Writing: The easiest job in the world

Apparently.

I hear it all the time: “Oh I would write a book, if I didn’t have a real job taking up my time,” and “Writer’s block doesn’t exist. All you’re doing is putting words on page. It can’t be that hard. I don’t know why you’re moaning.” My favourite: “I don’t know why books are so expensive. Writing is the easiest job in the world.” Uh-huh. Okay. If you say so.

The truth is that yeah, writing is easy. Most people can put pen to paper and create a coherent sentence. The trick is stringing 60,000+ words together that not only make sense, but draw people in and keep their attention. Not only that, but coming up with the storyline in the first place – that is where writer’s block comes in. I can have an idea (I usually have three or four), but figuring out where to start the story, whose POV to write it from etc. can take some time!

It’s not just writing that comes under fire though. Hubby is a photographer, and he hears it just as much as me: “Oh I have a digital camera. I’d love to have the time to make it a career,” and “All you do is point and shoot, it can’t be that tricky.” PAH! Photography, like writing, takes a lot more work than people realise. Yeah, he can point the camera and snap away, but he’s got to consider the lighting, positioning, shadows, and a lot of stuff I know nothing about. And then there’s the editing – what you see / read, is not the first draft!!

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I can use the internet, but I couldn’t create a webpage from scratch!

I’ve got 2 new books and re-release coming out in the summer. That’s 2 books that I’ve written over the past year. Here’s a few things I think would have been easier:

  • Scaling Mount Everest – Hell, it’s just a large hill isn’t it?
  • Flying a jumbo jet – I can drive a car, it can’t be that difficult. Mechanics is mechanics after all.
  • Performing brain surgery – Break out the scalpel and dig out the bit you don’t need, yeah?
  • Taming a wild lion – If you’ve met my cat, Nibbler, you’ll know that this would be a walk in park for me!
  • Writing a thesis on quantum physics – I can put pen to paper and make words into a sentence, I have access to the internet, what else do you need?

That book you have by your bed? Took a lot longer to write than it will take for you to read it. Just like that meal you ate last night took a lot longer to cook than it did to shovel it into your mouth.

If you think writing a novel is easy, I’m glad – because it means I did a good job. Please, leave a review, and damn well pay for the next book you read.

Discovering the beauty behind sexuality #BOAW16

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As part of August McLaughlin’s Beauty of a Woman Blogfest, I have decided to step out of my comfort zone and write a blog about the beauty of sexuality. So here goes!

It’s true what they say about turning 30. It really is the age of self-discovery when it comes to sex. At 29 I thought I knew all about my sexuality – I was married with children. I’d had flings with other women during one of my many “phases”, I’d even considered the fact that I might be bi-sexual, and at one point questioned whether I might be lesbian, but then I met my husband and nah… I was straight. I loved him, and was faithful. I couldn’t be bi could I? Then I turned 30, and my eyes were opened.

As much as I hate to admit it, reading a certain book about several shades of a colour between black and white, had something to do with my awakening. As a romance author (although unpublished at the time), I thought I knew all that I needed to know about sex. (Ha! You will never know all you need to know when it comes to sex, that is something I have learned over the past 4 years.) It wasn’t just EL James’ best-selling novels that set me on my new journey of self-discovery though.

A lot happened to me in my thirtieth year. One of those was a hysterectomy. After years of struggling with my hormones, and after two horrific pregnancies (both with happy endings thankfully), it was decided that I should just chuck my womb in the bin. At first I thought this extreme operation would leave me feeling less like a woman. I could no longer reproduce. I was no longer “whole”. Would my husband see me differently? Would I look differently? After numerous operations and 2 children my stomach already looked like a map of the London underground. Was I destined to live in baggy trousers and T-shirts for eternity? The truth is that after I fully-recovered from my op, which took six months in total, I felt more like a woman than I ever had. And the sex was amazing. I no longer held onto my orgasms, frightened because I was in pain, or that I was going to have a heavy bleed. I felt so free! My confidence grew, and I had started reading some seriously hot books – EL James introduced me to a world I knew nothing about but was certainly intrigued by. I discovered EROTICA!

I think Hubby was a little bit intimidated when I suggested different positions and introducing toys into our sex life. It was like we were in a new relationship all over again, discovering new likes and dislikes. We even created a safeword – it was such an exciting time. Four years later, and we are more comfortable with each other than we have ever been. I am no longer embarrassed by my body, I have learned to embrace the flab and love the scars and stretch-marks. Hell, this body made babies and endured enough hell for the entire female population, I think I look damn good! To boost my confidence even more, Hubby (who happens to be a photographer) set up a photo-shoot for me, and I even took my clothes off!!

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Since turning 30, I have discovered that sexuality is nothing to be ashamed of. With my confidence sky-high, I realised that the myths of sex are exactly that, and I opened up to my sexuality even more. It is possible to like both men and women, but be in a monogamous marriage with someone of the opposite sex, settle down and have children.

Make sure you visit August’s blog to be in with a chance of winning some great prizes!

 

New Release from Lucy Felthouse – City Nights: One Night in Budapest (@cw1985) #newrelease #erotica #romance #newadult #NA #tirgearr

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Blurb:

Hermione’s in Budapest on a romantic weekend break. Or at least it should have been romantic—an unexpected break-up means she’s visiting the Hungarian capital alone. Determined to make the most of it, she goes on a night-time river cruise, the perfect opportunity to see some of the city’s beautiful sights after dark.

On the boat, cute Budapest native Emil serves her cocktails. They chat a little on the journey, engage in some banter, and when Emil asks Hermione out for dinner, she’s seriously tempted. But she’s a long way from home, by herself—is dinner with a complete stranger a good idea? Hermione decides to take a chance, and what follows is an unforgettable night which will transform her life forever.

Buy links:

Amazon: http://mybook.to/ONiBudapest

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/one-night-in-budapest-lucy-felthouse/1123478763?ean=2940152889482

iBooks UK: https://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/one-night-in-budapest/id1088016111?mt=11

iBooks US: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/one-night-in-budapest/id1088016111?mt=11

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/one-night-in-budapest

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/618193?ref=cw1985

 Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29345184-one-night-in-budapest

City Nights Facebook group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/CityNightsbyTirgearrPublishing/

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Excerpt:

Locating the correct pier, Hermione pulled her ticket from her pocket and showed it to the girl welcoming passengers onto the boat. The girl—the badge pinned to her blouse giving her name as Reka—glanced at the ticket, and smiled. “Thank you. Please take a seat inside until the boat arrives. Enjoy your trip.”

With a nod, Hermione gingerly headed along the gangplank and boarded the vessel, wondering what Reka meant. Surely this was the boat? She shrugged, smiling at the other members of staff she passed, and followed the buzz of chatter to find the other passengers. Maybe it had been a misunderstanding, her meaning lost in translation or something.

Heading up a couple of steps to a bar room full of other tourists, she quickly took a seat at an empty table by the window. She’d have a great view of Budapest’s riverside highlights from here—and she was sure they’d look different again once night fell. Already the sky was darkening—it was almost four p.m. on a chilly January day.

She was so intent on admiring the Chain Bridge that she didn’t know there was anyone beside her until someone said, “Excuse me, madam? Would you like to take advantage of our special drinks offer?”

Turning to the source of the voice, her fluttering heart the only indication that she’d been startled, she smiled. “Maybe. What’s the offer?”

Her smile widened as she studied the man who’d spoken. He looked to be around her age—early twenties, and damn cute. Dark, slightly overlong hair curled on his head, deep brown eyes gave him an intensity that increased the flutters in her heart, and the dimpled smile he flashed as he replied lit up his handsome face. “It is happy hour. Two drinks for price of one.” He paused, looked at the empty seat beside her, then glanced over his shoulder as though checking if anyone was coming to join her at the table. “But perhaps you would only like one? Maybe I can see if yours can be half price…”

“It’s okay,” she replied firmly. “I’m going to be on the boat for a while, I’m sure I can manage two drinks. I don’t have to have them at the same time, do I?”

He shook his head. “No. I will be serving on the other boat in a moment, so I will look after you and your drinks to make sure you get special price.”

Immediately following his mention of an additional boat, a loud voice rang out. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are now ready for you to board the tour boat. Please be very careful while stepping from one boat to the other. As soon as you are all seated, we will begin the trip. Thank you.”

It was then Hermione realised that as she’d been gazing out of the window to one side, a smaller boat had pulled up alongside the one she was on. Everyone was getting up and moving to the staircase. “Thank you,” Hermione said, glancing at the man’s name badge. “Emil. I would absolutely like to take you up on your offer.”

He smiled, and she returned the gesture, only allowing the grimace to take over her face once she was out of his view. She was glad of any language barriers at that moment—hopefully it had prevented Emil recognising the blatant double entendre in her words, inadvertent though it had been.

As she emerged into the main space of the tour boat, she worried there wasn’t enough room for her and she might have to share a table with someone else. Not that it would be the end of the world, but over the past couple of days in the Hungarian capital, she’d become accustomed to her own company, even begun enjoying it. And the beautiful city had been more than enough of a distraction, in any case.

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Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller) and Eyes Wide Open (an Amazon bestseller). Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 140 publications to her name. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more about her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk, or on Twitter and Facebook. You can also subscribe to her monthly newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

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New Release: Shopping for a Billionaire’s Wife by Julia Kent

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Book Blurb:

Who needs a SWAT team to escape from their own wedding? Me.

My Momzilla turned us into hostages at our own ceremony, so Declan and I are getting married the good old-fashioned way, just like everybody else.

By calling in his private security team, stealing away before the ceremony by helicopter, connecting to his corporate jet and heading for Las Vegas.

The Boston wedding of the year is about to become a trashy Elvis drive-thru ceremony.

Until the best man spills the beans and Mom, Dad, my sisters, his brothers, my maid of honor, my friend Josh, and even my cat, Chuckles, all come along for the ride.

I can’t win, can I?

Oh. Yeah. I already did.

Love conquers all.

Even my crazy family.

Shopping for a Billionaire’s Wife is the 8th book in the New York Times and USA Today bestselling Shopping for a Billionaire series. After Declan convinces Shannon to escape from their own wedding minutes before the ceremony begins, the madcap adventures are just getting started. When the mother of the bride pries their location out of the tortured best man, the whole crazy crew follows the bride and groom to Las Vegas in this romantic comedy from Julia Kent.

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Excerpt:

Bzzzz.

“I’m ready to throw my phone into a running jet engine,” Declan says against my mouth, the vibration of his deep voice making me shiver.

“Better than throwing in my mother,” I joke.

His silence makes me stomach clench.

“Declan!” I say with a nudge.

He laughs, the chuckle a tactile sensation I feel through his chest. My hands are still on his neck and back, and he’s pressing his forehead against mine.

“Let’s not talk about Marie right now,” he says.

“Agreed.”

Without effort, we pivot and return to the path toward the terminal. My wedding dress has a long train, covered in silk, tartan, tulle and what feels like chain mail. Declan seems to anticipate any potential mishap I may experience, expertly shoving various pieces of fabric out of the way so I can move with freedom and grace. Who on earth thought this monstrosity of a wedding dress was a good idea for a July ceremony in Massachusetts?

Oh. Right.

She Who Must Not Be Named.

I love my mom. I do. But I don’t love what the wedding made her become.

We enter the private airport lounge, where a large, thin-screen television is bolted to the ceiling in one corner. When I was a little girl, Dad liked to bring me, Carol and Amy to the local small airport. The place had a diner in it, and we’d order French fries and strawberry milkshakes, spending an hour or two watching the planes land and take off. If we were lucky, a helicopter would come along.

Once, a really friendly pilot let us climb in his plane.

The place is nothing like that little airport. This is where millionaires and billionaires go to avoid the TSA.

The rich really do live different lives than the rest of us.

This lounge is all clean glass and smoky brown leather. If you told me that the same interior designer who decorated James McCormick’s office at Anterdec had done this job, I’d believe you.

It looks like Teddy Roosevelt came back from the dead and demanded his own airport.

The small bar chairs, dark brown and creased with the kind of patina and age that looks shabby on cheaper leather, but chic and old-world sophisticated among the wealthy, are filled with a smattering of men and women, most in their fifties on up.

All of the servers and bartenders are in their twenties, and not a single one has an extra ounce of fat on them. It’s like Crossfit decided to hold a bartender school.

As we walk into the lounge, every single pair of eyes swivels to take us in.

“Why are they staring at us?” I ask Declan, clutching his arm.

“Because you’re wearing a wedding dress and I look like something out of a BBC documentary?” he answers smoothly.

I look down at myself. Look over at him. Take in the kilt, the socks covering his calves, the laces on his special Scottish shoes.

“Oh.”

One of the patrons, a man who is sitting next to a woman who looks like an adventurous traveler and not a mannequin on a rich man’s arm, points to the television, then back to us.

“You two on the run?”

Buy Links: 

iBooks:  http://apple.co/1MakCyR

Amazon US:  http://amzn.to/1MQ6iHe

Amazon UK:  http://amzn.to/1PcrclH

Nook/BN:  http://bit.ly/1UteJ0M

Kobo:  http://bit.ly/1PIOrbz

Google Play:  http://bit.ly/1OMTusz

Print:  http://amzn.to/1QHfwIU

Audiobook:  http://adbl.co/1Ml3l2t

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Author Bio:

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge, and new adult books that push contemporary boundaries. From billionaires to BBWs to rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every book she writes, but unlike Trevor from Random Acts of Crazy, she has never kissed a chicken.

Social Media Links:

Website:  http://jkentauthor.blogspot.com/

Facebook:  http://www.facebook.com/jkentauthor

Twitter:  http://www.twitter.com/jkentauthor

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Guest blog from Mary T. Bradford (@marytbrad)

USE IT OT LOSE IT

Use it or lose it, a phrase that is often thrown around in relation to having learnt something new and retaining what has been learnt. It is also said regarding your brain, keeping it sharp by tackling cross-words and word searches and puzzles daily.

But when it comes to writing, does it apply? If you do not sit and write each day will your creativity be any less? This thought came to me at about two a.m. in the morning when most inspiration strikes for writers it seems. I had not written daily for over a week now and I was beginning to wonder if I would get back in to my routine of sitting down with my laptop and spilling my thoughts via the keyboard. So do I agree with the use it phrase or not?

It is difficult to say. I do not think that my creativity in storytelling will disappear if I do not sit and write daily. I do feel however it loses its shine. If I have not put pen to paper or tapped on my keyboard in some way each day, then, the flow of my words and thoughts are slower. They are sluggish. My thoughts and ideas are still there but they flow in a more meandering way.

Whereas if I give a dedicated time to my writing and turn up each day to face the blank page, then my words rush out, at times faster than I can write or type them. Story ideas are always in a writer’s mind, it is unending, and never a moment without some plot twist or character action taking place. But like I said earlier, these ideas do not play fair with a writer if they have not interacted with each other for a while. So yes, it is important to use your writing talent each day, no matter for fifteen minutes or a few hours. Go meet your page, face it and make those ideas and characters come out to play. Happy writing.

Mary T. Bradford is the author of ‘My Husband’s Sin’ and ‘One Night in Barcelona’. Both books are available through Tirgearr Publishing.

Out Now! Beast Denied by Faye Avalon (@faye_avalon) #paranormal #PNR #shifters

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Book Blurb:

To embrace the future, they must defy the past.

Beasts of Bodmin Moor, Book 2

Naomi Flynn never intends to mate or marry. Either one would leave her open to the manipulation she’s sworn never to endure again. Besides, no panther male will want her once they know the truth behind what happened a decade ago.

She’s happy to burn up the sheets in a buddy-with-benefits arrangement, until a craving for a three-way sexual adventure thrusts her right back into the arms of the man she can’t afford to remember.

Tynan Galloway doesn’t intend to stand by and watch the woman he wants throw herself at every male with a pulse except him. Ten years ago, a brutal assault robbed him of his destiny as a protector of the pack, but damned if Naomi is going to be another casualty of his fate.

In the heat of a fantasy come true, Naomi’s resolve to keep her emotional distance weakens. But when Tynan discovers she’s in potential danger, he dares her to deny he’s the only man who can protect her. Never expecting she’ll go to extremes to prove him wrong…

Product Warnings

A hot panther shifter with something to prove, a heroine with a secret to keep, and a threesome arrangement which brings out the teeth and claws.

*Top Pick* Night Owl Reviews

“captivating paranormal romance…fast paced…sizzling chemistry…spine tingling tension.”

https://www.nightowlreviews.com/v5/Reviews/Evampire-reviews-Beast-Denied-by-Faye-Avalon

Buy Links:

Samhain: https://www.samhainpublishing.com/book/5747/beast-denied

Amazon: http://myBook.to/BeastDenied

Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/beast-denied-faye-avalon/1122833125?ean=9781619233034

All Romance: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-beastdenied-1955321-340.html?referrer=6bdb1f9160564c0525b41f36e51861a0

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/beast-denied

Excerpt:

Pushing through the jittery discomfort, Naomi moved until her back was to the men. She reached around to unhook her bra, then held the unfastened cups close to her chest. Turning back, with the men’s gazes focused on her still-covered breasts, she let the straps fall away. There was a sense of power, Naomi thought, in holding a man enthralled, or in this case, men. While it might have been better easing herself into this particular game more gradually, there was sometimes a lot to be said for simply plunging in at the deep end.

Reminding herself this was her choice, her fantasy, she let her hand fall away, and the bra fell to the floor.

Malcolm groaned, his prick bobbing again. Derek had barely moved, but his throat contracted as he swallowed.

Twisting around again, Naomi hooked her fingers into the sides of the wispy black panties and began to lower them down over her hips, the cool brush of air on her bared backside sending shivers along her sensitive flesh.

“Fuck. Get over here before I come just by looking at you.”

Malcolm, Naomi thought. The more gregarious of the two. Derek was far more intense, quietly watching her as the three of them had chatted in the bar, and now while she performed her striptease.

When she turned back, Derek was on his knees at the end of the bed. His eyes gleamed dangerously, and he grabbed her wrist, yanking her onto the mattress. She tumbled facedown, the breath knocked out of her.

Hands trailed over her naked flesh, sliding up her thighs, cupping her rear, stroking her back. Roughly, she was tossed onto her back, and she looked up into Derek’s menacing gaze. His cock pressed against her leg, while Malcolm cupped her pussy.

Oh shit. What was she doing? She didn’t know these men. Had no idea what sort of people they were apart from the fact they were down from London on business and, like her, were looking for a good time.

She was such an idiot. She needed her damned head examined.

Her strength was greater than that of human women, but when she tried to scramble up, Derek pressed her back with ease. “You’re not going anywhere until we get what you’ve been promising all evening.”

Malcolm laughed and pressed his finger inside her. “She’s up for it,” he said on another laugh. “Just likes to make it more exciting, don’t you, babe?”

He pushed deeper, making her flinch. “Like that, don’t you?”

“No. This was a mistake. I—”

Derek shoved Malcolm aside, then scrambled between Naomi’s legs, pushing them apart with his knees. She tried again to get up, but he pressed a hand to her shoulder, weighing her down. “Give me a damn condom.”

Malcolm tossed him the foil packet, and, keeping his gaze on hers, Derek ripped it open. His feral look pushed fresh fear into her stomach, and with every ounce of strength she possessed, she tried to scramble up. She couldn’t budge him.

Derek released his hold on her shoulder to slide on the rubber, but before she could take the chance to escape, Malcolm pinned down her arms.

Panic clutched at her throat, nausea churning her stomach. Oh God. This was so not how she’d thought it would be.

With his face a snarling mask of determination and sickening lust, Derek yanked up her hips.

“I… I’ve changed my mind.”

Her throat was so tight, she could barely enunciate, and it was evident he hadn’t heard her when he grabbed his cock and leaned over her.

“I said, no!” With sheer will, she directed every fiber of strength into her arms. Energy pulsed along her muscles, firing the nerve endings, and she sucked air into her tight lungs. Releasing her breath, she shoved upward, and Malcolm toppled back. Naomi had a glimpse of the shock lighting his face before she pushed at Derek’s shoulders. When he recoiled, she took advantage of the surprise factor and scrambled off the bed.

She almost made it to the bathroom, intent on getting her dress and hightailing it out of there, but Derek caught her around the waist.

Naomi lashed out, shoving her foot against his chest with such force that Derek went hurling into the air and across the room. He landed awkwardly against the walnut bureau, blood oozing from his cheek.

While Malcolm stood motionless by the bed, watching openmouthed, Derek wiped a hand across his face. He stared at the blood-smeared hand and staggered dazedly to his feet. Naomi didn’t hang around. She grabbed her dress from the bathroom and hurried into it. Snatching up her bag, she beat a hasty retreat.

She dashed out into the empty hallway and, with her dress half-zipped, fled down the hotel stairs. The lights in the reception area were dimmed for the night, but she focused on the revolving door ahead of her. When she pushed at it, nothing happened. She gave it another shove before realizing they were probably locked for security reasons. Glancing in the direction of the reception desk, she saw a young man hurrying toward her.

“Is everything okay?” His pale eyes were full of concern. “Can I help you with something?”

“Just let me out of here,” she said. “Please.”

He hesitated, and Naomi considered summoning that superhuman strength she’d found upstairs to get the doors open.

“What the hell’s going on?”

Her mind buzzed, her body still trembled, but through the mayhem of it all, she recognized the voice from behind her. She took a moment to center herself, to find a degree of balance, which bordered on impossible as memories slammed into her.

Tynan Galloway.

Naomi had spent the past decade well over a hundred miles away from him, and during the months she’d been back in Bodmin had managed to largely avoid him. Now he decided to show up at the lowest point in her existence. Well, not the lowest, but she wasn’t going there right then, and certainly not with him looming beside her.

She turned, her hands trembling around the strap of her bag, and met his piercing emerald gaze. It had haunted her for so long, the devastating hue of it. But now, facing it again, her heart trembled.

“I just need to leave.” She swallowed before addressing the young porter. “Can you please open the door?”

His concerned gaze slid over her short black dress as, she imagined, did Tynan’s. “Are you sure everything’s all right, miss?”

“Everything’s fine. I just—”

“Brandy,” Tynan said to the porter. “Double, I think.”

Before Naomi could object, the young man nodded and slipped away. Tynan took her arm and headed for a nearby chair. She tried to shake him off. She’d had quite enough of being manhandled for one bloody evening.

“I don’t want brandy. I just want to leave. I’ve had a crappy night.”

Still with his hand on her arm, he swung her half around so her back was to him. “Is that why your dress is unzipped?”

She took the inference. “It’s none of your business.”

“If you’re sleeping with a sleazebag who throws you out in the middle of the night before letting you get dressed, I’m making it my business.”

He zipped her dress, then plunked her down on the chair and pulled another one close so he could sit facing her. His knees bumped hers.

The contact shot a wave of longing through her. “All I want is to get out of here. And what are you doing skulking around hotel lobbies in the middle of the night? Doesn’t high-tech hacking keep you busy enough?”

“Yeah.” He frowned, effectively ignoring her barbed comment. “But there’s always room for more excitement.”

Seeing as she’d had more than enough excitement for one night, Naomi found it hard to agree.

The porter came back with brandy, hovering over her like a mother hen while she dutifully sipped at it. At Tynan’s nod, he moved away back to the reception desk and left them alone in the dimly lit hall.

“Want to tell me about it?”

She peered at him through narrowed eyes. “No.”

Tynan kept a steady focus on her, almost as if he could see right down to her very soul. She remembered that look. She hated it.

“Did he hurt you?”

He asked the question so quietly, so gently, her eyes filled and she turned away. She was coming down, all that adrenaline leveling out and leaving her raw, exposed. She’d felt that way once before with Tynan, a long time ago. She hated that too.

Copyright © 2016 Faye Avalon
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication

Author Bio:

Faye Avalon enjoys writing sexy stories about strong men and the savvy women who rock their world. She has taken a roundabout journey toward her writing career, working as cabin crew, detouring into property development, public relations and education, before finally finding her passion: writing spicy romantic fiction.

Faye lives with her super-ace husband and one beloved, ridiculously spoiled dog. They regularly expand their family by boarding puppies destined to become guide dogs. Between writing, reading, running around after manic puppies and grabbing some quality time with her husband, Faye enjoys a challenging yoga session or a night at the movies.

Links:

Website:  www.fayeavalon.com

Blog: www.fayeavalon.wordpress.com

Twitter: @faye_avalon

Facebook: www.facebook.com/faye.avalon.1

Pinterest: https://uk.pinterest.com/fayeavalon1/

Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/fayeavalon/

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Guest blog by Daithi Kavanagh (@Daithik3)

How Reading Helps my Writing

Recently I have noticed I have been finding it more and more difficult to write. I am on my third book of The Tadhg  Sullivan Series. Up until now my writing has flowed along at a fairly steady pace. Yet this winter, because I am in third level education I have noticed my ability to write wane. Initially I panicked thinking that the pool of imagination that drives my stories had dried up. Then one night after giving up on trying to write a new chapter in my latest book, I went down to the bookshelf in my living room and picked out a book I thought I might enjoy. I was only a few pages into it when I found I couldn’t read another word.

Was the same fatigue that was affecting my writing now affecting my reading as well?

Panic gripped me! Here were two of the things I loved doing, starting to feel like they were becoming a chore. What could I do to get out of this rut? I went back to the bookshelf and took out another book, this time in the same genre in which I write. The book was “Headhunters” by Jo Nesbo. Initially I found it hard to get into but I persevered. And like with my writing my perseverance was rewarded. The book began to grip me. I’ll be forever grateful to Jo Nesbo for writing this book, as shortly afterwards I began to write fluidly again. My enthusiasm returned and as with Nesbo’s book my writing began to speed up, as I was eager to find out what was going to happen next. These are the moments when I know my writing is going in the right direction, when I am feeling excited about the direction the book is taking.

For me, writing is not a formula. It is not something that I can always plot and steer in the direction I would like it to go. Instead, the characters often take on a life of their own and I just go with them. Tadhg Sullivan is one of those characters who will always do his own thing and forces me as his creator to travel the road that he chooses.

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The Gun

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The Brotherhood

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