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#BlogTour #TheStoryAfterUs by Fiona Perrin | @fionaperrin @lovebooksgroup #LoveBooksGroupTours

story after us_15.jpeg

book blurb

Sometimes the end is just the beginning…

If she tries very hard, Ami can remember when she used to have a dynamic and exciting career and a husband who she loved more than life itself, and who was equally smitten with her…

Now she has two children, a terrifyingly large mortgage, and no idea who she has become – or why she and her husband can’t even be in the same room anymore.

With life as she knew it in tatters around her, Ami is heartbroken, and in no way pulling off ‘consciously uncoupling’ like a celeb. But she’s starting to wonder if she just might come out the other side and be… happier?

As funny as Helen Fielding, as poignantly touching as Marian Keyes, Fiona Perrin’s dazzling debut is a story that is as much about finding out who you really are again, as it is about the exhausting balancing act of motherhood. Unmissable for women everywhere.

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meet the author

FionaPerrin author pic 2meg .jpeg

Fiona was a journalist and copywriter before building a career as a sales and marketing director in industry. Having always written, she completed the Curtis Brown Creative Writing course before writing The Story After Us

As a mother and stepmother to four teenagers while holding down a fairly full-on job, she wanted to write grown-up commercial fiction about messy, modern love and families – with all their heartbreak, humour and hope. 

She grew up in Cornwall, hung out for a long time in London and then Hertfordshire, and now she writes as often as possible from her study overlooking the sea at the end of the Lizard Peninsula, back in Cornwall. She’s currently there, writing her second novel for Aria.  

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Chapter 1


Lars left me late on a Sunday afternoon in January. He threw a couple of bags into his car and drove off with a puff of smoke that could have been drawn by Walt Disney.

I stood at the top of the steps of our north London house as he disappeared around the corner of the road. I felt as if I were looking down at a sobbing thirty-seven-year-old brunette rather than that I actually was her. There was an overwhelming sense that, after ten years, it was Just Me Again.

But, of course, it wasn’t – now I had the kids. I rushed inside and threw cold water over my face at the kitchen sink, drying myself with a tea towel before I opened the door of the playroom. Four-year-old Finn and six-year-old Tessa were sitting on the sofa, frightened by the rowing and confused by the fact that they were allowed to watch a DVD when the rule was only an hour of screen time a day and that was when I needed to moan and drink wine.

‘Is everything OK, Mummy?’ Finn asked, walking over to kiss me. ‘Jemima’s coming to my party on Saturday. She’s my girlfriend and so is Tallulah. I’m going to marry both of them.’

‘You can only marry one person,’ scoffed his sister. ‘Can’t you, Mummy?’

‘Well,’ I said.

‘Except for Henry VIII,’ said Tess, whose special topic at school this term was the fat, monastery-burning Tudor. ‘When he went off his wives he chopped off their heads. You could chop off Jemima’s head and then marry Tallulah.’

‘But Jemima’s got lovely yellow hair,’ said Finn, clutching me.

‘You’d still have her hair if she was dead. You could keep her head in a corner.’

‘That’s enough, Tess.’ My daughter’s current favourite game was burying dolls in graves in the back garden and topping them with twigs. She also spent quite a lot of time on the floor pretending to be a corpse.

‘Daddy might not be back in time for your party,’ I said in a mock-cheerful voice. ‘He’s got to go away for work again.’ In fact, Lars missing his son’s birthday party had been the reason we’d had the enormous row that afternoon when he’d said he was leaving me and our marriage for good.

‘Oh dear,’ said Finn, who was very used to his father being away for his web business.

‘Can we watch another DVD?’ said Tess, who could spot a weak chink in adult armour a mile off.

I put my head into Finn’s neck so that they couldn’t see my face. ‘Yes,’ I said. How would they cope if we really were getting divorced? I worried so much about the impact all our recent rows were having on them; Tess was already really macabre and splitting with her father for good could only make that worse.

I wanted to crawl under my duvet and stay there in the foetal position, but it was approaching Sunday evening. I needed to do what every other family was doing: find PE kits, pack lunches, move miserably towards Monday while still mourning Saturday.

I rang Liv. ‘It’s the worst row we’ve ever had,’ I said, ‘and he says he’s divorcing me.’ She immediately said she’d come round. Then, like a robot, I made fish fingers, gave Tess and Finn a bath, packed their school bags, put them to bed and read them The Cat in the Hat, making an extra effort with my snarky Cat voice.

‘It’s you,’ I said. ‘Thing One and Thing Two,’ and they giggled. After that I poured myself a giant glass of red wine and waited for Liv on the sitting-room sofa, rocking back and forwards, as I relived the last few hours.


‘That’s it. We’re getting divorced,’ Lars shouted. It was raining outside. He stuffed paperwork – bills, bank statements – from the kitchen dresser into a bag. I wanted to pull his shirt, tug him so he couldn’t move any more, but instead I just stood and cried.

The argument started because Lars claimed that I hadn’t told him the right date of Finn’s birthday party until it was too late to reorganise his trip to Russia.

It could, however, have been about anything – our arguments had been getting worse over the last few months, despite our going to marriage guidance counselling. They were always about one thing: how Lars spent so much time away for work and less and less time with us, his family.

I knew I’d told him about the party being on the afternoon of Finn’s birthday on Saturday. And why was it my job to remind him of stuff like that anyway?

‘I thought it was on the Sunday and I was going to be back for his birthday evening on Saturday. It’s obviously a mix-up but it’s too late now,’ Lars said. ‘I’ve got to go to Russia.’

‘But we’ve got the Animal Man coming and we’ve sent out all the invitations.’

‘Who’s the Animal Man?’

‘Who do you think he is? He’s a man with animals. Guinea pigs, God knows. He’s the entertainer.’ I sat down at the kitchen table and put my head in my hands. Then I took a deep breath. ‘Are you going to tell Finn?’

‘I’ll tell him the trip’s been booked for weeks and at least he’ll understand. Which is more than you do.’

‘It’s your son’s fifth birthday, Lars. For once, please put your family first. Come to his birthday party.’

‘I’ll be there as soon as I get back from the airport. I’ll still see him on his birthday.’

‘The party will be over by then.’

‘Ami, he’ll have other birthdays, with bigger and better parties. I’ll be at those instead.’

‘The trouble is you know damn well you won’t. You should stop pretending you’ll ever change because we both know it’s bullshit.’

My marriage had turned me into a person who spat out bile like rancid water from a gargoyle. Loving him so much had turned me into someone hateful.

‘That’s it,’ he shouted. ‘I’ve had enough. You go on and on about how bad your life is – so let’s just forget it, shall we? We’ll get divorced and you won’t have to tell me how awful I am to this family all the time.’

We’d both used the ‘D’ word before in the heat of the moment, but still it seemed impossible to me that it would ever happen.

‘How can it be a family when you’re hardly here?’ I whispered. ‘Even when you’re here you’re somewhere else in your head.’

‘I’m thinking about a future for you and the kids. But that’s not good enough for you, is it?’

‘What I want is for us to be equal. I’ve got a business to run too.’ That Monday, I was booked to see the finance director of the tiny advertising agency I’d set up the previous year and I knew he was going to tell me that my balance sheet was looking decidedly unbalanced.

I asked, ‘Lars, do you still love me?’ but he didn’t answer, just ran up the stairs two at a time and threw his clothes into suitcases. I thought I could cope with most things, but I didn’t know whether I could face the fact that he no longer loved me.

He turned from the open wardrobe door and said very quietly, ‘It’s not about whether we love each other any more – that’s not enough.’ This was somehow worse than shouting.

‘Please don’t go,’ I said, following him to the bedroom doorway. I hated myself for my lack of dignity in begging him to stay.

‘I can’t stand it – all we ever do is argue.’

‘We can try…’ I couldn’t carry on with this half-a-marriage, but could I stand to see him finally go?

‘We’ve tried everything.’ His voice was as wintery as the day outside. ‘It’s time to stop trying. I’m leaving, Ami, and I’m leaving for good.’

He said it firmly, as he always did when he’d made a decision.

He carried the bags outside and into the boot of his car, light semi-frozen rain coming down on his white-blond hair so that it stuck to his face. Then he opened the car door, jumped in and drove off.

He was gone and this time it looked as if there was no going back.


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#BlogTour #Excerpt #BelfastCentral by A.K. Amherst | @amherst_ak #Lovebooksgrouptours 

book blurb
Belfast 1993: A nocturnal ambulance service at the Belfast Central Station almost turns deadly for the young paramedic Ryan. In the crosshairs of the IRA, he is badly wounded and wakes up in the hospital with muddled memories. The police close the case fast, leaving too many burning questions unanswered. Most importantly, who was that old man who appeared at the scene out of nowhere and saved Ryan’s life? Not fully recovered yet, Ryan begins searching for the mysterious man, only to get dragged into a feud between opposing paramilitaries – with fatal consequences…

A thrilling story about fates in 20th century Northern Ireland.

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meet the author
Born and raised in Austria, A.K. Amherst travelled the world from a young age. This influenced her writing, which relates to history and cultures of foreign countries. Intensive research is part of her job, and she really loves her job. You want to be taken into another setting and experience life from a different angle? Then Amherst is the writer for you.

There is a more detailed author bio on my website if you need it longer, but I prefer to keep it short 😉

Link to author bio “longer version”:

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NEU Cover Belfast Central TB 3D.png
Belfast 1993
We arrive at the train station within a few minutes. There are no parking lots in front of the station,
so I park behind the police car on the bus track.
We reach the main entrance, but it’s closed.
‘There has to be another way in,’ Jarvis says.
A staircase links the main road with the station’s parking lot, which is situated a bit lower. Jarvis
starts running. I follow him.
There’s a side entrance leading from the parking lot into the building. The glass door was
As we enter the train station, I feel unease.
‘Hello?’ Jarvis yells. ‘Is somebody here?’
Jarvis’s voice echoes off the walls. No answer.
What if nobody answers because everyone is dead already?
I swallow hard. ‘Maybe we should wait for the police reinforcement.’
‘Wait? For a patient with a gun wound, every second counts.’
Jarvis runs up the stairs and into the entrance hall. A police officer is lying there on the floor. The
way he’s positioned only leaves one possible conclusion: he is dead.
Jarvis kneels next to him, looking for a pulse. He then turns to me and shakes his head.
The poor fellow definitely had a partner. It would be wrong not to search for him. We have to keep
going. I pass Jarvis and the dead officer and enter the main hall. Two long corridors lead to the
Jarvis stands behind me. I can hear him breathe, smell his aftershave.
‘We split. In case you find somebody, let me know over the radio,’ he says and runs down the
right corridor to platforms three and four.
‘Hello? Hello!’ he yells.
On the way to the left corridor, I pass the toilets and stop abruptly. It’s just a notion – a sensation.
I’m proven right. There’s someone in the toilets. A man is sitting on the floor, leaning against the
wall. Above his head is a box filled with paper towels.
The man is unconscious. He was shot in the stomach and had tried to stop the bleeding with the
paper towels. His gun lies beside him.
I kneel next to him. ‘Sir? Can you hear me? Sir?’ I grip the radio on my shoulder. ‘Jarvis. Men’s
toilet, now.’
‘I’m on my way,’ Jarvis’s voice sounds through the speaker.
The wounded man opens his eyes. Fear, hope, pain. I open my emergency backpack. ‘I’m going
to help you. Don’t worry.’ I cut open his blood-soaked shirt with scissors.
He grabs me by the collar. ‘Police,’ he moans.
I press a cloth to his stomach to control the bleeding. ‘Calm down, sir. The police are on their
Jarvis rushes through the door. There’s a shadow behind him. A shot rings out. Jarvis falls to the
ground. His empty eyes stare at me. From his head wound, blood spreads to the floor. I crawl
The shooter is a police officer. He aims his gun at me and pulls the trigger.
It feels like someone rammed a torch into my chest. It burns fiercely. The blood on my fingers
can’t be mine, can it? The bang of the shots still rings in my ears. Behind me, the tile wall feels
cold. I gasp for breath. My vision flickers. Next to the shooter sits the wounded man on the floor,
still leaning against the wall. His eyes are as lifeless as Jarvis’.
Tears and fatigue. I close my eyes.
The next shot is fired. I flinch. Footsteps. Hands on my chest. I look into a wrinkled face; green
eyes look back at me. The old man calls for help over my radio. The answer is a mix of words and
That won’t save me. At least the excruciating pain will stop soon. I try to think of one last nice
thought. Nothing comes to my mind.
The old man says something. It sounds like the babble of a child.
Something drags me under. An abyss. Silence. Darkness.

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#BlogTour #CalculatedContagion by K.T. Lee | @KTLeeWrites   #LoveBooksGroupTours  

book blurb
Dani Christensen is a vaccine researcher who has spent her career proving she is more than just the daughter of the company’s CEO. However, as her accomplishments in contagious disease research grow, the wrong people begin to notice. When Dani is isolated from her colleagues at a well-regarded conference in Europe, she is kidnapped and taken to an isolated camp in the Carpathian Mountains.

CIA officers Cam Mitchell and Tyler Scott are sent to observe a suspicious group of armed men in rural Romania. When Cam sees Dani being brought into the camp against her will, he and his partner rescue her and bring her safely back to the United States. The CIA initially believes Dani was kidnapped for ransom, but they soon realize her kidnapper has followed her back to her lab. Now, the CIA must work with their allies in the FBI to catch Dani’s kidnapper before he releases a potentially deadly contagion for his own political gain.

Calculated Contagion is Book 2 in the Calculated Series. All books in the Calculated Series may be enjoyed as standalone novels or as a series.  

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meet the author

K.T. Lee is a writer, mom and engineer who grew up on a steady diet of books from a wide variety of genres. When K.T. began to write the kind of books she wanted to read, she mixed clever women and the sciences with elements from thrillers (and a dash of romance) to create The Calculated Series.

Social Links:

Twitter: @ktleewrites

Instagram: @ktleeauthor





Calculated Contagion 

“Romania?” Cam Mitchell looked up from the small stack of papers, tucked into a standard issue manila file folder, at Morgan Grady. Cam had worked for Morgan in the euphemistically-named Special Operations Group at the CIA for five years, and their interactions had been long been stripped of decorum in favor of results. He never knew what to expect when she summoned him to her office, but a quiet country in Eastern Europe wasn’t exactly on his radar.

“Yes, Romania. You, of all people, should know crazy isn’t limited by geographic area,” Morgan volleyed back, arching her eyebrows. Her short, highlighted blonde hair was as neatly styled as her trademark suits. Morgan had fought to get him on her SOG team because she saw his potential in both linguistics and field work, and they’d been tight ever since. Morgan was just over five feet tall and as tough as any Navy officer Cam had ever served under. She was also good people.

“Fair point. But why is the US jumping on this, Morgan?”

“We’re getting some unusual reports about a group in the mountains we believe is armed and growing. We have a small presence in the country and have agreed to offer military and diplomatic help if it’s needed. Some of our people in the field have sent some issues up the flagpole, so we’re going to look into it. How fresh is your Romanian?”

“It’s a Romance language, ma’am. Shouldn’t take me more than twenty-four hours to brush up if the analysts got the dialect right,” Cam said, not looking up from the packet.

“They usually do. A day is about all you have. We don’t know much beyond the facts that they’re assembling and we’ve seen weapons in the satellite photos. A small group of men came down from their camp to get treatment at a local hospital, which was when we first got an inkling something was off. We’ve gone through the normal channels and haven’t come up with much. The satellite images might be useful, but no promises. Obviously, we’d prefer they remain unaware of your visit.” Morgan slid a satellite photo across her desk to Cam.

“About 500 men and women?” Cam asked, studying the size of the camp.

“That’s our best guess. All of the people we’ve been able to trace back to the camp have been men. We don’t know if they have women there or not. We just want to know what they are up to. If they are just a bunch of Romanian hippies starting a commune, we can leave them alone. If they’re building up a small army, we have a slightly different protocol.”

“Good thing we got the new leg finished,” Cam said, knocking on the hard, composite material, his tone no less objective than it would be if he was talking about a new weapon. Cam had lost his left leg below the knee in Iraq, but thanks to modern technology and some customizations he had insisted upon, he managed well. The injury had been in a previous life, when he was a SEAL trying to locate an enemy hiding among civilians. On his way back to the base, he got hit by an IED. It was a shit-all thing to happen, but he’d been lucky to escape with his life and most of his knee intact. Cam’s leg still occasionally caused him pain, but on his good days, it was a reminder of what drove him, rather than a hindrance. Working with the CIA had restored his sense of purpose that had felt too distant during the long and excruciating days of rehabilitation.

“If you hadn’t worked so hard to break the first three we gave you, you wouldn’t need a new one,” Morgan said, beaming at Cam like a proud parent. The Special Operations Group at the CIA had been relentless when he joined up, testing him regularly to ensure he was physically prepared to be in the field. Cam passed the physical exams easily, but the design team for his custom prosthetic hadn’t been prepared for his capabilities. Cam invested months with the design team, helping them figure out how to improve the mechanical response system and interface with his actual leg. A few revisions and some expensive material changes later, Cam had a new, stronger lower leg. It was time well spent, since other wounded servicemen and servicewomen would benefit from their sweat equity. Pushing himself to try and break the design before it was out in the field resulted in changes that made it unquestionably strong.

“You’re welcome. Your nerds did a good job. Now it’ll hold up in terrain more rugged than city streets,” Cam responded, unable to fully mask the pride of ownership in the design.

“Here are the rest of the satellite images,” Morgan said, handing him an additional stack of photos. He slid them into the folder, behind the rest of the background information. “You leave in four hours. We’re going to drop you about five miles away and you’ll have to hike the rest of the way in.”

“Is Tyler driving?” Tyler was Cam’s best friend, partner and helicopter pilot. They’d had each other’s backs since he started in the SOG, and Morgan kept the two officers together as much as possible. Their results spoke for themselves, and it was rare that Cam worked with anyone else.

“Of course. Take the file, and catch him up when you see him.”

Cam placed the file into his laptop bag. “Good. Let’s do this.”

“Stay safe out there. That’s an order, Cam.” Morgan raised her hand in a half wave as Cam stood to leave. Cam grinned. She didn’t let him get away with much and had no problem kicking his metaphorical ass when necessary, but she didn’t want to see him get hurt. It was sweet. But if he told her that, she’d kick him out of her office. So, a salute was probably safest.

Cam raised his hand to his head, both as a sign of respect and out of the habit he’d never broken since he left the Navy. “Yes, ma’am.”


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#BlogTour #NoOneCanHearYou by Nikki Crutchley| @NikkiCAuthor @rararesources

No One Can Hear Your


book blurb

No One Can Hear You Nikki Crutchley

He said that they’d let me go on purpose. That they could easily find me if they wanted to. He said that they didn’t want me. That I was too much trouble. He said if I went to the cops, he’d know. If I told Sonya, he’d know. If I talked to friends or teachers, he’d know. He told me to pretend it didn’t happen. He told me to consider it a compliment, that I was too strong. His last words to me were, ‘Just forget’.

Troubled teen Faith Marsden was one of several girls abducted from Crawton, a country town known for its picturesque lake and fertile farmland. Unlike the others, she escaped, though sixteen years on she still bears the emotional and physical scars.

Zoe Haywood returns to Crawton to bury her estranged mother Lillian, who has taken her own life. As she and Faith rekindle their high-school friendship, they discover notes left by Lillian that point to two more young women who recently disappeared from Crawton. But Lillian’s confused ramblings leave them with more questions than answers.

As Faith and Zoe delve deeper into the mystery, they become intent on saving the missing women, but in doing so are drawn into Auckland’s hidden world of drugs, abduction and murder. And then Faith decides to confront the mastermind – on her own.

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meet the author

High Res Author photo

Nikki Crutchley lives in Cambridge, New Zealand with her husband and two daughters. No One Can Hear You is Nikki’s second crime novel, set in the small Waikato town of Crawton. Her first book, Nothing Bad Happens Here, a crime/thriller set on the Coromandel Coast of New Zealand was a finalist in the 2018 Ngaio Marsh Award for best first novel. Nikki has worked in libraries in New Zealand and the UK and now works as a freelance proofreader. Nikki’s flash fiction has been published online and in the Fresh Ink anthology and the upcoming Bonsai anthology.

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#BlogTour #FameAndFortuneInTheGorbals by @Donnekate      | #Lovebooksgrouptours 


book blurb

Robert James Muldoon. That’s me. Sixteen years auld, four feet three wi bright red hair an legs like a chicken…’

It’s 1969 and Bobby, as he is usually known, has spent the last year dealing with one crisis after another. He’s a Gorbals’ boy though so with sheer determination and a witty sense of humour he’s moving on. Thanks to some carefully considered action plans and the support of Jeannie, the love of his life, Bobby has so far overcome every obstacle in his path. Now he and Jeannie have a plan to create a good life for themselves. Will Bobby finally become a confident, successful young man? Or will he go one step further and find…

Fame and Fortune in The Gorbals?

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meet the author


Kate Donne lives in Dollar, Clackmannanshire with her Welsh husband Steve, her dog Brodie, two tractors and eight chickens! Kate runs her own personal development company, and spends her spare time writing.

She graduated from the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland, Glasgow with a BA Degree in Dramatic Studies and was awarded The Dorothy Innes Prize, The Arnold Fleming travelling scholarship and The Charles Brooke memorial prize.

Kate has spent many years involved in the arts and has been a professional singer, a director of musical theatre and an actress in many plays and musicals. Her poetry has been published in various anthologies and she was shortlisted for The Tarbert Book Festival writing competition 2017 with her short story Frae a Haggis.


Join our minis on October 21st for their full review…… and yes Kate, I stole your pic for my author section 🙊


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#BlogTour #Review #DearMrPopStar by @DerekPhilpott

Before we kick off this post can we take a minute to wish Derek Philpott a very



book blurb

For nearly 10 years, ‘Team Philpott’, as their followers fondly refer to them, have been on a quite bonkers crusade, writing good old-fashioned letters to pop and rock stars (sometimes even sent to their home addresses with prior consent!), either picking up on genuine ambiguities within their lyrics or often deliberately misunderstanding them for comedic effect.

The letters are eminently publishable in their own right, mixing sharp wit, confusion, and unarguable logic in relation to questioning the offending chart hits under scrutiny.

What makes this project especially deserving of attention, however, is that it has achieved a feat never before attempted or probably even thought of. With the missives online for all to see on what was becoming a hugely popular website, the artists quite unexpectedly started to reply, writing back in just as witty and articulate a fashion, politely pointing out exactly where the original letter went wrong…or right.

Also, crucially, nearly all of the responses were procured via ”the back door of the industry”, via roadies, mutual fans, cousins of bass players, and even other famous participants telling the artists directly of the Philpotts’ written pressing inquiries. This marvellous online community, which stretched as far afield as Europe, Canada, Japan, the U.S.A, Australia and Stoke, even cultivated and organically evolved the whole surreal venture by offering up willing stars that the authors would probably not have thought of corresponding with themselves, establishing contact through personal connections.

‘Dear Mr. Popstar’’ proudly features nearly 100 of the best letters and responses from famous and legendary names spanning the whole pop and rock spectrum, all relishing their involvement and revealing their own, in many cases, hitherto unknown humorous sides within what could well be the most interactive dialogue compiled between music stars and their audience ever undertaken. Of course, it is not always possible to reach certain targets, hence many unanswered observations are also included, as they were considered too amusing not to be.

Those to be saluted for their great sportsmanship are:- Deep Purple, Dr. from Dr. and The Medics, Nik Kershaw, Judas Priest, Starship, Tears For Fears, The Eurythmics, Wreckless Eric, Smokie, The Strawbs, The Belle Stars, Van Der Graaf Generator, Martha and the Muffins, Thunder, Squeeze, Dean Friedman, Fairground Attraction, The Ruts, Neil Innes from The Bonzo Dog Band, DEVO, Melanie, Alannah Myles, Ian Gillan, Was Not Was, Republica, Then Jerico, Dr. Hook, Toploader, Cutting Crew, Lindisfarne, Spinal Tap, Mott The Hoople, Fuzzbox, Men Without Hats, China Crisis, Mental As Anything, David MacIver and Rupert Hine (Quantum Jump), Timbuk 3, The Rezillos, Saxon, John Otway, The Human League, Chesney and Chip Hawkes, Tenpole Tudor, Shakatak, Katrina and the Waves, Eddie & The Hot Rods, Heaven 17, Dave Stewart & Barbara Gaskin, Matthew Wilder, Middle of the Road, Liquid Gold, The Christians, Paper Lace, Dodgy, Daevid Allen, Bruce Woolley, Sad Cafe, The Housemartins, Francis Dunnery (It Bites), Johnny Hates Jazz, The Wurzels, Peter Noone, Suzi Quatro, Strawberry Switchblade, Danny Wilson, Racey, Electric Prunes, The Waitresses, Fiddler’s Dram, Bauhaus, Climax Blues Band, The Jags, EMF, T’Pau, Nu Shooz, Owen Paul, Steve Hackett, Steve Ellis of Love Affair, Hazell Dean, The Knack, The Maisonettes, Del Amitri, The Skids, Jesus Jones, The Soup Dragons, City Boy, Modern Romance, Wang Chung, The Kursaal Flyers, Fischer Z, Bruce Thomas of The Attractions, Scarlet Fantastic, The B52s. Junior, Spear of Destiny, Carter The Unstoppable Sex Machine.

Ultimately, this book explores how when a song is released into ‘the wild’ the artist loses all control over it, especially pertaining to its interpretation. It is also testimony to the community spirit capable of being created over social media and how positive and fun it can be.

review by nicola

I read this book while on the school run, parking up that bit early to get a few giggles in, totally forgetting that passers by could see me in my fits and starts!

Possibly a 1 of a kind book that will have you holding your sides, cringing with embarrassment and laughing out loud at some of these letters and responses.

I did have to Google a couple of names and anyone younger than me will probably Google what a fax is (it’s quicker than a letter but not as fast as an email for those that are wondering 😂)

Very much a tongue in cheek read from both the author and the artist, would love to have been a fly on the wall when these were opened!

A super fast and funny read and recommended for everyone who loves a giggle.



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#BlogBlitz #PublicationDay #ALaughingMatterOfPain by @cynthiahilston @rararesources



A Laughing Matter of Pain


book blurb

A Laughing Matter of Pain by Cynthia Hilston.

Harry Rechthart always knew how to laugh, but laughter can hide a lot of pain that’s drowned by the bottle and good times. He grew up the joker in the early 1900s in Cleveland, Ohio, but as he enters adulthood, conflict splits him. His once close relationship with his brother, Erik, breaks as they come into their own and Erik goes off to college. No longer under Erik’s shadow, Harry feels he might finally shine and make others see him as someone to be proud of. Harry finds an unlikely comrade who understands how he feels–his younger sister, Hannah. Once free of high school, Harry and Hannah double date sister and brother, Kat and Will Jones, attending wild, extravagant parties during the years of Prohibition. Harry thinks he’s won at life–he’s found love in Kat, in a good time, and in the bottle. But all the light goes out fast when Harry’s alcoholism leads to disastrous consequences for him and Kat.

Harry thinks the joke’s on him now that he’s sunk lower than ever. He’s in jail. He’s pushed away his family. He’s a broken man, but in the darkest depths of a prison cell, there is hope. Can Harry rebuild his life and learn that true laughter comes from knowing true joy, or will he bury himself once and for all in this laughing matter of pain?

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meet the author


Cynthia Hilston is a thirty-something-year-old stay at home mom of three young kids, happily married. Writing has always been like another child to her. After twenty years of waltzing in the world of fan fiction, she finally stepped away to do her debut dance with original works of fiction. Hannah’s Rainbow: Every Color Beautiful is her first original novel. She’s currently working on more books. Visit her website for more information.

In her spare time – what spare time? – she devours books, watches Doctor Who and Game of Thrones, pets her orange kitty, looks at the stars, and dreams of what other stories she wishes to tell.

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#BlogTour #Review #MurderOnTheMarshes by @ClareChase @bookouture

Welcome to the last day on Clare’s blog tour for her debut book, Murder On The Marshes.


Title: Murder on The Marshes   

Author: Clare Chase   


Publication Day: July 31st 2018

book blurb       

Do you love twisty murder mysteries? Meet Tara Thorpe – the clue to a puzzling local murder has landed right on her doorstep. Perfect for fans of Faith Martin, LJ Ross and Joy Ellis.

As the sun rises, a wealthy young woman – Samantha Seabrook – is found drowned in the ornamental fountain of a deserted Cambridge courtyard, the only clue – an antique silver chain wound tightly around her throat.

It’s Tara Thorpe’s job to discover what happened to Miss Seabrook – but the case becomes personal when she learns that Samantha had been receiving death threats… rather like the one that landed on Tara’s doorstep the night the woman died.

Together with Detective Inspector Garstin Blake, Tara tracks the killer to the dank and dangerous fens on the outskirts of the city. But there’s something Tara can’t quite admit to Blake about her past – and it could make all the difference to whether they live… or die.

An absolutely gripping page-turner that will keep you hooked until the very last page. The first in a series of unputdownable Cambridge mysteries featuring Thorpe and Blake.

 meet the author

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Clare Chase writes women sleuth mysteries and recently signed a three-book deal with Bookouture for a new crime series set in Cambridge. The opening book, Murder on the Marshes, is available for pre-order and will publish in July 2018. The mystery follows investigative journalist Tara Thorpe as she teams up with Detective Garstin Blake to solve the murder of a young female professor at Cambridge University. The case takes them through the dark underbelly of Cambridge and in to the murky fens that surround the centuries-old city. The second and third books in the series are scheduled for publication in late 2018/early 2019.

After graduating from London University with a degree in English Literature, Clare moved to Cambridge and has lived there ever since. She’s fascinated by the city’s contrasts and contradictions, which feed into her writing. She’s worked in diverse settings – from the 800-year-old University to one of the local prisons – and lived everywhere from the house of a Lord to a slug-infested flat. The terrace she now occupies, with her husband and teenage children, presents a good happy medium.

As well as writing, Clare loves family time, art and architecture, cooking, and of course, reading other people’s books.

Clare’s debut novel, You Think You Know Me, was shortlisted for the Novelicious Undiscovered Award 2012, and an EPIC award in 2015. It was also chosen as a debut of the month by Lovereading.

You can find Clare’s website and blog at

social links




review by nicola

This book ticked all the boxes for me, a murder within the first 5 chapters, a gripping story line and characters that are believable, flawed and at points you just want to shake!

It made a change that it was a professor that was murdered on campus and not a student, this quipped my interest even more!

It’s a gripping read that had me turning those pages way after bedtime, I was eager to find out about Tara’s past and what little secrets she was hiding.

I would definitely recommend this book and I’m looking forward to seeing where Clare tales us from here, a brilliant first novel!!


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#BlogTour #Promo #HerNameIsMerice by @AuthorChrisRoy

Her Name is Mercie Cover.jpg

book blurb

Her Name Is Mercie

“Roy delivers on the edge of your seat storytelling with rough edges, crooked cops and a tiny light at the end of the tunnel that is never quite extinguished.”  

– Tom Vater, journalist, co-founder of Crime Wave Press

Mercie Hillbrook lives a simple, quiet life working as a gas station attendant. Then her parents are killed. Her home is taken. The people responsible are excused for just doing their job. When an attempt to get justice her way lands her in trouble with the law, Mercie realizes she still has something to lose: her own life.

Then she finds reason to believe her parents were murdered… and she doesn’t care anymore.


Universal Purchase Link

book trailer

meet the author

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Chris Roy was raised in South Mississippi, in the midst of ugly Gulf Coast beaches and spectacular muddy bayous.

Chris lived comfortably with the criminal ventures of his youth until a fistfight in 1999 ended tragically. Since January, 2000, he’s been serving a life sentence in the Mississippi Department of Corrections.  

Nowadays he lives his life  crime vicariously, through the edgy, fast-paced stories he pens, hoping to entertain readers. When he isn’t writing, he’s reading, drawing or looking for prospects to train in boxing.


Shocking Circumstances

Book I: Last Shine

Shocking Circumstances

Book 2: Resurrection

Sharp as a Razor

Book I: A Dying Wish

You can find Chris Twitter @AuthorChrisRoy and on his Amazon Author Page:

For more info on the author, visit:

Writing In Chaos

My floor is cold. The gray-blue paint on the concrete is cheap, missing in places where I exercise and pace for hours every day. Thick dark gray lines stretch out from the bars, shadows that sneak across the eight feet to my bed, a rack of black steel anchored to a molding foundation as old as I am. The window above it is obscured with layers of steel screens choked with decaying insects.

My back to the window, the intense light from the zone weakens on its way to the back of my cell, shadows from the bars wide and fading over my face. To my right is a small shelf, shoulder high, painted the same strange white as the walls. The hybrid sink/toilet is in the far right corner, bolted to a sheet of metal with cuts for twin fluorescent lights that, when turned on, show my space in all it’s ugliness, luminescent overkill use to spot hidden contraband.

I also have a desk.

To my left, a square of metal is mounted to the brick wall about three feet off the floor. A smaller square, below and to the side, is the seat. It’s at this desk that I write this.

I have written tens of thousands of words, at this desk. At other, similar desks in other cells, I have written hundreds of thousands of words.

I just looked up, through my bars across the zone. A man stands at his door talking to others, worried about how he will get his next fix; his drug connection was recently transferred. By this evening he and others will be beating on their doors, screaming at officers, attempting to intimidate them into finding them something to get high on.

Countless times I have looked up from my work and seen fires blazing, water from intentionally blocked toilets spreading over the zone. I grab my ear plugs – wads of toilet tissue wrapped in Saran wrap salvaged from diet trays – to block out the fire alarm destroying ear drums, or block the water from entering my cell with a towel rolled up lengthwise and wrapped with a trash bag.

I sit down and write again.

The K-9 team is often called to secure disruptive inmates, guys having a bad day, a medical issue that isn’t getting the proper attention, or just have a serious romance going on with their inner dumbass.

Officers scream commands, hose down noncomplying offenders with enormous cans of pepper spray that atomizes in the dank, poorly circulated air. It chokes everyone. Sometimes, they shoot them, the .12 gauge shotgun bang of rubber pellets a deafening pulse that rips into your head.

I look up from my desk. Then continue writing.

A group of cadets just walked through. Recruited to mitigate the life endangering security issues from a shortage of staff. The captain guided them around the zone. They passed my cell, nods and respectful hellos from most. Nice looking bunch in crisp new CO uniforms.

I walked to my bars and called out to a fellow convict across the zone, a guy I’m training in fitness and boxing named Psycho.

“Hey, Psycho!”

“Hey.” He’s well over six feet, clown makeup tattooed over one eye, peering at me over the top horizontal bar.

I pointed at the group of cadets. “It’s the perfect BET show: a group of super cool young black folks, one white guy, one Asian.”

We laughed, others joined in the banter. Someone yelled, “Jihad!” The captain introduced Psycho to the cadets.

I sit down at my desk. And continue writing.

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Giveaway – Win 10 x E-copies of Her Name is Mercie (Open Internationally)

*Terms and Conditions –Worldwide 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 I reserve 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 I will delete the data.  I am not responsible for despatch or delivery of the prize.

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Fallen Angel, Part 4 by Tracie Podger- Blog tour


Fallen Angel, Part 4 – A Mafia Romance
It was in a small room in a hotel in Washington, DC, that Brooke Stone’s life changed forever—again.
Life had been peaceful, as peaceful as being a member of one of the most powerful crime families in America could be.
But life has a habit of throwing a curve ball, a curve ball so fast and so wide it knocks everyone from their feet.
From the streets of DC to the hills of Tuscany, from death to the utmost joy – Join Brooke for the final chapter in the Fallen Angel series and witness the birth of a new crime dynasty.
This is a story of discovery, of finding a past, of heartache and the greatest of love.
‘I’ve seen death and I’ve faced my worst fears – I survived.’
A Mafia Romance
Contemporary romance for readers over the age of 18 years.
Amazon Universal Link –

It was in a small room in a hotel in Washington, DC that my life changed forever—again.
My son, Gerry, had hit his nose causing a river of blood to run down his chin and onto his dress shirt. Sam and I had taken him from the party to clean him up when all hell broke loose.
As we crossed the reception of the hotel, I noticed a man—one of the many security detail Robert had installed to ensure his fortieth birthday party was not disturbed. He watched me leave the ballroom and just as I entered the restroom, I heard him speak.
“Can I help you?”
I hadn’t turned to look and see if he was addressing me—I was too focused on Gerry. I had enough time to grab a fistful of hand towels before it happened.
Before an invisible force hit me like a tank and I was thrown forwards, landing heavily on my side. My ears rang, my vision was blurred and my heart raced in fear.
What had just happened?
A cloud of something grey swirled into the room. Was it dust or smoke? I wasn’t sure. My brain couldn’t compute what I saw, couldn’t comprehend what was going on. I heard screams, I heard shouts, but the ringing in my ears distorted the sound. The solid oak door to the bathroom hung from one bracket, a gap had formed but not wide enough for me to see through clearly.
The sound in my head lessened, replaced by the shrill of a fire alarm. Splatters of water hit my face. The smoke, or dust, must have triggered the sprinkler system.
I heard a moan and it was as if fingers had snapped in front of my face—my son was lying somewhere on that cold tiled floor.
“Gerry?” I called out. My voice sounded strained even to my ears.
About the Author

Tracie Podger currently lives in Kent, UK with her husband and a rather obnoxious cat called George. She’s a Padi Scuba Diving Instructor with a passion for writing. Tracie has been fortunate to have dived some of the wonderful oceans of the world where she can indulge in another hobby, underwater photography. She likes getting up close and personal with sharks.
Available from Amazon, iBooks, Kobo & Nook
Fallen Angel, Part 1
Fallen Angel, Part 2
Fallen Angel, Part 3
Fallen Angel, Part 4
Evelyn – A Novella
Rocco – A Novella
Coming soon
A Virtual Affair
The Passion Series – Jackson
Letters to Lincoln
Rocco: The Missing Years
Tracie Podger – Stalker Links
Tracie’s Fallen Angels Fan Page –
To browse the Fallen Angel series on Amazon

Buy Links

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