Why am I using words like "penis fly trap" and "cock socket" in an interview today? Stop by and find out.
http://alisaanderson.wordpress.com/2014/05/30/author-interview-with-jocelyn-dex-and-spotlight-on-valias-villain/
Also, enter to win a gift card by telling me your favorite slang for vagina.
Friday, May 30, 2014
Friday, May 16, 2014
Review & Excerpt: Last Impressions (The Marnie Baranuik Files, Book 3) by A.J. Aalto
Marnie Branuik Files #3
AJ Aalto
Blurb:
When an FBI Internal Affairs investigation lands the Preternatural Crimes Unit in a bureaucratic spank-fest, it feels like the perfect time for Marnie Baranuik to skip town and lend her expertise to a bear-sized Canadian cop who doesn't want her help with his case, his love life, or his car stereo. Back in her childhood stomping grounds, Marnie leaps into action, facing an exorcist in skinny jeans, a slap-happy specter, and an old friend up to new tricks.
Are ghosts behind a string of unusual deaths? Why didn't her revenant companion, Lord Harry Dreppenstedt, tell her he had a Combat Butler? Can she survive dinner with her parents? With a shifty man of the cloth offering her soul's redemption, and a revelation that could change the future of her love life, she has her gloved hands full. She may not make a great first impression, but no one makes a Last Impression quite like Marnie.
Review
Last Impressions is the third installment in the Marnie Baranuik Files series and it's a winner just as the first and second installments are.
Aalto's writing voice is humorous, sassy, witty and descriptive and yeah, there's quite a bit of wonderfully colorful profanity sprinkled throughout--most of which is provided by Marnie, the heroine. She can turn a cuss-phrase like nobody's business and it never fails to crack me up.
Within the pages of Last Impressions, you'll be treated to characters such as an old-school gentlemanly Revenant (Vampire), a hard-assed FBI agent who is the lust of Marnie's loins, mentions of a bunny-slipper-humping vampire bat, ghosts, a cock whisperer, a perverted ex-priest/exorcist, a knitting Canadian cop, a combat butler and Marnie's googly-eyed frog hat.
One scene in Last Impressions made me sleep with a light on. Seriously. Reading about dead people water is scary at night.
In summation, Last Impressions and the rest of the Marnie Baranuik Files urban fantasy series, is rife with witty banter, spooky to downright scary scenes, lust, fantastic world-building, lots of humor, great plotting and vivid description. If you're not reading The Marnie Baranuik Files, you are missing out on some good shit!
Excerpt
The Epp farm was tucked behind an industrial park on the east side of the canal, not far from the Twin Flight Locks. From the looks of it, the farm had been there for generations, pre-dating the industry by decades. It consisted of two barns and some hen houses, a maze of chicken-wire fences topped with fresh snow, and a light blue farmhouse with doors and shutters freshly-painted the brilliant yellow of egg yolk.
Downwind, it stank of years’ worth of guano. So did Mr. Epp, who came waddling out of the smaller barn wiping his hands on his olive green coveralls, trudging through the snow. His padded, red plaid jacket was the type that always made me think of lumberjacks. Under a crammed-down, wrinkly Molson Canadian knit cap of washed-out grey, he had poker-straight orange hair complemented by a silver-streaked carroty handlebar mustache that he must have begun cultivating about the time I was born. I thought Batten’s upper lip would be sorely intimidated in the face of such manly follicles. When he opened his mouth to talk, I expected him to draw matching revolvers like Yosemite Sam. He was definitely the rootinest, tootinest, chicken-poopinest dude I'd ever laid eyes on.
“Why, I know I said I’m up and at ‘em before dawn, officer, but I sure didn’t expect you to show before the sun did.”
I whispered, “Is he for real?”
Schenk elbowed me. Because of his height, his chiding elbow connected with my left ear. “I understand you witnessed some youths down by the pond recently,” Schenk said. “Why don’t we go inside and you can tell me all about that?”
“Sorry, you misunderstood.” The farmer rubbed one hand with the other in rough strokes, thumb-in-palm. “I said I knew they were down there, but I didn’t personally see them.”
“Oh?” Schenk withdrew a flip pad and his pencil from his inside jacket pocket, and scribbled a note.
“The chickens saw them.”
Schenk didn’t miss a beat. “The chickens.” He wrote this, too, as though it could possibly mean something.
I raised my hand like I was in class. “Uh, how do you know the chickens saw them?”
“They told me. Well, not me, directly.” Epp smiled widely. “Obviously, I can’t talk to chickens.”
“You can’t,” Schenk clarified.
“No, not me, no sir.” When he shook his head, Epp’s ginger handlebars waved hypnotically back and forth like magic tentacles. “So, I’ll just go get the Chicken Whisperer, and we’ll get to interviewing your star witnesses, officer.”
Epp tromped off in the direction of the house. Schenk let a long, steady breath out of his nostrils and began to thump his pencil against his pad rapidly, taptaptap. My eyes snuck sideways and way, way up at him.
“Did he just say Chicken Whisperer?”
Unhappily, Schenk confirmed, “He did.”
“Oh, I’m so glad I answered your call this morning.”
“You owe me big time.”
“Wait a second. You woke me up, told me to come with you under pain of replacement with some less-awesome psychic, and I owe you? What kind of happy horse hockey are you trying to pull, Longshanks?”
“Hockey?” He paused, thoughtful. “I'll be damned. That's why he looks so familiar. He could be Lanny McDonald's twin brother.”
What I knew about hockey would probably fit on a puck with room to spare, because I am the worst Canadian in the history of ever, so I kept my ignorance to myself. I thought he needed a pat on the arm to bolster his spirits, so I gave him one.
He glanced down at me. “Getting anything off him, Big City Psychic?”
“Not a thing,” I confessed. “The Blue Sense must not be awake yet.” I turned at the sound of the door. “Holy crispy crapsicles.”
Epp thumped out the back door of the farmhouse wearing a floppy blond Marilyn Monroe wig and a quilted housecoat thrown over his overalls. He backhanded ropey platinum waves out of his hairy face. He’d smeared tangerine lipstick on his lips. It matched the color of his facial hair almost perfectly. He made me feel like Janet Leigh when the shower curtain tore open. It’s entirely possible I let out a little eep in lieu of a violin musical sting.
Schenk said tentatively, “Mr. Epp?”
“I’m Tina Epp, the Chicken Whisperer.” She handed Schenk a business card. “I’ll take you down to talk to Henny. She’s in charge of the girls out in the big barn. This way.”
I whispered out the side of my mouth, “It’s that new horror movie: Mrs. Doubtfire Silences the Lambs.”
Schenk clamped his lips together hard to keep a straight face and tucked the business card in his back pocket. “Uh, ma’am?” He followed her into the barn, clearing his throat. “Who's Henny? A hen?”
The barn was lit by stark white fluorescents and warmed just enough to take the chill off. The smell of chickens was only mildly worse inside. Epp began rubbing her hands again.
“She’s the Black Jersey Giant. Isn’t she a beaut? Now, hold on.”
She approached the pens and began talking to the chicken. In clucks.
I said, “How come you got a business card and I didn’t?”
Schenk was working valiantly at keeping his shit together; he flicked me an annoyed glance, dug the card out, and handed it to me. It was warm from being tucked against his butt cheek and it read: Chickens: I “get” them. The hinky quotation marks made me wonder: how exactly did Tina Epp “get” the chickens? She folded her fists into her armpits to make ersatz wings of her arms and used one boot to scratch at the dirt.
“This might be the best-worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” I confided to the cop in a whisper, “and I’ve been chased by half-naked zombies cosplaying wildlife.”
“Nope,” Tina reported to us, flexing her fingers. “Nope. Sorry. Henny says the girls don’t know nothing. Only the rooster was out.”
I ventured, “And you can’t talk to the rooster?”
“Aw, heck no, not me, Ma’am.” She batted at her wig again, spitting as strands of hair drifted and stuck to her mustache and lipstick: rookie make-up problem. It almost never happened to me anymore. Mostly because I stopped wearing lipstick.
Schenk opened his mouth, and by the hitching of his belt, I figured he was going to tell Epp we’d be heading out. Epp held up one finger to tell us to wait.
“You just hold them horses, officer. I’ll go on in and fetch the Cock Whisperer.”
Schenk and I froze in mutual stunned silence, our eyes slinking sideways to each other’s, while Epp clomped back toward the house in her black rubber boots, rubbing her hands in one another. I wondered if Schenk realized his hand had drifted to check that his gun was in place.
“Are you scared, too?” I whispered.
“I’ve never been so afraid in all my days on the force,” he said.
When not working on her horror novels, you can find her singing old Monty Python songs in the shower, eavesdropping on perfect strangers, stalking her eye doctor, or failing at one of her many fruitless hobbies. Generally a fan of anyone with a passion for the ridiculous, she has a particular weak spot for smug, pseudointellectual assholes and narcissistic jerks; readers will find her work littered with dark, imperfect creatures, flawed monsters and oodles of snark and has been known to swallow her gum.
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Wicked Nights Blog Hop with Giveaways
I'm keeping this short and sweet.
The hero, Rydin, from the second book in my Sempire Seductions series is quite wicked! He kills, abducts, steals--whatever he has to do to gain his freedom.
Hell, he even abducts the heroine and locks her up in the demon realm. Of course, they fall for one another but it's a rough road getting to the HEA. I'd love it if you'd give the Sempire Seductions series a try!
Grand Prize Giveaway Here!
Thursday, May 8, 2014
TRR's Sizzling Summer Reads Party!
The Sizzling Summer Reads Party!
There will be a grand prize of a $100 GC, along with individual prizes by
participating authors.
I'll be offering something up too! Will announce at a later date.
Mark it on your calendar! You don't want to miss out!
Friday, May 2, 2014
Demonic Persuasion Review + Giveaway
DEMONIC PERSUASION
Prophesies Implied, #1
Mahalia Levey
Print Length: 253 pages
Publisher: Mahalia Levey
Publication Date: March 22, 2014
ASIN: B00J6S995O
Born of a Navajo healer and a high-level prince of Hell, Fatal is forced to return to her mother’s tribe to study their healing arts, away from demon hands. But, with her tutelage comes cruel segregation and disrespect. When her life suddenly comes under demon attack, she’s cast away from the only home she knows. Exiled, Fatal sets out armed with her knowledge and fighting skills to annihilate any threat against her.
Oracle by birth, Prince Orobus rules as his Liege commands, until intel comes his way providing him with images of his mate’s participation at a seedy club, well known for it’s sexual domination fight pit. Incensed, he’s thrust in the fight of his life—to claim his woman. Come Hell or high water, he will take care of what is rightfully his, even if it means making her face both sides of her heritage and teaching her there is no shame.
Review
Review
Demonic Persuasion has an interesting concept. The heroine is part Navajo healer, part demon. The hero is a demon Prince of Hell. Pretty cool, right? It's mostly an easy read but confusing in a few places. There's quite a bit of sex, including: Light Bondage, Spanking, Anal
Sex, Voyeurism. We get to meet the Devil in this story and learn of several other species of demon. If you enjoy Erotic Paranormal Romance with the above elements, you may want to give Demonic Persuasion a try.
Excerpt:
With a sense of ease, Fatal ambled down the darkened streets, gaining blatant glances as well as a few admiring stares.
“Hey sexy.” An unkempt male with brown crooked teeth and greasy hair grabbed his crotch and wiggled his tongue at her as she passed.
A shudder went through her as she steered clear of him. Once she’d hit puberty, the males she grew up with treated her different. In privacy, they’d single her out, pretending to want a friendship, only to say they fucked the freak, as if she couldn’t hear their hurtful words. The females her age acted far crueler than their counterparts. Bad omens had few friends, no dates or boyfriends. People in her hometown hadn’t hesitated to ask her for advice or to chant with them when it suited their needs. She lived in solitude, with the exception of occasional visits from her grandfather, Sani, and Taima, her mentor. Pushing her musings aside, she moved through an alleyway that broke off to the next major street.
The darkness encroached without as much as a whisper of sound. No telltale wind blowing discarded trash along the road, horns honking, or the zoom of cars passing by. Silence surrounded her, unsettling in such a night-busy town. She turned to head south when the flash of bright red color caught her eye. Intrigued, she meandered down a side street, arriving at a demonic-looking, gargoyle-protected granite structure. An eerie crimson-red sign hung above thick vault doors with the words “Demonic Persuasion” in black paint. She’d heard of the club. It catered to just about anyone’s needs.
Fatal stepped into the female line. An eon later, she reached the entrance of the club, flashing a smile at the doorman. When he didn’t move or speak, she shifted on her heels and pursed her lips.
“The fee’s ten bucks.”
Fatal dug in her boot, her gaze straying to the bunched biceps peaking out of his black T-shirt then roving over his cut physique. Her mouth watered, and her girly parts tingled. She played off his affect on her. Slapping the cash into his hand, she smiled. “Happy now?”
“I’ll be when you check your weapons, if it's even possible for you to have anything hidden underneath that getup.” His gaze swept over her black corset and micro-miniskirt, lingering a little too long on where she'd cinched up her cleavage.
“Oh, you’d be surprised what one can hide against near-naked skin. My name’s Ackchetta, most call me Fatal.” Smirking, she hiked up her skirt. Buried between her thighs were two small blades. Thin metal stars she'd concealed on her hipbones slid into her palms without effort. Annoyed, she dropped them in his outstretched hand. “There you go. I want them returned, though.”
“The one behind your back, too, sweet stuff.”
What, did he have X-ray vision? His droll expression did nothing to alleviate the naked discomfort without her weaponry. “Aren't you going to be polite and tell me your name?”
“No.”
When he spun her around and tapped the slender weapon, her hackles rose.
“No one said you could touch.” Letting out a growl, she removed the extra-slim blade hidden under her corset top.
“My club, my rules. No fighting, no weapons, and no magic—if you know any.”
“I think I can behave myself for a few hours.”
He sent a dazzling smile her way then turned to a young woman. Dropping her weapons into an outstretched hand, he whispered into the sleek brunette woman’s ear.
Fatal narrowed her eyes. “It’s rude to whisper.”
“Follow Marzena. She’ll take you to the weaponry hold and issue you a ticket.”
“I still didn’t catch your name.”
“I know.”
Rude and hot. About to turn away, her breath hitched when the shimmering tattoos sprang to life on his skin. From head-to-toe, he stole her breath. Long black hair touched his shoulders. When he smiled, his blue eyes sparkled. Thick muscles bunched with every movement. Long legs and muscular thighs encased in black trousers brought a silent moan of want to her lips. She’d never ached like this. She stole a look at his goatee, wondering how it’d feel scraping across her face, his breath on her mouth before he kissed her with the same intensity he stared at her with. She’d sell her soul to have those lips on hers, to touch his once-broken, too-many-times-healed, nose.
While they were walking, Fatal glanced over her shoulder to continue drinking in the handsome man.
Marzena stopped at the station for weapons, secured them, and wrote out a ticket.
“Here.” She handed the paper to Fatal. “When you’re done eye-fucking my boss, I’ll show you around the club.”
Being smart and sassy with a great sense of humor comes easily for Mahalia Levey. An avid reader of books, she found herself enchanted with disappearing completely into the worlds authors created. One day she vowed to herself she’d be one of them. Then family life came, and college right after. Swayed from her childhood course of action, it took many years for her to get back to that place she held dear as a child. Now she is running full steam ahead to keep up with the many ideas flowing freely. She plans on taking her work to higher levels and expanding her genres. Her main focus is giving her readers variety. Her works in progress include paranormal, fantasy and mainstream romance. Taking characters and watching them grow past what she’s imagined is her true passion.
Connect with Mahalia:
Website | Blog | Facebook Fan Page | Facebook Page | GoodReads | Twitter
Website: http://www.mahalialevey.com/
Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Mahalia-Levey/181772235219013?fref=ts
Facebook Page: http://www.facebook.com/mahalialevey
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/hales3000
GRAND PRIZE: winners choice of either a Kindle Paper-white ($129.00 value) or Kindle Fire ($139.00 value) US RESIDENTS ONLY
First Place Runners-up: Three (3) swag envelopes-
2 US Residents and 1 International
2nd Place Runner-up: one eBook from Mahalia's backlist (excluding Demon Persuassion)
open internationally
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