Rachel Thompson

Jack Canon's American Destiny

Friday, May 31, 2013

Orangeberry Free Alert - HORSES AND HEROIN by Bev Pettersen

Horses and Heroin - Bev Pettersen

Amazon Kindle US

Amazon Kindle UK

Genre - Romantic Suspense

Rating - PG

4.6 (153 reviews)

Free until 4th June 2013

A talented rider disappears without a trace.
His frantic sister poses as a student.
A private investigator's plans for quiet recuperation are shattered.

Megan is determined to find her missing brother even though no one else at the illustrious California Jockey School seems to care. Her only ally is a recuperating PI who unfortunately is the owner's best friend. Soon she is caught between a blossoming romance and a far-reaching conspiracy...where misplaced trust can be deadly.

Orangeberry Book of the Day – Trouble in Paradise by Deborah Brown

A Brand-New Madison Westin Novel, with More Craziness in Tarpon Cove…

Remember Madison? What she had to go through… inheriting her aunt’s cottages was peanuts compared to what awaits her in TROUBLE IN PARADISE, the latest addition to the Paradise Series.

What is big news in small town Tarpon Cove? An accidental drowning or maybe even a ruthless murder? When a dead fisherman rolls up on the shore of Tarpon Cove, Madison cannot resist but to jump into her new role as Private Investigator, with only one goal in mind: to solve this intriguing mystery of the dead guy. But things do not go as Madison wants as she discovers that people in small towns are usually tight lipped, and that is certainly the case for the residents of Tarpon Cove. Although a hot bed for gossip, in a town where everyone knows everyone’s business, what is safer than keeping your mouth shut?

But that is not all…

With Madison’s tenant assessment skills not shaping up, her cottages are still full of riffraff, and it has become Tarpon Cove’s hotbed for illegal affairs. Madison teams up with her best friend and Glock-carrying Fabiana… Together they take on cases no other investigators would ever dare to touch in Tarpon Cove or anywhere else. Sometimes a girl needs a bubble bath and a fun book. So draw your bath and dive into Madison’s adventures!

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Mystery

Rating – PG13

More details about the author

Connect with Deborah Brown on Facebook & Twitter

Thursday, May 30, 2013

Orangeberry Book of the Day – Killer Work from Home Jobs: 460 Jobs SUPER BOOK by Lee Evans


What’s in This Book?

Killer Work from Home Jobs: 460 Jobs SUPER BOOK, has 160 NEW jobs, 200 jobs from Killer Work from Home Jobs 1, and 100 jobs from Killer Work from Home Jobs 2. There’s no story. No lessons. Just jobs! Economical too – it’s three books in one. SUPER BOOK identifies Fortune 500 & Legitimate Work at Home Jobs from global, national, mid-sized and start-ups with wings.

Why You Need This Book!

Killer Work from Home Jobs: 460 Jobs SUPER BOOK will help you accomplish your dream.

  • Is it finally time to find a job so that you can work from home?
  • Do you really want to trudge hours to work every day?
  • Are you looking for an honest work from home opportunity?

The idea for the Killer Work from Home Jobs Series came from the fact that I trudged to my job, as manager of someone else’s business, wondering why I wasn’t happy. I was good at what I did, achieved the company’s goals, made good money, received accolades, but something wasn’t right, there was no sense of fulfillment.

I can’t convey the melancholy I felt, I worked hard to achieve success, earned every academic credential, had a resume to swoon over. But I wasn’t a happy camper. Was this all there was?

Once I decided to work at home, it was amazing, I jumped in the air and clicked my feet! Killer Work from Home Jobs: 460 Jobs SUPER BOOK is dedicated to all those who just can’t go back to work. In addition to the “I can’t take it any mores” of the world, this book will help many who have other compelling reasons, as well. The need to work from home runs deep. Taking the first step to working at home will make you jump for joy.

How is This Book Different?

How is Killer Work from Home Jobs: 460 Jobs SUPER BOOK different from other work from home books? It is the largest compilation of home-based jobs available on Amazon today.

  • Is the company financially healthy?
  • Has the company been around for awhile?
  • Does the company have a global footprint?
  • Does the company have “money in the bank?”

My months of research answered these questions, to provide you with key company data.

My Promise to You

I verified all links in Killer Work from Home Jobs: 460 Jobs SUPER BOOK at publication. Since companies change web pages, and job needs, if any of the links don’t work, simply contact me at Free-Job-Search-Websites.com, I’ll provide you with revised link info & you can get notice of new books, too.

You’re not just buying a book, you’re buying my promise that I’ll tirelessly provide you with the most up to date info at my disposal. I want to help you make your dream come true!

Learn how to find Killer Work from Home Jobs

Genre – NonFiction / Business / Job Hunting

Buy Now @ Amazon

Rating – G

More details about the author

Connect with Lee Evans on her

Website http://www.free-job-search-websites.com/

Orangeberry Free Alert - Still Fine at Forty - Dakota Madison

Still Fine at Forty - Dakota Madison

Amazon Kindle US

Amazon Kindle UK

Genre - Contemporary Romance

Rating - R

4.6 (7 reviews)

Free until 1st June 2013

It all started with a Girl's Getaway Weekend in Sedona, Arizona...
It's been a year since Jennifer Ellis's ex-husband left her for a much younger woman and Jennifer still hasn't dated. Now turning 40, Jennifer wonders if she'll ever find love again. So Jennifer's best-friend, Melanie Malone, books them on a Girl's Getaway in picturesque Sedona, Arizona in hopes of inspiring Jennifer to have a vacation fling.
Jennifer gets more than she bargained for when she meets the ruggedly handsome 29-year old tour Jeep guide, Cody Miller, and the two begin a passionate romance. What Jennifer doesn't know is that Cody has a secret past that not only threatens to destroy their new love but also expose a tragic event from Jennifer's past that she has tried desperately to forget.

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Orangeberry Free Alert - How I Wrote 2 eBooks in 21 Days by Glen Stanford


How I Wrote 2 eBooks in 21 Days - Glen Stanford

Amazon Kindle US

Amazon Kindle UK

Genre - Non Fiction

Rating - PG

4.6 (55 reviews)

Free until 2 June 2013

Ride a hilarious roller coaster with Glen Stanford as he follows Steve
Scott's plan in "How to Write a Nonfiction e-Book in 21 Days!"
Not one to let the writing process cramp his style, this ukulele-playing,
bluegrass-singing YouTube sensation (32 views and counting) juggles his
new-found fame with astonishing persistence to produce not one, but two
works of genius. This is the true story.
FIVE CRITICAL Reasons you MUST read this book
1. America's Funniest Recipes want you to read this book
The (secret) recipe for success:
Writer's buzz - 1 oz
Sleepless nights - 2 oz
Tenacity (and beer) - 7 (units left deliberately vague)
Irreverence and political incorrectness - to taste
Espresso - administered intravenously - 55 gal
Pizza (1/2 pepperoni, 1/2 mushroom) - 37 slices
Humility - a whole bunch
Blend and enjoy.
2. Chuck Noris wants you to read this book
You gonna argue with Chuck? I'm not! He is a huge believer in the power of
laughter because it leads to the lowering of stress hormones. This is
the carrot AND the stick - lower your stress by laughing and you won't
have to worry about Chuck getting angry with you at the same time.
Chuck Noris is from Dubuque, Iowa and is in no way related to Chuck
Norris, the consummate actor karate-guy who would probably kick my ass
if I used his name without permission.
3. The Bible wants you to read this book
The Good Book says "A joyful heart is good medicine" (Proverbs 17:22).
Then again, it also says "Judas hanged himself" (Matthew 27:5) and "Go
and do likewise" (Luke 10:37) so you gotta be kind of selective when you
pick your quotes from this 1700-year-old classic.
4. It's flipping funny and Rated PG, too
While I might dance around some edgy subjects, I never want my readers to squirm. I leave that to the Ben Stilers of the world.
Ben Stiler is in no way related to the incredibly funny Ben Stiller,
whose masturbatory comedic genius (when he's not meeting some Fokker)
always leaves you with a chuckle.
All of my books are swear-word-free. I tire of today's "comics" who resort to f-bombing
their material as if dirty words are the main ingredient instead of an
occasional spice.
The worst word you'll ever hear from me is "crap." Feel free to substitute something stinkier if it makes you feel
better, but honest humor shouldn't have to rely on shock jock laziness.
Then again, Howard Stearn made $100 million with his lesbian obsession and I
sell my books for the price of a cup of coffee, so what do I know?
When you see the word "flipping," you are also free to substitute something
racier, like "freaking." It's your theater of the mind, and you are the
only one taking the tickets.
That is, unless you object to me using the word "Damn" in the subtitle. That's just too funny to pass up,
and I'm #%$#&! using it.
P.S. Howard Stearn is in no way related to the radio professional Howard Stern, for whom I have only the
greatest respect. Baba Booey. Oh, and "lesbian" isn't a dirty word
anyway, nana.
5. For Writers only
You will uncover nuggets of resources that will be incredibly helpful on your journey to write
and publish your own book. You'll just have to suffer through the fun
stuff to uncover them. Think of it as a treasure hunt.
Chuck, America's Funniest Recipes and the movie Rating Board all want
you to read this book (and probably Ben and Howard, too). I wouldn't
mess with any of them. So it's no coffee for you today -  you have a
hormone level to lower.

Orangeberry Book of the Day – Surrender by Melody Anne


Raffaello (Rafe) Palazzo takes what he wants with no regrets. Arianna (Ari) Lynn Harlow has led a charmed life until tragedy strikes her family. He’s looking for a no-emotions attached mistress, she’s looking for redemption.

They are not a pair that should ever work, but undeniable attraction and devastating tragedies bring them together in the city by the bay where he fights to keep their relationship nothing more than an enjoyable way to meet his needs, and she battles to not lose herself in him. Spending time with Ari starts cracking the hard shell that Rafe has built around his heart, but he denies the affect she has on him until it’s too late to stop the inevitable conclusion that their relationship is headed for.

Rafe once believed in happily ever after, coming from a large Italian family. He’s got the Midas touch, since every endeavor he tries turns to gold. That all ends when his wife walks out the door and leaves him blindsided. His devastation quickly turns to steel when he decides no woman will fool him again. From that point on he treats relationships as nothing more than business transactions where both party’s come out mutually benefited.

Just when Ari has sunk to the lowest she’s ever been she finds an ad in the paper announcing a job that’s too good to be true. It turns out she’s right. She makes it through the intense rounds of interviews only to find out the job is for a mistress to the powerful Rafe Palazzo, owner of Palazzo Enterprises. Rafe gives her a day to think about whether she wants the position or not, and she’s sent on her way, only to find out her mother’s near-terminal position has taken a turn for the worse. Her mom’s only in the hospital because Ari messed up, and her mother’s the one who paid the price. Is Rafe her savior, or will he take her with him straight to the depths of hell?

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Contemporary Romance

Rating – 18+

More details about the author

Connect with Melody Anne on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://www.melodyanne.com/

Orangeberry Book of the Day - Too Many Secrets (Cleo Sims Mysteries) by Lynn Osterkamp

Chapter 1

December 11

Waves of nausea overwhelmed me as I rushed into Turley’s Restaurant at noon that icy December day. A blast of hot air smelling of fish, burgers, onions and such sent me careening to the ladies room to avoid puking on the dining room floor. Amazingly, once I was inside the safety of the stall, I managed to avert the worst, containing my sickness to dry heaves. I hurried out to the sinks to make myself presentable for my lunch meeting with Bruce, the local dot-com millionaire who funds an experimental project that is a major part of my grief-therapy practice. I was a wreck. I'd had a miserable morning, I was late to a meeting with Bruce who prizes promptness, and my shaky queasiness exacerbated my anxiety about why Bruce had summoned me.

As I calmed my breathing and dabbed at my face with a wet paper towel, the ladies room door flew open, letting in a tall blond woman wearing designer jeans and a red ribbed turtleneck, topped with a necklace of multicolored glass beads. My best friend Elisa, looking stunning as always. We both jumped in surprise, then she darted over and enveloped me in a welcome hug. “Cleo? Honey, you look under the weather. Is the morning sickness getting worse?”

“Shhh,” I said. “Let’s not spread the news all over Boulder.” I wasn't ready to tell the world about my pregnancy, since I was only three months along, and Pablo and I aren’t married. So far Elisa and Pablo are the only ones who know.

Elisa pulled back, looking up and down the room. “Sorry for the blabbing, but you know me. Sometimes my mouth works faster than my brain. The good news is it looks like we’re alone in here. Now let’s fix you up a little,” she said, straightening my sweater. She grabbed a comb out of her bag and worked some magic on my hair.

I felt better right away. Elisa is like a big sister to me. The kind of sister who knows how to do stuff you don't, but never makes fun of you. She just helps.

“You’re a lifesaver,” I said, “but I have to run. I’m already late for my lunch meeting with Bruce.” I headed for the door.

Elisa waved me on. “Oh—you’re meeting Bruce! Well hang in there, honey, and call me later with the scoop.”

Back in the dining area, I scanned the room a couple of times. Didn’t see Bruce. Deep breath. Maybe I’m not as late as I thought? But no, there he is sitting with a petite dark-haired woman in a booth next to a brick wall. Unexpected. Bruce is a brilliant guy who works all the time. Divorced. No social life. Who is this woman and why did he bring her?

I hustled over to their table and slid into the booth across from them, my mind on autopilot running through possible menu choices that my gut would be willing to tolerate. “Sorry to be late,” I muttered, hoping my winning smile would distract from my tardiness. “Good to see you, Bruce.”

“Hi, Cleo, I thought you forgot. This is my sister, Gayle. She needs your help.”

Whew! A relief on that score. Good to know he hadn’t summoned me to talk about problems with the funding for my Contact Project.

Gayle gave Bruce a poke. “Whoa, Bruce. This isn’t a computer-programming job. It’s personal. Let’s take a few minutes before we dive in.”

“Okay, let’s order first, then talk,” he said, burying his face in the menu.

As we perused our menus, Gayle’s cell phone rang. She answered, and jumped up. “No,” she said sharply into the phone. “That’s not acceptable.” She turned to us. “I have to take this,” she said. “Be right back.” She dashed toward the door, talking intently into the phone with her hand over her other ear to block the restaurant noise.

“Gayle’s a real estate agent,” Bruce explained. “Her phone is her life.”

We sat quietly looking at our menus. Bruce isn’t much of a talker. He’s a techie. Brainy, but basically shy. Even though he’s forty-five and a self-made multi-millionaire, his social skills aren’t well developed. He’s one of those guys who goes around looking at the floor or off into the distance so he doesn’t have to make eye contact. Small talk is definitely not his forte.

Gayle darted back across the room to our booth. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m ready to order if you two are.”

I took a last look at the menu. Turley’s trademark is its healthy food, and in addition to more traditional lunch and dinner entrees, they serve breakfast all day. Knowing I needed protein for the baby, I decided on a garden omelet with mushrooms, spinach, and tomato with toast on the side. Hoped I could get it down with the help of a ginger ale. Bruce ordered a buffalo burger with a side of fresh fruit, and Gayle ordered the sesame spinach salad with the dressing on the side.

“So like I was saying,” Bruce began as the waitress left to turn our orders in, “Gayle needs some help from you.”

I turned to her. “Would you like to tell me about it?”

She took a deep breath and launched in to her story. “You’ve probably heard about the woman who went missing from the Rainbow Lakes Campground in the Indian Peaks Wilderness area a few weeks ago.”

“I did,” I said. “Do you know her?”

Gayle looked down at the table silently for a couple of minutes, her shoulders slumped as if the weight of her problem was a burden too heavy to lift. When she finally looked up, tears streamed down her face. “She’s my best friend, Sabrina—or maybe I should say she was my best friend. She’s probably dead. But they can’t find her and we don’t know what happened to her and that’s even worse.” She wiped her face with a tissue, but her tears continued to flow.

Bruce put his arm around Gayle’s shoulders and hugged her. More empathy than I would have expected from him, but then again until today I didn’t even know he had a sister. All I know about Bruce is what he told me in his grief therapy sessions after his eighteen-year-old daughter died from a drug overdose. He’s such a private person, he would have never come for grief counseling except that his business partner—who saw how paralyzed Bruce was after his daughter’s death—insisted. Bruce’s relationship with his daughter had been stormy for several years before she died, and his deep regrets that they hadn’t made peace had intensified his grief.

Gayle continued wiping her face as she struggled to regain her composure. But I could see grief winning out. "Take your time," I said gently. "I know it's hard to talk about."

Her face crumpled. “I’ve cried so much in the past few weeks that I’ve made myself sick,” she sobbed. “I’m totally devastated about Sabrina.”

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and collected herself. “Okay. I’m ready to tell you the story,” she said quietly. “I was part of the group at the campground—there were six of us who’ve been friends for years. We each went off separately on our personal journeys and Sabrina never came back. We searched, the rescue groups searched, the dogs searched, the helicopter searched. But no one has found her. And now they’re calling off the search.” She closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat.

The waitress showed up with our lunch. I took a quick bite, which actually tasted good. Bruce spread mustard on his burger and bit in.

Gayle picked at her salad. “I was blown away when Bruce told me about your Contact Project—that he actually talked to his daughter Charlene after she died and how he resolved things with her,” she said, her voice perking up a little. “At first I didn’t believe him when he said you put him in your apparition chamber. It’s so unlike Bruce to have anything to do with the paranormal. He debunks everything. When he told me he reached Charlene, and they forgave each other and said goodbye, I knew it was real for him.”

Bruce put his burger down. “I don’t debunk everything,” he said.

“Ha!” Gayle said. “Remember when I played the DVD of that movie, What the Bleep Do We Know? for you last year? You went on and on about how it misrepresented science, that it was pseudoscience, and quantum mysticism. You weren’t open to it at all, even though so many people liked it that it’s made over $16 million.”

Bruce scowled. “Gayle, the science was unsupported and incorrect. New Age hogwash. One of their so-called experts turned out to be a 35,000 year-old spirit from Atlantis.” Bruce gave her a self-satisfied grin as he speared a chunk of pineapple with his fork and returned to eating.

She laughed and gave him another poke. “Bruce, I’ve told you before, you totally missed the point. The movie is supposed to blow your mind, not engage it in an analysis. It’s about learning to become the creative force in your own life, instead of being a victim of circumstances. My friends and I have watched it over and over. We know group consciousness can change reality. If you looked up from your computer now and then, you’d see.”

They were off the track here, but I hesitated to break into habitual brother-sister banter. Also, I figured Gayle needed a few minutes to relax before we talked more about her missing friend. I focused on my lunch, thankful I could eat without gagging.

Bruce ignored Gayle’s jeers and turned to me. “Here’s the thing, Cleo,” he said. “Gayle needs to go into your apparition chamber and try to contact Sabrina to find out if she’s dead or alive. She needs to know and the sooner the better.”

Uh oh. As soon as Gayle said they didn't know whether or not Sabrina was dead, I should have guessed this was what Bruce wanted. But my apparition chamber is for grief-therapy clients who want to reach a loved one to resolve an issue, not for solving missing-person cases. I didn't want to refuse Bruce's request, but I had concerns about Gayle. “I understand that it’s hard not knowing what happened to your friend,” I said. “But the contact process may not make you feel any better.”

Gayle looked straight into my eyes. “It’s not about how I feel,” she said intensely. “It’s about how Sabrina’s sister Brandi has taken over Sabrina’s house and her son Ian. Sabrina would be furious. She expressly didn’t want that to ever happen. If she’s dead, everything is in trust for Ian, and I’m Ian’s guardian. But Brandi jumped in as soon as Sabrina went missing, and right now she has control. So I need to know if Sabrina is dead or alive.”

“I’m not sure the contact process can answer that question,” I said. “You could try to reach her, but if you do, it wouldn't constitute legal proof of her death, and if you don’t, that doesn’t mean she’s alive.”

Bruce broke in. “Actually I’d already thought of that,” he said. “I want you to do a thorough job. If Gayle can’t reach Sabrina, then the other women who were up there should try. In fact, why not start by meeting with all of them and telling them about the process. Get some of that group consciousness going. I’ll pay for your time—whatever it takes.”

Before I had a chance to think about how else to voice my reservations, Bruce slid out of the booth, stood up, and picked up his coat. “I have to go. You two can go on from here. Gayle can keep me updated.” He nodded at us and headed for the door.

“Oof!” Gayle said. “That’s my brother. Makes his point, and ducks out before the discussion gets complicated. But I suppose you’re used to his tactics.”

I shrugged. I'd have to go along, at least for a while. Not only had Bruce been very generous in funding my Contact Project, all he’d asked of me was that I operate professionally and that he remain anonymous as a funder. So even though the timing wasn’t ideal for me to get involved in a situation that smelled like trouble, I didn’t see any other options. “No problem,” I said. “Here’s my card. Call me and we can set up a time to talk more.”

Buy Now @ Amazon & Smashwords

Genre - Mystery

Rating – PG

More details about the author & the book

Connect with Lynn Osterkamp on Twitter

Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Orangeberry Blast Off – Sam’s Top Secret Journal: We Spy (Book 1)


Sam’s Top Secret Journal – Book 1: Sam Spies by Sean Adelman. Join Sam as she embarks on her first big adventure in this middle-grade mystery full of fun, suspense…and just the right amount of spying! Sam is a middle school girl living a normal life-except when she is occasionally bullied for the differences kids perceive in her. Sam has Down syndrome. See how she and her brother John work together to find some stolen money, help a new friend and escape real danger in this exciting adventure!

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Middle Grade Mystery

Rating – G

More details about the author

Connect with Sean Adelman on Facebook

Website http://www.raiseexpectations.com/

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Orangeberry Free Alert - Jack Templar and the Monster Hunter Academy: The Templar Chronicles: Book 2 by Jeff Gunhus

Jack Templar and the Monster Hunter Academy: The Templar chronicles: Book 2 - Jeff Gunhus

Amazon Kindle US

Amazon Kindle UK

Genre - YA, Fantasy

Rating - PG

4.6 (14 reviews)

Free until 30 May 2013

After barely surviving the onslaught of monsters that tried to kill him the day before his fourteenth birthday, Jack Templar leaves his hometown on a quest to rescue his father and discover the truth about his past. Joined by his friends Will and T-Rex, and led by Eva, the mysterious one-handed monster hunter, Jack sets out for the Monster Hunter Academy where he hopes to find answers to his questions. Little does he suspect that the Academy is filled with dangers of its own, many of them more terrifying than anything he’s faced so far.

For the Future Generations (For a Generation) by Anastasia Faith (Excerpt)

Introduction: The Middle Country - 5.1.3014

In a sleeping chamber with walls made of a bluish-white metal, a young teenage girl sat on a suspension bed covered with white linens. Outside her window, the sun had just risen over the horizon and the moon had disappeared, taking the home of the lunar district from sight. It cast its first rays over her hometown, the region of Goltem in the district of Gresle. Goltem was the capital region—better known as “city to most—of Gresle. (The federal government of the girl’s country had changed many commonly-known terms to keep its subjects separate).

The girl lived in a nation known as “The Middle Country”, which had taken over what had once been the United States. The girl gazed the brightening sunlight through her sleeping chamber window, then looked down at her lap, in which she held her mobile device, a combination of a phone, music player, calculator, messenger, and global positioning system. She tapped the touch-screen twice, the equivalent of right-clicking on a computer mouse. When a control menu appeared, the girl browsed the options until she found the one she needed. She tapped the “new journal document” option and tapped it. A new document appeared, and the temporary title—”new journal entry”—highlighted, allowing her to rename the document. The girl paused as she thought of a name, then typed over the highlighted field and erased the default title.

“Matthia’s Blog”, she typed on the on-screen touch-keyboard.

Matthia tapped the screen to open the journal document and began to write her first entry:

Matthia’s Blog - 5.1.3014 - <mghbe1>

There is a world where we are trapped under government control, learning only what they tell us of the countries outside, which is not much.

This is a world where it is normal to enlist child soldiers to fight. Here, child labor is a major contribution to the economy. Some sources say most nations forbid this practice. Euthanasia, controlled birth, and abortion after the first time a couple gives birth are also acceptable and enforced, even if it goes against the moral convictions of the victim or those performing the act.

There is no fostering care for orphans. If a relative or friend won’t assume their care, or can’t because they already have a child, they are forsaken to die or are sent to an orphan farm. Technically, from information I’ve scrapped together, this is supposed to be the church’s job. But with religion outlawed, that’s not an option.

This world, the residents are taught, is far superior to any other countries or powers. This is The Middle Country, where the United States used to be. This is the world where I, Matthia Hefner, was born.

Now that you have been introduced to the basics of my world, here’s a little bit about my life, and my world in detail:

My world’s population control policy has always caused a lot of confusion in me, because I cannot justify ordering people with opposing beliefs to conform to law. With that said, let me explain my nation’s most foundational laws:

The Middle Country government restricts the number of times a couple can give birth, not the amount of children they can have. Since the most children a couple can give birth to at one time without fertility drugs is five, that being extremely rare, and because the statistical number of multiples born decreases when fewer people are born, there is no need for selective reduction laws.

This “number of births” law also applies to adopted children. You can only adopt one child, or one set of multiples provided you don’t already have one. Middle Country teens are released to the work force at fourteen, but are not emancipated from their parents until the age of sixteen when they can legally operate a transport. They are no longer counted as a one of the times their parents gave birth.

As you can probably imagine, it required enormous amounts of clearance from the local ruling offices for my father, a Scandinavian-descended man to marry my mother, a half Georgian, half French woman. We are all legally united into one country, but the fifty district-level governments are particular. My parents married during our country’s transition from a republic to a totalitarian government with strict regulations on marriage and family life (The Middle Country had fully shifted to a dictatorship a few months after I was born).

However, my dad worked as an intelligence agent at the time. He managed to maneuver around the law so he could marry his girlfriend, who is now my mother. It all worked out in the end and my parents—Weston and Kiana—were married about a year and a half before I came along.

Obviously, being of Eastern European and Middle Eastern descent, Mom has the dominant genes. I look mostly like her with lighter skin and blue eyes. As you can imagine, my mom and I stick out like sore thumbs in our city. I’m outgoing and sarcastic, mainly because my best friend from seventh grade on is extremely sarcastic. I have a photographic memory. I can be brutally honest but I love to have fun, though I sometimes come off as hyperactive and obnoxious. I know four languages: Swedish, English, French, and Georgian. I tend to think–and speak, to friends’ irritation–in a combination of all four.

I attend Regional Learning Institute Third-Level .001, or as it is known among students: the Government Indoctrination Center, abbreviated “GIC” (it doesn’t require geniuses to know that they are withholding information from us and don’t allow us to form our own opinions).

A third-level school is a preparatory school where students are trained for factory, farm, educating, clinic, law enforcement, and government service jobs (If you’re wondering what “.001″ means, government-run business centers are numbered according to region).

The students are evaluated prior to third-level school for job placements based on their personalities and interests and trained accordingly. They usually receive placements at the end of the first year.

Government service usually means working as an intelligence or investigation agent, or as a judicial. Intelligence agents will usually fill additional positions such as store clerks, library download monitors, realtors, transport dealers, record-keepers, data entry clerks, construction workers, computer programmers, accountants, and salespeople as cover jobs. Robots that the factory workers build do any other work that needs to be done for the city, such as security, postal carrier jobs, or kitchen personnel. Those who are gifted in other areas viewed as unessential to society such as authors, musicians, athletics, singers, and dancers are not allowed to pursue their talents for a living. The only sport allowed is fencing, which doubles as a self-defense course and trains competitors for defending the nation. Musicians, singers, and dancers may work for the dictator for his own entertainment purposes and for officials’ banquets. Nobody practicing these occupations is paid, and everyone—regardless of job status—receives the same pay. Those who cannot work receive the same amount in government assistance. The work ethic here is very poor at best.

Students placed in the government field or the law enforcement field receive two to three years of schooling. They are educated for the first year in their local regional learning institute, and finish their education in advanced classes.

Students placed in the clinic receive two to four years of schooling, depending on the position. Nurses must complete a year and a half of third-level classes, while med techs must complete two years of third-level classes  along with two years of advanced education.

Those who receive placements in factories, farms or as groundskeepers are educated a maximum of two years in third-level classes. The dictator of The Middle Country put this in force about a school year ago, during my eighth grade year.

I am about fourteen years old. The government confiscated all calendars shortly after my birth, so. I’m not exactly sure of my birthday. I know the season spring of 3000. I know that sometimes the snow has melted by the time my birth celebration comes, and sometimes it hasn’t, so I’m guessing around the third month. I only know the year because my father secretly keeps track of significant dates using a homemade calendar based on the Roman lunar calendars Americans used to use, another trick he learned in his years in government service. (He has given me as much information as he can get by with and has told me to keep a journal blog for future purposes.)

I know the calendar month numbers because they are the main point of reference for the GIC schedule. As you can guess, calendars are ANOTHER thing the government keeps out of our reach. They are afraid that if we attain enough information, we may be able to revolt.”

In a thirty-first century dictatorship where population control is enforced and knowledge of truth is prohibited, a teenager discovers secrets about America’s past and her own nation’s future.

In the first book of the “For a Generation” series, fourteen-year-old Matthia Hefner has discovered the grim truth about abortion and its effects on society. She embarks on a time travel mission to the past with a plan to save a nation destroyed by abortion, as well as to glean knowledge to save her own country. Can she save the nation and its people in time, or will it be forced to suffer the consequences for its actions?

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre - Christian YA Fiction

Rating – PG

More details about the author & the book

Connect with Anastasia Faith on Facebook & Twitter

Orangeberry Book of the Day - Intoxicated by Alicia Renee Kline (Excerpt)


“So you are really going ahead with the roommate thing?”  Matthew’s voice crackled over the telephone.

Blake wasn’t sure if her brother’s words were garbled due to her faulty cell reception or if they were laced with emotion.  She had, of course, announced with a flourish approximately six months ago that it had been the appropriate time in her life to purchase her own place.  Up until then, they had been roommates themselves.  But her wildly independent streak as well as a buyer’s market had persuaded her to take the leap into homeownership.  That and the fact that Matthew was still best friends with her ex.

She just never expected to feel so alone.

“Yes, I guess I am,” she replied as she paced her floor.

“And you’re sure about this?” he pressed.

Blake sighed.  No, not really.  But posting a room for rent online and actually having someone sign a lease for it were two entirely different things.  So what if someone was coming to look at the place tomorrow morning?  If things didn’t feel right, she could always lie and say that she had been fielding a lot of calls and that, unfortunately, she had chosen someone else.

“You’re not having money problems, are you?” he continued.

“No,” she responded quickly.  Now that had upset her a little bit.

“Just be careful.” Matthew warned.

Despite herself, Blake chuckled.  If anyone should be giving that advice, it should be the other way around.  Matthew’s indiscretions had been the whole reason that they themselves had been roommates.  Although it had been a terrible, uncomfortable time in both their lives, it had been the beginning of their beautiful friendship.  There was no one else that she trusted as wholly and completely as her brother.  Their past had forced them to lean on each other in a way she never would have imagined when she was younger, and they had ended up on the other side as better people for it.

Matthew either chose to ignore the giggle or he found the irony in the situation.  There was silence on the other end of the line until Blake whispered her response.

“Always am.”


Buy Now @ Amazon & Smashwords

Genre – Romance / Chick Lit

Rating – PG13

More details about the book

Connect with Alicia Renee Kline on Twitter

Website http://aliciareneekline.com/

Author Interview – Chris Wager

How did you develop your plot and characters? Well, I didn’t develop, a plot. At the time I developed the main plot and the subplots together. Okay, the main plot was like a Christmas tree and the subplots hung on it like ornaments. With that said, if I didn’t balance the ornaments on the tree, it would appear lop sided or fall over. At the same time, I tracked the subplot carefully as the story progressed so most would conclude a head to the dark moment and climax. I spent a lot of time on actor development, thinking about who these people were. Staying true to the time in which they all lived and who I intended them to be. I tried hard to see none of them acted out of character in order to move the plot forward. I try to drive the plot forward with circumstance, not by lazy author tricks.

Why did you choose to write this particular book? I wrote this book for my son, at the start my son was ill and I wanted to give him something to be a part of when he wasn’t able to be a part of so many other things young boys like to do. Making him the main actor and letting him help in the story development gave him something to be excited and happy about.

What was the hardest part about writing this book? The hardest part was getting up to speed on my technical skill as a writer. I had never finished high school, I left to go to work.  Before I started writing I knew there was a lot I needed to learn. So, I went to college for writing then attended a two year workshop and read everything I could get my hands on. One thing I decided was if I were to write a novel I wanted it to be the best I could do. I still read a lot about writing and I enjoy doing different types of writing.

Did you learn anything from writing this book and what was it? Yes, I learned writing takes a whole new level of commitment. I didn’t want to be the guy who says he’s writing a novel and never finishes it. I also discovered the joy that goes along with writing fiction. Writing offers a creative release many other forms of art just can’t give.

Will you write others in this same genre?Yes, I started out writing How to Books. My jump to fiction has opened up a world of possibilities for me as a writer. In a sense you get to play God. On the other hand I think writers are a little crazy, as I have learned thinking for a dozen people can be a challenge.

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?Yes, I wrote the book’s foundation based on Abraham Maslow’s pyramid of survival. It starts at the bottom with fulfilling the basic needs of food, shelter, water, and security. Then, moves up until a person is faced with moral decisions which affect a group. This is the path Ben, my main actor, follows until the climax of the book. The message is well I don’t want to give the whole book away…

How much of the book is realistic? All of it. I wanted every scene to be actor driven. I didn’t want any writer short-cuts to get in the way of the actors living their lives, chasing their dreams, and dealing with circumstances as they came. I want it to feel as real to the reader as possible. It’s a great adventure story based in every day reality. No wands or vampires, what I give the reader is a roller coaster ride.

Benjamin Holt is an average thirteen-year-old streetwise kid living in Lower Manhattan during the 1930′s. His world is turned upside down, when a simple case of mistaken identity by the cops has him accidently taking refuge in the belly of the tramp steamer U.S.S. Alexandria bound for the wilds of Africa. Along the way, Benjamin must face the challenges of living at sea, a captain’s dream of treasure, and a first mate who would just as soon feed him to the sharks.

Ben’s troubles are only beginning when he is taken hostage by an evil German colonel. He survives a daring escape, only to find himself on a volcanic island battling bloodthirsty natives. Things go from bad to worse as this explosive adventure unfolds around him. Ben must find it in himself to become the most unlikely hero before it is over if he is to make it home again.

Buy Now @ Barnes & Noble

Genre – Contemporary Fiction

Rating – PG13

Connect with Chris Wager on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://briggscomp.wix.com/stow-away-page

Sunday, May 26, 2013

The Sin of Forgiveness by Edward F. Mrkvicka, Jr. (Excerpt)

The Importance of Context

This book does not ask you to believe something “new,” but rather something old and true. Society as a whole, over the centuries, and especially in the last 50 years, has taken forgiveness to mean something not intended by the Bible. While we are to forgive, we are to do so as God directs, not as Dr. Phil and even some clergy suggest.

This treatise on the subject of forgiveness is not my opinion, but rather the result of a lifetime of Bible study and Bible-based counseling. There is probably no bigger mistake made by God-fearing Christians than not reading and understanding God’s Holy Word in context. I know I have made such error on numerous occasions, notwithstanding the altruistic nature of my biblical inquiries. It is just so easy to do, mainly because God’s Word is so direct and uncompromising. Consequently, when we read a verse in Scripture we immediately race to whatever seemingly obvious conclusion we glean based on the verse’s intent and the subject matter contained therein.

And yet there are many of us who have a misunderstanding about this or that spiritually, which caused me to try and learn why people of good faith could often come to what seemed to be obviously erroneous conclusions about God’s intent. The answer is biblical context. Context means (1) the text surrounding a word or passage: the words, phrases, or passages that come before and/or after a particular word or passage in a speech or text and help explain its full meaning, and (2) surrounding conditions: the circumstances or events that form the environment within which something exists or takes place. The word is taken from the Latin word contextus, meaning connected or to weave together. Put more clearly, context is the equivalent of a tapestry. It’s not until every single piece of cloth is woven together that we can see the picture the artists intended to paint. Without the completeness of their effort, all we would see is a pile of disconnected nothingness that may or may not lead us to the truth. The Bible is much the same. A verse of Gospel may stand by itself, but more than likely it does not. It usually has other text that fleshes out the subject and explain the entire picture. The matter of context is vital whenever we are seeking biblical answers to problems or questions we are faced with. Make no mistake from the above; God does not hide from us. He has gone out of His way to make His Word easily accessible. So what is the problem? Unfortunately, we are often in a hurry, or we’re lazy. And while being in a hurry and/or being lazy puts us at the both far ends of the spectrum, the result is always the same, we only get part of the solution or come to one that has little resemblance to God’s actual intent.

My favorite analogy in this instance is that of a father trying to assemble a birthday present for one of his children. Let’s say it is the child’s first 2-wheeler. As all fathers know, the instructions will almost always invariably start by stating “You’ll need a pair of pliers and a screwdriver.” Would any of us, after reading the instructions no further than step #1, assume we’re done after finding the pliers and screwdriver, and that the bicycle is complete? Of course not. It would be patently obvious that step #1 was just that, step #1, and we’d have to complete the remaining steps before the job was complete. Looking for answers in the Bible is much the same. We cannot just read one verse (step #1) and assume we’re done, because we’re not. It is essential to prove this point in order to show how this concept pertains to forgiveness. To do that, I want to review a prominent biblical topic that hopefully will make clear how we can come to the wrong conclusion by making doctrine out of one verse of Scripture that was meant to be but a portion of the entire picture. We’re going to look at “honoring our father and mother” by reviewing the generally accepted meaning of the Fifth Commandment, and then show how our understanding changes when we review the topic in context. In the process, I hope to give you a new perspective on Bible study, one that will expand your vision and give you a desire to know God’s truth regardless of how long it takes, or how much effort is required. From personal experience, I can share this; once given a contextual perspective, you will read the Bible in a whole new light. You will be excited, because, perhaps for the first time, you will see and understand the truth as never before. When you know the truth, you are, in fact, free. No longer will anyone, including those doing Satan’s bidding, be able to lead you astray.

The Bible says we are to: Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long upon the land which the LORD your God is giving you. (Exodus 20:12) There are many, based on that verse alone, who believe we are to honor our parents no matter what they say or do. Yet, Jesus said,

Do not think that I came to bring peace on earth. I did not come to bring peace but a sword. For I have come to ‘set a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law’; and ‘a man’s enemies will be those of his [own] household.

—Matthew 10:34-36

But how can we honor our parents when our Savior tells us He came to separate us from the very people should they stand against Him? Is this an irresolvable contradiction? Allow me to take this one step further to make the point. Are children of God to honor their earthly parents even if they are committing adultery? Ephesians 5:11 states, And have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather expose [them]. 2 Thessalonians 3:6 says, But we command you, brethren, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that you withdraw from every brother who walks disorderly and not according to the tradition which he received from us. In 2 Corinthians 6:14 we are told, Do not be unequally yoked together with unbelievers. For what fellowship has righteousness with lawlessness? And what communion has light with darkness? Lastly, although there are other references, in 1 Corinthians 5:11 we read, But now I have written to you not to keep company with anyone named a brother, who is sexually immoral, or convetous, or an idolater, or a reviler, or a drunkard, or an extortioner – not even to eat with such a person.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Christian Life

Rating – G

More details about the author & the book

Connect with Edward F. Mrkvicka Jr. on GoodReads

Website http://www.edwardfmrkvickajr.com/

Saturday, May 25, 2013

Orangeberry Book of the Day - For the Future Generations (For a Generation) by Anastasia Faith (Excerpt)

For the Future Generations

[Book 1 of the "For a Generation" series]

Alamogordo, New Mexico

The sun set over Alamogordo, New Mexico and night fell in the desert. Thick black clouds shifted over the horizon, contrasting the orange sky above, and casting shadows on the barren landscape.

In one mound of sand and rock sat an underground house with a tan roof protruding from the top of the hill. The residents had built a door in the side of the roof. This remained locked during daylight hours. Inside this house, the Channing family had just finished their evening meal. The women in the family cleaned the last of the dishes, the father worked in his office, and a ten-year-old boy grew restless. The boy had a head of strawberry curls, a round face, and deep blue eyes.

He scampered down the hall and pounded on his father’s office chamber door. His father, Kelvin Channing, a college professor, would be grading the day’s homework or preparing assignments for the next school day.

“It’s Declan,” he called.

“Yes, Declan?” Kelvin answered through the door. “What do you want?”

“Laken, Chaslyn, and I want to go outside.” Declan said. “Is it safe?”

“It’s 8:00,” Kelvin said. “I don’t see why not. Remember to wear your coat.”

Declan glanced at the clock on his touch screen music device. He and his two sisters had to stay indoors until after dark because his sisters, being conjoined twins, were frowned upon in the eyes of the culture.

In Declan’s day, “handicapped” individuals were those who could not contribute financially. They required government assistance and were considered a burden to society. These handicaps could be something as simple as inseparable conjoined twins, or as severe as major cerebral palsy or quadriplegia. Benevolent medical professionals would simply deny them healthcare, while the majority would euthanize them, with or without a caretaker’s permission. At their doctor’s warning seven years before, Kelvin and Ayla Channing had relocated with their three-year-old triplets—Declan, Laken, and Chaslyn—from Kansas City, Missouri to a desert in New Mexico, hoping it would be safer. Several families who were close friends with the Channings had also come to ease the adjustment. They had scheduled their days so the triplets would be able to spend time with their friends at night.

Removing his coat from a hook near the front door, Declan slipped into it. His sisters came into the living room after they had finished cleaning the kitchen. They too were becoming restless, and the Alamogordo evening beckoned them.

“Did Dad give us permission?” Chaslyn asked.

Declan nodded and assisted Laken and Chaslyn into a special joining coat tailored for them, since they joined at one of their forearms. They piled into an elevator that led to the roof. The elevator opened, and Declan unlocked the door. They stepped out onto the sand and raced down the side of the hill to their “fort”, a crude structure constructed of logs stacked so they overlapped each other. As the evening progressed, the children’s friends arrived and joined in the imagination games.

Over their playing and laughter, Declan could hear a transporter door slam shut and then footsteps approaching. As they grew louder and came closer, Declan became increasingly concerned. All of their friends were with them, and others rarely visited the deserted area.

“Wait here,” he cautioned his sisters. “I’m going to see where that noise is coming from. Guys, keep your guard over them for just a minute.”

Fearing the worst, he left them in the fort and stole away to track the source of the footsteps. He scampered a few feet down the path behind their house. He saw a silhouette several feet in front of him, standing in the glow of a transporter’s headlights. As it came closer, he perceived a middle-aged man holding a flat nylon case.

“Who are you?” Declan demanded. “Don’t come any closer.”

“Declan, I can’t tell you much,” the man replied hurriedly, as if in a rush. “You need to trust me. My name is Mr. Wilcox; I’m a time traveler.”

Mr. Wilcox handed Declan the case. He unzipped it and found an electronic notepad. Opening a side compartment, he pulled out an automatically recharging payment card or ARPC for short. Declan searched his face for an explanation, both of the contents and of the fact this stranger knew his name.

“Keep this book a secret.” Wilcox instructed. “When the time comes, you’ll know who it’s for.”

“What about the ARPC?” He questioned. “Dad opened an account for my sisters and me, but only because he has a job; they’re linked to his. This card’s number isn’t the one on mine.”

“It will be in about thirteen years.” Mr. Wilcox said, “Remember, I’m a time traveler.”

Declan powered up the book so he could read the content, only to find it blank. He flipped it over in his hands and toyed with it, trying to discern why it would not grant him access. He pressed the bottom of the device. It squawked and a negating red light flashed.

“What happened?” He asked the man.

“I set the privacy so only the future recipient can open it. Underneath the electronic device is a fingerprint reader. It’s programmed for only my fingerprints and the person who will receive it.” Mr. Wilcox explained. “There’s an unlocked note at the beginning that I addressed to you.”

With these words, Mr. Wilcox vanished into the night and Declan focused his attention on the unlocked message.

“Declan Channing,” it instructed, “return to the place where you met me at 7 in the morning on May 1st, 2130, when you are twenty-seven. Bring this book with you. On June 30th of 2130, leave the ARPC I gave you—and your FBI badge—at the Indianapolis, Indiana branch of the bank where your account is.”


Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre - Christian YA Fiction

Rating – PG

More details about the author & the book

Connect with Anastasia Faith on Facebook & Twitter

Orangeberry Book of the Day – Killer Abs: A Body (Pump) Horror Comedy by DR O’Brien

Twenty-something accountant Matt Warner enrols at an exclusive weight loss resort with his career on the line should he fail to shed the pounds from his paunchy frame.

Before long the accountant realises that his girth is the least of his problems as there is something deeply wrong with the Phoenix Resort where it’s no gain and all pain.

It’s a serving of full fat fear for the guests who must fight for their lives to survive the week.

Matt Warner is going to lose weight, or die trying.

Killer Abs is an 11,403 word short body (pump) horror comedy, with content for mature audiences.

Previous praise for the Author’s work:

“I think that you will enjoy the way Mr. O’Brien ties everything together and pits some of, if not the most famous characters in literature against each other. The story is fast paced with lots of action and adventure: a very enjoyable read and I wholeheartedly recommend it”

“Luckily for is it seems that D R O’Brien is tainted with just enough craziness to pull this task off. O’Brien has breathed new life into these well known and well loved characters. Thrilling, horrific, and funny at the same time which is no mean feat… O’Brien is a talented writer.”

“Shakespeare’s characters duking it out with Lovecraft’s creatures? Sign us up immediately!

“All very inventive, clever and ghoulishly entertaining… Bizarre, baroque and amusing…”

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Horror

Rating – 18+

Connect with DR O’Brien on Facebook & Twitter

Author Interview – Amber Kallyn

Can you share a little of your current work with us? Sure. I just released the fourth book of my Heart of a Vampire series. Now I’m working on a historical paranormal trilogy about a tiger shapeshifting princess : ) It’s definitely different, going from modern times to historical, but fun, too.

Who designed the cover? I was lucky to find a wonderful cover artist. Dawne at http://dusktildawndesigns.com/

Will you write others in the same genre? Absolutely. I love writing the paranormal. You never know what’s going to happen.

How important do you think villains are in a story? Writing paranormal, villains are integral to my plots and giving my characters someone to help them learn and grow.

Who is your favorite author and why? Stephen King. He can suck you into another world in just a few words, and then keep you there over hundreds of pages. He truly is a master.

What books have most influenced your life? I think with just about every book I read that touches me in some way, influences me. If a book makes you think long after you read ‘The End’, then you kind of always keep a part of it inside you.

Can we expect any more books from you in the future? Hells yeah. Many, many, and many more ; )

What are some of the best tools available today for writers, especially those just starting out? The internet is #1. There are so many yahoo loops dedicated to authors sharing information about the industry, writing, you name it. New authors can search and find them, then start soaking up all the knowledge shared by others. And there truly are so many authors out there happy to help and share.

What contributes to making a writer successful? Write. Write some more. Study the craft. Read for pleasure. Then get back to writing. It takes time and practice, just like learning and becoming good at any new thing.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Paranormal / Vampire Romance

Rating – PG

More details about the author & the book

Connect with Amber Kallyn on Facebook & Twitter

Friday, May 24, 2013

Orangeberry Book of the Day – Betty’s Child by Donald Dempsey


“Heartrending and humorous.” Kirkus Reviews

“Highly recommended.” Dr. Alan Gettis, Ph.D., author of The Happiness Solution

“An unforgettable memoir.” San Francisco Book Review

In the tradition of Frank McCourt and Angela’s Ashes, Don Dempsey uses Betty’s Child to tell the story of life with his cruel and neglectful mother, his mother’s abusive boyfriends, and hypocritical church leaders who want to save twelve-year-old Donny’s soul but ignore threats to his physical well-being. Meanwhile, Donny’s best friend is trying to recruit Donny to do petty theft and deal drugs for a dangerous local thug.

Young Donny is a real-life cross between Huckleberry Finn and Holden Caulfield as he tells his story, with only his street smarts and sense of humor to guide him. Donny does everything he can to take care of himself and his younger brothers, but with each new development, the present becomes more fraught with peril–and the future more uncertain.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Memoir

Rating – PG13

Connect with Donald Dempsey on Facebook

Orangeberry Free Alert - Artful Dodger (Maggie Kean Mis-Adventures) by Nageeba Davis

Artful Dodger - Nageeba Davis

Amazon Kindle US

Amazon Kindle UK

Genre - Romantic Suspense

Rating - PG13

5 (4 reviews)

Free until 26 May 2013

Take one funny, wise-cracking artist, one gorgeous, sexy detective, throw in a grizzly murder, a little amateur sleuthing, and you have the makings of a wild, romantic, mis-adventure.
Art teacher and sculptor Maggie Kean thought she was having a rotten day, burning her toast, stubbing her toe, and all before eight in the morning. Things just couldn't get any worse. At least, until the dead body clogs up her toilet. To make matters worse, Maggie becomes the prime suspect. Now all she has to do is evade the police, clear her name, trap a killer...and deal with one mouth-watering, hunky detective who drives her crazy while making her hormones do the happy dance.

Kim Cano – 10 Tips for Becoming a Better Writer

10 Tips for Becoming a Better Writer

by Kim Cano

*Read a lot of books and outside your usual genre too. You will learn so much more that way. It will also help develop your own unique voice.

*Even if you’re working a regular job, make some time each day to write so it becomes a habit. (I’ve been guilty of not doing that, and it makes your book take too long to finish and you can lose momentum.)

*Memorize a new word in the dictionary every day, or at least read it and its description. There are so many wonderful vocabulary choices. We tend to stick the same ones.

*Check out some writing books either at the library or online. There are some great ones devoted to slices of writing technique: point of view, dialogue, etc.

*Observe people in situations, how they act, what they are really feeling. Living daily life will give you plenty of character ideas. Just be sure to mix them up and don’t make someone a copy of a real person, unless you’re writing a true story.

*Write stories you want to read. Don’t ever write what you think will sell. Readers will know the difference and it will backfire.

*Connect with more successful authors and see what they have done to improve their craft. You’d be surprised how many are willing to give you tips.

*When you have a dream or a sliver of an idea that could be a story, take time to jot the basic concept down. If you can begin writing right away, great, if not, you will have a seed of something to start in the future.

*Get familiar with grammar rules. If you’re rusty, brush up. Check in every month and re-visit them for an hour or two until you know them without second guessing. I still do that.

*Stop writing and take a short exercise break every hour. You want to create worlds for readers, not expand your waistline!

On a cold Valentine’s Day in Chicago, Amy White, a young widow who lost her husband to cancer, visits the cemetery and makes an unsettling discovery: a bouquet of fresh daffodils lying in front of her husband’s grave.

Curiosity grows into obsession as Amy searches for the stranger who left the flowers, while keeping her activities a secret from her live-in mother and seven-year-old son. The search leads to an unusual friendship that transforms her world and redefines her life.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Women’s Fiction

Rating – PG

More details about the author

Connect with Kim Cano on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://www.kimcano.com/

Thursday, May 23, 2013

Orangeberry Free Alert - American Ghoul by Walt Morton

American Ghoul - Walt Morton

Amazon Kindle US

Amazon Kindle UK

Genre - Horror

Rating - PG13

5 (12 reviews)

Free until 24 May 2013

AMERICAN GHOUL tells the story of seventeen-year-old Howard Pickman, a boy with odd problems. He just got dumped into the worst high school in the state of New Jersey, but that's nothing compared to his secret family history of digging up corpses for dinner. This is a novel filled with the creepy funkiness of the 1970s, a bygone age of punk rock, bad disco and muscle cars roaring through hot summer nights. AMERICAN GHOUL explores the good times of teenage friendships and the darkness at the heart of American youth. It's a fun, scary, and zany look at a time when being a teenager was so dangerous you just might have to be a monster in order to survive.

AMERICAN GHOUL is recommended for readers from age 13+ on up. If you lived through the 1970s, a few flashbacks are guaranteed, both pleasant and shocking.

Orangeberry Book of the Day - The Hunter’s Son by BE Jewell

Chapter 2

“You know who I am and you know what he is, so you better start talking. I saw him come in here earlier.” The stocky man slams his hand down on the table. He keeps his eyes locked forward and squeezes his hand, making the veins in his forearm pop.

This elicits the desired response, and James has to fight back a smile. The owner of the grungy little shop nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the hand slamming on the dirty laminate counter top. It’s the typical type of place a sympathizer might own. Funneling black market goods might pay the bills, but this guy certainly isn’t getting rich off this line of work.

“Look man, I don’t know what you’re talking about. So you better buy something or…” James’s hand shoots out and grabs the shop owner’s neck. A slight squeeze cuts off his voice with a gargle.

“Don’t you lie to me. The smell in here is enough to make me puke. One warlock doesn’t smell up a joint like this,” James says through gritted teeth. “I saw him leave here earlier and have been chasing him since. I lost him when he jumped off the fifth floor of the parking garage over on Beaubien Street and took off toward the river. Tell me where he stays and maybe I’ll let you live.”

He squeezes just a bit tighter and the shop owner’s eyes bulge just slightly from his now-purple face. A noise squeaks from his collapsing throat that sounds enough like agreement to allow James to release his grip. The shop owner rubs the red area where the incredibly strong hand was affixed and clears his throat loudly.

“He’s gonna kill me. Ya know it’s true, hunter,” the shop owner says in his new, gravelly voice.

“Either him or me.” James opens his jacket and taps the gun sticking out of his waist band. Surprisingly, this doesn’t get a rise out of the man behind the counter.

“That supposed to scare me? You know what that warlock can do. He’s not normal. The things he will do to me will hurt far worse than getting shot. Maybe I should just let you shoot me and get it over with.”

James looks at the mousey man and puts his hand on the butt of his gun. The man might be afraid of the warlock but he is clearly more afraid of dying. He can barely stop the words from spewing from his mouth.

“Alright, alright. Ya better get him though, or we’ll both be dead. He hangs out in Milliken Park down on the river. It’s off Atwater Street. Not that I care if you live, but you better be careful, hunter. Like I said, this warlock is different. Got some powers I haven’t seen in a long time.”

“Oh, dontcha worry about me. Believe it or not I know what I’m doing.” James walks to the door. “And if he isn’t there, I’ll be back. No need to worry.”

The air outside the shop is cool, even for September in Michigan. James regrets not dressing warmer. His body shivers, partly from the cold but mostly from frustration. He does not usually have this much trouble and rarely has to run like he has today. The air burns his lungs like he is breathing boiling coffee. The money he was paid isn’t worth all the trouble this warlock has given him and the thing doesn’t look much older than JC. Should have asked for hazard pay, he thinks to himself.

James heads down the street toward the area he believes is the park. His mind is preoccupied with thoughts of JC and his first day at yet another high school. He bumps into an older couple walking with bags of groceries. Cans and boxes scatter all over the sidewalk. He scrambles to help the folks clean up their food and moves on quickly. He can’t let anyone get a good look at him. If things get ugly with the warlock, he can’t have the local news putting his description on TV.

He generally prides himself on staying anonymous. No one will mistake him for a body builder, but James is sure that most people would not want to run into him hiding in an alley unless they have some sort of power. Despite his stocky frame, there is nothing particularly striking about James. Most would say he looks fairly ordinary. Not strikingly handsome but not ugly either. He could be an accountant when he isn’t wearing army cargos and a black hooded sweatshirt. Hopefully the old couple was so startled they forget everything about him.

It’s nearly dark when James reaches the park. The acidic stench of the warlock hangs on the air and almost ruins the beautiful park set inside the city. The park is completely out of place. Trails lead in every direction and trees line numerous lush green clearings. It would be easy to forget about being in the city altogether.

James heads toward a raised walkway at the edge of the river, letting his nose show him the way. This would be the perfect place for a warlock to hide out. Plenty of space to watch potential victims. It would be easy to snatch someone, drag them into the woods and perform a spell without anyone seeing. Wouldn’t matter how elaborate the ritual, the trees would provide ample cover. One day having a nice picnic in the park, the next kidnapped and waking up to a nightmare–a warlock having stolen their identity or, worse, having made them do terrible things all while they were completely unaware.

This sentiment makes James shudder. He shakes his head and moves further up the river walk. The cold has driven most people out of the park. Only a few people stroll down the walkway, fighting the strengthening breeze. About fifty yards ahead, James sees someone that sparks his interest.

Sitting alone on a bench is a young-looking man wearing an oversized coat. James stops and breathes deeply, but the wind at his back makes it hard to tell if the warlock is close. He takes a step forward and the man bolts off the bench. James rips the gun from his waist and levels it at the young man.

He begins to squeeze the trigger but feels a rumble under his feet. Before he knows it, his shoes are no longer touching the ground. The river walk crumbles into the water below. He hits the water with arms and legs still trying to find steady ground. He surfaces as quickly as possible, gasping for air.

Thankfully, the water is still warm from the summer. James looks up and sees a huge hole in the walkway twenty feet above him. He looks around, sees a ladder 100 yards down the river and lets the slight current drag him toward it.

The wind bites at him as he reaches the top rung and pulls himself onto the walkway. He strips off his soaked hooded sweatshirt and scans the area. He sees movement in the distance between some trees and reaches instinctually toward his waist for his gun but comes up empty. He stares into the river knowing his favorite piece is long gone.

He turns and walks away from the tree line, back toward the city. He doesn’t know what to do without his gun. Hunting has evolved in the last 200 years or so to the point that he has become reliant on shooting as an answer to his problems. It’s no longer necessary to burn a witch, and using a pail of water always had its problems, anyway. Fire does a fine job just like it would with any animal, but a bullet does the trick a lot easier. It takes a hunter a long time to realize they do not need to stock up on garlic and wolfsbane to ward off evil spirits. Silver bullets do work a bit better than the junk from the sporting goods store and nothing beats a wooden stake up close, but who really wants to get that close? Plus, there isn’t always time to drive a stake in the ground or spread a salt ring to protect yourself.

The problem is everyone thinks witches and warlocks are busy running around a castle in England fighting bad wizards with wands, but that just isn’t true. If people knew how heartless these creatures are, they wouldn’t let their kids dress up like them on Halloween or stand in line to see movies glorifying them.

James moves quickly away from the park, putting as much distance between himself and the warlock as possible. After ten blocks, he sees an alley and ducks in to rest and get his bearings. This wasn’t supposed to be so difficult. It’s just a young warlock, he thinks to himself as he crouches next to a dumpster.

A few smaller trashcans help hide his position but are too small to hide his broad shoulders. He sits down on the dirty ground and takes in his surroundings. He could not have picked a worse place. This is the kind of alley even a bum wouldn’t sleep in. Whoever is dumping trash here doesn’t care if it ends up in a dumpster or not. At least the smell of rotten fish is a welcome change from the warlock.

Something crashes off to his left and James shakes his head to clear the cobwebs. He glances down the alley but nothing appears out of the ordinary. Just a bunch of kids horsing around out on the street. A boy picks his grimy body up off the ground and starts after his friend. James’s heart beats way too fast and he takes a deep breath. It rolls out of his mouth like smoke and he pats the area where his gun should be again.

“Getting way too old for this. I guess this will have to do,” he whispers as he slowly pulls the six inch blade from his boot.

Suddenly, his nostrils fill with a depressingly familiar smell. Even the rotting fish in the dumpster can’t cover it up. He looks around but sees no one in the alley. His body tenses at the eerie lack of movement out on the street. People should be moving about at this time night, especially in a busy town like this. Maybe they are all down the street a bit. Daylight is gone now and he cannot see much beyond the edge of the buildings. That smell is strong. It seems to come from all around him. He inches slowly around the trashcan and into the alley. He turns toward the main street at the end of the buildings and takes one step forward, quickly glancing over his shoulder.

A blinding pain shoots through James’s throat as a thin, but incredibly strong, forearm slides around it. He lets out a terrified yelp for the first time in years as he loses the grip on his knife. It clanks on the concrete like a church bell ringing. James struggles to get out of the warlock’s grasp. He can feel its hot breath on the back of his head and the smell begins to burn his nostrils. If he could breathe, he would puke. James’s head whips back and he can see an old, broken fire escape above him. He did not notice it before. Such an obvious hiding spot, he can’t help but think.

“What do you want with me, hunter?” The warlock hisses in his ear.

Rancid breath fills his nose, and he can feel heat radiating off of the warlock’s body. He does not understand why the warlock would have a conversation at this point. He has been shooting at it all day. He did not hesitate to try to kill, why would this creature give him this type of courtesy? If he could get to his knife he would stab straight through the thing’s heart. Instead of killing him, the warlock is more concerned with James’s job description. Compassion is not their strong suit. No negotiating with a hunter or with a monster. The rules of war are being broken. The forearm begins to release a little pressure in anticipation of his answer and he gasps for air. His lungs are really on fire now.

“It’s nothing personal. Just a job,” he chokes before the blinding pressure returns to his throat.

James sees the witch’s mark on the creature’s forearm move as the muscles strain to block air from his lungs. Curious things, those marks. Often they look like any ordinary tattoo, with criss-crossing in varying patterns depending on the clan. This particular one is in the shape of the letter “Y” with two lines running through the curved stem. It is the only way to be certain that you have a witch or warlock on your hands and not just an extraordinarily smelly person. Every one of these creatures is born with the little symbol. It really would be fitting if this mark is the last thing he ever sees.

“JUST A JOB,” the warlock snarls. “IT’S NOT A JOB, THIS IS MY LIFE! You hunters seem to think you are the only things on the planet with a life. I did nothing to no one. Understand that? You need to learn that things bigger than you are going on all the time. Maybe in the future you won’t be so quick to shoot at someone who isn’t bothering you or your family. Next time the consequences might be far worse than today. Next time I will rip your heart from your chest. Believe me, I better not see you ever again.”

Everything goes black as something thuds against James’s head.


Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – YA Supernatural Thriller

Rating – PG13

More details about the author & the book

Connect with BE Jewell on Twitter

Website http://www.jewellbe.com/

Blog http://jewellbe.blogspot.com/

Living Backwards by Tracy Sweeney (Excerpt)


I woke to the sound of my alarm. The radio was playing Smooth by Santana and Rob Thomas. The fabric under my cheek felt scratchy. I was wearing skinny jeans, and the walls were purple.


There was no way that this could actually be happening. As nightmarish as this situation appeared to be, I was clearly not dreaming, but I refused to accept that a pair of retro jeans had killed me. I couldn’t fathom that level of embarrassment. I’d also rather believe in a benevolent God that wouldn’t banish us back to high school when we died. I was a pretty nice person overall. Maybe I tried returning an outfit once after I had already worn it, but I was a good person who deserved the wings, the harp and the flawless complexion in my afterlife. So if I wasn’t dead, there had to be a logical explanation as to why I woke up in 1999. Actual time travel, while popular in a lot of movies, simply didn’t exist. Ashton Kutcher can create his Butterfly Effect and Peggy Sue can decide whether she should get married, but in real life there was no do over. The possibility that I was in a coma was more likely, but still didn’t explain the bump on the back of my head. It shouldn’t still hurt. Regardless, I was back in time without the cool De Lorean.

Now maybe I’ve watched too much TV—well, I know I’ve watched too much TV—but I began to think about how complicated time travel movies were. There were tons of rules. If you change part of one person’s future, it has a domino effect. Ashton Kutcher made one bad decision and—BAM—Amy Smart became a crack whore. This was serious business. There was no way of telling how or why I was here. I didn’t want to screw up the future or become a crack whore so I needed to get my act together as soon as possible.

I glanced at the clock. It was already seven o’clock in the morning. I had been pacing for too long and now I needed to get ready for school. A new wave of panic washed over me as I realized that I had no idea when school started, where my locker was located, or what my first class was. I remembered nothing. Maybe I had blocked out my whole high school existence as a defense mechanism. Maybe all the booze I’d consumed had made me soft. Either way—I was screwed. Peggy Sue never had to worry about that stuff.

I dragged my ass to the bathroom and heard movement downstairs. My mom would most likely be working at the hospital already. It was probably my dad. I wondered if he would still be around when I left for school or if he had the early shift at the station. I was kind of curious to see him.

Walking into the bathroom, I noticed some of my parents’ toiletries on the counter. I picked up my dad’s aftershave and smiled. I wasn’t far away in Seattle so I got to see them fairly often, but usually not for extended periods of time. The scent of his aftershave was always so calming. Part of me missed living here.

I formulated a plan while I got ready. I would head straight to the office when I got to school and ask to see my emergency card. I knew that every year we filled out a card so that Mrs. Jankowski, the school secretary, would know what class we were in if she ever needed to find us. It had our class schedule, locker number and if I wasn’t mistaken, our locker combination. I crossed my fingers because that would be ideal. I was pretty sure my locker was on the first floor near Pruitt’s bio lab, but I just didn’t remember the specifics.

As I was trying to curl my hair without a much-needed roll brush, there was a knock on my door.

“Jill?” my dad called from the other side of the door. “I’m leaving.”

I jumped from the seat in front of my vanity and darted across the room. When the door swung open, he jumped back. I was startled as well as I took in his appearance. His hair was jet black without the now familiar touches of gray. He clearly looked younger. The best part, however, was that he had a mustache—a freaking pornstache. I had totally forgotten his mustache phase. Why did I not find this funny ten years ago? I started to laugh and couldn’t stop.

“Jill?” he said again confused. “What’s going on? And why is your hair all….” He gestured wildly at my head. “You’re just going to school, right?”

I managed to stop giggling. “Of course, Dad. Why? Do I have a choice?” Maybe school was optional. He looked at me strangely again.

“No, of course not. It’s just that you looked kind of…fancy.” He shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably.

“Oh! No big deal, Dad. Just trying something new.”

It’s called brushing my hair before I leave the house and not pulling it into a messy bun. I’m not socially inept anymore.

He cleared his throat, uncomfortable again. “Well, okay then. I’m going to go so…I’ll see you tonight.”

With that, he turned and headed down the stairs. I noticed that he stopped and glanced back at me briefly before leaving. My dad was a pretty perceptive guy. Detectives interrogated people for a living, but I was sure he’d probably chalk my behavior up to just being a teenage girl.

I gathered up my messenger bag and looked at the Word of the Day for April 30th.

Redux: 1. brought back; 2. resurgent.

Well, that’s a little obvious.

I headed downstairs and grabbed a Cinnamon Pop Tart from the kitchen. I jammed it into my mouth and headed outside.

Must remember to buy Cinnamon Pop Tarts after I dig the Korn CD out of my closet. Finding lots of hidden gems in 1999.

I saw the old Toyota I drove until it fell apart outside in my parking space. I called her The Red Baron. I had names for a lot of inanimate objects. I climbed inside, feeling sentimental. I loved this car. She wasn’t slick. She wasn’t fancy. She was a good old broad. But even the excitement of being able to drive my beloved car again couldn’t lift my spirits. I put the key into the ignition and headed off to school with knots in my stomach.

As I pulled into the parking lot of Reynolds High, I noticed how small the school looked to me now. I spent four years at NYU. My dorm was the size of this entire school. I noticed some familiar faces milling around; people who I hadn’t seen in years, but had been haunting my Facebook page. Tyler Burroughs was showing a group of kids a dent in his front fender. Newsflash, Tyler, your driving doesn’t get any better. Sarah Spellman was walking into school with her arms crossed in front of her chest. Oh Sarah, enjoy those perky boobs now because small and perky kicks big and wonky’s ass any day. Megan’s black convertible was parked next to Erik McDougall’s van. My heart sank. I wasn’t friends with Megan or Danielle yet. I didn’t even remember seeing much of Megan senior year. I couldn’t imagine going into school and pretending that they weren’t two of the most important people in my life. But maybe I didn’t have to. I was going to meet Danielle at orientation in little over a month. I wouldn’t really be changing the future if I befriended her a few weeks early. It was practically just a matter of days.

Meg and I didn’t have any classes together and I wasn’t what you would call social; however, Danielle was in my World Lit class. I’d see her in class—whenever that was. I could say hi or maybe chat about the weather. As much as it sounded like I was getting ready to ask her to the prom, it was actually more important than prom. This had to work.

As I entered the main hallway, my nostrils were assaulted. The place smelled like teenagers—all full of sweat and angst. If I was sent back to my college days at NYU, at least I’d be able to handle the inescapable smell of the burning incense in the dorm. This was just plain nasty. Pushing my irritation aside, I took a deep breath and headed for the office. Mrs. Jankowski was sitting behind the desk looking just as irritated. Swell.

“Hi, Mrs. J,” I squeaked. My palms were sweating and the day had barely even started.

“Jillian. Hello, how can I help you?” she asked with a wrinkled brow.

“Well, I was hoping to get a copy of my emergency card from you, please.”

Polite. Concise. I’m doing all right.

“May I ask why you need that? It’s a peculiar request.”

She eyed me cautiously. It didn’t occur to me that asking for a copy of my emergency card would sound weird, but now that I had actually said it out loud, it sounded really, really weird. There was no good reason why I should need her to make a copy for me, and because I obviously sucked at this, I never took the time to think of an excuse.

“Well, um, I’ve been taking a medication for…some dizziness that I’ve been experiencing.”

I felt really proud of my ability to think on my feet because Mrs. Jankowski looked genuinely concerned.

“It’s not a big deal,” I continued. “I bumped my head because—you know me,” I added rolling my eyes. “Super klutz. So, it makes me very forgetful, and I’m concerned I may forget my locker combo or my class schedule…” Or what year it is. I could see that she was buying my explanation so I trailed off, quitting while I was ahead. She walked around to the file cabinet behind her desk, searched for my card and headed to the copy machine.

“Here you go, dear, but please take care of yourself. We’d like you to make it to graduation in one piece.” She handed me the paper with a smile.

“Thank you so much, Mrs. J.”

I was a sweaty mess, but at least I could now find my locker and get the inevitable over with. Then as I turned the corner, I saw them. Danielle and Josh walking hand and hand. He stopped in front of a locker, spun her like a ballerina and kissed the top of her head. I had to catch myself from yelling “Josh, you nerd!” because, come on, who does that? But I held back, because I think if I randomly called a guy I’m not supposed to know a nerd, he’d be kind of pissed. Pretending not to know my friends was going to be harder than I thought. I had to talk to Danielle and fix this, so I needed to formulate a plan. Maybe I would see if she wanted to study together for…whatever we were studying. Then I would be my charming self and she would realize that I’m awesome and be my best friend.

I may need a more detailed plan.

Fortunately, I had some time to work on the execution because according to my class schedule, World Lit was after lunch. I had trig first period.

After a quick stop at my locker, I headed for Room 218. My plan for going to class was to arrive late after everyone was sitting down. Then I could just take the seat that was left. But as I peeked through the window, there were a number of open seats. It was three weeks to graduation and senioritis had invaded Reynolds High. After a sigh of defeat, I decided that if worse came to worse, I would stick with the head trauma story. It was completely believable because I was clumsy as hell.

“Ah, Jillian, so nice of you to join us today,” Mrs. Jacob snapped from the blackboard. “Maybe you can help us find the reference angle in the example on the board.”

I had no idea what a reference angle was and was fairly certain that I never actually did. I thought I was really good in trig, but I obviously didn’t retain information well. I was under the impression that angles belonged in Geometry. Clearly math wasn’t my strong suit.

“Um, no, that’s okay,” I responded casually. “I’m sure there’s someone else that would be more qualified to do that. I’ll just take my seat.” She looked stunned for a moment, opening then closing her mouth. I thought maybe I’d gotten out of answering the question except I noticed her staring as I sat down in one of the empty seats.

“Jillian,” she began. And I already knew what was coming. “Your seat is over there next to Valerie.” She pointed across the room and my eyes met the bane of my best friend’s existence.

Before I could think of an explanation as to why I was sitting in the wrong place, it hit me. I could fix this. I could make it so that Danielle and Val never go into business together. Maybe that was why I was here. It might be against the rules of time travel, but I doubt the laws of physics took Val Cooper into account.

“Jillian,” Mrs. Jacob repeated.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I couldn’t stop grinning. “Um, I bumped my head last night and could I…”

“Why don’t you go see the nurse?” Wasting no time, I took off to start planning. With a note from the nurse, I managed to avoid classes for the morning. I was too nervous about having to set up my girl date with Danielle. It seemed silly since I had known her for over ten years, but it didn’t change the fact that I was freaking out.

By noon, I was a wreck. I decided that I needed to get some air and get away from the high school smell for a bit. Following the walkway around the side of the school, I noticed a small space behind the gymnasium facing the woods. There were a few milk crates turned upside down to sit on and the ground was littered with cigarette butts. It looked like a giant ashtray. I sat down on one of the milk crates, bending my knees and leaning my back against the wall. I closed my eyes and tried to take deep breaths to calm myself down, but it wasn’t working. I knew there was one thing that could help me relax, but it felt kind of wrong. It took me less than a second to decide I didn’t care. I grabbed the flask from my back pocket, unscrewed the cap and took a quick sip. The familiar burn warmed me once again. Bending over, I rested my head on my knees, closed my eyes, and imagined a life where Danielle ran her own successful company. No inappropriate behavior to deal with. No lost clients. Her reputation intact. I was still visualizing how happy Danielle would be when I heard a strange noise.

Standing near the corner of the building, lighting a cigarette and looking at me with a curious expression was Luke Chambers.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Chick Lit

Rating – PG13

More details about the author & the book

Connect with Tracy Sweeney on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://www.tracysweeney.net/