raising three children.  Christine's newest venture is the creation of Rogue Phoenix Press. Christine is the founder, editor and co-owner with her husband. They live in Salem, Oregon.

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Christie L. Kraemer: A traveler for most of her life, C. L. Kraemer has settled in the Northwest with her husband and two cats. When not creating a new world or entity, she likes riding next to her husband on their Harleys.

Genie Gabriel: I'm an optimist whose rose-colored glasses have bent frames and cracked lenses. When life kicks me in the teeth, I find miracles and lessons I refused to learn an easier way. In fact, I live with a small herd of miracles in the furry forms of dogs, who are constantly trying to teach me to forgive, to play more, and to love without limits.

I write about people who find courage and integrity in the darkest times of their lives, who rescue stray dogs and kittens, who find a person they would willingly give their lives for, and who make their little corners of the world a better place.

People have remarked my stories "aren't what they expected." With rose-colored glasses firmly in place, I take that as a compliment.

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One Too Excerpt Tour

Telepathy creates as many problems as it solves, as most of the members of the secret organization x0 would admit. When new member Lola discovers another group of telepaths with a completely different approach, those problems multiply at the speed of thought.

Soon, Lola’s family and friends are in danger. Lucky for her, she’s not your average budding psychic. Each person with whom she is close has a special gift of their own. That’s good, because it’s going to take every power they possess to keep this other group from succeeding with their plan to eradicate x0.

Exclusive Excerpt:
She got out of bed, crept into the hallway, and peaked around the dining room curtains. The first thing she saw was smoke, but there was no smell of fire. She rubbed her eyes awake and looked more closely. Either there had just a been a freakish hail storm or there was a large amount dry ice laying across the front lawn. So it was mist she was seeing. Mist that was being intentionally created. Why?

She squinted into it. At least a dozen people were on the front lawn, dressed in grey cloaks, swaying, and occasionally crouching in fear. Some were moaning in pain as they moved and others were grunting in anger. As near as Lola could tell, there was no particular source of their troubles. Rather, it looked for all the world like an amateur acting workshop devoted to expressing negative emotions. Had this been staged just to wake her and Maurice and fill them with fear?

Alex came up behind her. As he looked out, a tall hooded man raised a dagger high above his own head and started to wail at the top of his lungs.

“What is this shit?” Alex muttered.

“Maybe we should call 911,” Teddie’s voice was behind them, and Alex winced at his ill-timed profanity.

“Sorry, kiddo. This is a little weird for me.”

 “It’s weird for everybody, dad,” Zane corrected his father as he came into the dining room. “And I wouldn’t call 911 unless you think they’re going to hurt us. This has got to be just what Ariel saw. Something to make our family look eccentric.”

“Make us look eccentric?  We’re not the ones dancing around on the lawn making strange noises,” Lola protested.

“How much do you want to bet that isn’t the way that the story is going to get covered?” Teddie said.

“Maybe if we all go back to sleep they’ll just get tired of this and go away,” Alex said.

“I agree. The last thing we want to do is call more attention it,” Zane said.

Lola looked back out through the window. “But if they get loud enough, a neighbor is going to call the police. Then what?”

Zane nudged in beside his mother and studied the scene. The man with the dagger was still waving it around in the air, and his sounds were becoming shrieks. Several of the others began to screech too, alternating like warring groups of katydids.

“I could go out there and spray them all with the garden hose,” Zane offered.

A lone, grey hooded figure emerged from the bushes to the side of the yard, carrying a tray that held a small, lifeless orange animal. The tray was slowly laid in front of the dagger-holding shreiker as the four family members tried to get a good look at it through the mist.

“Please tell me that’s a dead chicken,” Alex said.

“I wish. It looks a lot more like the Nelson’s cat.” Lola said. “Hopefully only drugged.”

The groans and screeches began to coalesce into chanting. It was a little free form, but the gist seemed to involve begging the Zeitmans to come outside and accept their sacrifice.

“They want us to stop the murder of this pet, by appearing outside with them,” Zane said. “They are trying to force us to engage in this nonsense.”

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Author Bio and Links:
Sherrie grew up in Western Kansas thinking that there was no place in the universe more fascinating than outer space. After her mother vetoed astronaut as a career ambition, she went on to study journalism and physics in hopes of becoming a science writer.

She published her first science fiction short story long ago, and then waited a lot of tables while she looked for inspiration for the next story. When it finally came,  it declared to her that it had to be whole book, nothing less. One night, while digesting this disturbing piece of news, she drank way too many shots of ouzo with her boyfriend. She woke up thirty-one years later demanding to know what was going on.

The boyfriend, who she had apparently long since married, asked her to calm down and  explained that in a fit of practicality she had gone back to school and gotten a degree in geophysics and had spent the last 28 years interpreting seismic data in the oil industry. The good news, according to Mr. Cronin, was that she had found it at least mildly entertaining and ridiculously well-paying  The bad news was that the two of them had still managed to spend almost all of the money.

Apparently she was now Mrs. Cronin, and the further good news was that they had produced three wonderful children whom they loved dearly, even though to be honest that is where a lot of the money had gone. Even better news was that Mr. Cronin  turned out to be a warm-hearted, encouraging sort who was happy to see her awake and ready to write. "It's about time," were his exact words.

Sherrie Cronin discovered that over the ensuing decades Sally Ride had already managed to become the first woman in space and apparently had done a fine job of it. No one, however, had written the book that had been in Sherrie's head for decades. The only problem was, the book informed her sternly that it had now grown into a six book collection. Sherrie decided that she better start writing it before it got any longer. She's been wide awake ever since, and writing away.


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Wednesday, December 20, 2017

Relatively Crazy Blurb Blitz

On her fortieth birthday housewife Wanda Jo Ashton is expecting her husband's standard gift of an E and E from T-that being Elegant and Expensive from Tiffany's. However, what she gets is the news that her formerly successful, dependable corporate attorney husband is leaving her to pursue the rich life of a kept man. Left with nothing she has no choice but to escape the San Francisco area, with her sixteen-year-old daughter in tow and head toward the mountains of West Virginia and the quirky family she left behind twenty years ago. Here Wanda Jo must carve out a future, complete with career and home in the midst of family feuds, computer phobias and the occasional homebrewing explosion before she finally figures out life can indeed being again at forty.

Okay, there is was. Looking no different than twenty-two years ago. A small opening in the woods marked by a gray, metal, utilitarian mailbox and a graveled trail that passed for a driveway in these parts.

I was home. Oh God help me. Please.

I depressed the brake pedal, leaving behind the paved surface and tried not to wince as what sounded like millions of tiny gravel bits pinged against the underside of my car.

The azaleas lining the drive still looked the same. The one at the very end caught my attention, I could have sworn it jiggled. Oh no, it couldn’t be. Surely it was impossible now.

Suddenly the bush jumped in front of the car.

I slammed on the brakes, pinning Olivia to the seat with my outstretched arm. In the fashion of mothers everywhere I was protecting my offspring from flying through the windshield by crushing her windpipe while invoking the Maternal Arm.

I looked toward the hood and the half-dozen bobbing azalea twigs in front. I sat resolved as they rose and wre followed by an old pith helmet and a face which looked a bit older than I’d remembered, although it was hard to tell precisely, given the layers of green and black greasepaint. A body followed, dressed in a set of ancient Army –issued fatigues.

“Gun,” Olivia croaked, pointing.

I simply nodded, there would be plenty of time later for my daughter to find out exactly what was swimming around in the waters of the gene pool from whence she’d sprung.

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Author Bio and Links:
At the age of nine Ellen Dye decided she was going to be a writer when she found her Aunt Nettie’s trunk of True Confessions magazines and spent untold hours reading the lot, a bag of Munchos potato chips and a frosty RC Cola at her side. Then, being nine, she promptly forgot all about it as she got lost in the pesky business of growing up, And then one very lucky day she spotted a confession magazine on the grocery store shelf and began to tap out her own stories which were a delight to see published. Now she spends her days tapping out her characters’ happily-ever-afters for The Wild Rose Press.

Visit anytime at

Ellen is always up for meeting new friends at Ellen Dye Author on Facebook.

Monday, December 18, 2017

Going Gone! Excerpt Tour

Code Name Trackers: The elite of the elite. FBI agents, each with a secret, an extraordinary ability that defies reason and logic.

An intricate scheme to kidnap the children of high-ranking politicians on Capitol Hill gets disrupted when private investigator Kerry Branson rescues one of the victims.

Teamed with FBI Tracker Ryan Barr, they discover the plot extends to the Office of the President and—the horrific plan has drug cartels and terrorist cells lined up to cash in.

Exclusive Excerpt:
The hair on Ryan’s neck had prickled at Kerry’s serious demeanor when she asked about a refill. She was up to something, and the coffee was an excuse, but he didn’t have a clue as to what. Well, he’d stick around. He might find out how she came up with those damn drawings.

Setting Ryan’s cup on the table, she settled in her chair and took a sip. The heat felt good as the liquid slid down her throat. Staring at Ryan over the rim of the cup, she took a second sip, then said, “How did you come up with Moore’s name?”

The question wasn’t a surprise, but hopefully, he could avoid the explanation. “Hmm … a hunch. Someone mentioned the name, and it seemed to fit the Harris imposter.”

Kerry thought, what a crock. He’s using the same kind of answers I do when I can’t explain how I know something. “Nope, I’m not buying that answer. What is it you don’t want to tell me?”

Perturbed by her persistence, Ryan fired back. “How did you come up with the sketches?”

“Fair question. Since I believe we both have issues we don’t want to discuss, I would like to propose an … alliance, for lack of a better word. The only rule is this discussion stays between the two of us. Considering the risk to our careers, I think it is a fair resolution to our individual concerns,” Kerry said.

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Author Bio and Links:
Award winning author, Anita Dickason, is a retired Dallas Police Officer. Anita served as a patrol officer, undercover narcotics officer, advanced accident investigator, and SWAT entry/sniper.

Upon retirement, she became involved in a research project that dealt with the death of a witness to the Kennedy assassination. The research led to her first book, JFK Assassination Eyewitness: Rush to Conspiracy, that details the results of her reconstruction of the 1966 motor vehicle accident that killed Lee Bowers, Jr.

The project jump-started a new career as an author and publisher, and she started a new business: Mystic Circle Books & Designs, LLC.

As an author, her fictional works are suspense/thrillers with a touch of paranormal and romance. Characters with unexpected skills, that extra edge for overcoming danger and adversity, have always intrigued her. Adding an infatuation with ancient myths and legends of Native American Indians, and Scottish and Irish folklore creates the backdrop for her characters.
As a publisher, her diverse background has proven to be an invaluable asset. Assisting other authors to publish their works utilizes the gamut of her experience. Graphics design has become one of her favorite endeavors.

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Thursday, December 14, 2017

The Remains in the Pond VBT

Senior prom is the happiest night of Gabi’s life. Her crush has just revealed that he is every bit as infatuated with her as she is with him. When he has a car wreck and is transported to the hospital in a coma, Gabi feels as if she’s taken a knife to the heart. But his jealous cousin, Rose, sees her chance to give the knife an even harder twist. She convinces Gabi to meet her at a local parking spot outside town. It's a night that will change several lives forever. One of the girls will return, and one will become known as the remains in the pond.

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Ann, thanks so much for stopping by. So, how did you get started writing?
I wrote stories in a spiral notebook in Jr. High, but I didn’t publish any until college when I won a short story contest.

What was the inspiration for your book?
The Remains in the Pond was inspired by an image in a movie. It showed a white skull barely visible in a murky pond.

What’s the one genre you haven’t written in yet that you’d like to?
I would like to write a medical romance like A Walk to Remember.

Are there any genres you won’t read or write in? Why?
Nope. Can’t think of any.

What are you up to right now? Do you have any releases planned, or are you still writing?
Yes, I have book four in my Phantom series getting ready for release soon. I also have another YA novel that will come after than, and now I am working on a romance set near Stutter Creek.

Alright, now for some random questions. Favorite color?

Favorite movie?

Book that inspired you to become an author?
Red Sky at Morning.

You have one superpower. What is it?
The ability to make everyone kind.

You can have dinner with any 3 people, dead, alive, fictitious, etc. Who are they?
My father who died when I was eight; my mother who died a few years ago; my sister who died last year. We would all sit around talking about books.

Last question: Which of your characters are you most like and how/why?
Stevie-girl from the Phantom series because she is based on the me I wish I had been.

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Don’t forget to visit the other stops on the tour.

Author Bio:
Ann has been a writer since junior high school, but to pay the bills she’s waited tables, delivered newspapers, cleaned other people's houses, taught school, and even had a short stint as a secretary in a rock-n-roll radio station. She also worked as a 911 operator and a police dispatcher.

Ann’s stories began to win awards in her college days. Since then she’s published novels, novellas, and short stories. But even if no one ever bought another book, Ann wouldn’t stop writing. For her it’s the cathartic pause in a sometimes-crazy world. Most of the time, it even keeps her sane.

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