Guest Post: Jon Risdon

I am very pleased to present a guest post from my blogging friend, Jon Risdon. He is an actor, author, and blogger who resides near the lovely seaside town of Whitby, in north-east England. https://wilfredbooks.wordpress.com/

Why Wilfred Books?

Wilfred Books was set up at the end of 2013, primarily to publish Black Shirt and Smoking Beagles, the biography of Wilfred Risdon, my grand uncle (that is: my grandfather’s brother), whom I never met, I regret to say. I discovered him in the course of my family history research, and the more I found out about him, the more interested I became in his life & work, so I thought there might be at least a few other people out there who would share my interest in him enough to also want to read his fascinating life-story. For what seemed, to me, to be very sound reasons, namely: he was not a household name; he was involved in contentious politics and activism for most of his adult life; it would probably be a strenuous & stressful (and, probably, ultimately futile) task to find an agent and/or publisher to take an interest; I decided to bite the bullet and publish the book myself. To market the book I set up the Wilfred Books website, which accepts payments securely, using PayPal, so no personal details are registered on the site, and I also created a WordPress blog, to promote the website, but also to write about subjects which might have interested my relative.

As related above, the first book published under the imprint of Wilfred Books was Black Shirt and Smoking Beagles, and it is still available as a print version (product code WB01), but also downloadable versions: PDF (product code WB02), ePub (product code WB03) and Kindle versions (product code WB04), in both popular formats (.mobi & .azw3); the ePub version can be read using iBooks on iOS devices, and on a wide range of other platforms; the Kindle version required can be selected from the link in the email confirming the purchase. In the future, I might also publish other books, either about Wilfred Risdon, or subjects related to his life and work, especially his animal welfare concerns; or any other subject/genre which I think is appropriate: check the New Items section on the About page on the website from time to time, for additions to the catalogue.

On that note, in 1967, Wilfred Risdon wrote & published a biography of a man whom he held in high esteem, and for whom he had great respect, the Edinburgh surgeon Robert Lawson Tait and, as it is now out of print, Wilfred Books is pleased to be able to offer a PDF download facsimile version, with the catalogue code WB05, of the original publication, with a preface to the new edition by J. L. Risdon. The book is called Lawson Tait: A Biographical Study and, given Wilfred Risdon’s close association with the National Anti-Vivisection Society, Wilfred Books will donate 10% of the annual net profit, over a minimum amount, from the sales of this edition to Animal Defenders International (ADI), the successor to the previous organisation. If there is sufficient interest, it might be possible to consider making it available in the other download formats, or as a print edition: please email me to register your interest. I look forward to hearing from you!
Jon Risdon jrisdon17@googlemail.com

I hope you will visit Jon’s blog and see what he has to offer.

Guest Post: The Hungry Hound

I am delighted to feature blogger, poet, and published writer, Kevin Morris.
https://kmorrispoet.com/ You can read more of Kevin’s blog by following that link.

The Hungry Hound

I am Trigger.
My Stomach is bigger
Than you think.
Your lunch will be gone in the blink
Of an eye.
Then away I fly.
Should you ask, “who stole my lunch?” I reply,
“Not I”
But, dear reader, I lie …!
I have been known to eat plastic.
My reach is elastic.
You think your food safe?
My friend brace
Yourself for a shock
For I will gobble the lot!
Be it ever so hot!

(The above poem was dedicated to my guide dog Trigger, who sadly died
in 2020, but lives on in my heart).

Kevin’s published poems are available online from Amazon.

He is also featured in an anthology, details from this link.
https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/croydon-poets/croydon-poetry-hour-anthology-202021/paperback/product-q777n8.html?page=1&pageSize=4

Still Not Reading

I have mentioned before about how I seem to be unable to concentrate on books since the start of the pandemic. Last night, I went to bed earlier than usual, intending to try to continue with Cindy Bruchman’s second book in a series. The third one might be published this year, and I am only halfway through that second one.
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/48559025-inside-the-gold-plated-pistol

This is no reflection on the story or the writing, both of which are compelling. I read the first half of the book in two sittings.

Then there was a pandemic, followed by lockdowns. And despite all the vaccinations, it continues.

At first, I thought this was a golden opportunity to read more. To really get into the TBR list of books downloaded on my Kindle Fire, and perhaps open some real books too. But it was not to be.

Within days, I could no longer concentrate on books. I would lie in bed at night re-reading the same pages, or flicking back to a previous chapter to remind myself of why a character was in a certain situation. A year earlier, i had read over twenty books, good going for me.

Then it all stopped.

It wasn’t as if I was unduly affected by news of the pandemic at first. I wasn’t worrying about it to the extent of noticeably affecting my mood, or my sleep. I was still reading lots of blog posts every day, and writing more than ever. But when I tried to settle down in some peace and quiet to read, it didn’t happen.

It will soon be two years since I have finished a book, and that upsets me. Not only do I like to read and review books published by friends in the blogging community, I have many more that I was still routinely buying. That has also had to stop, as there is no room left on the bookshelves, and too many downloaded onto my Kindle Fire.

All I can do is to hope that this strange spell will break soon, and I will be a happy and contented reader once more.

It feels like a curse waiting to be lifted.

Guest Post: Lucinda E Clarke

I am very pleased to bring you a guest post from Lucinda. She is a writer, published author, and a very loyal blog follower.

Here is her bio.

Lucinda E Clarke has lived an extraordinary life, in 8 countries, on land and sea, survived childhood abuse, marriage to a psychopath and many real-life adventures. She moved from teaching to the media realising a life-long dream to write for a living. From announcing on radio, she graduated to scriptwriting for radio and television and every other form of writing known to man. Movies, advertising, drama plays, street theatre, mayoral speeches, her newspaper column, company reports, tourist promotions etc. She was prepared to write for anyone who paid her – even if it meant lying through her teeth. She needed to support one husband, two children, a St Bernard, other dogs, various felines and a menagerie of small furry animals and at one time, a riding school comprised of broken-down hacks not fit for the knacker’s yard. She won over 20 awards for her films in writing, concept, direction and production. More recently she is a winner of numerous book awards – including a gold, two silvers and an honourable mention from Readers’ Favorite. Now pretending to be retired in Spain she is scribbling in a variety of genres, which she says proves her schizophrenic tendencies. If she can’t write she gets withdrawal symptoms and plans to go to the big library in the sky with her laptop under one arm.

https://www.lucindaeclarke.com/

This is her guest post.

First, a huge thank you to Pete, for allowing me to share on his blog. In particular I enjoy his daily serial and his tenacity in his daily emails – my blogging has faltered for the reasons below.
Twelve years ago, the DH (Dear Husband) and I left South Africa and retired to Spain. He may have imagined us lying on the terrace sipping sangrias overlooking the Mediterranean Sea, but within a year I was bored silly. I’d not wanted to sell my company and put my feet up, I wasn’t ready for that. I still miss the crew and the camaraderie and visiting all the locations we filmed.
So, while we pottered about our tiny rabbit hutch – you try buying a mansion with the SA Rand to Euro exchange rate and see where that gets you – I began to invite lots more people to live with us.
DH didn’t notice at first as more and more moved in, male, female and undecided, along with a few animals and African wildlife.
They were all in my head of course, but I laughed with them, cried with them, and, if they annoyed me, I popped them into a wheelchair or killed them off.
It was murder and mayhem on a daily basis. I may be an old wrinkly, but the power kick was the biggest adrenalin rush ever. I could blow up a boatload of people and no police would come knocking on the door. Atom bombs? Where would you like me to drop them? A plague? No problem, shall I start in China?
The world of the writer has endless possibilities. We can topple presidents, resurrect forces from outer space or under the ground. We can do anything we want and never, ever break the law. The worst punishment we suffer is the occasional one-star review from a dissatisfied reader.
What I need to know, before I continue on my rampage: is there a special hell for those who inflict cruelty on characters? I’m worried now I’d be a prime candidate.
I don’t write cosy mysteries where everyone is nice to each other. Oh no. My heroines are not so much stars as victims. They face insurmountable odds, lose loved ones, limbs and trust and most of the time have no idea who is threatening them. It’s me of course, but I don’t tell them that and do, please keep this a secret too. I have the odd nightmare they leap out of the book and strangle me while I’m asleep.
Amie was my first creation. I transported her to Africa and then sent the plane evacuating the expats off into the sky leaving her behind all alone in the middle of a civil war. I caused her more suffering took her on more adventures in four more books, and now she is sulking as I’ve abandoned her, at least for the moment.

Leah was my next heroine victim. I married her to an upstanding lawyer to the mob, burdened her with an out-of-control teenage stepdaughter and presented her with a dodgy best friend. What more could a woman ask for? Well, I amputated her left leg as well, for good measure.

The A Year in the Life of… series, charting the lives of Leah and her family, are psychological thrillers, but no ghosts, zombies or werewolves I’m afraid. Just the car accidents, mental homes, burglaries and unknown threats kind of thriller.
All this rambling nonsense is designed to send you rushing over to Amazon to snap up all four Leah books on sale @ $/£0.99 each including the latest one which launches on Friday 14 May.

Belinda Brand the sassy teenager – who was once a vegan, turned vegetarian for ten minutes until Leah began frying the bacon for breakfast – has won a prestigious award for her bestseller and a Hollywood film offer for her debut – and last – book. But, she has a secret. Someone has discovered it and is threatening to tell. Danger lurks in the shadows and then her best friend disappears.

Once more thanks Pete and love to Ollie, oh and regards to Julie as well.

Please use the links to check out the books, and to connect with Lucinda too.

Guest Post: Darlene Foster

I am delighted to present a guest post from the lovely blogger and author, Darlene Foster.

Here is her short bio.

Darlene Foster grew up on a ranch in Alberta, Canada, where her love of reading inspired her to see the world and write stories about a young girl who travels to interesting places. Over the years she worked in rewarding jobs such as an employment counsellor, ESL teacher, recruiter, and retail manager, writing whenever she had a few spare minutes. She is now retired and has a house in Spain where she writes full time. When not travelling, meeting interesting people, and collecting ideas for her books, she enjoys spending time with her husband and entertaining rescue dogs, Dot and Lia.

Never Too Late To Become A Writer
by Darlene Foster

A goal without a plan is just a dream.

Many of us dream of being a writer. After all, we have tons of ideas. We spend years talking about it, fantasize about signing our books, and envision people saying, “I read your book and loved it.” But there is always an excuse. We are too busy working, raising kids, keeping a house, volunteering, looking after grandchildren or ageing parents; the list goes on. Then one day there is a bit more time and we say, “Now I’m too old to write a book. If only I had started years ago. It’s too late.” I have heard this many times.

I was one of those people. I had so many excuses for not sitting down and writing a book. I took writing courses and attended seminars, wrote a few short stories and submitted to the occasional contest, but the idea of writing a book was too daunting and I often felt I had left it too late.

Then I went on a fabulous holiday to the United Arab Emirates and decided I needed to write about it. It worked best for me to write my story from the point of view of a twelve-year-old and target it to middle-grade readers. Although I was already in my fifth decade, I was still busy working a full-time job, tutoring part-time, volunteering and sitting on a few boards. How was I going to fit in the time to write a book?

I came up with a clever plan. The plan was to write the book in three years; a realistic time frame for me. How was I going to do this? I planned to write one chapter a month by writing two hours a day, five days a week. By breaking it down into doable steps, it was not so difficult. I simply eliminated watching television for two hours every evening after work. Soon my friends and family understood that I could not be disturbed for those two hours. If I missed one day, I would write for two hours on the weekend.

My plan worked. At the end of three years, I had Amanda in Arabia-The Perfume Flask completed and ready for submission. It took another 5 years to find a publisher, but I persevered. In those five years, between researching publishers and writing query letters, I continued to write and completed, Amanda in Spain-The Girl in the Painting. After all, I was used to writing at least one hour a day.

I now have eight books in the Amanda Travels series published and have organized numerous book signings where people of all ages have approached me saying, “I love your books. I hope you write more.” My dream has come true!

I still write for at least two hours every day and can now write a book in one year. My next book, Amanda in Malta: The Sleeping Lady will be released on May 11th, 2021. I am working on the ninth novel as we speak and have many more ideas. There is no stopping me now!

The lesson I learned is that it is never too late and you can never be too busy, to make your dream of writing, or any dream, come true – if you make a plan and stick to it. As a much wiser person than I once said, “You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream.” – C. S. Lewis

Darlene´s books can be found on most booksellers´ sites including Amazon.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/s?k=darlene+foster&ref=nb_sb_noss_1

She can be contacted on various social media sites.

website http://www.darlenefoster.ca
blog https://darlenefoster.wordpress.com/
facebook https://www.facebook.com/DarleneFosterWriter
twitter https://twitter.com/supermegawoman

Please use the links to connect with Darlene and to find out more about her books.

Guest Post: Jim Webster

Today, I am delighted to feature another guest post from Jim Webster. He has kindly come up with a sequel to his previous story concerning a hermit who lives in a Norfolk village. Any similarity to my life in Beetley is of course intentional.

The continuing adventures of the hermit of Beetfield.

I have recounted before how I came to meet the celebrated Hermit of Beetfield. On my return to Port Naain I confess I didn’t give much more thought to him. I’d enjoyed his company and had been impressed with his wit and wisdom. What more can one ask of a hermit?
Still should you wish to know more of our meeting it is all recounted at; https://beetleypete.com/2020/04/02/featured-blogger-jim-webster/

You know how it is, life closes in on a chap. You get busy and before you’ve noticed a year or so has gone by. Obviously you have lived every day of it. It’s not as if you curled up in bed and next morning got up to discover a year had past. Still that period was a hectic time for me. I built up my practice, gathered more patrons, cemented my position as the leading poet of my generation, and got married.

Thus I wasn’t entirely surprised when I arrived home one evening to find a letter on the cabin table. People I had never importuned were starting to write asking me to perform.

Shena gestured at it, “It arrived just after I got back from the Old Esplanade. It was delivered by a deck hand from a night soil barge.”
To be fair I didn’t have to ask how she knew his trade. It rather announces itself. I must admit I rather expected some witticism about how I was starting to attract a higher class of patron. After all it’s the sort of remark I would have made had it been Lancet or one of the others getting such a missive. She merely said, “He said it was from Beetfield.”
I opened the letter with a clear conscience. After all it was some years since I had been in the hamlet of Beetfield. I cannot imagine them, after all this time, deciding that I was the obvious person to blame for the spoons going missing.

As an aside, this can be a problem. Certainly when I first started out following my muse, I was young and doubtless had a lean and hungry look. This was easily explained. I was normally hungry and that ensured I remained lean. But it meant that I was the obvious person to blame when something went missing in a house where I had recently performed.

The fact I had been constantly under the eye of a maid, and had only been in two rooms, made no difference. In one instance I was arrested in the street by the watch for stealing a four poster bed. It must be said that the two watchmen they seemed to consider it a somewhat unlikely feat, but they escorted me to the house where the accusation had been made.

The lady of the house was furious. Apparently the bed in the guest bedroom had disappeared. The staff had hunted throughout the house and could not find it and were sure that it was not there. This I can believe, a four poster bed isn’t something one can easily overlook.

Apparently they had decided it had to be me, because both the lady and all the staff had been present in the house for the entire day and I was the only stranger who had entered. The watchmen took notes and to be fair to them, asked what I would consider pertinent questions.

One I particularly liked was, “Did you see Mister Steelyard with the bed?”

“No, I assume he concealed it somehow.”

Things were getting vituperative, with the lady of the house pouring scorn on both me, and the watchmen for their scepticism, when her husband arrived. He was accompanied by a dray and six workmen. They had with him a four poster bed. His wife was triumphant.

“So you recovered it from wherever this villain had hidden it?”
“No dear, I collected from Massop’s. When you said your mother was coming to stay I thought I’d better check the bed. One of the posts was a little lose. So I contacted Massop and his men arrived three days ago and took it away to fix.”

Madam was mortified. As the watchmen and I tiptoed quietly out, she, with the support of the senior downstairs staff, were berating her husband for going out of his way to humiliate them. As one of the watchmen commented, “How in Aea’s name can six men carry a four poster bed out of the house without anybody noticing?”

But still, back to the letter. It was from the Landlady of the New Inn at Beetfield. Apparently her clientele remembered me fondly and would be delighted if I could drop in soon. Also, added to the bottom, as if it was something that she was mentioning in passing, was the comment that perhaps I could talk to the hermit for them.

Now Beetfield is not the easiest place to get to, even though it isn’t far from Port Naain. So eventually I did what I’d done on the previous occasion, I signed on as a deck hand on a night soil barge. It’s not a prestigious job, but given that my finances were in their usual parlous condition it seemed the sensible thing to do. So barely two days after getting the letter, I walked into the New Inn at Beetfield and was greeted by a smiling landlady who handed me a glass of ale without even asking me for money.

As I sipped her ale, I asked what exactly she wanted me to do.

“Well, Tallis, if you could just tell a couple of stories and perhaps give us a poem or two. Then when the time comes, if you could feed the hermit and listen to his new plans.”

“What’s wrong with his new plans?”

“Well we feel that it would make sense for somebody from outside the area to listen to them. We’d like an unbiased opinion.”
Well that seemed easy enough. As her guests came in I prepared myself and gave them what the landlady had asked for. I told them the tale of the four poster bed and a couple of other tales. Then I gave them some poems, one tragic, two comic. When my meal was brought to the table, I tucked in with enthusiasm. The rich spicy Toelar cooking was as good as I remembered it. Most of the others were eating at the same time, and we chatted backwards and forwards as we dined.

I’d just finished when there was an eldritch wailing from outside. I put down my empty glass. “I assume that is the hermit saying that he’s ready for his meal?”

The landlady appeared with a basket holding a pan of stew (hot in both senses of the word, Toelar cooking is known for the liberal use of hot spices) a bottle of beer and a good chunk of bread and butter. I took the basket and set off along the path through the woods, following the cacophonous wailing to the hermit’s abode.

I finally arrived at the well-built stone hut where the hermit lived and he put down his bagpipes and welcomed me warmly. As he ate he would ask me questions as to what I’d been doing. Then as he wiped the pan clean with the last of the bread I asked him what his plans were.

Here he became thoughtful. “Well you see Tallis, I’m wondering whether Beetfield needs something more than a hermit to draw people.”

I could see where he was coming from. I think the hermit drew people from a ten mile radius, but I’d never heard his name mentioned in Port Naain. Indeed I might well be the only person in the city who had heard of him.

“So what were you thinking of trying?”
“Well I thought I might become a mage.”

I confess that rather surprised me. He wasn’t an old man, but he was definitely in his middle years. As far as I knew, becoming a mage was something that took a lifetime of study.

“Have you any experience?”
“No, but I’d never had any experience of being a hermit before I became a hermit.”

Again from what I’d been told, this also was entirely true. Still I felt that becoming accepted as a mage was a somewhat more arduous process than becoming a hermit. Indeed in Port Naain, people studied for academic degrees and this was merely the start of their road. Admittedly there were other, often less savoury types, who replaced academia with sordid experimentation in a dingy boarding house bedroom, but the latter rarely ended well.

On the other hand, I could see a mage being a positive draw. “Have you any knowledge of herbs or minor cantrips?”

“None really, other than what is needed for cooking.”

“So what attracted you to being a mage?”

“Well,” and here he paused, “I thought I could have a wizard’s tower. It would be a landmark. If I make it tall enough, in this area it could be seen from miles around.”

Again I couldn’t fault his thinking. “What have you in mind? Something tall and dark with flames at the top?”

“I’d thought something more classical in a pleasant light-coloured stone would go with the area. Also I want to attract people, not scare them off.”
“But how would you build it?”

“That’s the clever thing. When I become a mage, I’ll build it using magic.”

It struck me that he’d got everything thought out.

“So how are you going to learn to do magic?”

“That’s the really clever bit, Tallis. When I became a hermit I sort of picked up hermitting as I went along. Also nobody really expects you to do anything, they just want you to be wise. So when I’m a mage, I’ll just be wise, but with my tower, I’ll be wise at altitude.”

“But what happens when somebody comes along and asks you to do something magical?”

“Oh I’ve thought of that. I can tell them to leave me for a day whilst I meditate and when they’re gone we’ve got two or three people in the area who are good with herbs. As for love philtres, soap and water often works as well as anything a witch can do.”
I persisted, “But what if they want serious magic?”
“I can talk them out of it. I’ll suggest other ways of doing the same thing, or if that fails, convince them that it’s unethical. If that fails I’ll have them bring me obscure ingredients found only in distant parts.”

Well he certainly seemed to have given the various issues proper consideration. I asked him, “So why does the landlady and others want my advice?”
“Well they suspect that I can smoothly talk them into things, but you, being a poet, are inoculated against it.”

I confess that this was a line of reasoning I hadn’t encountered before. “So what’s the first phase?”
“Making a start on the tower. I was thinking that we could add three more stories to my hut here, but in timber. I’d leave this roof on and have a stair up the outside. It’s more wizardly.” He paused briefly. “Apparently if you tell the landlady at the New Inn you think it’s a good plan, there is a boat that’s run aground on the shores of the estuary. They’ll rob the timber off that and make a start on the tower.”

I took the basket, pan and empty bottle back to the New Inn.

The landlady was waiting for me. “Well, is it a good plan?”

“Has he made a good hermit?”

Without pausing she replied, “Yes.”

“Then I would suggest you go with his plan then, it strikes me he’ll be a lot better mage that a lot of those we have in Port Naain.”

Jim Webster is just this guy.

I’ve got two blogs, one for Tallis Steelyard

https://tallissteelyard.wordpress.com/

Another blog for my assorted rural reminiscences and ponderings

https://jandbvwebster.wordpress.com/

I’ve also got two books to promote, available as ebooks or paperbacks

The first is a tale from Tallis Steelyard

And if you buy your ebooks from elsewhere than Amazon

https://books2read.com/u/mldAeB

Tallis Steelyard. A Fear of Heights.

In this novel, recounted by Tallis Steelyard in his own inimitable manner, we discover what happens when the hierarchy plots to take control of the Shrine to Aea in her Aspect as the Personification of Tempered Enthusiasm. Will the incumbent be exiled to a minor fane in the far north? Will Tallis end up having to do a proper job? Does ordination and elevation beckon for Maljie?
This story includes the Idiosyncratic Diaconate, night soil carts, Partannese bandit chieftains, a stylite, a large dog and some over-spiced food. On top of this we have not one but two Autocephalous Patriarchs and a theologically sanctioned beggar.

Then I have

And if you buy your ebooks from other than Amazon
https://books2read.com/u/md7XEX

Look what the cat brought in.

Yet more observations on rural life. We have cattle, environmentalists, a plethora of new thinking as Defra plunges into the new world but more importantly we still have our Loyal Border Collie, Sal. She is joined in a starring role by Billy, the newly arrived farm cat. As well as this we have diversification opportunities for those wishing to serve niche markets, living in the past, and the secret of perfect hair.

Please use the links to check out Jim’s books, and more of his writing on both blogs.

For Fans of Biographies/Autobiographies

Another book promotion featuring Stevie Turner. This time the genre is Biographies. Check out her link!

Stevie Turner

One of my favourite reading genres is Biographies. I enjoy reading true stories about other people’s lives whether as an autobiography, biography or memoir.

To this end I decided to run a BookFunnel promotion just for the aforementioned genres, which runs throughout February. You can find all the books that have been added to it by clicking on the link below:

https://books.bookfunnel.com/biographymemoir/w0rq98ank1

I have added a FREE SAMPLE of my own memoir ‘Waiting in the Wings’ to the promotion.

At the grand old age of 92, my mother Dot suddenly starts telling me that she loves me. I am quite dumbstruck at these outbursts of emotion, as she has never mentioned the fact before in all of my 58 years. Over the entire course of my lifetime we have often argued bitterly, and have never really seen eye-to-eye over anything. I squirm with the inner knowledge that she…

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Literary inspirations

At a time when I am finding it impossible to finish reading a book, and also experiencing a slow-down in my desire to write, I thought I would reblog this 2015 post about my love of books, and some recommendations of those I have read in the past. Some of you (Jude, Sue, Cindy, David) have already read it. But since 2015, I have welcomed many new followers.

beetleypete

I have never written about books on this blog. Considering the amount of words I have written about so many other things, this fact has just struck me. It has been a glaring omission, and one I will attempt to rectify with this post. It will not be a series, so don’t worry.

Many blogs on the Internet are about books and literature. Some recommend good new reads, most promote the work of the blogger themselves. Others quote from classical literature, or delve into its origins and meanings. I won’t be doing any of that. Do I write because I used to read, or did I read because I wanted to write? The answer is probably neither of those options. I started writing at school like most of us do, as it is compulsory. But I didn’t read for that reason, I did it for enjoyment, education, and a desire…

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For Fans of Paranormal Romance on Kindle Unlimited

57 books on KU in this unusual genre. Including one from Stevie Turner!

Stevie Turner

Do you belong to Kindle Unlimited?

If you do, there are 57 books (and free samples) in this BookFunnel promotion for fans of Paranormal Romance.  My Time Travel novel ‘Partners in Time’ is part of the promotion, and for non-KU readers it is just £0.99/$0.99 until the end of March.
https://books.bookfunnel.com/unlimitedpnr/jsjo33z2j1

Here’s the latest review from Phil Huston, who gives honest reviews and doesn’t sugar-coat anything!

4 out of 5 stars The Title and the Cover are only to suck you in to a not handholding and bouquets romp Reviewed in the United States on December 13, 2020

First, I don’t read books like this. It requires no more suspension of disbelief than any other genre, but ghosts and vampires and sex and all that? I leave it to experts. Let’s get the negatives out of the way first. Did I agree with it? No. Did I find the characters…

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