Thursday, August 23, 2012

Book Review of The Rebel Princess

Book Review of The Rebel Princess Sponsored by Enchanted Book Tours

Title: The Rebel Princess
Author: Anne M. Strick
Genre: Adult Romance
Blurb : 


An insider's first-ever behind-the-scenes scoop on how movies are REALLY made: gritty, grinding, tunnel-vision labor, back-stage intrigue, explosive dramas, parties, and relationships that last a night or a lifetime.
Larger-than-life characters who live life with fervor, while contending with their own inner demons and one another, all in the pressure cooker of a location shoot in the exotic world of Mexico. This romp of a story follows the making of a movie from pre-production through wrap.  A hotly passionate love story and a murder elevate the stakes.

About the Author:

Anne M.Strick has spent over twenty years in the movie industry. She has worked for Universal, Warners, Paramount and EMI, as a Unit Publicist, Project Coordinator and National Publicity Director,  and  with such Hollywood legends as Jack Nicholson, James Earl Jones, Sean Penn, Arnold Schwarzenegger, David Lynch, Sting and Dino De Laurentiis, among many others.  She has published theater reviews, articles in Parents Magazine , Frontier and The Nation, and six books: two novels, two self-help books, one memoir (a best-seller in Italy); and a non-fiction, scholarly critique of our adversary trial system. (”remarkable”) . Born in Philadelphia, and educated at Bennington College and UCLA, she lives in Los Angeles.


WARNING. The second excerpt is NOT appropriate for anyone under the age of 18.
Last night she’d had the dream again.  The dream she hated and loved.  She smelled the sea brine and the sharp pines that rose beyond the dunes, saw the tide-pool anemones open and close about their viscous centers.  She felt the heat move from her soles up through her calves to her thighs and pelvis and the small of her back from the sun baked sand; felt the melting begin.  Her nipples tightened.  She heard the waves slide and suck, in and out, insinuating, hypnotic.  And as shockingly as always the green-eyed, gypsy-faced stranger burst – jogging, grinning with knowing primal energy – through the tall grass at the top of the rise.  And as always, that energy struck her like a blow: sudden, deep, forever.  Jason.  Jason Archer.
      Davena, waking slowly in the huge four poster, ran her hand through her curtain of sun-tipped chestnut hair in irritation.  Merde.  It was the Dom Perignon.  Whenever she’d drunk too much, as she had the evening before, she had the damn dream.  And awoke in heat – for a man from whom she’d been divorced six years.   And despite having been thoroughly laid by Bram last night. Humiliating.   She  rolled over and buried her head beneath the pillow, hiding from the familiar soul-pain, denying it - – and then with a shake of her disheveled mane sat abruptly up.   The clock next to her bed read six am – the alarm, set for five-thirty, had somehow failed.  Or, webbed in her dream, she’d slept through it.

Book Review:

            A more modern take on the classic love story, this story shows the gritty underbelly of life on a Hollywood production.  While the classic love story bones are present, the story is both disturbing and romantic. 

            I didn’t care much for parts of the story where there were side stories that never really seemed to get resolved, such as the sister and with some of the minor story plots.  Overall, the story was good.

            I give this story 3 out of 5 clouds.

This product or book may have been distributed for review; this in no way affects my opinions or reviews.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Book Review of Witch Way to Turn

Book Review of Witch Way to Turn

Witch Way to Turn
By Karen Y. Bynum
Witch Way Series Book #1

Genre: Young Adult Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Lyrical Press, Inc.
Date of ePublication: August 6, 2012
Print: October 1st

ISBN: 9781616503994
Number of pages: epub 237
Word Count: 78,000

Blurb : 
Can you give one guy your heart and another your soul?

The last thing eighteen-year-old Breena Cross needs in her life is more complications. It’s all she can do to balance studying, working, trying to keep her foster-sister safe and drooling over the new guy at work. But things go from complicated to crazy when a fit of rage ignites the dark magic inside her and she finds herself fending off the supernatural underworld.

Myles, Breena’s drool-worthy coworker and vampire convict, is carrying a load of secrets--one of which is that he’s fang-over-lip in love with Breena and in danger of violating the terms of his sentence.

Orin is a soul-hungry assassin sent to kill Breena. However, he takes one look into her eyes and sees his own lost humanity. For once thinking of someone other than himself, he chooses not to end her life, even though it means risking his own.

Despite a convict and an assassin fighting over her, all Breena wants is custody of her sister. But to do this, she will need help from both Myles and Orin. And if Breena doesn’t learn to control the darkness within, she could lose her sister…forever.

WARNING: Contains strong language and some graphic content.

About the Author:

Karen Y. Bynum is an author of young adult paranormal fantasy.  Her novel Witch Way to Turn is published through Lyrical Press.  She grew up in Hickory, North Carolina where mountains and magic surrounded her.  Even as a child, she wrote her own faery tales and prattled incessantly to her imaginary friends.
After graduating from UNC Charlotte with a Bachelor’s degree in Mass Media Communications, she went on to become certified in culinary arts from The Art Institute of Charlotte.  But it wasn’t until her aerospace engineer husband accepted a job in Virginia and they relocated that she knew what she wanted to be when she grew up.
With the support of family and friends, Karen embarked on a journey with the voices in her head.  They wouldn’t stop talking (yes, she does answer back) and their stories took shape.
Karen currently lives in coastal Virginia and enjoys reading, tweeting, writing and spending time with her husband and their spoiled rotten Vizsla named Rusty.



She caught his look. Oh God, she’d been staring. Her mouth was practically watering. The heat forming in her cheeks brought her back to reality. And the way he watched her nearly brought her to her knees. Looking into those pale-green eyes with the golden rim made her weak, left her breathless. He couldn’t be more than eighteen or nineteen but there was a knowing look in his eyes that made her want to find out what, exactly, he knew.

She took a step toward him and the knowing look turned darker, hotter. There was something raw about it. Something ravenous, and so powerful she could barely keep herself from being consumed.

He tilted his head slightly in her direction, and it seemed almost as if he was…listening to her. As if he were trying to puzzle her out by catching the subtle beat and hum of her body.

It finally dawned on her that they’d been standing there a good while in complete silence. She managed to shake herself out of her lust-filled stupor long enough to recover something vaguely resembling her manners. “Ah, about the other night…

(excerpt – 596 words)

“You Breena Cross?” The white guy closed the distance between them.

“Who’s askin’?” she shot back.

“The witch has attitude.” The black guy moved closer.

“Hey, who you calling a witch, ass?” She gripped her car key tight against her palm, ready to go for the eyes first.
It happened so fast, she didn’t even have a chance to use her makeshift weapon. The white guy pinned her against the car door and her keys fell to the ground.

“We got her,” the white guy said. His breath smelled like rotten hamburger.

She tried to push him off her, but he forced her even harder into the door handle.
“He’s gonna be real happy with us, Jay,” the white guy practically sang.

Breena wondered who “he” was, but only for a second, because the guy’s lips pulled back and she saw his teeth. They were flat but, somehow, they looked sharp.

Sharp? What the hell?

His gaze was a roaring fire of hunger. Predatory. It looked like he wanted to rip her throat out.

He made a low growl and pressed his lips to her neck. A sound like crazed bees buzzed in her ears, nearly deafening her. She didn’t know what to do. Her palms began to sweat and, for a moment, she thought the blue light would be her saving grace, but her hands only shook.

“Back away from her.” The man sounded calm enough, but his voice had an edge to it that meant business.

“You lookin’ to lose a fight?” Jay swiveled around.

“I never lose.”

He appeared out of nowhere, grabbed Breena’s attacker by the back of his shirt and threw him a good two or three parking spaces down the lot. The black guy froze in place.

Her savior’s ears sprang up through his hair into two sharp points.

The two guys got one good look at the pointed ears and hauled tail.

Breena didn’t blame them for running. She would’ve joined them if curiosity hadn’t got the better of her. Besides, it was hard to be too scared of someone who’d just saved your life and looked sexy as all get out. So what if he had weird-looking ears?
“What are you?” She fidgeted with the strap on her backpack, swallowing her nerves.

He smiled, revealing beautiful not-at-all-sharp teeth. “You can’t tell?” He sounded surprised.

“No.” She twisted her hair. “Should I be able to?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve had very little experience with halflings.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Halflings?

“No. I didn’t.”

Annoyance chasing away the last remnants of fear, Breena let out a little huff. Was he trying to push her buttons?

He moved closer, his steps as graceful as flowing water. His eyes caught her attention immediately--a ghostly pale-green with a golden circle around each pupil. Standing by her side, he propped himself against the VW.

“Amazing,” he whispered, staring at her. His gaze was intense, and slightly bewildered, as if he were trying to solve a riddle.

“What is?”

“Your soul. It’s strong.”

Weird much? She shifted on her feet, eyeing the keys on the ground.

“Sorry. You must think I’m a crazy superhero-wannabe.” He shook his head and traced his finger along his open palm. “Your kind is so rare.” His eyes lit up as he smiled. He stooped to pick up the keys and handed them to her.

Breena snatched them and started backing away from the car as nonchalantly as possible.

About to run like hell? Me?

“You asked what I am,” he said.

She hesitated. Nodded.

“I’m a preternatural.”

Author Interview:

I appreciate your taking the time to visit with us today. It's so great to be here!

1.            What character was your favorite to write for in this story? Why?
Wow, starting with a tough one first... I like that :) Probably the heroine. Breena Cross. She internalizes so much and is such a *real* person to me. She knows what's important and strives for it even though nothing comes easy for her. She always amazes me with how she adapts and finds the good in the bad.

2.      Which was your favorite scene to write?
Hm. I absolutely loved writing the kissing scenes. teehee But I also enjoyed writing the action scenes...the ones where my heart would race and my fingers couldn't keep up with my thoughts... Especially the first chapter and the black moment. I was so on the edge of my seat as I wrote.

3.      What was the hardest thing about writing this story?
Dealing with the emotional roller coaster that came with writing Breena's character. I would feel her pain as I wrote it--even when I wasn't near my laptop. There were times when I would have to stop whatever I was doing and go write just so I could get Breena out of whatever crisis I had gotten her into. When she was sad, so was I. When she was angry...well, I felt it too.

4.      What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?
 I'd say it's more of a bad habit than a quirk. When I'm thinking about my story--getting ready to type--I pick at my thumb. I've tried to stop, but I can't. Help! Lol

5.      Where do you find your Inspirations?
 I find inspiration in almost everything. Always on the lookout for ideas of things my characters would say or do. My biggest inspirational tool though would be music. I listen in the car or when I'm doing housework. I make soundtracks for my books and it helps get me in the zone.

6.      Please let readers know where they can connect with you and purchase your books...
I love to tweet! I'm on Twitter every day, multiple times a day. I'm learning Facebook and Google+ too! Oh, Pinterest is my newest addiction. The best place to connect would be my website because there are direct links to everywhere I am. Witch Way to Turn will be sold on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Lyrical Press and anywhere e-books are sold releasing August 6. The print book will be available at these sites on October 1.

Anything additional you want to share with the readers? There's more to come for the Witch Way series. I'm over halfway finished writing the second book and can't wait to share it with you as well!

Thank you so much for chatting with us today. Thank you so much for having me! Great questions!

Book Review:

Loved it.  Such a great story.  I love reading about paranormal supernatural fantasy stuff and this one was chock full.  The story line was compelling and the romance was spicy.  A great read.

            I give this story 4.5 out of 5 clouds.

This product or book may have been distributed for review; this in no way affects my opinions or reviews.

Book Review of Savage

Book Review of Savage

Blurb : 


The year is 1983. Christian is 22 years old when he leaves his home in Denmark to spend a year in Florida with a very wealthy family and go to med-school. A joyful night out with friends is shattered by an encounter with a savage predator that changes his life forever. Soon he faces challenges he had never expected. A supernatural gift he has no idea how to embrace. A haunting family in the house next door. A spirit-filled girl who seems to carry all the answers. An ancient secret hidden in the swamps of Florida. One life never the same. One love that becomes an obsession. Two destinies that will be forever entangled.

Savage is a paranormal romance with some language, violence, and sexual situations recommended for ages sixteen and up

About the Author:
Willow Rose writes Paranormal Romance, fantasy and mystery. Originally from Denmark she now lives on Florida’s Space Coast with her husband and two daughters. She is a huge fan of Anne Rice and Isabel Allende. When she is not writing or reading she enjoys to watch the dolphins play in the waves of the Atlantic Ocean.
 <!--[if gte mso 9]>

>> facebook:
>> twitter: @madamwillowrose
>> blog:
>> Goodreads:


“So how much do you know about St. Augustine, Chris?”
The woman driving gently touched her elegant yellow hair, careful not to mess it up with her colored nails. She spoke with a strong southern accent and was incredibly beautiful for her age, which I guessed was more than twice my age of twenty-two. Her name was Mrs. Kirk. I had just met her at Orlando Airport for the first time a few minutes before. She was waiting for me holding a sign with my name, Christian Langaa, printed on it.
The year was 1983 and I had recently finished my third year of med school at a university in Denmark. I had just left my country of birth for St. Augustine in Florida.  Leaving Denmark was my father’s idea, really. I guess he thought it was about time I left the nest, so he called in a favor with an old friend of his, an American eye surgeon, to take me in and help me get a year at a medical school “over-there.” I can’t say I was unhappy about it. At that time all kids my age wanted to go to the States where stone-washed jeans and Michael Jackson came from. His latest album "Thriller" had just been released and was played on every radio station all over the world. Like so many else I bought the cassette and played it again and again on my Walkman. Where I came from anything that was American was considered hip and cool. That summer before I left, my friends and I had watched the movie Flashdance that made ripped sweatshirts popular and we loved the TV show Dallas and Dynasty that made everybody wear increasingly oversized shoulder pads - even us guys. We drank lots of Coke and dreamt of watching MTV, which at that time wasn’t something you could do in Europe yet and especially not in my small home-country Denmark, where we only had one national channel on our TV.
The older generation in our country thought we were indifferent to the times we lived in and didn’t understand us at all. They named us the “So what-generation” or the “No future-generation” because they felt like we didn’t care about what went on in the world around us. We weren’t even rebellious. We didn’t have ideals and dreams about changing the world like they had back in ’68. Meanwhile they were terrified of the A-bomb, the Cold War and the communists. While we listened to disco music on our ghetto blasters and danced electric boogie, they fought with a bad economy and the fear of someone deciding to push the big red button, dropping the A-bomb and ending the world as we know it. Not to mention the increasing fear of AIDS that was spreading among people, commonly referred to as the "Gay-Plague" since it was believed back then to be an "epidemic of a rare form of cancer triggered by the lifestyle of some male homosexuals," as the headline said in one newspaper.
The older generation simply felt like our generation just didn’t care about anything. And maybe they were right. We weren’t that concerned about political affairs and foreign threats. Politics simply didn’t interest us, especially not me. I was fed up with listening to my father talk about politics and war during my upbringing. I was a dreamer not a fighter. You can’t be both. Not in my book. And AIDS? Well, I guess we thought we couldn't get it since it was a disease for the homosexuals. Plus we were in our twenties. We didn't think we could die at all.
We ran over a bump and I was rudely jolted out of my reverie.
“Not much,” I answered Mrs. Kirk a little timid. “I know it calls itself the nation’s oldest city. I know it was here Ponce de León came to look for the legendary Fountain of Youth. I know the city of St. Augustine is home to the Fountain of Youth National Archaeological Park, a tribute to the spot where Ponce de León is traditionally said to have landed. Though there is no evidence that the fountain located in the park today is the storied fountain or has any restorative effects, visitors drink the water. The park exhibits native and colonial artifacts to celebrate St. Augustine's Timucuan and Spanish heritage.”
Mrs. Kirk looked at me with a small impressed smile. “Very well, you have done your homework. Dr. Kirk will be pleased to hear that you have not come unprepared.”
“My dad gave me a book on Florida to read on the plane. I have a photographic memory. I remember things easily. It helps me a lot in school.”
I stared out the window at swamps and what seemed to me like wild-growing brushes and forests. I was desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of an alligator, an animal I had never seen before and of which I had been told you could find in pretty much every waterhole in Florida. I was deeply fascinated by creatures of the wild. By predators of any kind. But as a city boy, I had only seen them behind their bars at the zoo, never in the wild. By now we had passed several waterholes and I had still not seen any to my great disappointment.
It felt like my headband was getting tighter, and I was sweating in my tight jeans and jacket with shoulder-pads and rolled up sleeves. I took the jacket off and put it in my lap. Florida was a lot warmer than I had expected it to be. And a lot more humid, too. I wasn’t used to this kind of heat, coming from a country where we would be lucky to have three weeks of summer. I still remember the feeling when I stepped out of the airplane in Orlando airport for the first time. It felt like someone had taken a winter jacket and swept me in it. Like the air itself was hugging me and welcoming me home. I remember sweating just from walking from the airport to the big black Mercedes that Mrs. Kirk picked me up in.
She cranked up the air conditioning and I soon felt a little cooler. I touched the nice leather seats and suddenly felt so insignificant. Coming from a rich family by Danish standards I was used to some luxury, yet I had never been in a car like this. 
  “Well, maybe you will have to think about losing some of those unruly curls once you become a doctor,” Mrs. Kirk said.
I touched my hair gently. I liked my blond curls and had let them grow past my ears. And I wasn’t the only one who liked them. The girls did too. Along with my deep-set blue eyes, my curls were my finest feature. Why parents and others older than thirty-five insisted they want me to cut them off was beyond me. My dad was the worst. “You look like a savage,” he would say. But I didn’t care. Deciding what I was going to do for a living was one thing, but he wasn’t going to change the way I looked, too.
He was the one who wanted me to go to med school, not me. All I wanted to do was play my acoustic guitar. “But you can’t make a living out of just playing the guitar. You need to grow up, Chris. It is about time,” my father said just before he told me about his plans for me. It wasn’t like he gave me a choice. I was going to take over the family practice. It had always been his dream for me ever since I was a child, so I never questioned it, simply because it would break his heart. I never said no to my father in these matters and I didn't argue when he told me he was going to send me away for a year, either. Instead, I decided to make the best of it.

“We’re almost there,” Mrs. Kirk sang. “It is right at the end of this road.”

She took a turn and we entered a small road with around eight homes. They were nothing like the houses I was used to in my hometown of Odense in Denmark. The town where Hans Christian Anderson was born had old houses, some of them dating the 1600s. They were small and leaning. The house my father and I had lived in was younger, though. From the beginning of the 1900. It was an old villa with high ceilings and stucco in a very lucrative neighborhood on the right side of the river, as they said. Why that was so important I never understood. But nevertheless, I had never seen houses quite like the ones in the Kirk’s neighborhood before. They were huge. Enormous.  And they seemed to be almost brand new.

“We’re here,” Mrs. Kirk said with a radiant smile that showed picture-perfect straight and almost unnatural white teeth.

I looked out the car window and simply dropped my jaw as we drove up the driveway. The house in front of us was massive. Countless windows stared back at me. The façade was of rough-faced stone with numerous chimneys rising from the roof. Nothing had prepared me for its solemn splendor. Mrs. Kirk drove around the house where I spotted a tennis court and a lap pool. The house was on the water overlooking the Intracoastal water with a dock and a huge boat tied at the end of it. I felt thrilled inside. Overwhelmed as well, but also happy that this was where I was going to live the next year of my life. Med-school or not, I had a feeling it was going to be great.

    Mrs. Kirk pushed a remote in the car and a garage door opened up leading us to a tunnel under the house, where she parked. A small elevator brought us into the house. I remember being completely speechless. I had never been in a private house with an elevator before.

In the hall upstairs another woman was waiting for us. She was small, had cheeks so round they reminded me of ripe tomatoes and a huge smile on her face— which she always wore, I later learned.

“This is Maria,” Mrs. Kirk said. “She will take care of anything you need. She cooks and cleans and washes your clothes. But be nice to her. She is like family.”

I shook Maria’s hand, smiling. I wasn’t even going to wash my own clothes? I thought with exhilaration. Ever since my mom died when I was thirteen I had been in charge of the laundry for both my dad and I. And cooking? Well since my dad always worked at his private clinic we just grabbed something whenever we felt like it. I would occasionally make some pasta or fry an egg, but most days I would just grab a sandwich and eat it in my room while playing on my guitar and writing songs about being young and having a broken heart.  Not that I knew much about that, since I was always the one breaking someone else’s heart. See, the loss of my mother back when I was just a young teenager had left me emotionally crippled. I was simply incapable of having a meaningful relationship with any female. I loved girls, but I used them and threw them away. I devoured them. I exploited the fact that they adored me. They would throw themselves at me for whatever reason, but I would never return any of their calls and I would never let any of them get close to me emotionally. Some even came into my life thinking that they would be the ones that could change my ways and make me settle down, they wanted to save me from myself, but they would always leave with a broken heart. It was mean, I know that now. I see it clearly today, but I also see why I did it. I was hurt. I was like a wounded animal that would forever try to avoid the source of its pain. The too-early death of my mother had made me afraid of love. Afraid of ever loving any woman again like I had loved my mother. I didn’t want to feel that hurt again ever in my life. I never wanted to lose anyone I loved again. So I figured if I never loved anyone, if I was never close to anyone, then I would never get hurt again. It was as simple as that. I thought I had found a way to live a life with no pain. But instead I lived a lonely, loveless life. I know that today, but I didn’t see it then. I was too young.  I thought I knew everything, but most twenty-two-year-olds think they know it all. Now that I have a son of my own in his twenties I see it in him, as well. I see myself. 

“Maria will show you to your room,” Mrs. Kirk said. “I have to meet Dr. Kirk at the club later. I need to get ready. We were hoping you would join us?”

“I would love to,” I answered a little perplexed since I had no idea what kind of club she was talking about or how to get there.

“We’ll take my car,” Mrs. Kirk said. “See you out front at seven. By then I am sure that Heather will be home as well. I sure hope she will be. You never know with her these days. Young and always on the run. Going back to college in a few days. She has been spending all summer with her friends. You know how girls are when they are nineteen. Going to major in history, I think. At least that is what she told us last week." Mrs. Kirk laughed lightly. "The week before that she wanted to do interior decorating. Something about creating her own business, I don't know. I can't keep up with young people these days. They have so many possibilities that we never had when I was young. But it's okay that she lets some of her steam off before she settles down. Her father and I just want her to marry well." Mrs. Kirk took a quick glance at her wristwatch. "Ah. Look at me I am babbling along. I really should be getting myself ready. See you outside at seven."

Book Review:

            Unique concept.  Savage is an interesting story concept.  I enjoyed the way the story unfolded, although I would have liked it better  with a little less “soap box morality” and a little more acceptance by Chris of his “gift.”  I hope that this is not the only book in this series because it just ended and I was totally turning my kindle over looking for the next page.  Seriously I hope there is a book 2 because this one just ended and I want to know what happens next.

            All that aside, this book was fabulous.  The action kept me totally interested and the book captured my attention enough that my complaints (except for the abrupt ending) were mostly overlooked.
            I give this book 4 out of 5 clouds.

This product or book may have been distributed for review; this in no way affects my opinions or reviews.

a Rafflecopter giveaway