Tuesday, May 30, 2017

Book Feature: Dark Mind by Ian Douglas


Title: Dark Mind: Star Carrier
Author: Ian Douglas
Release Date: April 25, 2017
Publisher: HarperCollins
Genre: Science Fiction/Fantasy

New York Times Bestselling Author Ian Douglas continues his Star Carrier saga as humanity unites against an ancient artificial consciousness powerful enough to exterminate every species it encounters

2425. The civil war between the United States of North America and the Pan-European Confederation is over. But before a new era of peace on Earth can begin, humankind must martial its interstellar forces as one fleet to engage in a war against an alien entity in Omega Centauri. Without provocation, it destroyed a Confederation science facility inhabited by 12,000 people, and it must be neutralized before it sets its sights on Earth.

Admiral Trevor “Sandy” Gray of the USNA star carrier America has his own mission. The enigmatic AI known as Konstantin has convinced him that humanity’s only chance for survival is technology found in a distant star system. Now, Gray must disobey orders as well as locate and create a weapon capable of defeating a living sphere the size of a small planet…

Ian Douglas is one of the pseudonyms for William H. Keith, New York Times bestselling author of the popular military science fiction series The Heritage Trilogy, The Legacy Trilogy, The Inheritance Trilogy, Star Corpsman, and Star Carrier. A former naval corpsman, he lives in Pennsylvania.

Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Interview with Chris Clouse, author of Making it Home

Inside the Book:

Title: Making it Home
Author: Chris Clouse
Publisher: AuthorHouse 
Genre: Self Help/Personal Growth
Format: Ebook

We are cocreators, both directing and observing this movie called life. So are you cocreating this quest with me! Are you not producing a holographic image of this book, which contains words that we have manifested into time and space together? Like every book, this book, Making It Home, has already been written. The question you should ask is, "What part about these words and this book do I need right now in my life?" If you know the right question-or "quest you are on"-your mind will produce an answer out of the material of life itself, and the book becomes a catalyst for your own story. When you read-and more important, think-about the information in these pages, your chakras will activate, and new cognitions will be created about heaven. This of course depends on one condition: that you have a deep-seated desire to achieve joy, love, and peace in this lifetime.

Question1- What was the hardest part about writing your book?

I think going through the editing process was the most difficult for me because I had to accept constructive criticism, which inevitably led to minor changes in the final product. There are perhaps 3-4 places in the book where I should have challenged the editor more, but I let their recommendation override my best judgement. I should have taken a little more time during this process. Having said that, I understand the final product is now much cleaner and adheres to a higher writing standard having been professionally edited.
Question2- Do you have a favorite excerpt from the book? If so, can you share it?

With the sun now rising, it was apparent to me the divine spark was also rising through my seven chakras. Everything about this lucid dream was my own creation. I am a cocreator, both directing and observing this movie called life. So are you cocreating this quest with me! Are you not producing a holographic image of this book, which contains words that we have manifested into time and space together? This book, like every book, has already been written. The question you should be asking is, “What part about these words and this book do I need right now in my life?” If you know the right question—or “quest you are on”—your mind will produce an answer out of the material of life itself, and the book becomes a catalyst for your own story. When you read (and more important, think) about the information in these pages, will your chakras activate, and new cognitions be created about heaven. This of course depends on one condition: that you have a deep-seated desire to achieve joy, love, and peace in this lifetime.
Question3- What do you hope readers will take away after reading the book?

That life is meant to be a joyous game, like a puzzle, and true mastery of this game occurs when one has the bigger picture or their life purpose in mind. True power is derived from self-knowledge.
Question4- Who or what is the inspiration for the book?

In my story, I share some personal antidotes to help clarify the questions and answers that I found important to discuss. Therefore, much of the material has been locked inside me for many years. When my father passed away a couple years ago, who was a deeply humble and spiritual individual, it ignited my passion to write this book and dedicate it to him with all my heart. 
Question5- Have you had a mentor? If so, can you talk about them a little?

I have had a few mentors in life and career, however only two of them have authored their own books. My association with The Global Information Network introduced me to these two individuals. This club teaches a Success Mastery Course and provides opportunities for mentorship at higher levels.
Question6- I have heard it said in order to be a good writer, you have to be a reader as well? Do you find this to be true? And if you are a reader, do you have a favorite genre and/or author?

I have learned one must be consistently in their reading to master any material. In fact, one cannot simply read a book once or twice. I have a list of favorite books in my favorite genre that I re-read every couple of years and sometimes it seems like I’m reading a completely different book! The reason for this is that people change (their perspectives, knowledge, experience, etc.) and therefore the information is perceived differently each time they read the same book. This is a secret taught to me by one of my mentors!

Authors in my genre that most inspired me are:
Neal Walsh (Conversation with God Series)
Ralph Waldo Trine (In Tune with the Infinite)
Napoleon Hill (Think and Grow Rich, Outwitting the Devil)

About the Author

Chris Clouse leads a full career balancing two professional disciplines while maintaining an active lifestyle with his wife and three kids. In the field of project management, Chris has created Centres of Excellence for two world-class IT organizations. His longtime passion in life has been in the area of spiritual science, for which this book was created. As a certified master life coach, Chris brings his pursuit of excellence and passion into his classes, helping others find their power and purpose

Sunday, May 7, 2017

New Release: Forever Him by Jeanne St. James - An Obsessed Novella


This is not just a love story, it's an obsession...

I can't keep my eyes off the tall, dark, and confident man who stops in the coffee shop every morning. I want this stranger more than I've ever wanted anyone before, even though I only know his first name. As an author, my imagination is my ultimate writing tool, men like Kane my muse. And the minute he leaves, I'm overcome with fantasies I can't control and my fingers fly across the keyboard... Until one day, I almost snap. My embarrassing outburst has me running out the door when he catches me and takes me to his home.

Though it's risky, I can't resist him. And with one kiss, he now owns me. This man will capture my sanity and trap it forever. He'll steal me one piece at a time until he possesses me completely. He'll ruin me for any other man. But I don't want anyone else, for it'll always be forever him.

Note: This book can be read as a stand-alone and has an HEA ending. Due to the sensual and explicit sexual nature of the story, it is intended only for readers 18+. Trigger warning: this book includes a main character who is dealing with PTSD.

His name is Kane. I will love him forever. He just doesn’t know it yet…

Chapter One

The only reason I know his name is because every morning when he stops at the coffee shop for his large black coffee, the barista calls out, “Kane with a K.”

Every. Single. Morning.

I assume the barista does it on purpose. Possibly to coax a smile out of him. But it never does. His expression never changes. It seems forever stuck in serious mode. He just grabs his coffee, throws money into the tip jar, spins on his heels, and leaves.

Maybe he’s an important man. A busy man. A man with a lot of responsibilities on his broad shoulders. Maybe his mind is on what he needs to get done for the day.

But he never deviates from his routine. Black coffee. No cream. No sugar. No pastries.

Not once since I’ve noticed him.

I rarely pay attention to people coming and going from the shop since the mornings are usually busy. I sit in my corner with my laptop open, my brain spinning with ideas. Or not.

Sometimes I have severe writer’s block. Those are the times my brain seems dark and empty. Nobody’s home. I had it the first morning I noticed him. During those times, I stare off blindly while reaching deep into my head. Searching for… something. Anything. Begging for just a couple words to spur my creativity.

The front door with its delicate dinging bell usually never pulls my attention. Until that day. The day I happened to be staring at the door mindlessly, not paying attention to the influx of customers.

Until him.

He’s tall. And broad. Not fat, no. Heavy muscles bunch under the dress shirt he wears as he pushes the door open and steps inside. His dark hair is super short on the sides, just a tiny bit longer on the top. A no-nonsense haircut. Like him… No nonsense.

His perfectly ironed, deep purple dress shirt is tucked neatly into his black slacks. His black leather belt is held together by a simple gold-tone buckle.

His eyebrows appear dark and heavy above eyes that make me blink. They are so light but I can't tell if they are gray or blue. No matter what, they’re a shocking contrast to his skin color.

The only visible accessory he wears is a watch on his wrist. Even from where I sit, I can see it’s quality. One I could never afford, and I probably wouldn’t know the brand. But it screams expensive.

His legs are long and unmistakably solid, giving him a confident stride as he beelines to the counter.

Why does he stop here for black coffee? I’m sure he can afford a coffee maker. It isn’t difficult to make. Some grounds, a filter, and some water. Push the button, wait, and voilà…

Ah, maybe he doesn’t like to wait. But is it actually quicker to stop here every morning?

Maybe he doesn’t like to clean up. Though, after studying him, my gut instinct says he can afford someone to take care of dirty dishes. Perhaps he even has a significant other who would be willing to do it. A wife. A husband.

A lover…

It doesn’t matter why he stops each morning because once I notice him, I can’t take my eyes off him. I can’t concentrate.

I watch his lips move as he places his order. I wait for the corners of his lips to turn up as he talks to the barista. They don’t. No eye crinkle, no smile, not even a nod of his head to acknowledge that he’s speaking to a fellow human.


He never takes out a cell phone once while waiting for his coffee. I have never even seen him with one in his hand.

He would be the kind of person to think it rude to be on your phone instead of giving your full attention to the person serving you. Even if that attention is cold, lifeless.

He’s consistent, and he always comes alone. One day I switch from my regular table in the corner to a table where I can see his left hand. His ring finger appears bare.

Though, that doesn’t guarantee he isn’t married. Or in a committed relationship. A lot of men don’t wear bands. I watch him every day. I learn the way he moves, that he’s right-handed, that he takes fifteen strides to the coffee counter. That he always checks the lid on his coffee to make sure it’s secure before pivoting to leave.

I turn into Pavlov’s dog. When the bell rings at 8:02 every morning, I have to glance up. I can’t fight it even if I want to.

After I watch him walk out the door, I spin fantasies about him. How he will look naked. How his face will twist when he comes. How his fingers will feel deep in my pussy, stroking my insides, making me wet.

How serious his kiss will be when he crushes me against him.

I can’t escape my thoughts. My desires. My panty-soaking fantasies.

I think about changing coffee shops because I‘m becoming obsessed.

I want to touch him. I want to see him smile. I want to make him laugh.

I imagine that something is missing from his life. Like me. I can solve all his problems. I can smooth his brow when it furrows after being overwhelmed at work. I can kiss away the tension. I can whisper soothing words in his ear to distract him from all the important tasks he’s responsible for.

The only good thing about my obsession is it helps me write. Once the bell rings as the door closes behind him, my fingers tear across the keyboard. I no longer suffer from writer’s block. Fantasy after fantasy pops in my head, and I squeeze my thighs together until I ache as the words spill out onto the screen.

He is my muse.

My inspiration.

His skin is dark, but I can’t imagine him lounging by a pool. He seems too important for that. Or too impatient. He probably doesn’t have time for fun. Life for him is about getting things done.

So, it isn’t a tan. No, his skin tone appears natural. His heritage makes him dark. Brooding. Intense. Something lurks in his lineage that is far from middle America. Even if his driver’s license classifies him as white, his family tree would say otherwise.

Kane with a K intrigues me. I never sleep in anymore, but I don’t have to set my alarm. My eyes pop open every weekday at the same time, my head already filled with him. I make sure I am at the coffee shop, in my usual spot with my laptop open, my chai tea fresh and hot in front of me by 7:50. Just in case he’s early.

He never is. He’s like clockwork. He has a routine, and sticks with it.

Every. Single. Morning.

I want to know what his last name is. What he does for a living. What kind of car he drives. Does he walk to the coffee shop? Does he live or work nearby?

When the tiny bell rings, I glance up. My eyes flick to the time in the corner of my screen, 8:02. Then they land back on him.

Today he wears a jacket over his light blue dress shirt, one that emphasizes the color of his eyes. His dark blue patterned tie is knotted perfectly, precise, tight to his collar. The cuffs of his shirt are visible over his hands. The correct length for a well-dressed man. His gold cufflinks flash as his arm swings in rhythm with his gait.

He’s so out of my league, he never, ever glances my way. Not once.

I don’t understand how he can’t feel the heat of my gaze, the filthy sexual nature of my thoughts.

How can he not feel me undressing him?

Every. Single. Morning.

He has to wait this morning. Two people are ahead of him with much more complex orders than his usual large black coffee. The staff is short-handed today. His sharp gaze sweeps the space behind the counter before realizing the issue. He lifts his arm and checks his watch.

His toe taps. Most likely from impatience, not nervousness. His body turns as he surveys the shop. For once, he's noticing that there are other customers and things in the café other than just him, the barista, and his large black coffee.

I feel him, though he’s not even close, not even touching me.

I sense the air shift with every breath he takes. I notice every blink. His long, dark eyelashes open and close like two Chinese fans.

Then his gaze bounces to me. Instead of continuing past, it stops. It stays. He stares. Possibly because I’m staring back. Maybe because my mouth gapes open and I’m breathing more shallow than normal.

I shift awkwardly in the hard, wooden chair as heat rises into my cheeks, and I’m mortified that I can’t tear my gaze away from his.

His eyes narrow and his brows furrow, making his eyes appear darker than normal. They remind me of a stormy sea instead of the tranquil Caribbean Ocean.

My heart beats furiously as his eyes roam over my hair. I fight not to run a hand through it and hope it’s all in place… because it usually isn’t. I curse under my breath when his gaze drops lower to my mouth. I lick my lips before slamming my jaw shut, narrowly missing my tongue. His inspection of me is slow, thorough. Down my neck and then lower.

I’m glad I tossed on a V-neck cashmere sweater this morning and not an old sweatshirt. Never in my wildest fantasies did I think he would notice me.


His eyes roam smoothly to my cleavage and pause again. One second, two seconds, three seconds. Blood rushes to my head, and I squirm. Heat pools at my core making me wiggle in my seat.

God, just his gaze makes me want to come. My pussy throbs and I have an urge to touch myself.

All of those fantasies.

If he only knew.

He’d probably laugh and think I’m silly. That he’s way out of my league. He would never be with someone like me.

But I want him to touch me. I want his fingers to rake through my hair, rip my head back. I want to feel his lips, his teeth, along the strong pulse in my neck. I want him to brush his thumbs over my hardened nipples.

I find myself light-headed and realize I stopped breathing. I’m waiting. Paused for him to make his move. To grab my hand, pull me out the door, to his house, his car, his office, where he could fuck me thoroughly and hard until he makes me explode into a million pieces.

I want to climb on his lap and spear myself on his cock, riding him hard until I’m slick, sweating, and clinging to his skin with my fingernails. I want to feel his teeth along the sensitive curves of my breasts.

JEANNE ST. JAMES is an erotic romance author who loves an Alpha male (or two). She was only thirteen when she started writing since it gave her an escape from teenage angst! Her first paid published piece was an erotic story in Playgirl magazine. Her first erotic romance novel, Banged Up, was published in 2009. She is happily owned by farting French bulldogs. She writes M/F, M/M, and M/M/F ménages.

Connect with her at or on social media at:

Monday, May 1, 2017

Book Blast: The Water and Murder Flow South by Ken Stichter

Retired backpacking friends Sti and Rob are secretly asked to investigate the death of a Los Angeles Department of Water and Power employee, killed in the Los Angeles Aqueduct decades earlier. The death was ruled an accident, but the victim's wife has recently discovered evidence that suggests her husband was murdered. Sti and Rob are reluctant to engage the widow's request, but the challenge appears innocent enough so they agree. They soon stumble into a conundrum of disappearances and deaths going back a half-century or more. They uncover bizarre circumstances involving clandestine plans to build a road across the Sierra Nevada, and there's even mention of a plane crash and the lingering myth of a missing cache of gold. The two find themselves pursuing leads that take them to the Sierra backcountry, Los Angeles, San Francisco, and even to the home of an elderly New York benefactor with a curious influence in the affairs of the Eastern Sierra. In the end, though, everything leads back to the aqueduct and the enigmatic people caught up in a culture of murder.

Ken Stichter is a former high school teacher, principal, district administrator, and assistant professor at California State University, Fullerton. A wanderer at heart, he has spent a lifetime backpacking, climbing, skiing, and fly-fishing in the Sierra Nevada. Now retired, he lives with his wife in Orange, California.