New Release Blitz for The Vampire’s Angel by Damian Serbu (excerpt and giveaway)


Title:  The Vampire’s Angel

Author: Damian Serbu

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: March 19, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 106400

Genre: Paranormal Romance, LGBT, historical, gay, paranormal, vampire, revolution, magic

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As Paris devolves into chaos amidst the French Revolution, three lives intertwine.

Xavier, a devout priest, struggles to hold on to his trust in humanity only to find his own faith threatened with the longing he finds for a mysterious American visitor. Thomas fights against the Catholic Church to win Xavier’s heart, but hiding his undead nature will threaten the love he longs to find with this abbé. Xavier’s sister, Catherine, works with Thomas to bring them together while protecting the family fortune but falls prey herself to evil forces.

The death, peril, and catastrophes of a revolution collide with a world of magic, vampires, and personal demons as Xavier, Thomas, and Catherine fight to find peace and love amidst the destruction.

 Exclusive Excerpt

The Vampire’s Angel
Damian Serbu © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Garden Meeting

Back at his church, Xavier worked in his small garden even after darkness fell and the nearby lantern barely illuminated the street around it, let alone his humble plants.


Startled, he whipped around.

“I’m sorry to startle you again.”

Xavier cleared his throat, nervous. It was the man from earlier in the day, with the long black hair, piercing brown eyes, and American accent. “I didn’t hear you approach.” Xavier wiped his hands on his robe.

They stared at each other until the stranger broke the silence. “Perhaps I should introduce myself. Thomas, Father. Thomas Lord.”

Xavier cocked his head, quizzical. “You’re not from Paris.”

“What gave me away?”

“Your accent. And complexion.”

“I’m here on business.”

“Welcome to Paris. Let me know if I can be of any assistance.” Xavier wanted to say more, to keep the man near him, but he was at a loss for words. How strange.

“I—I wondered if… Can I go to confession? With you.”

Xavier smiled. “You’re not Catholic, either.”

“No,” Thomas said. “I’m not. I’m not Catholic, nor of any religion. And I’m not in Paris on business. I’m here by myself and felt lonely. I saw you protect that little girl earlier this evening and thought perhaps you could show me around Paris. I’m from America and wanted to see the rioting.” He stopped. “Sorry to babble.”

Xavier studied Thomas, noting his musculature, even in the dark. It prompted the most sinful of thoughts. “I doubt you’ll find Paris too welcoming these days, but I’d be happy to show you around.” He paused, considering. “You needn’t lie anymore. Just ask if you want my company.”

“Can you forgive me, Abbé? I was confused about your being a priest and what etiquette to use,” Thomas said, watching for Xavier’s response.

“You weren’t sure if I had the time for a heathen?” Xavier smiled. “Or did you fear some divine judgment? Well, don’t. As I said, I’d be delighted to show you Paris.”

“You don’t mind that I’m not Catholic?”

“Not all of us are so narrow-minded as to demand a certain brand of faith from everyone we meet. All of us are God’s children, after all.”

“What am I supposed to call you, then?” Thomas asked, picking at the sleeve of his coat. “Abbé? Father?”

“Since you don’t seek spiritual counseling, and so long as you promise not to enter my confessional, how about Xavier?”

Thomas grinned and a strange little spark danced down Xavier’s spine. “Agreed,” he said. “What would you think of starting my tour of Paris at the Seine? I love the breeze and view of Paris from there.”

“I’d be delighted.” Xavier nodded and smiled in return.

They sauntered toward the river, engaged in easy conversation. Xavier told Thomas about the riots, about the king, and about his view of the revolution. They chatted about mundane matters with no particular destination or motive. Xavier hated that the night ended when they returned to his church and bid adieu. He hoped, with butterflies in his stomach, to see Thomas again, but his fear of rejection kept him from saying anything further.


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Meet the Author

Damian Serbu lives in the Chicago area with his husband and two dogs, Akasha and Chewbacca. The dogs control his life, tell him what to write, and threaten to eat him in the middle of the night if he disobeys. He previously authored several novels now out of print, and is excited to reignite his writing with Ninestar Press!

Coming this fall, his latest vampire novel: The Vampire’s Protégé. Keep up to date with him on Facebook, Twitter, or at

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Release Blitz – Breaking the Rules (Infinity series #3) by C.J. Lynne (excerpt and giveaway)



Book Title:   Breaking the Rules (Infinity series #3)

Author:  C. J. Lynne

Publisher:   Self-published

Cover Artist: C. J. Lynne

Genre/s:  LGBTQ, Romance, Erotic.

Length: 101 000 words/234 print pages.

It can be read as a standalone story.



Two self-assured men are about to find out what happens when they come face-to-face with what neither realizes they’re searching for…each other.

Ben Jameson is a very successful club owner who likes things the way he likes them.  He tried the serious relationship routine a few years ago, and that ended badly. Since then, he’s put in place carefully-constructed rules that he steadfastly lives by:  Work hard, treat people fairly and absolutely no fooling around with his employees—ever.  However, when his new head bartender waltzes into his life, Ben finds it nearly impossible to deny his attraction to the carefree, handsome man who makes him want to shatter his own rules, take a walk on the wild side, and live a little…if he dares.

Jared Jensen has moved to California from Chicago seeking a brand new start.   In Chicago, he left behind an unsettling situation that caused monumental upheaval in his life.  The very last thing on his mind is getting involved with anyone…but then he meets Ben Jameson, and all bets are off.  Not even the fact that Ben is his new boss can deter Jared from honing in on the gorgeously frustrating man who’s determined to keep their relationship on a strictly professional level.  

As resolute as Ben is to keep Jared at arms’ length, Jared’s doubly focused on getting Ben to acknowledge—and surrender to–the palpable lust exploding between them.  All he wants is a chance to show Ben how good they can be together…and he won’t rest until Ben breaks his ridiculous rules and grabs the unexpected chance they’ve both been given to find a love unlike any other.  

What Jared doesn’t count on, though, is his past coming back to savagely bite him, just as Ben decides to give their relationship a chance.   An impossible decision soon looms before Jared: Will he have to leave the one man who means everything to him in order to keep him safe?


Ben’s eyes widened and he rushed to the desk to look at the perfectly balanced spreadsheets with awe.  “Fuck me, you did it.”

“Of course, I did,” I said with contrived offense. “I told you I would.”

“Yeah you fucking did.” He grinned and slapped me hard on the back as I stood.  “Thanks, Jared. Shit, you saved my sanity.”

“Welcome,” I responded returning his grin.  Stretching my hands over my head I asked, “Now how about our drink?”

“It’s on me,” Ben said, walking to the door and holding it open for me.

“That’s very generous of you considering you own the club,” I said and he laughed.

He winked at me and assured, “I’m a generous kind of a guy.”

I didn’t disagree with that assessment one little bit.  I’d seen how kind and compassionate he was since I’d started working here.   Granted that was only one night, but everyone I’d met tonight who worked at Infinity loved him. I hadn’t heard one bad word said about him, and in an establishment this large, that was saying something.

“Mmm, then you won’t object to my opening a bottle of Dom Perignon to celebrate?”  

I expected him to tell me I was out of my mind suggesting popping the cork on such a ridiculously expensive bottle of champagne for just the two of us, but without missing a beat, he shrugged and said, “Sounds like a wonderful idea to me.”

When we reached the now-empty bar and club, I lifted the bar pass to retrieve the champagne.  Once I’d uncorked it and poured us both a flute, I returned to sit beside Ben. Lifting my glass in a toast I said, “To your books being balanced.”

“I’ll fucking drink to that,” he said, relief evident in his voice as he clinked his glass with mine before taking a long drink.  “Mmm, that’s good.”

“Yes, it is,” I agreed after sampling my drink.   

“Thank you again, Jared, for your help.”

“I was happy to do it,” I assured, refilling both of our glasses.  

We sipped our champagne enjoying the quietness of the usually buzzing environment…and I dared to think, each other’s company.  I know I was relishing sitting here with Ben, sharing a drink, watching him unwind. As I lifted the bottle to refill our glasses, my eyes encountered his heated ones and I placed the champagne back onto the bar before I dropped it.  Damn, the look he’s giving me is…fucking potent.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” I asked with a tilt of my head, barely able to contain myself while I waited for his answer.

“Your eyes are…” his voice trailed off as he searched for words.

“What?” I prompted raising my glass to my lips.  I nearly choked on the sip of champagne I’d taken when his eyes dropped to my mouth and he—shit—licked his lips like he was thinking of—

“So incredible,” he finished, reaching out a hand to lightly touch the side of my face as he stared at me with hungry eyes.  “You are—”

“Please, don’t stop…especially if you’re about to flatter me some more,” I joked with a crooked grin.

He shook his head, chuckled and gripped my chin between his thumb and forefinger.  “You are such a smartass.”

I leaned closer and agreed, “Guilty.”

“I want…”  His thumb caressed my chin, his light touch igniting a blaze of need in the pit of my stomach.

“Take whatever you want from me, Ben,” I seriously told him, waiting with baited breath to see if he would.

Buy Links – Available on KU

Amazon US Author Page 

Amazon UK Author Page

About the Author 

C.J. is first and foremost an avid reader of romance.  Nothing is better than watching two strong-willed people meet, connect and work through personal challenges while fighting to overcome internal and external obstacles to be together.  

C.J. is a southerner who believes that love is love, and if you’re ever lucky enough to find it, you should hold onto it with both hands and feet.  C.J. writes love stories filled with emotion and hopes you—the reader—will enjoy them as much as C.J. enjoys creating them.

C.J. writes M/M romances with heart and heat.  She believes that love is love and if you’re ever lucky enough to find it, you should hold onto it with both hands and feet.

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A MelanieM Review: Mage of Inconvenience by Parker Foye


Rating: 4 stars out of 5

Can they find the magic in a practical union?

West is on the run from his werewolf pack, but if he cannot renew his magical defenses, he won’t get far. What he needs is a mage….

Julian is part of a wealthy and ancient family, and one day, his legacy will include his mother’s vast library of spell books—and the knowledge he needs to correct his past mistakes. But his inheritance comes with a stipulation: he has to be married before he can collect. What he needs is a husband….

West and Julian can help each other, and at first they don’t want anything further. But as they dodge meddling cousins, jealous rivals, and an insidious drug, it becomes clear that their lives are entwined in ways they never imagined—and they’re in greater danger than they thought possible.

Parker Foye developed a sizable agenda for themselves with Mage of Inconvenience.  Foye had to develop a large enough universe to contain both witches and werewolf societies  (I’m talking extended families, cultures, laws, set across a sprawling geographical map), then start to tunnel it down to encapsulate the two men at the heart of Mage of Inconvenience, West and Julian.  We get alternating povs that let’s us see the desperate situation that each man or being find’s himself in that leads up to their marriage of convenience. A great job in all cases with the world building.

Of particular note is the creation of the drug Rabid that’s spreading through the shifter population with devastating effect.  You see this drug through West’s eyes as he observes addicted shifters and through bits and pieces of his memories. It pulls on your emotions as you will make direct ties to today’s drug problems.  Julian’s needs seem completely separate and different…at first.  He wants to inherit his mother’s estate and keep it out of the hands of greedy relatives.  To do that he needs to marry and soon.  West fits the bill nicely.  Of course there is much more to it than that.

The characterizations are nicely layered, the plot has a great many twists and turns that will keep you suitably shocked and surprised, and, it’s still suspenseful  enough to keep you on the edge of your seat right up until the edge of the seat. While it did get a little soft around the middle, I still thought the writing was smooth and flowed all the way to the end.

I liked the slow build to trust and romance here and in some cases, it has the feel of a much larger story.

Love the supernatural?  And romance?  How about both together?  Dreamspinner Press’ Dreamspun Beyond is doing a fantastic job of combining both and Mage of Inconvenience by Parker Foye is a perfect example why.  Pick it up and try it out today.

Cover art:  Aaron Anderson.  Love the cover. Great Job.

Sales Links:  Dreamspinner Press | Amazon

Book Details:

ebook, 212 pages
Expected publication: March 20th 2018 by Dreamspinner Press
Edition LanguageEnglish

New Release Blitz for The Moth and Moon by Glenn Quigley (excerpt and giveaway)


Title:  The Moth and Moon

Author: Glenn Quigley

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: March 19, 2018

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 63000

Genre: Alternate Universe, Historical, LGBT, historical, gay, friends to lovers, sailor, baker, pirates, family drama

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In the summer of 1780, on the tiny island of Merryapple, burly fisherman Robin Shipp lives a simple, quiet life in a bustling harbour town where most of the residents dislike him due to the actions of his father. With a hurricane approaching, he nonetheless convinces the villagers to take shelter in the one place big enough to hold them all—the ancient, labyrinthine tavern named the Moth & Moon.

While trapped with his neighbours during the raging storm, Robin inadvertently confronts more than the weather, and the results could change everything.


The Moth and Moon
Glenn Quigley © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Mr. Robin Shipp pulled his cap lower as he took a deep breath of salty morning air and watched the sun emerge from behind the headland. Stepping from the pier into his little boat, he ran his heavy hand across the prow, catching his coarse fingers on the loose, chipped paintwork. He picked a jagged flake off the wooden frame and held it up to the light, the vivid scarlet catching the pinks and oranges of daybreak. He let go and it drifted through the air, carried away on the gentle breeze, before settling on the soft, lapping tide. Most of the paintwork was in some state of distress. Deep cracks marbled the entire hull, belying the fisherman’s profound affection for his vessel. Bucca’s Call had seen better days.

“I’ll paint you tomorrow, Bucca, I promise,” he said.

He made this very same promise every morning, but every day, he found some reason to put it off. Before too long, he was humming to himself and hauling his well-worn oyster dredge over the stern of Bucca’s Call.

“Beautiful!” he said as he emptied the net into a nearby tub. The shells clattered against one another as they fell. The boat bobbed about gently on the waves while gulls screeched and circled overhead. Her nameplate was missing a couple of letters and her white sails were truthfully more of a grimy beige these days, but she was as reliable as ever.

He was close to the shore and could see the whole bay—from the headland to the east, down to the harbour, past the pale blue-and-white-striped lighthouse that sat out at sea on its desolate little clump of rocks and scrub, and over to the beautiful sandy beach curving around and out of sight to the west.

The little fishing village of Blashy Cove sloped up the hills beyond the harbour, and with his gaze, he traced the low, stone walls lining each cobbled road. It was the only significant settlement on the tiny island of Merryapple, the southernmost point of a little cluster of islands nestled off the Cornish coast. The village had everything one would expect to find, except a place of worship. No lofty cathedral had ever been built there, no church of granite and glass, not even the smallest wooden chapel. When the empire of the Romans had fallen a thousand years earlier, its church had fallen alongside it. The invaders hadn’t lingered long on the mainland, and had never set foot on these islands. Once they were gone, the people picked through the remains, seeing the value in certain aspects and thoroughly disregarding the rest, scouring the regime clean from the face the world and consigning it meekly to the tomes of scholars and students. In its absence, the old gods returned to their forests and deserts, their mountains and streams, their homes and hearths. Spirits of air and land and sea. Woden and Frig, The Wild Hunt and the Bucca, piskies and mermaids, the Green Man and the wights, all were changed, made kinder and gentler by their brief exile. On these islands, the old ways had been the only ways, but even these had mostly died out, sloping into traditions, superstitions, and habits. It was now August in the year 1780, and people believed in themselves.

At this time of morning, sunlight hit the brightly painted houses and sparkled on the gentle, rolling waves. The village’s livelihood mainly revolved around the sea, but there was more to life than just luggers and lines and lobster pots. The Cove had long been a haven to those of a more creative bent. Painters and sculptors, engineers and inventors, they all found their home there. Some of them had come from the nearby Blackrabbit Island, which wasn’t known for its love of the finer arts. This abundance of skill, and the nurturing of it, meant Blashy Cove had adopted some innovations not yet common in the rest of the world.

Robin had been out for some time by now and, as usual, had already eaten his packed lunch. Soon, his substantial belly rumbled and he decided it was time to head back to port. Packing away his nets, he heaved in his empty lobster pots, secured the tub filled with this morning’s catch, and sailed the small craft homeward. As he did, he noticed a thin, grey line on the horizon.

“Looks like some bad weather on the way, Bucca,” he muttered to the little boat.

The stern of the curious little craft sat low in the water, due equally to the weight of the morning’s catch and the significant heft of Robin himself. While at first it appeared to be a traditional lugger, the kind of boat used by most fishermen in this part of the world, Bucca’s Call was actually much smaller and faster, a one-of-a-kind built many years previously.

Huge ships from the mainland drifted past, their enormous sails billowing in the breeze. Merryapple was part of a small group of southerly islands, and the last sight of land some of the mighty vessels would see for weeks, or even months.

Merryapple Pier was the oldest one anybody knew of. The brainstorm of a local fisherman many years earlier and copied by many other villages since, it might well have been the first of its kind. This clever fisherman realised if there was a way for larger boats to offload their cargo directly, rather than having to put it onto smaller vessels to ferry back and forth between harbour and ship, it would increase the traffic through the little port. The pier stretched out past the shallower waters near the coastline. Little sailboats like Bucca’s Call could dock right up close to the beach or even on the sand, if need be, while bigger fishing vessels could use the far end, in deeper waters. The pier was constructed from huge boulders hewn from the island’s cliff face and supported by a framework of long wooden poles from the woodlands. In the evening, bigger boats from the village fleet usually dropped anchor in the bay, while smaller vessels stayed moored to the pier.

At the shore, some children were chasing each other around a pile of crab pots, hooting and hollering while May Bell finished her deliveries for the bakery. May was around the same age as the other children, but she was of a more industrious bent. She saw Bucca’s Call approaching and ran to help Robin secure his mooring line as he lugged the tub of oysters onto the pier. When he clambered up the weathered stone steps, he steadied himself with a hand against the wall. The steps were wet and slippery, with dark green mould threatening to envelope his heavy boots should he linger too long.

“Morning, Mr. Shipp,” the girl called as she finished tying the worn rope around an old, pitted stone bitt.

“Mornin’, May! Thanks for your ’elp,” he called back, waving to the girl as he lumbered past. Taller than any man on the island, he dwarfed the little girl, drowning her in his shadow.

“Time for food already?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” replied Robin, “an’ I know just the place to get some!”

His legs were stiff from sitting in the boat all morning. He knew he was supposed to get up and move around a bit every once in a while, but when he was out on the water, the chatter of the gulls, the lap of the waves, the smell of the sea air, it was all so relaxing he just didn’t notice the time going by. Only his stomach growls marked the hours.

Mrs. Greenaway, wife of the village doctor and a friend of May’s parents, happened to be passing by on her way home from the market. Seeing their exchange, she scrunched up her face, adjusted the bow on her bonnet, and seized the little girl by the arm, leading her away from the pier and avoiding Robin’s disappointed gaze. He knew May from the bakery, as the master baker was one of his very few friends, but it wasn’t uncommon for people to avoid him.

Robin heaved the awkward tub full of oysters up and marched towards the bustling market, which was a collection of simple wooden stalls selling everything from food to clothes to ornaments. He edged his way through the crowd, past various stallholders and shoppers as he struggled with the heavy container. Finally, he reached the largest stall, which sold all manner of fresh seafood, all caught in that very cove. Robin specialised in inshore fishing, whereas the other boats concentrated their efforts farther out to sea. He was one of only two oyster fishermen in the village. The other, Mr. Hirst, was ill and hadn’t been out in his craft for almost two weeks. He was married, with a young family to feed, and the village had rallied around to help and make sure they didn’t go hungry. The lack of competition, however, meant Robin was securing a bumper crop.

A tall, thin man in a white coat was scribbling notes onto a wad of yellow paper. In front of him lay a collection of various local fish, in everything from buckets to barrels to battered old copper pots.

“Got a nice batch for you this mornin’, Mr. Blackwall.” Robin beamed, holding up the tub so the fishmonger could get a good look.

“Yes, these will do fine, I suppose, Mr. Shipp. Put them down at the front.” Mr. Blackwall was notorious for not getting too hands-on with the product or with much of anything, really. He kept his distance from the beach and fairly resented having to be even this close. Wet sand upset him greatly, as it had a tendency to cling to his shiny boots and sometimes it even marked his pristine coat. He didn’t do any of the actual work with the fish, instead leaving it to his assistants. He’d often said he didn’t see the point of having a stall at all when he had a perfectly good shop on Hill Road. But the market was a tradition in Blashy Cove, and so he had no choice but to participate or lose out. He jotted some numbers down on his paper and then chewed the end of his pencil as he tried to add them up. He always did this, and he never did it quickly. Robin stooped and laid the tub on the ground as instructed, grunting as he straightened.

“Joints sore again?” the fishmonger asked out of sheer politeness, not looking up from his calculations.

“No more’n usual,” Robin replied, rubbing the small of his back and rotating his shoulder. Working the sea wasn’t easy, and it had taken its toll over the years.

Ben Blackwall reached into his inside pocket and produced a fistful of polished coins, which he delivered into Robin’s large, callused hands. Robin nodded appreciatively and stuffed them into the pockets of his calf-length, navy-coloured overcoat. Tipping his floppy, well-worn cap to his long-time buyer, he turned and headed away from the dock.

He passed by other villagers going about their morning routine and jumped out of the way of a horse and cart loaded with apples from the orchard over the hills as he headed straight for the immense building dead ahead. It was a massive, ungainly lump, set in the centre of a spacious courtyard, all crooked wooden beams and slanting lead-paned windows. Every now and then, a shabby bay window or wonky dormer jutted out at funny angles. It was hard to tell exactly how many floors it had. Five, at least, the topmost of which sat like a box that had been dropped from a great height onto the rest of the structure. Rumpled, uneven, and crooked, this odd addition had one large, circular window on each of its four walls. On the ground outside, wooden tables and chairs were arranged, and heavy planters overflowed with hardy, perennial shrubbery. A couple of fat seagulls noisily argued over a few crumbs dropped near the windbreakers. This pair were here so often, they seemed to be part of the building itself. The locals named them Captain Tom and the Admiral. Captain Tom was the leader of a particularly noisy and troublesome band of gulls, and the Admiral was his main rival. They would often fight over even the tiniest scraps left on the ground, and both were marked with more than one battle scar.

As he pulled on the heavy oak door, the sign hanging overhead creaked and groaned in the wind. Painted on chestnut from the nearby wood, the bulk of the sign was older than the village itself, but it had been modified many times. Formed of several expertly carved layers, it now looked more like a child’s pop-up book rather than the simple plank of wood it had once been. The overall effect was of peering through a forest, out over the cove at night. The outermost tier resembled a ring of tree branches, gently moving up and down. Behind that layer were the turbulent waves, which clicked from side to side. Finally, there was the static crescent moon with a single cerulean moth flying slowly around, completing one revolution every hour. The whole sign ticked and whirred endlessly as its springs and cogs went about their work, and had to be wound up twice a day using a long, metal key kept tucked behind the tavern’s main door. The name of the establishment was weaved around and through the artwork in gold.

This wasn’t simply a place to drink or gather with friends; it was a place to conduct business, a place where people married, and a place where people mourned. It was a refuge from bad weather and jilted lovers. This was the heart and soul of the little village.

This was the Moth & Moon.


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Meet the Author

Glenn Quigley is a graphic designer originally from Dublin and now living in Lisburn, Northern Ireland. He creates bear designs for He has been interested in writing since he was a child, as essay writing was the one and only thing he was ever any good at in school. When not writing or designing, he enjoys photography and has recently taken up watercolour painting.

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Blog Tour Jace’s Trial (Trials in Abingdon #1) by JM Wolf (excerpt and giveaway)



Book Title: Jace’s Trial (Trials in Abingdon Book One)

Author: JM Wolf

Publisher: Encompass Ink

Cover Artist: Rue Volley

Genre/s: May/December, Contemporary Romance, HEA,

Length: 87K Words/230 Pages

This is Book 1 in the series, but can be read as a standalone story.  No cliffhanger.

TRIGGER WARNING: This book contains content of physical and mental abuse, grieving, and bottled emotions.



Life is a trial full of obstacles that stand between you and your goals. Do you have the courage to face your own trial? 

Jace Garrison was a musical prodigy at Juilliard ready to take the world by storm. Everything he could ever want out of life was unfolding right before his eyes, until everything came crashing down at once. 

With his muse gone, along with everything he loved, will Jace find the courage to move on?

Former Navy SEAL Gerard Ramhart had always played by his family’s rules and traditions. Until he fell in love with Riley Garrison. Unfortunately, before Gerard had the courage to propose to the man he loved, Riley’s life was taken away. Gerard was left devastated, with only his memories of Riley and the pain of losing him to keep him going.

One year after Riley’s death, Gerard finally makes it to Riley’s hometown in Abingdon, Virginia and meets his son Jace for the very first time. Two men grieving over the loss they shared, and during their time of heartache, something blossoms. Can Gerard help Jace find the will to live the life he’s meant to have? And can Jace find his muse and accept his feelings for Gerard, despite the fact that Gerard once belonged to his father?

Buy Links – Available on KU

Amazon Universal Link:

Amazon US  

Amazon UK 


I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but I sat up on his lap, his arms falling to his sides, but he remained motionless. I stared in awe as I began trailing my fingers up his body, from his hip bones, trailing along his defined abdominal muscles, up his pectorals feeling the tuffs of chest hair tickling the skin of my fingers. I continued from his collarbone and up his neck until my palms rested on the man’s cheeks. Gerard stirred, but never woke.

I tilted my head slightly and marveled at the man that once held my father’s heart, but now was quickly beginning to worm his way into mine. I wished I knew an artist who would be able to capture Gerard’s face on paper perfectly so that I could look at it every night after his trip in Abingdon was over. I didn’t want to think of him leaving. I just wanted to revel in the stunning work of art that was Gerard Ramhart. All man, all muscle, and how I wanted him to be mine. I wasn’t afraid to admit it to myself anymore. I wanted him, so fucking bad; but would he ever be mine? Would I ever get to feel what it was like to be his? Would I ever know what it was like to have his lips on mine?

Instinctively, my thumbs began running along his dark thickly grown beard and then to his lips. I remembered that moment when he was stepping out of the shower, and we almost shared a kiss. Almost. I never stopped thinking about it, and the desire to kiss him at that moment was making my heart practically beat out of my chest.

As if my body had a mind of its own, I began leaning down, bringing myself closer to Gerard’s face. My face was inches away from his. I could feel his breath on my skin, and his full lips were close, oh so close. My heart was thundering so loud I was worried Gerard would hear it and wake up. This may have been my only chance to kiss him, and I didn’t want it to slip by. I got closer and was about to press my lips to his when Gerard’s eyes shot open.

Oh fuck, I was so screwed. I had no way to explain this. I pulled back some to looked into his startled eyes. I opened my mouth to try to say something, anything, but what the fuck could I say?

“I-I…Gerard, I’m –” my words were cut off immediately when his hand cupped the back of my head, and his free arm around my waist. Gerard pulled me down to him and embraced me in a deep soulful kiss.

I was taken aback by the sudden embrace, but not enough to pull away. When the initial shock wore off, I closed my eyes and gave back as much as Gerard was giving me. And holy fuck, was he giving me something that was literally stealing my breath away.

The kiss was not how I imagined it. I’d been kissed by many guys growing up, including Brett. I didn’t know if it would be possessive, rough and demanding like Brett’s or dull and lifeless like some of the casual flings I had to entertain my libido. I thought it would be simple but nice, like when Adam and I shared our first kiss, but it wasn’t. They all paled in comparison to the feel of Gerard’s lips on mine.

The kiss was heated, but not enough to devour me. It was filled with affection, longing, desire, wholesome. Gerard was kissing me as if he’d been waiting for centuries to do so, and now that he had me, he wanted to treasure the moment. He wanted to cherish me. I had never felt so desired by a man in all my life, and my eyes burned as if I would cry at the realization.

Was this how my father felt when he kissed Gerard? Was this how it felt to have someone kiss you like you were wanted? I couldn’t begin to comprehend how badly I wanted this moment, how much I needed it. Gerard was claiming me, and I wanted to be his.

About the Author  

JM Wolf never thought he would one day say that he’s a published M/M romance author. Having a poet for a mother and a sister who once ran a blog, it was only a matter of time before JM discovered his writing genes. In the beginning, his sole purpose in life was to be a singer/songwriter. Writing lyrics was the first step putting his thoughts onto paper. Even while singing, JM always found time to dabble with writing little short stories but never thought too much about it.

Once he reached adulthood, his music dreams left him, but not the feeling for writing down what was in his mind. However, that didn’t mean music no longer played a part in JM’s life. His debut book The Black Feather was inspired by one of his favorite songs. Whether lyrics or love stories, you will always find JM’s heart and soul in every word on paper.

JM Wolf lives in Chesapeake, VA with his husband and in-laws. When he’s not writing, you can always find him reading a good book, spending time with the love of his life, or jamming out to music. He didn’t pick the world of literature, the literary world picked him.

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In the Spotlight: Cutie Pies by Barbara Bell (giveaway)


Cutie Pies by Barbara Bell

Riptide Publishing
Cover Art: L.C. Chase

Release Date:  March 19, 2018

Purchase Link:  Riptide Publishing | Amazon



Hi, I’m Barbara Bell, romance author extraordinaire, and welcome to the blog tour for my debut novella Cutie Pies! Over the next week I will be travelling the internet sharing some thoughts on my book. Follow along and join the discussion!


About Cutie Pies


Joey works at Cutie Pies, the smallest adult store in Sydney. After his parents kicked him out years ago, the haphazard shop became his home away from home and is the only place where he can embrace his queer, quirky, and—okay—sometimes a little awkward self.


When Mick, a new-to-town customer, walks in asking for a dildo, Joey thinks it’s all a part of the day’s work. Except Mick’s large dark eyes, shy smile, and kissable lips—along with the ten-inch dildo he bought—quickly win him a starring role in Joey’s nightly fantasies.


Joey can’t stop thinking about him, and Mick’s continued visits to the store make him even harder to forget. Mick is shy and sweet, but also secretive and uncertain. As the two grow closer together, Joey starts to wonder what Mick really wants from him, and whether he can risk falling in love with someone who might not be free to love him back.


About Barbara Bell


Barbara Bell grew up on a sheep farm in rural Australia, moved to Brisbane when she was nineteen to study film, and now lives in Sydney with an ever changing cast of housemates and a colony of bees.


She is an avid traveller, a proud geek, and loves telling stories about human relationships and how strange and silly (but also beautiful) they can be. She began writing when she was eleven years old and believes it’s probably too late to break the habit now.


To celebrate this release, one lucky winner will receive a copy of Cutie Pies! Leave a comment with your contact info to enter the contest. Entries close at midnight, Eastern time, on March 24, 2018. Contest is NOT restricted to U.S. entries

New Release Blitz for Tomboy by Janelle Reston (excerpt and giveaway)


Title:  Tomboy

Author: Janelle Reston

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: March 19, 2018

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 17000

Genre: romance, historical, LGBT, Historical, lesbian, 1950’s, tomboy, student, blue collar, mechanic, NASA, scientist, friends to lovers

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Some kids’ heads are in the clouds. Harriet Little’s head is in outer space.

In 1950s America, everyone is expected to come out of a cookie-cutter mold. But Harriet prefers the people who don’t, like her communist-sympathizer father and her best friend Jackie, a tomboy who bucks the school dress code of skirts and blouses in favor of T-shirts and blue jeans. Harriet realizes she’s also different when she starts to swoon over Rosemary Clooney instead of Rock Hudson—and finds Sputnik and sci-fi more fascinating than sock hops.

Before long, Harriet is secretly dating the most popular girl in the school. But she soon learns that real love needs a stronger foundation than frilly dresses and feminine wiles.


Janelle Reston © 2018
All Rights Reserved

The first time I met Jackie, I thought she was a boy. Of course, she was only eight then, an age when most humans would still be fairly androgynous if our society didn’t have the habit of primping us up in clothes that point in one direction or the other.

Jackie was in straight-legged dungarees, a checkered button-down shirt, and a brown leather belt with crossed rifles embossed on the brass buckle. Her hair was short, trimmed above the ears.

“Who’s that new boy?” my friend Shelley whispered as we settled into our desks. It was the first day of fourth grade, and Mrs. Baumgartner had made folded-paper name placards for each seat so we’d know where to go. Shelley always sat right in front of me because our last names were next to each other in the alphabet. She was Kramer; I was Little.

I looked at the blond cherub in the front row. He—as I thought Jackie was at the time—had his gaze set toward the ceiling, eyes tracing the portraits of the US presidents that hung at the top of the wall. A cowlick stuck up from the back of his head. He reminded me of Dennis the Menace, the mischievous star of my new favorite cartoon strip, which had debuted in our local paper that summer. I liked the way Dennis talked back to adults but somehow never got in trouble for it. I wished I had the same courage.

Mrs. Baumgartner walked into the room. The class fell silent and we straightened in our chairs, facing her. “Good morning, class. I’m your teacher for this year, Mrs. Baumgartner.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Baumgartner,” we answered in unison. She spelled her name on the chalkboard in cursive and asked us to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. Back then, the Pledge didn’t have the gist of a prayer like it does today; “under God” wasn’t added to “one nation indivisible” until three years later, after Eisenhower became president. I wiggled my toes around in my hand-me-down saddle shoes as we recited the words.

The trouble began when Mrs. Baumgartner started to take attendance. “Jacqueline Auglaize?”

“Here, Mrs. Baumgartner,” Dennis the Menace answered from the front row.

Mrs. Baumgartner narrowed her eyes. “New year at a new school, and we’re starting with the practical jokes already?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Will the real Jacqueline Auglaize please speak up? This is your only warning.” Mrs. Baumgartner’s eyes scanned the room. I craned my neck around. I hadn’t noticed any new girls in the classroom before our teacher’s arrival, but maybe I’d been distracted by the Dennis the Menace boy.

“I’m Jackie Auglaize, ma’am,” Dennis the Menace piped up again.

Mrs. Baumgartner’s face screwed up as if she’d accidentally sucked on a lemon. “What you are is on the way to the principal’s office, young man.”

“I’m not—”

“And a detention for talking back.”

Mrs. Baumgartner called on one of the other boys to escort the new, nameless student to his punishment. From chin to scalp, Dennis the Menace’s face turned red as a beet. His flushed ears looked almost purple against his pale hair.

Kids playing pranks didn’t blush like that.

“I think that really is a girl,” I whispered to Shelley. But if she heard, she didn’t respond. She knew better than to turn around in her seat when a teacher was already angry.

An hour later, Mrs. Baumgartner was quizzing us on our classroom rules when the school secretary appeared at the door. In tow was a student in a frilly cap-sleeved blouse, knee-length blue corduroy jumper with a flared skirt, lace-trimmed white bobby socks, a pair of shiny black Mary Janes—and short blonde hair.

The cowlick stood like a sentinel at the back of her scalp despite the hair polish that had clearly been combed through since we’d last seen her.

An audible gasp filled the classroom. Actually, it was multiple gasps, but they happened in such synchronization that they had the effect of a single, sustained note.

“Mrs. Baumgartner,” the secretary said, “Jacqueline Auglaize is ready to return to the classroom. We’ve explained the school dress code to her mother. The behavior of this morning won’t be repeated.”

“Thank you, Miss Hamilton. Welcome back, Jacqueline.”

Titters filled the room as Jacqueline walked toward her desk. Mrs. Baumgartner slapped her ruler against her desk. “Does anyone else want a detention?”

We went quiet. Detentions are never an auspicious way to start a new school year.

We spent the rest of the morning learning how to protect ourselves from atomic explosions. Mrs. Baumgartner said this knowledge could save us now that the Soviets had the bomb. “When an air raid siren goes off or you see a bright flash of light, duck and cover underneath a table or desk, inside a corridor, or next to a strong brick wall. Then pull your sweater or coat up to cover the back of your neck and head,” she explained.

We all squatted under our desks as instructed. My father said the Russians weren’t stupid enough to bomb us, that they loved the common people and wanted to protect us. But Mrs. Baumgartner seemed to think they were. She went on in excruciating detail about the things that could happen to us if we didn’t duck and cover. Glass from broken windows could fly in our faces, we could get a terrible sunburn from the blast; pieces of ceiling might drop on our heads. I wasn’t sure whom to believe about the bomb—my dad or Mrs. Baumgartner. I didn’t want to think about it. I shut out my teacher’s voice and stared at my scuffed saddle shoes, pondering how a boy could magically turn into a girl in the wink of an eye.

“She’s not a girl,” Shelley insisted as we walked out to morning recess. “Girls can’t have hair like that.”

“They can if they cut it.”

“But no mother would let a girl wear her hair so short.”

“The school wouldn’t let a boy wear a dress to class.”

Shelley must have been won over by my logic, because the next thing that came out of her mouth was, “Maybe she has a little brother who likes to stick gum in people’s hair.” Shelley’s brother had done that to her once, but since he only got it on the tail end of her braid, she hadn’t lost much length to the scissors when her mother cut it out. “Or she got lice. Yuck.”

I didn’t like the direction of Shelley’s last comment. As it was, the new girl was guaranteed to have very few friends after the morning’s clothing incident. If the lice rumor spread, she’d have no friends at all. I’d been new once too.

“She doesn’t look dirty,” I said. “Maybe her hair got caught in an escalator and they had to cut it off.” I was terrified of escalators. My mother had warned me never to play around on one or my clothes would get snagged between the steps and I’d be pulled in, then smashed as flat as a pancake. Back when she worked in a department store, before marrying my dad, she saw a lady get caught by the scarf in an escalator’s moving handrail, and it would have been death by strangling if an alert gentleman with a penknife hadn’t been nearby to free her. I still get a little on edge every time I step onto one.

We got in line to play hopscotch on a board a couple other girls had drawn earlier that morning. I looked around. The whole school was out on the playground, and it was harder than I would have expected to find a short-haired girl in a blue jumper. There were lots of blue corduroy jumpers darting around the swings and monkey bars and jungle gym. Wanamaker’s must have featured them in its back-to-school sale that year. My dress wasn’t new. It was a hand-me-down from my older sister, with a ribbon tie and a skirt made with less fabric than the newer fashions. Shelley and I had done a test run of our first-day outfits the previous week, and no matter how fast I spun around, my skirt failed to billow as dramatically as Shelley’s.

Still, I tried to make the skirt swing gracefully as I hopped down the squares. I had no desire to be dainty, but I liked the aesthetic of fabric twirling in the air. We went through the hopscotch line four times before I finally spotted Jackie. She was over by the fence, poking at the dirt with a stick. Alone.

That last bit was no surprise.

It took three more rounds of hopscotch before I worked up the nerve to go find out what she was doing.

“Where are you going?” Shelley called as I marched off.

I didn’t answer her, afraid I’d lose my momentum. It was risky talking to an outcast. On the one hand, it was the only way to turn her into not-an-outcast. On the other hand, it might turn me into one too.

“What are you doing?”

Jackie looked up. “Thinking about digging a hole to China.”


NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Kobo

Meet the Author

Janelle Reston lives in a northern lake town with her partner and their black cats. She loves watching Battlestar Galactica and queering gender. You can keep up with her at



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Trying Times and Scattered Thoughts. This Week at Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words


Trying Times and Scattered Thoughts

This week I’m still trying to wrap my head around several thoughts this week, none of which is actually coming together into an cohesive post.   That’s the impact of all the events of the last week is having on me I guess.

Without even knowing the people involved, I’m hurting for them.  And our LGBTQIA  community.  I don’t know why I would think that the harm to the  community would always come from outside. Several times that’s proven not to be the case.  Santino Hassell is not the first case of catfishing, but  he has also hurt others in far worse ways.  That story is still unraveling.

Then there is the deeply disturbing events that lead to Riptide Publishing cutting all ties to  Sarah Lyon, ex Editoral Director, and Kate DeGroot, ex freelance editor and regrouping.  So many elements there to occupy my mind, but floating to the top have been things like “POC can’t be on book covers because they won’t sell. ”  And the obvious racism that existed at every corner there for some personnel/authors.  In an age of diversity, when we are talking about Quiltbag fiction…how can we still be facing such blatant racism?

Any why was it allowed to continue?

I get the power imbalance.  How could any of those authors speak up?  It would  cost them their stories and perhaps their livelihood. Or the artists who design covers they authors get to choose from.  I bet they got the message loud and clear to begin with. But truly?  Now, here?  Isn’t it time for us to be done with this?

But then I started to look through all the stories, catalogs, tons of covers…and noticed a dearth of yes, POC.  I began to wonder….are there more people like Sarah out there  telling artists and authors in our community …”don’t put POC on the cover, it won’t sell…”.  What an insidious, mean, racist sentence.  Guaranteed to make someone without power stop and think, and perhaps pull back.

I think it’s becoming clear..yes racism is with us…even in the LGBTQIA community.  We just need to choose to recognize it.  And then deal with it in a positive manner.  Help support those authors and publishers going forward towards  diversity across the spectrum in every way.

What are your thoughts on this and this whole sorry week.  Mine clearly are still coming together….

This Week at Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words

Sunday, March 18:

  • This Week at Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words

Monday, March 19:

  • DSP Promo Sarah Black on American Road Trip
  • BLITZ Tomboy by Janelle Reston
  • Livingston (Trenton Security #1) by J.M. Dabney Release Day Blog
  • A MelanieM Review:Livingston (Trenton Security #1) by J.M. Dabney
  • A Stella Review One Under by JL Merrow
  • An Alisa Review: No Rulebook for Flirting by Laura Bailo

Tuesday, March 20:

  • Blog Tour Jace’s Trial by JM Wolf
  • BLITZ The Moth and Moon by Glenn Quigley
  • TOUR Cutie Pies by Barbara Bell
  • A MelanieM Review:  Mage of Inconvenience by Parker Foye
  • An Alisa Review: Captive Hearts (Deviant Hearts #1) by A E Ryecart
  • A Barb the Zany Old Lady Audiobook Review: A Wild Ride (The Bullriders #1) by Andrew Grey and John Solo (Narrator)

Wednesday, March 21:

  • DSP Promo Julia Talbot
  • BLITZ The Vampire’s Angel by Damian Serbu
  • Release Blitz – Breaking the Rules by C.J. Lynne
  • A Caryn Review The Weekend Bucket List by Mia Kerick
  • An Alisa Review: The Paramedic Who Hated Jazz by Stephani Hecht
  • A Stella Review: Jace’s Trial (Trials in Abingdon #1) by J.M. Wolf (

Thursday, March 22:

  • DSP Promo S.E. Harmon
  • TOUR The Vampire’s Angel by Damian Serbu
  • RELEASE DAY BLITZ Moon Illusion by Michelle Osgood
  • An Ali Review: ​​​​Oskar Blows a Gasket​ by Al Stewart​
  • A MelanieM Review: Partner with Benefits (Kolar Creek Tales) by Val Francis
  • A Barb the Zany Old Lady Audiobook Review: How to Bang a Billionaire (Arden St. Ives #1) by Alexis Hall and Joel Leslie (Narrator)

Friday, March 23:

  • DSP PROMO SJD Peterson on Going Of Grid
  • Release Day Blitz for Leaning into the Look by Lane Hayes
  • Tour and Giveaway: One Under by JL Merrow
  • A Lila Release Day Review:   Going Off Grid by SJD Peterson
  • A MelanieM Review: One Under by JL Merrow
  • An Alisa Audiobook Review: Permanent Ink (Art & Soul #1) by Avon Gale and Piper Vaughn /Kirt Graves (Narrator)

Saturday, March 24:

  • A MelanieM Review: Murder Takes the High Road by Josh Lanyon

Release Blitz – Dusk (Expedition 63: Book One) by T.A. Creech (excerpt and giveaway)



Universal Buy Links

Length: 42,700 words approx.

Publisher: JMS Books


When contact is lost with Mission Control, Commander John Dennington isn’t overly concerned. Such hiccups in communication are common. The first inkling of the larger problem occurs when he sees the very shape of the world change before his eyes.

John must ease his crew into a new mission and keep the Station together by any means necessary. The crew jeopardizes their chances by fighting his orders, but Jason Weiss, his mission specialist and the light of his life, makes John’s situation more bearable.

The smallest malfunction to Station or crew would spell the end for six astronauts trapped high above a ruined Earth. It’s their mission to carry on. Random chance of the universe hasn’t operated in their favor so far, but John is determined to see them all safely home.


“Nobody’s going to be angry if you literally can’t get a hold of them,” John tried to placate him. The wrinkled nose on his cool bronze face didn’t reassure him that Yakecen would let it go, but he had to try. His prickly friend was going to blow a gasket one day and John hated the thought.

Yakecen confirmed his fear with a shake of his head, simple crow black braid swishing against the interior panels like an agitated cat’s tail. “I don’t want to get dressed down again. The last time, the asshole on the other end of the line said she’d put a reprimand in my file if I couldn’t stay on schedule.”

That was news to him. “Who told you this?”

“Some drone in Control. I don’t remember,” he told John, the discomfort in his whole body clear as day. Yakecen wasn’t a people person on his good days and when someone had a problem with his work, it just made him dig his heels in.

John sighed and ran his index finger down the bridge of his nose. It didn’t help the headache that brewed right behind his eyes. “I’ll get it straightened out. People can’t expect everything to go perfectly all the time and they shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“Thanks, John.” Yakecen meant it, John saw it in the earnest way he thanked him. John was happy to be the buffer for his crew, especially for Yakecen, but fuck, he hoped someone would take up the duty once they back on the ground. John had plans and he couldn’t do that job full time.

John nodded and started to back out of the capsule. “So, yeah, comms are down. Just sit tight, okay?”

“Sure thing.” Yakecen ducked out of sight between the seats. “And tell whoever has the camera to knock off with the flash. It’s so bright, going off in here, that it almost gave me a headache.”

John paused. A camera flash wasn’t anywhere near that strong and the interior wasn’t that dark. And someone would’ve made a lot of racket getting past the garbage container over his head. “You see who it was?”

“No,” was the muffled answer, but his crewmember popped up again and gave John a strange look. “I didn’t see anyone when I checked. Although, how any of our guys avoided me seeing them, I’ll never know. Saito even has a problem getting in here.”

Saito was the smallest of them all, barely five feet in his socks.

“Huh.” That was peculiar. “You know, Turlach was saying the same thing. Maybe Saito knows something about it. He’s been in Destiny for a few hours now.”

“It was annoying as fuck.” Yakecen popped back out of his spot and pointed a finger at John. He hated that finger, because Yakecen always managed to have a disapproving look that matched John’s mother’s so perfectly, he thought they were clones for a second. “I don’t have a problem with the candid shots, but not while I’m working in here. It’s too dark for it.”

“Understood,” John promised.

About the Author

I am a house-parent to a rambunctious small child and happily mated to an equally rambunctious military spouse. My adventures in writing began with fanfiction, and once I was hooked I never looked back.

While I’ve always tried to make my fanfiction unique, what I enjoy most about creating original work is the ability to delve into my stranger ideas without worrying about how I might apply them to someone else’s world and characters. With my own creations, I take pride in twisting familiar tropes into something new and unexpected.

When I write, it is with the intention that my stories will leave a lasting impression. I hope you enjoy the characters and the worlds I create, and that they help you to find a place to exist, for a while, outside of your own.

–T.A. Creech



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Riptide Publishing – A New Statement


Riptide Publishing – A New Statement


As the situation as Riptide Publishing has progressed from bad to worse and many authors are still pulling their books from the publisher, here is the latest statement from that house:



What does that mean for  some of your favorite authors?  Well, you will need to go to their author and FB pages to see who exactly is leaving.  Some authors like Garrett Leigh, LB Gregg, Alexis Hall, Lisa Henry, Cari Z (some of her stories will remain as she explains on her FB page) KJ Charles, Christine d’Abo, Vanessa North, Roan Parrish, JA Rock, among others have stated they are pulling their stories.  Authors that have stories linked to series like the Porthkennack or Bluewater Bay universes will have those stories remain with Riptide Publishing, can they can’t “unlink” them as the Origin World itself belongs to the publisher. Others still like Ally Blue are caught up with contractual obligations and have no other option but to stay. So many complications. I feel for them all.

Many are offering these authors free covers, editing services, help with self publishing, promo work etc. Help will be needed as you can imagine.  Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words is offering up our sidebar space to all the ex Riptide authors (no cost) for them to help promote their new releases on a rotating basis as well as Book Spotlight Promos too to replace the tours they’ve lost.

Riptide Publishing has closed down for  all new submissions.  What does this mean for their future? I have no idea.

Even now other authors are coming out with their own stories of horror about Sarah Lyon, the racism they experienced and more.  I don’t think this is over yet.

Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words is going to honor our commitments to the authors at Riptide Publishing to review the stories we have in house and the tours we have scheduled.  We in no way want to hurt the authors that are innocent here.

What we will do in the future is under heavy discussion at the moment should we be asked for any future tours if Riptide Publishing survives.  That it will remains to be seen.  More work is needed starting at the top before people can believe in them again. But to do that you need to survive, and that’s looking bleaker by the minute.

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