Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: Buried in My Past @evamackenzie #romsuspense

BURIED IN MY PAST
By Eva Mackenzie
Domestic Romantic Suspense

She’s desperate to stop the panic attacks. But the truth won’t set her free…

Jamie Kendal sees life through the bottom of a bottle. After surviving assault and betrayal, she is forced back to her hometown to care for her mother. Not long after her return, she’s plagued by terrifying slivers of memories from the night her twin brother disappeared forever…

Unearthing new evidence, she’s shocked to learn she’d been found wandering in the woods that same night—covered in blood. More than one person from her past hid the haunting truth that’s bubbling to the surface. The deeper she digs into the horrors from her past, the more she fears almost anyone could be a killer, including Jamie herself.

Can Jamie expose what happened that night, or will she join her missing brother?

http://evamackenzie.com/buy-now/

Taylor
“Hello, my name is Taylor, and I’m a sex addict.” He looked around the room at a few familiar faces. He’d never told his story to them, but he always liked to introduce himself to the group. Of course, Taylor wasn’t his real name. And perhaps his burden was not exactly sex addiction, but it was in that vein.
“Hello, Taylor.” The group welcomed him.
He quickly took his seat and cast his eyes to the ground.
There was a big group tonight at Sex Addicts Anonymous. The dusty space occupied the third floor of the public library, rented to them every Tuesday night.
Marcie, or so she claimed to be, stood up and moved to the front of the group.
She always liked to share all the gory details of her sex addiction. Taylor secretly wondered if she was getting off telling the group about her promiscuity. Too willing, if you asked him.
 He glanced around at the men and women captivated by Marcie’s passionate relapse. He imagined some were fathers and mothers. Some were possibly divorced or in open relationships. Heterosexuals, homosexuals, and anything in between. All looked like average people.                                                                                                                                                  
Marcie was maybe a four on a scale of one to ten, so he barely raised his head as she continued.
This was his fifteenth meeting, and every time he walked through those doors, he wondered what he was doing here. Of course, he had a problem, but he wasn’t interested in fixing it. Maybe problem wasn’t the proper classification.
Was his issue a lack of moral character? If so, who was the judge? Society? That was a joke. No one on this earth was free from lust.
 All of these people were suffering. Not him. He lived the dream. But on most Tuesday nights he found the time to drive two and half hours to this meeting. He didn’t ask himself why—he knew why—and the anticipation offered a giddy sensation that nudged his crotch. He was a bastard, for sure.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   
There was no one in this room he was interested in. Hell, who wanted cheap thrills. He was looking for a ten.
He wasn’t a handsome man, although he wasn’t ugly either. Some might say his nose was a bit too sharp or his hair too thin. His features weren’t coveted, and he wasn’t charming or even funny. But he only had sex with women who were nines, at minimum; it was sort of a rule he had.                                                                                                                                                                                                       
The group around him broke into applause as Marcie took her seat. She didn’t give him a come-hither glance. Her eyes were glued to the other man she sat next to. As he stood up to introduce himself, Marcie rested a friendly hand on his arm—encouragement. Right. 
He would be Marcie’s next relapse.
It was too easy. Like shooting fish in a barrel.
Not him—he wanted a real lay.
He stood and removed a cigarette from his coat pocket and headed for the door, his movement swift. He had forgotten the time.
Once out on the street, he was greeted by a blast of hot air. The pavement had soaked up the sun and continued to heat the city at night. He lit his smoke and waited while keeping his eyes on the steady stream of people moving down the sidewalk. The working crowd hustled along in and out of Virginia’s metro station in Arlington.
A woman in her early thirties hustled past him. Her Clinique perfume teased his nose as he closed the space quietly. Her feet slid into two-inch heels revealing that sexy muscle on the sides of her calves. She wore a business suit fitting her well in all the right places. Her smooth, pale skin flashed in the intermittent streetlights. She was a ten.
He dropped his smoke, not missing a step as she chose her watering hole.
A pub for working adults and cliques. High-end place. He knew before she even went inside that she would take a seat at the bar.
She graciously held the door for him without a backward glance.
Inside he took a seat at a table with a full view of the restaurant; Virginia didn’t have bars—they had places that serve fried food to patrons consuming large amounts of alcohol. The place was packed, noise assaulting his senses. Just the way he liked it. Much of the same crowd was here last week. He watched Ten take her seat, order her drink, and immediately pull out her cell phone.
“What can I get you?” a waitress asked.
“Gin and tonic and a margarita for my girlfriend.” He patted the table beside him as he nodded to the bathroom. She scurried off without another word.
 He watched as a large group of men entered the bar. One of them spotted Ten and boldly joined her.
“Fifteen seventy,” the waitress said as she placed the two drinks in front of him a few minutes later. Opening his wallet, he counted out eighteen dollars and handed the money to her. He imagined the police asking her a list of questions. “What did he look like? How tall was he? Did he have any tattoos?” She would remember none of these things, the tip not large enough or small enough to trigger any memories.
He sipped his drink and watched.
He knew his number ten would be stood up this evening. Her profile picture online, to his delight, was an accurate depiction. In the dim bar light, her skin was as creamy and flawless as he recalled. She scanned her phone once again, her mannerisms jerky. She was looking for a man that didn’t exist. At least he didn’t live in Arlington, Virginia.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      
 Best to travel in groups. There are a lot of assholes out there, Julie.
He pulled a small bottle from his pocket. A clear liquid inside promised adventure as he poured it into his second drink. Number ten was still at the bar, an unhappy pout dressing her full lips. The bold admirer continued a conversation with her. Perfect.
He slunk to the bar and pulled up next to her, careful not to gain her attention yet as she faced away from him. Bodies pressed in all directions. Her margarita sat barely touched in front of her.
“Can I get another gin and tonic?” He held up his empty glass. He scanned faces quickly but discreetly.
Placing his margarita next to hers, he gently tapped her on the shoulder as the bartender turned for his refill.
“This is mine, right?” he asked, pointing to her drink. She looked dazed for a second as she glanced at the two glasses. She nodded absently as he took her drink and left his cocktail instead. After paying the bartender, he went back to his table.
He watched as she drank the whole glass. Shadows danced over his face as he looked at his watch; it had been twenty minutes. Almost time.
Her movements were becoming loose as she swayed gently on the stool. Her admirer smiled at her dolefully as she seemed to lose her inhibition. Her current company mouthed, “I’ll be right back,” and took off toward the restroom. Time to make his move.
“There you are!” he said as he approached her. She looked over at him, glassy warm brown eyes accompanying a silky smile. He didn’t have much time.
“I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was a mess.” He put his arm around her and kissed her softly on the lips. She didn’t object.
“Let’s go, sweetheart.” He was already moving toward the door.
No, I don’t have a problem. He looked down at his new girl. None at all.

Eva Mackenzie is an author who enjoys twisty, emotionally engrossing tales. Her debut novel has been a work in progress for over a decade. Under the urging of a loved one, it’s finally finished.
She is a wife and mother living on the east coast. When she isn’t writing, she is spending time with her family, training for her next marathon or reading stacks of suspense novels. Some of her favorite authors are Minka Kent, Dean Koontz, Tami Hoag, and Lisa Jackson.
Her latest book is BURIED IN MY PAST.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS

Website  → http://evamackenzie.com

Goodreads  → http://goodreads.com/evamackenzie

Facebook  → http://facebook.com/eva.mackenzie.3762

Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Club Kick Off: WEEKS by Jasyn T. Turley #scifi

WEEKS
By Jasyn T. Turley
Scifi / Post Apocalyptic Zombie

Phil, Tim, and Dakota are three survivors taking refuge in Atlanta, Georgia. The year is 2027, ten years after a nuclear fallout decimated the known world and left it in shambles. With hordes of the undead flooding their once safe home and a city now depleted of all resources and supplies the three must make a daring gamble. To trek across the States and Canada, looking for a new place to call home; safe from the monsters that plague the lands.

In their daring gamble this trio encounters more than just zombies. They are relentlessly pursued and hunted by both an old and new nemesis’. Trying to survive and stick together, no matter the odds, they must rely on their faith, bond, and past experiences to live through their tribulations. In this world, a fool’s chance is usually their only chance.

Amazon → https://amzn.to/2Fw5Jc7

Except from Chapter Three – Present Day
2027
…
He stood there, in the middle of the four-way stop, staring down at the dusky horizon, the growing shadows of the building. There was a reason they had come here, but the beauty of the twilight mesmerized him to the point of forgetting. The fact that nature could still hold its beauty, its color, despite all that has happened, only strengthened his faith in God.
    For ten years they had lived off of faith. Living on what they worked so hard to obtain. All the clues, riddles and puzzles they solved to find and unlock caches filled with supplies; their lifeline. For ten years of survival and struggle they found joy with pain, blood with sweet, rejoicing with suffering, repentance with sinning. It was their faith in Christ that held them together, in the darkest moments when the night closed in all around them and the sky seemed as if it was falling on them.
    There was no sense of weekdays, calendars. All they knew was based off of measuring the months themselves for the last ten years, since 2017. They knew it was at least ten years that they’ve been together.
Thinking back to his memories always put Phil in a trance, and the twilight hours of day only deepened it. He could best be described as “the lights are on but nobody’s home.”
    “Phil. Hey, Pastor Phil!” Tim yelled out louder than he was comfortable with, but he could see Phil was now alert.
    “What?” Phil asked, breaking away from the trance of the twilight.
    “The Humvees? Remember?” Dakota asked from nearby. Her voice sounded concerned as she pointed to the ancient bodies of metal vehicles.
    They were only scrap now, after ten years of rot and decay has set in. All three Humvees sat at the four-way stop, filled with potholes; probably from mortar fire. This was obviously a case of friendly fire as the vehicles too looked like they were hit by mortars. Rubble had piled up on the sides of each vehicle and the area as a whole looked like it had suffered a good deal of mortar fire.
    The three Humvees used to be used by the Army. One had a hatch on its roof, where a mount for a machine gun, now long missing, had been positioned. He had the idea to start searching the city more painstakingly, seeing that the last of their supplies was stretching thin. There were no more caches available and their resources were depleting. So Phil wanted to double check everything… again. He hoped these Humvees would make their day a little more fruitful because so far the only things they had managed to find was two MREs and a bottle of whiskey.
    “Right,” Phil said, looking away from the twilight horizon again, to focus on the task at hand. “Tim, take the center, Dakota the first. I’ll check the rear one,” he ordered, walking away towards to the Humvee ruins in the back.
    Tim and Dakota both shrugged their shoulders casually, but they were both thinking the same thing. Before Dakota parted from Tim, he stepped closer and whispered in a low voice.
    “Do you still think he’s just going through a phase?” he asked.
    “We all do every once in a while.” Dakota answered.
    “In basic, you go through a thirteen-week adjustment period. Guess what, he’s been like this for months now.”
    “Tim, it took me two years to adjust to America when I moved here, and three years to learn English. It has to be a phase.”
    “Ten years after everything went into the gutter, and now he’s going through a phase? I don’t buy it, sis. Otherwise he would’ve been like this from the start,” Tim said, patting her back and turning his attention to the ruins of the vehicle in the center.
    Dakota had the leading Humvee. It felt normal because she always was the one taking point—well, usually she was. Whether it was scouting, reconnaissance or overwatch, her eyes were mostly up front looking ahead. Even when she was in the 75th, she went on frequent scouting missions. Before that she was a field surgeon who knew her way around a needle and the basics of an operation table.
She was no psychologist but she knew something was wrong with someone who was constantly getting stuck in his head. Blaming it on current circumstances was futile: they were all, to a degree, sociopaths. She had shot and killed people within arms reach and still could sleep the same night. Granted, it took some time getting to that point. No, Tim was right. Something else was eating at Phil from the inside.
They would have to worry about that later, right now they only had a little bit of time left to forage what they could from these Humvees and head back to base before other things became more active at night. Though she and Tim both remember that they had already picked these Humvees clean long ago. The whole city was pretty much picked clean. For Phil to forget something as little as that, there had to be something more going on with him; and they couldn’t waste anymore days’ worth of work to let him sort things out in his head.
Phil watched as Tim took to the middle Humvee and started to pull on the driver door. Its long rusted hinges gave way as Tim pulled the door clean off. Of the three, Tim was the strongest. He could overpower Phil in any wrestling match they had. His dark skin was sweating, even though it wasn’t hot or humid outside.
He never knew why but, for some reason, when he was a child Phil was intimidated by black people. It was strange, because just about every black person he met as a child was a nice person, very charismatic.
All that intimidation would change the day he joined the Army, after graduating high school. Just about all the men with him in boot camp were African American. Even later on during active service, most of his fellow comrades alongside him were black, and were the closest friends he ever had. Maybe the intimidation was, in part, due to his sheltered upbringing. That was why he joined the Army in the first place, to toughen himself and discard that timidity he felt; for he was timid of many more things. It was ironic: since the bombs blew and the radiation created abomination from that of God’s creation, he found even more things to be timid of. There was that fear of combat that never did change, his mind just became calloused to it; and now there were unmeasurably more things to fear than other people. But he thanked God every day that he was no longer intimidated by people who weren’t the same color as he, for Tim always gave Phil a sense of security when present.
He liked Marines too, back in his day, they were always fun to mess around with because they could take what you threw at them and dish it back. Mostly. Tim even dressed the role on a regular basis, though more of a casual sense. There was no reason to dress in anything that wasn’t combat friendly. He usually wore the olive drab, or OD, green shirt with matching battle dress uniform, or BDU, digital camo pants and combat boots. But every once in a while, he would adorn civilian attire and a black leather jacket. Some things you just don’t quit doing after everything’s fallen apart.
Then Phil took a look at Dakota. She spoke excellent English for a Brazilian; save for some discrepancies that were so minor, he hardly ever noticed. Nevertheless you knew what she was saying.
Phil could relate to Dakota a lot more then he could with Tim at times. She was dominantly introverted. You’d really have to force her out of her shell to see any extroverted behavior. Fortunately, after knowing each other for ten years, they were all comfortable with one another, so she had long since come out of her shell. He himself was introverted, but at times extroverted.
Tim was extroverted, enough said.
Dakota had an inner beauty of her that reminded Phil a lot of his mother. For Phil and Tim, she was their rock, who could bear all sorts of weight on her shoulders. She too joined the Army, but later on she became a Ranger; Phil went a different path in his career. Phil often wished that the three of their paths had crossed before the fallout occurred, had he retired later.
Phil had mad respect for the Rangers. Hell, he went through Ranger school himself for the honor of the Ranger tab on his uniform. Ever since, he had the utmost regard for Rangers. But he loved harassing them at the same time, he and his buddies he served with. But it was more like picking on your little brother. Just like with the Marines, he could joke with any Ranger and expect them to return the favor, oftentimes tenfold.
Dakota chose a more practical way into the lead Humvee. The doors would not open for her and she knew she couldn’t rip it off like her dingle-dork buddy did. So instead she climbed on top of the vehicles and worked her way in through the hatch. But upon inspection, she came up with the same result as did Tim. There was nothing here. She looked out the busted back window and saw Tim rub his head as he finished his search.
Like Tim, she wore the same type of pants, except hers was a solid green pair of BDU pants, with combat boots. She sported a dark blue tank top with a dark green overshirt. She kept her hair in a ponytail with her bangs framing the side of her face. Neither Phil nor Tim could ever understand how she could stand to have hair as long as hers; though it wasn’t long at all, just more hair than they had.
It was a bust, the whole day. Two MREs and a bottle of liquor, even though the liquor could be used for quite a few different purposes. It could also help them to stomach these age-old MRE’s too.
Phil felt his foot move something, and a metallic clank followed. Looking down he saw a rectangular piece of metal, bent and twisted. The paint that once was green was now faded save for the last three letters spelling “ave”. He recognized this old road sign; it was still scorched and ruined as when he last saw it.
“Shit,” Phil said rubbing his head as he gently laid the metal back down. He remembered now: they had already searched this site, along with the entire portion of this part of Atlanta, at least four times. This place was long since bone dry of anything to scavenge.
Standing back up he looked towards Tim and Dakota and whistled, loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to echo down the street. He wouldn’t bother looking into the rear Humvee, there was nothing there.
With a wave of his hand he motioned the other two towards their mode of transportation—ironically, a Humvee. There were plenty of vehicles left once the military abandoned the city, the whole state of Georgia for that matter. Dakota had claims on their Humvee, as she was quite fond of it. But that didn’t stop Phil from climbing into the driver seat, knowing she wouldn’t mind; he needed the distraction of driving. He took a glance at himself: his old brown hiking boots, his blue jeans, black shirt and brown, leather bombers jacket were all dusty. It was time to clean them again—which meant dusting them off as best he could.
Tim climbed into the passenger seat and Dakota into the back with her eyes watching the rear.
Hmph, eyes on back. Nice little mix-up on things, she thought to herself.
    “We’ve already been here before,” Phil mumbled, more to himself than to them. He was disappointed in himself.
    “Don’t worry about it buddy, we’ll get it tomorrow.” Tim’s voice was solid and reassuring, but not entirely convincing. How do you make up for a days’ worth of scavenging?
    “Maybe it’s time we started looking outside highway two-eighty-five?” Dakota suggested, but got no response.
    The engine shook and rumbled to life at the turn of the ignition switch before Dakota could finish what she was saying. They all knew what lay beyond the highway encircling Atlanta, and he wanted to avoid another debate—at least for now. Phil took a wide ‘U’ turn and then they were on their way back home.

Jasyn T. Turley was born in Wyandotte County, Kansas City, Kansas; and lives in Independence, Missouri. He is an independent author and full-time custodian. He holds an Associates in Arts degree from MCC KC Community College. He started WEEKS Book One back in the summer of 2009 and has been continuously working on it, and its sequels, since then. He has more science fiction and fantasy books in the works that he plans on releasing in the future. You can learn more about Jasyn, WEEKS Book One, and future projects at https://turleybookinn.com/.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website: http://turleybookinn.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/JayFiction
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19608376.Jasyn_T_Turley

 

 

Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: POKERGEIST by Michael Phillip Cash

POKERGEIST
By Michael Phillip Cash
Humorous Fantasy

Sometimes life, as well as death, is about second chances. Luckless Telly Martin doesn’t have a clue. An awful gambler trying to scrape by as a professional poker player, he becomes the protégé of world famous poker champion Clutch Henderson. The only catch…Clutch is a ghost. Telly and Clutch must navigate the seedy gambling underbelly of Las Vegas learning to trust each other in order to win the elusive International Series of Poker, repair their shattered personal relationships and find redemption in this life and the hereafter.

 

Amazon → https://amzn.to/35QJFn4

 Barnes & Noble → https://bit.ly/36LeX02

 

Prologue
Like taking candy from a baby, Clutch Henderson thought. He took a deep pull on his whiskey, allowing the burn to numb him from gullet to stomach. The room reeked of smoke, even though it was not allowed in the main ballroom during the tournament. Overhead, giant television screens focused on two players. Clutch looked up, winked, and watched the camera close in on his craggy face. I still got it. He smirked at his image. He was tall, lanky, and deeply tanned, which accentuated his silver hair and light eyes. Even though he was pushing seventy, he knew the ladies still found him attractive. They didn’t call him the Silver Fox for nothing. Clutch patted the blister pack of Viagra in the pocket of the polyester bowling shirt that he wore in homage to the Big Lebowski, the fictional kingpin legend. Gineva would be picking up a celebratory bottle of champagne right now, as soon as she clocked out at the Nugget. They wouldn’t give her the day off today—the bastards. There was a good chance he was going to make an honest woman out of her tonight…a rich, honest woman.
Clutch shifted in his seat, his hemorrhoids making their presence known. They burned his ass more than the cocky kid sitting opposite him. He looked over to his opponent who was sunk low in his seat, his face swallowed by the gray hoodie he wore. Adam “the Ant” Antonowski, boy wonder, who rose from the ranks of online card games, had beaten out a seemingly impossible one hundred sixty-five thousand players to earn a coveted seat at the International Series of Poker. His pimply face peeked out from under oversized sunglasses. Clutch sneered contemptuously at him. They let everybody play today. The kid did look bug-eyed with those enormous glasses. Adam curled his hands protectively over his cards, his bitten-down fingernails repulsive.
“Rookie,” Clutch muttered under his breath, his lips barely moving.
“Looks like Clutch Henderson is praying, folks,” Kevin Franklyn said into his mike from where he sat in a small room watching the game. He was a former champion turned seasoned sportscaster on the poker circuit, well respected, and the senior of the two anchormen. He was completely bald, his fleshy nose slightly off center on his craggy face, a victim of his youthful and unsuccessful boxing career. He’d made a mint once he turned to poker and had never looked back.
Stu James shook his head. “Clutch could be at his last prayers; this kid is the terminator.” Stu was a tall cowboy with wavy blond hair and mustache left over from his 1970s poker-playing heyday. He looked like a country singer.
“Let’s see if Clutch can exterminate the Ant,” Kevin replied.
They shared a laugh. The sportscasters wore matching light blue jackets with the Poker Channel logo on the chest.
Kevin nodded, placing his hand on his earbud, and said, “Yes, this is it, folks, in case you’ve just tuned in. A record fourteen thousand entrants, and it all comes down to this—the final moments. The rookie versus the pro: it could have been scripted by a screenwriter. David versus Goliath. Adam ‘the Ant’ Antonowski going up against the legendary Clutch Henderson.”

Michael Phillip Cash is an award winning screenwriter and novelist. He’s written many books and screenplays in the horror, suspense, thriller and fantasy genres. He resides on the North Shore of Long Island with his wife and children.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website: http://www.michaelphillipcash.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/michaelpcash

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MichaelPhillipCash

 

 

Pump Up Your Book Book Blast Kick Off: CHEMO MUSCLES: LESSONS LEARNED FROM BEING A PSYCHO-ONCOLOGIST AND CANCER PATIENT by Renee A. Exelbert, PhD & Giveaway!

CHEMO MUSCLES: LESSONS LEARNED FROM BEING A PSYCHO-ONCOLOGIST AND CANCER PATIENT
By Renee A. Exelbert, PhD
Autobiography/Health/Fitness

In Chemo Muscles: Lessons Learned from Being a Psycho-Oncologist and Cancer Patient, Exelbert reflects on her experience of confronting her cancer diagnosis, as the doctor becomes the patient.

Exelbert was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2007 after working as a psychologist in a pediatric cancer center in Long Island, NY. A wife and mother of two young children, she struggled with vulnerability and identity. As a medical professional, she had both challenging and elevating experiences with healthcare professionals. And ultimately, she became a certified personal trainer and bodybuilding figure competitor to regain a sense of control over her body.

With unflinching candor and detail, Exelbert shares her story by pairing it with psychological theory, well-researched coping techniques for patients and families, and guidance to aid healthcare professionals in treating people with greater dignity, understanding, and respect.

“By sharing the inner-most thoughts and emotions she experienced throughout her breast cancer journey, Dr. Exelbert provides validation that “life-altering” doesn’t necessarily condemn a cancer patient to a life that is “less than” it once was. Her dual perspectives as both a patient and a psychologist provide a unique opportunity to merge the raw emotional impact of the diagnosis with clinical training, thereby allowing her to process and understand the experience in a way that is both reassuring and empowering.”
— Jane E. Austin, Ph.D., Professor, William Paterson University

“This is less a book about cancer and the healing effects of exercise and diet as much as it is about the power of resilience; about confronting the unimaginable and what it takes to come out the other side. By allowing the reader into her personal journey, Dr. Exelbert invites us to explore the human dimensions of illness, seamlessly weaving between best psychological practices and the simple needs that we all have as members of the human family. For those of us working in the cancer community – or in any other community for that matter – this book is a must-read. It summons us to remember our humanity – to not hide behind cold clinical jargon and artificial barriers – and reminds us of the power we each possess to not only ease our own fears and pain, but those of our fellow travelers.”
— Arnie Preminger, CEO/Founder, Sunrise Association International summer and year-round programs for children with cancer and their siblings

“In this important and inspiring book, Dr. Exelbert shares her personal and emotional journey through cancer, with the vulnerability of a patient, the expertise of a psycho-oncologist, and with a generosity of heart that makes this book an essential guide for cancer patients, their families and clinicians alike. Lessons gleaned from personal suffering and transformation, combined with valuable knowledge from psychological and medical research, nutrition, and exercise, will undoubtedly leave the reader not only better informed, but empowered with hope and courage amidst the struggle with serious illness.”
— Anthony P. Bossis, Ph.D., Psycho-oncologist, New York University School of Medicine

Amazon → https://amzn.to/2snRyTo

 Barnes & Noble → https://bit.ly/2tk9lvi

 

One Breast or Two?
I still had not decided if I was going to have the requisite single
mastectomy, or a prophylactic bilateral mastectomy. There were some
studies that showed a miniscule chance of breast cancer spreading to
the other breast. My plastic surgeon had discussed that there would
also be a lack of symmetry between my breasts had I elected to have
the single mastectomy. He commented that they would be “sisters”
rather than “twins.” Two days prior to having surgery, I was sent for
a final scan of my breasts. My right breast was the one that had the
malignancies, however, there was some concern that the cancer might
be present in the left breast. The amount of terror I experienced about
the possibility of having more cancer was beyond measure. It turned
out to be nothing, merely dense breasts. However, my doctor notified
me that from this point forward, I would be checked much more
frequently in the existing breast. The prospect of experiencing more
scares due to dense or cystic breasts was something I could not handle.
I decided then and there that I would opt for the prophylactic bilateral
mastectomy. It was not an easy choice, as I could have kept one breast
and therefore preserved some sense of my existing identity, femininity,
and beauty. I had several people close to me as well as Dr. A, my old
boss from the pediatric cancer center, try to convince me that having the
bilateral mastectomy was a drastic and unnecessary measure. On
the other hand, I had been so freaked out by cancer and the possibility
of future trauma, that I felt it best to minimize any and all risks. When
I arrived for surgery, my surgeon, Dr. M, still had not been notified of
my final decision. She asked me in a perfunctory tone, “One breast or
two?” as this was her common vernacular, and illustrative of surgery
that she routinely performed. I couldn’t help but be struck by the metaphor
to coffee—would I like one lump of sugar or two? Additionally,
Dr. K and Dr. M had asked me if they would be removing a mole that
I had between my breasts, as surgery was the perfect time to get rid
of it. It was not attractive, but it had become a part of me. I told them
that I did not want to lose any more of me than I needed to, and that I
wanted to keep my mole. They both joked with me about how hideous
my mole was going to look with my brand-new boobs. They made me
laugh and brought levity to an agonizing experience. Nonetheless, I
am so glad that I kept my mole. We have been through a lot together.
I spent a few final minutes alone with Billy, who gently touched and
kissed my boobs. He then said “goodbye guys.” We cried and held each
other. His unconditional love and acceptance let me know that no
matter how this surgery altered my body, he would always love me and
find me beautiful. And with that, I was wheeled into surgery.
As the anesthesia was administered and I was lying down, terrified
for how this next chapter of my life was about to unfold, Dr. M held
my hand and supported me. It was such a small gesture, but meant the
world to me.

Renee A. Exelbert, Ph.D., CFT, is both a licensed psychologist and certified personal trainer. She is the Founding Director of The Metamorphosis Center for Psychological and Physical Change, where she integrates psychotherapy and exercise with a focus on the mind/body connection. She maintains a private practice in New York City, Manhasset and Nyack, New York for the treatment of children, adolescents, adults and families. Dr. Exelbert is also an Adjunct Professor in the Department of Applied Psychology at the New York University Steinhardt School of Culture, Education and Human Development where she teaches Masters-level psychology courses. She previously served as Staff Psychologist at the Winthrop University Hospital Cancer Center for Kids, working with children and adolescents diagnosed with cancer.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website:  https://drexelbert.com/
Twitter:  http://www.twitter.com/ReneeExelbert

 

Renee A. Exelbert is giving away an autographed copy of CHEMO MUSCLES!

Terms & Conditions:

• By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
• One winner will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive one autographed paperback
• This giveaway ends midnight February 28.
• Winner will be contacted via email on March 1.
• Winner has 48 hours to reply.

Good luck everyone!

ENTER TO WIN!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

 

Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: AMIRANDA: PRINCESS AMIRANDA AND THE TALE OF THE DECIDUOUS FOREST by John P. Adamo #juvenile #tween

AMIRANDA: PRINCESS AMIRANDA AND THE TALE OF THE DECIDUOUS FOREST
By John P. Adamo
Juvenile/Tweens

An instant classic tale portraying the life of “Amiranda,”an innocent and brave princess, who unwittingly sets out on a quest that will ultimately determine the fate of her entire kingdom.

From her castle window, Amiranda would gaze at the beautiful countryside below-always watching carefully, always observing everything. Gradually the princess realizes that she knows very little of the small kingdom over which she would one day reign.

Nevertheless, Amiranda would never disobey her father’s wishes, especially the one to never enter the mysterious dark forest, which borders their kingdom. That is, until one day when she would have no other choice.

Amiranda will take a journey that will lead her on a wild adventure, where the decisions she makes will determine the fate of many lives-the lives of her animal friends, her family members, those who dwell in her kingdom, and her very own life as well. Travel along on this trip where Princess Amiranda hopes to find the missing piece in her existence and ends up trying to achieve the impossible….

Amazon → https://amzn.to/2FxWgRu

B&N → https://bit.ly/2QBqk5d 

 

John Adamo is a Long Island-based author and songwriter who has copyrighted more than four hundred poems and has both written and composed numerous songs and short stories. Music has always been an integral part of John’s life, as he has performed at different venues all across Long Island—both as a professional pianist since the age of seventeen (one year after his father passed away) and also as a disc jockey / emcee for various private parties and public events.

This is John’s first formal work, which was originally written as a screenplay and copyrighted in 1998. John has always had the visualization that an animated movie would one day be made from his work. The author wanted to put together a story unlike any other, and one that could be enjoyed by people of all ages … both young and old alike. A story that reinforced good values, covered common ethics, and taught morals as John feels those important criteria are so often left out in today’s modern fairy tales.

After having the screenplay sit on his shelf for nearly fifteen years, John felt that it was finally time to let the world know the life and world of Amiranda—a Cinderella-type princess who has everything in the world that a princess could possibly ask for, but is still missing something more in her life. With your help, John hopes that he can help fulfill Amiranda’s aspirations, hopes, and dreams. Last but not least, John hopes you like Amiranda’s story just as much as he enjoyed writing it … Enjoy!

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS

Website  →   www.princessamiranda.com

Facebook  → https://www.facebook.com/amirandabook

 

 

Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: The Lyme Regis Murders by Andrew Segal @happyLDNPress #crimethriller

THE LYME REGIS MURDERS
By Andrew Segal
Crime Thriller

Can innocence ever be an incentive to murder?

A quiet seaside town is thrown into turmoil. Tammy Pierre, London based private investigator, accompanied by her sometime lover, Israeli art dealer and martial-arts coach, Dov Jordan, has just been brought close to tears by police photographs shown to her by an hysterical Eleanor Goldcrest, at the home of three innocent toddlers whose brutally murdered bodies have been found on the beach at Lyme Regis.

Wealthy financier, Eric Goldcrest, alarmed that his partner of three years, together with the local police has him nailed as guilty of murdering the children, now retains Tammy to prove his innocence and find the real culprit. But has his involvement in all this been misinterpreted?
In this investigation, with no apparant motive or forensic evidence, Tammy’s skills will be tested to the limit. In a twist that muddies the waters, Eric Goldcrest, laments that he’s simply never made it clear to Tammy about his position in the family and his relationship with the children, all of which have been assumed by the investigation.

ORDER YOUR COPY

Amazon: https://amzn.to/39jm4OV
B&N: http://bit.ly/BNLymeRegisMurders

Tammy was left in no doubt about what was happening when the interior of the Porsche was lit up by a blaze of lights from a third following vehicle reflected in her rear-view mirror.

Her pulse raced and a vein throbbed in her neck. The flanking vehicles gently closed in on her, bumping the sides of the Porsche, shunting it this way and that. Gila screamed. Caleb swore under his breath. Tammy’s palms remained dry and she gripped the steering wheel firmly as the two grey SUVs moved ahead of her so she could neither drive through them nor round them.

Something like bits of iron junk was thrown from the windows of both leading cars. The Porsche crunching over the gritty debris, lurched unsteadily, quickly regaining its poise. Caltrops, she thought. Four-pronged, palm-sized steel teeth for bursting tyres. Problem: she’d have thirty miles at best before the run flat tyres gave up on her. Far less if she pushed the car hard, which was just what she was aiming to do.

The vehicle following moved closer till it touched the tail of the Porsche, which seemed to literally stagger under the impact. Tammy could no longer be certain they’d get away. She’d thought the emailed warnings had been directed at herself. But the situation was more confused than she’d reckoned. Things were becoming unpredictable.

Junction 10 led to the A3, which they’d aimed for, but would now be too slow for them to outrun the SUVs. There was no time to consider options. Gila was screaming hysterically and banging on her side window as though trying to escape the vehicle. Caleb had pulled what looked like a plastic gun from the inside of his bomber jacket.

“Put that bloody thing away,” barked Tammy, in the next moment reaching forward for the switch to the rear fog lamps.

“What the fuck’s she thinks she’s doing now?” scowled Caleb.

The flash of the rear reds looked like she was braking and the following motor immediately hauled back, giving her a window to stamp on the brakes, adding to the eruption of light at the tail-end of the Porsche and allowing her to fall back herself, out of the clutches of the two big greys.

Now, dragging the wheel left and forced unwillingly onto the exit slip, with the two SUVs running on her offside wing, she immediately swung the wheel to the right again, swerving in front of the two big motors and back onto the main body of the motorway, then she floored the throttle. The car responded like a SpaceX rocket, roaring ahead of the three following motors, leaving them stuttering in her wake as she approached 180 mph. Now her palms ran wet. The tyres could go at any second, and with that, all control of the car.

Gila was still screaming, Caleb cursing, as Tammy said softly, “We’re about six miles from Junction 9. There in two minutes. At say, half our speed they’ll be there in four, that’s three miles behind us. I’m guessing, or hoping, they’ll reckon we’ll use our greater speed to take us further round the motorway. But we’ll come off at 9 anyway, then find the A244 to Oxshott.

“And this is us, now,” she said almost at once, and braked hard. “Dov? Anything?”

“Nothing behind,” said Dov, with obvious relief, looking over his shoulder. “You should maybe slow down a bit Tammy? The tyres are gone, you know.”

“I know, Dov. Let’s try to get home first.”

“If you can,” he said quietly.

She was on the rims, sparks flying as the Porsche careered along the last mile of the A244 to Oxshott village. If she stopped now they’d not be able to move again, the car simply being carried forward at this stage on its own momentum and a silent prayer. Tammy suddenly realised that the wrought-iron gates to the cul-de-sac would need to be opened and that’s where their journey would end. If they were still being chased, their pursuers would be with them in no more than a couple of minutes.

As she swung the car left towards where the gates should have been, her confidence now failing, she saw that the housekeeper had thoughtfully left them open together with the up and over doors to the double garage in the safe house, an eight-bedroom red brick mansion at the end of the cul-de-sac. In the distance could be heard the growl of fast-moving motors.

Through the iron gates, the pair starting to close automatically behind them, the sounds of the other cars came ever nearer.

They’d be just too late. Glaringly clear. Now, in the double garage, the up and overs closing agonisingly slowly, the sound of the other three SUVs screamed at them, then whispered past, just as the doors clicked shut. Tammy breathed. “Home.”

 

______________________

A contract killer changed my life

The encounter inspired me to become a Crime Thriller writer.

He was a contract killer, and he was in my car!

I’d been lost, looking for West Thurrock in Essex, and asked a little old man in a shabby coat, on the opposite side of the road, the way. He offered to show me if I gave him a lift, and whilst I make it a rule never to give lifts to anyone I don’t know, I reasoned, he could hardly be a contract killer, could he. Could he? Of course not.

As we drove he casually informed me that he’d, ‘Done it for the Kray’s, mate.’ That would have been the notorious East London gangsters he was referring to, known to kill, or have killed, without conscience.

Once I’d dropped him off and recovered my composure, I realised I was looking at fodder for a short story. What then followed was a raft of short stories, including, ‘I am a Gigolo,’ something I told my wife when I first met her, and which almost ended our relationship before it had begun. That title is now the heading for a book of short stories.

Jokingly, over lunch, I told a fellow professional I’d once been a contract killer, and devised a story. He believed every word, and left me at some pains to disabuse him. That title, I am a Contract Killer, now heads a further collection of short stories.

Writer of scary short stories and full-length novels like The Lyme Regis Murders.

It’s been a fascinating journey… I hope you’ll want to share with me.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS

Website: http://andrewsegalauthor.com
https://www.happylondonpress.com/
Weekly Blog:https://happylondonpress.blogspot.com/
Twitter:https://twitter.com/HappyLDNpress
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/happylondonpress/
AnchorFM Podcast: https://anchor.fm/living-a-life-through-books/episodes/Author-Conversations-International—Andrew-Segal–Part-1-e4homt/a-aibjav
Podcast Reading: https://anchor.fm/happyldnpress/episodes/Lyme-Regis-Murders-Extract-reading-by-Andrew-Segal-e7r5df
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/happylondonpress/