The War Queen by J.M. Robison #TirgearrTuesday

ISBN: 9781370236688
ASIN: B01LXD0C6N
Kindle USKindle UK
Smashwords
AppleKoboNook

Blurb:

How do you dethrone a heart when its owner has stolen your kingdom?

Altarn is used to tolerating the biases of men. It comes with being the first female to secure the political State Head of Blindvar. But Kaelin, the State Head of Ruidenthall, crosses the line when he proposes a merger of their two states. Altarn has reason to believe this is Kaelin’s attempt to make himself king of both. Believing it’s her responsibility to “dethrone” him, she rides to her last ally to ask for aid.

While on the road, she’s kidnapped and taken to Ruidenthall. She wakes from a drug-induced sleep to hear about a foreign army marching upon Blindvar, and Kaelin capitalizing on her kidnap to make himself king. He threatens her life if she tells anyone, but she will suffer tyranny under a king if she does not.

When the final battle forces her hand, she has but one choice: to save Kaelin’s life or let him die. She never expected to dethrone his heart instead.

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Extract:

All seven members were already seated, one baron for each major city in Blindvar. There were actually six cities, but there could not be an even number on the court.. The seventh was a random member qualified to be a court official, currently held by a female named Brigot. The idea of females serving in positions of authority was not settling easy.

Altarn walked to the head of the table, sitting in her large, leather chair which felt awkwardly like a throne, reminding her of the last king the Blindvarn citizens had dethroned more than three hundred years ago.

Her seven members waited for her to speak. Perseth pushed his glasses higher up his sweaty nose. Leodin coughed into his sleeve.

Females were not discouraged from positions in politics, but the concept still troubled many. It had been a traditionally male position to hold both the state’s title and to fill the positions in court, but Altarn had been in a particular mood eleven years ago and had broken it. She became the first female State Head and had already served one year out of the three-year session.

Two men had competed for the State Head with her. The background check on one revealed he had a criminal record. The second was leading the election by a large margin until authorities discovered he was born in Luthsinia.

“The minutes will reflect the presence of all representatives from their respective cities,” Altarn began. “On seven Midar, year three twenty-four After the Reign of Kings.” She paused to let the court scribe catch up. “So being, I am unaware as to the nature of the request for court so I will let another member proceed from here.”

Perseth stood from his chair and straightened his buttoned waistcoat over his round belly. “Baron Perseth of the City of Fellsbarren requested this session due to concerns with the present dealings with the State of Ruidenthall.”

His nasally voice made Altarn want to hand him a tissue. She drummed her fingers on the armrests. She had suspected as much.

“May I speak freely, Lady?”

“Proceed.”

Perseth pushed his glasses higher up his nose. “We all think it is impulsive of you to threaten Ruidenthall with war.”

His eyes, too round and too close to his nose, swept over the other members of the room, who all nodded.

“They have been our friends and allies since the war to dethrone our king. If Luthsinia didn’t cut straight between our two states, we might even be one. A lot of us have family who either came from Ruidenthall or who live there now.”

“Is it so easily forgotten the Lord of Ruidenthall is trying to steal Blindvar from us?”

The members at the table moaned.

“Please reflect on my use of the word ‘impulsive.’”

It pushed on the edges of her serenity to listen to Perseth’s boldness and not respond to it. But she’d been called to court to listen to a problem, not create one.

“Scribe, will you please read us the letter from the Lord of Ruidenthall concerning the matter our lady has just mentioned?”

The scribe pulled a book off the shelf at his desk and thumbed through it, pages snapping crisply. “Seventeenth of Kaidar,” the scribe read. “Year three twenty-four After the Reign of Kings. Addressed to Lady Altarn Shadheing from Lord Kaelin-drath Morrendrake. It reads:

Greetings, Lady of Blindvar.

It is fortunate our two states are such great friends. It has come to my recent attention that a number of Ruidenthall citizens have taken a fancy to your small town of Heathe. So much so, that there are more Ruids than Blindvarns. I’ll have to visit to see what the attraction is. After all, who would sacrifice great Ruid food to live in a small Blindvarn town where the closest city is thirty miles out?

Of course, having this offset of Blindvarns to Ruids must make it a tad more difficult for the yearly census for you, which gave me an idea. Since our states are such good allies, I propose—just as a speculative thought—that Heathe be merged into the State of Ruidenthall in exchange for a small bit of land out of my own good state, if you like.

Maybe this small exchange can start something bigger, and maybe someday Endendre will eventually be one state instead of divided into three. Of course, it is just an idea, and something like this has never been done before between our two states. Please reply with your thoughts. If it is disagreeable, I’ll digress.

Signed, Lord Kaelin-drath Morrendrake of Ruidenthall.

The members at the table watched Altarn like ghosts waiting for the moment they could pounce on the living and suck out their souls.

About the Author:

Born in small town Bennington, Idaho, J.M. wanted to be just like her big, story writer sister. Big sister paints now, but that initial role model was all the springboard J.M. needed to fearlessly leap into writing the novels of her heart. Getting around the world as a soldier has helped broaden J.M.’s views on cultures and personalities, and settling down as a Deputy Sheriff in Nevada for a time has helped her maintain all the fine intricacies humans are capable of which has helped define her characters into something realistic and believable. Without any prior claims to fame, J.M. is proud to showcase that hard work, even from rock bottom, DOES pay off.

• • •

• Find J.M. Online •

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The Change by C.V. Leigh #tirgearrtuesday #paranormal #fantasy

TheChangebyCVLeigh500

Released: May 2019
ASIN: B07Q3H28P5
Kindle US, Kindle UK,
Kindle CAKindle AU

Blurb:

Kincaid pack Alpha, Alistair, has called his family back to their ancestral home in the Scottish Cairngorms. His wife, Megan, is losing control of her ability to shift and it has him rattled. When it comes to light that Nathan Trevell, Megan’s ex and the lycanthrope who turned her, has travelled from the States and is in the UK, closing in on his family, Alistair is even more determined to keep everyone safe.

Nathan isn’t deterred by the Kincaid pack. He’s in the UK for a very specific reason, a reason that threatens to turn the lives of the Kincaids upside down – and possibly endanger them.

Being cooped up together in Faol Hall only serves to highlight the differences between the Kincaids, and fighting soon breaks out. Can they put aside their issues and present a united front, before it’s too late?

TheChangebyCVLeighFACEBOOK

Extract:

Faol Hall, Cairngorms

Alistair Kincaid watched helplessly as his wife was taken over by the beast that lurked beneath her skin. She trembled in his arms, her teeth chattering, eyes rolling back until the dark green he longed to gaze into had been replaced by pure white. Her mouth relaxed and opened, her canines elongated and tapered into a sharp point.

“Shit. Hold on, Megan.” He rocked her back and forth, smoothing his hand down her long, brunette hair, still damp from where she’d been in the shower. Strands clung to her face and arms. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She clawed at his bare arms, leaving long scratches.

He looked around the large bathroom, desperately searching for some way to help her. The shower head still spewed into the cubicle. Water splattered against the tiles, droplets raced down the glass screen. A green pouch sat on top of the medicine cabinet, taunting him. Megan needed the drugs inside it, but she needed him to hold her steady as well.

“Jacob!” He could only pray his brother hadn’t gone for a run. “Shit… it’s okay, Megan, it’s okay… I’m here.” He stumbled over the words, each one catching in his throat.

“N-n-n…” A sound, nothing more, tumbled from her lips. “Nay-n-n-nay…” She repeated it over and over again. Coarse, dark brown hairs began to push through the smooth skin of her arms. She released an agonising cry that tore through him, leaving his heart in tattered shreds.

“Jake!” he called again.

“I’m here.” His younger brother filled the doorway, as wide as he was tall; a wall of pure muscle and brute strength. “Fuck.”

Megan’s bones cracked. Bile rose in Alistair’s throat. “Get the sedative,” he said, nodding at the cabinet.

Jacob pulled the little bag down, along with the amber pill bottles that had been stored next to it. A bottle snapped open, and tiny tablets spiralled towards the drain. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” Jacob fumbled with the bag’s zip.

“Just get the damn drugs,” Alistair snapped, spittle landing on his bottom lip. Sweat dripped down his brow. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold her–how much longer it would be before she was taken over completely, lost to him.

Jacob found the syringe. He attached a needle, then plunged it into a vial and withdrew the clear liquid. He knelt beside his brother and grabbed Megan’s naked leg, then tugged it towards him. After sitting on her ankle to stop her from wrestling away from him, he stabbed the needle into the thick muscle of her thigh.

The animalistic growl Megan released was enough to curdle blood, ripping from her throat and filling Alistair with dread. Her eyes were wide, the usually-green irises now burning chartreuse, flecked with gold and amber. She grunted and groaned, panted for breath. “F-fuck… y-you…” Her voice was low and gruff, cracked by the venom coursing through her veins. Her sights fixed on Jacob, watching his every movement.

Jacob stood, syringe in hand.

PROFILEPIC2

About C.V. Leigh:

Originally from the Nottingham/Lincoln borders, C.V. Leigh now lives in Somerset with her family and pets. She comes from a long line of natural witches, and spent her childhood learning to read tea leaves from her grandmother and Tarot from her mother, so it’s no surprise that she has a love for the fantastical and paranormal.

When she’s not creating new worlds, C.V. enjoys reading with a hot cup of tea, or exploring the beautiful countryside that Somerset has to offer.

C.V. Leigh’s favourite authors include Kelley Armstrong, George R.R. Martin, Douglas Adams, Grant Naylor, Terry Pratchett, and Roald Dahl.

• Find C.V. Online •

Website
Facebook
Twitter
Amazon
Instagram

The Illusions in Between by J.M. Robison

Welcome to Tirgearr Tuesday! This week, we’re announcing the publication of J.M. Robison’s latest release. The Illusions in Between.

TheIllusionsInbetweenbyJMRobison500

ASIN: B07Q75BMMR
Kindle USKindle UK
Kindle CAKindle AU

Blurb:

Still hunted by the church, Zadicayn has remained in hiding with his small family for seven years. But rumors of his location finally reach the Illuminati, a secret underground society of Black Magicians.

Wanting his magic for themselves, the Illuminati lure Zadicayn to Rome where the last wizard is forced to fight, not only for his life, but for his family, his magic, and for the world. Because his next death with be his last.

Extract:

Rome, Italy
1 February 1848
Pope Pius IX

The soul is a cavern, much larger than the body containing it. This cavern fills with memories, thoughts, feelings, decisions, and dreams until you are so full of it that surely it bleeds out of your pores and everyone who lays eyes on you while you stand upon the balcony above Saint Peter’s Square can see it. I’m so full of it all that it covers my robes in a blinding white.

The throng below denies seeing it because the head of God’s holy church does not bow to threats and is not easily swept into coercion. Both of those fill my cavern wall-to-wall, so I can’t even feel the love I express to the people below me with my smile and wave of my hand.

I pass through the curtains and enter the warmth of my chambers. Silly how the door to my incarceration is made of heavy red silk. If I had magic, I’d sprout wings and fly out of here like Icarus, even knowing what fate befell him.

But magic is why I’m a prisoner to the Vatican.

I sit at my table, hand shaking as I reach for my hot tea. I cup it in both hands, hoping the heat will soften the shake, though it’s not from the February chill. My recent plight has called to question many things which a devout, sober, Catholic mind would never have questioned. But my mind is not sober. It’s drunk on fear and desperation, the weight of which has deepened the cavern of my soul to reach new depths, new questions. Like, the Catholic religion should be held as the only religion of the State, that future popes ought never to come to terms with progress, liberalism, and modern civilization…damning thoughts for a pope of the Catholic Church.

Me. Damning me.

I flinch when the door opens. I spill hot tea over white knuckles. Carlo Vizzardelli enters.

I made him cardinal in January. Hard to turn the position down to a man who was awarded the apostolic protonotary and became the consultant to the Sacred Congregation for Bishops. Three days after I gave him the red beret, he wasted no time outlining his position in the Illuminati and flexing the control over his demon.

It took ten minutes for me to go from Pope Pius IX of the Roman Catholic Church to Slave of the Illuminati. I’d always heard rumors about them, but never that they called themselves Black Magicians and commanded demons from hell to perform wizardry for them. Or threaten me into doing what they want. Which was to rule Rome from behind me.

The same day as my prayer to the Holy Father for rescue, I received my monthly report from Valemorren, England, concerning the status of the wizard they’ve been unable to capture again. I can’t decide if God wanted to double my worries or laugh at my troubles.

“Ready?” Carlo barks.

I nod and sip my tea. He must see the tremor in my hands.

He sits opposite me, laying a fresh sheet of paper and inkwell on the scatter of documents on the table. The other cardinals must see Carlo as terribly ambitious to meet with me one-on-one so frequently. But that oddity is pushed aside when compared to Carlo’s many other ambitions prior to his arrival to me. I see his own cavernous soul through his eyes. Now that I know him, I see the many tunnels and depths he’s bored to fit all his greed, lust, and hate. I don’t know why I was blind to it until after I knew him.

He’s talking while he writes, but I don’t listen. I set my tea cup aside and nod when he looks up for my approval. It doesn’t matter what he writes. I’m going to sign it, whether or not I agree. If I don’t sign, he’ll drag me out to the Belvedere Courtyard where he’ll summon his demon and threaten to rip out my tongue, tear out my eyes, something to cause permanent damage to me while still leaving me alive. His threats are good enough; they keep me doing what he wants. Lord give me strength to resist and not care about any mortal maladies he may cause to fall upon me.

I look at the table, at the documents scattered below the one Carlo writes on. A chunk of Valemorren’s report glares up from the bottom…Ashdowns continue to deny having any contact with their daughter, though we have our suspicions they get into the mountain at least monthly th…Zadicayn must have a secondary way out, as we constantly watch the only entrance we know of, and we have it on good report he appears in Bristol every month

“Carlo?”

“Eh.”

“Have you heard of a Fae Wizard?”

Carlo sets his quill down and leans back in his seat, his short, pointed beard aligned with the center of his body. “I have. What prompts the question?”

I can’t say what prompts the question, only that a damning idea blossoms in my chest because I too, have dug tunnels and depths in my soul searching for the gem which will free me from this man, and I found…this. “There’s a Fae Wizard in Valemorren, England.”

His eyes light up. Every pontiff has heard at least the title of Fae Wizard. But because the pope before me actually had to deal with one six years ago–who was never caught–the task fell on me. I’m familiar with Fae Wizards, and because of Carlo, I’m familiar with the envy Black Magicians have had of the wizards since antiquity.

The light in his eyes darken. He sees my intent to get him out of Rome. He leans forward. The malice he invites into the room prickles heat beneath my zucchetto. “Prove it.”

I’m anxious to divert his gaze off me. I tip my tea off the table without care as I dig through the papers until I unearth the one which has, finally, diverted his gaze.

He snatches it out of my hand. His eyes bump side to side as he scans the entire page. Though when he puts it down, he’s grinning, and I know he’s read every word.

“You tempt, Pius. That’s not a Godly trait you should have.”

I shrug. My heart beats in my throat. If I open my mouth, he’s going to hear a rapid thud.

He looks at the paper again. Black Magicians borrow a demon from Satan, and that demon performs requests for the magician. Since the demons are invisible to everyone but the magician, everyone thinks these performances are magic. Fae Wizards follow a different set of rules. I don’t quite understand the depth myself, but I know they use real magic and it comes from a different entity. And Black Magicians want the same thing.

He folds the report and tucks it into his robes. He stands. He’s lost most of his hostility, replaced by a greedy aura. “I know you’re doing this to get me out of here, Pius, but don’t think you won’t be watched in my absence. I will know if you do something to betray me, and you will suffer the consequences.”

I clasp my hands on the table and nod. Carlo sweeps out of my chambers like he’s already missed the train, leaving his unfinished document on the table.

I slam my eyes immediately in prayer. Dominus vobiscum, Fae Wizard. Defeat Carlo and free me from the Illuminati.

About the Author:

Born in small town Bennington, Idaho, J.M. wanted to be just like her big, story writer sister. Big sister paints now, but that initial role model was all the springboard J.M. needed to fearlessly leap into writing the novels of her heart. Getting around the world as a soldier has helped broaden J.M.’s views on cultures and personalities, and settling down as a Deputy Sheriff in Nevada for a time has helped her maintain all the fine intricacies humans are capable of which has helped define her characters into something realistic and believable. Without any prior claims to fame, J.M. is proud to showcase that hard work, even from rock bottom, DOES pay off.

• • •

• Find J.M. Online •

Website
Facebook
Twitter
Amazon
Goodreads
Pinterest

The Dragon in the Garden by Erika Gardner – an extract #tirgearrtuesday #fantasy

Kindle USKindle UK
Smashwords
AppleKoboNook

Also available in paperback: Amazon USAmazon UK

Blurb:

There is magic beneath the mundane and in The Dragon in the Garden, Siobhan Orsini witnesses it all. No lie can fool her, no glamour or illusion can cloud her Sight. She sees through them all and wishes she could close her eyes. Returning to face her past, Siobhan inherits her grandparents’ house in California’s wine country. She encounters a talking dragon, a hot fallen angel, a demon lord, a Valkyrie, and, oh yes, her ex-boyfriend. And that is just in the first twenty-four hours.

It’s time to find out why she has this power.

Siobhan seeks out the Oracle and learns that only her Sight can help mankind navigate the travails of an ancient war. Our world is the prize in a battle between the dragons, who would defend us, and Lucifer’s fallen angels, who seek to take the Earth for themselves. Using her gift, she will have to make a choice that will decide humanity’s future.

Extract:

The memory has haunted me for years.

In the middle of a bright California summer, dark days came. My mother and grandparents spoke in hushed, serious voices, arguing about my absent father. Was it my fault he left?

A soft whimper escaped my throat and my eyes burned. I needed a hug, but no one paid any attention to me that day. So I ran away to the refuge of my grandparents’ garden where I could hide among its statues and flowers.

My eyes lingered over the familiar garden ornaments. I passed the old birdbath, the statues of gnomes, and a cheerful squirrel. I ran one hand over the stone deer. Its brown paint had faded from years under the sun. Walking with quick steps down the gravel path, I made my way to the center of the garden, my special spot where my favorite statue waited.

A gnarled apricot tree grew there. Right now it was covered with tiny green apricots. Later in the summer the sweet fruit I loved would ripen. I would get to pick them with my parents, no, just with my mother. My lip trembled. My father wouldn’t be here.

The bright-green dragon lay curled at the foot of the apricot tree, partially covered by vines. My mother called the color jade green—the same shade as my eyes. As a child she talked to all the statues, but I only spoke to the dragon. I named her Daisy. Sitting down next to her now, the tears welled up at last, spilling over my cheeks. I wrapped my arms around my legs, making myself into a little ball of five-year-old misery.

“Child, why are you sad?” said a woman’s voice.

“Who said that?” I asked, wiping my cheek.

“I did.”

“Where are you?” I stood and peered at the plants and statues around me.

“Right here.”

“Are not,” I retorted.

A soft laugh filled the air and the woman spoke again. “Perhaps you are right. Easy enough to fix, I suppose.”

The breeze picked up. The space beneath the apricot tree shimmered. Ripples warped the air like the heat over the barbecue when my father cooked. The sweet notes of wind chimes filled the yard. Grandma and Grandpa didn’t have any wind chimes. I whirled around to find the noise.

Under the branches appeared an enormous green dragon’s head. My mouth opened in a silent O and I held my breath.

Meet the Author:

Erika is a sixth generation San Franciscan of Irish descent. She attended the University of California at Davis and completed degrees in Medieval History and Biological Sciences. A lifelong lover of books and a scribbler of many tales from a young age (her first story was completed at age five) she turned to writing full-time in 2011.Erika resides in Northern California with her incredibly hot husband, their three amazing kids, and their chocolate Labrador named Selkie. To reach Erika regarding her books, wine recommendations, or to debate which Iron Maiden album is the best (clearly, it’s Brave New World), you can find her online at http://www.erikagardner.com.

• • •

• Find Erika Online •

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The Writers’ Group

Release Blitz: The Change by C.V. Leigh

DEBUT URBAN FANTASY NOVEL RELEASED

#urbanfantasy #fantasyauthors #werewolf #WolvesofFaolHall #debutnovel #kindle #kindleunlimited

 TheChangebyCVLeigh500

On 8th May 2019, Somerset-based fantasy author, C.V. Leigh will release her debut urban fantasy novel ‘THE CHANGE’ on Kindle and Kindle Unlimited through traditional Irish publishers, Tirgearr Publishing.

Book Blurb:

Kincaid pack Alpha, Alistair, has called his family back to their ancestral home in the Scottish Cairngorms. His wife, Megan, is losing control of her ability to shift and it has him rattled. When it comes to light that Nathan Trevell, Megan’s ex and the lycanthrope who turned her, has travelled from the States and is in the UK, closing in on his family, Alistair is even more determined to keep everyone safe.

Nathan isn’t deterred by the Kincaid pack. He’s in the UK for a very specific reason, a reason that threatens to turn the lives of the Kincaids upside down – and possibly endanger them.

Being cooped up together in Faol Hall only serves to highlight the differences between the Kincaids, and fighting soon breaks out. Can they put aside their issues and present a united front, before it’s too late?

Extract:

 

Faol Hall, Cairngorms

Alistair Kincaid watched helplessly as his wife was taken over by the beast that lurked beneath her skin. She trembled in his arms, her teeth chattering, eyes rolling back until the dark green he longed to gaze into had been replaced by pure white. Her mouth relaxed and opened, her canines elongated and tapered into a sharp point.

“Shit. Hold on, Megan.” He rocked her back and forth, smoothing his hand down her long, brunette hair, still damp from where she’d been in the shower. Strands clung to her face and arms. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She clawed at his bare arms, leaving long scratches.

He looked around the large bathroom, desperately searching for some way to help her. The shower head still spewed into the cubicle. Water splattered against the tiles, droplets raced down the glass screen. A green pouch sat on top of the medicine cabinet, taunting him. Megan needed the drugs inside it, but she needed him to hold her steady as well.

“Jacob!” He could only pray his brother hadn’t gone for a run. “Shit… it’s okay, Megan, it’s okay… I’m here.” He stumbled over the words, each one catching in his throat.

“N-n-n…” A sound, nothing more, tumbled from her lips. “Nay-n-n-nay…” She repeated it over and over again. Coarse, dark brown hairs began to push through the smooth skin of her arms. She released an agonising cry that tore through him, leaving his heart in tattered shreds.

“Jake!” he called again.

“I’m here.” His younger brother filled the doorway, as wide as he was tall; a wall of pure muscle and brute strength. “Fuck.”

Megan’s bones cracked. Bile rose in Alistair’s throat. “Get the sedative,” he said, nodding at the cabinet.

Jacob pulled the little bag down, along with the amber pill bottles that had been stored next to it. A bottle snapped open, and tiny tablets spiralled towards the drain. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” Jacob fumbled with the bag’s zip.

“Just get the damn drugs,” Alistair snapped, spittle landing on his bottom lip. Sweat dripped down his brow. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold her–how much longer it would be before she was taken over completely, lost to him.

Jacob found the syringe. He attached a needle, then plunged it into a vial and withdrew the clear liquid. He knelt beside his brother and grabbed Megan’s naked leg, then tugged it towards him. After sitting on her ankle to stop her from wrestling away from him, he stabbed the needle into the thick muscle of her thigh.

The animalistic growl Megan released was enough to curdle blood, ripping from her throat and filling Alistair with dread. Her eyes were wide, the usually-green irises now burning chartreuse, flecked with gold and amber. She grunted and groaned, panted for breath. “F-fuck… y-you…” Her voice was low and gruff, cracked by the venom coursing through her veins. Her sights fixed on Jacob, watching his every movement.

Jacob stood, syringe in hand.

Buy Links:

Pre-order for 99p / 99c on Kindle!

Links to THE CHANGE can be found on the publisher’s website:

http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Leigh_CV/the-change.htm

PROFILEPIC2

About the Author:

Originally from the Nottingham/Lincoln borders, C.V. Leigh now lives in Somerset with her family and pets. She comes from a long line of natural witches, and spent her childhood learning to read tea leaves from her grandmother and Tarot from her mother, so it’s no surprise that she has a love for the fantastical and paranormal.

When she’s not creating new worlds, C.V. enjoys reading with a hot cup of tea, or exploring the beautiful countryside that Somerset has to offer.

C.V. Leigh’s favourite authors include Kelley Armstrong, George R.R. Martin, Douglas Adams, Grant Naylor, Terry Pratchett, and Roald Dahl.

Social Media Links:

 

Website: https://authorchoward.wixsite.com/cvleighauthor

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CVLeighAuthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/CVLeighAuthor

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

Amazon: https://www.amazon.co.uk/C.V.-Leigh/e/B07Q5JNXTJ

GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19009631.C_V_Leigh