A Sweet Treat from Author CD Hersh

by C.D. Hersh

This easy and delicious candy recipe is one from Grandma Hersh’s secret cache. Fond memories abound whenever we indulge in her amazing fudge.

Photo by artur84

⅔ cup evaporated milk
1⅔ cup granulated sugar
½ tsp. salt
1½ cups (16 medium) marshmallows diced or small ones
1 pkg. (6 oz.) butterscotch chips
1 tsp. vanilla
½ cup nuts

Mix milk, sugar, and salt in pan over low heat. Heat to boiling. Cook 5 minutes stirring constantly.

Remove from heat.

Add marshmallows, butterscotch chips, vanilla, and nuts. Stir 1 to 2 minutes until they are melted.

Pour into buttered pan. Cut when cool.

Here is a little from our book The Promised One for your reading pleasure.

In the wrong hands, the Turning Stone ring is a powerful weapon for evil. So, when homicide detective Alexi Jordan discovers her secret society mentor has been murdered and his magic ring stolen, she is forced to use her shape-shifting powers to catch the killer. By doing so, she risks the two most important things in her life—her badge and the man she loves.

Rhys Temple always knew his fiery cop partner and would-be-girlfriend, Alexi Jordan, had a few secrets. He considers that part of her charm. But when she changes into a man, he doesn’t find that as charming. He’ll keep her secret to keep her safe, but he’s not certain he can keep up a relationship—professional or personal.

Danny Shaw needs cash for the elaborate wedding his fiancée has planned, so he goes on a mugging spree. But when he kills a member of the secret society of Turning Stones, and steals a magic ring that gives him the power to shape shift, Shaw gets more than he bargained for.

The woman stared at him, blood seeping from the corner of her mouth. “Return the ring, or you’ll be sorry.”

With a short laugh he stood. “Big words for someone bleeding to death.” After dropping the ring into his pocket, he gathered the scattered contents of her purse, and started to leave.

“Wait.” The words sounded thick and slurred . . . two octaves deeper . . . with a Scottish lilt.

Shaw frowned and spun back toward her. The pounding in his chest increased. On the ground, where the woman had fallen, lay a man.

He wore the same slinky blue dress she had—the seams ripped, the dress top collapsed over hard chest muscles, instead of smoothed over soft, rounded curves. The hem skimmed across a pair of hairy, thick thighs. Muscled male thighs. Spiked heels hung at an odd angle, toes jutting through the shoe straps. The same shoes she’d been wearing.

The alley tipped. Shaw leaned against the dumpster to steady himself. He shook his head to clear the vision, then slowly moved his gaze over the body.

A pair of steel-blue eyes stared out of a chiseled face edged with a trim salt-and-pepper beard. Shaw whirled around scanning the alley.

Where was the woman? And who the hell was this guy?

Terrified, Shaw fled.

The dying man called out, “You’re cursed. Forever.”

Buy Links:

Putting words and stories on paper is second nature to co-authors C.D. Hersh. They’ve written separately since they were teenagers and discovered their unique, collaborative abilities in the mid-90s. As high school sweethearts and husband and wife, Catherine and Donald believe in true love and happily ever after.

The first four books of their paranormal romance series entitled The Turning Stone Chronicles are available on Amazon. They have a short Christmas story, Kissing Santa, in a Christmas anthology titled Sizzle in the Snow: Soul Mate Christmas Collection, with seven other authors. Also a novella, Can’t Stop The Music, with twelve other authors from various genres with a book coming out each month in 2017.

They look forward to many years of co-authoring and book sales, and a lifetime of happily-ever-after endings on the page and in real life.

Learn more about C.D. Hersh on their website and their Amazon Author Page.

Stay connected on Facebook, Twitter, and Goodreads.


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No Author Is an Island

My blog today is for the benefit of my followers. If you’re following me, I think it’s only right that I reciprocate, so feel free to put the links to your blog, Twitter and Facebook pages in the comments section below. Remember, we don’t just exist as separate entities, trying to succeed in a very difficult and uncertain industry, we’re also part of a community of writers, so sharing each other’s links on social media isn’t merely altruistic, it’s also good networking. No author is an island; we are stronger together.

Before you do that, some of you might not know what kind of books I have out there, so allow me to bring you up to date! 😊

The Exile of Elindel – Elwardain Chronicles I

Elgiva, a young elf banished from Elvendom, must seek shelter among the Saxons as her only hope of surviving the coming winter.
Godwin, a Briton enslaved by the Saxons, is a man ignorant of his own inheritance and the secret of power he possesses.
A mysterious enemy, who will stop at nothing to wield absolute power over Elvendom, is about to make his move.
When destiny throws Elgiva and Godwin together, they embark upon the quest for the legendary Lorestone, the only thing that can save Elvendom from the evil that threatens to destroy it.
There is help to be found along the way from a petulant pony and a timid elf boy but, as the strength of their adversary grows, can Elgiva’s friends help her to find the Lorestone before it falls into the wrong hands?

Amazon Buy Links:
Amazon UK: http://tinyurl.com/ybhgaa3c
Amazon USA: https://tinyurl.com/ydayn6n3

(Published by http://www.burningwillowpressllc.com )

Being Krystyna-A Story of Survival in WWII

ac248-nov2bcarol2bbrowne2bcoverIn 2012 when young Polish immigrant Agnieszka visits fellow countrywoman Krystyna in a Peterborough care home for the first time, she thinks it a simple act of kindness. However, the meeting proves to be the beginning of a life-changing experience.

Krystyna’s stories about the past are not memories of the good old days but recollections of war-ravaged Europe: The Warsaw Ghetto, Pawiak Prison, Ravensbrück Concentration Camp, and a death march to freedom.

The losses and ordeals Krystyna suffered and what she had to do to survive are horrors Agnieszka must confront when she volunteers to be Krystyna’s biographer.

Will Agnieszka be able to keep her promise to tell her story, and, in this harrowing memoir of survival, what is the message for us today?

(Published by http://www.dilliebooks.co.uk )

Amazon Buy Links:
Amazon UK: http://tinyurl.com/hanoycg
Amazon USA: https://tinyurl.com/ya6gn7c5

An Elf’s Lament upon Leaving & Other Tales

An anthology of poems and short stories

Amazon Buy Links:
Amazon UK: https://map.tinyurl.com/y8gxngox
Amazon US: https://map.tinyurl.com/yaq4botf

I also contributed to the following cookery eBooks, which are free to download on smashwords:

The ACBDs of Cooking with Writers</abcds of cooking

Free download: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/751324

Sweets & Treats for Someone SpecialSweets &amp; Treats for Someone AUTHORS Copy

Free download: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/785994

You can also follow me on social media:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorCarolBrowne
Twitter: https://twitter.com/@CarolABrowne

Okay, guys, let’s see those links!


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Being Krystyna – A Time to Acknowledge the Role of Women in History

History has long been concerned with the deeds and ambitions of men. While wars were waged and regimes rose and fell, the lives of ordinary people, most especially women, were largely unrecorded. Many women have altered the course of history and made world-changing discoveries, yet neither their names nor their achievements are taught in schools. This has to change.

There have been untold acts of bravery and stoicism that we will never know; the suffering and struggles of many women that we must at least acknowledge. In Being Krystyna, Agnieszka learns the harrowing details of life in a concentration camp and how Krystyna managed to survive, but always there are stories within stories and Agnieszka’s research uncovers another tale of injustice and suffering, one that she finds especially moving.


“I didn’t tell you much about the gulags, did I?”
“There’s no need,” I said. “I’ve been reading about them.”
Krystyna nodded knowingly. “Then I feel for you having to read such things.”
“I have to, Krystyna, to get some background material for the book.”
“Yes, the book.” She fixed me with her gaze. “Is it such a good idea after all, Agnieszka?”
For a moment I thought about it and then I sat down again. “I think it is, Krystyna. I really do. There are so many things that should never be forgotten. They write history books and they’re all about battles, heroes, kings and queens, stuff like that. But the courage and endurance of ordinary people is often overlooked. No-one knows about them and yet somehow the world turns on their suffering.”
“I can tell whatever it is you have been reading, it has moved you, Aga.”
I took a deep breath. “There was one story in particular. I can’t stop thinking about it. It was in 1943. A Russian woman was alleged to have stolen three pounds of rye to feed her starving children. She took the rye from land that had once been hers but it had been taken from her by the state during its collectivisation programme. For this crime she was given ten years in a gulag. She served her time there but for some petty reason they added another two years to her sentence.”
“What happened to her?” asked Krystyna, as concerned for this unfortunate woman as I had been.
“Hmm, well, she served the extra two years and they released her. But even that wasn’t good enough for them. They told her she had to live in exile near to the gulag and it wasn’t until 1956 that she was finally able to make the long journey home. Once there, she started searching for the children she hadn’t seen for 13 years. She never found them.”
“Dear God, such injustice!” exclaimed Krystyna. “That poor woman. Do you have her name?”
I quickly riffled through my notes. “Maria Tchebotareva.”
“Put her in my book, Agnieszka! I wish to be in the company of a woman such as that.”
“So do I,” I said, and then I realised I already was.

Being Krystyna – A Story of Survival in WWII

In 2012 when young Polish immigrant Agnieszka visits fellow countrywoman Krystyna in a Peterborough care home for the first time, she thinks it a simple act of kindness. However, the meeting proves to be the beginning of a life-changing experience.
Krystyna’s stories about the past are not memories of the good old days but recollections of war-ravaged Europe: The Warsaw Ghetto, Pawiak Prison, Ravensbrück Concentration Camp, and a death march to freedom.
The losses and ordeals Krystyna suffered and what she had to do to survive are horrors Agnieszka must confront when she volunteers to be Krystyna’s biographer.
Will Agnieszka be able to keep her promise to tell her story, and, in this harrowing memoir of survival, what is the message for us today?

Buy Links:
Amazon UK: http://tinyurl.com/hanoycg
Amazon US: https://tinyurl.com/ya6gn7c5


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A New Steampunk Mystery from Author Chris Pavesic: Cover Reveal & Excerpt


Coming March 5 from Chris Pavesic, the author of Starter Zone: The Revelation Chronicles, the first book in a new steampunk mystery series. Looks like another best seller for this fine author. But you be the judge.

When the Temples north of Chiaroscuro are burned and followers of the Sun Goddess are murdered, Catherine, a bard of the Ealdoth Temple, sets out to find those responsible and to bring them to justice. With only the help of a traveling group of minstrels and a retired fae investigator, Catherine must solve the mystery before more people are killed.

So saddle up your clockwork mount, buckle on your electro-dagger, and join Catherine as she finds herself pitted against members of her own Temple, rogue members of the Seelie Court, and a seemingly unstoppable army of undead.

In Chiaroscuro it’s important to keep the faith.

Services were scheduled to commence in an hour, and Ernest needed to be ready. He struck a match and lit the first gaslight, watching the flame take hold and flare up. The light pushed back the shadows so parishioners were able to find their way to the pews without stumbling. He would extinguish the artificial lights right before the service so the effect of the sunlight illuminating the darkness hit with maximum impact as it flooded through the skylights.

The parishioners would marvel at how the Temple filled with the Goddess’s Holy Light just in time for the service. Ernest would marvel at the fact that none of them were smart enough to realize he flipped a switch on back of the altar to swing open mechanical shutters.

There was a religious stirring in Grand Marsh more powerful than anything Ernest had experienced in his ten years as a Sacerd. The services at dawn, noon, and sundown were packed. Few of the farmers went out to the fields. They worked in town on community projects or sat drinking at the tavern. Their wives remained in the town square, full of chatter, instead of staying on their farmsteads. Their thin voices filled the air. The youngest children were kept close while the teens clustered in protective packs far enough away to keep their discussions out of reach of their parents’ ears. But close enough to be in sight at all times. None of them wandered off.

Three times a day they filled the Temple, ready to hear his words. Faces tilted up to him. Man and woman, young and old. And none of his parishioners would confess why they were so filled with the Holy Spirit that they were neglecting their farms. They were afraid of speaking blasphemy. But he knew the reason, and it caused a lift in his heart that was not due to religious inspiration. They were scared, plain and simple, and it gave him hope.

Since being assigned to the far parish almost five years ago, a posting he saw as an end to the upward progress of his career in the Temple, he struggled daily to swallow his disappointment. It wouldn’t leave, and it was bitter. Bitter.

In this remote village, far from the bustle and industry of Chiaroscuro, the quality of his life, the texture of his life, changed. He longed for life in the city. The world seemed to have shifted into two zones. The pace of life for the city dwellers increased while people living in the countryside were being left behind.

Time’s arrow struck fastest through the densest populations. Sacerds assigned to any of the major cities made more connections and accumulated more power in a single week than he did in a year. Exerting influence was impossible when the spheres of power were spinning outside of his reach, moving too fast for him to see, let alone have an impact.

The wound to his pride stung the most. The elders had hurt his feelings. To be dismissed so easily, passed along so casually—it was like the swatting of an annoying insect. The Temple elders did not treat him as if he mattered, as if his family ties were consequential. True he was a third son, but of a noble line. And they assigned him to a rustic Temple to attend to common folk far below his station.

Very little was required of him here. Or, more precisely, very little of what he did here interested him. He burned to return to the central Temple and to be part of the intrigues and power shifts. This attracted him more than caring for the simple souls of farmers and shopkeepers. Power was why he joined the Temple, and what he was now denied.

But not for long. The thought clanged in his mind with undeniable rightness. Not righteousness. It was an important distinction. Would the Goddess sanction his actions? Probably not, but he was past caring about her approval. During all of the ceremonies, all of the prayer and introspection, he had never felt any divine presence. He had never witnessed any miracles, and doubted their existence.

But power, oh he had seen the existence of power. Political. Social. Religious. Whatever you called it really didn’t matter. Get enough people to follow you. Enough people to believe in what you were selling. This was the belief that could move the world.

There was only one woman in his life he needed to please now, and she held no divinity. Merci had offered him a way out of this rural purgatory, and he had accepted. Truth be told, he had grabbed at it like a castaway might grab at a line from a passing airship. If the price were the damnation of his soul, so be it.

He glanced out the window at the transport coming down the lane. A high quality clockwork carriage with the Temple’s Crest stamped on the doors rattled over the boards strewn across the irrigation ditch and stopped, parking in the speckled light cast by the ornament trees planted along the lane. The carriage blocked traffic, but the driver did not seem to care. Elder members of the clergy, Hlytere, and above, felt they had the right of way. Others had to go around.

A pale, dark-haired woman emerged and stood for a moment looking around. She pulled the hood of her dark cloak over her hair and walked through the yard toward the Temple. Ernest’s gaze followed her, trying to imagine who this stranger was.

Her footsteps sounded in the aisle and, when he turned from window, she was almost upon him. Her speed startled him. When he saw her face to face he realized she was younger than he had supposed. Too young to be a Hlytere, but her use of the carriage meant she was favored by the Temple elders. The seed of jealousy radiated through him. He felt it in his chest and the pit of his stomach. He struggled to keep the emotion off his face.

“Greetings.” He shook her hand with a firm grasp. Her hands were small and smooth and white. “Will you come in for a moment?” He led her to the small reception room off the main area that contained a round table and several wooden chairs. He lit a cheroot, offered her one, which she declined, and they sat down.

“Please forgive me for calling on you so close to mid-day Services, Sacerd Ernest.” She paused. “You are Sacerd Ernest, correct? It’s not like me to presume.”

“Of course. I’m glad you came. I watched you drive up, you know, and I wondered who you were. We don’t get many visitors from the Temple here.”

“I’m surprised you don’t recognize me, cousin. Of course, I didn’t recognize you. So perhaps it’s not so surprising.”

“I’m sorry. I …”

“I’m from the cadet line of our family tree. My father is the elder son of the younger son of our line.”

His brow creased in thought. “Grace?”

“Yes,” she said with a smile, reaching out to touch his hand. Her fingers rested there for a moment too long. Lingered. And then she leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs, which were slim and bare beneath her robe.

Sacerd Ernest regarded his guest, wondering that her physical presence should suddenly dawn upon him so. She was more beautiful than he had thought at first. Her skin was clear and lovely, and her eyes and mouth were made up carefully and well.

What’s her game? He licked at the perspiration that appeared upon his upper lip.

“I would like your help in a small matter. And of course I wanted to meet you.”

“You did?”

“Our sponsor has spoken of you with such affection.”

“Our superior?” He used the wrong word to see if she would correct him.
“Technically, I suppose, she may be yours. I’ve never thought much of the rules of hierarchy in the Temple.” She cocked her head, listening to noises from the other room. Some of his parishioners had started to file in for the service. “It’s such a mercy, isn’t it?’

Ah, code words.

She must think she’s being clever, although he had no idea who could possibly overhear their conversation. It was only just dawning on him why she must be here. In his town. In his Temple. But he didn’t care. All he wanted to do was get out of Grand Marsh. Get back to Chiaroscuro. It didn’t bother him that people, his parishioners, may die, or suffer a fate worse than death. He just wanted to get out.

It’s not my fault if I’m following orders.

But that was a poor excuse, wasn’t it? Guilt flared, hot and strong.

Do you want to stay in Grand Marsh forever? Ministering to the townsfolk? Do you?

No … but he didn’t want to hurt people. Those conflicting thoughts pulled at him. There was the question of right and wrong. What was right for him might go wrong for others. But that was the way it had to be.

Thus he banished the guilt. When something inside of him tried to protest again, tried to tell him to think before he did this, he smothered it.

“When?” He didn’t have any time for nonsense. The quicker it occurred, the quicker he resumed his rightful place.

“In two days. I have some items in my transport that need to be set up in the Temple, but kept out of view.” She smiled and spoke a little louder so that the earliest arrivals overheard her. “I wish I could stay to help with the Mass, but I am needed back in Chiaroscuro.” She lowered her voice. “Officially I never left the city.”

“Of course.” He guessed that she had no desire to partake in the service. “I will help you with whatever you need.” Whatever may come of it, he had gone too far to stop now.

Chris Pavesic is a fantasy author who lives in the Midwestern United States and loves Kona coffee, steampunk, fairy tales, and all types of speculative fiction. Between writing projects, Chris can most often be found reading, gaming, gardening, working on an endless list of DIY household projects, or hanging out with friends.

Learn more about Chris on her website and blog.

Stay connected on Facebook, Twitter, and her Amazon Author Page.


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Lavender Biscuits – a New Taste Treat

My thanks to author Sloane Taylor for hosting me on her blog today …

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Love & Authors are in the Kitchen (and there’s a FREE recipe book!)

Free Cookbook: Sweets & Treats for Someone Special

Leigh Goff

Love is in the kitchen with the Free Cookbook Sweets & Treats for Someone Special.

Remember the old adage, ‘The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’? There may be some truth to that, though I would update the phrase to say, ‘The way to a person’s heart is through their stomach’. After all, food is an intimate experience. Good food creates memories, forges friendships, makes the heart grow fonder, and makes for good dinner table conversations. And food is one of the ways you can show someone that you care for them.

If the thought of cooking a romantic meal or baking a sweet treat for your true love makes you tingly all over, then have I got a gift for you! Cue a romantically-inspired cookbook written by the following fourteen proficient and prolific authors, of various ages and genres: Marci Boudreaux, Carol Browne,

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A Series in the Making by Marci Boudreaux


by Marci Boudreaux

Never before have I felt the need to make a series bible. Maybe because I’ve only written one series before and had no idea what the hell I was doing!

On to series two…the title is still a work in progress, but I have some ideas that I’m just waiting for my editor to tell me are crap so I can start over. (She’d say it very nicely, though.)

This new series is about a detective agency run and operated by some pretty kick ass dames who don’t take crap from nobody—especially the men in their lives. This is also completely out of the norm for me, so we’ll see what (if anything) happens to it.

Meet the ladies of the yet to be named agency that will be doing awesome to be determined kick ass things! Also known as Em’s imaginary friends for the next year or so.

Problem is, unlike my last series, I’m dropping all the characters into book one. Most will be in the background so I don’t boggle anyone’s brain with a huge cast. But, even so, my brain gets boggled so I gotta keep all these people and their nuances straight in my head.

And, that right there, folks, is what that whole series bible thing is for.

I get it now.

Since I’ve never done this before, I’m totally winging it. Pinterst pages. Word docs. Notes in two different notebooks that will eventually all be put in one place. I have pictures. Descriptions. Quotes. All kinds of things that someday, I’ll look at and go “DAMN! I totally forgot she’s got blue eyes not green!”

I’m working on getting organized enough to have all this in one place. I’ll get there. I’m just a wee bit slow, but I am taking this whole thing very seriously, y’all.

I’d love to introduce you to the ladies, but book one is still with my editor and I don’t want to jinx this series before it is even out of diapers, but keep an eye out. I think you’ll be hearing about them soon!

Until then…any suggestions on how to keep all this stuff straight?

As a teen, Marci Boudreaux skipped over young adult books and jumped right into the world of romance novels. She’s never left. Marci lives with her husband, two kiddos, and their numerous pets. Until recently, she was a freelance writer appearing monthly in a variety of local magazines. She now focuses on writing and her work as a content editor.

Romance is her preferred reading and writing genre because nothing feels better than falling in love with someone new and her husband doesn’t like when she does that in real life.

Learn more about Marci Boudreaux on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter.

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The Power of Words

ac248-nov2bcarol2bbrowne2bcoverWords are powerful weapons for politicians with an agenda. Despotic leaders can blame any section of society they choose for the ills in that society and the ordinary person on the street might not have the discrimination, knowledge or courage required to challenge them. When Hitler used stereotypes of rapacious Jews to embody all that was wrong in 1930s Germany, he was doing what countless others have done before, and since, to provide a scapegoat for a nation of people who felt impoverished and disempowered. There has to be someone to blame for it all! In the UK in more recent times it is immigrants who have been singled out for this kind of hatred and resentment. The rhetoric is always black and white. People who hate cannot see shades of grey. They do not realise they are being manipulated by the clever use of words.

But while words can damn us, they can also redeem us. They can be a vehicle for the truth and in the right hands they can turn us back towards the light. In Being Krystyna, reluctant biographer Agnieszka confronts the reality of evil in the world and realises the importance of the written word in the fight against lies and ignorance. It is up to people like her to make sure the truth is never forgotten.

We left Lavender House together and made our way back towards the busy city centre. My eyes saw the crowds of people, innocently going about their business all around us as we walked along, but my mind was seething with the images of the Holocaust I had seen over the years. The harsh contrast between these two situations was striking and, where a few hours ago I had felt calm and at peace with the world, now I experienced a sense of unreality and menace. A notion came to me that the great evil which had in the past arisen to terrorise our world was merely biding its time, waiting for a chance to return and wreak havoc once again. I knew instinctively that this dark force used ignorance as its primary weapon; it made people gullible and easy to manipulate. It followed that the more people who know about the truth, the better. Krystyna’s story was an important part of that truth.

“Mum and her older sister, Eda, were the only members of their family to survive the war, you know,” said Chris. Each revelation only served to increase my anxiety. Krystyna’s story was going to be far more harrowing than I had even imagined. “Who was it who said they who forget history are condemned to repeat it? I can’t remember, but it’s so true, Agnieszka.

“Mum once told me how it all started in Germany before the war. Resentment against the Jews had simmered in Europe for centuries, but then the Nazis stoked the fires up and a new kind of hatred took over. It started in small ways at first—people telling jokes about the Jews, making fun of them, making them into stereotypes. Next thing that happens is people are treated differently, seen as inferior or bad in some way. Then they are dehumanised and excluded from society. They get sent to camps and gas chambers. We mustn’t forget what happened in Germany, but we mustn’t blame the Germans. It can happen anywhere and it must always be challenged. We can all make a difference just by choosing how we treat the people around us. Mum thinks her story is no different to all the others, and the sad thing is, she’s right. There were millions like her—but she survived, Agnieszka. She defied Hitler’s so-called master race. And perhaps her example is a lesson for the future.”

Being Krystyna – A Story of Survival in WWII
In 2012 when young Polish immigrant Agnieszka visits fellow countrywoman Krystyna in a Peterborough care home for the first time, she thinks it a simple act of kindness. However, the meeting proves to be the beginning of a life-changing experience.
Krystyna’s stories about the past are not memories of the good old days but recollections of war-ravaged Europe: The Warsaw Ghetto, Pawiak Prison, Ravensbrück Concentration Camp, and a death march to freedom.
The losses and ordeals Krystyna suffered and what she had to do to survive are horrors Agnieszka must confront when she volunteers to be Krystyna’s biographer.
Will Agnieszka be able to keep her promise to tell her story, and, in this harrowing memoir of survival, what is the message for us today?

Buy Links:
Amazon UK: http://tinyurl.com/gm4d9qy
Amazon USA: http://tinyurl.com/z66aalk


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Heartfelt Romance from Author Sara Daniel


or Sara Daniel Finds her Niche
by Sara Daniel.

Write what you know, they say. But what happens when you’re a romance author and congenital heart defects and their repair surgeries are what you know?

You end up accidentally creating your own heart surgery romance niche.

To be clear, the books I’ve written that involved heart surgery aren’t a series and don’t have much in common at first glance.

Captivating the CEO is an all-in serious look at a woman facing her own mortality, daily health struggles and—yes—open heart surgery. A Model Hero is a story of derailed dreams and post-surgery body image struggles. At the other end of the spectrum, Once Upon a Marriage is a romantic comedy based on an obscure fairy tale, where the heroine’s uncle receives a heart transplant…from a pig!

I’m not a heart expert, but when I write about heart defects and heart surgery it comes from a place of deep emotion, personal turmoil and love. No matter how many times I reread Willow’s surgery updates in Captivating the CEO, I cry because it is real and raw for me.

I don’t expect congenital heart defect romances or heart surgery romances will ever become a trending or sought-after genre, and that’s just fine with me. I only want to read the stories that come from a place of authenticity and love.


He’s all about the future. She might not have one…

When live-for-the-moment massage therapist Willow Jeffries bursts into Colin Vanderhayden’s office, she makes it her mission to loosen up the future-focused CEO, knowing each moment of the present is too precious to waste. Despite her immediate attraction, the only future she can offer is one full of heartache.

The last thing Colin needs is a flighty woman messing up his carefully-constructed plans, but her heavenly massages and addictive personality prove hard to resist. But he has no idea how sick she is.

No longer able to ignore her life-threatening medical condition, Willow slips away to spare Colin a miserable future with her. Is Colin willing to sacrifice his well-laid future plans to get Willow back?

AmazonBarnes & NobleiTunesKobo

AUDIO VERSION – Narrated by Nina Price

Sara Daniel writes what she loves to read—irresistible romance, from sweet to erotic and everything in between. She battles a serious NASCAR addiction, was once a landlord of two uninvited squirrels, and loses her car keys several times a day.

Learn more about Sara on her website and blog. Subscribe to Sara’s newsletter.

Stay connected on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest.

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Help Me Raise £250 For The Dogs Trust By Leaving Me A Link To Your Blog

Help Hugh Raise Money for Dogs Trust

Hugh's Views & News

The Christmas tree is up, but something is missing. There are no gifts under it, and I need your help to put that right.

#charity #appeal #christmastree #christmas

For this year’s Christmas charity appeal, I’m asking you to help me raise up to £365 for The Dogs Trust.

The Dogs Trust, formerly known as the National Canine Defence League, is an animal welfare charity and humane society in the United Kingdom which specialises in the well-being of dogs. Click here to go to their website.

Want to get involved? Here’s what you need to do.

  1. In the comments section of this post, leave the name of your blog and a link to it. This can be a link to your ‘about me’ page, a favourite blog post you’ve published, or the home page of your blog.
  2. If you’re an author, you’re also welcome to leave me a link to any books you have published. So, for…

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