I have a dark romance coming out on May 4th. Perhaps you've heard of it? Perhaps not.
It's called Retribution and it follows the view point of three people.
Braxton Alexander - He's been imprisoned for the rape and murder of his girlfriend since he was eighteen, but now he's free.
Brycen Cole - Since Braxton's threat at the sentencing, he's known the madman would come after him upon release.
Gemma Woods - She's been Brycen's faithful and loving girlfriend for years, but although their relationship started out all flowers and hearts, now it's more often than not demands and ramifications.
These three people are entwined upon the path of Retribution.
But who will walk away and who will crawl?
Does this sound like something that might interest you?
Click the link below for the Goodreads page and add it to your TBR list!
Okay, so many of you already know I'm Irish, still actually living in Ireland, though I don't even know why anymore with the state of the place! Anyway, I digress.
Elsa. Frigging ELSA! This Disney movie has snowballed (haha) into epic proportions, and I don't think anyone was quite expecting it to be as big as it is. The Snow Glow Elsa doll is HUGE in Ireland this Christmas; it's what every little girl (and probably some boys) are asking Santa for.
Thing is...it's sold out, impossible to get. Some stores took orders (and money!!) from customers based on a shipment of dolls that's not going to be here for Christmas, despite their reassurances.
You can picture the scene, can't you? Remember that scene in Friends? The fight over the wedding dress? Or the entire premise of that Jingle All The Way movie? Holy shmokes, it's like Armageddon here. A 45 euro doll is selling online for up to 200 euro. It's madness. And only the Irish can do this madness so well.
After trawling from one shop to another after hearing choice snippets from the grape vine, I was left...Elsaless! Noooo! My five year old little girl would make my life a living hell. Literally a living hell. So, being the cyber-supporter I am, I took to Amazon in search of the holy grail otherwise known as Snow Glow Elsa.
Eighty seven euro later, Elsa was MINE! But I still worried, despite selecting a faster shipping option, that she wouldn't arrive for Christmas, and it would all be for nought and I'd still be in the dog house with my little girl. I contacted the seller like a mad stalker woman, demanding he promise me her arrival before Christmas.
Perhaps it was my over-abundance of exclamation marks, or my outright honesty about the monster I live with (all children are monsters until they reach a certain age, and five is not it...) but he sent me a reply within moments of my hastily worded plea. She would be here; he swore it on the lives of his as-yet-un-conceived children. If he was wrong, I would sacrifice his ability to have children. Or maybe I'd let him have one, just so he knew the absolute TERROR of your child wanting -- no, NEEDING -- the most unattainable gift. Every. Single. Year.
This morning as I was sitting on the couch, there was a knock at the door, and lo and behold, it was ELSA!!!
Well, it was the postman, but he had Elsa with him.
I've never breathed so easily in all my life.
What are your little monsters looking for this Christmas? And are you able to get it?
I hope so, my friends.
Have a blessed holiday period!
A short snippet from my upcoming release, Stepbrother, Mine
“Sophie!” he called again, charging into the kitchen behind her. "Dammit, will you let me explain?"
"Sorry, Logan." Awkwardly, she cleared her throat, throwing on her best blank face. "I didn't mean to ruin your moment with Alex. I was just surprised is all."
"Surprised my ass," he grated, stalking her around the massive station in the middle of the room. "I saw your face. You were devastated."
She laughed, the sound like a bullet escaping her lips, loud and shocking. "Not at all. I just wasn't prepared for how fast a worker you are. I should have remembered."
He growled, making her jump as she avoided his grabbing hand. "Soph, stop. Just stop moving."
"I need to get back to work," she replied, brushing past him with a bright smile plastered to her face.
The breath whooshed out of her lungs as he whirled her around, backing her against the wall with a predatory gleam in his eye. "Stop lying to me. You know how I punish your lies."
Her heart sped up, a nervous sweat threatening to break out all over her body as she noted the wild look in his eyes. "I'm not lying."
"Another lie," he whispered, tracing the outline of one nipple with his finger. He pressed his lower half against her, his erection digging into her hip. "Tell me one more."
*Click the link below to add it to your TBR list. Pre-order links coming soon!*
...You've made a horrible mistake.
Today I gave my eldest daughter my lovely, antique pine bedstead, because she was too old for a single bed, really, at fourteen, and because I had gotten a new king sized divan bed.
Oh, what a horrible mistake I have made! The mattress is too soft -- it's like a damn water-bed -- and there's wheels, WHEELS on the base. I have a wooden floor in my bedroom. Wheels do NOT work on a bed base when you have a wooden floor. Next time I get down to something more than sleeping, I'll be lucky if the fucking thing doesn't end up in the hallway!
Besides the fact that the mattress is too soft, and the stupid base has wheels, I realized that all my carefully selected bed sets will no longer fit. Damn. Some of them cost me an absolutely disgusting amount of cash.
Add to that fact that the underneath of my bed has long been a haven for forgotten shoes, bags, hats, the rare odd sock, and a couple of spiders...pandemonium. Himself made me pack up all my shoes, of course, no matter how many spiders were scampering around under there. Three bags later, he's trying to put them on top of the wardrobe and they all topple out, hitting him on the head one by one as they tumble to the floor, reminiscent of those old Disney cartoons where bowling-balls or something equally ridiculous falls on the character from above. HAHA! I held my laughter as long as I could, but eventually had to let rip.
Speaking of rips, I was still wandering around in a light pair of silk pajama bottoms, and whilst bent over, sticking my nose under the bed...yes, you guessed it -- they split. So, now I'm down one pair of silk pj's, a lot of bed covers and an antique pine frame. Lovely. I should have just stayed in the old bed, crying about a need to write -- "Why won't you just leave me alone!?" -- and I might have avoided all of this.
As you all know -- or maybe you're just finding me, which is cool too! -- I write Paranormal Romance, and some parts of it can get a bit dark and a bit gritty, and I absolutely love writing the stories of all my imaginary friends. I can't wait to get Donovan's story out to you all -- the Beta Babes (my she-wolves) are going ga-ga for it, and tell me it's a hundred times as good as the previous one.
You might even know that I've been working on a secret project this past week. I literally woke up on Saturday morning with my mind FULL of this story, and had to start it right away. I didn't even get off my bed all day, because I was too embroiled with my story. I think -- well I hope! -- that you're all going to enjoy this new story, which has turned into another series, just as much as the Moon Bound series. It's not Paranormal Romance. This is contemporary, and taboo, and beautiful. I heart my new characters so much. I'm about four chapters from The End, which is a new record for me, personally -- the characters are basically writing this story themselves, using me as a conduit.
All will be revealed soon, so keep your eyes peeled...
In the meantime, I've lowered the price of the first in the Moon Bound series, Bound by Fate, to 99c, at least for the duration of October and all the take-overs I have planned, so now is the time to pick up a copy on the books page. ;)
I went with my fellow Thespians in Naas Musical Society to the professional production of Blood Brothers last night. First time seeing the show. My God it was fantastic! We met up early, for pre-show drinks. As you do, right? And I held on as long as I could, but you know that by the interval I was literally wiggling in my seat with the need to pee. So, the lights came up and Mandy was GONE! There was a queue a mile long for the ladies, and seeing as we were up a stairs, with no elevator in sight, my friend and I decided to take advantage of the disabled bathroom.
The relief. Oh, the relief. Upon finishing our business, we opened the door to see the queue for the ladies longer than before, and as we were slinking away, heard one of the women waiting whisper to her friend, "there were TWO girls in there."
Imagine their shock if they'd known my friend was gay, haha.
I've been working on a secret project the past couple of days, and the story just seems to be rolling from my mind to the laptop with very little interference. GREAT! I'm 32 thousand words in already, and can't wait to unveil it all to my fans.
It's going to be something in a similar genre, but not a paranormal romance. It's a little bit taboo. A little bit hot. It's one of those secret guilty pleasures, you know?
I've just written those two words that all us writers love and hate with equal ferocity -- The End. Bound by Revenge, book #2 in the Moon Bound Series, is now officially drafted. First draft, at least. Edits to follow very shortly. But I've run into one of those situations that often plague us as writers. When Characters Attack.
So it was supposed to end one way, and due to a problematic deity and a kidnapping vampire, both of whom refused to listen to reason, it's gone in quite a different direction, leading me to replace book #3 with book #7, and moving Original Book Three to that #7 slot.
I find that I don't mind as much as I thought, because that means New Book Seven will have a much more dramatic effect. The only thing that annoys me being when my imaginary friends have better ideas than I do. It's quite irksome.
So...to recap. BBR is now a complete draft.
My deity is very wily and creative.
My characters lack manners.
They are smarter than me.
What's up with all the damn spiders? They KNOW when I'm sitting here alone! They have special spider squad meetings about my house! I just looked up and there's one directly over my damn head! Argh...so I wrote a poem about him.
Spider, spider, on the ceiling.
Don't you know how I am feeling?
You scared the life right out of me.
I'm NOT Miss Muffet can't you see?
Please do not dangle down.
Please don't perch upon my crown.
Just stay up there, but move a bit.
So you're not above where I do sit.
If you ignore my issued plea.
And decide to sit upon my knee.
I will have no choice but to leave the room.
To fetch a shoe, or the vacuum.
And then you'll be sucked up or dead.
I won't have to worry about my head.
So, if I were you I'd listen closely.
As I beg you, so morosely.
Stay the hell away from me.
And we'll both be happy, don't you agree?
So, today my partner asked me to design him some new business cards. Being only too glad of a distraction (I am the ultimate procrastinator sometimes!), I immediately said I would.
Cue a world of rue and regret. The actual design took mere moments, and once I had a new card all ready to be printed, I had to set up the printer.
I had conveniently forgotten where the printer had been relegated to - the cobweb-decorated corner of my bedroom, groaning under the weight of some of the clothes I will deny owning when it comes time to pick something to wear.
After dumping those ceremoniously to the floor, hiding several cushions from my bed and articles I will have to root for later, I fished out the lonely little deskjet, dusted him (it's definitely a him, for reasons which WILL become clear later) off and then had the mother of all scavenger hunts for the usb connection. Eventually I found it, wrapped up and shoved into a cupboard I use for storing DVDs I don't have time to watch any more.
After setting it all up, I realized the ink was depleted. Curse you, cartridge. So, I scared up some ink and injected it. This was starting to take longer than I had originally thought, and while I was after some form of distraction for a while, you CAN have too much of a good thing.
Now, sporting a large black inkblot on my boob and with the sour taste of it in my mouth after inadvertently sucking some from my thumb, I set to work.
The printer would not print. Vexing! I spent about an hour figging about with it, trying to clean the heads, printing blank test page after blank test page, pulling my hair and screeching like a banshee in frustration when all I got was a big, fat, nothing. Enlisting the help of my author group, I was advised to re-install all the drivers, since the printer downright refused to run any such head-cleaning acts. How rude. Three times, I downloaded and re-installed those cursed drivers and each time the printer told me there was something wrong with my toolbox (I've never had complaints in that department before!) and directed me to a webpage where I was tossed out on my ass as if a drunkard in a hotel. Restricted Access, it told me. I didn't realize my printer was connected to the damn Pentagon!
Finally, resorting to madness, I removed the cartridge once more, wrapped my lips around it and blew until ink started to drip from the underneath. There. I'd given my cartridge a bj and cleaned its head all in one fell swoop. Or one act of fellatio, so to speak.
Now, of course, the business cards are just sitting in the corner, no doubt oozing with good intentions, but will most likely have gathered a coating of dust before they're used.
And here I am, STILL procrastinating, writing a blog when I should be writing a book! Oh, my word. Will I never learn?
Aaargh it's SPIDERGATE here! There I was, sitting on my nice new swivel-chair, writing...as I do. And then from across the room I see him. A huge mofo of a spider, looking like he was heading out for a pleasure stroll. He was so casual, he was the Sean Connery of arachnids.
If he'd had the shoes he could have done the Highland Jig across the floor and he wouldn't have freaked me out any more than his lumbering, long-legged gait.
I screeched, like a cat thrown into a lake, and grabbed my four year old daughter's shoe, fearing the spider would confiscate it and actually hit me back, I approached him shaking with trepidation. He paused and gave me a "fuck you lookin' at?" expression. I could count each beady little eye on his shiny, black head. They all reflected myself, my own two eyes like saucers, hair almost standing on end. I looked crazed. I WAS crazed.
Screaming like a banshee, I took swift aim and battered that spider bastard to death. Squealing once again when a leg detached and stuck to the shoe like a scene from a horror movie.
He looks so much better smooshed on the floor. It's going to take me some time to work up the courage to remove his sticky, slimy gooiness from my laminate. And like a car-crash, I can't stop LOOKING at him. My mind is playing tricks on me. He appears to be moving every so often, as if he's gonna jump up and say, "gotcha!" and then go for my jugular or something.
I need a drink dammit. Why don't I have any alcohol when I need it!?
Excuse me while I just crawl out of my damn skin for a moment. Ugh. Spiders have it in for me, I swear. I've been naming them recently. I had Norman. Then I had Bates. I think I'll call this one Cathy.