Tag Archives: Book Clubs

2018 #RRBC WC&BE SPONSORS BLOG HOP! – D. L. Finn

Today on The Indie Spot, I am proud to support 2018 Rave Reviews Book Club Writers’ Conference & Book Expo sponsor and RWISA author D. L. Finn! 

No Fairy Tale by D. L. Finn!

You are invited into D.L. Finn’s life, written through a princess’s viewpoint. While it’s usually assumed in fairy tales that the princess is beloved by all, this is one princess who doesn’t feel loved. She dreams of a moment when her father will walk through the castle door, sweep her up in his arms and proclaim how much he misses her. That never happens. Instead, she is introduced to a new step family. Just like in the fairy tales, this is where the story takes a dark twist; where addiction, abuse and adolescence thrive together in retched misery. From her lowest point as a hopeless fourteen-year-old girl who gives up all hope– comes a spark of faith. This is where she begins her quest for a happy ending.

Although the princess ends her very real fairy tale, D.L. Finn steps in and shares her thoughts, poetry and photographs. This entire narrative is the author’s reality from childhood through adulthood. She maintains the privacy of those involved while hanging on to her truth.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my profile of this great read! If you did, head on over to Amazon and pick up your copy today!

FOLLOW D. L. FINN ON TWITTER

FIND D. L. FINN AT RWISA

MEET D. L. FINN ON FACEBOOK

FOLLOW THE BLOG HOP TOUR

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2018 #RRBC WC&BE SPONSORS BLOG HOP! – Mary Adler

Today on The Indie Spot, I am proud to support 2018 Rave Reviews Book Club Writers’ Conference & Book Expo sponsor and RWISA author Mary Adler! 

Shadowed By Death by Mary Adler!

San Francisco, 1944. Sophia Nirenska, a Polish resistance fighter who survived the Warsaw ghetto uprising, finds safety in California until someone tries to kill her. She insists political enemies want to silence her, but homicide detective Oliver Wright, on medical leave from the Marines, believes the motive is more personal. He and his German shepherd, Harley, try to protect Sophia, but she insists on doing things her own way—a dangerous decision.

Oliver guards Sophia as they travel from an Italian cafe in Richmond to communist chicken farmers in Petaluma where her impetuous actions put them both in mortal danger.

When Oliver rescues a girl and her dog who are running for their lives, he discovers the dark secret at the heart of the threat to Sophia, a secret with its roots in Poland. When he does, he is forced to choose between enforcing the law as he knows it and jeopardizing Sophia or accepting a rougher kind of justice.

Shadowed by Death accurately portrays the fears and troubles of the communities of northern California as they bear the burdens of World War II and celebrate the gift of finding family among strangers.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my profile of this great read! If you did, head on over to Amazon and pick up your copy today!

Follow Mary Adler on Twitter

Find Mary Adler at RWISA

Meet Mary Adler on Facebook

Follow the Blog Hop Tour

2018 #RRBC WC&BE SPONSORS BLOG HOP! – RHANI D’CHAE

Today on The Indie Spot, I am proud to support 2018 Rave Reviews Book Club Writers’ Conference & Book Expo sponsor and RWISA author Rhani D’Chae!

Shadow of the Drill by Rhani D’Chae!

A brutal experience transforms an unproven young tough into a ruthless killing machine.
For fifteen years he waited, building his body into an unstoppable weapon so that vengeance would be had through the strength of his will and the power of his hands.

On the bloodstained streets of a northwestern city, the enforcer known as the Drill stalks his prey. Judge, Jury, and Executioner; he seeks out those who target the weak, condemning them to the kind of justice that has made him a legend.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my profile of this great read! If you did, head on over to Amazon and pick up your copy today!

Follow Rhani D’Chae on Twitter

Find Rhani D’Chae at RWISA

Meet Rhani D’Chae on Facebook

Follow the Blog Hop Tour

2018 #RRBC WC&BE SPONSORS BLOG HOP! – NONNIE JULES

Today on The Indie Spot, I am proud to support 2018 Rave Reviews Book Club Writers’ Conference & Book Expo sponsor and RWISA author Nonnie Jules! 

. . .If Only There Was Music by Nonnie Jules!


This is a book of poetry for and about forbidden love. These poems are sexy, sensuous and hot, but most of all, they are poems of love… and the feelings they arouse in you are unbelievable! They “feel” like love songs and you will “feel” like singing, but they are only spoken words coming from your mouth, without music. If you aren’t in love before you begin reading this book, you will go seeking a love afterwards.

 

I hope you’ve enjoyed my profile of this great read! If you did, head on over to Amazon and pick up your copy today!

Follow Nonnie Jules on Twitter

Find Nonnie Jules at RWISA

Meet Nonnie Jules on Facebook

Welcome to the “PREY FOR THE DEAD” Blog Tour! @SusanneLeist @4WillsPub #RRBC

Greetings to all my readers! It is an honor and a pleasure to welcome author Susanne Leist to The Indie Spot today! Please make Susanne feel welcome by leaving a like and a comment below.

Take it away, Susanne. . .

PREY FOR THE DEAD Blog Tour

A masquerade party where a human vampire wears a vampire costume. Where is this? Oasis, Florida. Vampires and hybrids like to play. They own the night!

Enjoy an excerpt of PREY FOR THE DEAD where Todd and Gregg show their fangs in their quest for Linda. Shana is coupled with Sheriff Sam. The rest of the players have vampire blood running through them.

 

 

Todd stepped in front of Linda. Dressed in a black outfit with a long cape, she could tell it was him even though the matching mask concealed the top half of his face. Todd wears his arrogance well.

     He scowled at her.

     She tapped Gregg’s shoulder with her finger and nodded toward Todd. Gregg wrapped his arm around her waist and frowned at Todd.

     Todd leveled his dark stare at Gregg.

     Shana rushed to greet them. “Hi, Linda, Gregg.”

     After dragging her eyes from Todd’s, Linda smiled at Shana. “What a gorgeous costume. Are you Cinderella?”

     “Yes, I am.” Shana spun in her blue gown, her auburn hair in a sleek chignon, her green eyes peeking from behind a gold mask with blue feathers. “And Sam is Prince Charming.”

     Sam, wearing a white jacket, mask, and gloves, winked at her. Tassels hung from his gold epaulets; red pants completed his outfit. He favored Linda with a rakish grin.

     Linda felt Todd’s gaze on her. She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Kind sir, who are you this evening?”

     Todd moved closer and bowed. “Dracula, madam, at your service.” He spread his long, black cape and rewarded her with a fanged smile.

     “You might upset the vamps.” Linda held back a grin.

     “Vampires admire Dracula; he’s a legend.”

     “He wasn’t real. Was he?” Shana asked.

     “He was.” Todd smiled.

     Shana’s face fell.

     Sam took Shana’s hand and led her to the dance floor.

     Gregg cleared his throat before bowing. “Linda, can you honor me with a dance?”

     “Yes, thank you.” She stepped into Gregg’s arms.

     Todd stood alone, his countenance forlorn. He spun on his heel and walked across the dance floor.

     Gregg’s left hand curled around her waist while the fingers of his right hand twined with hers. A tingling sensation traveled along her arm. Feeling safe in Gregg’s arms, she relaxed and watched the guests. Kings danced with Queens; Peter Pan twirled with Tinkerbell—an impressive sight; a gathering of strangers and acquaintances alike, the masks disguising vamps from humans and even a friend from a foe.

     Across the room, Todd conversed with a blonde couple. The Duke and Duchess she’d met at Diane’s party. The two vampires Todd trusted most. Duke Alan Rutherford wore a moss green, brocade outfit with a gold crown, while his wife appeared regal in a burgundy gown with a white, stand-up collar at the back of her neck. From a distance, the dark color resembled wine or blood.

     “Are those the Duke and Duchess Rutherford with Todd?”

     Gregg’s gaze followed hers. “Oh, yes. Todd’s favorite vampires, dressed as Henry VIII and his beheaded wife, Ann Boleyn. Perfect. The king had a lust for blood.”

     Dancers banged into them. Laughter and shouts rang loud. The guests became a blur of color for her, their outfits racier, more skin and pointy teeth came to the surface. Real or fake blood dripped from a few masked faces.

     Gregg’s mouth nudged her ear. “Care to stroll in the moonlight?”

     Todd watched as Gregg led Linda to the pool deck, his arm around her shoulder, his head bent to hers.

SUSANNE LEIST BIO

I have always loved to read. Agatha Christie, Alistair Maclean, Robert Ludlum, and many other authors filled my young imagination with intrigue and mystery. When I wasn’t reading late into the night, the TV shows—Murder She Wrote and Columbo—entertained me with tales of murder and suspense.

 

Over the years, my taste in TV expanded to include such shows as Supernatural and The Originals. I searched for paranormal, murder mysteries but found few at the library or bookstore. So, I wrote one.

 

A career in writing has been a big leap for me. Accustomed to the number-crunching field of budgeting and the hectic commodity markets, I left my first career and M.B.A. in Finance behind to pursue my dream. I do not regret my foray into literature for one moment. Fellow authors helped me make my way through the competitive field. I write every day and even tried my hand at poetry. If someone tells you it’s too late in life to try something different, they are wrong. It is never too late to follow your heart.

 

The Dead Game is the first book in The Dead Game series. It brings fantasy and the surreal to the classic murder mystery with dead bodies, suspects, and clues. It offers vampires, vampire derivatives, and a touch of romance to give spice to the mix. Once you read The Dead Game, you will never look at a dead body the same way.

 

In Book Two, Prey for The Dead, the suspense continues as The Dead use an exclusive club in Disney World and infiltrate the rich and famous. The Dead grow in power, and not even the sun or the swamps of Florida can weaken them. Linda–my main character–and her friends join with the human vampires or hybrids to defeat the evil forces threatening to control their town.

 

I hope you enjoy my books. The third book of The Dead Game Series is waiting for me to write.

 

SUSANNE LEIST’S SOCIAL MEDIA & BOOK LINKS

 

Book trailer:  https://youtu.be/pILNxaD5XlI

PURCHASE LINKS:

Amazon:  https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07PB9KG4P

Nook: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1130732773?ean=2940161260111

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/SusanneLeist

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/susanne.leist.98

Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/susanne.leist/

BookBub:  https://www.bookbub.com/authors/susanne-leist

 

To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the author’s tour page on the 4WillsPublishing site.  If you’d like to book your own blog tour and have your book promoted in similar grand fashion, please click HERE.  
Lastly, Susanne is a member of the best book club ever – RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB {#RRBC}! If you’re looking for amazing support as an author, or if you simply love books, JOIN US! We’d love to have you!
Thanks for supporting this author and her work!

Welcome to “FINDING BILLY BATTLES TRILOGY” Blog Tour! @JHawker69 @4WillsPub #RRBC #RWISA

Today, I have the honor and pleasure of hosting author, fellow Blog Talk Radio host, RRBC member, and friend Ronald E. Yates here on The Indie Spot. Please give a warm welcome to Ron by leaving a comment below and sharing his post.

Take it away, Ron. . .

Finding Billy Battles
Excerpt from the Prologue

My first meeting with William Fitzroy Raglan Battles was on a warm June afternoon in 1958. We sat on the veranda of a red-brick dormitory building on the grounds of the Wadsworth old soldiers’ home in Leavenworth, Kansas. Battles was really old, and the truth be known, he kind of frightened me, though I didn’t let on that he did. I was only twelve at the time, and I didn’t even want to be there.
Chances are you have never heard of William Fitzroy Raglan Battles, and there is no reason why you should have. I know I hadn’t—until that humid afternoon in the waning days of the Eisenhower era. Today, I often wonder how I could not have known about Battles, how a life as full and audacious as his could have gone unnoticed for so many generations. God, how I wish I could have known him better. But his life—as was no doubt the case with that of millions of other anonymous participants in history—was simply lost, crushed underfoot in the unrelenting stride of time.
Of course, there was no way I could know at the time that this meeting would trigger a series of events that would lead me on an extraordinary journey into the past and change my life in ways I could never imagine. When I look back on that first meeting, I wonder why I was so fearful. William Fitzroy Raglan Battles was not a particularly menacing man. But there was a definite hardness to him—the kind of stern, leathery countenance that you get from taking, and perhaps giving, too much punishment over a lifetime. I particularly recall his eyes. They were the color of pale slate, and almost as hard.
Maybe that was what frightened me—those eyes and the way they cut into you.
It was my grandmother who had insisted that I meet the man with those flinty gray eyes and that gristly exterior. One day she simply announced that we were going to drive to Leavenworth, to meet her father—my great-grandfather. That winter, my father had suffered a fatal heart attack, and my mother thought it would be a good idea if I spent the summer with my cousins on their farm near Troy, Kansas. Most of the time, I roamed the hills by myself, riding horses and occasionally helping out with the chores. I wasn’t thrilled about spending an hour in the car with my grandmother driving the forty-five miles to Leavenworth. First, she drove really slowly; and second, I didn’t even know I had a great-grandfather.
Nobody, including my grandmother, had ever really spoken about him—at least not in my presence. Why this was the case I was to learn much later when I was older and could “understand such things,” as my grandmother put it.
The only explanation for this visit that I was able to extract at the time from my grandmother was that she wanted me to go with her because the home was commemorating the sixtieth anniversary of the outbreak of the Spanish-American War, and my great-grandfather and several thousand other Kansans had played a significant role in it.
Big deal. The Spanish-American War. Who cares? I thought as my grandmother maneuvered her pastel-blue 1957 Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham south down State Highway 7 through the undulating farmland of northeast Kansas and into Leavenworth. The Spanish-American War was ancient history. And besides, being around so many old people made me nervous. Death had taken on a new meaning for me. It was no longer some abstract event that happened to others. I had seen and felt its uncompromising manifestation when the emergency crew carried my father from our home several months before. And now I would be in the presence of someone who could die at any time.
Those were the kinds of self-indulgent thoughts that pranced through my adolescent brain that day. Today I know a lot more about my great-grandfather. The biggest regret of my life is that I was too young and too obtuse to understand what kind of human history database my great-grandfather was. I would only learn that many years later when, as a journalism student at the University of Kansas, I began to appreciate the value of personal narratives from people who could speak firsthand about events I could only read about.
That’s the way it is when we become absorbed with history. We discover that the events and people of antiquity are not ghosts, or simply lifeless words on a page, or fading sepia images. They have an essence we can touch and hear and even speak to if only we have the right medium—someone who has experienced the past with passion and perceptiveness and has the keen senses with which to make it come alive to those who, until that moment, could only fantasize about it.
In this case, that medium was a rare individual who lived during what might have been the most tumultuous years in American history. Luckily, my grandmother, intractable and single-minded as she was, made sure that I would not forget this event or my great-grandfather.

Ronald E. Yates is an award winning author of historical fiction and action/adventure novels, including the popular and highly-acclaimed Finding Billy Battles trilogy. His extraordinarily accurate books have captivated fans around the world who applaud his ability to blend fact and fiction.

 

Ron is a former foreign correspondent for the Chicago Tribune and Professor Emeritus of Journalism at the University of Illinois where he was also the Dean of the College of Media. His award-winning book, “The Improbable Journeys of Billy Battles,” is the second in his Finding Billy Battles trilogy of novels and was published in June 2016. The first book in the trilogy, “Finding Billy Battles,” was published in 2014. Book #3 of the trilogy (The Lost Years of Billy Battles) was published in June 2018.

 

As a professional journalist, Ron lived and worked in Japan, Southeast Asia, and both Central and South America where he covered several history-making events including the fall of South Vietnam and Cambodia; the Tiananmen Square massacre in Beijing; and wars and revolutions in Afghanistan, the Philippines, Nicaragua, El Salvador and Guatemala, among other places. His work resulted in multiple journalism awards, including three Pulitzer nominations and awards from the Society of Professional Journalists and the Inter-American Press Association, to name a few.

 

BOOK PURCHASE LINKS:

AMAZON: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001KHDVZI/-/e/B00KQAYMA8/

TRILOGY LINK: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07DNDWHH6/ref=series_rw_dp_sw

BARNES & NOBLE: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/finding%20billy%20battles/_/N-8q8

MY WEBSITE & BLOG:  https://ronaldyatesbooks.com/

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:

FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/ronaldyatesbooks/

TWITTER: https://twitter.com/jhawker69

PINTEREST: https://www.pinterest.com/bookmarketingglobalnetwork/author-ronald-e-yates-books/

LINKEDIN: https://www.linkedin.com/in/ronyates/

To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the author’s tour page on
the 4WillsPublishing site.  If you’d like to book your own blog tour and have your book
promoted in similar grand fashion, please click HERE.  
Lastly, Ron is a member of the best book club ever – RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB {#RRBC}! If
you’re looking for amazing support as an author, or if you simply love books, JOIN US! We’d
love to have you!
Thanks for supporting this author and his work!

 

Welcome to the WATCH “#RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RRBCWRW – Day 9

“Shielded”

By

Suzanne Burke.

I welcome the shield provided by darkness. Those sweet moments when I allow myself to sit in the velvet depth of silence and dwell only on what is to come.

For the past only exists to remind me of the challenges I failed to meet. The things I thought myself powerless to change. I know better now.

I have no room for failure here as I sit wrapped in the warm blanket of my darkness-inspired illusion of safety.

The soft glow of the clock now heralds your arrival. I feel my pulse jump in anticipation.

I check the window … again. No vehicle yet slows to a stop on the rain-drenched streets so many floors below.

I feel the twitch of the nerve in my jaw and suck in the air in an effort to still it.

I remind myself once more that external factors are likely responsible for your late arrival. I know you too well to ever believe that you would be late by choice. You are eternally predictable. That comforts me somewhat.

My neck muscles clench and I stand, stretching my arms and softly willing them to relax.

The clock rolls through another hour, and my calmness begins to falter.

I check through everything that I have prepared in anticipation of our meeting.

Grunting with approval at my readiness, I check the window one more time, and I gift myself a smile as your vehicle draws up and parks on the opposite side of the now quiet street.

The excitement begins to make itself felt and I shiver.

You will arrive soon, and all the waiting will end.

I lick my dry lips and take a deeply satisfied breath.

I hear the sound of the ping the lift makes as it stops on this floor. I hear your key turn in the lock.

I wait as you fumble for the light switch and flick it on. You swear in displeasure as the room remains dark. Now you search for your iPhone and seek out the torch app. The room in your immediate vicinity is caught within the boundary of its fractured light.

I smile.

My surprise still awaits your discovery.

You feel your way slowly along the wall and take a faltering stumbled step into the kitchen. The light switch disappoints you once more.

The language that follows that discovery explodes in the air. I hear you open the refrigerator to confirm to yourself that this lack of light has permeated the entire apartment. You shrug out of your coat and drop it to the floor, uncaring of the dirt and clutter it now lay amongst.

You find the bottle of scotch and slam cupboard doors seeking a glass. There are none. They lay in a disordered mess of unwashed utensils still awaiting attention on the food scrap cluttered kitchen bench.

I hear you curse as you stagger. The booze you’ve been consuming for hours rattles your movements and makes them disjointed.

You sit heavily in the easy chair uncaring of the scattered and dirty clothing that cushions your weight.

You unscrew the lid of the scotch bottle and take several satisfying gulps.

The anticipation makes me quiver now.

I have waited so long for this.

The cigarette lighter grants you a drag of the nicotine that is but one thing on your list of addictions.

The clock ticks over again and moves time relentlessly forward.

The bathroom awaits your imminent arrival and you curse again at your now shaking hands as you seek out your ever-present stash of heroin. You scream in rage and frustration when you finally acknowledge that there is none to be found.

I hear you slamming the walls with your now white-knuckled fists.

I reach across and flick off the power override switch. I illuminate the apartment.

It takes brief seconds for you to lurch back into view.

“Melody? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you were here? What the hell! When did you get back?”

“I discharged myself from the hospital.”

“Oh. Good. This place is a mess. It needs cleaning.”

“Yes, Charles. Yes, it does.”

I watch you nod your head, pleased at my response.

You check your wallet, quickly counting the bills waiting inside. You confirm your decision, “I  need to go out. Fix me something to eat. I won’t be long.”

“Why do you need to go out again? It’s raining.”

I watch you glare at me for daring to question you. “I need a fix. I’m heading to see Freddy.”

“There’s no need. I stopped by and saw him on the way home. I wanted to give you a surprise.”

You smile for the first time. “Well, now. That’s fine. That’s good.”

“Do you want me to get it?”

You now wear your frustrated look. “Fuck yes. Of course. Hurry up.”

“Sorry. It’s a little hard to walk with my ribs strapped.”

“You’re always sorry. You’re pathetic!”

I access the bedroom and return with his fix, and watch as he draws it up and applies the tourniquet to his upper left arm.

“You broke my jaw again, and two ribs this time.”

You glare at me as I dare to disturb your concentration, “You shouldn’t aggravate me like you do. You know you asked for it.”

The smack hits you, and I watch as your pupils dilate. The sickly smile that you now wear is most unattractive.

I wait.

You look suddenly startled. I watch the confusion on your face turn to fear … and then a moment of understanding colors your now bulging eyes. “Fuck! Fuck, Melody! What did you d…………….”

I wait.

You make a gargled choking noise as you begin to foam at the mouth.

I wait for five minutes and then check for a heartbeat … I smile … there is none.

I need to be certain that reviving you is not possible. Fifteen minutes should do it.

I punch in a number on my iPhone.

“911. What is the nature of your emergency?”

“Oh, God … help me, please! Please! I’ve just found my husband. He’s not breathing. Please … I think he’s overdosed.”

The kind operator took my address, “Okay. Stay calm. I have paramedics on the way.”

“Hurry! Hurry, please, please hurry.”

I turn off the lights and sit within darkness’s velvet cloak. My iPhone torch casts a spotlight on your rapidly cooling body.

I smile.

The rigid look of fear on your now strictured face brings me comfort. “Did you like my little surprise, Charles?”

I hear the sirens approaching.

I laugh in delight as the heady rush of adrenaline-fuelled relief floods my system.

The dawn light is just filtering through the balcony windows. Soon now I’ll have no need to seek the comfort of darkness.

I wait now. I have finally regained control.

#

Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.

 

We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

Suzanne Burke RWISA Author Page

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