Friday, October 25, 2013


Mid Life Love at last Book Blitz Banner


midlifeloveatlastcoverwhitneyg.jpgIf you ask me if Jonathan Statham makes me happy, I’ll say ‘Absolutely. He’s the man of my dreams and I can’t wait to marry him.’ If you ask me why my ex-husband Ryan is currently one inch away from me—staring into my eyes and pressing his hand against my cheek, I’ll say, ‘I have no fucking idea…’ Claire Gracen finally has the life she’s always wanted: A career she loves, a man who’s willing to do any and everything for her, and friends that show her the true meaning of the word ‘friendship.’ As she and Jonathan prepare to make the ultimate commitment to one another and plan the wedding of her dreams, she quickly realizes that the hurtful past she left behind in Pittsburgh is a lot closer than she thought. Sexy, unpredictable, and as charmingly clever as ‘Mid Life Love,’ ‘At Last’ will captivate you from the first page and never let you go.

**This is a companion novel to Mid Life Love**

Meet the Author

A self diagnosed candy addict, travel junkie, and hypochondriac, Whitney Gracia Williams LOVES to write about characters that make you laugh, cry, and want to (in the case of Selena Ross) reach through your Kindle and slap them. She is the "imaginary bestselling" author of the Jilted Bride Series, Mid Life Love, Wasted Love, and Captain of My Soul. When she's not locked inside her room, feverishly typing away on her laptop, she can be found here: She also loves getting emails from her readers, so if you want to tell her how much you loved (or hated) her stories, email her at Social Links

Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads Author | Website | Pinterest

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HOLDING ON by Mel Morton


Holding On by Mel Morton

Title: Holding On
Author: Mel Morton
Genre: Contemporary
Publication: September 25, 2013
Goodreads: Holding On

Book Description:

‘There were certain events, things that happened to you in life that were best forgotten about. If you didn't think or talk about them then they didn't have power over you, did they?’
Set in the village of Heatherton, the entwined lives of Beth and Peter Scott and Charlotte Gardner are disrupted by changes beyond their control. When their pasts catch up with them, their lives and relationships begin to unravel…
Beth has boxed and buried away her childhood secret. When award-winning war photographer Don Meadon returns to the area to promote his autobiography, Beth has to confront the damaging effects of her abused past.
Since the death of his mum, Peter and his dad, Edward, have been exceptionally close, working together at the family carpentry business. When Edward retires to Spain and meets Fiona, Peter struggles to cope with his dad leaving him.
When Robert Armstrong arrives in the village as her temporary deputy, Charlie, head teacher of Heatherton Junior School, finds herself attracted to him. But she’s been hurt badly in the past, so when Robert tries to pursue a relationship, she is reluctant to take a chance.
**Warning** This book is intended for a mature audiences, ages 17+**

Buy Links:

Amazon US: Holding On  
Amazon UK: Holding On
Barnes and Noble:Holding On
iBooks:Holding On


Chapter One – Beth
It was the first committee meeting of 2012 and the Harrises’ dining room buzzed like a beehive as they waited for their chairman, Mike Harris, to formally open the meeting and the year.

During the previous months they had set initial dates and plans for the Heatherton Jubilee Fête and Olympic celebrations. But now that the village’s Christmas decorations had been stored and the New Year empties recycled, the Heatherton Events Committee were free to focus on the momentous occasions of the coming year.

Sat in front of patio doors furnished with sweeping, red velvet curtains, Mike settled in the carver chair at the head of the table and studied his agenda.

Beside him Beth Scott sipped overly strong filter coffee and eyed the plate of biscuits, wondering if there was time to ask Tom to pass them to her.
‘Welcome and, once again, Happy New Year,’ Mike said, glancing around the table.
Beth returned his smile and looked back at the assortment of chocolate biscuits, no doubt leftovers from Christmas; knowing she was too late, and would now have to wait for a suitable pause in the proceedings.

Chapter 3 – Peter
Peter Scott locked the back door of Rose Cottage and headed along the driveway to the high street, boots crunching against the gravel. It was brisker out than he’d expected and he considered going back to grab his scarf, hat and gloves, but decided against it. It wasn’t far to the Scott and Son workshop at the edge of the village, just under a mile.

He also didn’t trust himself. If he’d gone back inside, he might not have left a second time. After waking this morning he’d felt his good mood plummet like a brick in water at the prospect of going into work, and had taken far longer than necessary polishing the family shoes, then sorting the recycling and cleaning the bins.

But a week ago today, he’d made a private New Year’s resolution to face the workshop paperwork: the quotes to raise and send out, outstanding invoices to chase, and the bills that needed paying. And he never liked going back on a promise.
It was still only 10:00 and the empty hours stretched ahead. He knew Jen and Beth wouldn’t be back for a while so he didn’t need to be home any time soon. But what about lunch? And milk? Was there any left in the workshop fridge for a coffee even?
Peter looked along the curved high street ahead of him, to the village shop in the distance, squeezed between the surgery and the White Hart Pub. He’d pop in and grab a sandwich and some milk just in case.
Chapter 4 – Charlie
In her office at Heatherton Junior School, head teacher, Charlotte Gardner, studied the coming term’s timetable, circling in her favourite pink pen the days and classes in which there would be a shortfall of available staff.

She felt the tic beneath her eye begin to flutter at the thought of another stressful term. She’d barely managed to recover from the last one. After flopping gratefully into the Christmas holidays, she’d spent the first week in pyjamas refusing to go out.
How she had ever coped before online shopping and next day delivery, she didn’t know.

Christmas itself had come and gone with little ceremony. She’d not had the energy to bother with her Christmas tree, and had declined all holiday invites, even Beth. Instead, she’d snuggled beneath a blanket on the sofa, content to watch the village from her window enjoying Christmas without her.
Her only excitement had been on Christmas Eve when she’d had to dismantle her Dyson to rescue a field mouse, which one of the cats had brought in and dropped long enough for it to escape.


About Mel Morton:

Mel Morton was born in the 70s' and raised in Wiltshire, England. Her childhood inspiration came from the 80s' Brat Pack movies: St Elmo's Fire, Pretty in Pink, The Breakfast Club and, later on, Top Gun.
When reality hit and she realized that real life would never be like the movies, Mel turned to books, relying on authors such as Jilly Cooper, Nora Roberts and Jackie Collins for both her education and a welcome distraction from the realities of life.
In hindsight, Mel now sees that if she'd revised for exams rather than reading fiction, her grades may have been better. That said, without the down-to-earth, emotional education of Maeve Binchy and Joanna Trollope novels, she's not sure how she would have got through the growing up years and beyond.
Today, as an author, Mel strives to offer the same emotional exploration in her own writing, choosing to peek beyond the still, smooth façade and get knee-deep in the emotional grunge, picking at the bones of a situation or relationship.
Perspective, a collection of short stories, does just that. As does Unravelled, Mel's first novel, which will be available on Amazon Kindle later this year.
If you'd like more information about Mel Morton, you can visit her website at or find her on Goodreads.
However, due to her irrational dislike of social media (yes, she says she has tried it,) you won't find her on Twitter or Facebook.

Contact Mel Morton:
Amazon Author Page

Book Blitz Coordinated by Everything Marie


ZOMBIE, INCORPORATED The Kate Allred Zombie Series by Jill Elaine Hughes

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“Newcomer Jill Elaine Hughes raises a fresh new voice in the zombie genre with a story filled with plenty of action, well-rounded characters and lots of shocks. Fun, fast-paced and highly entertaining. ZOMBIE, INCORPORATED rocks!” --Jonathan Maberry, New York Times bestselling author of FIRE & ASH and CODE ZERO

Twilight. With zombies.

Eighteen-year-old Katie Allred is socially awkward and unpopular at school. The only child of parents who had her right out of high school, Katie is herself about to leave the nest, even though she hardly feels ready.

Katie’s new after-school job at the Zimble Box Corporation draws her into the complex social strata of high school cliques and backstabbing friends in ways she never imagined. Katie soon discovers there’s something very strange about the “in” crowd at school---and about her employer, too. Shortly after starting her new job, the Contagion breaks out, plunging her town and the entire nation into chaos as zombie shadow forces come out into the open, ravaging the streets. Katie goes into hiding and her parents disappear, along with almost everyone else she knows.

But Katie soon discovers she has special powers that help her survive. She’s a Beacon, someone with the innate ability to help zombies produce children. It’s a power her employer — and what little remains of the U.S. government — both want to exploit for their own ends. Not only that, it runs in her family---which has a secret past Katie never knew about until now.

Enter Agent Morehouse of the FBI Special Zombie Control Unit. A reformed zombie working undercover, he suppresses his urge to eat human flesh in order to serve and save humanity. But Agent Morehouse can’t help but be attracted to a Beacon like Katie, and she to him. Even as they fight zombies the world over, they must fight their intense attraction to each other, hoping to keep Katie from suffering Agent Morehouse’s terrible zombie fate.


I guess if I really thought hard about it, Mom was right.  The zombie apocalypse was my fault.  Everything was my fault.  I’d ruined her life, and now she wanted me out of it. All the mean underhanded comments over the years, all the passive-aggressive decisions to spend money on herself instead of me, their decision not to plan for my future, all the not-so-subtle hints to get the hell out of her house and become somebody else’s problem----it all made perfect sense now.

                  I could take a hint.  I knew where I wasn’t wanted.  And somehow I figured I’d have a better chance of surviving the coming onslaught of the Undead if I was on my own.  Conventional wisdom says there’s safety in numbers, but I’d watched enough horror movies to know that sometimes it’s best to fly solo.

                  I went to the bookcase and dragged over a milk crate to stand on so I could reach the top shelf. I reached behind the main part of the bookcase to the secret compartment I knew was behind it, the same secret compartment where I’d hidden candy and comic books as part of a treasure hunt game I’d used to play alone as a little girl.  My fingertips felt around until they touched the smooth, cold gunmetal.  I wrapped my fingers around the pistol, pulled it out, inspected it.  It was a lot heavier than I’d expected, yet it still seemed small, too small to be something that could explode and kill someone----or something----in less than a second. The lines of Dad’s semiautomatic Glock were sleek, almost animal-like in their curvature. I didn’t know what I was doing, but on sheer instinct my finger pressed a tiny switch on the spine of the weapon and the chamber popped open, revealing a bullet.  I popped the chamber closed, pressed another switch and the clip fell out into my hand.  I inspected that, studied it, worked out in my head how its various components connected with various components inside the gun which, when the trigger was pulled, would result in a projectile issuing forth, then with a flick of my wrist pushed the clip back inside its slot, heard it click.

                  I knew next to nothing about guns or weaponry or ballistics, other than that I knew my father stored guns in the basement and I had always been forbidden to touch them. But despite that lifetime of ignorance it seemed as if merely holding the weapon in my hand transferred all the knowledge I needed about how or why to use it directly to my brain.  As if I had a natural (maybe even a supernatural) talent for it, or a gift as my grandmother would have said. I could see all the moving parts in my mind’s eye as if they’d been there all along.

                  I reached back into the secret compartment and felt around again until my fingertips touched dusty cardboard.  I grabbed and pulled and came out with a heavy box of magazine clips.  Three magazines, sixteen shells to a clip. I couldn’t do the arithmetic in my head, but I knew it was a lot of bullets.  A lot, but probably not enough.  I reached and grabbed and pulled once again, and retrieved two more boxes of magazines.  Lots and lots of bullets now.  I hoped I’d never have to use them, but just to hold them in my hand felt like a good life insurance policy.

                  I stood and turned my newfound possessions over and over in my hands, studying the switches and gears, memorizing where the safety was and mentally practicing how to disengage and re-engage it. I read the instructions and warnings on the sides of the magazine boxes, noted how they said that semiautomatic-loading weapons were illegal in many states, and the manufacturer had no liability for any physical or legal consequences for any injury or death resulting from improper (or proper? Since guns were for shooting, after all) use of its commercial products. I knew I was holding deadly force within the palm of my hands, and knew that should have scared me at least a little bit.

                  But it didn’t. It did the opposite.

                  Mom watched me do all of this without comment.  I made a point not to meet her eyes for a while, instead keeping my gaze on the gun and the shell magazines. The basement air thickened between us. The ticking sound of the air conditioner as the blower switched on automatically on the other side of the wall seemed way too loud.  We both waited for the other to speak, or at least meet a gaze. But neither of us did, and for far too long a time.

                  Finally, Mom broke the silence. “It’s been way more than ten minutes, and your father isn’t back yet. What do you want to do?”

                  “I don’t know.”

                  “I think you should go up there after him, Katie. Take the gun with you.”

                  I forced myself to meet Mom’s eyes.  I saw a lifetime of disappointment behind her tinted glasses and blue-black mascara.

                  “You’re in a real hurry to get rid of me, aren’t you Mom?” I asked. My tone was cold, deadpan.  I was through with all the bullshit.  I just wanted my mom to tell the truth about me for once.

                  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

                  “Admit it. You’ve been trying to get rid of me for years.  Makes me wonder why you didn’t just get rid of me before I was born and saved yourself the trouble.”

                  All the color drained from Mom’s face.  “How dare you speak like that to me!”

                  “How dare you say straight to my face that you didn’t want me, that you never wanted me, and that I basically ruined your and Dad’s lives!” I shrieked. “Because that’s basically what you just said.”

                  Mom took off her glasses, pressed her palms flat against her eye sockets and choked down a sob.  “Katie, you’re reading way too much into this.  Your father and I----we made a lot of sacrifices for you.  Most people who became parents as young as we did would never have done even a tenth of what we’ve done for you.  You should be grateful.  And I think it’s high time your father and I had some time to ourselves now that we gave up so much to raise you. Except----“

                  “Except now you can’t. Because of the stupid zombies.  Which I suppose are all my fault too, just like everything else is.”

                  Mom slumped down onto a stack of milk crates. “I never said that.”

                  “You didn’t have to.”

                  We stared each other down for a minute or two, Mom always keeping a nervous eye on the gun.  For a split second I actually considered shooting her with it, but dismissed the idea as insane.  Plenty of teens my age think they hate their mothers, but they really don’t. It’s just a phase all young women go through.  The more I thought about it though, I didn’t hate my mother.  I honestly didn’t feel anything for her.  I was as indifferent to her now as I was to a lump of coal.  And that was far worse that hate.  After all, in order to hate someone, you have to love them first.  I wasn’t sure I ever loved Mom, and in that moment I doubted my mom ever loved me either.  Sending me off to face the zombies and my almost-certain death just proved my theory.

                  “So now you want me to save you from the zombies at the risk of my own life, huh?” I said, fingering the barrel of the gun in my hand. “Sort of kills two birds with one stone, doesn’t it?”

Mom’s face crumpled in horror. “I want you to go find your father!”

                  “Find him yourself.”

                  I turned on my heel and dashed up the creaky stairs, skipping the rotten ones at the bottom.  I was still missing one shoe.

                  I headed up to my room and packed a knapsack with one hand. Clothes, shoes, and random toiletries landed in the bag at random as I kept the gun, cocked and ready to fire, out at an angle and sweeping the air, ready for whoever and whatever might appear.