Do you love YA books? Check out this new release novella from my buddy Vanessa Barneveld! She finaled in the Golden Heart with me back on 2014. Read on for the blurb, excerpt, and buy links!

​Release day for Vanessa Barneveld's YA novella, LIVE FAST, DIE YOUNG, is here! This quick read is full of heartbreak and hope. Vanessa will donate half of the profits from the sale of her novella to a charity that supports young people dealing with cancer. So make sure you pick up LIVE FAST, DIE YOUNG. It's only 99 cents at these e-tailers:
Amazon | iBooks | B&N | Kobo 
Add LIVE FAST, DIE YOUNG to your Goodreads shelf.
 

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Summary
He has six months to live. She has six months to save him...
Molly Corbett can’t stand seeing her childhood pal Alex Gibson destroy himself. He’s gone from straight-A student to rebel without a cause. With so much at stake, some serious interference is called for—or at least Micromanaging Molly thinks so. Alex needs to get back on the path to the Ivy League. But the harder Molly pushes Alex, the harder he pushes back.
 
Alex has a secret.
 
Well, two secrets. Number one: He has terminal melanoma. With six months to live, Alex hasn’t got a second to waste. And hanging around hospitals when his friends think he’s cutting school definitely counts as wasted time. Instead, he’s going to drop out, surf, drive fast cars…and finally put secret number two out there. He’s in love with Molly and he’s going to tell her before it’s too late.
 
Edgy, and yet wonderfully tender, LIVE FAST, DIE YOUNG sent me to reader heaven!
~ Tina Ferraro, author of THE ABCs OF KISSING BOYS
 
 
LIVE FAST, DIE YOUNG Excerpt 
Around six the next morning, I find Mom sitting at the island bench in the kitchen. She looks pretty chill for someone who just laid on a breakfast of fruit salad, yogurt, sautèed mushrooms and kale, unbuttered whole-wheat sourdough and two eggs, sunny-side up. A thick, football-field-green smoothie sits in a tall glass by the blender. Great. More kale.
 
“Hey, Alex!” She smiles over her coffee mug and pats the stool next to her. “Sleep well?”
 
I shuffle onto the seat and stare at the food. “Have I died and gone to buffet heaven?”
 
My mother winces at my choice of words, then makes a big effort to put on a happy face like she always does. “I want you to keep your strength up. You don’t have to eat all of it. Just most of it.”
 
“And you don’t have to go out of your way to make this for me. I mean, thanks. A lot. But I don’t have much of an appetite.”
 
“Oh, I’m having some, too,” she says in an overly bright voice. With her fork, she scoops up a tiny portion of kale, hardly enough to fill a mouse’s belly.
 
Since my diagnosis a few months ago, Mom hasn’t been eating much either. This doesn’t stop her from testing all the “cancer-fighting” recipes she finds on Pinterest. Baking is therapy, she says. I call it a waste of food. Fortunately, the family next door is more than happy to take excess lentil loaf off our hands.
 
Every hour of every day, I wonder what will happen to Mom after I go. She’ll be all alone. Dad moved back to Australia after the divorce. He’s making custom surfboards, connecting with old friends, so I know he’ll be okay. Mom’s literally got no one. Except the perpetually hungry neighbors and her five employees. Yet another reason why I shouldn’t die so young.
 
It’s crazy. Why does it have to be like this? Maybe the doctors got it wrong. They’re not infallible. They’re not gods. They can’t predict the exact number of months, days, hours, and seconds a person has left on Earth.
 
Then again, I’ve peeked at my medical records. I know it doesn’t look good for me. With the help of a counselor I’ve gotten to the stage of mostly accepting that I’m headed for a dead end. I’ve even started giving some of my stuff away. The iPad Dad gave me is now Molly’s. Mom won’t have to go through boxes of my middle-school clothes after I’m gone because I’ve already dropped them off at Goodwill. The cobalt-blue board I learned to surf on? I’m giving that to a kid down the street whether he likes it or not.
 
Noticing I haven’t touched a single morsel, Mom says, “Will you at least have the kale, broccoli and goji berry smoothie? You don’t even have to chew. Close your eyes and drink it.”
 
Speaking of acceptance... Yeah, Mom’s adamant that five doctors on two continents are wrong and that I’ll make a miraculous recovery. All we need is faith and love and kale.
 
I would rather eat broken glass mixed with cyanide, but for Mom, I guess I can manage this. Forcing a smile, I sip chunks of raw broccoli that slipped by the blender’s blades. I’ll check over the blender later, make sure it’s working okay.
 
“After breakfast, I’m taking you to that appointment you missed yesterday,” she says quickly.
 
Feeling guilty, I look away. She didn’t hammer me for skipping out on seeing this “amazing herbalist-slash-psychic-healer.” Still, I know she was disappointed in me. “What about work? You’ve missed a lot of days because of me.”
 
“It’s fine. Things are slow anyway.” Her voice is two octaves higher than usual.
 
She’s lying. The real estate biz in this corner of SoCal is booming. Foreclosures have brought in the flippers—the people who swoop in on bank-owned properties and fix them up for a profit.
 
“But you need those commissions.” Silently I add, To pay my medical bills.
 
Another reason to feel guilty. I’m aware of how much my cancer is costing my parents. Flights to a melanoma specialist in Sydney and more hospital follow-ups here don’t come cheap. My folks tell me not to worry about that, but ironically I’m old enough to figure out that dying young is expensive.
 
And now Molly’s pushing me to apply to Yale.
 
I can’t blame her. She knows it’s been my dream since forever to go to Yale, get a medical degree, become a pediatrician. But it’d be a waste of time and money for me to even try to follow that dream.
 
I grimace at the olive oil oozing from the barely touched kale and mushroom thing.
Waste. Sure is the theme of the day. Of my life, even.
 
About Vanessa 
Vanessa lives in Australia with her musician husband, a photogenic cat, and a ghost. In addition to writing, she works as a TV closed captioner for the deaf and audio describer for the blind. Her pastimes include baking, iPhonography, and traveling the world on a quest to find the world’s greatest fries.
 
Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | GoodReads
 
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I really hate seeing stores stock Christmas decorations before I've even shopped for the kids' Halloween costumes or I've planned what to make for Thanksgiving. But publishers and readers love their Christmas stories right? And, now I've turned into part of the problem...*shakes my head* My Cottonbloom Christmas novella is releasing in a month's time! October 25th to be exact.

Can I be honest...I don't find Christmas to be a very romantic holiday. Barring the obvious religious implications, to me, it's all about the kids. It's attempting to get them not to cry for a picture with Santa. It's staying up until midnight or after putting that doll house together using instructions written in Japanese. It's about Chex Mix and decorating cookies and putting handmade ornaments on the tree. And, if it's not centered around your kids, then it's your nieces, nephews, or pretty much any other random kid. The only "romantic" symbol I can think of is mistletoe. So romance writers have that going for us, I guess. Lol.

I also really wanted to call this book something different...CHRISTMAS IN THE COP CAR. Doesn't that sound intriguing? Do I sound like the Grinch? I actually loved writing this novella, mainly because I wanted to give it a little bit of a spin...hence the cop car. But you'll just have to read it to find out what happens:)

In the mean time, let me add to the over-saturating Christmas problem by sharing a snippet, although it has nothing to do with Christmas...Also, if the hero sound vaguely familiar, Jeremy Whitehurst (aka Whitey) was a secondary character in all three of my Falcon Football books and all three Cottonbloom books. (More info here) So maybe it's fitting that he only gets an HEA through a Christmas miracle...

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Kayla's gaze trailed down his body, then went to the sky. “Looks like the storm has settled in for the duration. How about I give you a lift home? And maybe buy you a late lunch for your help?”

Jeremy had spent his formative years reeling from one crisis to the next, his bad decisions piling up like animal bones. He didn’t know if she qualified as a bad decision or a crisis, but being around her made his footing feel suddenly precarious as if he were one step from quicksand. He should say no. He would say no.

Yet confronted with her half-smile and hopeful eyes, he said, “Sure. That’d be great.”

“Let’s make a run for it.” She grabbed his hand on her way by him, laughing like mad. They loaded into the car, and still giggling, she turned to him. Her smile was sweet and uncomplicated and turned her from pretty to something magical. If he believed in such things. Which he didn’t.

Except, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. The rain muffled the outside world, turned off the voices sounding alarms in his mind. Without thinking about tomorrow or even the next minute, he leaned in and kissed her.

Her quick intake of breath stole his. Thunder clapped. Her upper body tipped toward him, and she wrapped one hand around his nape, the other delving into his damp hair.

Her surrender was the signal his body was waiting for, and he deepened the kiss, pulling her lower lip in his mouth and running his tongue along the soft flesh. Her gasping moan was loud in his ear and gasoline to the ember of desire he’d been desperately trying to stamp out.

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I got a question this week about how I deal with writer's block and advice on moving past it... I'm not expert, but I would posit that there are two types of writer's block. One that is paralyzing to the point you can't write at all and one where you get stuck in your story and don't know what to write next. (I'm not going to tackle writing through life's adversities like sickness or divorce or having a kid here. That's another post entirely...)

The only time I've had paralyzing writer's block was after my first book release. I couldn't write for a good week and a half. Some of you might scoff, but that's a *long* time for me. I got totally stressed out over my first release. I read every review. I would be flying high one minute and then plummet the next. All of that instilled DOUBTS. When we're talking the kind of writer's block that goes on and on and keeps you from putting *any* words to the page...I think it all comes back to the fact something has made you doubt yourself. Maybe it is poor sales or another rejection or bad contest results.

(And by the way, I think this can be extrapolated to life in general...what keeps you from asking for a raise, for putting your name out there for a volunteer position, for feeling stymied in your life in general. It's those pesky doubts that hammer away at your confidence.)

So how do you move past this?
1. Time. The further away from the "traumatizing" event, hopefully your emotions will normalize.
2. Chance. A great review comes in or you final in a contest or your book sales explode. Life is about timing. Sometimes it sucks and sometimes it rocks. But, you can't count on this happening which means...
3. Write something, anything. Tell yourself it's just for you. No one else will see it. But, just do it!
4. Read something you wrote in the past. This can have two outcomes. Either, you read it, and go, Wow, that's some damn fine writing! Or, you read it and go, Wow, I've really improved and my writing is so much stronger now. Hopefully, either reaction will jump start your confidence.
5. Build a fortress around your muse AKA Learn to TRUST yourself. This is by far the hardest, but will get you the biggest return. I subscribe to Nora Robert's practical writing advice which is there is no "muse" that sprinkles fairy dust on your writing. But, I do think you must learn to trust in your voice and your process and you must protect it from doubts that come externally and internally. Pin up some of your favorite reviews next to your computer. Frame your contest finals and hang them up where your write. Practice your power stance in the mirror. Do some Stuart Smiley exercises (I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me!) Hopefully, eventually, you'll believe that you and your writing kick ass.

The second type of writer's block is the kind I usually deal with; being stymied in a particular story. It's less devastating, but no less frustrating. This probably stems from being a panster. It's all fun and games until it isn't:) Here's what helps me when I'm stuck in a particular manuscript.

1. Jump to a different scene. I prefer to write in order because it makes the editing process easier later. Plus, because I'm a panster, moving logically from one scene to the next is important and if you jump ahead, manipulating your story to get there might involve some logical gymnastics. But, as a fix to get writing again, it works! In fact, I did it this week when I jumped way ahead and wrote the epilogue.
2. Do something else. This could be take a walk, clean the bathroom, take a shower... I'll admit the shower thing usually gets my brain unclogged. I don't know what it is about standing there under hot water and letting your mind have free reign. Quoting another famous writer it's like Stephen King's "Boys in the Basement" (or as I call them the Ladies in the Lounge:) Our subconscious is an amazing, powerful tool. Use it.
3. Listen to music/Look at pictures. I don't use inspiration pictures, but I do have a playlist for every book. The songs put me in the characters' heads and scenes. I spend a ridiculous amount of time in the car hauling my kids to/from school and activities. I often untangle issues or figure out how to tie up loose ends in a way that makes me fist pump in the car. In fact, I heard Viva La Vida by Coldplay this week and shot straight back into a particular scene of a book that's been out for months, A Brazen Bargain. The song will forever be associated with my hero's redemption in that book.
4. Work on a different project. This works for some people and doesn't for others. However, I love jumping over to something different when I'm stuck. Right now, I have three other projects cooking in my head:) Obviously, if you're frantically trying to finish a project before a deadline, then this might be a bad idea.

Speaking of deadlines...Some people thrive on them, some people die. If you know that the threat of an impending deadline creates writer's block, then for the love of pete, DON'T PROCRASTINATE!

I used to be an avid hiker. I went to college close to the Smoky Mountains, and I spent two weeks hiking the Swiss Alps. My lesson from hiking was this: Pick a pace that you can maintain forever. You don't want to be gassed before you even reach the summit. It applies to writing as well. I can comfortably manage 2-3k words a day**. At that pace, I can keep up with the rest of my life, and not walk around like a character from the Walking Dead. I am not one of those writers that can let things slide until deadline approach-ith, then whip out multiple 10k days. I would burn out real quick. But, 2-3k a day? I can do that forever! And, guess what?! Slow and steady wins the race:)

​**I realize 2-3k is a lot for many writers, especially if you're juggling a family and/or a full time job. But, even getting 500-1000 words a day, every day will get you a book in 3-6 months!

I'm sure I missed something obvious, so share your tricks and tips in the comments...

Actually, I'm not psychic, so I don't. But, I'll tell you what I did this summer. Not enough writing, that's for dang sure! And, I'm paying for it now as I push to finish LEAVE THE NIGHT ON. Between taking the kids to the pool and binge watching STRANGER THINGS and GAME OF THRONES, I also binge read.

​The series that grabbed me was Deanna Raybourn's Lady Julia Grey Mysteries. I got the first book SILENT IN THE GRAVE on sale from a Bookbub special. She hooked me and I finished the entire series this summer. There are five full-length books and a handful of novellas. The last full-length book hinted at the next adventure, so now that I'm caught up, I'm drumming my fingers impatiently.

I'm a big fan of historicals, and these are Victorian set, taking place mostly in England. (One takes place on a tea plantation in India, which was fascinating.) They are told in first person from Lady Julia's point of view. There is a slow burn romance that I enjoyed throughout the series. These are high in sexual tension with close to zero sex on the page. The mysteries are fun and Lady Julia is a great character. Not perfect, but she has a good heart. Her eccentric family adds another level of high-jinks. And the author's descriptions put the reader in the moment.

​If you're looking for a series of historical mysteries, then I highly recommend them! Book 1, SILENT IN THE GRAVE, is still a very reasonable $4.99 in ebook.

What did you binge read this summer? (besides my Cottonbloom series, of course;)

Okay, I'm going to try something new for me and that's blogging on a semi-regular basis. I get overwhelmed trying to think of thought-provoking, cutesy ideas, but then I decided, you're here for the books...mine and other writers. So, I'm going to try to post once a week on either what I'm working on...a teaser, pic, etc or if I'm reading something outstanding, I'll post about it. Because all writers are readers first, right? Right!

This installment is about my current project, LEAVE THE NIGHT ON, which I'm super excited about! How could I not be since it involves awesome cars and hot men?? I'm using my husband quite a bit for research purposes. *wink, wink, nudge, nudge*

For the cars, people! Get your mind out of the gutter! He's a car buff and we have two project cars in our garage at the moment. Twice in the last few years, he's commandeered our kitchen table to rebuild an engine.

Note: Not my hubby, but he's pretty cute too:) Wyatt Abbott is the hero of LEAVE THE NIGHT ON, and Sutton is his heroine. Here he and his fraternal twin brother Jackson are discussing the state of their "relationship."

Jackson grabbed his arm and forced him around. “You like her.”

“Everyone likes her. She’s nice,” Wyatt said.

“I mean, you like like her.”

Twin powers were very annoying. “I maybe, sort of like her. What’s wrong with that? She’s single; I’m single.”

“She’s been single for less than a week. She’s using you.”

“Maybe I’m using her. You ever think about that? It’s been awhile since I hooked up.” Wyatt had to look away from his brother’s gaze once more which prompted a muttered curse from Jackson.

“Do not fall for this woman, Wyatt. Whether she means to or not, she’s going to rip your heart into little pieces and feed it to the gators before she goes back to her old life.”

“We’re not getting serious. She wants to have some fun, get a little crazy, and I’m more than qualified for the job.”

“As long as you don’t delude yourself into thinking it’s anything more than that. She’ll be back with Tarwater or someone like him by Christmas.”

Because the worry had already burrowed into his chest, Wyatt’s reaction was knee-jerk and defensive. “Someone like him?”

“You know, sophisticated. Worldly. Rich. Well-connected. Well-groomed.”

“Fuck you,” Wyatt shot back, but there was little heat to it. Jackson was right. “I’ve been told I clean up real nice.”

A rare smile bloomed over Jackson’s face changing his entire vibe. “Doesn’t count if it’s from a female relative over the age of sixty.”

“Sutton and I are hanging out and having fun. That’s it. No need to worry yourself over me.” They finished tidying the pit and took up posts on opposite sides of the open bay door. The sun trekked toward the horizon and threw orange and purple across the sky like a three-year-old finger painting.

“I don’t suppose you have a tuxedo I could borrow?” Wyatt finally asked.

Add LEAVE THE NIGHT ON to your GOODREADS shelf!
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And don't leave without signing up for my newsletter (on the left sidebar)...I like to giveaway lots of goodies:)

Super-duper, beyond excited that THEN HE KISSED ME was named a Best Romance of July not only by Barnes and Noble but Amazon as well!You can check out the links here:

BARNES AND NOBLE Best Romance for July
AMAZON Best Romance for July

I'm in the company of writers I've read and admired for years like Jill Shalvis, Susan Mallery, Joanna Lindsey and so many others!

The reviews for all the Cottonbloom Novels have blown me away. Thrilled that my quirky, divided little town on the Mississippi/Louisiana border has resonated with so many people! Check out an excerpt here.

​Buy Then He Kissed Me Now
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iBooks
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VIKING WARRIOR REBEL (Book 2 of the Viking Warriors series)
ISBN: 978-1492618874

Blurb
She can’t let him discover…Immortal Vikings are among us.

Astrid Irisdotter is a Valkyrie, a fierce warrior fighting to protect humanity from the evil god Loki and his brutal minions. She’s on an urgent mission for her queen when everything goes hideously sideways. Undercover agent Luke Holden arrives on the scene just in time to save her life—and put his own on the line. Luke may have saved her, but that doesn’t mean Astrid can trust him. Tempers flare as they hide secret upon secret from each other, but Astrid’s inner warrior knows what it wants…and it will not take no for an answer.



Bio
2016 double RITA finalist Asa Maria Bradley grew up in Sweden surrounded by archaeology and history steeped in Norse mythology, which inspired the immortal Vikings and Valkyries in her paranormal romances. She arrived in the U.S. as a high school exchange student and quickly became addicted to ranch dressing and cop shows. Asa currently resides on a lake deep in the pine forests of the Pacific Northwest with a British husband and a rescue dog of indeterminate breed. She graduated from the Inland Northwest Center for Writers program at Eastern Washington University with an MFA in creative writing and also holds an MS in Medical Physics from University of Colorado. Visit her at www.AsaMariaBradley.com, or follow her on Twitter @AsaMariaBradley.
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Pre-order links:
Amazon: http://hyperurl.co/0fx3ut
Barnes & Noble: http://hyperurl.co/2ojqh6
 
 
 
 

Race the Darkness: Cover Reveal and Excerpt

It’s precisely 7:22 pm ET, the sun has just set in the Eastern Time zone, and it’s starting to get dark.
We are excited to reveal the cover of Race the Darkness, a dark, gritty, emotional and sexy romantic suspense novel by debut author Abbie Roads!

I'm so excited to be able to share Pintip Dunn's upcoming release THE DARKEST LIE. Pintip writes thrilling YA, both dystopian (Forget Tomorrow series) and contemporary. This particular book finaled in the prestigious RWA Golden Heart® which is how I met Pintip. And, with no further ado, enjoy the cover, blurb, and an excerpt...
PS. Make sure you enter the Rafflecopter for a prize pack of amazing books!

 ABOUT THE DARKEST LIE
 
“The mother I knew would never do those things.
But maybe I never knew her after all.”
 
Clothes, jokes, coded messages…Cecilia Brooks and her mom shared everything. At least, CeCe thought they did. Six months ago, her mom killed herself after accusations of having sex with a student, and CeCe’s been the subject of whispers and taunts ever since. Now, at the start of her high school senior year, between dealing with her grieving, distracted father, and the social nightmare that has become her life, CeCe just wants to fly under the radar. Instead, she’s volunteering at the school’s crisis hotline—the same place her mother worked.
 
As she counsels troubled strangers, CeCe’s lingering suspicions about her mom’s death surface. With the help of Sam, a new student and newspaper intern, she starts to piece together fragmented clues that point to a twisted secret at the heart of her community. Soon, finding the truth isn’t just a matter of restoring her mother’s reputation, it’s about saving lives—including CeCe’s own…
 
THE DARKEST LIE: Goodreads | Amazon | Barnes & Noble  

The Darkest Lie, by Pintip Dunn
Excerpt
It’s time to view the body. Family first.

Well, technically, me first. There was always only three of us in the nuclear unit, and Dad’s been locked in the den for the past seventy-two hours. I’ve only seen him once, when he shuffled upstairs like a pajama-clad zombie and asked me if I’d eaten.

That was it: Did you eat?

Not: I prefer the cherry wood casket. Or: Let me make your grandma’s travel arrangements. Or even: I know this was Mom’s favorite dress, but isn’t the neckline a little...low?

Did I eat?

Yes, Dad. I had soup from the can and microwaved pizza rolls and a bowl of cereal. The food sloshes in my stomach now as I walk down the runner to the casket I picked out because of its mauve tint.

Calla lilies pile in urns around the viewing room, and the air-conditioning wars with the sweat along my hairline. My mom smiles at me from a portrait erected behind the casket. Her eyes are hesitant and a little wary, as if she knew, somehow, some way, she would wind up here. Lifeless. Pumped full of formaldehyde. About to be gawked at by a town full of gossips.

This was only going to end one of two ways—with Tabitha Brooks dead or in jail. I never thought I’d say this, but I’d give anything to see my mother behind bars.

I wade through the dense, chilly air and stop a few feet from the body. Behind me, my grandmother and aunt sit, a box of tissues between them, blowing their noses like it’s a sport.

“Look at our Cecilia,” Gram sniffs. “So brave. Not a single tear shed.”

If she only knew. I’m not brave. Fifteen minutes ago, I was retching into the toilet bowl. Five minutes from now, when the doors open for the visitation, I’ll be long gone, leaving Gram to shake people’s hands and deal with the bit lips, the knowing eyebrows, that inevitable speaking-in-a-funeral-parlor whisper. I can hear the titters: “Is it true? Tabitha’s heart stopped while she was boffing the high school quarterback? Why, she must’ve been twenty years his senior!”

Twenty-three years, to be exact, and a high school English teacher to boot. But she didn’t actually die during sex. Instead, a few days after Tommy Farrow came forward with their affair, my mother took her own life.

What could be a clearer admission of guilt? She might as well have been caught in the act. The investigation was shut down before it even began.

I take a shuddering breath. Two more minutes. A hundred and twenty seconds and then I can leave. I steel my shoulders and walk the final steps to my mother’s body.

Oh god. It’s even worse than I thought.

The room whirls around me, and nausea sprints up my throat. My hands shoot out to grab the casket, stopping short of actually touching the corpse.

This . . . this thing . . . can’t be my mother. She never smiled like that, all serene and peaceful-like. She never wore this much makeup; her red hair was never chopped so closely to her head. My mother was chaos and passion, devastation and joy. Dad used to say you could reach deep into her eyes and pull out a song.

Well, her eyes are closed now, and I’m not sure there’ll be any music in my life, ever again.