03 November 2016

The Limbo Tree: Book Blitz

Title: The Limbo Tree
Author: T. N. Suarez
Publication Date: Oct. 10, 2016
Find: Amazon | Goodreads | Kobo | iBooks

An accident. A secret. The truth.

Something is wrong with Samantha McCallister. Her baby brother is dead, and she has only one memory of the accident: the canned version her parents impressed upon her. But piece by piece, Sam struggles to make sense of it.

Cast aside by her self-involved family, Sam seeks out a friendship with the next-door neighbor, Hazel, until Hazel inexplicably goes missing, leaving nothing but a note and a jar of jam.

Determined to uncover the truth about Hazel’s disappearance, Sam finds out more than she bargained for. Bizarre episodes and nightmares consume her, vicious and unstoppable.

Meanwhile, an adolescent muse moves into Hazel’s abandoned home. Sam is immediately drawn to him—discovering the beginnings of true love—when the unthinkable occurs. Sam is alienated to a world in which she no longer feels she belongs. Try as she might, Sam cannot escape these nightmares or the truth behind them—the truth that lies in the Limbo Tree.

Brilliantly crafted, shimmering with uncertainty, The Limbo Tree is as mystical as it is moving.

About the Author

Chicago-born author Tania Nicole Suarez, best known as T.N. Suarez, does her best writing on her backyard patio, as well as at the charming coffee shop around the corner with free refills. When she isn’t glued to her laptop, she spends time with her magical family, binge-watches Netflix, paints with acrylics, and tries very hard not being the worst tennis player in the burbs.

Tania began her writing career while working as an art director for an advertising agency. She holds a Bachelor of Arts degree in Graphic Design and is an internationally published photographer. Her work has been featured in USA TODAY, Fox News, ABC News (Australia & New Zealand), New York Magazine, New York Post, Fuji Television Network (Tokyo, Japan), Asahi Television Network (Tokyo, Japan), EuroNews (Lyon, France), Huffington Post (Osaka, Japan), and Les Journal de Montréal (Montréal, Quebec, Canada).

Additionally, Tania is an active member of Chicago Writers Association (CWA), Poetry Society of America (PSA), Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI), and the Women’s Fiction Writers Association (WFWA).

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How did I get here so quickly?
The moon cracked a smile over my shoulder as I stood in the entrance to Hazel’s grapevines. My bare feet imprinted the damp, cool ground below me as I watchfully made my way down the path. The night sky dimly lit the passage to her back steps.
The twisting greenery surrounding me tugged at my pajamas along the way. It was quiet—too quiet. The atmosphere was absent of any ambient background noise. Strange, I thought, making it to Hazel’s rickety stairs to her porch.
The house was dark.
I cautiously crept up to the screen door. With each step, the decayed wood argued, echoing in the silent night. I waited for a moment to make sure that no one heard me before opening the screen door to Hazel’s porch. The door let out a piercing groan, like the sound of a rusty swing. The penetrating noise dug deep into my eardrums. I instinctively clapped my hands over both ears, letting go. It slammed shut, reverberating in the floor below me.
I stood in the moonlit darkness listening, expecting to feel my heartbeat in every extremity, but I didn’t. I waited for someone to come and answer to the noise, but no one came.
Nobody’s home, I thought.
I ran across the rough decking to the house then lassoed my fingers around the iron handle of the double doors. Hazel’s necklace hung on the doorknob behind the screen. It’s here. As I propped it open to slyly snatch it, a stream of light presented from the door behind it, which creaked open, inviting me in once again.
“Hello?” I whispered.
The rest of the house was dark, except the glimmering light from Hazel’s pantry.
“Hello, anyone here?”
“Sssam…” the voice said, whispering in one ear.
“Who’s that?” I pressed my face against the open door, propping the other open.
“It’s me, Sam, come in.”
“Yes, Sam. It’s me.”
“Where are you? It doesn’t sound like you.”
“I’m down in the cellar,” she hollered, but the words were unclear.
“In the cellar?” I stepped into her kitchen, letting the screen door shut behind me.
“Yes, in the pantry,” she replied, sounding breathless, accompanied by the sounds of bottles clinking together.
“Why, why, are you down there?” I questioned, thinking about the reek that occupied it. How could she stand it down there?
“I’m taking the rest of my jam that I left behind,” Hazel echoed from beneath me. “Do you mind giving me a hand, dear?”
How could I say no?
The pantry door was partially opened. When I opened it the rest of the way, a wall of putrid vapor hit my nostrils. I folded my arm over my face, nearly dry-heaving. The gaping hole in the floor wafted its decaying air across my bare legs and feet, giving me the chills.
A ladder crept over the edge.
“Sam, no need to be scared. The ladder is safe.” I was sure Hazel saw my shadow dancing around the edge of the small room.
“I—I’m not.” I kept my arm over my face and nose and moved in closer to the unnerving gap in the floor. I peered down; a soft light glowed in the corner of the underground room and a single case of jam sat at the bottom of the stairs. I heard Hazel fumbling around in a corner that was out of view.
“I put a case on the floor. You can start with those.”
“Okay,” I answered—my enunciation hindered by my forearm. I released my arm, getting another whiff of the revolting fumes, gagging. My stomach knotted and released in quick successions. I quickly tossed my oversized T-shirt over my head, covering my lips and face. How could she not smell that? My hot breath bounced back at me as I tied the shirt tight behind my head. Having only a tank top and shorts on underneath, I could feel the moist frigid air encircling my nearly naked body and I shivered uncontrollably. The floor boards groaned as I leaned over to climb down the ladder.
“I’m coming down now.” I took my first step.
“Okay, dear.” Hazel’s voice ricocheted off the stone and clay wall, distorting it.
The flicker of candlelight bobbed around the room, casting strange shadows while I climbed to the bottom. My toes tingled as they pressed into the silty earth. A row of shelves, as old as time, stood crookedly next to a plank and stone wall. The wooden shelves were thick and jaggedly holding other antique items, dusted with a film of Mother Earth’s musty scent. A bucket candle sputtered its lonely light, illuminating only the corner where I stood. The rest of the room fell victim to darkness. A slight hissing noise slithered out of the shadows to greet me.
I whipped around. “Hazel?” I squinted into the dark.
“Come closer, dear. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”
Her honeyed voice sent a chill down to the marrow. My breath curled out in front of me toward the unknown.

01 November 2016

One More Breath: Book Blitz & Giveaway

Title: One More Breath (The Georgia Girls)
Author: Amber Garr
Publication Date: Nov. 1, 2016
Find: Amazon | Goodreads
Other Books by Author: Promises (Syrenka #1) | Touching Evil (Leila Marx, #1)

Sydney Westbrook has had enough.

After a fight with her abusive ex-boyfriend leaves her in the hospital once again, she knows it’s time for a change. Just out of college, Sydney decides to accept a position as a live-in nurse. But leaving the comfort of Atlanta and the support of her small circle of friends is hard to do. And when she meets her ailing, stubborn client, Sydney second guesses all of her choices.

A southern family with a social status to maintain, the McNamara’s think very little of Sydney, especially since she reminds Mrs. McNamara so much of the daughter-in-law she never accepted. But when Sydney encounters Quinn, the defiant grandson, her views of the family begin to change. And her heart begins to heal the hole left behind by the abuse.

Sydney and Quinn may have little time together, but they make the most out of it. A public display of their relationship is short-lived when Sydney learns just how far her client will go to save her family’s namesake. And when Sydney’s past suddenly rips into her new world, her happiness with Quinn threatens to come to an end.

But truth and friendship will help Sydney finally live the life she’s chosen while loving the one she chose.

About the Author

Amber Garr spends her days as a scientist and nights writing about other worlds. Her childhood imaginary friend was a witch, Halloween is sacred, and she is certain she has a supernatural sense of smell. Amber is a multiple Royal Palm Literary Award winner, author of the bestselling Syrenka Series, The Leila Marx Novels, the award-winning Water Crisis Chronicles and Georgia Girls Series, as well as the Death Warden Series. When not obsessing over the unknown, she can be found dancing, reading, or enjoying a good movie.

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The music changed to something fast. Way too fast. The dancer in me watched the feet of the couples who obviously knew what they were doing. Two forward steps, two back, and then one, one, merengue. Okay, got it.Quinn’s hand rested comfortably against my lower back, his fingers spreading wide enough to graze the top of my behind and hit the open back of my dress. Shivers trickled over my skin despite my sharp focus on the dance floor.“You ready?” Quinn’s hot breath against my ear melted my insides. That was it. I was pure mush for this guy I hardly knew. Might as well enjoy it.“Are you a good dancer?” I lifted my cheek toward his lips so that he could see the side of my face. A wave of boldness ripped over my bones. I was young. Single. Quinn was gorgeous,smart, and savvy. We could have a lot of fun together.“So I’ve been told.” His lips brushed my face as he repeated the same words I’d heard in the garden. With a smile and a new-found sense of confidence, I channeled my inner-Cass and pulled Quinn onto the dance floor. I heard him laughing behind me as we weaved in and out of the gyrating bodies. In just a few strides, Quinn had wrapped both hands around my hips, guiding us to an empty spot. If I was being honest with myself, I may have pushed back against him a little more than necessary, enjoying the hardness of his abs and the slightly possessive way he held onto me.Once we found a space large enough for the two of us, I turned and wrapped my arms over his shoulders. His height required me to reach higher than I would have normally been able to, so I was extremely grateful for the high heels.“Let’s do this,” Quinn said. With a quick snap of his hands, he yanked me even closer to him and began moving his hips. I stared into his eyes, feeling lost in an ocean of teals and turquoise. The beat soared through me, my hips lining up perfectly with his as we swayed.At first, we didn’t move our feet, just enjoyed the feeling of each other’s bodies against each other. Quinn leaned forward far enough to rest his forehead against mine, neither of us taking our eyes off each other. The move was so...intimate, so personal, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t pulled
away yet. Perhaps it was from the two shots of tequila and half a vodka martini. Or maybe it was because Quinn had this instant ability to make me feel safe and secure when I’d always experienced fear before.As the beat got louder and the music began to ramp up for the final chorus, Quinn smiled down at me. “Okay, let’s go.”Without another warning, he pulled me around the floor, blending with the rest of the couples. I worked on my foot placement, being careful to let him lead and not step on his feet at the same time. The music pulsed around me like a veil, blocking out all of my insecurities and allowing me to get lost in the moment. In no time at all, we were laughing and smiling and rubbing against each other in a way that might even make Cass blush.


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31 October 2016

Before Tomorrow: Book Blitz & Giveaway

Title: Before Tomorrow (Forget Tomorrow #1.5)
Author: Pintip Dunn
Publication Date: Oct. 31, 2016
Find: Amazon | B&N | Goodreads
Other Books in this Series: Forget Tomorrow (Forget Tomorrow #1) | Remember Yesterday (Forget Tomorrow #2) | Seize Today (Forget Tomorrow #3)

Prequel to the New York Times bestselling and award-winning novel, FORGET TOMORROW!

In a world where all seventeen-year-olds receive a memory from their future selves, Logan Russell’s vision is exactly as he expects — and exactly not. He sees himself achieving his greatest wish of becoming a gold-star swimmer, but strangely enough, the vision also shows him locking eyes with a girl from his past, Callie Stone, and experiencing an overwhelming sense of love and belonging.

Logan’s not sure what the memory means, but soon enough, he learns that his old friend Callie is in trouble. She’s received an atypical memory, one where she commits a crime in the future. According to the law, she must be imprisoned, even though she’s done nothing wrong. Now, Logan must decide if he’ll give up his future as a gold-star swimmer and rescue the literal girl of his dreams. All he’ll have to do is defy Fate.

About the Author

When her first-grade teacher asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, Pintip replied, “An author.” Although she has pursued other interests over the years, this dream has never wavered.

Pintip graduated from Harvard University, magna cum laude, with an A.B. in English Literature and Language. She received her J.D. at Yale Law School, where she was an editor of the YALE LAW JOURNAL.

Pintip is represented by literary agent Beth Miller of Writers House. She is a 2012 RWA Golden Heart® finalist and a 2014 double-finalist.

She lives with her husband and children in Maryland.

Website | Goodreads | Facebook | Twitter



Logan never thought of himself as a stalker, but that’s precisely what he did the next day. Stalked Callie with his eyes throughout the Poetry Core. Hid behind a digital kiosk and spied on her as she dispensed her lunch from a Meal Assembler. And, after school let out, he followed her and her sister, Jessa, to a nearby park.
He sat on a wrought-iron bench and watched them. As always, she made him feel like he’d just swum a hundred-meter race. Her hair was long and wavy, dark with bits of gold that beckoned him like the lights at the end of the pool. Her skin was brown and smooth, her cheeks round and flushed. But it was her eyes that got him—that had always gotten him. Not so much their warm color or lovely shape, but their expression. She had this way of looking at him as if she really saw him. As if he really mattered.
She and Jessa stood under a tree, the colorful leaves falling around them. They tilted their faces to the sky, and Callie laughed. He could hardly hear the sound, but he didn’t need to. He’d heard it enough times at school. And no matter how many people were in the room, no matter how loud they were, he could always pick out Callie’s laugh.
A few words drifted by on the breeze. Color names. Red, orange, brown. Jessa must be calling out the color of the leaves before they fell. Interesting. He never knew the younger sister was psychic, but somehow, it didn’t surprise him.
Callie clasped her hands together. Even from a distance, he could tell she was trying not to fidget. She was probably nervous about getting her memory tomorrow. That’s why they’d always sat near each other in class—because their birthdays were two days apart. It was a blessing when they were friends—and pure torture when they weren’t. The phrase “do something” seemed to march around her like an endlessly repeating scroll of text. Do something. Do something. Do something.
But for the first time in five years, when he looked at her, he didn’t hear the words. He didn’t see Mikey being dragged away, his hands wrenched behind him in a pair of electro-cuffs. Instead, he saw her as she was in his memory. Sitting on the first row of the bleachers, meeting his eyes across the crowd. Mouthing those words, “My red leaf.”
Talk to her, he ordered himself, but his leaden feet refused to move. So much time had passed. She had every right to shoot him down. Any regular girl would.
But Callie wasn’t a regular girl. She was the girl who fell over in her chair because she was trying to see the sun. The girl in his memory who looked at him with acceptance. The girl who saw through the twisted depths of him—and liked him anyway.
And then, she and her sister turned and marched toward the bullet train station, their swinging arms synchronized.
Aw, fike. He lurched to his feet and trotted after them. “Calla, wait up,” he called, using her full name. It had been years since he’d said it, but the syllables sprung to his lips as naturally as if he’s said them every day. Every hour. And maybe, somewhere deep in his soul, he did. Because in that place, Callie never stopped being his friend.


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