Monday, 19 March 2018

Cover Reveal: Ghosts & Exiles by Sandra Unerman...

Spellhaven is no more, but its spirits remain.

About the Book:

Tilda Gray hates Spellhaven, the city where her husband was born, even though she has never set foot in the place, and she does not believe in the magic it’s supposed to have held. Now her husband is dead, she would rather avoid any mention of the city. But her sons, Nicholas and James, have befriended Hugo, a young boy threatened by forces none of them understand. When Hugo's uncle and guardian, Stephen Cole, visits the Gray family to ask for help, Tilda agrees against her better judgement. Between them, as they search for ways to banish or at least help Hugo cope with the ghosts that are driving him mad, they seek out the dubious aid of the exiles from Spellhaven. In doing so they must face new dangers and unknown magic, unlike anything Tilda could have believed possible.

Book Details:

Print Length: 300 pages
Publisher: Mirror World Publishing
Publication Date: April 17, 2018
Genre(s): Magical Realism, Historical Fantasy

Read a Short Excerpt:

Stephen Cole would never have asked for help on his own account, not from strangers and especially not from a woman and a couple of young boys. Since his slow recovery from his experiences in the trenches during the First World War, he had devoted himself to his work at the Bar and had spent little time in the company of women or children. But the help was for his nephew, Hugo, and by the time Stephen arrived at the Grays’ house in Highgate one Sunday morning in November 1933, he did not know where else to turn.

When he was shown into the drawing room, Stephen looked round to try and gain an impression of the family. He decided that the room had been decorated about ten years ago and hardly changed since then. The yellow and grey curtains had lost their bloom and the wooden feet on the armchairs were scuffed, but the parquet floor round the carpet was thoroughly polished, as were the tiles inset into the fireplace. Mrs. Gray must have had skilled and hardworking servants, not as easy to find as they would once have been. Botanical illustrations hung on the panelled walls. Stephen had no time to notice more before Mrs. Gray entered the room. 

Her appearance took Stephen aback. When he had been told she was a widow, somehow he had pictured a middle-aged woman, dumpy and depressed. Maybe he had been thinking of Queen Victoria, even though he had seen enough war widows in the early days of his practice to know they came in all shapes and styles. Matilda Gray was tall for a woman, with light eyes and a pointed chin. Her pale brown hair was bobbed and smooth. She wore a fawn twin-set and a brown skirt, not new or fashionable but shapely and trim.

‘Thank you for seeing me on a Sunday, Mrs. Gray,’ Stephen said. ‘It’s your son, Nicholas, I’d really like to talk to. He is home for the weekend, isn’t he?’

Hugo lived at school all term, and often in the holidays as well, but Stephen had been told that the Grays were weekly boarders. 

‘The boys are at breakfast, Mr. Cole.’ Mrs. Gray looked as wary of him as he was of her. 

‘I hope your maid gave you my apologies for disturbing you.’ 

‘It doesn’t matter, but you will have to explain what this is about before I decide whether Nicholas should be involved.’

Pre-Order from:

Read About the Book at Mirror World Publishing

Add to Your Shelf on Goodreads

Meet the Author:

Sandra Unerman lives in London in the UK. When she retired from a career as a Government lawyer, she undertook an MA in Creative Writing at Middlesex University, specialising in science fiction and fantasy, and graduated in 2013. Since then, she has had a number of short stories published. Her latest stories are in Sword and Sorcery magazine, June 2017, and Fall into Fantasy, an anthology from Cloaked Press. She writes reviews and articles for the British Science Fiction Association and the British Fantasy Society. She is a member of London Clockhouse writers and other writing groups. Her interests include history, folklore and medieval literature.

Connect with Sandra:

Sandra’s Website:

Sandra’s Author Page: 

Goodreads Author Page: 

Monday, 12 March 2018

Guest Post: A Series in the Making by Marci Boudreaux...

Since I know a thing or two about writing and planning a series, I thought I'd invite friend and romance writer Marci Boudreaux to share her experience on creating a book series. Take it away Marci...

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.

Thursday, 8 March 2018

Book Tour: Unquiet Dead by Chris Pavesic...

About Unquiet Dead:

In Chiaroscuro it’s important to keep the faith.

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, rogues members of the Seelie Court, and a seemingly unstoppable army of undead.

Unquiet Dead
Chiaroscuro Chronicles, Book 1
Chris Pavesic

140 pages

Genres: Steampunk, Mystery, Dark Fantasy

Learn More About Unquiet Dead:




Follow the virtual tour and visit tours hosts sharing spotlights, excerpts, and reviews. Link to tour schedule:

Read an Excerpt:

“I’m glad to see you’re talking again.” Benedict glanced at her, his eyes kind. “Did you work out whatever was bothering you?”

Catherine gave him a wry smile. “No.”

“Want to talk about it? I can be a good listener.”

“No.” She stared down at her shoe as she tapped it against the smooth wooden footrest of the wagon. “Not now,” she added, to take some of the sting out of her reply. “I need to get my thoughts clear before I discuss them with another person. But I appreciate the offer.”

“Suit yourself.” He sighed and dragged a hand through his hair.

“We do not have to stop talking. Just…on a different subject.”

He smiled. “Lady’s choice.”

“Why did you undertake this job?”

“That’s direct. You don’t think it was for the money, then?”

“No, I don’t.”

“It’s an awful lot of money.”

“I don’t know you very well, but I have a feeling that you don’t do much only for the money.” She glanced at the horses, the reality in front of her. “Those animals are proof of that. Clean, well-fed, and happy. With little red ribbons in their hair. Most people would not be so kind.”

Benedict smiled at her comments and then his face grew sober. “A lot of the people who lived in those communities—they were friends. They were murdered, plain and simple, and no one seems to know who it was, who benefits from their deaths. It’s rare someone in my position would be able to do something about it.”

“You want to find the murderer or murderers and bring them to justice?”

His grip tightened inadvertently on the reins. “I want to find out who killed them and bring a reckoning.”

Meet the Author:

Chris Pavesic lives in the Midwestern United States and loves Kona coffee, 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.

Find Chris Pavesic Online:

Twitter Handle @chrispavesic

Monday, 5 March 2018

The Story Behind the Story: The Boggart of Fairy Falls…

Black Dog by Christopher-Manuel

In the first book of my teen psychic mystery series entitled, Lost and Found: Mysterious Tales from Fairy Falls, I have a character named Boggart. I’ve even devoted an entire chapter to him. I describe him as a big, black dog who is part pit bull, part hound…and part insane. I don’t blame him really. After all, the poor dog was found at the dump, in the place where Boggart says “stinks, where there’s lots of ugly smells, and lots of birds.” Now before you start feeling sorry for this poor mutt, don’t. Boggart is a force to be reckoned with. And trust me, he should be. Although I named him after a type of Bogey hobgoblin in English folklore that has poltergeist habits, he also has the qualities of the terrifying spirit called Black Dog.

Like my fictional canine, a Boggart can be helpful and sociable with some people (like my main character Meagan Walsh), but most often Boggarts are mischievous, annoying, and frightening. Without making a visual appearance, the Boggart makes itself known by playing tricks on people, such as pulling off their bedclothes. Sometimes Boggart acts are accompanied by terrible noises or laughter. Boggarts can also be mean and nasty, and have been known to scratch, punch, and pinch people. Yikes! The friendly household Boggart, however, acts much like a brownie and will work hard washing, cleaning, and doing heavy farm work if treated well. Hmm…where can I get me one of these creatures? On the flipside, if upset, this spirit will destroy or displace everything in the house and farm buildings.

Black Dog (a.k.a. Black Hound or Black Shuck) is a type of fiend described as a shaggy-haired black dog about the size of a calf with enormous glowing, fiery red eyes. Some are reported to be malicious, and some can be quite benevolent at times. Black Dogs are usually encountered on lonely tracks, ancient roads and crossroads, bridges, and entrances—the places of transition in human lives. They are normally benign if left alone, however to meet Black Dog means death within a year. There are well known instances of Black Dogs appearing to lost travelers or frightened girls traveling alone and guiding them safely home. These creatures also have been known to protect those under attack. Now that sounds like a great guard dog to me!

When I found through my research that Boggarts inhibit a house, churchyard, or live in a body, such as that of a cat or dog, I had a lightbulb moment. I decided to create my own Boggart, making him resemble the Black Dog of English folklore, and added him to my cast of furry characters in Lost and Found. I have to say Boggart transformed into more of a guard dog, than a beast, knowing his job was to protect at all costs, and loyal to the end. But to be on the safe side, if you ever find yourself wandering on one of the back roads in Fairy Falls after dark, make sure you check over your shoulder now and then. Oh, and bring a flashlight. Boggarts abhor the light.

Monday, 26 February 2018

Cover Reveal and New Book Release: Unquiet Dead by Chris Pavesic...


Unquiet Dead

Chris Pavesic

Screen Shot 2018-01-12 at 7.55.36 PM

About the Unquiet Dead

In Chiaroscuro it’s important to keep the faith.

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, rogues members of the Seelie Court, and a seemingly unstoppable army of undead.

Genres: Steampunk/Mystery/Dark Fantasy 

Length: 140 pages. 
Available in Print and E-Book 

Add to Your Shelf on Goodreads 

Purchase Your Copy from Amazon 

Learn More on Facebook


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.
Meet the Author:

Chris Pavesic lives in the Midwestern United States and loves Kona coffee, 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.

Find Chris Pavesic Online:

Amazon Author Page
Facebook Author Page
Tweets @chrispavesic

Monday, 19 February 2018

The Importance of Downtime for Writers and Discovering New Books…

The East Coast of Newfoundland
In August 2017, one of the trips on my bucket list was checked off. Along with my hubby, son and his significant other, my brother and his wife, we headed out to Newfoundland for a week of fun, sun, and relaxation. Okay, so there was some sun, and the weather wasn’t too bad (glad I packed pants and a warm coat), but the experience proved to be unforgettable. It’s true what they say about Newfoundlanders. They’re friendly, accommodating, warm, and welcoming! Especially on George Street in St. John’s…

I’ve written about why writers need R&R before, and you can read that post HERE. Taking breaks between your writing projects and tasks is so important for writers. It gives your brain time to slow down, and quit thinking about what’s on your writer’s to-do list next. It’s important to recharge and take some time away from the keyboard, and I did just that when I went to visit Canada’s Rock.

Getting Screeched-In at Christian's Pub on George Street
Among the things we did were whale watching (what a treat!) and seeing the too-many-to-count puffins dive-bomb us in the excursion boat. We also went hunting for the last iceberg on the east coast and managed to find it, though it seemed a shadow of its former self. And the scenery! Well, it truly is breath-taking! I can only imagine what greeted the Vikings when they discovered this carbon copy of their homeland. Most of us got screeched-in (makes you an honorary Newfoundlander) through a special ceremony that you get to kiss a cod fish and drink a shot of screech. Still cringing.

I was lucky enough to meet a fellow author at the Inn we were staying at, and we conversed about the joys and perils of publishing. The author’s name is Andrew Peacock and he is a bit of a celebrity around Newfoundland. Now a retired veterinarian, Andrew wrote about his adventures (and misadventures) being the only veterinarian for miles around. Originally from Ontario, Andrew figured he and his wife, Ingrid would only be staying in Newfoundland briefly. Turns out he was wrong about the duration, and three decades later he and his wife still live on the Rock. Curious as to Andrew’s story, I bought a signed hardcover book, Creatures of the Rock, and immersed myself into his world. It was the perfect pick for the downtime I needed, and many of the places he mentions, I got to visit firsthand. So, I thought I’d share this gem with you.

About the book:

When you’re the only veterinarian in an area that’s 130 miles long and has a coast on either side, you never know what each new day might bring. A cow giving birth, a colicky horse, an aggressive lynx, caribou in need of pastures new, a polar bear in a bingo hall, a six-hundred-pound boar who won’t like what you’ve been asked to do to him… The only constants for Andrew Peacock are his faithful dog and his passion for his work.

When Andrew Peacock made the move from Ontario to Newfoundland, he thought he was kicking off his career as a newly qualified veterinarian with a brief adventure in a novel location. Turns out he was wrong about the duration—he is still in Newfoundland three decades later.  But it has certainly been an adventure. A whole series of adventures.

In his immense new practice—half the Avalon Peninsula—Andrew was the only vet for miles around, visiting patients (and their owners) on farms, in homes and zoos, and in the wild. 
A day’s work could include anything from performing a Caesarian section on a cow in a blizzard, to pursuing a moose on the loose, to freeing a humpback whale from a trap designed for cod. And, on the human side, anything from trying to impress a surprisingly large audience of farmers with your first boar castration, to taking care of the distressed owners of a stricken cat, to discouraging farm hands from helping themselves to hypodermic needles.
All this against the background of a domestic scene in which Andrew's wife Ingrid—also freshly qualified, as a “human doctor”—shares the adventure of making a new life, fitting in to a well-established community, and in due course of starting a family.

Andrew Peacock is a born vet, devoted to the care of animals, and in constant wonder as an observer of their lives.  Luckily for the rest of us, he is a born storyteller, too. Creatures of the Rock is a funny, thrilling, unflinching but ultimately heartwarming collection of tales about the connections between people and animals, and people with each other.

Sounds like an interesting read, right? In a way, Peacock’s novel is reminiscent of the book, All Creatures Great and Small by James Herriot. Incidentally, Herriot started writing his books when he was fifty, and penned fifteen books in the time that he could wrest away from his practice. They sold 50 million copies in 20 countries. But he continued his veterinary practice long after his books made him famous, and once said, “If a farmer calls me with a sick animal, he couldn’t care less if I were George Bernard Shaw.” I truly believe Mr. Peacock is in good company here.

If you’re an animal lover, I urge you to pick up either Andrew Peacock’s memoir, or check out James Herriot’s wonderfully written books that also spawned a long-running television series. Although my novel, Lost and Found is about a teenager possessing the psychic ability to talk to animals, my hope is that it brings awareness to the plight and needs of animal shelters, sanctuaries, and rescues everywhere. Have you ever discovered a great book or met an interesting author while on vacation or taking some downtime? Would love to read your input and comments. Cheers, and thank you for spending time with me by reading my blog!

Monday, 12 February 2018

Love is in the Kitchen with a Free Cookbook Offer: Sweets and 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 his or hers’ 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 BoudreauxCarol BrowneHL CarpenterSara Daniel,  C.D. HershVonnie Hughes, Alicia JosephEmma LaneLizzie T. Leaf, Sharon Ledwith, Susan LodgeAnne MontgomeryChris Pavesic, and Sloane TaylorThese wonderful writers have created an array of tantalizing recipes that will make your loved ones beg for more, and even offer to wash those dirty dishes.

Sweets and Treats for Someone Special is your go-to recipe book for entertaining on Valentine’s Day, hosting bridal showers and engagement parties, or celebrating that special event with your true love. Compiled by Sloane Taylor—a gourmet cook in her own right—and designed by mother-daughter duo HL Carpenter, the included recipes offer a wide variety of mouth-watering treats, indulgences, and meals to satisfy your loved ones’ cravings and insatiable hunger.

Oh, and did I mention that it is FREE

So why not have your just desserts? Literally. You’ve got nothing to lose and sultry memories to gain when you download Sweets and Treats for Someone Special. There’s a recipe for even the fussiest lover in your life. Give yourself a gift during the season of love with a sensual cookbook from fourteen writers who would love nothing more than to share their favorite recipes, and fulfill your deepest desires. Bon Appetit!

Download your FREE cookbook at Smashwords, and Amazon