I love when authors and publicists contact me with an interesting guest post to share with my readers!  And today is appropriate for this one – how to survive Valentine’s Day….and not for single people but for married women!  So ladies, take note!

Surviving Valentine’s Day: Pauline Parril’s Advice for Married Women

by Pauline Daley-Parril

Valentine’s Day hashtags are proliferating on Twitter. That means one thing: #valentinesdayiscoming. For single women, the 14^th of February is tough enough when it’s #nodate and #aloneagain. But for married women, Valentine’s Day is a #minefield #forgetaboutit #norosesforyousister #fml.

For women in general, Valentine’s Day is like trying on a new bikini: single girls hope to find something nice that handles the girls effectively but all too often end up with lingering regrets and maybe a yeast infection from the previous person who tried the bathing suit.

All that married women can hope for is that the top half can still work the old black magic while the bottom half still fits the base.

Meanwhile, the average man is completely oblivious to the whole #chocolates #romance and #finedining thing. That’s because he hasn’t set foot in a shop since the day before Christmas when he did his annual shopping trip. Only women know that, just minutes after New Year’s Day is over, every store and mall in the country turns into a raging river of pink and red hearts with fur-trimmed bralettes on display in every window.

It’s not enough to avoid the flood of lacey crap at the mall. You better stay away from the drugstores too. Trouble is, you forgot to get your flu shot last fall, didn’t you? Now you need lozenges for the bug that is shredding up all the real estate in your throat. In you go, determined to make it past the heart-shaped candies and roses-made-of-chocolate aisle. You quickly skirt the section with the wide selection of ribbed condoms, cherry-flavored lubricants and estrogen massage cream. But, suddenly, you’re confronted by the greeting card aisle. Love is in the air. And it’s sucking all the oxygen from the store.

You pause to look at all the pretty, pretty cards. Maybe it’s a good idea to inject a little romance into your plodding relationship and get your man a special valentine? You pick up a card with a pink satin bow. It says: “You are my forever best friend.” But, last time you checked, your husband wasn’t a Golden Retriever. The card with the velvet trim says, without the tiniest trace of irony: “Every moment I spend with you is a dream.” Every last card is festooned with curvy fonts, cupids, roses, arrows and hearts. As if you weren’t feeling sick enough with the flu before.

The sad fact is there are no realistic cards for wives to give to husbands. Clearly, companies need to offer cards with more truthful messages, such as: My darling, you deserve the best of me. (Sorry I called you a moron yesterday. The stupid of you got the better of me.)

Or: You can be my Valentine, but only if you stop being a prick.

For newer brides, the card could read: Be mine. (Unless you cheat on me. In that case, I will cut you.)

Or: Let’s get married all over again! (Without your drunk cousins this time.)

Together forever. (Unless you screw it up.)

Middle-aged marrieds have even more options: Loving you is my mission. It’s right up there with gaining control of the remote someday.

You are still hot to me. Mostly. (I’m still sleeping in my socks tonight because your feet are freaking blocks of ice.)

You make me smile. (To be honest, sometimes I smirk. Sometimes, it’s an evil grin. And sometimes I laugh hysterically. You say tomato …)

For older marrieds, the card could say: I can’t believe I’m still putting up with your shit. But, wonder of wonders, I am!

Nothing can compare with you! Dude, you could win a snoring contest.

Together, we are stronger. Especially when we fart at the same time.

Never mind. Skip the card aisle. You have a bad head cold. It’s February for goodness’ sake. Your man doesn’t want a card anyway. He’d prefer a roughly hand-drawn coupon for an anytime, anywhere blowjob-on-demand.

Buy yourself some chocolate and don’t forget the cough syrup.

About the Author

Collette Yvonne graduated from York University in Toronto with an Honor’s BA in Creative Writing. Her short stories, including From the Cottage Porch and Wild Words 2010, appear in several anthologies. She’s written numerous articles in national Canadian publications, plus over 150 pieces for various Ontario newspapers. Her short story, Snapshots for Henry, was made into a short film, directed by Teresa Hannigan, and received a 2007 Genie nomination for Best Live Action Short Drama.

The Perils of Pauline is her first novel.

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The Writer’s Coffee Shop is having a HUGE sale over the Valentine Weekend!

Load up those Kindles!

Contemporary Romance, Chic Lit, Paranormal Romance, Erotic Romance, Young Adult and More!

Participating Authors

ROMANCE

Lindsay Gray Michael Schneider

Krista RichmondJennifer Schmidt

M.A. StacieApril Emerson

Lorenz Font

EROTIC ROMANCE

Jennifer Schmidt

M.A. StacieLorenz Font

April Emerson Brends J Brown

PARANORMAL ROMANCE

Debby Grahl

Sydney Logan

Lindsay Gray

HISTORICAL ROMANCE

Lissa Bryan

Elise de Sallier

CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

Analyse KnightAmber L. Johnson

M.A. StacieAmy Noelle

Sandi Layne Suzanne Carroll

YOUNG ADULT

T.M. Franklin

CHIC LIT

Tara Ellison

Suzy Dufy

Title: LINES

Genre: Contemporary Young Adult

Release Date: January 20, 2015

ISBN: 9781310636943 | 9781310444067 | 9781311639011

Synopsis

Grace was only dating bad boy Danny Cross to get her father’s attention. Danny was only dating Grace to help his friend get revenge. But when Jessie, the new kid, comes to town and brings hidden secrets about Grace’s family with him, suddenly everyone’s plans turn upside down.

As secrets are brought to the surface, Grace finds herself sinking deeper into Danny’s world of drugs and partying, uncovering truths that could destroy them all.

Enter the world of high school, blackmail, racism, and drugs, a world where there is no escape from crossing the LINES.

Part One: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | iTunes | Smashwords

Part Two: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | iTunes | Smashwords

Part Three: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | iTunes | Smashwords

Excerpt

GRACE

“Skipping class?” she asks as she finds her voice. It’s airy, cracky, like she is trying to summon the courage to be like Julie, crude and pissed off.

I give her my best fake nice guy smile, it can be convincing. “Not worth going if you’re not there.”

“You never go to class anyway,” she points out the obvious.

“Well,” I try to pull something out of my ass. “Today’s special, so I’m driving you to school.” Then I grab her hand, her porcelain skin so much cooler and more fragile than my own. I try to lead her toward my car when she plants her feet hard into the ground and pulls away, making me face her gold eyes again. Here we go, she’s gonna end it now, I think, as I paint on my face a look that says I have no idea what’s coming. This look is for Storm, but I think Grace knows perfectly well that I know this is a scam. Somehow, everyone is fooling everyone here.

“And why is today special?” Her face holds demands I don’t understand, testing me, like I should know something that no one has cued me in on. Why is it girls always expect men to magically read their thoughts and know the answers?

“Because, ah, today’s a good day apparently?” I’m losing my smoothness.

She glares at me with disappointment, like everyone has disappointed her except for moronic Julie. “Well Julie’s already here so … ” She says this like that’s all that matters, like it doesn’t matter that I’m here too.

“I’m sure Julie can figure out her way to school,” I remind her as if Julie’s five. Grace rolls her eyes crossly and starts turning around to go, just leaving me standing, dissed, in front of my best friend. Girls are cold. Then again, I deserve this, and I’m relieved that this hopefully spells out that we’re done, though I suppose I’ll miss several things about this jest.

Before she can leave my reach fully a noise comes. Her garage door opens and stops her as if it has the power to turn Grace into solid ice. Or maybe that’s her pop’s power. He comes out of the garage fast, briefcase in hand, not even looking my or his daughter’s way. He uses his remote to pop open his Mercedes as he screams into his phone. “I told you to hold that patient until I get there. Don’t do a thing!”

And then abruptly Grace suddenly turns fast toward me. What the … I feel her cool fragile skin get dangerously close to mine as she takes ahold of my arms. They come right around my neck as I feel her perfect body press right into mine. Then she kisses me. Grace’s whiplash really shouldn’t have shocked me anymore.

I know right away she’s only doing this, kissing me, to make her father mad. I take full advantage, kissing her back and pulling her further to me as I wrap my own arms around her, tasting her as the light perfume she has on drives me crazy. Yes, I know, I’m a messed up individual. She fills my head as I feel her tremble and kisses me harder. She’s the gem I’ll never be able to afford but I get to touch right now. How the hell can I really resist when she suddenly just kisses me like this?

Sounds of her dad leaving, and Julie yelling, finally make her lips slow, then they stop. As she pulls away and our eyes meet, our reality crashes back, yet we both totally want to keep going. How far would she really be willing to go?

“Grace! We are going to be late!” Julie is screaming. She’s been yakking for a while now. “And I’m going to throw up!” Her voice is like that of an angry hag, mad someone was stealing her plaything. Grace pulls completely away from me, steps back, and any look or want between us is gone.

“I can’t ride with you. You should have called and let me know you’d be here.”

“Come on,” I try to protest. Am I glad she is leaving or do I want to grab her and kiss her again, maybe up against Julie’s car to really piss the man hater off?

I hear Storm sneer and I suddenly want her to go, get away from him and away from me, as I keep my face the same, shaking my head at her for guilt, but also backing off.

“Why don’t you just drive me home,” she offers. “If I go with you now she’ll kill me. After school we can finally … talk.” Talk as in not make out, talk as in tell me to take a hike. Fine, after school it is. With that, she turns and is gone.

Julie makes sure to give Storm and me extra dirty looks before taking off with my “girlfriend.” She is in such a hurry she almost brakes the speed limit to get Grace away from me. Almost, but not quite.

I hear Storm laugh.“Pick me up, do my laundry,” he mocks me. “Yeah, you’ve really got this one, Danny.”

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About the Author

Author and film director Ashley C. Harris resides in Florida. Ashley was first recognized for her edgy writing and unique film work when she wrote and directed the teenage film Lines. Lines was the first feature film in the world captured using only Mac Laptops..

In 2013 Ashley teamed up with Barclay Publicity to release the first title in a new young adult series Shock Me. Ashley then went on to release the first of a new NA series, One Night In Heated Snapshots, that quickly reached Amazon’s Best Selling top ten list for sports romances.

When she is not dreaming up new books and working on film sets, she loves to spend time with her friends and family.

Keep a close watch for Ashley’s newest young adult books releases!

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The Last Witness by Jerry Amernic

Print Length: 336 pages
Page Numbers Source ISBN: 0990421651
Publisher: Story Merchant Books (October 29, 2014)
Genre: Historical Thriller
Language: English
Format: Paperback and Kindle Editions

Synopsis

The year is 2039, and Jack Fisher is the last living survivor of the Holocaust. Set in a world that is abysmally ignorant and complacent about events of the last century, Jack is a 100-year-old man whose worst memories took place before he was 5. His story hearkens back to the Jewish ghetto of his birth and to Auschwitz where, as a little boy, he had to fend for himself to survive after losing all his family. Jack becomes the central figure in a missing-person investigation when his granddaughter suddenly disappears. While assisting police, he finds himself in danger and must reach into the darkest corners of his memory to come out alive.

Note from the Author

My research included spending time with real-life, former child survivors. To illustrate the point of this novel, we produced a video and went around asking university students in Toronto where I live what they know about the Holocaust and World War II. The level of ignorance out there is incredible. Have a look.

About the Author

Jerry Amernic is a Toronto writer who has been a newspaper reporter and correspondent, newspaper columnist, feature contributor for magazines, and media consultant. He has taught writing and journalism at college, and is the author of several books.

His first book was Victims: The Orphans of Justice, a true story about a former police officer whose daughter was murdered. The man became a leading advocate for victims of crime. Jerry later wrote a column on the criminal justice system for The Toronto Sun, and has since been a contributor to many other newspapers. In 2007 he co-authored Duty – The Life of a Cop with Julian Fantino, the highest-profile police officer Canada has ever produced and currently a member of the country’s federal Cabinet.

Jerry’s first novel Gift of the Bambino (St. Martin’s Press, 2004) was widely praised by the likes of The Wall Street Journal in the U.S., and The Globe and Mail in Canada. His latest novel is the historical thriller The Last Witness, which is set in the year 2039 and is about the last living survivor of the Holocaust. The biblical-historical thriller Qumran will be released next. It’s about an archeologist who makes a dramatic discovery in the Holy Land.

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Title: Solo
Author: Kevin V. Symmons
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Pages: 353
Genre: Contemporary Women’s Fiction
Format: Paperback/Kindle

Synopsis

Jessica Long has the voice of an angel. But Jesse’s cold beauty masks a brutal past filled with privation and cruelty. As the talented soprano approaches her final year at New England Conservatory, she is faced with a choice: stay with her striking young lover or accept the offer of a successful Broadway producer. She chooses the latter only to discover that fame can exact a cruel price. After years of yearning, the lovers meet again – at Jesse’s ragged homestead on the Maine Coast.

Matt will reveal the benefactor who’s followed and protected Jesse as the lovers face a confrontation with the jealous pursuer who’s tried to destroy her. One final choice awaits that may cost Jesse both Matt and her life. The Broadway impresario, a mysterious crime lord, and Matt’s stunning literary agent head a cast of absorbing secondary characters. Filled with unexpected plot twists, Solo is a classic, leading the reader over a bittersweet tapestry spanning fifteen years.

Excerpt

It was sweltering. Sunday afternoon. But Sundays had no special meaning for Jesse. Just another crowded space on her calendar. Moving deliberately through the moist air that hovered over Boylston Street, the heat rising from the sidewalk penetrated the worn souls of her loafers. Perspiration grew thick on her skin, darkening her thin cotton blouse.

A massive steel skeleton stood nearby. Having grown to a height of thirty stories, it guarded Copley Square’s busy expanse. Half-way up the I-beams that comprised its brick-red frame an electronic sign flashed ‘93 degrees.’

Many residents hid, sheltered inside, letting their fans or air conditioners battle the early heat-wave while they lolled away this June afternoon watching the Red Sox or movie reruns. The more adventurous, young or athletic populated the banks of the Charles River or sought the cool breezes of South Boston’s Carson Beach.

Jesse found the summer heat in Boston unwelcome and unexpected. She could never remember any semblance of a spring, just a cool damp season that one day surrendered as the unrelenting damp heat emerged like a chrysalis. Thanks to the onshore breeze from Casco Bay, it was never this hot in Portland. But Portland held more demons than she could exorcise in one lifetime. Jesse was glad to be rid of it.

She swallowed deeply, clenching her fists. This job could mean the difference between continuing her career or returning to the bleak life she’d left in Maine. Now that her mother and daughter Alexis had appeared, she had to find more work to support them while she finished her training at the Conservatory.

She studied the brightly decorated windows of the cafes and boutiques, ignoring the glances of the men she passed. Young couples, stylishly dressed in their lightweight summer clothes moved aside as she moved on her mission toward the address on the slip of paper Mario had given her.

Arriving at her destination, Jesse peered through the murky glass. She scanned the adjacent shops, hesitating. Whatever it was, Martel’s Coffee Shop and Bakery played counterpoint to Boylston Street’s more fashionable establishments.

Her dim reflection showed a tall, slender young woman who favored her father. Or so they’d told her. She’d worn her best cotton slacks and a dark blouse. Jeans or shorts would send the wrong message, and Jesse couldn’t afford a bad first impression. Her thick black hair hung loose, framing her face. She took a deep breath to help her relax. Checking her image in the dirty glass, she wiped the perspiration from her forehead and neck, drying her palms on her pants.

Taking another deep breath, she opened the door. Prayer was not on Jesse’s agenda, but it crossed her mind. She knew the city was flooded with pretty co-eds and single mothers willing to work for almost nothing. Mario’s influence might be worth something, but she was taking no chances. She wasn’t given to fits of superstition, but she closed her eyes tightly and crossed her fingers. Anything that might give her an edge was worth a try.

“Please, Mr. Martel,” she whispered, looking around self-consciously. “I need this job.”

The door’s glass was so grimy she couldn’t see inside. Could Mario have been wrong? Was this place really open for business?

Inside the air was cooler, but not much. If Martel’s was air conditioned, someone should apply for a refund. The inside was dark—too dark. She froze as she searched the shadows, trying to understand why anyone would use such a gloomy color. Her throat tightened. She squeezed the doorknob as she thought about leaving. A few fluorescents lit the front, but the rear was hidden in shadow.

“It was my mother,” said a man’s voice from the shadows. Despite the quiet, almost soothing quality of the voice, Jesse jumped.

About the Author

Kevin Symmons has a BS and an MBA. He has attended the prestigious New England Conservatory of Music and studied in France. After a successful career in business management and consulting, he returned to his first love: writing. His first novel, a spell-binding paranormal romance titled “Rite of Passage” is set in the chaotic period after World War II. It’s received dozens of great reviews and was a RomCon Reader’s Crown Finalist for 2013. His second effort is a contemporary romantic thriller set near his Cape Cod home, titled “Out of the Storm.” Like his first novel, it is an Amazon Best-Seller and received many 5-star reviews. “Solo“, an intense and ambitious women’s fiction work, has been released from The Wild Rose Press, his award-winning publisher. It explores the devastating effects of privation and domestic violence on the beautiful and extraordinarily talented young heroine.

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Blessed of the Gods

Aumelan – book one

From the award-winning author of the Cornerstone Deep saga, comes a story of love, devotion and courage.

Chad Aumelan is in love, but his world isn’t right. Not when he’s forbidden to have Dae just because she’s his slave.

When Salana Goffin meets Chad, she’s faced with the unbelievable: a man who must take energy from a host to survive. He wants to find a cure to free the woman he loves. How can Salana turn away such a noble cause?

Together, they search for answers, but fate has another plan.

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Excerpt

Styne’s thrill of adventure diminished as a howl reached into the narrow vein of the cave. He lifted his crystal-lit torch as if it would hush the mourning sound, but the light seemed to pulse with each beat of his heart. Gathering his nerve, he inched down the steep trail. Pebbles rolled beneath his feet, and he grasped at the granite wall to secure his balance.

A clash echoed through the catacomb, and he angled the beam down, squinting his eyes to see the bottom of the tunnel better. Water rose and then ebbed at the threshold, a tall stalagmite breaking the flow. His stomach knotted. No wonder the Chambers haven’t come to serve us yet. They must be scared to death.

Trotting down the pitch, he rode the gravel giving way to his quick pace. As he entered the hollow’s belly, waves crashed against the bluff. Bolts of light flashed beyond thick sheets of water like strobes. The fallout pounded onto the landing. Waves swept along the cave’s tongue and filled the gullies in a rush. Mats and crystals swirled with loose rock as the flow carried away the remnants from their earlier gathering.

He inched into the wide dome, gaze glued on the panoramic view. Awe locked logical thought as he scanned the vast World Above. Confusion passed his lips in a low mumble. “Chad said there would be stars, a moon…” It’s the real reason I agreed to come back down here and get the Chambers!

His steps slipped on the slick rock as he approached the open stage. He reached for the wet boulder at his side and braced his stand, digging his boot into the crevice at its base. Lifting his torch beyond the ledge of the ceiling, he drew it across the upper scope. The illumination from the crystal did nothing to penetrate the ominous cover. “What…what is this?”

Light shot across the horizon, and then a web of silent flares netted the expanse, highlighting the battle among the crests of the black sea. The sky turned musty gray as thick vapors morphed into engorged billows. Shock quaked his stomach as he tried to make sense of it all.

The heavens clashed, shaking the world around him. His heart jumped to his throat, and his arms flew over his head. A salty scent assaulted his nasal cavity as water clashed against the mountain. Thick sheets sprayed skyward and pelted him with heavy falls. He threw his hands out at his sides to keep balanced and then swiped his palm down his face.

The sky flashed white. Blinded, Styne shot his gaze toward the back of the cave, to the safety of the World Beneath the Rock. Fear held him rooted.

From the far left corner, a small light bobbed within the blob of white branded in his retinas. He scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his thumbs to clear his vision and then squinted in the same direction. Stafford waded through the waist-high current, his torch casting light across his pale face. The servant’s voice reached Styne in spasms. “Master Styne! They…taken! I tried… Great waters!”

Styne stepped toward him, an urgent command to halt on his tongue. His footing slipped. “Stafford, don’t… ”

Reaching the open cave, and free of the water, Stafford’s feet hit gravel. His long legs launched into a sprint. “Master Styne! They are gone!”

“Wait! It’s… ” Styne threw his hands out for balance and struggled to gain composure. “Don’t… ” Desperate to warn Stafford of the slick surface, his demand roared from deep in his chest. “Stop!”

Stafford jarred to a halt, his last stride slapping against the landing. His feet flew from under him, and his crystal torch clattered on the ground. The light flashed in his frantic eyes as he skidded past Styne, his master, his Keeper…the one entrusted to guide and keep him safe. Clawing at the wet surface, he disappeared over the ledge of the cliff.

The sky rumbled.

Styne’s mind reeled. A gasp punched from his lungs. Words wouldn’t form. “St… ”

He blinked and scrubbed his eyes with his palms. Another wave clashed into the bluff, and as it rose before the cave, a hungry howl moaned throughout the hollow.

Scrambling back into the depths, Styne swung himself past the stalagmite to the steep tunnel. Wild shadows danced around him as his torch revealed every frantic lunge up the rocky pitch. Flashes of the wild World Above swirled in his mind.

He fell against a boulder and squeezed his lids shut, heart pounding. Choppy breaths punched from his cheeks. His arms and legs shook, and he bunched his shirt with his fist to control the quakes in his stomach.

How could such a change take place in the short time they’d been in the upper chamber of the cave? The evening had been pure beauty, pink and orange ribbons trying to trap the sun as it descended beyond the horizon. Soft waves had lulled them as they sat around the crystal fire.

Shaking his head, Styne willed himself to master his actions. He filled his lungs with the familiar scent of sediment and focused on the safety around him. Fortification. Security. Control.

He opened his eyes to the reliable environment of the World Below. Silence rested on him. Soft light flowed from the crystal torch, illuminating the climb to his family camp. Lifting his chin, he set his resolve to maintain a dignified demeanor and reached to heave himself up the rocks. A cluster of crickets sprang from the ledge.

Shock rushed his edged nerves, and he threw his hand to the side. Stafford’s panicked face crossed his inner eye. Tremors returned. Sliding down the rough wall to the ground, he allowed the juts to graze his shoulder.

How could he not show strength during chaos for his server’s sake? He was frightened and I couldn’t warn him. What Keeper shows such weakness? He pressed his fists to his head and knotted his fingers in his hair. Irritation boiled in his gut as shame riddled his heart. Temper this! You’re not a child.

Clutching a fistful of gravel, he cast it at the wall to expel the guilt of his failure. What would his family think? They can’t see me like this. Not now. I’m to be a Father of the Nation. He shoved himself to a stand and then strode into the pass. I’ve got to gain control before I stand before Father.

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Praise

“Aumelan is much more than a love story. Ms. Wilson has crafted a masterpiece in which she closely examines the human condition: How far will we go as a society to survive? How far will we go as individuals for compassion? The literary genus is covertly wrapped in a delicious genre romance where readers are submerged in the lives of her characters and the fantastic sci-fi backdrop of their imperfect world. Make no mistake, Aumelan may easily become a classic to transcend time. A definite recommended read!” ~ J.D. Brown, author of Dark Heirloom series.

About the Author

Charlene A. Wilson is an author of tales that take you to other dimensions. She weaves magic, lasting love, and intrigue to immerse you into the lives of her characters.

She began writing in her early teens when her vivid dreams stayed with her long after she had them. The characters and worlds were so amazing she brought them to life through her books.

Charlene resides in a small community in Arkansas, USA, with her two beautiful daughters, husband, a cuddly Pekingese, and a very chatty cockatiel named Todder.

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Blog Tour Giveaway

$25 Amazon Gift Card or Paypal Cash

Ends 3/1/15

Open only to those who can legally enter, receive and use an Amazon.com Gift Code or Paypal Cash. Winning Entry will be verified prior to prize being awarded. No purchase necessary. You must be 18 or older to enter or have your parent enter for you. The winner will be chosen by rafflecopter and announced here as well as emailed and will have 48 hours to respond or a new winner will be chosen. This giveaway is in no way associated with Facebook, Twitter, Rafflecopter or any other entity unless otherwise specified. The number of eligible entries received determines the odds of winning. Giveaway was organized by Kathy from I Am A Reader and sponsored by the author. VOID WHERE PROHIBITED BY LAW.

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Today we welcome author Leonce Gaiter and his thoughts on why men don’t read as much.  I live in a house with 2 guys and neither one is a huge reader….makes me sad because there is so much I think they are missing!

Why Men Opt Out of the (Women’s) Fiction World

Fewer and fewer men read fiction.  They compose only about 20% of the fiction market according to surveys. Some lay this off to genetics, suggesting that the way men’s minds work discourages them from entering into another’s experience the way fiction demands.

“Boys and men are, in general, more convergent and linear in their thinking; this would naturally draw them towards non-fiction,” wrote author Darragh McManus, pondering the question.

Others, like Jason Pinter, suggest that the overwhelmingly female publishing industry simply overlooks books that appeal to men because they fall outside the female experience.  In other words, men now suffer the same fate women suffered at the hands of a male-dominated publishing industry for so many years—and payback’s a bitch.

Others suggest that boys are discouraged from reading at a young age by children’s books that fail to engage them.  Give them the proper material, the story goes, and young boys will engage with reading.  They point to the fact that young males were principal consumers of the Harry Potter books as proof.  “More boys than girls have read the Harry Potter novels,” according to U.S. publisher, Scholastic. “What’s more, Harry Potter made more of an impact on boys’ reading habits. Sixty-one percent agreed with the statement ‘I didn’t read books for fun before reading Harry Potter,’ compared with 41 percent of girls.”

I always balked at these rationales because I read fiction all the time.  However, thinking on it, I had to admit that I avoid modern fiction like the plague.  I have tried the popular plot-thick page-turners and the feel-good tearjerkers and the occasional cause celebre with a literary reputation.  So many have left me so cold, that I simply won’t shell out the cash for a paperback or e-book version, much less a hardcover.

Trying to assess what I found lacking in most of the current novels I attempt, I find their utter reliance on the world around them (and me) supremely dull.  So many work so hard to place characters in a world I will recognize.  Too many work hard to create characters with which I (or their prime demographic audience) will ‘identify,’ and recognize as someone they could be, or someone they know.

It then made sense that men would ask why they should read something “made up” about this world when there was plenty of factual reading material on that subject.  I have never approached fiction to re-visit “this world.”  I’m already here.  Instead, I want an alternative—a vision of this world exhaled through the writers’ and characters’ hearts, minds and eyes.  Exhaled with the distinction of the smell of an individual’s breath.  Fitzgerald’s Long Island in The Great Gatsby is his own creation, no kitchen sink recreation.  Fitzgerald’s people and prose warp this place into something utterly unique.

Raymond Chandler’s Los Angeles is his distinctive projection of that city. You don’t pick up Jim Thompson’s The Killer Inside Me with the idea of identifying with the protagonist.  You don’t grab Faulkner to meet the boys next door or titter with recognition of your kith and kin.  You don’t visit Patricia Highsmith to look in a mirror.  You pick them up to enter worlds as fantastical in their way as Harry Potter’s.  I read fiction to meet characters I otherwise would not.  I read fiction for the larger than life—not a retread of this one.  I want to watch and think with characters who are nothing like me, who dare what I never would, who experience in ways that I cannot.

In an article titled, “Why Women Read More Than Men,” NPR quoted Louann Brizendine, author of The Female Brain suggesting a biological reason why women read more fiction than men:

The research is still in its early stages, but some studies have found that women have more sensitive mirror neurons than men. That might explain why women are drawn to works of fiction, which by definition require the reader to empathize with characters.

What horseshit. Reading, and reading fiction, require no such thing.  They require that you understand and grow intrigued by characters and situations.  You need not imagine yourself as them or believe that they behave as you would.

Perhaps more men stopped reading fiction when fiction stopped presenting unique worlds, and settled for presenting this one so that readers could better “identify.”  Maybe we’re too megalomaniacal to “identify” with that.  We want words recreated, not rehashed.

“Shall I project a world,” asks Oedipa Maas in Thomas Pynchon’s “The Crying of Lot 49.”  Somewhere along the line, in tandem with the female domination of the publishing industry and fiction readership, the ideal of doing so fell from vogue.  Instead, writers rely on identification with this one.  Male readers seem have checked out.

About the Author

Leonce Gaiter is a prolific African American writer and proud Harvard Alum. His writing has appeared in the NYTimes, NYT Magazine, LA Times, Washington Times, and Washington Post, and he has written two novels.  His newly released novel, In the Company of Educated Men, is a literary thriller with socio-economic, class, and racial themes.

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Title: Budapest Romance
Author: Rozsa Gaston
Publisher: Rozsa Gaston
Pages: 266
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Format: Paperback/Kindle/Audible

Synopsis

When Kati Dunai travels to Budapest to settle her father’s estate, the last thing on her mind is the pursuit of pleasure. She’s a busy international conference planner, her life rooted in Manhattan.

But from the moment she sets foot in the city of her father’s youth, it’s pleasure that pursues her. At the thermal bath spa hotel where she’s staying, she meets a Dutchman who reminds her of Béla Dunai, her Hungarian refugee father, who fled his homeland shortly after its 1956 revolution.

Jan Klassen is in Budapest to mend from a motorcycle accident. His scars have healed on the outside, but inside, he cannot forgive himself for the consequences his son now lives with forever.

Jan has never met a woman like Kati before. Her blend of New England restraint with gypsy spirit captivates him. While Jan introduces Kati to Budapest’s leisurely pace of life, Kati introduces Jan to her own leisurely pace of sensual exploration as their attraction to each other grows over six magical days.

When Kati returns to New York, their relationship continues. But it’s not just an ocean that separates them. Kati’s corporate job with frequent travel is the antithesis of the slow-paced pleasures she enjoyed in her father’s favorite city, one of Europe’s crown jewels.

Which will Kati put first—her new career or her new love; a man who reminds her of the father she never fully understood? And is it the Hungarian pleasure-loving side of herself that she really needs to understand before she can offer her heart to the man who has awakened her to who she truly is?

Excerpt

How could she not notice being noticed? Floating in a thermal bath pool at a spa hotel in Budapest, Kati discreetly eyed the rugged blond man lounging in the next pool.

He had glanced in her direction several times over the past two days.

She was mourning the death of her father the month before, and was in no shape to be looking at the opposite sex. But the man’s shaggy, blond hair had caught her eye that first evening in the pools; it had wandered down over his shoulders and powerful chest as well. Béla Dunai would have forgiven her, she knew.

At that moment, the man lifted his head and looked directly at her. Immediately, she pretended to be studying the clock on the wall behind him. She hoped he was too far away to notice the blush that had sprung onto her face. She wanted to pass for a sophisticated European woman while in Hungary. But here she was, blushing like a schoolgirl at a strange man, having forgotten completely about her father’s passing for a brief moment.

The next evening at the baths, Kati made a point of keeping a cool expression on her face as she surveyed the room.

The blond man was there again. Careful not to glance in his direction, she obliquely noted he was near a group of men playing chess in the water. He sat at the side of the pool, idly swinging his legs while watching their game. Her eyes flicked over his legs; oak tree trunks came to mind.

Pretending not to have seen him, she stared dreamily in the other direction. Did she sense the blond man’s eyes upon her? Arching her neck, she jutted her chin out, hoping it made her look more like her favorite movie actress, Audrey Hepburn.

She wanted to know if he was watching her. Again pretending to look at the clock on the wall behind him, she arched her eyebrows as if realizing she had an important appointment. She didn’t.

The man looked directly at her.

Kati completely lost her nerve. Summoning the remains of her composure, she rose slowly from the pool and disappeared into the women’s locker room. How could she maintain a dignified mourning posture when she was being distracted by a blond bear of a man?

Upstairs in her room, she felt restless. Her body warmed by the thermal baths, she went out on her balcony where the cold night air pinched her. Something else did too. Her father’s spirit nudged her at the railing.

Who are you kidding, little daughter? You may be mourning my loss, but there’s someone with eyes on you now who wants to get to know you. Let him.

Dad, I’m here to wrap up your affairs. Not meet a man. It’s completely inappropriate.

Let life happen to you, Katika. Don’t run from it. Once, long ago, I couldn’t help noticing your mother. Thanks to her noticing me back, here you are.

Kati fled inside and got into bed. That night, she dreamt about a golden bear stalking her in the woods. She’d run away from the bear—slowly. Then, she let him catch her. Instead of eating her, he’d kissed her, thoroughly. It was a long dream. When she woke up the next morning, she felt refreshed, with a plan.

On the following evening, Kati eased herself into the middle of the three large pools in the bath hall and closed her eyes. Instantly, her dream of the night before returned. When she opened her eyes, she looked in the direction of the clock. Directly under it the blond stranger caught her gaze.

She gasped. Then she tossed back her hair.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he climbed out of the water and shook himself off like an enormous golden retriever. She turned her head away, unable to keep from smiling at the image.

Next thing she knew, he was at the side of the pool next to her. He crouched, resting muscular arms on well-formed, golden-haired knees.

About the Author

Rozsa Gaston writes playful books on serious matters. Women getting what they want out of life is one of them. She studied European intellectual history at Yale, and then received her master’s degree in international affairs from Columbia. In between, she worked as a singer/pianist all over the world. She lives in Bronxville, NY with her family.

Her books include Budapest Romance, The Ava Series: Paris Adieu, Part I and Black is Not a Color, Part II, Running from Love, Dog Sitters and Lyric. Her upcoming novel is Sense of Touch, a fictionalized story of Anne of Brittany and Queen of France.

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Synopsis

Who hasn’t suffered in the workplace with a strangle-worthy boss? With humor and charm, “Animal Cracker” offers up a bunch of smart women who plot to get the goods on their boss at Boston’s venerable Animal Protection Organization.

Animal Cracker’s a comedy and a mystery! Diane Salvi has found the job of her dreams in a pet rescue operation. Her gorgeous boss should be on her side, but instead obstructs her efforts to promote more animal adoptions. Is he merely annoying, or guilty of something much, much worse? Diane, her reporter roommate, and some savvy women in the office join forces to find out.

Readers rave! “Hilarious plot is cleverly crafted around believable characters… couldn’t put it down, found myself laughing out loud through the plot’s twists and turns, and would highly recommend this book to anyone who enjoys great dialogue and three dimensional characters.”

More from readers: “Worth missing a night’s sleep.” And “I laughed and cried, but mostly laughed.”

Animal Cracker is the perfect read for anyone seeking sharp writing, clever women, and a great page-turner. You don’t need to be an animal lover to love Animal Cracker, but if you are a champion of animal rights, you can’t miss this one.

Review

Hal is definitely a character you will hate. I suspected what was uncovered near the end (hate to write cryptic reviews but don’t want to spoil anything) and thought that Hal got what he deserved.

Diane is in a job she loves but just has to work for Hal, but at least she has a support network because no one else there likes Hal either.

The characters bring in a myriad of personalities and motivations to round out the story and make it interesting. I enjoyed the story although parts were not very realistic with what we see in today’s world….but this is fiction so the author can take some liberties IMHO!

There were a handful of F* bombs in the book, but thankfully not very many. I appreciate when the author is able to write a book and not use this word repeatedly.

We give this book 3 1/2 paws

About the Author

Andi Brown has enjoyed a successful career as a professional fundraiser for several nonprofit organizations.  She is proud of her track record in securing resources that have enabled worthy organizations to fulfill their missions.

Andi is a graduate of Colgate University, and has studied creative writing at the University of Iowa and Boston’s Grub Street. She enjoys few things more than speaking French, Italian, Spanish or Portuguese with the locals she meets during her travels.

Born in Providence, Rhode Island, Andi has two young adult children and lives in the Boston area. Her experiences as a lifelong “dog person” inspired her to write Animal Cracker. When not working or writing, she can usually be found, knitting needles in hand, eating chocolate.

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