#Blitz : Bittersweet by Nubi Golden @Shalini_G26 @NubiaSoulGODdes

Hello readers! I’m pleased to be part of blitz tour for Bittersweet by Nubi Golden. organized by Digital Reads Blog Tours. Check out more about this book in this post.

SYNOPSIS

Belinda was an up and coming A1 student that thrived on creativity and love. With a burning passion for the Culinary Arts & Music, she was definitely on the verge to living an exciting fulfilling life, until the tables begin to turn. Living in a home doesn’t make it “Home Sweet Home”, a lesson Belinda learned too early in life. She didn’t have to go to jail but she did for a charge wrongfully entered by one who should have protected her. Once free, her life became a whirlwind of events filled with deep sexual relationships and beautiful packages of well-deserved happiness. Can you remember the last time you were allowed to just be free?

Excerpt:

Her body rocking with pain, Belinda shuddered as she pleaded on her knees for Kevin not to kill her. Everything about this moment was surreal. Would he shoot her? Would she die? Would he take her daughter and run?

Her mind raced back and forth as she thought of words to say to calm the unpredictable monster she had married.

The gun’s barrel was nudged so hard in the base of her back; Belinda thought to herself, I’m not going to make it. She silently prayed and in the blink of an eye he was gone…. She sat there for what seemed like hours, too afraid to speak and even more afraid to move.

Not knowing if he was around the corner, waiting on her to emerge from the third bedroom. All she saw in her mind was dead ends. What would she do?

AUTHOR BIO

Nubi (Nubia Soul Goddess) is an Internationally Amazon Bestselling Author under GNectar Publishing, LLC.
She has published 3 books with more coming. She is also a book coach and speaker on being an entrepreneur – artist- domestic violence survivor and book writing and publishing. Her first poem was published (Nationally) in high school.
Music is her first love, but writing probably surpasses even that. She has always been an avid reader with a great drive for creativity. So with the encouragement of close friends and loved ones, she began to do more than just share her life stories, she began to write them down and create more for others to enjoy and learn from.

SOCIAL MEDIA

Instagram: @officialnubiasoulgoddess

Amazon Webhttps://amzn.to/2ZsJBKZ

Facebook: www.facebook.com/TheAuthorNubi

BOOK LINKS

AMAZON USA https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01M1A0N2K/

AMAZON UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B01M1A0N2K/


Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this post. Let me know in comments what do you think about the book or if you are going to add it to TBR.

Happy Reading!

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#Promo #BookTour : Slow Down by Lee Matthew Goldberg #SlowDown @pumpupyourbook @LeeMatthewG

Hello Readers! I’m excited to be part of blog tour for Slow Down by Lee Matthew Goldberg, organized by PUMP UP YOUR BOOK. Check out intriguing excerpt of this thriller below.

Title: SLOW DOWN
Author: Lee Matthew Goldberg
Publisher: All Due Respect
Pages: 270
Genre: Thriller/Noir

BOOK BLURB:

How far would you go to make your dreams come true?

For budding writer and filmmaker Noah Spaeth, being a Production Assistant in director Dominick’s Bambach’s new avant-garde film isn’t enough. Neither is watching Dominick have an affair with the lead actress, the gorgeous but troubled Nevie Wyeth. For Noah’s dream is to get both the film and Nevie in the end, whatever the cost. And this obsession may soon become a reality once Dominick’s spurned wife Isadora reveals her femme fatale nature with a seductive plot to get rid of her husband for good. 

Slow Down, a cross between the noir styling of James M. Cain and the dark satire of Bret Easton Ellis, is a thrilling page-turner that holds a mirror up to a media-saturated society that is constantly searching for the fastest way to get ahead, regardless of consequences.

ORDER YOUR COPY

Amazon → https://amzn.to/3dmv8UU

Here’s what readers are saying about Slow Down!

“Slow Down is a frenetic first novel…full of unedifying characters scrambling for the elusive, perhaps imaginary, brass ring.”Publishers Weekly

“Lee Matthew Goldberg writes like a young Bret Easton Ellis doing a line of uncut Denis Johnson off the back of a public urinal. Memorable in the best possible way, also mostly illegal, Goldberg’s Slow Down is a mad man’s tour of Manhattan’s vices, follies, and ultimate betrayals.” –Urban Waite, author of The Terror of Living and Sometimes the Wolf

What would happen if one of Raymond Chandler’s 1940’s femme fatales were to join forces with one of Jay McInerney’s enfant terribles? Lee Matthew Goldberg wrings every delectable trope imaginable out of this mashup while still managing a fresh spin. A writer to watch out for.” –David Kukoff, author of Children of the Canyon

“Slow Down starts fast and gets faster quick, gunning through yellow streetlights on its way to a full collision with your shattered soul. Lee Matthew Goldberg takes on the American Zeitgeist in this stunning debut.” –Stephen Jay Schwartz, LA Times bestselling author of Boulevard and Beat

Slow Down is a brilliant rush of a work charting the rise and fall of Noah and other pretentious losers. Savor this book.” Foreword Reviews

“Dark and hard-boiled writing that grabs you by the throat. Slow Down is one of those rare novels that’s so good you want it to go on forever!” –Nick Pengelley, author of Ryder: An Ayesha Ryder Novel

“The plot takes off…there’s no denying it’s fun to watch rich snots destroy themselves.” Booklist

“Goldberg’s portrayal of the New York demimonde is one of the book’s strengths and brings to mind Bret Easton Ellis’ Less Than Zero. He also succeeds in marshalling a complicated plot.” CrimeFictionLover.com

Book Excerpt:

PROLOGUE

NOAH WATCHED THE PRODUCER’S ASSISTANT PLACE HER PURSE DOWN ON THE STOLEN RED COUCH. He’d taken everything in the apartment, all of it part of another man’s life that he now pretended to lead. The full-wattage smile she gave him never left her face, clear evidence she hadn’t been in the City long, the opposite of a native New Yorker like Nevie Wyeth. Nevie, with her panther-black hair and need for Fast—or any other drug someone had to offer. He was only reminded of Nevie because he’d been waiting endlessly for her to call. He was about to give up hope that she ever would.

“Kristy Edson,” the woman said, shaking his hand. She gave two quick pumps. “Mr. Bronfeld sent me over from the L.A. office.”

Noah knew that a guy like Barry Bronfeld was too much of a power player to ever appear in person, even though Apex Studios was giving Noah a gigantic deal for a novel and for a film based on that novel. The problem was that he hadn’t written a word yet.

“Kid, I can’t wait much longer,” Mr. Bronfeld had yelled on the phone the other night. “Just get it done, whatever it takes. I’m scouting locations already. We’re already spending a fuckload of money.”

They had decided to say that the novel and subsequent film were “based on a true story” to avoid any legal ramifications. They would change all the names, but at the end of the day Mr. Bronfeld wanted as much of the truth in there as possible. The Lee Matthew Goldberg

public craved answers and those answers sold books—reality sold books. Now the terrible things Noah did to make it in this business would be revealed in the guise of a story. Sins that nibbled at his soul more and more until all that remained were crumbs.

“So you’re here to…facilitate this?” he asked Kristy, nodding for her to take a seat on the red couch. He took out a pack of cigarettes and flipped one between his lips. His habit had ballooned from zero to two packs a day.

“Think of me as your cheerleader,” she said, smiling so hard that her back molars showed. He knew she was hungry for this “tell-all” coup, this bad boy bankroll in front of her. She pointed at his T-shirt that asked Who Am I?

“So who are you?”

“Why don’t you tell me when all this is done?”

Yesterday Mr. Bronfeld had threatened that Kristy would be Noah’s last chance; he’d be sued for breach of contract if the book wasn’t finished on time. He’d have to dictate his “novel” to her and then clean it up later on.

“The girl is in love with me,” Mr. Bronfeld had told him. “She can be trusted. And she stands to move up a bunch of rungs if she can get you to open up. She has no reason to go selling your story to some rag. Like I’ve told her some dark stuff. Shit I did at parties in the 80s that would get me arrested today. A hobo I once hit off the Pacific Coast Highway. Anyway… you’re damn young, Noah, but not for too much longer. This is your fucking time to shine. All you gotta do is get me that goddamn book.”

“I’m ready whenever you are,” he heard Kristy say. She removed a digital recorder from her purse and placed it on the glass coffee table between them.

“I’m trying to think of the best way to start,” he said, his mind racing.

“How about when you first met Dominick?”

He put on a pair of sunglasses. There was no need for her to keep looking directly into his eyes.

“Listen, we have an expiration date here.” She was still smiling, but it seemed strained. “Gossip only lasts for so long and then people stop caring. They forget.”

It was hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. He didn’t know if it was because his brain had turned to mush from all the Fast he’d done the year after college ended, or if it was something else.

“I’m a little on edge,” he said, checking his cell. “I’m waiting for a call, an important call.”

“Forget about everything else right now,” Kristy said, and motioned for him to put away his phone. “And it’s normal to be on edge. So how are we gonna get you to calm down?”

She placed her hand on his knee. He noticed she had a tiny gap between her front teeth. He pictured her ten years ago: getting off the bus in Hollywood with an overstuffed suitcase, overfed on impossible dreams.

“I have to say that Slow Down was robbed at the Oscars,” she said. “You totally deserved Best Director.”

She hadn’t taken her hand off his knee, rubbing it now and casting her spell.

“How can I be sure that you won’t screw me over?” he asked.

She stopped rubbing to put a hand over her heart.

“Why would I ever do that?”

“I promise you’ll have a different opinion of me after we’ve finished.”

“I have too much to lose if we don’t deliver your book. Barry is financing most of your deal himself, and he’ll attach me as producer. He’ll give me the world.”

“You do know he’s married.”

She pouted her lips and shrugged her shoulders.

Noah felt his cell ring. He fumbled around in his pocket and picked it up after the first buzz.

“Hello,” he said, chewing on his lip.

“Noah!” a gruff voice shouted through the receiver. “Barry Bronfeld here. How’s it working out with Kristy so far?” Noah pictured this bigwig on the other end. Manatee-sized and wearing globular rings filled with cocaine that he’d snort in between meetings. The only bastard in Hollywood that promised double anyone else’s offer.

“Tell me we got a fucking masterpiece here, kid.”

Noah took another drag and exhaled the smoke through his nose.

“We’ve got a fucking masterpiece here, kid.”

“Noah, you are a hil-a-ri-ous son of a bitch. You hand me a goldmine and I’ll give you carte blanche with the entire project, even forget about any of these delays. Ah shit, I got Tommy Cruise on the other line…Ciao.”

Noah tossed the cell from one hand to the other, rubbing his tired eyes.

He glanced down as if willing it to ring again.

“Sometimes I think about taking a permanent vacation. Away from all the paparazzi.”

He looked out of the window toward a crowd of photographers below.

“Is it like this everyday?”

“With the film being so big, and of course after what happened….”

“So how true are all the rumors?”

He noticed her staring at the giant painting hanging on the wall. A blank white canvas with a yellow circle in the center and traces of red splattered across the bottom in the shape of a handprint.

“The painting caught your eye?”

“Yes…I’m trying to understand the significance of the red handprint, obviously the yellow circle represents–”

“Not everything has to have a meaning.”

“No, of course not, it’s just the yellow circle resembles the tattoos the different girls had in Slow Down, so I thought the red handprint might symbolize blood or death–”

“I’m ready to begin,” he said, more forcefully than he intended.

“Right….absolutely. Time is money.”

She turned on the digital recorder, her fingers lightly shaking. The apartment remained silent for a long, drawn-out minute.

“I met Dominick Bambach four long years ago.” He let out a laugh that sounded like he was gagging. “And I can’t help but wonder, what if I never had? Where would I be now? Who would I be? Sometimes I feel like the real me died a long time ago, or at least whatever part of me was worthwhile.”

He took a deep breath, one last moment of quiet before the purge. He knew that once he’d begin, he wouldn’t allow himself to stop until he reached the brutal end. He sucked in a last hit of smoke and crashed the butt into an ashtray filled with a pile of other snuffed casualties.

“So here it goes….”

About the Author:

Lee Matthew Goldberg is the author of the novels THE DESIRE CARD, THE MENTOR, and SLOW DOWN. He has been published in multiple languages and nominated for the 2018 Prix du Polar. The second book in the Desire Card series, PREY NO MORE, is forthcoming, along with his Alaskan Gold Rush novel THE ANCESTOR. He is the editor-in-chief and co-founder of Fringe, dedicated to publishing fiction that’s outside-of-the-box. His pilots and screenplays have been finalists in Script Pipeline, Book Pipeline, Stage 32, We Screenplay, the New York Screenplay, Screencraft, and the Hollywood Screenplay contests. After graduating with an MFA from the New School, his writing has also appeared in the anthology DIRTY BOULEVARD, The Millions, Cagibi, The Montreal Review, The Adirondack Review, The New Plains Review, Underwood Press, Monologging and others. He is the co-curator of The Guerrilla Lit Reading Series and lives in New York City.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS: Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram




http://www.pumpupyourbook.com
 

I hope you enjoyed reading this post. Let me know in comments if you have read this book already or any book by the same author.

Happy Reading!

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#Excerpt : Pauper and Prince in Harlem (A Ross Agency Mystery #4) by Delia Pitts @rararesources @blacktop1950

Hello Readers! Today is my stop during the blog tour for Pauper and Prince in Harlem by Delia Pitts, organised by Rachel’s Random Resources, and I’m pleased to share a snippet of this intriguing mystery.

Pauper and Prince in Harlem by Delia Pitts
A Ross Agency Mystery series
Publication Date: February 18, 2020
Genre: mystery

A vulnerable kid. A brutal enemy. An addled ally. Blood runs cold on Harlem’s hottest summer night when Drive-by assassins shoot up a crowded playground, killing the teenaged friend of private eye SJ Rook. Only fourteen, the kid was smart, affectionate, and alive with potential. His sudden death strikes the cynical Rook through the heart. Was this boy the victim of a cruel accident? Or was he targeted by gang hit men in a ruthless display of power?

To find the killers, Rook must enlist the help of another teen, Whip, a mysterious runaway witness. Whip is a transgender boy whose life on the streets has drawn him into the realm of a violent mob kingpin. Damaged by his mother’s rejection, Whip doesn’t want to be found. Not by the cops or by community do-gooders. And certainly not by Rook, a resolute stranger with vengeance on his mind. Rook’s search for the elusive kid becomes a dangerous trek through the meanest corners of his neighborhood.

Racing from desolate homeless camps to urban swamps, from settlement houses to high-rise palaces ruled by greed and corruption, the determined Rook pursues his quarry. An unexpected twist in the detective’s relationship with his crime-fighting partner, Sabrina Ross, threatens to derail his mission. Noble tramps, vicious thugs, and a pint-sized trigger woman also complicate Rook’s efforts to protect Whip. When a mob prince and a hobo hold the boy’s life in the balance will Rook’s grit and imagination be enough to save Whip and bring the killers to justice?

Excerpt:

Harlem private eye SJ Rook pays a melancholy visit to his hobo allies in search of answers about the elusive boy at the heart of his latest case.

“With each hour, the danger to Whip expanded. He might not realize it, but I did. Rather than finish my boozy dinner with a third round, I hit the street, walking off the ugly buzz with a goal in mind. I paid another visit to Whip’s only known address: the homeless camp presided over by Eddie, the prince of paupers. The kid might be there, consulting with his mentor in rags. I could corner him and plot a way out of the danger. Or at least ease my worries for another night. 

“Dusk covered my arrival at the entrance of the Palace. Odette filled the door frame, dazzling in layers of aqua and lime-green mesh. She looked like meringue frosting on stilts. The old woman recognized me; at least, I think the jig of her brows meant that. But if she recalled our previous encounter on the street corner, she didn’t let on. “Hey, you. With the crazy gorgeous eyes. I know you.” Without missing a beat, this last phrase led Odette into a burst of fairy-tale waltz. Was she the Sleeping Beauty in this song? Or was I? She twirled, then dropped her eyes, waiting for applause. Like that dream, her voice had been beautiful once. But now, age, rough hooch, drugs, and curbside living had scratched the glitter. She squeaked and strained in the high notes and ran out of breath before the end of the longer passages. But when I clapped, she ducked into a deep curtsey, a true performer delighted to please a new audience. Our encounter on the street and my inspection of her shopping cart didn’t matter. Only the applause.

“Odette, I’ve come to see Eddie. Is he in?” Booze slowed my words to fake patience.

“Of course, Eddie’s in. Like always. Where else would he be? Come on up and rest your fine bones a spell.” I held the door for her, and Odette brushed past me and up the stairs, her gauzy skirts swishing dust from each step as she moved. 

Eddie sat on his mattress-throne, legs stiff in front of him as before. The gold knit cap had disappeared; his gray hair bristled in a wiry halo around his head. He’d unbuttoned his purple wool coat in concession to the stifling heat. As Odette and I approached, Eddie stared at a far corner of the vast warehouse, his eyes darting as if focused on a movie screen only he could view. “Hey, Odette, you’re back.” After this thin greeting and a nod at me, he resumed his vigil. Ever the dutiful hostess, 

Odette waved me toward a trampled corner of their mattress. “Pull up a chair, doll. Eddie’ll come around after a while.” Her eyes were tight and her smile toothless, like a sitcom housewife waiting for hubby to return home.”

Purchase Links:

UK –  https://www.amazon.co.uk/Pauper-Prince-Harlem-Agency-Mystery-ebook/dp/B0831RD7P5

US  – https://www.amazon.com/Pauper-Prince-Harlem-Agency-Mystery-ebook/dp/B0831RD7P5

Author Bio:

Delia C. Pitts is the author of the Ross Agency Mysteries, a contemporary private eye series including Lost and Found in Harlem, Practice the Jealous Arts, and Black and Blue in Harlem. She is a former university administrator and U.S. diplomat, who served in West Africa and Mexico. After working as a journalist, she earned a Ph.D. in history from the University of Chicago. She has published more than sixty fan fiction titles under the pen name Blacktop. Pauper and Prince in Harlem is the fourth novel in the Ross Agency Mystery series. The fifth, Murder My Past, will be released in 2021. Learn more at her website, www.deliapitts.com

Social Media Links – Website: www.deliapitts.com Instagram: deliapitts50 Twitter: @blacktop1950

Giveaway to Win 5 x PB Copies of Pauper and Prince in Harlem (Open to USA Only)

*Terms and Conditions –Only USA entries welcome.  Please enter using the Rafflecopter box below.  The winner will be selected at random via Rafflecopter from all valid entries and will be notified by Twitter and/or email. If no response is received within 7 days then Rachel’s Random Resources reserves the right to select an alternative winner. Open to all entrants aged 18 or over.  Any personal data given as part of the competition entry is used for this purpose only and will not be shared with third parties, with the exception of the winners’ information. This will passed to the giveaway organiser and used only for fulfilment of the prize, after which time Rachel’s Random Resources will delete the data.  I am not responsible for despatch or delivery of the prize.

a Rafflecopter giveaway


I hope you enjoyed reading this post. Let me know in comments what do you think about this book, if you have read previous book in series or any book by the same author.

Happy Reading!

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#Excerpt : Fresh Eggs and Dog Beds 2 by Nick Albert @rararesources @Nickalbertautho

Hello readers! I’m happy to share excerpt from Fresh Eggs and Dog Beds 2 by Nick Albert as part of blog tour organised by  Rachel’s Random Resources. Read more about this memoir and excerpt in this post.

Fresh Eggs and Dog Beds 2 – Still living the dream in rural Ireland by Nick Albert
Book 2 in a series
Publication Date: 11th June 2018
Genre:  Memoirs, Humour

Synopsis :

Nick and Lesley’s desire for a better life in the countryside was a long-held dream. Unforeseen events and a leap of faith forced that dream into reality, but moving to rural Ireland was only the beginning of their story.


Foreigners in a foreign land, they set about making new friends, learning the culture and expanding their collection of chickens and unruly dogs. But their dream home was in desperate need of renovation, a mammoth task they attacked with the aid of a DIY manual, dwindling funds and incompetent enthusiasm. With defunct diggers, collapsing ladders, and shocking electrics, what could possibly go wrong?


Will their new life live up to expectations, or will the Irish weather, dangerous roads, and a cruel twist of fate turn this dream into a nightmare?

Excerpt:

An exclusive extract from Fresh Eggs and Dog Beds 2, written by bestselling author Nick Albert and published by Ant Press.

Although Nick and Lesley Albert moved to Ireland on a whim, their desire for a better life in the countryside was a long-held dream. Unforeseen events and a leap of faith forced that dream into reality, but getting to Ireland was only the beginning of their story.

Now foreigners in a foreign land, they soon set about making new friends, learning the culture and expanding their collection of chickens and unruly dogs.

In this scene, Nick decides it’s time to cut the front lawn for the first time.


Before leaving England I had purchased, second-hand, a solid American-built petrol lawnmower, which had done sterling work keeping the grass of our British garden under control. It had a powerful Briggs and Stratton motor, a 14 inch rotary cutting action, powered wheels, and a handy grass box. After giving this sturdy steel thoroughbred machine a good service and oil change, the engine was purring efficiently and the freshly-sharpened blade was whirring in eager anticipation. Confident everything was working as advertised, I began cutting the half acre of front lawn at Glenmadrie for the first time.

After just three paces, the engine stalled. Several hard pulls on the starter cord failed to restart it and, on further inspection, I discovered the blade was completely jammed by a large chunk of grass. I cleared the obstruction and began cutting again, with a similar result. Growling in frustration, I pulled the grass away by hand and re-started the mower. Three more steps and the engine stalled again. As I screamed in frustration, the self-assured smile quickly left my face, to be replaced by a grim scowl.

This mower was obviously a well-designed machine, perfectly suitable for the neat cutting and collection of dry grass in the heat of California, or Texas, or even Essex. But it had no chance of coping with the lush and constantly dew-wet meadow grass growing in Ireland. Clearly, I needed to do some modifications – or buy several goats.

To upgrade our mower to Irish conditions, I attacked it with a hammer, a saw and a recently acquired electrical gismo called a disc cutter. This evil-looking toy made a terrifying noise and vibrated like a live snake, but it produced a delightfully pretty spray of sparks as I chomped through the steel case of the mower. The end result of my modifications, looked rather like a family car with the boot cut off. It would surely have reduced the manufacturer to tears, as well as breaching most European health and safety rules. Nevertheless, with all of the obvious impedances to the free movement of wet grass removed, I began a test run.

With its gaping backside on show for all to see, my American lawn mower bellowed into life. A few inches from my toes, the cutting blades spun into a blur and buzzed like a swarm of angry hornets. I made a mental note to take shorter steps, or I would soon have shorter legs. Aiming at a thick swathe of tough looking grass, I pulled the lever to engage the drive wheels. As I pushed forward, there was barely a dip in the roar of the motor to signal the successful cutting of grass. There was no sign of tangling nor a suggestion that the motor would ever stall again. It was safe to say my modification was a triumphant success – with one minor exception. The moment I began to cut, a torrent of wet grass and other unidentifiable debris hit me full in the face.

Ever the practical fellow, and determined to make my modifications work, I closed my eyes to the merest slit and pressed on. Unfortunately, with the blizzard of grass adding to my already-restricted vision, I went slightly off line and collided with a tree. Plan B was to turn my head sideways, shut one eye and use my sizable proboscis to deflect most of the flying debris from entering the other eye. Although my nose did a splendid job protecting my eye, there was now nothing preventing the grass and grit from filling my exposed ear and threatening to deafen me. Plan C was to lower my height sufficiently to remain below the level of the flying debris. To do this I had to bend my knees and walk like an aged orangutan with a bad back. Whilst this method was partially successful, I quickly began to feel like an aged orangutan with a bad back. Pulling myself upright and trying to shake some life back into my wobbly legs, I reluctantly conceded the need for some robust protection and made a trip to our local hardware store.

So, two hours behind schedule, decked out in overalls, thick leather gloves, ear protectors and goggles, I began cutting the lawn again. Apart from the frequent need to wipe my goggles, and my bright purple overall slowly changing to chlorophyll green as I was sprayed with wet grass, my redesigned mower worked splendidly. Admittedly, the constant stream of fragments hitting my face was annoying, but after swallowing something that may once have been a slug, I soon learned to cut the grass with my mouth shut.

  After an hour of hard walking and breathing through clenched teeth, my modified American mower had transformed a scruffy patch of grass into a neat front lawn. It wasn’t perfect, but it was definitely an improvement. To finish the job, I did a final lap of the garden, just to tidy up the edges. As I mowed these last few yards, I cast my eye over my handiwork. “At least it looks like someone lives here,” I thought, quietly proud of my resourcefulness.

Just then the mower hit a patch of rough ground, perhaps a clod of earth pretending to be a clump of grass. I was instantly enveloped in a cloud of muddy dust and, as the mower groaned in anger, there was a sharp ting and a large pebble shot out. This rocky ballistic missile, travelling only slightly slower than the speed of light, would surely have broken a window, had it not hit me squarely in the groin. Cross-eyed and knock-kneed in agony, I let go of the lawnmower, grabbed my ‘crown jewels’ and collapsed like a man shot. Fortunately the mower stopped without hitting anything valuable, or running me over. I’m pleased to report that apart from a slightly dented blade, there was no permanent damage to the mower, but it was quite some time before I was able to uncross my eyes.


Purchase Links

Amazon UK

Kindle https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07DFNF3K4/

Paperback https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1721005226/

Audible https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0844YCGSS/

Amazon USA

Kindle https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DFNF3K4/

Paperback https://www.amazon.com/dp/1721005226/

Audible https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0844GYPSQ/

About Author:

Nick Albert was born in England and raised in a Royal Air Force family. After leaving College he worked in retail management for several years before moving into financial services where he quickly progressed through the ranks to become a training consultant. As a very passionate and reasonably talented sportsman, Nick had always wanted to use his training skills towards creating a parallel career, so in the mid 1980’s he qualified and began coaching sport professionally. After a health scare in 2003 and in search of a simpler life, he and his wife Lesley, cashed in their investments, sold their home and bought a rundown farmhouse in the rural west of Ireland – a country they had never before even visited. With little money or experience and armed only with a do-it-yourself manual, they set about renovating their new home, where they now live happily alongside a flock of chickens, two ducks and several unruly, but delightful dogs.
In 2017 Nick was signed to Ant Press to write a series of humorous memoirs about his life in rural Ireland. Fresh Eggs and Dog Beds (book one) was published in September 2017 and soon became an Amazon bestseller. Book two in the series was published on 1st June 2018 and book 3 in August 2019. Book four is due out in 2020.

Nick is also the author of the twisty thriller, Wrecking Crew, the first in a series of books featuring reluctant hero Eric Stone.

Social Media Links – Amazon | Facebook | Facebook-Author Page | Instagram | Twitter | Goodreads | Blogspot | Youtube | Website | AllAuthor Website


I hope you enjoyed reading this post. Let me know in comments what do you think about this book, if you have read previous book in series or any book by the same author.

Happy Reading!

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#BookBlitz #Excerpt : Warbringer by Aaron Hodges #Warbringer @rararesources

Hello Readers! I’m excited to be part of Blitz tour for Warbringer by Aaron Hodges, organised by  Rachel’s Random Resources. Read more about this epic fantasy and excerpt in this post.

Warbringer by Aaron Hodges
 Book 1 of The Descendants of the Fall series
Publication Date: 27th March 2020
Genre: Epic Fantasy

Synopsis

Centuries ago, the world fell.
From the ashes rose a terrible new species—the Tangata.
Now they wage war against the kingdoms of man.
And humanity is losing.


Recruited straight from his academy, twenty-year-old Lukys hopes the frontier will make a soldier out of him. But Tangata are massing in the south, and the allied armies are desperate. They will do anything to halt the enemy advance—including sending untrained men and women into battle. Determined to survive, Lukys seeks aid from the only man who seems to care: Romaine, the last warrior of an extinct kingdom.

Meanwhile, the Queen’s Archivist leads an expedition deep beneath the earth. She seeks to uncover the secrets of the Gods. Their magic has been lost to the ages, yet artifacts remain, objects of power that could turn the tide of the war. But salvation is not all that waits beneath the surface. Something else slumbers in the darkness. Something old. Something evil.

Excerpt

Chapter 4 – The Recruit

Lukys’s legs burned as he made his slow way up the slope. The weight of his pack and chainmail vest dragged him back but he kept on, teeth clenched, eyes fixed on the ground two yards ahead of his feet. Grunts came from the other Perfugian recruits walking around him, though little was said. After a week of hard marching, few could spare the breath for idle words.

On more than a few occasions, Lukys had wondered whether he could keep on. The way had been a brutal series of mountains, valleys and river crossings, with each night spent camped in the open, with only the canvas tents they carried on their backs for shelter. Exhaustion weighed on his shoulders; he had not enjoyed a good night’s sleep since the voyage from Ashura. If only the ship had carried them further south, the march to the frontier could have been completed in a day.

Instead it had deposited them on the docks of Mildeth, the Flumeeren capital, leaving them to walk most of the way. Apparently, the galley was needed for more important tasks, such as ferrying the famous Flumeeren spices back to Ashura.

Many of the recruits felt affronted at the idea, but Lukys’s childhood had been filled with hardships far worse than a cross-country march. His parents had been nobodies. That wasn’t meant to matter in Perfugia. Children were taken from their families at eight and enrolled at the national academy, so that none would be privileged above others.

But even at the academy, the division had been clear. His dormitory had been old and crowded; the newest facilities given to the noble born. And so had passed his twelve years of study. He was glad to be rid of the place.

Now, at last, he would have a chance to prove himself.

It had come as a surprise when they’d named him. The Perfugian army was renown throughout the four kingdoms; it was a rare honour to serve in its ranks. Lukys’s hopes had been for a position as a scribe or doctor, though he’d struggled with both in his final examinations.

But a soldier? He hadn’t dared dream of such an assignment.

Noticing the slope lessening beneath his boots, Lukys finally glanced up. A sigh escaped him as he saw the top of the hill was close. Several recruits and the officers on their horses were already waiting there. His fellows were taking the opportunity to sit and rest their legs, while the officers talked softly amongst themselves.

Coming to a stop alongside the others, Lukys leaned against his spear with a groan, then drew out his waterskin and took a swig. The path up the hill had been dry and it felt good to wash the dust from his mouth. Laughter came from the nearby recruits as they looked in his direction.

“Finally made it, peasant?”

A scowl twisted Lukys’s lips but he kept his mouth shut. The group were made up of some of the higher born from the academy, men and women who at various points over the last ten years had made his life difficult. He was used to their taunts, though he’d hoped they might have ceased now that they’d all been named professional soldiers.

“I hope we get to march into Calafe,” one of them, Dale, was saying to the others. “Let’s see how tough the Tangata are when they come up against Perfugian steel!”

The others cheered and clapped his back. The officers on their horses ignored the noise, though the recruits had been instructed to keep quiet as they neared the frontier. If the maps were to be believed, they were close now…

Putting away his waterskin, Lukys moved past the officers. The remaining recruits were still filing up the hillside. Several of the stragglers were at least ten minutes behind; he had time to look around.

The terrain ahead was greener than what they’d just climbed. Trees spotted the rolling hills, though they could not compare to the untouched forests of northern Perfugia. Then Lukys frowned as he noticed a blackened strip of land. Further down the hill, the forest had been burnt, leaving bare earth stretching all the way to the broad waters of a river.

A river…

The Illmoor!

His heart quickened as he scanned the banks of the famous river, searching, seeking, there!

Nestled in a bend of the Illmoor was a town—Fogmore. A grin stretched his cheeks as he looked upon the end of their long journey. It faded, however, as his eyes lingered on the town. The stockade walls were tiny, and many of the buildings he could see looked to be made of wood. In Perfugia, even the poorest of villages were constructed of stone, built to last, to endure the wild storms that often bashed the island kingdom’s coast. Wood was only ever used as decoration.

He supposed it was all a farming nation like Flumeer could afford on such a distant frontier. Even so, his stomach twisted at the thought of sleeping in such a matchbox—what would they do if a fire swept through the sprawling buildings?

And why had they burnt the forest?

Purchase Links:

UK –  https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08653PM1L/

US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08653PM1L/

Author Bio:

Aaron Hodges was born in 1989 in the small town of Whakatane, New Zealand. He studied for five years at the University of Auckland, completing a Bachelor’s of Science in Biology and Geography, and a Masters of Environmental Engineering. After working as an environmental consultant for two years, he grew tired of office work and decided to quit his job and explore the world. During his travels he picked up an old draft of a novel he once wrote in High School (titled The Sword of Light) and began to rewrite the story. Six months later he published his first novel, Stormwielder, and hasn’t looked back since.

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