The Summer I Became a Nerd by Leah Rae Miller
Expected publication
May 7th 2013 by Entangled Teen
On the outside, seventeen-year-old Madelyne Summers looks like your typical blond cheerleader — perky, popular, and dating the star quarterback.
But inside, Maddie spends more time agonizing over what will happen in the next issue of her favorite comic book than planning pep rallies with her squad. That she’s a nerd hiding in a popular girl's body isn’t just unknown, it's anti-known. And she needs to keep it that way.
Summer is the only time Maddie lets her real self out to play, but when she slips up and the adorkable guy behind the local comic shop’s counter uncovers her secret, she’s busted. Before she can shake a pom-pom, Maddie’s whisked into Logan’s world of comic conventions, live-action role-playing, and first-person-shooter video games. And she loves it.
But the more she denies who she really is, the deeper her lies become.. and the more she risks losing Logan forever.
Born and raised in northern Louisiana, Leah Rae Miller still lives there on a windy hill with her husband and kids.
She loves comic books, lava lamps, fuzzy socks, and Cherry Coke.
She spends most of her days reading things she likes and writing things she hopes other people will like.Homepage | Goodreads | Twitter
Shadow of Time by Jen Minkman
Expected publication
January 1st 2013
Cover Designer:
Jen Minkman
Cover reveal organized by:
AToMR Tours
All Hannah needs is a nice and quiet vacation after her first year of teaching French at a high school. She joins her brother Ben for the summer in their mom’s log cabin in Arizona. There, she meets Josh again, Ben’s childhood friend from the Navajo reservation. The little boy from the rez has grown up fast, and Hannah can’t help but feeling more for him than just friendship.
But fate apparently has something else in store for her. And it’s not peace and quiet. Night after night, Hannah is plagued by strange nightmares about the past of Navajo Nation and terrifying shadows chasing her. They seem to come closer – and why is Josh always present in her dreams?
Sometimes, the past has a way of catching up with you.
Jen Minkman (1978) was born in Holland, in the town of Alphen aan den Rijn.
When she was 19, she moved between The Hague, Salzburg (Austria), Brussels (Belgium) and Cambridge (UK) to complete her studies in intercultural communication.
She is currently a teacher of English, career counsellor and teenage coach at a secondary school in Voorburg, Holland.
She tries to read at least 100 books a year (and write a few, too!). She is a published author in her own country, and translates her own books from Dutch into English for self-publication.
In her spare time, she plays the piano, the guitar and the violin. For every novel she writes, she creates a soundtrack.Homepage | Facebook | Twitter
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BIG GIRLS DON'T CRY...
THEY GET EVEN.
Lillia has never had any problems dealing with boys who like her. Not until this summer, when one went too far. No way will she let the same thing happen to her little sister.
Kat is tired of the rumours, the insults, the cruel jokes. It all goes back to one person– her ex-best friend– and she's ready to make her pay.
Four years ago, Mary left Jar Island because of a boy. But she's not the same girl anymore. And she's ready to prove it to him.
Three very different girls who want the same thing: sweet, sweet revenge. And they won't stop until they each had a taste.
The Midnight Spell by Rhiannon Frater & Kody Boye
Cover designed by Phatpuppy Art
Expected publication
February 2013
Best friends since kindergarten, Adam and Christy have always been the perpetual outsiders in their small town in Texas. The other kids call Adam gay and Christy a witch.
On both counts the bullies are right.
Their junior year in high school seems destined to be the same old same old until Christy decides to cast a love spell for Adam at the midnight hour. The next day an alluring and mysterious boy enrolls at school and sets hearts a flutter, including Adam’s. Meanwhile, Christy’s mad crush on the handsome football player Ian seems to be going nowhere fast and her witch puberty is making her life miserable.
When a great evil arrives in town that threatens everything they hold dear, the best friends realize that finding a boyfriend is the least of their worries. Soon Adam and Christy will have to battle a force of darkness that has killed in their town before, and will again.
Hurricane Katrina is long gone, but the preternatural storm rages on in New Orleans.
New species from the Beyond moved into Louisiana after the hurricane destroyed the borders between worlds, and it falls to wizard sentinel Drusilla Jaco and her partner, Alex Warin, to keep the preternaturals peaceful and the humans unaware.
But a war is brewing between two clans of Cajun merpeople in Plaquemines Parish, and down in the swamp, DJ learns, there’s more stirring than angry mermen and the threat of a were-gator.
Wizards are dying, and something — or someone — from the Beyond is poisoning the waters of the mighty Mississippi, threatening the humans who live and work along the river. DJ and Alex must figure out what unearthly source is contaminating the water and who — or what — is killing the wizards.
Is it a malcontented merman, the naughty nymph, or some other critter altogether? After all, DJ’s undead suitor, the pirate Jean Lafitte, knows his way around a body or two.
It’s anything but smooth sailing on the bayou as the Sentinels of New Orleans series continues.Amazon | Book Depository| Barnes and Noble |
Indiebound
Excerpt
The minute hand of the ornate grandfather clock crept like a gator stuck in swamp mud. I’d been watching it for half an hour, nursing a fizzy cocktail from my perch inside the Hotel Monteleone. The plaque on the enormous clock claimed it had been hand- carved of mahogany in 1909, about 130 years after the birth of the undead pirate waiting for me upstairs.
They were both quite handsome, but the clock was a lot safer.
The infamous Jean Lafitte had expected me at seven. He’d summoned me to his French Quarter hotel suite by courier like I was one of his early nineteenth-century wenches, and I hated to destroy his pirate-king delusions, but the historical undead don’t summon wizards. We summon them.
I’d have blown him off if my boss on the Congress of Elders hadn’t ordered me to comply and my co-sentinel, Alex, hadn’t claimed a prior engagement.
At seven thirty, I abandoned my drink, took a deep breath, and marched through the lobby toward the bank of elevators.
On the long dead-man-walking stroll down the carpeted hallway, I imagined all the horrible requests Jean might make. He’d saved my life a few years ago, after Hurricane Katrina sent the city into freefall, and I hadn’t seen him since. I’d been desperate at the time. I might have promised him unfettered access to modern New Orleans in exchange for his assistance. I might have promised him a place to live. I might have promised him things I don’t even remember. In other words, I might be totally screwed.
I reached the door of the Eudora Welty Suite and knocked, reflecting that Jean Lafitte probably had no idea who Eudora Welty was, and wouldn’t like her if he did. Ms. Welty had been a modern sort of woman who wouldn’t hop to attention when summoned by a scoundrel.
He didn’t answer immediately. I’d made him wait, after all, and Jean lived in a tit- for- tat world. I paused a few breaths and knocked harder. Finally, he flung open the door, waving me inside to a suite plush with tapestries of peach and royal blue, thick carpet that swallowed the narrow heels of my pumps, and a plasma TV he couldn’t possibly know how to operate. What a waste.
“You have many assets, Drusilla, but apparently a respect for time is not among them.” Deep, disapproving voice, French accent, broad shoulders encased in a red linen shirt, long dark hair pulled back into a tail, eyes such a cobalt blue they bordered on navy. And technically speaking, dead.
He was as sexy as ever.
“Sorry.” I slipped my hand in my skirt pocket, fingering the small pouch of magic-infused herbs I carried at all times. My mojo bag wouldn’t help with my own perverse attraction to the man, but it would keep my empathic abilities in check. If he still had a perverse attraction to me, I didn’t want to feel it.
He eased his six-foot-two frame into a sturdy blue chair and slung one long leg over the arm as he gave me a thorough eyeraking, a ghost of a smile on his face.
I perched on the edge of the adjacent sofa, easing back against a pair of plump throw pillows, and looked at him expectantly. I hoped what ever he wanted wouldn’t jeopardize my life, my job, or my meager bank account.
“You are as lovely as ever, Jolie,” Jean said, trotting out his pet name for me that sounded deceptively intimate and brought back a lot of memories, most of them bad. “I will forgive your tardiness— perhaps you were late because you were selecting clothing that I would like.” His gaze lingered on my legs. “You chose beautifully.”
I’d picked a conservative black skirt and simple white blouse with the aim of looking professional for a business meeting, part of my ongoing attempt to prove to the Elders I was a mature wizard worthy of a pay raise. But this was Jean Lafitte, so I should have worn coveralls. I’d forgotten what a letch he could be.
“I have a date after our meeting,” I lied. He didn’t need to know said date involved a round carton with the words Blue Bell Ice Cream printed on front. “Why did you want to see me?” There, that hadn’t been so difficult—just a simple request. No drama. No threats. No double- entendre. Straight to business.
“Does a man need a reason to see a beautiful woman? Especially one who is indebted to him, and who has made him many promises?” A slow smile spread across his face, drawing my eyes to his full lips and the ragged scar that trailed his jawline.
I might be the empath in the room, but he knew very well that, in some undead kind of way, I thought he was hot.
I felt my face warming to the shade of a trailer- trash bridesmaid’s dress, one whose color had a name like raging rouge. I’d had a similar reaction when I first met Jean in 2005, two days before a mean hurricane with a sissy name turned her malevolent eye toward the Gulf Coast. I blamed my whole predicament on Katrina, the bitch.
Her winds had driven the waters of Lake Pontchartrain into the canals that crisscrossed the city, collapsing levees and filling the low, concave metro area like a gigantic soup bowl.
But NBC Nightly News and Anderson Cooper had missed the biggest story of all: how, after the storm, a mob of old gods, historical undead, and other preternatural victims of the scientific age flooded New Orleans. As a wizard, I’d had a ringside seat. Now, three years later, the wizards had finally reached accords with the major preternatural ruling bodies, and the borders were down, as of two days ago. Jean hadn’t wasted any time.
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Suzanne Johnson writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance from Auburn, Alabama, after a career in educational publishing that has spanned five states and six universities.
She grew up halfway between the Bear Bryant Museum and Elvis' birthplace and lived in New Orleans for fifteen years, so she has a highly refined sense of the absurd and an ingrained love of SEC football and fried gator on a stick.Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads |
Publisher Page
17 year old science prodigy, Laney Brookes, is looking for two things: a cure for the flu virus that’s ravaging the world and the truth about what happened to her father.
Using clues from her father’s secret journals, she and her two friends Kate and Carter follow what she thinks is the path to the answers.
It’s a path that lands them in the lost world of Atlantis, a world struggling to survive. Laney finds more than just answers in Atlantis. She finds love.
To get her friends and herself home, Laney will have to travel into enemy territory, led by Andrew a young Atlantean determined to return his people to power. In the process she’ll even unravel the mystery of her missing father. But first, she’ll have to figure out who the real enemy is.
Author Bio
I remember writing my first stories when I was about nine or ten years old. I've been writing ever since. In 2002 I decided to seriously try and get some of my work published.
On February 14th of 2005 I sold my first book, A Different Kind of Man, to Harlequin Superromance. While trying to decide what I wanted to be when I grew up, besides a writer, I went to college (alot) and worked a variety of jobs.
I have a bachelor of arts in English with a minor in secondary education, a bachelor of science in nursing, a master of science in career and technical education with an emphasis in adult education and most recently, a master of science in nursing as a family nurse practitioner.
I was also a National Board Certified Teacher in career and technical education. Along the way I've worked as a high school English teacher and an elementary teacher. I've worked as a registered nurse on a cardiac unit, brain injury rehab unit, and several different medical-surgical units. I've also done stints as a home health nurse and a commnunity health educator at a hospital, and many years as an allied health instructor at a high school career and technology center. Presently, I'm working full time as a family nurse practitioner at an inpatient psychiatric facility.
If I'm not writing I like to spend time reading. My husband and I share our home with our four legged children. Our boy and girl in puppy dog clothes, Toby and Sassy, who masquerade as Miniature Pinschers. We are also owned by three cats Chase, Jackson, and Spots. We are all terrorized by Gray Kitty, a stray who decided to stay and take over.Blog | Homepage | Facebook | Twitter
Giveaway - US Only
- (1) copy of Breathe & (1) Marked
- Sparkly nail polish that coordinates with the book cover
- A stoneware necklace with concentric circle design from Breathe by Kaatee art
- Metal bookmark
/ UK
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Who would have guessed that four minutes could change everything?
Today should be one of the worst days of seventeen-year-old Hadley Sullivan's life. Having missed her flight, she's stuck at JFK airport and late to her father's second wedding, which is taking place in London and involves a soon-to-be stepmother Hadley's never even met. Then she meets the perfect boy in the airport's cramped waiting area. His name is Oliver, he's British, and he's sitting in her row.
A long night on the plane passes in the blink of an eye, and Hadley and Oliver lose track of each other in the airport chaos upon arrival. Can fate intervene to bring them together once more?
Quirks of timing play out in this romantic and cinematic novel about family connections, second chances, and first loves. Set over a twenty-four-hour-period, Hadley and Oliver's story will make you believe that true love finds you when you're least expecting it.
Though she shares the bloodlines of both Fae and Wolf, Kiara Morrigan O’Conaill refuses to claim her place in the Fae courts or submit to the animal within.
Witnessing the murder of her Fae mother two years ago drives her back into those worlds, to search for answers and revenge.
Devlin McClure lives for one thing — the Pack. When their leader, the Cadeyrn, disappears, desperation sends Devlin to the last person he should be asking for help—the Cadeyrn’s estranged daughter, Kiara.
Kiara and Devlin are drawn to each other by fate and destined to embrace the very thing that threatens to rip their worlds apart. Now, Kiara will have to decide which is stronger, blood or moonlight?Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes and Noble |
Apple Book Store
Excerpt
"Thanks for nothing!" I slammed down the phone, then picked it back up and screamed into the handset once more. "Asshole!"
As if on cue, the office door opened and Reese breezed in like a tornado, the local paper tucked under her arm. Her hair, the perfect shade of cotton-candy pink, trailed down her back in a waterfall of curls from the taut ponytail atop her head. The dagger strapped to her thigh was the only indication there was more to the woman than met the eye. Perching herself on the corner of my desk, she studied me with eyes flecked with shades of midnight, turquoise, and powder blue. She was a beautiful representation of full-blooded fae and my best friend.
"I take it the lead was a dead end."
"The elusive white fucking rabbit." I rested my head on the edge of the desk. Today marked the second anniversary of my mother’s death and the blame I felt for her absence was overwhelming.
"Tá grá agam duit," Reese softly professed her love for my mother as she kissed her finger and touched the photo of the woman who’d given me life. Her picture held a prominent place on my desk and served as a constant reminder of the pain and loss I’d suffered. After displaying her reverence, she put the photo face down on my desk and looked at me. "Kiara, maybe you aren’t meant to solve this puzzle."
"Perhaps, but considering we keep getting the same canned response I think we’re on to something here." I spun my mother’s ring, which now sat on my finger and sighed.
"You want answers. Need them so you can move on. I get it." She turned her head slightly. "You look like hell."
"The visions are getting worse." I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to fight them even as they pushed their way into my consciousness. Haunting screams, wolves with feral eyes and the constant feeling of unease flooded my mind.
"They won't cease until there's closure. I'm exhausted." The only reason we were in this godforsaken city of sin had to do with my hellish visions.
"Or until you stop carrying around that damn letter. Isleen promised you answers in that note and we’ve heard nothing from her since." Reese shifted slightly on the desk. "Did you drink the tea I made you?"
"Of course I did, but you know none of your fancy concoctions work on me."
"Yeah, well I keep hoping I’ll hit the magic combination one day and all of your sleeping woes will disappear." She bit her bottom lip and her brow furrowed. "You are the only person who’s unaffected by anything I whip up. I just don’t understand it."
"Blame the wolf blood in my veins." Silence fell like a heavy cloak over the room and I quickly changed the subject. "Anything new in the paper?"
She unfolded the paper and placed it in front of me without commenting. I prepared myself for what I would read, knowing the headlines would reveal nothing good. I glanced down, not surprised to see the mayor’s latest showgirl-flanked appearance took top billing. Unfortunately, the headline beneath the fold didn’t hold much shock value either:
Local Pack Loses Another.
I’d followed the story since it first broke but I ignored the temptation to pick it up, not wanting to feel the pain I didn't want to feel or even admit existed. It came as each new story or detail surfaced. One day I feared the news would offer confirmation that my visions were accurate and the names listed would bring my search for answers to a tragic end. I rubbed at my temples.
This was too much. Reality and vision meshed in a mix of macabre surrealist imagery that often left me feeling sick. It was difficult to explain, even to Reese. To her credit, she never pushed.
"Why don’t we discuss what’s in the lobby asking to speak with you." Excitement laced her voice as she fanned herself. Often, she could be read like a book. Whatever waited in the next room would be, at the very least, a nice piece of eye candy. Hopefully, the tantalizing feast would be interested in a nice art piece, but years of friendship and studying Reese’s body language told me otherwise.
"What, exactly, is waiting in the other room?" The faint musk of wolf trailed from the direction of the door. There was something familiar about it but it was so subtle, I couldn’t place it. Every inch of me screamed danger, while at the same time something called to a part of me I tried to forget existed and never could. Not good. Nearly every shifter encounter I’d faced ended in the battle scars that now marred both my mind and body. In a deliberate attempt to mask my unease, I snatched up the paper, leaned back in the chair and kicked my feet up on the desk. The steaming cup of coffee on the blotter would have helped, but I didn’t trust my hands to remain steady enough to allow for spill-free drinking.
My nervously twitching foot drew Reese’s gaze to my recently purchased Louboutin heels and her eyes glimmered, but even shoes weren’t enough to divert her attention from the man in the other room. "Nice try, Kiara, but your mastery in the art of distraction will not work this time. Just smile and be polite."
"You take away all of my fun."
"We’ve been living in this neon jungle for months now, yet you spend all of your time here. If this is fun—" She dramatically waved her arm around the office—"Then I’m seriously misinformed."
I stuck my tongue out at her. A soft knock sounded on the door and Deanne, our secretary, stepped into the office.
"Miss Morrigan?"
The masculine scent, laced with spicy undertones, wafted through the door more strongly, more enticing, more…
When Reese nudged me slightly, I glanced up to see them both watching me. Damn it. "Sorry, you were saying?"
"There is a gentleman here, insisting he speak with you. He says he is here on behalf of a Mr. O’Conaill."
Moira Keith has a penchant for men in kilts, is a lover of shoes, Celtic mythology, connoisseur of Guinness, baker of cupcakes and overall complete mess!
As an author of paranormal, urban fantasy and contemporary romance, Moira writes stories that are often filled with the magic of love and the mayhem that ensues, threatening to keep her couples apart.
Currently, Moira resides in Las Vegas with her twin zombie sons, their beta fish, and a turtle.Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads
2019 is looking pretty good so far with a long list of books to be looking forward to. Here are my top ten most anticipated books, with some...
