Heir to the Sun Is On Sale For 99 Cents! #sale #fantasy #romance #parthalan

HeirFBBanner

That’s right, for a limited time Heir to the Sun, book 1 of the Chronicles of Parthalan, is on sale for 99 cents. If you haven’t gotten your copy yet, now’s the time!

Click to purchase: http://amzn.to/1WtPujA

ProvostHeirToTheSun

A mad king. An escaped slave. One warrior to save the realm…

A mad king. An escaped slave. One warrior to save the realm…

When Asherah, stripped of both her memory and her dignity, learns that King Sahlgren is responsible for her torment it nearly breaks her. Instead, she leads her fellow slaves to freedom. More prisons are scattered across Parthalan, and Asherah vows to burn them all.

Caol’nir, a warrior descended from the gods, is sworn to serve and defend the king. Then a priestess is murdered, and Caol’nir learns that Sahlgren is to blame. Determined to stop the king, sacred oath or no, Caol’nir joins Asherah’s rebellion.

What Caol’nir doesn’t know is that Sahlgren has promised the demon lord a woman of rare and singular beauty, a woman whose abilities are rumored to rival the sun god’s themselves…a woman Caol’nir knows all too well.

The Virgin Queen, Book 2 of the Chronicles of Parthalan is Available Now: http://amzn.to/1qXueEY

virgin_queen_final-draft_text2

A broken queen. A friendship mired in deceit. Can one man from the desert help hold the realm together?

Asherah, Queen of Parthalan and Lady of Tingu, has led her people through eight centuries of prosperity. That peace shatters when Mersgoth, the mordeth thought long dead, attacks Teg’urnan. In the aftermath a new warrior emerges: Aeolmar, a man as secretive as he is deadly.

Asherah and Aeolmar race across Parthalan in pursuit of Mersgoth, and track the beast to the High Desert. While they’re gone, Harek, now Prelate of Parthalan, conspires with the Dark Fae against the elves…Against Leran, the king of the elves and Asherah’s son in all but blood. Will Asherah see the truth of Harek before it’s too late, or will he bring down the fae once and for all?

MFA Recap, Year One – Do Writers Really Need A Graduate Degree? #WriterWednesday #AmWriting #MFA

I’ve just ended my second semester as a graduate student in Bay Path University’s MFA program. (They’re a pretty awesome school – learn more about them here.) I have to say, the experience to date has been wonderful.

The program I’m enrolled is for a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Nonfiction. Those of you who have read my work—which is chock full of elves and zombies—are probably wondering what in the world I’m doing in a nonfiction program. Since zombies didn’t suddenly become a real thing (or did they?) the answer is simple: diversification.

Every writer I know who makes a living at writing—by “make a living” I mean that their primary source of income is their writing. They don’t have day jobs and write as a hobby, or self-publish poetry on the side. Mind you, there’s nothing wrong with day jobs or self-publishing, or poetry for that matter, but I’m talking about the people who wake up, write for eight hours, submit, rinse, repeat. I’m talking about when writing is your job.

Why? Because that’s the job I want. I like writing. I’m good at it (or not, depending on which reviews you read), I write fast and well, and writing makes me happy. That last bit is really the most important aspect of the equation. For longer than I’m going to admit in this post, I’ve worked for Fortune 100 corporations, making medium-sized bucks while the life was slowly being siphoned out of me. Since life is far too short to spend it as a dried up husk, we’re giving this full-time writer thing ago. After all, if you find a job you love you’ll never work a day in your life, right? I hope?

Which leads me back to, why nonfiction?  If you go out and research average pay rates, you’ll notice an alarming trend: professional pay rates for fiction are around 6 cents per word, which means that a 1000 word fiction piece would earn around $60. However, rates for nonfiction are much higher, around one dollar or more per word.  Of course, this is just one example, but across the board nonfiction pays better rates, and this is good for me. While I have no intention of ever leaving fiction behind, writing nonfiction is a way to increase my income while simultaneously expanding my readership.

Again, diversification is the key, whether you’re writing fiction or nonfiction.

So what is creative nonfiction? When most hear the term they assume it refers to memoirs, but there is so much more to this category that just idle reminiscing. Also included are reviews of film, theater, and books; lifestyle and other cooking articles; and many parenting magazines and websites. Basically, whenever you’re using your fiction writer’s toolbox to convey a nonfiction theme or idea, you’re working in creative nonfiction.  In fact, this very post is creative nonfiction.

Do I need an MFA to write in creative nonfiction? No, I don’t. In fact, no one needs a degree to do anything in life, and I’m a firm believer that any education obtained is a value unto itself. Those who complete a program assuming they’ll instantly be employed in a lucrative field end up disappointed more often than not. So why bother with the expense and hassle of a graduate degree? Here’s why:

Honing your craft – Writers are always being told to hone their craft, to have a daily word goal, et cetera. In this program I’m not only writing many pieces, I’m writing things that I never would have attempted on my own.

Critiques from classmates/professors – I have the opportunity to have my work critiqued not only by my peers, but by professionals in the field. Is feedback always easy to take? Not in the least. But it is a necessary step toward improvement.

Literary community – The writing community is small, and seems to get smaller every day. I’ve already made wonderful connection in the nonfiction community, and let me tell you, in publishing connections are everything.

I’ve already gotten so much from this program, and I’m only one year into it. The work is hard, but good, and I’m being forced to examine my writing like I never have before.  I can’t wait to start my next course.

Are any of you interested in writing courses? Have you experienced any great programs, such as the one at Bay Path? Let me know in the comments!

Don’t forget – this giveaway is still running! Have you entered?

virgin_queen_final-draft_text2A broken queen. A friendship mired in deceit. Can one man from the desert help hold the realm together?

Asherah, Queen of Parthalan and Lady of Tingu, has led her people through eight centuries of prosperity. That peace shatters when Mersgoth, the mordeth thought long dead, attacks Teg’urnan. In the aftermath a new warrior emerges: Aeolmar, a man as secretive as he is deadly.

Asherah and Aeolmar race across Parthalan in pursuit of Mersgoth, and track the beast to the High Desert. While they’re gone, Harek, now Prelate of Parthalan, conspires with the Dark Fae against the elves…Against Leran, the king of the elves and Asherah’s son in all but blood. Will Asherah see the truth of Harek before it’s too late, or will he bring down the fae once and for all?

The Virgin Queen – Book Two of the Chronicles of Parthalan

a Rafflecopter giveaway

═══ #NewRelease + #GIVEAWAY ═══ REAPER by A. Zavarelli is #LIVE & only #99cents! #OnTour with @HeaBookToursPR @AshZav | #HBTPRM

Title: REAPER
Author: A. Zavarelli
Release Date: May 24th, 2016
Genre: Dark Romance
Series: Boston Underworld Book #2 
A Standalone Novel with HEA.
— SYNOPSIS —
Sasha.
He’s dark and mysterious. Quiet and lethal.
An Irish mobster.
Pure sin wrapped up in a beautiful package.
But there’s also something off about him.
He doesn’t feel anything. He shows no emotions.
Sometimes I question his humanity.
He hasn’t spoken to me in two years. Not a single word.
But we share a secret, he and I.
And if it ever comes out, I have no doubt in my mind…
He won’t have a problem killing me too.
Ronan.
I’ve slain for her. I’ll do it again.
When it comes to Sasha, there isn’t a line I won’t cross.
I watch her. She doesn’t know it.
She thinks I hate her. Sometimes, I think I might too.
But I’m always there, lurking in the shadows.
Craving her. Trying to keep the beast within at bay.
I’ll keep her safe. I’ll slaughter anyone who tries to hurt her.
The only thing I can’t do… is protect her from myself.  

— PURCHASE 


— ABOUT THE AUTHOR 
A. Zavarelli is a romance book junkie, cat lover, and traveler when plagued by intense cases of wanderlust. She likes all things chocolate, books that come with warnings, and pretty much any kind of characters that are dark and gritty. You can find more about her on her website.


══════════ GIVEAWAY ══════════


From @limitlessbooks! FALLBACK by @ripleygold is LIVE!

►►► #NewRelease ◄◄◄
FALLBACK (The Dead Survive Book 2) by Lori Whitwam, Author is now available for purchase on Amazon!
► #oneclick →→ http://amzn.to/1NicBG5
► Publisher: LIMITLESS PUBLISHING
►►► SYNOPSIS ◄◄◄
After being rescued from a brutal band of marauders, Ellen Hale rebuilt her life in the fortified neighborhood that became her home. A heartbreaking decision and devastating loss pushed her to become a fierce fighter, because weakness only got you and those you loved killed. 
Now her community is facing a deadly threat, and Ellen has another choice to make. 
Ellen volunteers as a member of fallback team three, tasked with establishing a temporary refuge for their citizens in the event their community is overrun by the enemy. As the danger intensifies, she and her adopted sister, Melissa, set off with the rest of their team on the road trip from hell. 
Their mission is cloaked in secrecy, but suspicions of a traitor arise. 
Something is affecting the zombies’ migration patterns, and when blacksmith Tyler Garrett is discovered trapped in a farmhouse, the team refuses to trust him. But Ellen believes his story, and it’s not just because of his rugged, blond good looks and soft-spoken manner—his skills can greatly benefit their team. 
As the team struggles to reach the fallback, previously secure locations are overrun, and their chances of success seem remote. With the likelihood of a traitor nearly certain, and the lives of everyone she loves at risk, Ellen must figure out who to trust before the traitor—or the zombies—destroy them all. 
Is there a spy among the fallback team, 
or is there another threat lurking in the Kentucky hills?

►►► PURCHASE ◄◄◄
AMAZON →→ http://amzn.to/1NicBG5
►►► Meet the author ◄◄◄
LORI WHITWAM
Lori spent her early years reading books in a tree in northern West Virginia. The 1980s and 90s found her and her husband moving around the Midwest, mainly because it was easier to move than clean the apartment. After seventeen frigid years in Minnesota, she fled to coastal North Carolina in 2013. She will never leave, and if you try to make her, she will hurt you.
She has worked in public libraries, written advertising copy for wastewater treatment equipment, and managed a holistic veterinary clinic. Her current day job, conducted from her World Headquarters and Petting Zoo (her couch) is as the Managing Editor for Limitless Publishing, as well as editing for a select group of indie authors.
Her dogs are a big part of her life, and she has served or held offices in Golden Retriever and Great Pyrenees rescues, a humane society, a county kennel club, and her own chapter of Therapy Dogs International.
She has been a columnist and feature writer for auto racing and pet publications, and won the Dog Writers Association of America’s Maxwell Award for a series of humor essays.
Parents of a grown son, Lori and her husband were high school sweethearts, and he manages to love her in spite of herself. Some of his duties include making sure she always has fresh coffee and safe tires, trying to teach her to use coupons, and convincing the state police to spring her from house arrest in her hotel room in time for a very important concert. That last one only happened once—so far—but she still really, really appreciates it.
You can find her online at http://www.loriwhitwam.com.
Her Facebook author page is http://www.facebook.com/loriauthor

✦ RELEASE BLITZ ✦ #NewRelease – Gone Wild by Dakota Madison Genre: #RomanticComedy #OnTour with @HeaBookToursPR @karenmbryson | #HBTPRM

Gone Wild by Dakota Madison
Genre: Romantic Comedy
 SYNOPSIS 
Go BACK TO BOOKMAN with USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR Dakota Madison’s new #LoveinMidlife #ComingofMiddleAge romantic comedy series.
Tenured English professor Bly Daniels believes the short walk from her campus office to the university library is too much exposure to the harsh elements of the outdoors. She would prefer to spend her days (and nights) comfortably seated indoors reading classic literature.
When Bly is arrested for reading one of the great books while driving home, a judge sentences her to thirty days of community service with The Wild Way, a therapeutic wilderness program for troubled teens.
There she meets Turner Wild, the owner and operate of the wilderness program. Turner is everything Bly despises: rugged, unrefined and outdoorsy. For Bly a trip to hell sounds more desirable than spending an entire month with Turner and his band of hooligans as they traverse the woods of rural northwest New Jersey communing with nature.
Bly certainly never expects to form a bond with the troubled teens she’s been assigned to mentor and forge an unlikely relationship with their fearless leader, Turner Wild.
Each full-length novel in Dakota Madison’s LOVE IN MIDLIFE romantic comedy series can be read as a stand-alone or as part of the series. Each story features one of the graduates of Bookman College attending their 25th reunion.
— PURCHASE 
— EXCERPT 
“This is as far as I go,” the crusty old cab
driver barks as he stops in front of a long dirt road that disappears into the
woods.
“How far is it to the wilderness camp?” I
ask.
“Pretty far, I would imagine. It’s not
visible from the road at all.”
“And how am I supposed to get there?”
“I guess you’re just going to have to
walk.”
I laugh until I realize he’s not joking. He
expects me to walk into the woods on a dirt road that is God knows how long.
Then I realize I’ll also have to carry my
bag as well. I could barely carry my suitcase to the front stoop for him to
place in his truck.
“I can only take the cab on paved roads,”
he tells me. “Company rules.”
Is that supposed to make me feel better? It
doesn’t.
I heave a huge sigh. “How much do I owe
you?”
“Thirty.”
I hand him three ten dollar bills, plus a
five dollar tip.
“Let me get your bag out of the trunk.”
When he exits the cab I take a moment to
compose myself. I’m already so far out of my comfort zone I feel like I’m
having a panic attack, and I haven’t even made it to the camp yet.
You’re
an intelligent woman with a doctoral degree
, I remind myself. You can do this.
By the time I exit the cab my bag is
already on the side of the road waiting for me.
“Good luck,” the cab driver says.
“Thanks.”
It probably wasn’t the smartest idea I ever
had to wear a dress and pumps. In my defense I don’t have much else in my
wardrobe. Work attire and lounging outfits for around the house are about it.
When I teach I always wear a dress or a suit with dress shoes. I wouldn’t be
caught dead outside of my home in one of my lounging outfits.
Calling the dirt pathway a road is
extremely generous. The trail is much rockier and uneven than I initially
thought. The shoes I’m wearing are not even close to being appropriate for the
conditions. I’ll be lucky if I don’t turn an ankle.
My suitcase is another problem entirely. I
can barely make it a few feet before I have to set it down. The muscles in my
arms are already throbbing and I haven’t even made it far enough to spot the
end of the trail yet.
Luckily it’s still early in the day. I’ve
got many hours of sunlight left. Even if it takes me several hours walking a
few steps at a time I should make it there before dark.
Unless it’s a few miles to the camp, then
I’ll be in a bit of trouble.
Two hours and thirty seven minutes later
I’ve had about all that I can take. My feet are blistered and aching. I’m
afraid when I finally remove my shoes my feet will be bloody as well.
My arms are so weak I don’t think I can
lift the suitcase again.
And I’m on the verge of complete
exhaustion.
What was I thinking packing so much stuff?
I was thinking I’ll be here an entire month and I need reading materials.
Here
is no water but only rock
Rock
and no water and the sandy road.
Those words from T.S. Eliot’s ‘The Waste
Land’ seem appropriate right now. I take a seat on my suitcase and wipe the
sweat from my brow with a tissue that I just happened to have shoved in my
pocket. I can’t even remember the last time I sweated. It may have been in high
school when we were forced to play those utterly horrendous sports in our
Physical Education classes.
I was supposed to be at the apex of my
career this year. I was finally promoted from Associate to Full Professor.
Edgar had been hinting that when he retired I was first in line to take over as
Chairperson of the English Department. I was just a few months away from paying
off the mortgage on my house.
Now it looks like I might lose everything,
and I’m sitting in the middle of the woods helpless to do anything about it.
Edgar was not happy when I told him I needed to take a month of personal leave
and he’d need to find a substitute to teach my classes. That coupled with the
fact that my arrest and conviction has tarnished the reputation of the institution does not bode well for me still
having a career upon my return from this journey into the wilderness. 
The sun is starting to get higher overhead,
and it’s beating down on me. I’m not sure how much of the blistering brightness
my pale skin can take. I should probably edge closer to the tree line where
it’s shaded, but I’m too exhausted to move. 
I’m just about to fall asleep seated on my
suitcase when a large pickup truck whizzes by. I try to raise a hand to wave
the driver over, but to no avail. My arm won’t lift high enough.
Instead I choke on the dust left in the
truck’s wake.
Then to my surprise the trucks comes to a
screeching halt, reverses and heads back towards me.
When I rise to greet the driver my legs
feel like cooked noodles. They’re so weak I can barely control them as I move
towards the truck.
My eyes go wide when I see who has hopped
out of the vehicle. The driver is a young, petite woman of Asian descent.
From the neck up she’s beautiful, with long
silky dark hair and perfect features. From the neck down she’s dressed like a
man. She’s wearing well-worn jeans, black combat boots and a green Army jacket.
“Are you lost?” Her tone is accusatory,
definitely not friendly.
I shake my head.
“You know this road leads to a wilderness
camp for troubled teens.”
“I do.”
She looks me up and down. “You don’t look
like you’re ready for the wilderness, and you’re definitely not a teenager.”
“I’m aware of that.” My voice is weary.
“I’m court ordered to be here. Community service.”
She rolls her eyes. “Lucky us.”
“Unfortunately the cab driver wouldn’t take
me beyond the main road. I’ve been walking for hours.”
“Would you like a lift?” She raises an
eyebrow.
“That would be greatly appreciated. Thank
you.”
She lets down the tailgate of the pickup,
presumably for me to place my luggage in the empty truck bed.
I do my best to drag the suitcase over to
the truck, but I feel like my muscles are on fire. There is no way I’m going to
be able to lift the suitcase into the back of the vehicle.
The woman and I both stare at the suitcase
for several moments.
“You can’t lift it, can you?” she asks
finally.
I shake my head.
“Unbelievable.” She grabs the suitcase like
it’s no heavier than a rag doll and tosses it into the back of her truck. Then
she slams the tailgate of the truck closed.
She glares at me for several seconds. “I
have some advice for you. Never pack more than you can carry.”
Before I have a chance to respond she
marches over to the driver’s side of the truck and hops in.
I hurry over to the passenger side of the
vehicle and stare at it for a few moments. I’m five feet seven inches tall. The
woman is easily five inches shorter than me and she got into the truck with
very little effort. I have no idea how I’m going to climb into this thing,
particularly in my dress and heels.
“Are you coming?” She glares at me again.
She’s very good at glaring. Despite her small stature she’s quite intimidating.
“If you’ll give me just a few seconds I
need to figure out how to get inside of this truck.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
She jumps back out of the vehicle, makes
her way around to my side then gives me an extremely hard shove right on my
buttocks which propels me enough that I’m able to climb into the seat.
She stomps back over to her side of the
truck, leaps into her seat with the ease of a rabbit then slams her door shut.
“Your truck is very high off the ground,” I
observe.
“No shit, Sherlock. Now fasten your
seatbelt.”
The woman doesn’t say another word to me as
we head down the dusty road toward the camp.
Thankfully she parks extremely close to
what appears to be a main building. It has a placard which says: The Wild Way Administration.
I do my best to hop out of the truck in my
heels. The woman opens the back of the truck, hoists my suitcase out of the
truck bed and tosses it on the ground.
She doesn’t wait for me to say anything,
not even a thank you. She marches back over to the driver’s side, leaps into
the truck like a frog, and drives somewhere behind the administration building.
  I’m
not sure what to do. I don’t feel like dealing with my suitcase so I just leave
it where the woman tossed it. There’s not another soul anywhere so I don’t
think it’s in danger of being stolen. Not that my clothing and books would be
of value to anyone but me.
I walk up the small set of stairs to the
administration office. The building is really just a large cabin, much like all
of the other smaller cabins scattered about the heavily wooded property.
Unfortunately the front door is locked. I
try knocking, then pounding, but to no avail. The place appears to be deserted.
The person with whom I spoke on the phone,
Turner Wild, the program director, told me specifically to report to the camp
today. I even wrote it down. He was very short with me, much the way the Asian
American woman was, so I wasn’t able to get him to commit to a specific time.
My feet are throbbing. I’m not that
motivated to walk over to any of the other cabins, which are a significant
distance from this one, several hundred yards at least.
The small porch that I’m standing on
doesn’t have any chairs, or seats of any kind, so I guess I’m stuck standing
here for a while until someone appears, or I figure out something else to do.
I wait for what feels like an hour, but
when I glance at my watch I realize only twenty minutes have actually gone by.
Time seems to pass very slowly when I don’t have my nose firmly planted in a
book.
That’s when I hear rustling on the roof of
the administration building. Panic begins to set in when some tree debris fly
off the roof and nearly hit me.
What’s up there? Is it some kind of animal?
Then I hear stomping—loud, heavy
stomping—right above me. Is it possible for a bear to climb on a rooftop?
My chest tightens and I feel like I can’t
breathe. I’m going to get killed by a bear and I haven’t even started working
here yet.
More tree debris rain down on me: branches,
bark, pine cones.
What is going on up there?
Then I hear hammering. To my knowledge
bears don’t know how to use hammers. Is Turner Wild on the roof? Or maybe the
woman who gave me a lift in her truck?
“Hello?” I shout when the hammering stops.
“Hello?”
“You made it,” a male voice shouts back.
I nearly jump out of my shoes when the guy,
presumably Turner Wild, jumps down from the roof and lands on the porch next to
me.
“Community service?” He places his hammer
on the porch rail next to him and wipes his dirty hands on the sides of his
jeans.
“That’s what I’m here for.”
The man is different than how I pictured
him from our very brief phone conversation. I thought he’d be a lot younger,
maybe late twenties or early thirties, but he looks more like he’s my age,
mid-to-late forties.
That’s not to say there isn’t a youthful air
about him.
Everything about this man is rugged and
outdoorsy. His brown hair is cut in a short, military-style haircut. His strong
features look a bit rough and weatherworn. His dark jeans and t-shirt are tight
fitting and display every one of the large muscles on his exceptionally
masculine body.  
And he’s wearing a very large knife hanging
from his belt.  I’m not surprised he runs
a wilderness camp. It would be difficult to imagine someone who looks the way
he does doing anything else.
Well, maybe serving in those Special
Operations Forces in the military. I could picture him in one of those SEAL
teams like the one that killed Bin Laden.
I decide there are only two likely
vocations for this man: killing bears or killing Bin Laden.
His sea green eyes are like lasers as he
stares at me. I’m immediately uncomfortable. I wonder if there is any way I
could contact the judge and tell her I’ve changed my mind. Fifteen months in
jail is starting to seem much more desirable than a month in the woods with this
frightening character.
I extend a hand because I’m not sure what
else to do. “Hello, I’m Dr. Daniels.”
He stares at my limb like I’m a leper. Then
he looks me up and down. “What kind of doctor are you?”
I clear my throat. “I’m an English
professor.”
He laughs. “So you’re not a real doctor.”
I immediately bristle at his ignorant
comment. I hate when people say that. “For your information the word doctor is
derived from the Latin word docēre
which means to teach. The title Doctor has been used for centuries in Europe as
a designation for someone who has obtained a research doctorate such as a Ph.D.
Thus a person with a medical degree is more accurately described as a physician, not a doctor.”
He pats my shoulder in the most
condescending way imaginable, like I’m some kind of pet. “Whatever you say,
Doc.” 
“Why are you touching me?” His hand is
still on my arm. I can feel the heat from his body move through mine. It’s
extremely disconcerting.
“Sorry.” He stares at me for a long moment
before he removes his hand.
I try to brush away the tingly feeling
flowing down my limb. “Why did you call me Doc? This isn’t a cartoon. You’re
not Bugs Bunny.”
He laughs again. I don’t like people who
laugh so easily. I’m immediately suspicious of them.
“I’m serious,” I tell him. “There’s no
reason to laugh.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re wound
up tighter than Dick’s hatband?”
I glare at him. Does that expression even
make sense? I have no idea what he means, but it feels like an insult. And he’s
smirking, which makes it worse.
He looks me up and down. “You can’t wear
that.”
“Why not?”
“This is a wilderness camp, Doc. We’ll be
getting down and dirty. Living in the woods. You can’t wear a dress and heels.”
“I’d appreciate it if you called me
something other than Doc. Dr. Daniels would be fine. Or Ms. Daniels. Or my
first name, Bly, if you insist. Just not Doc.”
“I could call you Community Service. Would
that be better?”
I shake my head.
“That’s what I thought. What about the
clothes, Doc?”
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR 
USA TODAY Bestselling author Dakota Madison is known for writing romance with a little spice and lots of heart. She likes to explore current social issues in her work. Dakota is a winner of the prestigious RONE Award for Excellence in the Indie and Small Publishing Industry. When she’s not at her computer creating spicy stories Dakota likes to spend time with her husband and their bloodhounds at their home outside Phoenix, Arizona.

Events, Giveaways, and Casinos, Oh My! #amwriting #events #Foxwoods #MASE16

After a relatively quite May–which also saw the end of my second semester in grad school–June and July are hopping with events. First up is the Mystic Author Signing, happening June 4 at Foxwoods Casino. Here is a link to the event’s Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/MysticAuthorSigning/?fref=ts

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The signing will feature over sixty authors, cover models, and other literary luminaries! And did I mention that it will be held in the Grand Pequot Ballroom? For more information, or to purchase tickets, click here.

 

 

virgin_queen_final-draft_text2I’m also still taking entries for my $10 gift card raffle – Just post a review for The Virgin Queen, book 2 in my Chronicles of Parthalan series, then go here to enter. Click here to learn more about The Virgin Queen, and *hint hint* I do happen to have some review copies available. Just sayin’.

 

 

 

 

Speaking of Parthalan, check out this amazing map of the realm! More to come on how you can win a copy.

FINAL Fantasy Map- for paperback

Last but not least, Copper Veins, the third installment of the Copper Legacy, is almost here! If you’d like to take part in the week long release blitz, click here: http://xpressobooktours.com/2016/05/06/blitz-sign-up-copper-veins-by-jennifer-allis-provost/

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That’s all for now! How are you kicking off your summer? Let me know in the comments!

 

 

Today’s #FeatureFriday with @limitlessbooks is my book, CHANGING SCENES! #romance #contemporary

Changing Scenes 

by Jennifer Allis Provost 

Publisher: Limitless Publishing! 

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Book #2 Changes Series

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✵✦✵ SYNOPSIS ✵✦✵

“Image isn’t everything

…or is it?”

For Astrid Janvier, image is everything…

Astrid is a world-renowned model, as famous for her strut as her startling green eyes. She’s modeled for the biggest names in the fashion world, and is regularly invited to parties in New York, London, and Paris. Thanks to a designer label addiction, she’s also broke, and takes a job as a cocktail waitress just to make rent. When her best friend Britt asks her to be her maid of honor at her upcoming wedding, their first task is to decide the menu.

Donnie Coehlo is a young, up-and- coming chef with a dinner menu to plan…

Donato—Donnie for short—is the head chef at Thirty-Nine and Twelve, a seafood bistro on the Connecticut shore. It’s a great accomplishment given his youthful age, but Donnie doesn’t brag. He just wants to find the right girl, settle down, and have a bunch of kids. When Astrid arrives at his restaurant, Donnie hopes she is the one. But would a high-priced model like Astrid be interested in a regular guy like him?

As Astrid’s life crumbles around her, and Donnie makes a terrible choice, Astrid learns the two of them are irrevocably tied together.

Will their connection be enough for Astrid to leave her high-fashion life behind, and accept what Donnie has to offer? Or will she chase her dreams as a model, leaving Donnie as part of her past?

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✵✦✵ JENNIFER ALLIS PROVOST ✵✦✵

Jennifer Allis Provost is a native New Englander who lives in a sprawling colonial along with her beautiful and precocious twins, a dog that thinks she’s a kangaroo, a parrot, a junkyard cat, and a wonderful husband who never forgets to buy ice cream. As a child, she read anything and everything she could get her hands on, including a set of encyclopedias, but fantasy was always her favorite. She spends her days drinking vast amounts of coffee, arguing with her computer, and avoiding any and all domestic behavior.

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