The Art of the Game by Kayt Miller – Blitz

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The Art of the Game

by Kayt Miller
Publication Date: September 28, 2018
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

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Meet Carter Corcoran: The hottest defensive end in the NFL. He’s big and brawny and has the best sack percentage in the league. Sure, he’s a force on the field but off the field? Let’s just say he’s got a secret. One only his family knows about.

Meet Vivien “Reggie” Reginald: The hottest mess that ever graduated from the Chicago Art Institute. Well, maybe that’s a little harsh. Her best friend, Kai, would probably just say that Reggie was misunderstood. Sure, she’s got issues but nothing that can’t be solved by working hard and making art. Am I right?

What happens when they meet? When Carter meets Reggie, he discovers a link between his job playing football and his real passion. He also realizes something’s been missing in his life. Something curvy. Something real.

When Vivien meets Carter, she discovers not all men leave and some even love her just the way she is.

Due to coarse language and sexual content this book is intended for readers 18+.

It is a stand-alone with a sexy hero with no cheating and an HEA. (And here’s a heads up for those of you who are following the Flynn Family series. Carter Corcoran is Kennedy Corcoran-Flynn’s brother.;)

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About Kayt Miller

Kayt Miller is not my real name. It’s my alias, my nom de plume. It allows me to write all my romantic and sexy thoughts down without my students discovering my secret. It’s sort of exciting. It’s exhilarating to lead a double life.

There are times when the author and the real me are the same people. Like the fact we live in the midwest where it’s cold in the winter and hot in the summer. If it weren’t for the other two seasons, I’d move to warmer climes. But since of my family and friends all live nearby, it’s hard to think of living anywhere else.

Truth be told, my degrees from Iowa State didn’t lead me to write. Reading did that. I was searching for a book. One about a certain type of woman and a specific kind of man and I couldn’t find it so, I wrote it. I called it Game Changer and it couldn’t have been a more appropriate title. It changed my life in many ways. While my real job is teaching young people, my fun job is conjuring up characters and situations to write about.

I’ve also learned a few things along the way. Like the fact that hiring an editor is a must, albeit an expensive must. I’ve learned so much from that process and hope that shows with each new book. Another thing I’ve learned is that reviews matter. A good review will make my day while a bad review will bum me out for a day (or a week) but I always learn from them. So, leave me your reviews. I read them. Your opinion matters to those of us who write and who want to get better. Don’t be too mean, though. I’m just a woman who likes to write about love.

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Rachel’s Search – Blitz

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A Satilla County Novel
Historical Fiction
Date Published: July 2018
Publisher: Outskirts Press
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What does the second coming of the Klan portend for Satilla County? Is it one more sign evil is winning? Setting out to find answers, a northern-born young journalist experiences life in the deep South, the struggle to survive for whites and blacks. Her search turns personal and horrific when her best friend disappears.
Boston born journalist Rachel Mellon sees the second coming of the Klan in 1915 as more fuel on a fire already burning out of control, not only in Satilla County but around the world. To her, the new South appears to be as bad as the old, or worse.  Challenged by her editor, she goes out to experience life for herself out there in the pine woods. She finds poor whites and even poorer blacks struggling to survive against great odds.  She finds suffering and hatred but also hope and love.  When best friend Eve disappears, Rachel’s search turns personal and horrific.
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About the Author
Oscar Patton is the author of the Satilla County series of novels. He says, “I use history, memory, and imagination to create regional stories with universal, timeless themes.  As William Faulkner put it, I write about the ‘human heart in conflict with itself.'”
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Summer Fling by Tarrah Anders – BLOG TOUR

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Summer Fling

by Tarrah Anders
Publication Date: September 14, 2018
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

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Small towns are perfect for summer vacations and summer flings.

The night before tourist season hits their sleepy little town, Emma had an impromptu drunken romp with a guy from a party… only to run into him just a few days later.

After her last major heartbreak, Emma swore off dating any of the out of towners. She had never questioned that decision… until Royce arrived in town. At first, she thought he was just like any other tourist during the season, here today, gone tomorrow.

However, when proved to her that he was putting down roots, that all changed.
Emma can only trust what she knows. Tourists always leave and relationships began with them always have an expiration date.

She has to protect her heart, even if she knows that if he goes, he will be taking it with him.

Only, Royce insists that he is in it for the long haul wants to build his life with her and in Sweeny. He starts giving her a note per date spelling out a single message— one painstaking word at a time. When all of a sudden the past comes barreling into Sweeny and starts to torment both Emma and Royce.

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EXCERPT

“Did you see the table full of man-meat at the diner?” Willie asks me as we’re closing up for the day.

“Man-meat? Why must you call them man-meat?” I ask casually.

Of course I noticed them. I notice all the men that come through this town. I can tell that there are some who have been here before and I can tell the ones who are first timers to our little town. The wide eyes and shock and awe that people carry sometimes, it’s obvious that some people have never been to a small town before. The table of man meat, as Willie so lovingly call them at the diner was a combination of both. And I needed to stay far away, they all had heartbreak written all over them.

“They were kind of hard to not notice Em, I mean seriously. We need to get you to the doctors, you need a check up. How could you not see them?”

“I have selective vision.”

“You have selective vision?”

“You heard me.” I say as she shakes her head.

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About Tarrah Anders

Meet Tarrah. She’s a contemporary romancer who is all about the feels, with the twists of sexy mixed in between. She’s been writing since before she can remember. Writing was always a passion, that was kept it under wraps, stayed on the backburner and never vocalized or followed through with my desire to be a writer, until she read a horrible book and thought: ‘I could do better than that!’ She kept her writing romance from her husband for nearly two years, but finally told him because… royalties and taxes. Now, he lovingly helps with ‘research’ and uses him for his amazing Photoshop skills for her covers.

She is originally from the San Francisco Bay Area, but living in beautiful San Diego with her own little family while working during the day as a social worker working with the homeless. She is a hardcore San Francisco Giants fan and anything dealing with cupcakes and Zombies.

Her writing style is that she tries to keep on earth. She tries her best to not be too unrealistic with her characters, what they do and how they live. She wants her books to be relatable and not to create too many eye rolls, when a character starts calling his love interest baby after knowing her for 5 minutes.

She has written and self-published 4 books and one novella. They’re all dual point of view aside from the novella. She is currently working on several pieces but focusing on two mainly. Thematically, the novels are friends to lovers, random hook-ups and office romances mixed with a whole lot of fun in the middle.

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Thelema – Blitz

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YA Fantasy
Date Published:  March 2018
Publisher: Thelemic Arts
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What if you were born into a world where the gods once walked among men and women? Where you wake up every morning to find a mystical pendant around your neck and know, as everyone knows, that the gods had granted you this awesome gift, to house your will, allowing you to perform incredible feats. But what if that blessing was also a curse in that it tethered your soul to the world; and if you removed it, you would forfeit the will to live? What if your pendant was merely the missing half to someone else’s pendant? Someone whom you’ve never met, and may never meet, for the gods were selfish and cruel in keeping you apart? Everytime you gaze down at your pendant, you feel the promise of great joy and despair simultaneously as every fiber of your being is drawn to your other half – your twin flame.
If only you could summon the will of a god yourself, perhaps you’d be united.
What if this same world was inhabited by legions of monsters known as juristic persons – living, breathing corporations with wills and minds of their own? What if such creatures had rights and powers that far exceeded those of humans?
Into such a world were born Dean Maynard and Jane Stewart – Justices of the Peace who use the Thelemic arts, along with their martial prowess and knowledge of the Law, to bring about order and justice in the land of Severa. When a routine trial by jury gets turned into a trial by combat, however, the balance of power between mankind and its creations shifts, leading some to question whether the course of history will be forever changed, and humanity’s future suddenly becomes uncertain.
As everyone tries to find peace and purpose in their lives, dark and sinister forces begin to emerge from the shadows thrusting the Department of Justice into a battle for the soul of Severa and the lives of its citizenry.
Journey now into that world in this fantastical tale of love, action, intrigue, and will.
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Excerpt
Where could he be? Justice Jane Stewart adjusted her dorky black glasses
on her gentle face and brushed her bangs from her eyes as she reviewed
the file in her hand for a third time.
The seventeenth day of the month of the Lamb, near Samuel Forest, just
outside Fiber City, Belier. Sixth step of Rael. She looked around to see the sordid
remains of the heavily deforested region that had once been Samuel Forest. The
location was right. The presence of the adverse parties, as well as the jury,
confirmed it.
She looked at her watch. It was already half a step passed midday.
He’s late. Could he have gotten lost?
In high-profile cases such as this, a Justice of the Peace would sometimes
request the trial be held at the scene of the crime in order to help the jury
understand certain key factors about the case. Jane specifically chose this
location in order that they might see the devastation the defense’s actions had
wrought to the trees, the animals, and the land itself. She hoped they’d be moved
to side with her against the adverse party.
However, none of her careful tactics would work unless the judge arrived
soon to administer the proceedings.
And I can’t do it without you, Dean.
The advocates for the defense began whispering amongst themselves.
“Is everything set?” asked the one.
“Yes,” said the other, “It’s been arranged, just as we planned. All we have
to do is wait for the trial to finish before we make our move.”
“That may not be necessary,” said the first, in a sinister insinuation, “At
this rate, there might not even be a trial. The other judge isn’t even here yet.”
“It’s not like they need two Justices to try a case, right?”
“No, but that was the agreement and it’s at our discretion whether we
exercise our rights or not. We both know our clients are guilty as hell, so we’d
be fools not to press any advantage we can.”
“In that case, let’s hope he never shows. Then we won’t even have to get
our hands dirty. We can just stand on our right to a speedy trial, motion for
dismissal, and since he’s not here, we would enter into default judgment and
estoppel. If that happens, the Department of Justice won’t be able to try this case
again because of the provision against double jeopardy.”
“That would certainly be an embarrassment for one of Severa’s top
prosecutors.”
“Just think how disappointed she’ll be to see all her hard work wasted
because her partner couldn’t be bothered to show up on time.”
The two shady lawyers cackled and snickered amongst themselves.
“We’ll give him a few more minutes before we move to dismiss,” said the
one, “Just so we can say we were gracious and thereby avoid drawing any
suspicion to ourselves.”
Jane’s slender calloused hands began to shake with anxiety.
Come on, Dean. Where are you?
She gripped the curved hilt of the two-handed hunting saber at her side in
an effort to calm her nerves. Her heart pounded. She closed her doe brown eyes
and took a deep breath. Judge or no judge, she could not stand idly by any longer.
It was still possible to stall for time by going over preliminaries.
“I guess we’ll get started,” Jane declared, the tinge of an Ionian accent still
lingered in her voice from her days in finishing school as a child abroad.
She turned to her clerk and said, “Hanji, summon Adaiah.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hanji replied.
The young black-haired clerk grabbed the pendant around his neck with
his left hand and drew his quillon dagger from its sheath with his right. He held
the blade out in front of him with the tip pointed down, like an ice pick. This
position would allow him to draw energy out from the weapon and, in this case,
summon Adaiah.
“Arcesso!” he shouted.
Sparks of electricity and light surrounded his short, frail body as a surge
of unseen energy traveled from the dagger, up his right arm, through his stomach,
down his left arm, into his Thelema, through his heart, along his spine, and out
the top of his head, before finally discharging into the sky.
The energy body’s meridian path, through which one’s chi flowed.
A creature the size of the blade emerged from the disc at the hilt and floated
in midair just above it. She looked like a short, slender black bear with white
tufts of fur on her elbows, knees, paws, and ears. She had a long, thin prehensile
tail that ended in a white ball of fluff, as well as a pair of velvet-covered wings.
Her name was Adaiah and she was a Notary. Every Justice had one by operation
of law, though it usually fell to the Justice’s clerk to manage them.
The Notary’s sole job was to take in everything that transpired around
them and retain it with perfect memory for later use. The testimony of a Notary
was held as self-evident, legally treated as indisputable fact; and for this reason,
they made excellent record keepers.
“Adaiah,” Jane commanded, “Begin recording.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Adaiah replied in a high-pitched, squeaky voice. Her eyes
flashed white and a pale blue glow enveloped her. From that point onward, she
would remember everything that happened to Jane and Hanji until she exited the
trance.
Hanji returned his knife to its sheath. Beyond being the indenture that
bound Adaiah’s soul to the world, it could still serve as a weapon like any other.
“Clerk, call the roll,” Jane ordered.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Hanji. He cleared his throat and turned to the restless
crowd that had gathered in the clear-cut forest to watch the trial. “Are the
advocates for Bunyan Logging and Blue Ox Shipping here?”
“Here.” They said.
“Kindly step forward and present your indentures.”
They did as they were instructed. A man in a dark suit emerged from the
crowd and held up a small statue carved to look like a beaver wielding an axe
and wearing a flannel shirt with overalls and large boots. A lawyerly woman
also emerged from the crowd and held up a similar totem that looked like a
Minotaur with a ring piercing its nose and a yoke around its neck. These were
the indentures of the juristic persons of their respective companies.
Hanji squatted down in front of them. This time, he gripped his Thelema
with his right hand and placed his left hand on the ground in front of them.
“Infero!” he shouted.
The same light as before surrounded him. A surge of energy traveled from
the ground, up his legs, along his spine, through his heart, into his Thelema, along
his right arm, through his stomach, down his left arm, out his hand, and back into
the ground before discharging. A pair of glowing red seals, about the size of
Hanji’s hand, appeared. Each seal consisted of two squares offset by forty-five
degrees so as to form an eight-pointed star and inscribed in a circle, with a smaller
circle inscribed inside both of them. Centered within each of the triangles formed
by the overlapping squares was an elegant sigil depicting one of the eight
heavenly bodies.
Having completed the seals, Hanji withdrew his hand and stood up.
“Please place your indentures into the summoning circles,” he said.
The two advocates set their totems on the ground within the seals and then
stepped back. Hanji stretched out his arm towards them.
“Ligo!” he shouted.
The seals began to glow more intensely as a wall of light rose up to
surround the statues, binding them in place.
“All set,” said Hanji.
“Good,” Jane declared.
Such formal protocols as these aren’t strictly necessary, but they at least
help me buy time.
Jane grabbed her Thelema pendant with her right hand and held out her
left hand towards the two indentures. For anyone who was right-handed, this
position would have allowed them to emit energy from their left hand; but
because Jane was left-handed, the flow of chi through her meridians was
reversed, and so it would yield the opposite effect. Thus, she used it to draw
energy out of them the way Hanji had summoned Adaiah.
“All rise!” she commanded.
Her petite warrior body lit up in a bright aura much like Hanji’s did, only
more intensely. The seals around the statuettes erupted in a flash of electricity
and light. Two towering creatures slowly emerged from the indentures. Each
measured about eight to nine meters tall. Their appearance conformed to the
likenesses of their totems – an axe-wielding beaver and a burly, blue Minotaur.
These were the juristic persons of Bunyan Logging and Blue Ox Shipping in their
living, breathing forms.
They were also the principle defendants in this case.
Jane released her pendant, letting it fall against her chest.
Now we just need to wait for Dean to show up.
As if on cue, the rumbling of an engine crescendoed like rolling thunder
as Justice Dean Maynard came riding over the hill on his motorcycle. He parked
the vehicle under a tree away from the action and walked towards the group
without any sense of urgency at all. He marched with the confident poise of a
medieval knight having just dismounted from his trusted steed. His hooded black
cloak and the bastard sword hanging from his side only served to reinforce the
image. He wore his weapon with pride, like a badge of honor, for indeed a
Justice’s sword was a badge of their authority.
A modern rendition of the classic priestly robes, the uniform of a Justice
of the Peace consisted of a simple, yet elegant frock jacket and matching pants,
both black with elaborate gold trim around the edges. The jacket was designed
so that it could be worn over a judge’s regular shirt or blouse and provided a thin
layer of padded protection. A Justice’s duties to give chase and to engage in
combat were also taken into consideration, with most choosing to wear leather
boots of some kind as opposed to dress shoes.
Slight variations in the overall attire existed between male and female, and
also between members of the same sex, depending on season, climate, and the
need for mobility, with some parts being cut longer or shorter than others, but all
falling under the same general style. The idea, in the minds of the outfit’s
designers, was that anyone could look upon a Justice of the Peace and recognize
them instantly as such. This was not merely decorative, but practical as well in
that a Justice served as a symbol of authority among the people out in the real
world.
The uniform also came with a cloak, which had a variety of subtle features,
such as earbuds, a visor, and an inflatable pillow all sewn into the hood for long-
distance trips.
A Justice’s cloak was usually black with gold trim as well, though in more
recent times, some latitude was given to tailor its interior to the judge’s personal
preference and to help distinguish them from one another. The interior of Dean’s
cloak was a cobalt blue that matched his deep-set eyes, while Justice Stewart’s
was a deep red-violet that paired well with her long, chestnut brown hair.
Jane felt relieved to see Justice Maynard finally arrive. Her opponents
were less than thrilled.
“Sorry I’m late,” said Dean nonchalantly, “I’m afraid my clerk was
nowhere to be found this morning. We’ll just have to start without him.”
“We’ve already started, Your Honor,” Jane said curtly.
Dean sulked in disappointed. “Aw, man, really? Well, in that case …”
He grabbed his Thelema with his right hand and knelt down on the ground,
touching the earth with his left hand.
“Saepio!” he shouted.
His body lit up even more intensely than Jane’s had. A thin wall of blue
light stretched out from behind him and carved a path in an enormous arc around
him. It continued outward, encircling Jane, Hanji, the jury, the juristic persons,
their agents, and the other officers and onlookers who were present for the trial, before eventually closing in on itself. All told, it formed a giant hemispherical dome, some fifty meters in diameter around them, isolating the group from the outside world. This was Dean’s Chambers. Its purpose was to prevent interference with the trial and all Justices were given discretion on when they could invoke such a power. Once erected, however, no one and nothing could enter or leave the area without the consent of its creator.
Dean slowly stood back up and released
About the Author
Marushia Dark is a mysterious figure whose real identity is unknown.  Only to a select trusted few are privileged enough to be invited to know their secret.  Marushia can often be found on social media, writing from the shadows of a blog called “The Darkness Files.”  Marushia self-identifies as your favorite dark transhumanist and has created a number of campaigns to help bring human beings together in an otherwise divided world.  As for why they choose to remain anonymous, you can learn more at: https://www.darknessfiles.com/
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Gap-Toothed Girl – Blitz

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Contemporary Fiction
Date Published: August 2018
Publisher: Pearl Button Press
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“Tournament night in a sweltering Las Vegas stadium, and the girl with the gap-toothed smile stood bleeding in her ballet slippers.”
Thus begins Gap-Toothed Girl, the story of Dusty May, a Lakota orphan with an iron will, who runs away from the horrific circumstances of her foster home and her foster father — a man of beast-like brilliance and power — to pursue her dream of lightness and ballet, even as her foster father unleashes an army to bring her down.
Part literary fiction, part thriller, part dance story, Gap-Toothed Girl is at its core a tale of human joy and freedom of will — a “relentlessly paced novel” combining “the surreal imagery of Nabokov with the psychological complexity of Dostoevsky” (Fort Collins Forum) to investigate the depths of the human psyche and the indomitable will to succeed, ultimately plumbing the very nature of human happiness and the human soul.

Excerpt
 
Chapter 1
Tournament night in a sweltering Las Vegas stadium, and the girl with the gap-toothed smile stood bleeding in her ballet slippers. The sodium lights of the arena lay upcast on the low-hanging sky above. An electrical charge hummed through the air: a crackling undercurrent that came neither from the lights nor from the distant heat lightning, but from the galvanized excitement of the crowd.
Before her, some twenty feet away and elevated four feet off the ground, there stretched a long green balance beam, atop which, at the southernmost end, stood eight empty whiskey bottles. The bottles were perfectly upright and in single file. A small springboard crouched in front.
High above her floated a long banner which said, in  shimmering red letters:
A CONTEST OF MOTION
She closed her eyes and inhaled. The air was dry. She stood alone upon the stage. She was dusky-limbed, Lakota. She held her breath a moment and then she released it.
When she opened her eyes, her gaze settled on the objects before her: the springboard, the balance beam, the whiskey bottles. The heat hung heavy. A rill of sweat slid between her breasts. She didn’t see the tiny camera-flash explosions igniting everywhere around her from within the darkness of the stadium. She forgot that there were thousands of eyes fixed upon her. She forgot also the pain in her toes and was unaware of the bleed-through and the blood leaking like ink across the entire top part of her slipper.
Offstage in the shadows, a lanky youth in a baseball cap gave a thumbs-up, but it wasn’t directed toward her.
A man with a microphone emerged on stage. He was thin and well-dressed and darkly complexioned.
A hush came over the crowd. The man held the microphone to his mouth. His voice came booming through the speakers with great clarity.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “ladies and gentleman. May I have your attention, please. Thank you. We are finally at the end of the night, and — my Lord — what a night it’s been. What a competition.”
The crowd erupted.
“We have seen — excuse me, please — we have seen tonight some of the very best dancers in the world, and I’m sure you know this is not an exaggeration. We have only one more to go. Did we save the best for last? Need I remind you that there’s fifty thousand dollars at stake here?”
He paused.
“Now,” he said, “now, then. Do you see this young woman up on the stage with me? I’m told she’s about to do something that only one other person in human history is known to have done, and that was Ms. Bianca Passarge, of Hamburg, Germany, in 1958 — except Ms. Passarge, I am told, was not mounting a balance beam when she did her routine. Can this little girl — all 115 pounds of her — I say, can she do it? Can she steal the money from these big city boys and girls, the Bronx break dancers and West Coast B-Boys and all the others who have astounded us here tonight with their strength and agility and their grace of motion? Folks, we are about to find out.”
The crowd erupted again. The MC turned and looked at the girl on stage behind him.
He winked.
He lowered the microphone and said in an unamplified voice that sounded peculiar to her:
“Are you ready?”
He smiled kindly.
She nodded.
He gave her the A-OK sign with his fingers and nodded back. Then her lips broke open in return, disclosing, very slightly, her endearing gap-toothed smile.
He brought the microphone back to his mouth and turned again to the audience.
“Here we go!” he said.
The crowd went dead-silent in anticipation.
“Okay, okay!” she thought. All ten of her fingers wiggled unconsciously and in unison.
Abruptly, then, the lights above her darkened while simultaneously the lights behind her brightened, and then the music began: fast-paced and throbbing and happy.
She bolted forward.
She sprinted toward the balance beam and with astonishing speed executed a back handspring onto the springboard, vaulting into a full fluid backflip on one foot upon the beam — which in the very same motion turned into another back handspring, and then another, all to within inches of the bottles at the far end of the beam. This entire process took no more than five seconds. Here she paused for a fraction and then performed a half turn. From there she leapt lightly onto the first upright whiskey bottle, which wobbled only slightly under her weight. She placed her other toe catlike upon the next whiskey bottle, and then she raised herself en point to great heights….

 

About the Author

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Ray A. Harvey, novelist, essayist, published poet, athlete, and editor, son of Firman Charles Harvey (RIP) and his wife Cecilia, youngest of thirteen half brothers and half sisters, was born and raised in the San Juan Mountains of southwestern Colorado. He’s worked as a short-order cook, copyeditor, construction laborer, crab fisherman, janitor, pedi-cab driver, bartender, and more. He’s also written and ghostwritten a number of published books, poems, and essays, but no matter where he’s gone or what he’s done to earn a living, literature and learning have always existed at the core of his life.
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