Tag Archives: Romance novel

Cover Reveal: Soaring Hearts by A.L. Boyd




Will hearts soar when pigs fly?

Alex’s job working for his family-owned radio station once took him all over the city reporting on major events—until the accident. His scars, both physical and emotional, cause him to withdraw into a self-imposed, semi-reclusive lifestyle. When his dad requests that he go to the world’s largest hot air balloon festival, he has to find the courage to break his isolation. Now he needs to find the courage to trust and love again.

Jeff had already been planning a move to Albuquerque when he lost his home, parents, and dog to a wildfire in California. To begin his new life, he agrees to help his sister and brother-in-law with their balloon at the Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta. Now he’s seen pigs fly and bees kissing, but will he find the love he’s been searching for?


Author Bio

A cartographer by day, A.L. Boyd spends most of her free time with her horses, gardening, or reading. She never intended to be a writer, but stories like this one sometimes just pop into her head. The writing came about as a way to get the stories out. Her first story for the Goodreads M/M Romance DRitC event Crest Ridge Vacation was expanded to the novella titled Crest Ridge.

Contact & Media Info

Email | Goodreads | Facebook

Other works include:

Crest Ridge

The Dawn of Darkness –Free short story for the Goodreads M/M Romance Group

And a short story included in the Kickass Anthology written and donated to help fellow author Eric Arvin with his medical bills.

Guest Post Tina Carreiro: The Good and the Bad of Being an Author

Rearranged tour banner

Five bad/good things about being an author:


* I’m living my dream and loving it!

* The voices in my head are called “creative voices,” I’m not mental.

* Knowing something I wrote touched a reader, and they loved it, makes me warm and fuzzy.

*Social networking

* I get to meet interesting people.


* Putting myself out there is sometimes difficult and scary.

* Now that I’ve accepted the voices in my head, they won’t shut up and let me sleep.

* Editing, although necessary, it’s not my favorite thing to do.

*Social networking

* I get to meet interesting people, who want to show me their private parts on Facebook.

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000444_00035]


Carly West is good at taking care of herself—she’s been doing it since her mama died. She can even make marrying a man she didn’t choose work. But when gorgeous ranch foreman, Wade Dawson struts into her life, everything changes. Her life starts to unravel, lies are uncovered, and the only comfort she finds is in the arms of a stranger.

Wade Dawson has one thing on his mind, to fulfill his brother’s responsibilities and get the hell out of this small town. But he soon finds out he wasn’t only hired to watch the ranch, but to see that the farmer’s daughter makes it down the aisle. It’s the first job he isn’t sure he can follow through with. But if he doesn’t, his brother’s reputation and freedom is at stake.

Bound by obligation to marry another man…

Bound by blood to save his brother…

Will one night destroy it all?

“Fast I can do. It’s soft and slow I’m goin’ to have a problem with.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Different meanin’ for different people, mine’s personal.” He placed his palms against the wall by her ears.

“I don’t understand.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “Fuck… you’re killin’ me, darlin’.” His fingers skimmed across her cheekbone and disappeared into her hair. “Do you remember what I said about kissin’?” His hazel eyes trapped hers.

“It can be dangerous?”

“Yes. And slow… slow is very dangerous.” He leaned forward, brushed his lips across hers, and all the air left her lungs. Something strange started in the depths of her stomach, and her skin flushed. Her nipples tightened, growing to the point of pain as they rubbed against the cotton fabric of her bra.

His eyes flicked toward them, a deep grunt sounded from his chest, and his hand tightened in her hair. He held her with a firm grip and leaned his forehead back against hers. “Reach down, and undo my jeans.”

She was trapped. Even if she wanted to retreat, there was nowhere for her to go. He’d invaded her space. Intense eyes stared right into hers as if he was demanding her deepest secrets with one hand buried inside her hair and the other curled around her neck. A rock hard, well-defined stomach pressed against her belly. The skin-on-skin contact ignited a slow burn that was sure to grow into a wildfire any minute. If she weren’t leaning against the wall, she’d collapse.

Tina is giving away prizes to celebrate her new release!
Prize 1:
Autographed book and swag
Prize 2:
Ebook and Swag
Prize 3:
Tote bag and swag
Click over to Rafflecopter to enter to win:

You can find Rearranged at these major retailers:

All Romance E-books


Barnes & Noble

And keep up with Tina:

Author Bio

Tina spends her days writing and creating fantasy worlds until she’s forced back into reality where she pretends to be “normal.” When not writing, she’s a full-time cub scout/camping/gymnastic/PS3 mom for her son and daughter and a devoted wife to her leading man, the love of her life-husband. She’s addicted to writing, romance novels, zombie movies, and coffee with caramel macchiato creamer. She fully believes in karma and pours her heart into everything she does.  She loves life and embraces every moment of it.


Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/4833657.Tina_Carreiro

Amazon Author:  www.amazon.com/Tina-Carreiro/e/B0057FRXL2

A Vacation From My Vacation

Well, here I am, post vacation and recovering.  I’m staring down the barrel of a long weekend with my hubby home, and a final (thank God) week of summer “vacation.”  It isn’t my vacation.  Neither was the six days we spent in Maine last week my vacation.

Luckily, my in-laws, who were scheduled to visit this weekend, cancelled.  And my mom, who had spent the week in Maine with us, has gone home (and I’ll wager she is beyond happy to be there).

Anyway, here is a quick recap of our vacation:

The trip to and from is always painful; hours in a car with a bad back are a bitch, and my hubby’s driving…well, I’ll take the high road here and just say that it isn’t to my liking.

We get there, and right away I turn on my computer.  Sure, I knocked out a good chunk of words on my M/M novel, but now I want internet; namely You Tube to feed my music addiction.  The kids had watched movies in the car and my mom was in the front seat while I was sandwiched between two boys repeating “personal space!” and “hands to yourselves!” so the radio was off the entire ride.

That’s a long time for me.  I like my music.  So, while I am making three beds and unpacking, I want some tunes.  We’ve been to this cabin for 4 years now, and there has always been a network connection from a restaurant up the street.  Well, lo and behold, there is no longer any available WiFi.

A walk up the road in which I had my computer and stood outside said restaurant resulted in no better signal.  That was later in the week, by the way.  I didn’t immediately trek out looking for internet.  I’m not that psycho.

So, I huff and puff, and so begins the crappiest writer’s retreat in the history of the written word.  Actually, I managed to finish said novel while I was there, cranking out about 5K words, but let me not recommend a writer’s retreat involving 3 little kids, a mother who loves to talk about politics, and a husband with zero tolerance for little kids.  It’s almost as distracting as an internet connection.

Anyway, on our first day there we must go to the beach.  My hubby very astutely removes our daughter’s glasses (2 month-old, $300 glasses that replaced a snapped in-half pair that cost even more) and he walked them to the spot where my mom and kid #2 were playing in the sand.

English: a beach in maine on a clear day with ...

English: a beach in maine on a clear day with a sailboat (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

He hung them on the side of my mom’s purse without telling her about it.

We play and splash and eventually walk down the long beach to the rocks on the end to look for stinky sea stuff.  My mom notices a pair of glasses that fall from her purse onto the rocks and picks them up.  When we get back to the cabin (2 bedrooms, 1 bathroom, cute, tiny sardine can we call temporary home) she notices that the lens is missing from the glasses.

I rant and rave and, in all likelihood, swear in front of kids.  The oldest proceeds to squint at the TV for the duration of the week.  Some lucky bastard will eventually find a sweet piece of optical sea glass.

Fast forward through days of beach in the morning, whining 5-year-old ALL THE TIME, a walk to whatever destination gets us out of that freakin’ house each afternoon, hand washing dishes, no A/C, still no wireless, sand EVERYWHERE, hand washing clothes in the sink and hanging it out on a line, six people, one bathroom, soggy bed for my already hurtin’ back.

A clock radio with crappy reception is my only glimmer of happiness until day five.  Then came the miracle of the salt water taffy.

We had purchased a box of Goldenrod Kisses on day 4.  It’s the fancy taffy they pull on a fancy machine right in front of the fancy store window.  Now, in the past, I would buy a box of taffy from a random convenience store as an afterthought.  “Oh, we’re in Maine.  I should buy this horrible candy.” You know what I’m talking about.

San Francisco Salt Water Taffy from Pier 39:

San Francisco Salt Water Taffy from Pier 39: (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So, I thought I was stepping it up a notch by buying the fancy shit.  Anyway, we get back to the cabin eventually, and I try one piece (okay, maybe 2) and then I swear it off.  It is by far the hardest taffy I have ever experienced.  Think of those Mary Jane candies you used to hate at Halloween, but ate anyway when all the other candy was gone, only like they were in the freezer first.

The kids are all over them, but none of them have dental work to pull out, so I let it go.  I’m all about maintaining the peace for my week in hell paradise.

Anyway, next day, hubby takes one chomp of a taffy and pulls out a golden crown.  They aren’t called Goldenrod Kisses for nothin’.  I apologize and commiserate and secretly celebrate because it is my ticket to freedom.  We are out of there a day early to make some doctor appointments.  I left the box of taffy with a handwritten warning complete with “Enjoy!” for the next suckers guests.

Thank you, Maine.  It’s been real.  It’s been fun.  But it hasn’t ever been real fun.

Next family vacation will be a three-day weekend (max), at a new venue, with highfalutin amenities.  That’s about all the family time and roughin’ it I can manage.


Dirty Talk Dos and Don’ts

Don’t shout.  All caps, and loads of exclamation marks are not only jarring in the written word; they are equally disturbing in the bedroom.  “OH, FUCK, YES!!!!!!!!  SPANK MY ASS, DADDY!!!!!”  Even if he doesn’t mind being called daddy, this is gonna kill the mood.

The Overly Dirty Talker at The Frisky

The Overly Dirty Talker at The Frisky (Photo credit: rachelkramerbussel.com)

Do whisper, or strive for that just-smoked-a-pack-of-unfiltered-cigarettes-voice.  “Ooooh yeah.  I love the feel of your hand spanking my ass.”  Better.  My personal preference?  Lose the daddy/daughter/son roleplay business.  But, hey, to each his own.  I won’t tell you how to dirty talk if you don’t tell me how to dirty talk.  Oh, wait a minute…forget it.

Do ask questions.  “Do you like it when I put my finger in your ass, baby?”  “How does my wet pussy feel wrapped around your hard cock, stud?”  This is a good conversation starter.  Try it.  Ya never know.

Don’t ask questions the wrong way.  “What are you doing down there?”  “Did you think that was my clit?”  Or, “What the fuck?!”

If you know he doesn’t like your finger in his ass, or if he just likes to pretend it isn’t happening even though he does like it, don’t ask him the ass question either.

Don’t laugh while you’re talking.  If it feels too weird to murmur, “Bite my nipples,” then just skip it this time.  Practice alone, or with your best girlfriend.  When you’ve mastered saying it with nothing more than a lascivious grin, try again.  Laughter is a sure-fire ticket to Flacid Penisville.

Do giggle seductively.  Big difference.  You can pair this with the daddy talk, pony tails, and knee-high socks.  They work well together.

Don’t rhyme.

No.  Really.  Don’t do it.  I can’t even bring myself to give an example.

Don’t use purple prose.  “You’re going to make my hidden flower bloom, my darling! Yes, cleave me fiercely with your manroot!”  This could be disconcerting if not downright sickening to your lover.  He’s not plowing the freakin’ fields here.  Okay, maybe in a metaphorical sense, but let that shit stay in the musty coffins of seventies romance novels.  Yeah, we all cut our teeth on them, but it doesn’t mean flouncey junk like that is sexy.

Do use real words.  Real dirty ones.  No penis or labia talk, either.  It’s cock and pussy, and he is going to make you come if he keeps doing that with his tongue.  Whoops, that rhymed.  “Fuck” is a good one–you can’t go wrong with the most vulgar expression your dirty little imagination can come up with.  Shoot for the stars.  Beg for a creampie!  By the way, I prefer come to cum, and if anyone has a problem with it, they can go blow.

Don’t ask your partner to do it if you aren’t willing to pony up some sordid sentences of your own.  For one thing, if you ask every time you have sex, your partner might be offended and think that you don’t find him/her sexy enough.  He/She will think you need the dirty talk just to get off.  Trust me, if you are constantly asking, but never reciprocating, it could become a bad thing.

Do talk dirty to try to get your partner to jump in.  You may find you actually enjoy it, and the person you’re with may not feel too self-conscious if you do it first.  In the end, you never know what some people are comfortable with, and what turns them on or off.  Experiment.  If it’s not working, try something new, or, as in the case of the guy who incessantly asked for dirty talk; break up with him.

Life’s too short to waste your time having selfless sex.


The (Real) Problem with Romance Novels

I was led to a lovely little blog via an erotica author on twitter.  The blog author is an unpublished Sci/Fi writer, but states that he “will write anything that pays” for his questionable eating habits (except Romance, I surmise).  His blog post is entitled “The Problem with Romance Novels” and I won’t paraphrase here–the link is below so you can get it straight from the donkey’s mouth.   

I read through the entire post and all the comments and felt spurred to throw my own voice into the ring.  At the time, I figured that the all-powerful Cale McWhatskey would delete my comment as I failed to agree with him. 

I checked back a few days after launching my comment, to see if he had a reply for me, but the blog master had added a final statement of his own, saying, approximately, that he would no longer be posting/replying to comments as he was tired of repeating himself and couldn’t waste any more time on the subject matter.  It was truly magnanimous of him to post on the dubious merits of the romance genre in the first place, I’d say.

As of right now, he seems to have removed his ban on comments to allow another that shares his narrow view to take up residence.  And he seems to have gotten his second wind as far as replying, so long as you agree with him.

Well, this is my blog, and I can respond right here.  Hoorah for free speech and free blog fodder.  Thank you, Oh McWise One, for making my blogging day.

Here is the link to the original blog post, followed by my response.  If anyone cares to comment, feel free to do so.  I promise not to post only the comments from my boot-licking friends. 🙂


My comment:

I realize your goal is to cause a stir here because even negative attention is still attention.  That’s blogging 101.  Not sure they teach that in Harvard

Anyway, kudos.  Here I am.

I love your “grown women should be over that” argument.  I wonder if you lump erotica in with romance or if that is a steaming pile all on its own, but either way, romance has sex scenes, graphic or no, and is therefore, completely inappropriate for “little girls.”

Furthermore, romance/erotica frequently has sub genres, like the paranormal you mentioned, and sci/fi, suspense, fantasy, or even horror.  The author not only has to write an engaging spec. fic., or historically accurate Regency, but she/he also has to get the emotional/physical love part right.  So said author is taking your chosen genre one step further.

Is everyone who gets published Hemingway or Poe (and I’m sure you hate them, too)?  Of course not.  That reality goes for all genres, as you are doubtless aware.

Ought grown men to be done with Sci/Fi after their comic book days are over?  Or does still living in one’s mother’s basement make reading the genre acceptable?  Seriously, a woman could lose herself in a Romance story and be swept up by a perfect, fictitious, male character, or she could hang with the likes of you. 

I don’t care how big your… wallet is; hand me the book.  If men were as fantastic, in reality, as those in romance novels, I would totally read F. Scott Fitzgerald while receiving my post cunnilingus foot rub.  Your mere existence makes romantic fiction an absolute necessity for the female of the species.


So, that is the whole of it.  And it brings us full circle to the real problem with romance novels.  That is, the delicious men of fiction make real guys seem even more intolerable.  Alas, keep reading and keep looking, Ladies.  And don’t settle for the dregs. 

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