Book Release Party for "Another Man's Treasure" by Anna Kittrell

 

WE'RE HAVING A PARTY!

 

Every new book deserves a release party. After all, it's labored over like a baby after months of morning sickness, weight gain and fluid retention--and the stretch marks. Oy! Writers call these things wordiness, excessive backstory, needless scenes that don't move the story forward--and editing. But when we get it all right, a book is born. Today we celebrate the birth, the release of Another Man's Treasure.

 

I had the privilege of copy-editing this book several months ago--and it was instant love. So I'm thrilled to celebrate its release. The author is the lovely Anna Kittrell. Anna resides in her small Oklahoma hometown with her high school sweetheart-turned-husband, Tim, and their teenage daughter, Brandilyn. She has written stories for as long as she can remember, and still has most of her tattered creations (leftovers she was unable to sell on the playground for a dime), written in childish handwriting on

notebook paper, bound with too many staples. Her love of storytelling has grown throughout the years. She is thrilled to learn some people now believe her tales to be worth more than ten cents.

 

 

And I've got Anna Kittrell here today on Vintage Vonnie. She's even agreed to tell us the inspiration behind her book. But first, let's have some candy and cookies to go with the champagne, shall we? I've been baking like crazy and making candy especially for today.

 

Don't hesitate ladies. I use old German recipes where the calories are omitted. It's part of their thriftiness, you see. So grab a plate and load up. This is a party and we're leaving our cares behind and embracing a new story, one we can all love. Anna, you only took one piece of fudge. Surely you want more. Oh wait! I forgot the chocolate covered strawberries. Now, tell us about the inspiration for Another Man's Treasure.

 

Okay. Ummm. These taste great! Close to twenty-five years ago, a retail photographer had a two-day assignment at the clothing store where I worked. He set up his equipment in a corner and snapped photos of people against various colorful backdrops. Between customers, we visited about this and that, our small talk eventually turning to his photography. He told me before becoming a photographer, he’d worked as a garbage collector. I scanned his handsome face and sparkling eyes and marveled—as if a sanitation worker couldn’t be attractive. Shame on me.

 

We often get assumptions like that about professions and people, don't we? Here let me refill your champagne glass. 

Then he shared something I’ve never forgotten. He said every morning on his trash route he saw people through kitchen windows drinking coffee and reading newspapers. It was on one of those ordinary mornings that he glanced through one of those ordinary windows and made an extraordinary decision. He no longer wanted to be on the outside looking in. In that single defining moment, he purposed to be on the inside looking out. Just like that, he quit his job as a garbage collector and enrolled in photography school. He’d been happily following his calling ever since.

 

Wow, what a brave man! It takes courage to grab control of your life like that. More candy? I made Buckeyes...

One piece, maybe. That young photographer’s tale was a golden thread. The kind a writer recognizes, saves, and weaves into just the right story. Another Man’s Treasure is that story. Deason McKindle is a manual laborer on the outside looking in. And although he dreams of fighting fires, not snapping photographs, Deason has also made an extraordinary decision. Now if he could only figure out how to follow his calling with a dead man standing between him and his dream…

 

 

Blurb:

Deason McKindle dreams of breaking free. Free from the ex-wife whose cheating ways landed his fist in his boss’s face, free from his dead-end job as a trash collector, free from small-town Oklahoma. In two weeks, his dream of a fresh start in Montana will come true.  

His dreams scatter when he saves Charis Locke from her abusive ex-husband. The gratitude in her eyes awakens a passion deep inside him. But when he later discovers the ex-husband’s corpse in a dumpster, Deason’s charged with murder. Instead of breaking free, he loses every freedom he’s ever known.  

Charis thought she couldn’t love any man other than the Alzheimer’s patient she takes care of. But when Deason is arrested, she can’t let him go to prison without a fight. As fate would have it, Charis has finally fallen in love, and only the key to the killer’s identity will unlock her dreams. Or is it too late?

 

Excerpt:

“Hey, I know you,” Vic garbled, his dull eyes floating over Deason’s features. “You’re Deason

McKindle. SOB that punched out your supervisor and landed yourself on the trash wagon.” He threw his head back and wheezed out a beer-steeped laugh. 

Deason homed in on the oversized Adam’s apple, fighting the urge to twist the man’s collar until the stupid thing stopped bobbing. 

Vic squinted at Deason, a glint in his clouded eyes. “You socked old Ricky Holland right in the mouth for messing with your old lady. Now she waits tables at Suds. Always shoving her goods in everyone’s faces.” 

Hovering above Vic, Deason’s cocked fist quaked with anger, ready to drive the no good bum’s crooked nose straight through the back of his empty skull. 

“He’s not worth it.”  

Charis’s voice rang out stronger than Deason imagined it would, given what she’d just been through. Her words pulled him from his murderous thoughts, likely saving Vic’s life. He cut his gaze to where she stood, dusting her hands over the grass-stains on her clothes. A small, red line stamped the corner of her mouth like an exclamation point.

Vic cackled. “You ain’t gonna do squat to me, McKindle. I heard how it all went down. Sam, the big boss, made you promise to keep your nose clean, cause next time you screw up, it’ll be outta his hands.” 

Deason set his jaw. “Not a problem. I know how to operate the trash compactor. By the time they find what’s left of your worthless bones, I’ll be long gone. Now close your eyes. Wouldn’t want you to get blood in them.” 

 

 

Link to Another Man’s Treasure book trailer:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fWigNif71ng

 

Facebook author page:

https://www.facebook.com/AKittrell

 

Website:

http://annakittrell.com/

 

Twitter link:

https://twitter.com/KittrellAnna

Twitter user name: @KittrellAnna

WHEW! WE HAVE PARTIED HEARTY! ANNA, I WISH YOU AWESOME BOOK SALES AND POSITIVE REVIEWS FOR ANOTHER MAN'S TREASURE.

Release of Purgatory by Denise Moncrief

 

SOMETIMES A SENIOR MOMENT TAKES OVER.

SOMETIMES I FORGET TO CHECK MY CALENDAR.

SOMETIMES I GOOF UP AND NEED TO APOLOGIZE.

YESTERDAY WAS THE RELEASE OF MY GUEST'S BOOK PURGATORY,

AND I FORGOT TO POST HER RELEASE DAY PARTY. DENISE, I AM SO SORRY!

 

 

My guest today is the lovely--and forgiving--Denise Moncrief. She's a Southern girl, who's lived in Louisiana all her life. And yes, she has a drawl. She's been writing off and on since she was seventeen, when she wrote her first "novel." Seventeen handwritten pages on school-ruled paper that was an obvious rip-off of the last romance novel she'd read. Now before you tell us a little about your family, Denise, have a piece of my pumpkin roll. This has got to be my favorite dessert. I've been in a baking frenzy like most everyone else this week.

 

Thank you, Vonnie. Looks great. I'd love to talk about my wonderful husband and my two incredible children. They not only endure my writing moods, but also encourage me to indulge my passion. Which is a good thing since the urge to write won't let go. Back in my twenties, I started another novel, only to abandon it after Chapter Four to Five. The timing wasn't right, I guess. I started writing seriously about eight years ago and have already published several stories.

 

What an awesome story, Denise. How about some coffee to wash down that pumpkin roll? Do you like chocolate covered strawberries? I made a few. And I think there may be some other goodies around here too.

 

 

Now, darlin', share your book's blurb with us.

 

Blurb...

Five years ago, a tragic accident robbed Chris Smith of a normal life. Left with only a jagged scar, a set of wedding rings, and bits of memory—smells, sounds, and fleeting feelings—she copes with the loss of her identity. Amnesia has made her life a living purgatory…until she meets Steve West.

 

Steve’s construction company is remodeling the ski lifts in Purgatory, Colorado. However looking at Chris is seeing the face of his deceased wife. Now the truths he’d been forced to believe have him searching for answers.

 

Murder, deception and missing ransom money. Can Steve protect Chris…and prove she’s the wife he never believed dead before the killer tries again?

 

 

 

Excerpt...

A swoosh of wind burst through the front door as a man entered the building. Dragging her attention away from the magazine, she turned to greet him. He hesitated for a fraction of a second as if to get his bearings before trudging through the lobby toward her. As soon as their eyes met, her words of welcome froze on her tongue and the pain began—flashes of light across her vision—tightness in her throat—intense, piercing sensations in her head. Panic and the desire to run soon followed.

 

She massaged her forehead, trying to rub away the stabbing pain that throbbed between her eyes, and then returned her attention to the man in front of her, pulling the computer keyboard toward her, determined to do her job despite the sudden fear gripping her insides.

 

She attempted her most professional tone. “Good morning. Welcome to the Inn at Purgatory. How can I help you?”

 

No response.

 

She glanced up at him. To her dismay, he presented all the indications of a panic attack. She recognized the signs well. His forehead glistened with tiny beads of sweat. The vein in his neck pulsed. Anxiety flashed in his eyes as he struggled with each new breath he took.

 

“Mister, are you all right?”

 

He braced against the counter and rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. It’s just…you look like someone I used to know.”

 

Chills ran down her spine. He wasn’t creepy, not in the least. On the contrary, she sensed an unmistakable connection to this stranger. She recoiled from the feeling, but nothing could have pried her eyes from his for a few brief, intense moments.

 

Whew, after an excerpt like that, let's break out the bubbly and celebrate your awesome release in style, shall we? Tell us how you write. What process do you use?

 

I know where I want to begin a story and know where I want the story to end. In the middle, I allow my characters and their evolving personalities to dictate where the action goes from there. I ask myself how the character would react in a given situation, how the characters would relate to each other, and what consequences would come out of those choices. The character’s story sort of writes itself.

 

I like writing characters who do and say things I never would, as well as characters who do and say things I wish I could. Do you have characters who fit into one of those categories? Who, and in what category do they fall?

 

I love to write my characters saying and doing things I’ve only thought about. You know, when you’ve finished with a confrontation and you think about that one thing you wished you’d said? That’s what I love to make my characters say. A writer can get brave hiding behind a character!

BUY LINK FOR PURGATORY:

http://www.amazon.com/Purgatory-Colorado-Denise-Moncrief-ebook/dp/B00GVL6OSO

Whew! Even a day late, we have partied hearty!

Denise, good luck with sales of PURGATORY!

 

Releasing on Thanksgiving from Harper Impulse--Santa Wore Leathers

I'm hosting a Book Release Party on Facebook on Black Friday from 9am to 9pm

We'll be talking about how pets create havoc in our lives. Share pictures of your pet's worst mess! We'll also be talking about handsome hunks...I mean, that's a given. Right? There will be pics of them, too.

And prizes.

And laughter.

Lots of laughter.

 

EXCERPT:
 

Wolf strode to her townhouse, rang the doorbell and waited.

 

Finally, her door opened, and he was greeted with a scowl.

 

“What?” She tugged the lapels of her short white silky robe together.

 

“I…ah…” His gaze snagged on all those ample curves showcased by the slinky material. I…ah…”

 

“You said that already.” She fisted a hand on her hip.

 

Einstein cannonballed around Becca with something red clamped in his jaws. He streaked across the grass, his strong muscles propelling him as he circled both of their yards.

 

“Get back in here!” Becca pointed into her house.

 

Einstein loped across the grass and shrubbery, ignoring his owner’s command.

 

Maybe if he acted the hero and returned the pet to its owner, he’d gain a few brownie points. “Stay here. I’ll get him.” Wolf took off after the dog. Seeing he was being chased only made Einstein run faster. Wolf followed him twice around the yard in front of Becca’s house. The dog leapt over a flowerbed and stopped, his head lowered, shaking his prize, his hind end elevated, wiggling in excitement.

 

“Give me that.” Wolf stepped to the right around the flowerbed. The dog trotted to the left. In a quick move, he sprinted to the left and the dog dashed to the right. “Think you’re smart, don’t you?” He could have sworn the dog smiled. Wolf leapt across the blooms, hoping to grab the smartass canine. Once he’d grabbed the collar, they rolled, and Einstein yelped. Wolf grimaced as he, too, rolled across a low-growing cactus and into the trunk of a palm tree. “Dammit.”

 

The dog whined and dropped the fabric to lick and bite at the prickly thorns in his groin.

 

“Easy now, Einstein.” Wolf cooed as he slipped his Swiss army knife from the front pocket of his jeans.

 

“What’s wrong? What’s going on? What are you doing with that knife?” Becca tugged on the hem of her short robe and glanced up and down the street as if she thought to run out into the yard.

 

“Stay where you are. He’ll be fine. He’s got some thorns in his hide.” Wolf removed the tweezers stored in a slot of the knife and began extracting the offending needles. “We can’t have an awesome fella like you in pain now, can we?” He worked as quickly as he could. “One more, big guy, and then you’ll be fine.” The dog licked him several times. “Yeah, I like you too. Let’s keep what I’m about to do just between us, shall we?” He ran his fingers over the affected groin area, keeping his attentions on the dog’s reactions. “Looks like we got them all.”

 

“What in blue blazes are you doing to that dog? Are you performing some kind of ‘beasty-wildy’ on him?” Mrs. Minelli, his neighbor, punctured the air with her cane, her white eyebrows arched in question.

 

He fought the urge to laugh. “No, Mrs. Minelli. I was taking out thorns.”

 

She cocked her head to the side, her cataract-clouded eyes widened. “In his penis?”

PRE-ORDER LINKS:

AMAZON: http://www.amazon.com/Santa-Wore-Leathers-HarperImpulse-Contemporary-ebook/dp/B00GFD6X34/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1385127025&sr=1-1&keywords=santa+wore+leathers

BARNES AND NOBLE: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/santa-wore-leathers-vonnie-davis/1117316490?ean=9780007555314

A Book Release Party for "Taming Jenna" Written by Charlene Raddon

 

Taming Jenna Releases Today!

Today's post is part of a book release tour party. Commenters are eligible for prizes. I'm offering a copy (paperback or eBook, winner's choice) of my award winning Storm's Interlude to one lucky commenter. To the commenter leaving the most comments on all blogs listed below, Charlene is offering her own prize. So join the party and the fun and leave a comment. 

You all know how I love a good Western, and author Charlene Raddon can craft a sizzlin' hot story full of vibrant characters. Today she's here to talk about the release of her latest book, TAMING JENNA. If you've never met Charlene, she's quite the character, let me tell you. She began her fiction career in the third grade when she announced in Show & Tell that a baby sister she never had was killed by a black widow spider. Whoot! Don't'cha love it? I think on that note, we better break out the bubbly. Don't you?

 

Charlene, welcome to Vintage Vonnie. Here sip on some champagne while I tell my guests how you often penned stories featuring a mistreated young girl whose mother accused her of crimes her sister actually committed. Her first serious attempt at writing fiction came in 1980 when she woke up from a vivid dream that compelled her to drag out a portable typewriter and begin writing. She's been at it ever since. Here, try one of these and tell us why you chose the genre you did...

Thanks for having me, Vonnie. Umm, these are so good. Why do I write what I do? I fell in love with romance early on and adored the Wild West, so the combination led me to choose the historical romance genre. I also write contemporary romance. At present, I have five books published in paperback by Kensington, one under the pseudonym Rachel Summers and four eBooks published by Tirgearr Publishing.

I made this cake especially for you, And believe me, I'm hoping it doesn't taste like boot leather. I may have beat it a little too long. I was on the phone at the time, you see. Why are you shaking your head, Charlene? It's a perfectly good cake. The thing's got plenty of soul... Here, I'll cut you a piece while you share your beautiful cover and book blurb with our guests.

 

 

THE WRONG MAN 

Deserted by her father at the tender age of seven, Jenna Leigh-Whittington had taught herself to ride, shoot, brawl…and steer clear of the opposite sex. But now, in a lonely Utah canyon, the Pinkerton agent has drawn her gun on a rugged stranger—only to discover that, far from the dangerous outlaw she’d been tracking, he is Branch McCauley, hired gun…and the most irresistible rascal ever to tempt and torment a woman!

THE RIGHT WOMAN          

If there’s one thing McCauley trusts less than a female, it’s a female who packs a six-gun. But what a woman! Vowing to bring the sensuous hellcat to heel, McCauley has no inkling that their passionate battle of wills has just begun. Taming Jenna will be the most seductive—and satisfying—job he’s ever taken on.

EXCERPT --         

Jenna scowled as she studied the man by the flickering glare of his campfire. He had the right build and appeared close to thirty, Mendoza's age. But something didn't fit.

The Denver police chief had described her quarry as a spoiled aristocrat, too busy wooing Lady Luck and every other female to be much of a train robber, let alone a killer. But the rogue in front of Jenna looked too lean and hard to be spoiled, too wary and aloof to be a ladies' man.

To Jenna he seemed the perfect gunslinger: cold, tough, and ready to spring. Like a big yellow cougar perched on a ledge. Or a rattler, tightly coiled. Either way, his bite would be deadly.

In spite of the cool night breeze, sweat oozed from her pores. She couldn't forget that lightning draw. Why had she come here? How had she expected to take an outlaw Pinkerton's other agents had failed to bring in? No, she refused to think that way. She was every bit as capable as any man to capture Mendoza. She had to believe that, the same way she had to do what she'd set out to do. Only one question remained: Was this Mendoza or not?

"Who are you, mister?"

"Who am I? Hell, who are you? "

Blast! Did no male exist in this empty wilderness who wasn't so taken with himself that he couldn't cooperate for a change?

She took a calming breath. A body could catch more flies with honey than vinegar, old Charley Long Bow used to say. Jenna figured flies might fancy the hairy creature facing her, so she decided to try being friendly. "Listen, I smelled your coffee and hoped you might spare a cup, is all. You can understand me being a mite leery of walking into a stranger's camp without knowing who I'm hooking up with."

Firelight glinted on the man's straight white teeth as his whiskers parted in a cold smile. "Don't recall inviting company, but I'll play your game. Name's Branch McCauley. Now it's your turn."

His smile unnerved her. It held no humor, only a lethal sort of grimness that cannoned her stomach into her throat and made her wish she'd wired William Pinkerton for instructions instead of going off half-cocked this way. "I'm Jim...Jim White," she lied.

"All right, Jim, how about some honesty? You come here looking for me?"

"I'm not looking for anyone named Branch McCauley. If that's who you are, you've nothing to worry about."

The wide, innocent eyes McCauley studied held honesty. He relaxed. "In that case...be glad to pour you some coffee." He reached for the battered graniteware pot. His visitor's next words froze him in a half-stoop: "I'd feel more welcome if you'd set aside your gun first."

Cool as Montana sleet, McCauley straightened, hand poised above his holster. "Reckon you would. Wouldn't do much for my sense of well-being, though."

So much for trying to be friendly, Jenna thought. What now? She clenched her knees together to still their shaking and swallowed the fear knotted in her throat.

"Look." McCauley shifted his weight to one leg. "Why don't you put your gun away and have a sit? Could be I might know something about the hombre you're hunting.

Hombre. Sounded Spanish. Like Mendoza. It must be him. She had to get his gun away from him. Surprise seemed the best means. She squeezed the trigger of the .44 Starr. The bullet kicked dirt onto the man's scuffed boots. He jumped and let out a yelp as though she'd set his feet afire.

"Dammit, kid, going up against me won't get you anything but a six-foot hole in the ground."

"Shut up and toss over your gun or I'll turn them boots into sieves. 'Course, my sights might be a bit off." She raised the muzzle toward his groin.

"You made your point," he growled as he unbuckled his gun belt and tossed it over.

Instead of the fancy weapon she had expected a gunslinger to own, an ordinary, six-gun lay at her feet. No ivory handle or engraved barrel. Only an ordinary .44 Peacemaker, crafted and worn for one reason—to kill. The thought did funny things to her innards.

"All right," she said, getting back to business. "You aren't going to like this, mister, but I don't know any other way to be sure who you are. Drop them trousers to your ankles."

"Do what?"

 

PARTICIPANTS FOR CHARLENE’S COVER REVEAL

http://acrosstheplainofshiningbooks.blogspot.com/ 12^th

http://cathymansell.blogspot.com 12^th

http://www.laramsey.com/ 12th

http://wordwranglers.blogspot.com/ 11^th

http://www.charleneraddon.blogspot.com/ 12th

http://carolineclemmons.blogspot.com 12th

http://elizabethdelisi.blogspot.com/ 12th

http://susanhorsnell.com 12^th

^{http://peggylhenderson.blogspot.com/}

http://writingdreams.net/?p=1360  12th

^{http://katerobbinsauthor.com/  12th}

^{http://sheiladeeth.blogspot.com  12th}

http://alisonhenderson.blogspot.com  12^th

 http://lisaday.weebly.com/now-blogging.html 

http://vintagevonnie.blogspot.com/ 14th

http://www.patyjager.blogspot.com/ 14th

 
Make the rounds to the blogs above and leave comments for eligibility for Charlene's give-away. Leave a comment here to be eligible for both Charlene's and mine.

***BUY LINK for Taming Jenna is http://www.amazon.com/Taming-Jenna-Charlene-Raddon-ebook/dp/B00GNR87BS/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1384448989&sr=1-2&keywords=taming+jenna

Here's the opening paragraph to Storm's Interlude.--

Someone swaggered out of the moonlit night toward Rachel. Exhausted from a long day of driving, she braked and blinked. Either she was hallucinating or her sugar levels had plummeted. Maybe that accounted for the male mirage, albeit a very magnificent male mirage, trekking toward her. She peered once more into the hot July night at the image illuminated by her headlights. Sure enough, there he was, cresting the hill on foot—a naked man wearing nothing but a black cowboy hat, a pair of boots and a go-to-hell sneer.
 

WHOO! WE HAVE PARTIED HEARTY! CHARLENE, GOOD LUCK WITH YOUR LATEST BOOK RELEASE!