![]() Against the Run of Play
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: I see a flash of colour—fuchsia—and turn instinctively towards it. But I lose it in the crowd. My heart is racing, my skin hot. Could it be her? Vivi. Is she here? “Mum, I think I spotted someone I need to speak to. Do you mind?” I say. “No. It’s okay. I need to use the ladies anyway. I’ll meet you back at the table.” “Okay.” I direct her towards the signs for the ladies and keep glancing around. But I can’t see anyone wearing the bright purple/red colour I spotted earlier. Then I head down the corridor leading to the foyer, thinking she might have gone outside. My heart stops as I halt. Then it slams into my chest. A Black woman stands in the foyer talking on her phone. Her back is to me but I recognised her figure, her voice. Vivi is here. I don’t know how it’s possible. I mean, I know she lives in London and she works as a sportswriter. But to be here at this very moment feels like serendipity. Like destiny. My senses heighten and my vision clarifies. I was buzzing when I arrived. But now it feels like I’ve been struck by lightning as I feel an energy surge. It feels like that first night I saw her in the sports bar. I zoom in on her. She is in an off-shoulder ruffle collar boho maxi dress that shows off the glowing skin of her shoulders and arms and skims her curves. It’s sexy without being vulgar. Her strappy stilettos match her purse tucked under her arm. Her hair is different. In Zanzibar, her hair had loose curls and streaks of colour. This looks too dark, long, and straight and almost to her butt. Perhaps a wig or weave, just like my sisters wear sometimes. Her voice is a melody that draws me closer and I can’t resist the pull. I walk past the people around me as if they are obstacles and challenges I must conquer to reach my goal—Vivi. Adrenaline charges over me. I’m on the field in a crucial match and I’m running toward the goal line to score before the final whistle. As if she senses me, she swivels and I know I’m not dreaming because her face lights up with a beautiful smile. Warmth and ecstasy spreads through me. I want to touch her smooth skin, to kiss her full lips a shade darker than her dress. Her irises are a mesmerising bronze. There are layers of colours on her eyelids and cheeks, contouring her face. It’s more makeup than she had on the island. But I recognise the woman underneath. I remember the natural tone of her skin first thing in the morning. The softness of her curves against me. Every cell in my body wants to be connected to her. ![]()
GIVEAWAY! #Book Blitz #The Heroine’s Labyrinth by Douglas A. Burton #Non-Fiiction @Xpresso Book Tours10/6/2024
![]() The Heroine’s Labyrinth
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble -- EXCERPT: A DIFFERENT KIND OF JOURNEY So, why a labyrinth? While watching the film version of The Shining, I concluded that the story is actually about Wendy Torrance, the true heroine of the tale. The star power of Jack Nicholson misled me into thinking the story was about Jack Torrance. Once I rewatched the film as a story about a heroine, my entire understanding of the story shifted. Near the beginning of the film, Wendy tours the Overlook Hotel and comments, “I feel like I have to leave a trail of breadcrumbs.” Her statement, which also references the cautionary folktale, Hansel and Gretel, struck me as an intriguing piece of story exposition. The tour showed Wendy the many hallways, chambers, and dead ends she’d soon have to navigate at the Overlook Hotel. Wendy Torrance was in a labyrinth. As if to further emphasize this thematic reality, a real labyrinth—the infamous hedge maze—lay just outside, a perfect literary complement to the symbolism of the heroine’s setting. Th is first and most basic orientation sets the tone for the entire story you plan on telling, whether it’s fiction, a personal memoir, or even a roleplaying adventure. The nature of the journey determines the nature of the conflict, which often defines the villain. These are organic structures that emerge within a story. Th e hero’s journey plots a linear course, traveling from point A to point B, ever onward, further from home and into unfamiliar environs before returning home. However, many heroines in fiction go on a different journey, one characterized by repetitive circles and often closer to home. Indeed, most heroines never leave the native culture. The adventure hides behind closed doors and interior spaces of otherwise familiar places. The journey travels inward and creates incredible friction while the heroine develops her sense of identity and self-realization. So, many heroine-centric stories feature heroines in conflict with their native culture, and this conflict lays the groundwork for the entire narrative structure I call the “Heroine’s Labyrinth.” ![]()
GIVEAWAY! ![]() Rendezvous at Midlife
-- EXCERPT: He started to pour more wine into her glass. “Rick, it’s been fascinating hearing about your accomplishments,” she said, deciding to give it one last try. “But I’d love to hear more about who you are as a person—what makes you tick, what drives you beyond these material achievements.” “Uh…” he hesitated, clearly unprepared for such introspection. “I guess I just love the thrill of success, you know? The pursuit of excellence in all that I do.” And there we have it—back to square one. Margot’s eyes widened as she watched Rick, his mouth moving animatedly while recounting yet another tale of success. She noticed how the candlelight flickered across his slicked-back hair, casting shadows that seemed to emphasize his self-absorption. “Rick,” Margot interjected with a tight-lipped smile, “I must say, your life is like a never-ending highlight reel. You should consider carrying around a billboard with all your accomplishments on it—you know, just to save time.” “Ha!” he laughed, missing the sarcasm completely. “That’s not a bad idea, actually. But you know, I prefer to let my actions speak for themselves.” Margot stifled a groan and took a really long sip of her wine, feeling the frustration bubble within her. She had given him every opportunity to reveal a more genuine side, but it seemed the universe was determined to test her patience. Okay, Margot, time for some tough love. Maybe he just needs a little nudge in the right direction. Leaning forward and catching his gaze, she said, “You’ve clearly led an impressive life, but I’m curious. Have you ever considered that there might be more to a person than their achievements?” He blinked at her, seeming genuinely puzzled by the concept. “Well, sure, Margot. But isn’t that what makes us interesting? Our successes, our victories? What else is there?” Margot sighed, realizing that this red flag was flapping wildly in the wind and she’d been ignoring it. Rick wasn’t taking any social cues from her blatant hints, and it dawned on her that he might not be genuinely interested in getting to know her at all. Or, for that matter, letting her know him. “Margot?” Rick prompted, his eyebrows raised in anticipation of her response. “I think what truly makes a person interesting is their ability to connect with others, Rick,” she began carefully, “To genuinely listen and engage with someone beyond just listing their accomplishments. Also, successes are great, but it’s the failures we’ve overcome that make a life worth hearing about. The shared journey.” “Ah.” He looked slightly disarmed, but quickly recovered. “Well, Margot, surely you must realize that success is the result of failure. In that, I have shared my journey with you.” When she didn’t respond, he shifted gears. “Okay, I am sure you have some fascinating stories of your own. Tell me, what’s your greatest achievement?” Margot stared at him for a moment, realizing that, despite her best efforts, Rick was simply incapable of grasping the concept of genuine connection. With a sad smile, she replied, “My greatest achievement, Rick? Learning when it’s time to walk away.” With that, she placed her napkin over her plate, reached into her purse, laid a hundred-dollar bill onto the table, stood up, and left the restaurant. ![]()
GIVEAWAY! ![]() Love Signals
-- EXCERPT: I stare at myself in the mirror. I’m brushing my teeth with some sort of magical brush that feels like it’s a thousand tiny hands massaging my gums. The toothpaste is a ginger mint flavor that comes from an old-timey-looking silver tube that is probably made from actual silver. I’m wearing the softest, coziest striped men’s flannel p.j.’s of all time (seriously, they feel like getting a big, warm hug). The slippers are too big but the fleece lining is so incredibly soft, I want to live in them forever. What is happening? Seriously? What? How? I’m getting a glimpse into what it’s like to be rich and famous. Well, rich, anyway. Or someone with generous rich friends. But it’s not real. This isn’t my life, it’s his. It’ll never be my life. I’m Allegra Cammareri, nerd, scientist, loving daughter, and pushover auntie. I’m not some sexy sex goddess who men like Hudson Finch fall for. They fall for voluptuous hotties from Brazil or icy blondes with perfect skin from Sweden. Not girls like me. I wasn’t even interesting enough to keep Lando’s attention, and he’s a fellow nerd. But it doesn’t matter because that’s not what this is, and I know it. But whatever it is, it’s incredibly fun. And a little flirty, and totally exciting, even though it’s under the world’s weirdest circumstances. I’m here to hang out with a man who I don’t want around (or so I thought) while he recovers from a poisonous spider bite. And he’s sweet and funny and thoughtful and sexy as hell, and … and I’m going to get so badly hurt if I don’t hit the brakes on my feelings. But maybe, just for tonight, since I’m here anyway, I could just let myself enjoy being with him. As a friend. Yes, that’s what we are. Friends. New ones. Who flirt with each other while one of us is drugged. And really, I’m only flirting with him to distract him from his situation, which, when you think about it, is an act of service. So, in a way, I have to keep flirting with him. It’s what Jesus would do. But as soon as we’re back at the office however, it’ll be all business. But for now … fun. ![]()
GIVEAWAY! #Book Blitz #Break My Bones (Deadly Sins 1) by Rachael Tamayo #Thriller @Xpresso Book Tours7/6/2024
![]() Break My Bones
-- EXCERPT: After dropping off my daughter and parking my car, I walk into the empty, closed club, pulling the ringing cell out of my purse to answer. “Hello.” “Is this Brooklyn James?” “Who is this?” I can’t make out the noise in the background on the line, wondering if it’s just a bad connection or if she’s really somewhere that loud. “My name is Mary, and I’m with the Texas Department of Criminal Justice. I’m calling to advise you that your husband has been released from custody.” The world sways around me, and I wonder if I heard her correctly. I swallow even though my mouth is dry and grip the rail on the bar next to me, steadying myself as I choke out, “What?” “He was released three days ago.” She says it as if it’s nothing. As if she might not have just destroyed my life. He’s been out for three days? But why is she calling? It doesn’t even make sense. “Why are you notifying me? He wasn’t arrested for assaulting me. You guys don’t do that for DWI, do you?” “Yes, I understand that, and no ma’am, we don’t. When his file was being processed, there was a request that you be notified. I apologize for the delay, but we’ve been short-staffed here due to budget cuts.” I sit on a barstool, glancing around to make sure no one else is here. What if a vendor is walking around? Or the bartender came in early, and I didn’t notice his car in the parking lot? I’ve worked hard to keep this part of my life in the shadows, away from almost everyone. “Can you tell me who made the request?” “I’m afraid not. We can’t release that information. I’m sorry.” I blow out a breath, having figured as much. But you never know when you’ll get that one person who will bend the rules, or simply doesn’t know the rules. “Um, okay then. Thanks, Mary.” What else do I say? Thanks for destroying my life? “You’re welcome, ma’am. Have a nice evening.” The conversation ends, and I put the phone back in my purse without thinking. I’ve told myself that I would know what to do when this happened. I’ve had a mental checklist for close to two years now. Call Ashley and let her know. Call the school. Consider changing my name, my daughter’s name. Why didn’t I leave Dallas? Why did I stay here and make it so simple to find me? I should take the money, turn around now, and go. Fetch my child, pack, and never look back. His mother knows how to find me. My heart beats too fast in my chest. I close my eyes, considering every choice I’ve made in all these years, making no move to hide from him. No move to run once I had the means to get away. What was I thinking? Fuck. No, scratch that. I won’t run. I won’t hide. I’ve been training, and I’ve been shooting; I know how to handle the gun, and myself. I’m strong now. I can do this. I have to. Because he will show up. He will find me. I have no doubt. ![]()
GIVEAWAY! ![]() Need You Now
-- EXCERPT: She quickly dressed in running shorts, a tank top, and sneakers. After grabbing a bottle of water, she went downstairs and let herself out the rear entrance, refusing to walk through the store and the reminder of all that needed to be done. There’d be time to freak about work later. Now she needed to clear her head. The benefit of living above her storefront was its prime location along the boardwalk, only a few steps away from the beach. Abby veered left and jogged along the water, pacing herself. She did a circuit around the lighthouse before turning and heading past where she started and the newly renovated amusement pier. The sun had peeked past the horizon and was slowly making its way into a new day. Watching the sun rise over the Atlantic was one thing she’d missed most after leaving Pelican Bay nine years ago, a year after Hurricane Samantha hit and wrecked the small New Jersey barrier island. In the months since she’d returned, Abby had made a point of watching it rise every day. Each sunrise looked different and brought her a joy she’d experienced nowhere else. Usually, she had this part of the beach to herself, but she caught the outline of someone in the water. A surfer. Her heart lurched as she got closer. Could it be… It was hard to be sure from the distance, but once he rose on the board and got into position, Abby recognized the form…the body…the man. Connor Maguire. After riding the wave in, he grabbed the board and paddled out even further. He straddled the board with his back to the shoreline, like a god calling to the waves. Then, with the ease and swiftness of the boy she remembered, he turned and paddled toward shore, rising at the perfect moment to get the lift and rush he needed to propel him forward. Abby continued to run, mesmerized by his form, by the way his hair and body looked against the backdrop of the rising sun. The damn man was as beautiful as ever. Despite the magnetic pull, she had every intention of running past him. If only she had been watching where she was going. When she stepped on something in the sand that caused her ankle to turn, all she could do was cry out as her knee buckled, and she started to fall. ![]()
GIVEAWAY! ![]() Clowders
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble -- FREE for a limited time only! -- EXCERPT: “Who is she?” Eleonore asked when Jess drove her to school Friday morning. “Who’s who?” Jess countered, not sure what her daughter was talking about. “The girl. The one who’s always watching us.” “No one’s watching us,” Jess said. “Yes, there is. All the girls in my baking class say the same.” Normally, Jess wouldn’t have put much thought into such a remark – children can say weird things sometimes. But now it seemed Eleonore might be right. Jess felt like there was indeed someone watching them, no matter what they were doing. She felt it everywhere she went. When she took Eleonore to baking class, when she was lying in bed at night, even in the shops. But not all the time. Some of the time. More often than not, everything seemed normal, and then all of a sudden, she felt as if someone was checking up on her. Sometimes it was only briefly, like a minute or so, but at other times, she could feel it for several hours. Sometimes she could feel it on the streets. But mostly at home. And never outside Clervaux. You’re imagining things, she told herself. In fact, every day since she’d arrived in Europe, it had gotten worse. More and more, she’d get that tingly feeling, and know that someone behind her was watching her. She’d try to ignore it, tried to resist the urge to look over her shoulder, but eventually the hair on the back of her neck would stand up, and the tingling would turn into a chill, and finally, she’d turn around. And nobody would be there. Nobody, except for the cats. The sight of cats waddling along the pavement had never seemed eerie to her, but the fact that they were always there, no matter where she was – on the sidewalk, at the main square, in a café, in the forest – made her skin crawl. Whenever she was running errands in Clervaux, she kept looking into store windows, but it wasn’t the merchandise she was looking at; it was the reflection in the glass. The reflection of something sinister watching her. Sometimes she could have sworn she saw something. The reflection of a small, squatting figure. But then she glanced over her shoulder and all she could see once more were the cats of Clervaux staring back at her. She decided to not let her imagination get to her, to resist the urge to glance over her shoulder every few seconds. And then her daughter muttered the words, “Who is she? The girl. The one who’s always watching us,” and the paranoia tightened its grip on her once more. ![]()
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