22 January 2018

Screams You Hear by James Morris





Horror
Date Published: January 22, 2018

 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png



Murder and madness infect a small town


For sixteen-year-old Ruthie Stroud, life on tiny Hemlock Island in the Pacific Northwest is an endless sea of boring green, in a place where everybody knows everybody’s business and nothing ever happens. Then her world is ripped apart when her parents divorce and a new man enters her mother’s life. But worse is yet to come.


When she drifts ashore on the mainland, hideously burned, Ruthie has a harrowing tale to tell. It begins with the murder of a family. It ends with her being the sole survivor of a cataclysm that sweeps her little island. As a detective attempts to unravel Ruthie’s story of murder and madness, only one horrifying conclusion can be drawn: whatever was isolated on remote Hemlock Island may now have come to the mainland. Is Ruthie safe? Is anyone?



Excerpt



Chapter One



I wake to pain, pain beyond comprehension, my skin on fire, only to find myself in a hospital bed, my arms bandaged, and wires snaking into machines. The burns are covered in white gauze and every motion, no matter how small, sends my nerves screaming. The air is heavy against my skin. And that smell. I can still smell the bitterness of my singed hair. I feel my head, expecting strands of hair, thick and wavy, but it’s gone. There are only splotches of emptiness, a topography of touch that alarms me. I wonder if it will ever grow back.

Tendrils of anxiety course through me, pulsing steadily. I need to wake up from whatever this is.

In spite of the pain, I caress my face and I have no eyebrows. Only stubble. No matter where I touch, my skin isn’t soft; it’s leather, a mask that rests too tightly against my skull. It’s like my skin is both expanding and contracting, pushing and pulling.

In the cyclone of terror, I remember. I remember everything.

I wish I didn’t. I wish it all away.

Around the room, there are no mirrors, and I know it’s no accident. It’s small comfort. I don’t want to see myself. I may never look in a mirror again. It’s only me and a bed, and colorful murals of elephants and giraffes on the wall, their cartoon smiles mocking me. I must be in the children’s wing, even though I’m sixteen. Next to me, an IV recedes into my vein. To my left is a button. It could be to call for assistance. Or to adjust the bed. But I think it’s something else. I think it’s for pain.

I could press it and disappear into numbness.

I could press it and just drift.

But there is something about pain. It’s the price of being alive.

The button is my litmus test.

I am stronger than my pain. I need to focus on something—anything. I need to distract myself.

I am not my pain.

I am Ruthie Stroud. I live at— wait—not anymore. I have a brother—no, not anymore.

I shut my eyes. I can’t shut them hard enough. Through the darkness, I still see fire. My world engulfed with flickering orange and reds. And the all-encompassing heat, heat beyond boiling, bordering on oblivion. Melting.

My last memory is coming ashore on the mainland, alone and fiercely tired. I didn’t walk, didn’t run. I moved, floating, held aloft by the most invisible of strings, my eyes on the horizon, people on the edges of my vision. Adults. I felt their gaze. The air was cool and moist and my skin so hot. Moving and moving; people staring. I hear them, words like police and 911 and oh my God. They surround me, a horde. They’re feral creatures, circling, their faces distorted. They are coming for me. I have no escape.

I scream and my world goes dark.

“Ruthie?”

I open my eyes. A woman stands in the hospital room doorway. Her skin is the color of teak, her black hair pulled into a tight ponytail, and without a uniform, she’s clearly no nurse. I look down her button-down shirt and a badge is attached to her belt, a gun holstered at her side.

She says, not unkindly, “I’m Detective Perez from the Washington State Police.”

I knew the cops would get involved, even though they’re late. Far too late.

She waits for me to invite her in. “May I?”

I nod and my skin crinkles and cracks. She enters, pulling a chair beside my bed and sits down. Her brown eyes rest on me and then dart away. She can’t bear to look. I must seem a monster. She asks, “How are you feeling?”

I don’t know how to answer that question.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

Down the hall, I hear a child scream. From surgery or fear, I don’t know. I think fight the pain, fight the pain.

She speaks to me in soothing tones. “I need to ask you a few questions. About what happened. Can you talk?”

My mouth is dry, my throat sore, my vocal chords thrashed. I’d forgotten how much I screamed. I feel my skin wrinkle into deep crevices as I move my jaw, and it’s an effort to form words. Even my tongue feels burned; this strange muscle in my mouth. “Is my dad coming?”

“He’s on his way.” We share a bit of silence and I stare at the woman she is, the beautiful woman I will never be, and she says, “I’d like to start at the beginning. And if there’s ever a point where you need to stop, just let me know, okay?”

“There’s just one thing,” and I clear my throat. I force her to find my eyes. To see. To look. To understand.

“What’s that?”

“Don’t judge me,” I tell her. “I did what I had to.”



About the Author


James Morris is a former television writer who now works in digital media. He is the author of the Kindle Scout selectees What Lies Within and Melophobia, as well as the young adult suspense Feel Me Fall and trio of short stories Abraham Lincoln Must Die. Catch him at jamesmorriswriter.com.



Contact Links

Twitter  


Purchase Links

Amazon  
   

RABT Book Tours & PR

21 January 2018

The Devil's Prayer by Luke Gracias

A nun commits suicide in front of thousands in Spain. In Australia, Siobhan Russo recognises that nun as her mother, Denise Russo, who disappeared six years ago. 

In search of answers, Siobhan travels to the isolated convent where her mother once lived. Here she discovers Denise’s final confession, a book that details a heinous betrayal that left her crippled and mute, and Denise’s subsequent deal with the Devil to take revenge. In the desperate bargain Denise made with the Prince of Darkness, she wagered Siobhan’s soul. 

As Siobhan discovers the fate of her soul, she learns that hidden within the pages of her mother’s confession is part of The Devil’s Prayer, an ancient text with the power to unleash apocalyptic horrors. 

And now her mother’s enemies know Siobhan has it. 

Can Siobhan escape an order of extremist monks determined to get the Prayer back? Can she save the world from its own destruction? 


My Review:

I have to admit that it took me longer than expected to read this book. Though it comes with a warning for explicit content, I was not prepared for what the book had to offer. I had to put the book down at several points just to get over my shock. That said, the book was quite a ride! I found myself enjoying it irrespective of the surprises and at times because of the surprises it folds in its pages.

Plot:
The book offers a multi-layered plot where on one hand we discover the life that Denise had lived away from her family and about her death. On the other hand, through Siobhan we see a daughter's quest for answers which lead her into a path that leads her away from the things that she is familiar with. The underlying conviction of the book is that if there is a God, then there surely must be a Devil.

Characters:
The author has done a fantastic job of developing Denise's character through Siobhan's journey. Revealing little information at a time, it was like piecing a jigsaw puzzle to see Denise come alive in the pages. Siobhan on the other hand kind of took a back seat. Yet there are pieces of her in the book that will give you a look into her life as well. I guess, we will see more of Siobhan in the coming books.

Narrative:
For most parts the author has done an impressive job of building up and letting the story flow. His descriptions of the dark scenes were absolutely mesmerizing. But there were a few abrupt moments when the author provided us with information at a go and nothing else was happening for pages.

Looking forward to the next installment eagerly.

💓💓💓💓



15 January 2018

Asleep from Day by Margarita Montimore




Contemporary/General Fiction
Date Published: January 10th, 2018

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Astrid can’t remember the best day of her life: yesterday.

A traumatic car accident erases Astrid’s memories of September 9th, the day she spent with an oddly charming stranger named Theo. Ever since, she’s been haunted by surreal dreams and an urgent sense that she’s forgotten something important. One night, she gets a mysterious call from Oliver, who knows more about her than he should and claims he can help her remember. She accepts his help, even as she questions his motives and fights a strange attraction to him.

In order to find Theo and piece together that lost day in September, Astrid must navigate a maze of eccentric Boston nightlife, from the seedy corners of Chinatown to a drug-fueled Alice-in-Wonderland-themed party to a club where everyone dresses like the dead. In between headaches and nightmares, she struggles to differentiate between memory, fantasy, and reality, and starts to wonder if Theo really exists. Eventually, she’ll need to choose between continuing her search for him or following her growing feelings for Oliver. Astrid might go to extreme lengths to find what she’s lost . . . or might lose even more in her pursuit to remember (like her sanity).



 “A compelling and original take on the classic amnesia tale . . . The narrative bursts with detailed, vivid characters . . . The dialogue is expertly crafted.” – The BookLife Prize

“Simply riveting from start to finish... a captivating, literary piece that winds a path somewhere between mystery, romance, and psychological thriller.” – D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review



Excerpt



What’s the last thing you remember?

A rumble, a static rush, the world on a dimmer switch.

Outside, everything was gray.

But inside, a galaxy of color and light. Fireflies behind my eyes, neon in my bones. A nerve net of bioluminescence.

Radiant with hope. Glorious.

Do you know where you are?

In the heart of a storm. Give me lightning. Give me the flood. I’ve bled the sky of pigment, devoured its clouds. They remain like honey on my tongue, crystalized with promise. Nothing was ever sweeter.

What happened?

Something incredible.

Something terrible.

No more color. Fade to grey.

I’ve been robbed of this elation.

Stay with me.



---

I have the weirdest taste in my mouth. Metallic, like I’ve been sucking on pennies, and spicy—no, not spicy. Stinging. Blood. What the—? I move my tongue and feel tiny pebbles. They’re sharp, cutting my gums and the insides of my cheeks. Not pebbles. Teeth? No. Glass.

I turn to spit out pieces of broken glass, but there’s something around my neck and I can’t move it. Okay, don’t panic. I push the glass out of my mouth with the tip of my tongue and pieces roll down my chin on a trail of saliva and blood. Now let’s turn on a light in here.

I open my eyes. Huh.

What is this place? There are shelves of equipment, strange monitors, dials, wires. Some kind of . . . storage room? The image blurs and wobbles. If my head is a handheld camera, whoever’s operating it has a serious case of the shakes. I can’t get a steady picture and I have no idea what this place is.

Have I been kidnapped?

That thought should trigger some modicum of fear. But it’s like I’m trapped in a block of ice and fear is on the other side of it. I can barely muster any curiosity to figure out where I am. The rest of it—how I got here, if I’m safe, hurt, etc.—will have to wait.

So let’s see. The room is tiny, and moving, and noisy. There are beeps, the hiss and tinny chatter of a walkie-talkie, the looped bellow of a siren.

Seriously, where am I?

Nowhere good, a black whisper warns, and a fog in my mind parts, clearing a path for fear, the belated guest.

The image finally snaps into focus and it registers: an ambulance.

Why the fuck am I in an ambulance?

I sit up with a—nope, I can only lift my head maybe an inch.

Why aren’t you panicking more?

Because it’s getting foggy inside my head again and blurry outside of it. I could really use a nap. It’s so chilly in here. And bright. Might as well close my eyes and deal with this in the morning. Ah, the dark is much better.

Hang on. Let’s get some questions answered first, maybe make sure I’m not missing any limbs. I try to sit up again and a hand on my shoulder prevents me from rising any further. No, it’s not just the hand. I’m strapped in.

“Nice to see you coming around, but don’t try to sit up. My name is Leo and I’m a paramedic. Do you know today’s date?”

I squint but can’t make out the face above me.

“September ninth, 1999,” I mumble.

“It’s actually September tenth,” he corrects me. Close enough.

“What happened? Am I hurt?” Of course you’re hurt, genius. I doubt you’re tied to a gurney, with a mouthful of glass, just joyriding in an ambulance.

“It’s going to be okay, Astrid, we’re almost at the hospital.”

How does this guy know my name? Why am I going to the hospital? Because that’s usually the drop-off destination of ambulances. Try to keep up here. What happened to me?

My head is so damn heavy. Back down it goes, more blood, more spit trickling out of the corners of my mouth. I form words but can’t speak them. I manage a garbled whisper, but it’s drowned out by sirens, rattling noises, and the tapping of heavy rain on the ambulance roof.

I need to take stock. I’m mostly immobile, but am I paralyzed? I try to wiggle the toes. Okay, those work fine. Fingers? The ones on the left hand move then seize up in pain. Blinded? Obviously not, but my vision is still fuzzy at the edges. Obviously, I can’t move my head much, but I shouldn’t anyway, in case I have a concussion. Or worse. Go away, black whisper, I don’t need you scaring the shit out of me right now.

Back to my self-assessment. Do I feel pain anywhere else in my body? Now that I mention it, hell yes. Where? Everywhere, especially my left side.

Why can’t I remember how this happened? I keep asking the paramedic, but he won’t tell me. Why won’t he answer me?

Oh yeah, because he can’t actually hear me. Because my lips are barely moving and no sound is coming out.

It’s an effort to form any more words or keep my eyes open. Is there a cold, heavy blanket over me? Uh-oh, those blurry edges are going dark. It’s like someone pushed me into a deep well and I’m falling in slow motion.

“Try to stay awake, Astrid.”

Fingers snap in front of my face.

Cut it out, ambulance man. You’re messing up my nap. It’s so much nicer with my eyes closed. All you do is boss me around with “Don’t sit up” this and “Stay awake” that. The darkness is quiet and doesn’t make annoying demands.

“Astrid. Astrid!”

His voice is like a megaphone in my ear. Where is your mute button, ambulance man?

I think I found it. It’s here, further down in the dark.

I hear two voices, growing fainter as they speak.

“She’s out again, but vitals are stable.”

I’m not out, yet, ambulance man. Give a girl a break, would ya? It’s not my fault I have anvils on my eyelids. Besides, the light in here is too bright. And you are too loud. But I can still hear you fine . . . Mostly . . . Kind of . . .

“You’d think people would know not to drive like assholes in this kind of rain.”

“What is this, third one today?”

“Fourth. You hear about the wreck by the BQE? Five cars and a motorcycle. Two fatalities.”

“This one got lucky.”

“So to speak.”

“So to speak.”

“Want to get breakfast after this?”

“It’s lunchtime.”

“So? I want breakfast. Couldn’t you go for some French toast or pancakes?”

“Maybe eggs. Some strong coffee, bacon . . .”

“Extra bacon.”

How about taking my order, ambulance man? I’ll have—

Darkness.






About the Author


Margarita Montimore received a BFA in Creative Writing from Emerson College. She worked for over a decade in publishing and social media before deciding to focus on the writing dream full-time. She has blogged for Marvel, Google, Quirk Books, and XOJane.com. When not writing, she freelances as a book coach and editor. She grew up in Brooklyn but currently lives in a different part of the Northeast with her husband and dog.



Contact Links

Twitter  


Purchase Links

Universal  (all buy links can be found here)


RABT Book Tours & PR

13 January 2018

Asleep From Day by Margarita Montimore




Contemporary/General Fiction
Date Published: January 10th, 2018

 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png


Astrid can’t remember the best day of her life: yesterday.

A traumatic car accident erases Astrid’s memories of September 9th, the day she spent with an oddly charming stranger named Theo. Ever since, she’s been haunted by surreal dreams and an urgent sense that she’s forgotten something important. One night, she gets a mysterious call from Oliver, who knows more about her than he should and claims he can help her remember. She accepts his help, even as she questions his motives and fights a strange attraction to him.

In order to find Theo and piece together that lost day in September, Astrid must navigate a maze of eccentric Boston nightlife, from the seedy corners of Chinatown to a drug-fueled Alice-in-Wonderland-themed party to a club where everyone dresses like the dead. In between headaches and nightmares, she struggles to differentiate between memory, fantasy, and reality, and starts to wonder if Theo really exists. Eventually, she’ll need to choose between continuing her search for him or following her growing feelings for Oliver. Astrid might go to extreme lengths to find what she’s lost . . . or might lose even more in her pursuit to remember (like her sanity).



 “A compelling and original take on the classic amnesia tale . . . The narrative bursts with detailed, vivid characters . . . The dialogue is expertly crafted.” – The BookLife Prize

“Simply riveting from start to finish... a captivating, literary piece that winds a path somewhere between mystery, romance, and psychological thriller.” – D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review



Excerpt



What’s the last thing you remember?

A rumble, a static rush, the world on a dimmer switch.

Outside, everything was gray.

But inside, a galaxy of color and light. Fireflies behind my eyes, neon in my bones. A nerve net of bioluminescence.

Radiant with hope. Glorious.

Do you know where you are?

In the heart of a storm. Give me lightning. Give me the flood. I’ve bled the sky of pigment, devoured its clouds. They remain like honey on my tongue, crystalized with promise. Nothing was ever sweeter.

What happened?

Something incredible.

Something terrible.

No more color. Fade to grey.

I’ve been robbed of this elation.

Stay with me.



---

I have the weirdest taste in my mouth. Metallic, like I’ve been sucking on pennies, and spicy—no, not spicy. Stinging. Blood. What the—? I move my tongue and feel tiny pebbles. They’re sharp, cutting my gums and the insides of my cheeks. Not pebbles. Teeth? No. Glass.

I turn to spit out pieces of broken glass, but there’s something around my neck and I can’t move it. Okay, don’t panic. I push the glass out of my mouth with the tip of my tongue and pieces roll down my chin on a trail of saliva and blood. Now let’s turn on a light in here.

I open my eyes. Huh.

What is this place? There are shelves of equipment, strange monitors, dials, wires. Some kind of . . . storage room? The image blurs and wobbles. If my head is a handheld camera, whoever’s operating it has a serious case of the shakes. I can’t get a steady picture and I have no idea what this place is.

Have I been kidnapped?

That thought should trigger some modicum of fear. But it’s like I’m trapped in a block of ice and fear is on the other side of it. I can barely muster any curiosity to figure out where I am. The rest of it—how I got here, if I’m safe, hurt, etc.—will have to wait.

So let’s see. The room is tiny, and moving, and noisy. There are beeps, the hiss and tinny chatter of a walkie-talkie, the looped bellow of a siren.

Seriously, where am I?

Nowhere good, a black whisper warns, and a fog in my mind parts, clearing a path for fear, the belated guest.

The image finally snaps into focus and it registers: an ambulance.

Why the fuck am I in an ambulance?

I sit up with a—nope, I can only lift my head maybe an inch.

Why aren’t you panicking more?

Because it’s getting foggy inside my head again and blurry outside of it. I could really use a nap. It’s so chilly in here. And bright. Might as well close my eyes and deal with this in the morning. Ah, the dark is much better.

Hang on. Let’s get some questions answered first, maybe make sure I’m not missing any limbs. I try to sit up again and a hand on my shoulder prevents me from rising any further. No, it’s not just the hand. I’m strapped in.

“Nice to see you coming around, but don’t try to sit up. My name is Leo and I’m a paramedic. Do you know today’s date?”

I squint but can’t make out the face above me.

“September ninth, 1999,” I mumble.

“It’s actually September tenth,” he corrects me. Close enough.

“What happened? Am I hurt?” Of course you’re hurt, genius. I doubt you’re tied to a gurney, with a mouthful of glass, just joyriding in an ambulance.

“It’s going to be okay, Astrid, we’re almost at the hospital.”

How does this guy know my name? Why am I going to the hospital? Because that’s usually the drop-off destination of ambulances. Try to keep up here. What happened to me?

My head is so damn heavy. Back down it goes, more blood, more spit trickling out of the corners of my mouth. I form words but can’t speak them. I manage a garbled whisper, but it’s drowned out by sirens, rattling noises, and the tapping of heavy rain on the ambulance roof.

I need to take stock. I’m mostly immobile, but am I paralyzed? I try to wiggle the toes. Okay, those work fine. Fingers? The ones on the left hand move then seize up in pain. Blinded? Obviously not, but my vision is still fuzzy at the edges. Obviously, I can’t move my head much, but I shouldn’t anyway, in case I have a concussion. Or worse. Go away, black whisper, I don’t need you scaring the shit out of me right now.

Back to my self-assessment. Do I feel pain anywhere else in my body? Now that I mention it, hell yes. Where? Everywhere, especially my left side.

Why can’t I remember how this happened? I keep asking the paramedic, but he won’t tell me. Why won’t he answer me?

Oh yeah, because he can’t actually hear me. Because my lips are barely moving and no sound is coming out.

It’s an effort to form any more words or keep my eyes open. Is there a cold, heavy blanket over me? Uh-oh, those blurry edges are going dark. It’s like someone pushed me into a deep well and I’m falling in slow motion.

“Try to stay awake, Astrid.”

Fingers snap in front of my face.

Cut it out, ambulance man. You’re messing up my nap. It’s so much nicer with my eyes closed. All you do is boss me around with “Don’t sit up” this and “Stay awake” that. The darkness is quiet and doesn’t make annoying demands.

“Astrid. Astrid!”

His voice is like a megaphone in my ear. Where is your mute button, ambulance man?

I think I found it. It’s here, further down in the dark.

I hear two voices, growing fainter as they speak.

“She’s out again, but vitals are stable.”

I’m not out, yet, ambulance man. Give a girl a break, would ya? It’s not my fault I have anvils on my eyelids. Besides, the light in here is too bright. And you are too loud. But I can still hear you fine . . . Mostly . . . Kind of . . .

“You’d think people would know not to drive like assholes in this kind of rain.”

“What is this, third one today?”

“Fourth. You hear about the wreck by the BQE? Five cars and a motorcycle. Two fatalities.”

“This one got lucky.”

“So to speak.”

“So to speak.”

“Want to get breakfast after this?”

“It’s lunchtime.”

“So? I want breakfast. Couldn’t you go for some French toast or pancakes?”

“Maybe eggs. Some strong coffee, bacon . . .”

“Extra bacon.”

How about taking my order, ambulance man? I’ll have—

Darkness.






About the Author


Margarita Montimore received a BFA in Creative Writing from Emerson College. She worked for over a decade in publishing and social media before deciding to focus on the writing dream full-time. She has blogged for Marvel, Google, Quirk Books, and XOJane.com. When not writing, she freelances as a book coach and editor. She grew up in Brooklyn but currently lives in a different part of the Northeast with her husband and dog.



Contact Links

Twitter  


Purchase Links

Universal  (all buy links can be found here)


RABT Book Tours & PR

12 January 2018

Gravedigger by Savannah Verte

Welcome to Savannah Verte's Thanksgiving Crossword Blog Hop! Let's start with a bit of a feature about her book then the details for the hop! The puzzle is at the bottom of the post for you to print or download!


GRAVEDIGGER

Mystery/thriller/suspense


Secrets and lies can’t stay buried long in shallow graves.


Through a string of seemingly unrelated murders, sleepy town Sheriff Eric Dublin uncovers a well-kept, dark secret, one that surfaces in pieces with each new body the gravedigger pulls from the Howard Community Cemetery. He calls in Detective Darian Gray to assist, hoping he won’t regret it, or owe her later.


When Callie Faire, local sweetheart gone Hollywood, is the latest corpse added to the body count, the investigation takes a tailspin. With more questions than he can answer, the national media descending on Howard, no suspects, and a victim that still has no name, Dublin will earn his upcoming retirement, if he manages to reach it.


Can they put the pieces together and break the case in time to stop the next murder, or will the gravedigger have another fresh corpse to dig up in the morning?




Savie’s Thanksgiving Bloghop 2017
The answers are all things from Savannah’s books, things she loves, or qualities/attributes she values.
The clue for each answer can be found at the blog listed on the date in November equal to the number. IE: 10 across would be on the 10th, etc.  ***NOTE – on the 1st & 15th there is more than one blog to visit. They are noted on the puzzle & highlighted so you can see where the answer goes. Also, Every 5 days, Savannah will be checking in and giving a clue on her website as well…they are denoted as ‘s’ clues. For those – go to Savannah’s Blog: www.savannahverte.com/blog.***


To be entered to win you must pm your completed crossword to Savannah’s facebook author page (www.facebook.com/authorsavannahverte) or email it to her at savannah@savannahverte.com


NO LATER THAN MIDNIGHT CST DECEMBER 5th.
The drawing will be held no later than Friday December 8th & the winner will be contacted.
They then will have 5 days to respond or default & a new winner will be selected.


Ready for my clue: (Insert clue here)


Download the image to work online or print off…submit a photo or file of the completed puzzle by the deadline to enter.





BLOGSTOPS FOR CLUES:


1*1      Down                Written Love Reviews                                   
1*2      Down                Musings from an Addicted Reader           
1*3     Across                Obsessed by Books
s1        Down                Savannah
2          Down             Author Migraine Central
3          Across                Turning the Pages
4          Across                Booked and Loaded
5          Down                 Karen writes Murder
s5        Down                Savannah
6          Down                 Dena Garrison- Real… Hot… Romance
7          Across                Wickedly Innocent Promotions
8          Down                 Clare & Lou’s Mad About Books
9          Across                Summer’s Smexy Book Reads
10        Down             Ellie’s Witchy Life
s10      Across                   Savannah
11        Down             2 Bibliophile’s Guide
12        Down             Dirty Bad Bloggers
13        Across                Author Mireille Chester
14        Down             Twinsie Talk
15*1   Across                A Naughty Book Love Affair
15*2   Across                ILoveBooksAndStuff Blog
s15      Down                Savannah
16        Down             Little Shop of Readers
17        Across                SydneyGen Reads
18        Down             I don’t get Sundays
19        Across                Triple A
20        Down             Books 2 Blogs
s20      Across                   Savannah
21        Across                Those Crazy Book Chicks
22        Across                I Smell Sheep
23        Across                Terri Luvs Books
s23      Down                Savannah
24        Across                Read Our Thoughts Book Blogs
25        Down             Eskimo Princess
s25      Down                Savannah
26        Down             Author Kassie Lane
27        Across                A Book Lover’s Emporium
28        Across                Country Reads
29        Across                Barbara’s Book Reviews
30        Across                   Savannah

Author Bio:
A lifelong lover of words and reading, Savannah Verte hasn’t quite figured out what she wants to write when she grows up. Born and raised in the upper Midwest, Savannah’s gypsy spirit and never quit attitude keep her busy and seldom idle. For so many reasons, Savannah considers herself a ‘Contemporary Vagabond’ when it comes to writing and hopes that others find her diverse offerings as enjoyable to read as they are to write.

As the primary owner and driving force behind Eclectic Bard Books she considers herself immensely fortunate to see writing from varied perspectives as she endeavors to publish the authors rostered there. Working with other writers, Savannah gets to expand her horizons every day as someone brings a new idea to the table and the brainstorming begins. There is something addictive about the creative process for her and helping other authors embrace their dreams make hers a reality daily.

That’s the official Savannah, the unofficial version is just a girl who loves experiencing life with every twist and turn it takes. When she was born, she had such fine, light hair that her mother used to tape bows to her head so people would know she was a girl. She’s had a host of crazy unrelated jobs- everything from cake decorator, dry cleaner, and insurance agent to Emergency Room assistant, bartender, crime lab tech and bouncer. Savannah loves air hockey but completely sucks at it. She loves good jazz, good scotch, and antiques but also old rock, a quiet tea, and a tidy home. She’s completely technology impaired and can get it after she’s broken the computer or done it ass-backwards a few times… Thank Gods that there are some amazing meme creators that let her pilfer images or she’d be lost. Lime green is her color, the rhinoceros is her logo & philosophy, and she’s completely mad about seeing new authors try.

Follow Savannah on Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorsavannahverte or on her webpage My Revolution: www.savannahverte.com