Showing posts with label England. Show all posts
Showing posts with label England. Show all posts

Monday, February 26, 2018

WARWICK'S MERMAID



WARWICK'S MERMAID
by ELLIE GRAY
Contemporary Romance

Date Published: 11th October 2017
Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing

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Having escaped an abusive relationship, Chloe MacGregor is determined to put the past behind her. The little cottage high up on the cliffs overlooking the beautiful North Yorkshire town of Whitby is her safe haven, somewhere she is free to be herself.

When the arrival of her new neighbour and boss, Luke Warwick, threatens her peaceful, sheltered life, Chloe is forced to confront her past and to re-evaluate who she really is. Falling in love with Luke is not part of her plan but, to her surprise, Luke is falling for her too. The only thing preventing their happy ever after is Chloe herself. Will she ever truly learn to leave the past where it belongs?

WARWICK’S MERMAID Excerpt:

Chloe stared at the bright blue front door, not quite sure if she was willing it to open or remain shut. Cerulean Bliss. She had been drawn to the name, conjuring up images of crystal clear Mediterranean Sea, sandy beaches, and cloudless skies. Chris had appeared amused by her decision to choose the paint based on the name rather than the colour.

‘‘Babe, if you want Cerulean Bliss for the front door, Cerulean Bliss is what we’ll go for.’’

But when he’d returned from a boys’ weekend away to find Chloe had painted the door, it had been a different story. He had flown into a rage, claiming she hadn’t consulted with him on the colour and had gone behind his back, waiting until he was away to make changes to his house. That was the first time she had been on the receiving end of his anger; the first time she had been frightened and confused by his apparent about-turn on something he had previously agreed to. It hadn’t been the last time.

Chloe glanced at her watch, frowning when it showed only a minute had passed since she had last looked. The frown deepened when she lifted a hand to rub her eyebrow and saw how much her fingers were trembling. A gentle hand touched her forearm and she looked up to meet her friend’s calm gaze.

‘Don’t worry. It’s going to be fine.’

Chloe shook her head, unable to prevent her gaze from returning to the front door only twenty or so metres from where they were sitting in her car. What if he glanced around and saw her? What if he didn’t?

‘What am I doing, Bekah?’ She dropped her head in her hands, squeezing her eyes shut and immediately wincing as that small movement resulted in more pain than it should.

‘The right thing, that’s what.’ Rebekah rubbed her friend’s forearm. ‘Come on, Chloe. We talked about this.’

‘I know, I know we did.’ Chloe lifted her chin, but didn’t remove her gaze from the door. ‘I just…I keep thinking about it, over and over. He’s not always that bad, not really, and I think…I think maybe it was my fault.’

Chloe didn’t have to see her friend’s face to know she was angry; she could feel it radiating from her in waves. Rebekah remained silent and reached across to pull down the sun visor in front of Chloe, lifting up the small flap covering the vanity mirror.

‘There is nothing you could have done that would ever justify what he did to you. Nothing.’

Chloe stared at her reflection, taking in the dark purple bruise circling her left eye—now bloodshot and half-closed—the ugly graze reaching across her cheekbone and further down to the swollen and split bottom lip. Without thinking, she licked her lip. The tip of her tongue slipped over the injury, and she drew in a sharp breath at the sting it produced.

She met her gaze in the mirror once more, noting the confusion and uncertainty dulling their green hue. ‘I know. But it’s not usually this bad. He pushes me around a bit sometimes, nothing major, and he says things…you know, usually when he’s had a drink.’

‘That doesn’t make it right. You know that.’ Rebekah blew out a long breath. ‘I can’t believe you never told me.’

Chloe avoided her friend’s accusing gaze. What could she have told her? That Chris was proving her mother right? That she wasn’t woman enough for any man?

‘It doesn’t matter now anyway. I—’ She drew in a strangled breath as the front door opened and, shrinking down a little in her seat, Chloe prayed he wouldn’t glance down the street and recognise her car among all the others parked along the kerb.

As she watched, Chris locked the door before turning and sauntering along the path, tossing his keys in the air and catching them, his lips pursed as he whistled. Chloe couldn’t hear from this distance, but she knew he would be whistling the tune to whichever song had been on the radio before he left the house. She glanced at her watch once more; 8.15am on the dot. Chris was a creature of habit.

‘Bastard.’ Rebekah thumped the dashboard in obvious frustration as he got into his car without glancing left or right before driving off. ‘Look at him, acting as if he hasn’t a care in the world. You should have let Sean come round last night and hammer ten bells out of him, see how he liked it.’

Chloe gave a weak smile. ‘I don’t suppose that would have solved anything.’

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Rebekah finally opened her door. ‘So, come on then. Let’s do it.’

Chloe bit her lip and immediately winced in pain, wishing she hadn’t. Gingerly exploring her lip with her fingers, she saw they were stained with blood, and stifling a sigh, searched in her bag for a tissue.
‘What if he comes back? What if he’s forgotten something?’

‘He’s not coming back. He’s gone to work,’ said Rebekah, nodding her encouragement. ‘Come on, the sooner we get in, the sooner we get out. We’ll only be a few minutes.’

Two minutes later, Chloe unlocked the door with trembling fingers, her heart thumping painfully in her chest as she pushed it open. Cerulean Bliss. It conjured up no happy thoughts for her now. It hadn’t done from the moment Chris had returned from his weekend away. When she hesitated on the step, Rebekah gave her a gentle shove, propelling her into the hallway.

‘Hey!’

‘Well, we can’t stand in the doorway all day.’ Rebekah glanced around. ‘Okay, so where first? In here?’

Rebekah gestured to the living room but Chloe shook her head immediately. She wasn’t ready to face that room, not yet. Instead, she walked over to the bottom of the stairs and, after a moment’s hesitation, shouldered her overnight bag and ran lightly up to the first floor. Ten minutes later she reappeared and joined Rebekah, where she was waiting patiently in the hall.

‘Got everything?’

‘Almost.’ Chloe licked her lip, the sharp sting and coppery taste of blood reminding her why she was doing this. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the living room where her gaze was immediately drawn to the coffee table. It looked as tidy as ever, with the magazines and books neatly stacked in one corner. In her mind’s eye, she replayed the moment Chris had finally tipped over the edge.

It was football this time; football and beer. His team had lost and, downing his fifth can of beer, he had turned to her, obviously looking to pick a fight so he could vent his frustration. Chloe couldn’t remember what it was he had said, but she had responded non-committally before asking him if he wanted a coffee – a somewhat obvious effort to change the subject. But he hadn’t let it drop, blocking her path as she tried to walk into the kitchen. Her stomach rolled as she recalled Chris pushing his contorted face into hers as he yelled at her through gritted teeth, backing her up against the wall and knocking over the plant stand by the fireplace as he did so.

She closed her eyes. It had been her fault. If she had just let him carry on, he would have calmed down eventually. But she hadn’t. She had pushed him away, pushed at his chest as he crowded in on her. And that was all it had taken. Any ounce of self-control Chris might have had went flying through the window, just as she went flying through the air when he grabbed her hair and threw her across the room.

She could remember lying on the floor in a daze, wondering what had happened, and Chris dragging her to her feet before punching her in the face. That was when she had fallen across the coffee table, her cheek grazing the corner as it tipped over and spilled the magazines to the floor. A kick to the ribs for good measure had followed, with Chris standing over her, his breath coming in harsh rasps, before he turned away and went upstairs, hissing, ‘You’re not worth the effort.’

‘Chloe? You okay?’

Rebekah’s gentle voice broke into her thoughts and Chloe blinked, unable to speak for a moment. ‘Um… yes. I just need a couple of things from here.’

She hurried over to a bookshelf and took a handful of books before casting a final glance around the room, sick with fear that Chris might return at any moment. There was very little here that she could call hers; Chris’s minimalist taste left little room for any of her personal items. Anything she had bought herself had either mysteriously gone missing or been accidentally broken.

Sorry, babe, don’t know what happened there. Never mind, it wasn’t expensive, we’ll get you something else.

‘I think that’s it. There’s nothing else here I want.’ Following Rebekah out of the house, Chloe locked the door and posted the keys through the letterbox. With a final look along the street, she walked back to her car. She was worth more than that.


GUEST POST FROM ELLIE GRAY

10 Things You Didn’t Know About Ellie Gray

1.      The first book I ever wrote hasn’t been published. Looking back now, I can see why – it needs a lot of work. At some point in the future, I think I may re-visit it to see if it could be worked up to publishable standards. It remains the book of my heart.

2.      I have always been obsessed by Ancient Egypt and I have a beautiful, Egyptian sarcophagus standing in my conservatory at home.

3.      I am addicted to stationery and have a desk full of notebooks, sticky notes, pens etc. Hardly any of the notebooks have been written in; they’re just too beautiful to spoil by writing in them!

4.      I have recently become very interested in family history and have enjoyed researching my father’s side of the family. My great grandfather went across to India to manage a tea farm in the late 1800s with his wife and son. Some time later, they were set to return home to Scotland and my great grandmother sailed home with her children while my great grandfather stayed behind to close up his affairs. Unfortunately, he fell ill and died and was buried in India. The tea farm at Dauracherra is still there and one day I hope to be able to go and visit the area.

5.      When I was younger, I played the flute and piano. I did teach myself to play the guitar but was never particularly proficient at this.

6.      I’m getting married this year!

7.      I am determined to learn to speak Portuguese as we regularly spend our summer holidays there.

8.      Although my three published books are contemporary romance, I have also written a young adult fantasy novel which I hope to publish some day, probably under a pseudonym.

9.      I generally tend to ‘write’ the full novel in my head before I ever even start to think about putting pen to paper (or finger to keyboard).


10.   I have a notebook (one that I have actually allowed myself to write in!) full of ideas for different stories and novels. When I find myself at a bit of a standstill with my current work in progress, I look through the notebook and work up each of the ideas a little bit more. Working on something completely different tends to give me the boost I need to keep writing.


About the Author


I’m a contemporary romance author, published with the lovely Tirgearr Publishing, and am a proud member of the Romantic Novelist Association. I live in the beautiful East Riding of Yorkshire in the UK and, although I work full-time in the public sector, my favourite pastime, when not writing, is wandering around old stately homes.

My debut novel, BEAUTY AND THE RECLUSE, was published in February 2016, closely followed by my second, LOVE ON THE NILE, which was released in the Summer of 2016. My third novel, WARWICK'S MERMAID, was  published in October 2017.

A few random pieces of information about me:

•         Favourite TV shows – The Walking Dead, The X-Files, Nashville, Dr. Who, the Great British Bake-off.

•         Favourite Music – I’m an 80’s girl!, country, sixties, Elvis, classical (when I’m writing)

•         Favourite Food – Indian, tapas, crisps

•         Favourite Drink – black coffee (copious amounts when I’m writing), sauvignon blanc

Contact Links


Purchase Links

Friday, September 09, 2016

PURE OF HEART RELEASED BY AURIA JOURDAIN


Pure of Heart
By Auria Jourdain


GENRE: Historical Romance

Auria will be awarding a $15 Amazon or Barnes and Noble Gift Card to one person who comments on the tour chosen randomly via Rafflecopter.

PURE OF HEART Blurb:

A ghost child left to die in a French forest, Contesse Blanchefort seeks her long-buried past after her adoptive father dies at the Bastille. Embarking on a quest across England with a pagan woman and a rogue Gypsy, Contesse falls ill in London, and her companions are forced to seek help. With overwhelming compassion, physician’s apprentice Eric McEwan nurses Contesse back to health, but discovers that her exotic accent and pale features set his heart ablaze...her mere touch brands his soul. Passion blooms as the two discover their love for one another—with disastrous consequences.

Upon his expulsion from Cambridge, Eric must battle his domineering grandfather’s wrath. When family tragedy strikes, he must return to his provincial home and confront his abusive past. Carrying on with her quest, Contesse struggles to free herself from her childhood as sinister details are revealed. Without Eric, she’s lost. But love is strong...can they conquer their demons to find one another again?



PURE OF HEART Excerpt:

Eric and Talon's voices wafted away as Contesse stepped out into a small clearing where the goldenrod, dead nettle, and pink heather bloomed all around her. The warm sun tickled her face, and she pulled her cloak tight to protect her skin. Sitting gingerly upon the grass, she perked up as the thunderous sounds of the river rumbled nearby. With a gasp, she turned to look, her mind whirling. Rubbing her eyes, a ghostly likeness of herself as a young child walked among the reeds, and she suddenly leapt back to a time she’d long forgotten...

Wrapped in a long, rainbow colored cloak to cover her delicate skin, the child stooped over to pick the goldenrod. Rubbing it between her fingers, the girl smiled and placed it carefully in an elongated, open basket hung on her arm. Intent on her work, she didn’t see the two young children running toward her, laughing and pointing. “Devil's Spawn! Devil's Spawn!" the girls mocked. “You don’t belong here!” The little girl sat in the grass and cried, bent over with a sprig of goldenrod in her hand.

Standing, Contesse went to the river bank to comfort the poor girl, but she had disappeared. A mockingbird called from high in the treetops, and Contesse frowned. Gazing down in surprise, she gripped a yellow flower tightly in her fist. Holding it to her nose, she inhaled the spicy fragrance that lingered upon her fingers.



Auria Jordaine, Author
History buff, Francophile, and hopeless romantic that demands an HEA—it’s the perfect mixture for writing romance! With fond childhood memories of reading on quiet afternoons, I loved the "happily ever after" sweet teen romances, but I quickly plunged into the world of historical romance—my get-away-from-real-life transporter. Add in a degree in Political Studies with six years of French, and twenty years later, I’m living my dream. With three published novels, 7 finished, and several more in my head, I have years of work ahead of me!

Facebook: Auria Jourdain Books https://www.facebook.com/auriajourdainbooks/
                
Twitter: @AuriaJourdain –  https://twitter.com/AuriaJourdain
                 
                 

Auria will be awarding a $15 Amazon or Barnes and Noble Gift Card to one person who leaves a comment on the tour. Winner will be chosen randomly via Rafflecopter.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Saturday, April 30, 2016

ANNEMARIE BREAR COMBINES NEW WITH OLD!

By Annemarie Brear

  
Thank you so much for having me today. I hope you and your readers enjoy learning a little about my latest release, Where Dragonflies Hover, a contemporary story that also features a WWI story, when Lexi, the main character finds a diary written by a wartime nurse.

WHERE DRAGONFLIES HOVER Blurb:

Sometimes a glimpse into the past can help make sense of the future …

Everyone thinks Lexi is crazy when she falls in love with Hollingsworth House – a crumbling old Georgian mansion in Yorkshire – and nobody more so than her husband, Dylan. But there’s something very special about the place, and Lexi can sense it. 

Whilst exploring the grounds she stumbles across an old diary and, within its pages, she meets Allie – an Australian nurse working in France during the First World War.

Lexi finally realises her dream of buying Hollingsworth but her obsession with the house leaves her marriage in tatters. In the lonely nights that follow, Allie’s diary becomes Lexi’s companion, comforting her in moments of darkness and pain. And as Lexi reads, the nurse’s scandalous connection to the house is revealed …



WHERE DRAGONFLIES HOVER Excerpt:

The late sunshine enveloped the house in a golden glow. Again, it seemed to call to her, begging for attention. A path on the left of the drive looked inviting as it meandered through a small strand of poplars. Lexi grabbed her keys, locked the car and took off to explore again. She had nothing to rush home to now, and if she got caught for trespassing, then so be it.

The overgrown pathway brought her out on the far side of the grounds near the end of a small lake. She gazed over the water towards the back of the house and noticed a paved terrace area. From there the lawn then sloped down to the water. She’d not been around the back before and fell even more in love with the property. She could imagine the serenity of sipping a cool drink on a hot summer’s day and looking out over the lake.

Lexi stepped out along the bank. A lone duck swam by, its movement serene on the glassy, dark surface. This side of the lake was in shadow from large pine trees, and she stumbled on fallen pinecones hidden in the long grass. On the opposite side of the water were some small buildings, a garage, fruit trees in early blossom, and an overgrown vegetable patch, complete with a broken, rejected-looking scarecrow.

She wandered over to a narrow shed on her left and peered through its sole, dirty window. Unable to make out much in the dimness, she walked around to the front and was surprised when she was able to pull the bolt back on the door. Why didn’t people lock things? A covered rowboat took up most of the space inside. She smiled, seeing herself rowing it on the lake. Growing more excited, Lexi edged around it to peer at the workbenches and the odd assortment of tools and useless things one found in abandoned sheds. It was like treasure hunting in an antique shop. She used to love doing that with her grandfather.

She glanced about and spied a dusty painting leaning against the wall. The scene was of a child and a brown dog. Behind the canvas were more paintings, some framed, some not. Lexi flicked through them. The ones that caught her attention she took out and set aside.

She looked for somewhere to sit and study the paintings. A small tin trunk wedged under a workbench seemed the only offering. Thinking it empty, she went to tug it out, but it remained fast.

Using both hands, she heaved it out and was showered in a puff of dust. Squatting down, she inspected the latch that was held tight with a small lock. ‘Why are you locked?’ she murmured. The shed was open to anyone passing by, yet this ugly little chest had a lock on it. The trunk was nothing special, plain and in parts rusted. No ornament or writing hinted at its use.

Intrigued, she grabbed a hammer from the workbench, but then hesitated. She had no right to open someone else’s property. Lexi closed her eyes momentarily. What was she thinking of breaking into the trunk? What am I doing? Never had she broken the law and here she was guilty of trespassing and breaking and entering! She looked around the rowboat as though expecting someone to jump out and arrest her.

Something inside urged her on. She knew she couldn’t stop now. Sucking in a deep breath, she bent and hit the lock hard. The ringing sound was loud in the quiet serenity of the garden. The metal dented and with another few solid whacks the lock gave.

Shivers of excitement tingled along her skin. Gently, she eased up the lid.

WHERE DRAGONFLIES HOVER Buy links:



Also available in Apple ibooks, etc.

Annemarie Brear, Author
Australian born Annemarie Brear writes historical novels and modern romances. Currently living in England, her passions, apart from writing, are reading, researching, genealogy, roaming historical sites, buying books, and gardening. She is an author of historical women's fiction, contemporary romance, and several short stories. Also a lover of chocolate, good movies, and her family!

Annemarie on the web:
Twitter @annemariebrear

Monday, October 19, 2015

LAST SEEN IS A CLASSIC ENGLISH MYSTERY BY JO A. HIESTAND



Last Seen
by Jo A. Hiestand

To get us started, Jo A. Hiestand has graciously consented to an interview. Stick around for the Rafflecopter at the bottom of this interesting interview and post about the series. Here we go:


Caroline: Where did you grow up? Siblings? Locale? Were you considered a “bookworm” or a jock?  Married, single? Children?

Jo: Hi, Caroline.  I’m quite excited about talking with you!  I grew up in St Louis, where I currently live.  I’ve lived here all my life except for the year I spent in England – Bolton, Lancashire – when I was trying to get into folk singing professionally.  Through school, and even now, I’m a definite bookworm.  I love to get lost in mysteries or British history, imagining what things were like.  I’m still single but they say it’s never too late to marry!

Caroline: Who are your favorite authors and favorite genres?

Jo: Hmmm, that’s a difficult question about authors because I like so many.  My favorite mystery author is Ngaio Marsh, one of the Queens of the Golden Age of Mystery writing.  Her writing is beautiful, her characters are so well drawn that they jump off the page with life, and her plots are quite ingenious.  I also like Charles Todd and Peter Lovesey, as well as Ann Cleeves and Josephine Tey.  As you can tell from this list, I love mysteries!  Daphne duMaurier is another of my favorite authors in the romantic suspense category.  Bertram Fields, a lawyer who approaches historical mysteries from the direction of proving it in court, is outstanding when he explains and makes cases for those enigmatic subjects. And, while we’re in the history category, Antonia Fraser is also brilliant with her books on the Guy Fawkes Plot, Mary Queen of Scots, and Henry VIII’s wives.  Classic book author favorites are Charles Dickens, Alexander Dumas, and Charlotte Bronte. When I want to laugh, I read Richard Armour and Mark Twain. Throw in Walter de la Mare for atmospheric poetry, and you’ve got most of my favorites.

Genres are mystery, of course, British history from the Middle Ages through the Georgian period, nature essays and biographies on the Plantagenets, Tudors and people involved in court, such as Cecily Neville, William Cecil and Francis Walsingham.

Caroline: You’ve named some of my favorite authors. My husband and I love mysteries from the Golden Age of Mystery. What’s your favorite way to relax and recharge? Hobbies?

Jo: Music is always good to recharge my batteries and relax to.  Favored categories are American and British folk, Dixieland, classical and baroque, early virginal music, anything by Handel, and 1940s big band.  Hobbies run the gamut from baking and playing guitar to crewel embroidery and photography.

Caroline: Do you have a favorite quote that sums up how you feel about life?

Jo: Gol, that’s easy.  It’s “When Life gives you a rainy day, play in the puddles.”

Caroline: I love that one. How long have you been writing?

Jo: I’ve been writing seriously since 1996. My first published piece was an article in Mystery Scene magazine, about my tour of the Ngaio Marsh house-museum.  My first mystery novel was published in 2004.

Caroline: Where do you prefer to write? Do you need quiet, music, solitude? PC or laptop?

Jo: I’m rather traditional in my writing habits.  I sit at a desk in my home office and write on a 21” desk-style iMac.  I have a lot of maps, photos, and books that I refer to, so I need a place to spread out.  Plus, I like my office environment.  It’s filled with mementos of my trips to Britain and things related to my protagonist McLaren and the clan to which I belong.  It all creates a satisfying environment.  In general I like quiet, especially when I’m writing the first one hundred or so pages of the first draft.  I have to concentrate!  But I like music when I’m attacking the second draft – baroque, especially Handel or Bach, is my preference, because I tend to listen to vocals if they’re playing!

Caroline: I listen to classical music when I’m writing. Are you a plotter or a panzer?

Jo: I don’t outline, but I have paragraphs of notes, including what clues will be given when, or major events that should happen in specific chapters.  I have to plot the basic story, know where I’m going so I can focus on the outcome and get everything solved by then.  McLaren mysteries are easier for me to write than my police detective Taylor & Graham series.  In that one, since they are police officers, certain things have to be done in correct order by specific individuals.  I have time schedules and chain of command charts and who-does-what notes, and I still end up getting something wrong, which necessitates large edits.  McLaren, as an ex-police detective working on his own, can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and he can do things a serving officer can’t.  It’s great fun, but I still have to plot so I bring everything to a successful conclusion.

Caroline: Do you use real events or persons in your stories or as an inspiration for stories?

Jo: The short answer is yes!  The more clarifying answer is I use historical events for ideas.  In McLaren’s mystery LAST SEEN I used the Minstrels Court for the catalyst of the murder.  The Minstrels Court was an on-going extravaganza of musicians, jugglers, acrobats, dancers, and other entertainers who entertained at Tutbury Castle in Staffordshire.  The event was so well loved and successful that it endured for more than two hundred years.  Leslie Smith, the curator of Tutbury Castle--where the Court took place--suggested it to me as the perfect launch to the murder.

Caroline: Do you set daily writing goals? Word count? Number of chapters? Do you get a chance to write every day?

Jo: Oddly enough, I have no goals.  I write most days because I love to write, not because I have any deadline.  I can usually get an 85,000-word manuscript completed, from plot inception to final corrections, in six or seven months.



Caroline: What a lovely and orderly office. Mine is embarrassing by comparison. What do you hope your writing brings to readers?

Jo: Entertainment, first of all.  Then I hope they loved McLaren as much as I do.  I hope they learn something of the place in which I place him, like Uther Pendragon’s Castle or the tides of Morecambe Bay, or the endangered black rhino.  I’m grateful, too, if they get immersed in the story and like it.  If they feel like they’re actually running through the wood or walking in the rain or poking through an abandoned house with McLaren, that gives me immense happiness.  I know then that I’ve written it well enough and poured out my soul.

Caroline: I confess you’re a new author to me, but I’m eager to read your series. What long-term plans do you have for your career?

Jo: I’d love for the BBC to pick up the McLaren series and produce them for television, and for PBS to air them in the States.  I can’t control that, but I’d be over the moon if that happened.  For my own plans, I’d like to keep writing McLaren mysteries as long as readers want them.  I’m toying with an idea for an historical series, but haven’t cemented it yet.

Caroline:  I hope that happens for you—and for your readers. Would you like to tell us what you’re working on now?

Jo: Actually, it’s an exciting project…at least to me!  But first a bit of explanation so you’ll understand what I’m talking about.  Each McLaren book features a song that’s important to the murder victim or to McLaren.  The lyrics are in the book.  Fine.  But I thought it’d be great if the reader could actually hear the song, thereby feeling the emotional connection to the victim or to McLaren.  So I contacted various St. Louis musicians and they’ve recorded the songs that go with each book.  These come on single-song CDs that I sell on my website.  Different musicians and different style songs for each book.  That’s the background.  As of this writing, I’m nearly finished with McLaren’s ninth book, FLIGHT PLAN.  I wanted something musically different for this book, so I asked my friend Robert Chamberlin, a nationally-known composer, if he’d write a two-piano piece for FLIGHT PLAN.  He came up with the idea of a six-movement piece, each movement based on a character or scene from the book. The world premier performance will take place in autumn 2016. 

LAST SEEN Companion Songs


Caroline: How exciting. What advice would you give to unpublished authors?

Jo: It sounds simplistic, but writing is subjective.  Just because one editor at one company doesn’t accept your manuscript doesn’t mean it won’t be accepted by a different editor elsewhere. Keep writing and keep submitting.  It can get discouraging, but if you stop, you’ll never get published.  You’ve decided your own fate.  Don’t lose the chance to see your work in print.  Keep at it!

Caroline: Excellent advice! Share a fun fact readers wouldn’t know about you.

Jo: At a Girl Scout camping competition I won first place in the log chopping contest.

Caroline: That is a fun fact. Share something about you that would surprise or shock readers.

Jo: I was bitten by a rabid skunk.

Caroline: Good heavens, how terrible for you. I know your book is a series but tell us about the series.

Jo: LAST SEEN is the second book in the McLaren Mystery series, featuring ex-police detective Michael McLaren, who quit his job over a great injustice done to a friend.  He now repairs dry stone walls in Derbyshire, England, and investigates cold cases on his own.  Six novels have been published by a former publisher, so my current publisher is revamping/editing/tweaking them and bringing them out as new editions under new titles (characters might be deleted, scenes are added, dialogue edited, sometimes chapters are switched around…).  The series originally had the word ‘song’ in all their titles, but this didn’t sound like the book was a mystery, so I’ve come up with new titles for all the books.  COLD REVENGE is the first book that’s reworked and reprinted; LAST SEEN is the second book out.  It’s 330 pages.  I have two completed manuscripts that haven’t been published, so they’ll be brand new to readers when they are published next year.

Caroline: Can you give readers a blurb about LAST SEEN?

Jo: Sure, I’m happy to!

One dark night, popular singer Kent Harrison goes missing after his performance at Tutbury Castle.  When his body's found in a forest, the police investigation focuses on Kent's ex-wife, a local herbalist, a covetous colleague, and even the curator of another castle who tried to lure Kent into performing there.  But his occasional singing partner, Dave Morley, seems to have the biggest motive.  He's dying to make his name, money, and the big time, especially at the medieval Minstrels Court reenactment, where Kent's appearance guarantees SRO.  Did Dave murder Kent to eliminate the competition...or had their partnership struck a wrong chord?  To entice him into investigating, ex-cop McLaren's girlfriend plays detective.  But Dena ends up in great danger.  Now McLaren must not only solve Kent's murder but also rescue her, a hard task when a blast of jealousy, anger, and lies mutes the truth.

Tudbury Castle


Caroline: How about an excerpt?

Jo: Here you go:

Rawlton Hall appeared hardly more than a silhouette against the fading evening sky by the time McLaren eased over the brick wall and dropped to the ground. The impact barely made a sound and he glanced at the dark shape before him, half expecting it to jump in fright. He crouched at the base, hardly daring to breathe, and glanced around. From his low angle, the turrets seemed to scrape the clouds that crawled out of the west, their bellies dark and holding the scent of rain. A shaft of moonlight spilled onto the crenellation and down the wall, and threw back pinpricks of light from the leaded window.

McLaren drew in a breath, trying to still his racing heart, and half stood. The sounds of crickets and owls remained unchanged, as did the splash of the brook. He glanced at the Hall, waiting to be bathed in spotlight glare or attacked by dogs. But the night remained unchanged. Nothing seemed upset by his presence. He snapped on his torch and made his way to the car park.

Other than two estate vehicles at the far corner, it was devoid of cars. No watchman appeared from the booth near the main road; no dots of torchlight marked the grounds. McLaren walked slowly as he swept his torch beam across the rock-strewn surface. Time crawled with him, having no presence other than his breathing and the sporadic calls of night birds. A breeze played across the grass and wound through the trees, bringing a drop in air temperature and the pending rain scent closer. He glanced at the sky as thunder rumbled in the west, then pushed on.

He’d covered the bulk of the area when a car slowed on the road. The headlight beams flicked to high as the car stopped on the verge. The purr of the idling engine bore into McLaren’s ears and he ducked behind the booth and turned off his torch. The motor stopped, a car door slammed, and a figure stepped across the stream of light, shutting it off momentarily. As the shape moved onto the verge the footsteps dulled. A muffled “Damn” floated over to McLaren, followed by the crunch of disturbed gravel.

McLaren crouched behind the booth, his palms against the wood surface, his stare on the moving shape before him. The form paused at the entrance to the car park and stopped for what seemed like an eternity. Waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, McLaren wondered? The gravel crunched again, moving toward the other end of the lot, coming toward him. The sound continued until the figure stopped at the point closest to the Hall. Moments later, a bright light snapped on, directed at McLaren; he flattened himself on the ground. The light holder seemed not to notice him, for the beam immediately shifted downward and began sweeping sideways in meter-wide arcs.

The examination of the car park lasted for nearly a half hour. McLaren shifted his position several times to keep out of the searcher’s view, for that’s what the person obviously was doing. Looking for something. But what? Or was it just nerves, perhaps returning to the scene of the assault to find something that might have been left behind? He could think of no other explanation that fitted this midnight visit.

The figure finished his hunt and retraced his steps, but more haphazard this time. He hurried, the light flitting over patches of gravel that looked newly disturbed. When he’d finished with the lot, he walked around the perimeter, venturing onto the lawn and periodically probing the grass. Several times he would straighten and throw something toward the Hall, a twig or stone or coin, McLaren thought. Once the figure even pried something from the soil, but dropped it with an angry “Hell.”

He stood at the patch the torchlight playing over the expanse of gravel in random bobs and jerks. It disappeared behind some trees, focused on the roots and soil around the trunks, then emerged to shine again at waist-level as it pointed at the ticket booth.

The footsteps moved faster this time, the crunch of gravel firm and headed toward McLaren.

He kept the booth between them, creeping as quickly as he could to the opposite wall as he corkscrewed around. The figure evidently didn’t hear, his light and gaze on the ground. When the light suddenly snapped off and only the rumble of thunder sounded, McLaren froze. Should he remain there or move? What was the person doing?

Despite the warmth of the night, perspiration soaked McLaren’s shirt. His pulse throbbed in his throat. He considered tiptoeing around the booth’s corner and jumping the man, but if he mistook the man’s position, coming face-on, and the man saw him…

The gravel shifted and the steps turned the way they’d come. McLaren stepped back as the light played into the lot. When the figure cleared the booth, McLaren lunged forward.

His fingers reached for the man’s clothing as he found himself falling. The torches crashed to the ground, and McLaren and his adversary were plunged into darkness. Arms and legs thrashed as both men fought for control. McLaren grabbed a wrist but felt it turn and slip from his grasp. His palm pushed against the ground to keep him upright, but he crumpled as a shoe kicked his side. He fell in a rush of pain and blackness.



Caroline: Ooohh, very intriguing. Where can readers find your books?

Jo: They’re available through Amazon.com and Barnes and Noble online, as well as my website.  I believe any bookstore can also order them.  For LAST SEEN, here’s the Amazon link: http://www.amazon.com/Last-Seen-Jo-Hiestand/dp/1509201696/ref=sr_1_1_twi_1_pap?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1438344411&sr=1-1&keywords=Jo+A+Hiestand

Caroline: How can readers learn more about you?

Jo: Well, I’ve got a Facebook page and I have a website.  Those are, respectively:
and

McLaren has his own website, too!  He’s got touristy type articles of interesting spots in Britain, notes on music (no pun intended), occasionally there’ll be recipes, and there’s information on up-coming books and their companion CDs.  That site is www.mclaren-mysteries.com

Caroline: Is there anything else you’d like readers to know about you?

Jo: I’m not sure they could stand any more!

Thanks for inviting me to chat, Caroline.  I hope you invite me back some time!  Jo

Caroline: Anytime, Jo, just let me know and you’ll be welcome.



Another LAST SEEN Excerpt:

She seemed to be floating in a bizarre landscape where time had ceased to function and the sole inhabitant stared mutely at her. For, framed in the open doorway, silhouetted against the florescent light in the hallway, stood a tall figure dressed in dark coloring. A rubber mask of a smiling Margaret Thatcher covered his face. His hands were gloved, the left holding a coil of rope, the right holding something dark that glistened in the light. He stepped into the room, not speaking, yet making his desires known with the gesture of the gun.

Jo A. Hiestand, Author

Jo A. Hiestand knew in grade school that she wanted to be a mystery writer.  But life got in the way: singing in a semi-pro folk group, traveling to New Zealand, working as a camp counselor, co-inventing P.I.R.A.T.E.S. (a mystery-solving treasure-hunting game), becoming a tour agent for a Scottish folk singing group, attending a citizen police academy and riding along with police officers…  But she needed to immerse herself in All Things British for her books.   England beckoned and she responded.

She bee-lined to Derbyshire, feeling it was the ‘home’ of her books.  Derbyshire also bestowed the essential English police contacts and transformed the St. Louisan into an Anglophile. 

She’s returned nearly a dozen times to Derbyshire, researching and photographing for her McLaren cold case detective novels.

In 1999 Jo returned to Webster University to major in English.  She graduated in 2001 with a BA degree and departmental honors.

Her cat, Tennyson, shares her St. Louis home.

Follow Jo and McLaren on these websites:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

GIVEAWAY INFORMATION and RAFFLECOPTER CODE


Jo A. Hiestand will be awarding a McLaren/"Last Seen" ceramic mug and a CD recording of the song featured in the book to several randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour (International Giveaway).


a Rafflecopter giveaway



Friday, September 11, 2015

ELIZABETH II, LONGEST REIGNING MONARCH


This week Queen Elizabeth II celebrated becoming the longest reigning monarch, passing ancestor, Queen Victoria. I have long been an admirer of the British monarchy—even though I’m proud we in the United States are a democracy without a queen or king.  Perhaps a part of my admiration for Queen Elizabeth II has to do with the fact that she looks a twin to my late eldest half-sister, Elsie Reed, formerly of Bakersfield, California. (My sister may not have been a queen, but she was very regal and our family monarch. ☺)

Elizabeth at age seven
Queen Elizabeth II was born Princess Elizabeth Alexandra Mary on April 21, 1926, in London, to Prince Albert, Duke of York (later King George VI), and Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon. Because her father was the second son, Elizabeth was able to enjoy the privileges of being royal without the pressure of being the heir. She spent much of her time at Windsor Castle with her sister Margaret.

Elizabeth with Charles and Anne
The death of her grandfather King George the V and the abdication of her uncle Edward VIII thrust Elizabeth’s father into becoming King George VI. At age fourteen, while at Windsor Castle with Margaret, Elizabeth made her first radio broadcast to the children who had been evacuated to the countryside, telling them to be brave during World War II.
 
In 1945, Elizabeth joined the Territorial Auxiliary Service and worked side by side with other women learning to be a mechanic and driver. To this day, she still drives herself on occasion, especially when at Balmoral Castle, the family home in Scotland.
In 1947, she married Philip Mountbatten, son of King Andrew of Greece. Where Elizabeth is reserved and quiet, Philip is outgoing and boisterous. They have four children: Charles, Anne, Andrew, and Edward as well as six grandchildren. She officially made Charles her successor by crowning him Prince of Wales. As her eldest son, he would be her successor anyway, but he was crowned formally as such in a ceremony.


 
Elizabeth II became queen on February 6, 1952, and was crowned on June 2, 1953. As the longest-serving monarch in British history, she has tried to make her reign more modern and sensitive to the public. Regardless of whether or not you respect the monarchy, I hope you agree that she is a fascinating person. 

And I do wish I knew just exactly what she carries in her purse. 



Please check my favorite video of the Queen in some lighter moments:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ejRJXR92B7g  

Please pay no attention to the caption at the bottom asking for donations. I have no idea what that's about. Enjoy the video while Cyndi Lauper sings "Girls Just Want To Have Fun".


  

Friday, November 29, 2013

COMPROMISING MISS TISDALE BY JESSICA JEFFERSON




COMPROMISING MISS TISDALE
By
Jessica Jefferson

COMPROMISING MISS TISDALE Blurb:
  
Ambrosia Tisdale is the very picture of propriety and the epitome of what a respectable young lady should be. Haunted by a memory and compelled by her family, she pursues perfection to a fault.

The Earl of Bristol, Duncan Maddox, has returned to London after years of familial imposed exile. As the second son, he has led a life filled with frivolity, leisure, and a healthy dose of debauchery. Now his older brother has died, leaving the family’s flailing legacy in Duncan’s unwilling arms.

At the behest of his uncle, Duncan is advised to do the one thing that could provide instant fortune and respectability – he must marry. But there is only one prospect who meets the unique requirements to solve all the Earl’s problems – the lovely Miss Ambrosia Tisdale. But securing the prudent daughter of a Viscount’s hand proves to be more challenging than this scandal ridden second son of an Earl has bargained for.

With scandal, extortion, treachery, and even love itself threatening to keep him from his goal, will Duncan succeed in compromising Miss Tisdale?




COMPROMISING MISS TISDALE Excerpt :

She had stumbled upon the library.  A fire in the hearth threw a faint glow over leather lined volumes that filled floor to ceiling book shelves.   Lavishly upholstered plush arm chairs sat upon Aubusson rugs scattered throughout the room.  A settee was positioned across from a giant stone faced fireplace where a shirtless man sat warming his hands.

Shirtless man?

Ambrosia blinked.

 Certainly, her eyes were playing tricks on her. 

Then the shirtless man turned his head, his eyes meeting hers.  

It wasn’t a hallucination-he was real.   She hadn’t been expecting to find a partially dressed man, and he obviously wasn’t expecting to be found.   It was but a moment before the man’s expression began to soften and a wicked smile slowly crept across his lips. 

 A smile that stole the breath right from out of her. 

 Every gently bred fiber in her body screamed to turn around and run straight out the door.  Hundreds of years of proper English rearing had produced a base instinct to flee when in the presence of an unknown male (especially one with so little clothing).  But then he stood up, cautiously, the way one does as if not to startle a deer.  Standing, he was clad in nothing but buckskin breeches, the dim light from the flames playing over the sculpted muscles and sinew of his shoulders and chest. 

Breeding be damned, her feet simply refused to budge. 

About the Author

Jessica Jefferson

Jessica Jefferson makes her home in northern Indiana, or as she likes to think of it – almost Chicago.  Jessica originally attended college in hopes of achieving an English degree and writing the next great American novel.  Ten years later she was working as a registered nurse and reading historical romance when she decided to give writing another go-round.   

Jessica writes likes she speaks, which has a tendency to be fast paced and humorous.  Jessica is heavily inspired by sweeping, historical romance novels, but aims to take those key emotional elements and inject a fresh blend of quick dialogue and comedy to transport the reader into a story they miss long after the last page is read.  She invites you to visit her at jessicajefferson.com and read her random romance musings.

Follow me at https//twitter.com/authorJessicaJ



RAFFLECOPTER 




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