3*, blog tours, book review, giveaway, non-fiction

#BlogTour #BookReview A Pawlife Guide Dog Care At Home by Gina Harding. @rararesources @pawlifeau #dog #giveaway

PawLife Guide Dog Care at Home Full Tour Banner

As a confirmed dog lover I was keen to read Dog Care At Home by Gina Harding and be part of the blog tour.

My Review:

I was keen to read The PawLife Guide: Dog Care at Home by Gina Harding. It’s a short guide to all things dog written by an Australian dog blogger who has now decided to put her tips into a book.

The book covers everything from choosing a puppy through to saying goodbye to your older pet, first aid to feeding and training to toileting.

Overall I thought that it is a decent guide for a new dog owner. I’ve had dogs for most of my adult life so the book is clearly not aimed at me, but the book is quite simplistic and has some rather huge omissions.

I was surprised that there was no mention of puppy farms when talking about getting a puppy, no advice about how to avoid them and also nothing about making sure that the parents had been health tested for whatever is applicable for that breed. I would say that including that is very important. I found it interesting too that there was no mention of crate training your puppy, given that crate training is very popular around the world I was surprised that it wasn’t discussed. But I suspect that it wasn’t included because Gina herself hadn’t used one with her dog, the book did seem to be a guide to what Gina does with little discussion about other options which was a shame.

But I still think that this is a great book for a new dog owner, or perhaps for someone considering getting a dog. It is easy to read and will give lots of things to think about, getting a dog is a huge commitment and is not something to be taken on lightly and it is a good thing to do as much research as you can before. Although set in Australia there aren’t that many Australia only references which is good. Gina clearly has a lot of knowledge when it comes to dogs and she’s written a great guide that I’m sure all of us will learn something from, I learnt more about dog CPR than I knew before which is great!

Thank you to Gina Harding for a copy of The PawLife Guide: Dog Care at Home, I was under no obligation to review the book and all thoughts are my own.

Blurb:

Pawlife - gharding-pawlife-guide-cover-d1The PawLife Guide: Dog Care at Home

DOG CARE AT HOME gives you the information you need to have a happy and healthy dog no matter what your dog’s current stage in life, in just 10 minutes a day. Over 200 hours of research including interviews with veterinarians and fellow dog owners around the world,

Dog Care at Home is the all-in-one book to have at home, with six veterinarians that have contributed to this ultimate guide, rest assured you are in reliable hands.

Inside you will discover:

– Choosing the right breed
– The basic steps of raising a puppy
– What vaccinations are for and why your dog needs them
– Travelling with your dog
– How to perform CPR on your dog
– Health and hygiene including dental care
– Choosing the right veterinarian
– When it’s time to say goodbye
– And much more!

PawLife’s Dog Care at Home is the answer for all your dog parenting needs in one comprehensive guide that ensures your dog lives a long, healthy and happy life.

Purchase from Amazon UKhttps://www.amazon.co.uk/Dog-Care-Home-Ultimate-Healthy-ebook/dp/B07HGR9ZNF

Author Bio

pawlife-gina-harley-author-photoGina is an enthusiastic dog lover, so much so that she founded her own dog blog business called PawLife, which has been awarded top 10 Australian Dog Blog. This wouldn’t be possible without her best friend Harley, who is a toy poodle mix. They are continually going on new adventures, testing out new squeaky toys.

Gina recently discovered her writing passion and wanted to create the ultimate guidebook that would support, educate and inspire pet parents and yet to be pet parents around the world. Gina and Harley are originally from Australia, where the weather is always beautiful. This is Gina’s first book and looks forward to writing many more to help fellow pet-parents; with her fur-baby Harley by her side.

Social Media Links – 

Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/pawlifeau/

Pinterest – https://www.pinterest.com.au/PawLifeAU/

Instagram- https://www.instagram.com/pawlifeau/

Website- http://pawlife.com.au/

Giveaway – Win a 12 Piece Dog Toy Starter Box from Zenify (Open Internationally)

pawlife-giveaway-V1

If you want to be in with a chance of winning this brilliant prize then click here to enter. Good luck!!!

*Terms and Conditions –Worldwide entries welcome.  Please enter using the Rafflecopter box below.  The winner will be selected at random via Rafflecopter from all valid entries and will be notified by Twitter and/or email. If no response is received within 7 days then I reserve the right to select an alternative winner. Open to all entrants aged 18 or over.  Any personal data given as part of the competition entry is used for this purpose only and will not be shared with third parties, with the exception of the winners’ information. This will passed to the giveaway organiser and used only for fulfilment of the prize, after which time I will delete the data.  I am not responsible for despatch or delivery of the prize.

blog tours, giveaway

#BlogTour #giveaway The Tall Man by Phoebe Lock. #TheTallMan @wildfirebks #competition

The Tall Man Blog Tour Poster

Today it’s my stop on the blog tour for The Tall Man by Phoebe Locke. This book is getting a lot of good reviews so I’m delighted to offer a copy of the book to giveaway, details of how to enter are below. First here’s a bit about the book.

Blurb:

The Tall Man CoverYOU DON’T FIND HIM… HE FINDS YOU.

‘THE MUST-READ SUMMER CHILLER’ – Daily Express

‘IF YOU READ JUST ONE PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER THIS YEAR – MAKE IT THE TALL MAN’ – CultureFly

The Tall Man is an ADDICTIVE and UNFORGETTABLE blend of psychological suspense and spine-tingling chills that will be perfect for fans of Stephen King, Ruth Ware, Sarah Pinborough’s BEHIND HER EYES. If you love STRANGER THINGS, prepare to be haunted by THE TALL MAN.

A SENSELESS MURDER. A TERRIFYING LEGEND. A FAMILY HAUNTED.

1990: In the darkest woods, three girls devote themselves to a sinister figure.

2000: A young mother disappears, leaving behind her husband and baby daughter.

2018: A teenage girl is charged with murder, and her trial will shock the world.

Three chilling events, connected by the shadow he casts.

He is the Tall Man. He can make you special…

Giveaway:

So if that whet your appetite for the book then you can enter to win a copy. Open to those with a UK postal address only.

For your chance to win click here to enter. Good luck!

About The Author:

Phoebe LockePHOEBE LOCKE is the pseudonym of full-time writer Nicci Cloke. She previously
worked at the Faber Academy, and hosted London literary salon Speakeasy.
Nicci has had two literary novels published by Fourth Estate and Cape, and
also writes YA for Hot Key Books. She lives and writes in London. THE TALL MAN
is Phoebe Locke’s debut thriller.

The Tall Man by Phoebe Locke is out now and available from Amazon UK and Amazon US.

blog tours, extract, giveaway

#BlogTour #Extract #Giveaway The Zero and the One by Ryan Ruby. @legend_press #win #book #competition

zeroandtheone

I’ve got an extract of The Zero and the One by Ryan Ruby and published by Legend Press today and a giveaway of the book too! How very exciting.

Extract:

REPETITION.—

If something happens once, it may as well have never happened at all. Unfortunately,
nothing ever happens only once. Everything is repeated, even nothing.
A British Airways jet, high above the coast of New England. The captain has turned off the fasten seatbelt sign, but mine remains strapped tightly across my waist. My fingers clutch the armrests, knuckles white. The air hostess evens her trolley with our row and bestows a sympathetic elevation of her eyebrows on me as she clears minibottles, plastic cups, crumpled napkins off my tray table. The other passengers regard me with caution. When I stumbled back from the toilet, I found that the young mother in my row had exchanged places with her tow-headed, round-faced toddler, who now stares obliviously at the white fields outside the window, in order to provide him with a buffer zone in case I were to do something erratic. Perhaps I’d been mumbling to myself again: a dangerous perhaps.

I tried to apologise to her, to explain that I rarely drink so much, it’s only on planes that… but no luck. She doesn’t speak English.

It’s true, flying terrifies me. I can count the number of times I’ve done it on one hand. Twice with my parents. Once with school. Most recently, to Berlin with Zach during the
Easter holiday. None of which has remotely prepared me to endure this seven-hour trans-Atlantic torture. Nothing —not a book or an inflight movie or even three minibottles of whisky — helps me to relax. The least bit of turbulence,
every unexpected dip in altitude, signals The Beginning of a Crash.

On the flight to Berlin, Zach noticed my anxiety and argued that this was precisely what was so interesting about air travel. It was to be regarded, he said, as an exercise in amor fati. As soon as you stepped through the doors, you were forced to resign yourself to the possibility that your conveyance will turn into your coffin. Your fate was no longer in your hands, no longer under your control. In fact life was always like this, but only in special circumstances were we made aware of it. If to philosophize was to prepare for death he could think of no better place to practice philosophy than on an airplane.

His words were no comfort to me then. They’re even less of one now. The last thing I want to think about are preparations for death. And coffins. How does one transport
a body across the ocean? On a ship? Down in the hold with the rest of the luggage? Maybe on every flight there’s a coffin going somewhere. At this very moment my t shirts and toiletries could be nestling up with the dead.

When it is time, the air hostess helps me firmly lock my tray table and return my seat to its upright position. We’re beginning our final descent into New York, she explains.
No Miss, I am tempted to reply. Not our final descent.

The customs officer is a candle stub of a man with a damp, fleshy face that seems to have melted from the dark hairline of his crew cut into the wide, unbuttoned collar of his uniform. He flips through every page of my mostly blank passport, looks from me to my photo and back again. The photo, I remember, was taken at a booth in the Galleries, three or four years ago, in the thick of my rather dubious battle with puberty, right after one of those visits to the hairdresser, which, because I no longer live with my parents, I am no  longer obliged to make. I neutralise my expression and remove my glasses, as I had been instructed to do then, but it is only when my left eye, which has astigmatism, wanders toward my nose that the resemblance finally becomes clear to him. He asks me to confirm the information I had written on my declaration form.
Student. One week. 232 West 113th Street.
Business or pleasure?
Funeral.
The stamp falls with a dull, bureaucratic thump: Welcome to the United States.

I know what New York looks like from the establishing shots of countless films and television shows. But there the city is only as large as the screen you watch it on. A safe size. Contained. Manageable. Odourless. Two-dimensional. With clearly marked exit signs, if you’re watching at the cinema. With a volume dial and an off button, if you’re watching from the comfort of your living room.

These taxi windows offer no such protection. On the motorway, my driver slices through traffic, steering with one hand on the indicator and the other on the horn. When a removal van tries to pass us, he closes the distance at the last moment. The driver leans out the window of the van, his face
red, spit flying from his mouth as he tries to shout over the siren of the ambulance behind us. Not one to allow an insult to go unanswered, my driver rolls down the passenger-side window, letting in the foul breath of late afternoon. I probably
shouldn’t have pushed my luck by getting off the plane.

Can you believe this shit! he bellows a few minutes later. He’s been trying to engage me in conversation since he first pulled me from the middle of the taxi queue at the airport, not sensing from my mumbled one-word answers that I’d prefer to be left alone. Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror, which is wrapped in the black beads of a rosary; the silver crucifix dangling from the end bobs and sways as he speeds round a double-parked car. Can I believe what, then?

What this world is coming to! It’s been all over the radio this week. This brawd in Texas drowned her five kids in the tub.

I sigh with resignation and ask why a person would do such a thing.

Because she’s crazy, that’s why! Post-pardon depression or some shit. Said God told her to do it. God of all people! Now you tell me, boss — would God ever tell somebody to kill their own child?

If I’m not mistaken, I say, clearing my throat, God ordered Abraham to sacrifice Isaac. And the Father himself offered up his only begotten son to —

What? What was that you said? he yells, although he’s heard me perfectly well. The taxi screeches to a halt. This is your stop, buddy.

At the airport, I changed all the money I’ll have to live on for the week. It was the first time I’d ever held dollars in my hand. Green-and-black pieces of paper, no nonsense
notes, dour expressions on the portraits of men called Grant, Jackson, Hamilton — presidents presumably. I take a Grant and a Hamilton from my wallet and press them through the square opening in the plastic screen that separates me from
the driver. Plus tip, buddy, he says. I hand him another ten dollars.

He remains seated as I take my luggage out of the boot. As soon as he hears the door shut, he speeds off again, leaving me, I soon realise, far from the address I’d given him. Not an hour in New York and already I’ve been ripped off.

My hostel is located opposite a primary school in the middle of a short, derelict street in Harlem. I’d spent most of my savings on the flight and this one was the cheapest I could find at short notice. On my walk here, three different beggars asked for money in tones ranging from supplicant to menacing. I dropped the two quid I happened to have in my pocket,  shrapnel from the carton of cigarettes I bought at the dutyfree shop, into the outstretched cup of the one I passed as I turned onto 113th Street. I moved on, head down, hoping he wouldn’t notice until I was well out of shouting range.

I ring the doorbell. Open the door. Approach the large desk in the lobby and say, My name is Owen Whiting, I have a reservation. At the other end of the room, an elderly couple is sitting on an exhausted brown couch, watching a game show on the telly. Another guest is typing an email at the ancient computer in the corner. Next to him, there is a plastic display for tourist brochures and pamphlets and a table whose dusty surface supports a metallic coffee dispenser, a stack of paper cups, and a basket filled with pink sachets of sugar, plastic stirrers, and jigger pots of milk and cream. Framed photographs of the Manhattan skyline have been hung unevenly and seemingly at random on the beige walls.

My room, up three flights of stairs, proves to be equally spartan. A pair of bunk beds. A bank of lockers for valuables. A grated window that looks out onto a fire escape and down into a dark alley, which is separated from the road by a barbed wire fence. The ceiling fan spins slowly, straining to circulate a dainty handkerchief of tepid air on the slab of dusk that has also taken up residence here.

My bed must be the one on the top left — at least that’s the only one that’s been made. I strip down to my underwear, stuff my clothes into my rucksack, and place it into the locker with the key still in the hole. Book in hand, I climb up to my berth and lie down on the thin pillow and starchy sheets. The reading lamp clipped to the metal bedpost splutters a few flashes of yellow light before it shines a paltry neon cone on the cover of Zach’s copy of The Zero and the One.

On the black background, the white circle of the titular Zero intersects the white circle of the titular One, forming an eye-shaped zone the jacket designer coloured red. Beneath the title, also in red, the name of the author: Hans Abendroth.

From the earliest days of our friendship, Zach and I sought out philosophers whose names would never have appeared on the reading lists we received before the beginning of each term. To our tutors, such thinkers did not merit serious consideration. Our tutors were training us to weigh evidence, parse logic, and refute counter-examples; they encouraged us to put more stock in the rule than the exception and to put our trust in modest truths that could be easily verified and plainly expressed. Whereas the philosophers who interested us were the ones who would step right to the edge of the abyss — and jump to conclusions; the ones who wagered their sanity when they spun the wheel of thought; the ones, in short, who wrote in blood. In counter-intuitiveness we saw profundity and in obfuscation, poetry. With wide eyes, we plucked paperback after paperback from the shelves at Reservoir, the used bookshop opposite the entrance to Christ Church Meadow, our own personal Nag Hammadi, hunting for insights into the
hermetic nature of the universe and ourselves.

Zach had seen an aphorism from The Zero and the One cited in Lacan’s seminar on Poe, a reappraisal of which had appeared in Theory, a London-based journal of continental philosophy whose back issues Reservoir kept in stock. Subtitled “an essay in speculative arithmetic,” The Zero and the One (Null und Eins in the original German) is Abendroth’s only book to have been translated into English. For a whole month we searched every bookshop we passed and came up empty-handed — not a negligible failure in a city that must be one of the world’s largest markets for used and rare books. Even Dr. Inwit had never heard of Abendroth. The Bodleian had two copies, naturally, but the one that was permitted to circulate was on loan that term. Zach placed a hold on it, only to be told, when he returned to the Philosophy and Theology Faculty to collect it, that it had been reported missing. Despite his insistent pleading, the librarian, citing a recent act of Parliament, refused to divulge the identity of the borrower. When he finally found it, on Niall Graves’ shelves at the Theory launch party, he yelped, alarming some of the other partygoers, who must have thought he had just done himself some serious injury.

Though he was quite generous with his money — he picked up the tab wherever we went and never once turned a beggar away — Zach wouldn’t let me borrow the book. It was, you might say, his prized possession. He quoted from it often and sometimes read whole passages aloud when he wanted to prove some point. The first time I held it in my hands was four days ago, when his father and I were cleaning out his rooms. Save for the travel guide I bought at Blackwell’s, it is the only reading I’ve brought with me to New York.

I flip through the collection of aphorisms, looking for one in particular. The book shows all the signs of intense study: broken spine, wrinkled edges, dog-eared pages, creased jacket. Inside, the margins are heavily annotated in black pen. The underlining consists of lines so perfectly straight they must have been traced there with a ruler or with the edge of a bookmark.

On my first search, skimming all the dog-eared pages, I fail to find the passage I’m looking for. It was something about The Possessed he read to me that night. Something about Kirillov. Kirillov’s suicide. The aphorisms all have titles, but there’s no table of contents; nor is there an index of names in the back. I’ll have to be more meticulous, examine every sentence Zach found worthy of comment. I turn back to the beginning, but I’m only able to read a few pages before the light bulb splutters again, this time fatally, and the room goes dark. I flick the switch once, twice: the light isn’t coming back. I take off my glasses and slip the book under my pillow, giving what remains of my waking attention to the vague, slow circles of the fan and the dim lattice of orange and black the streetlamp has cast on the ceiling.

I’ve just begun to fall asleep, for the first time in a week, when I hear someone, one of the other guests, struggling with the door lock. Two shadows, one male and one female,
stumble into the dark room. From how loudly they whisper to each other not to make any noise, it’s clear they’re both totally pissed. They fall into the bunk beneath mine; the
bedsprings shriek under their combined weight. I cough into my fist, to let them know someone else is in the room, but they remain oblivious or indifferent to my presence. Rather than embarrassed silence, the rustle of fabric. Lips on bare skin. A moan — hers — escapes the fingers of a muffling hand as the bedframe begins to sway. Beneath the small of my back, my mattress elevates slightly. The palms of her hands or the balls of her feet, I wonder.

Outside the window, there is a dull pop. Then another three, in rapid succession. The bedsprings stop contracting abruptly beneath me.

What was that? the woman whispers, petrified.

What was what? Her lover sounds deflated. He knows exactly what she’s referring to, and can already tell that he’s lost her attention.
That sound.

Nothing, baby, he says. It was nothing. Just a car backfiring.

I never learnt where Zach found those pistols. Where does one buy a handgun anyway? Estate sale? Antique shop? The black market? I hadn’t asked, and if I hadn’t asked it is because I’d rather not know. When Bernard told me that the Inspector from the Thames Valley Police had managed to trace the pistol (he said pistol, singular, and I certainly wasn’t about to correct him), I let it be understood with a wave of my hand that I preferred to be kept in the dark about certain aspects of the case. Still, this hasn’t prevented me from speculating. Whoever sold the firearms to Zach would surely have told the Inspector about the second pistol. Unless he bought them from two different people. Unless: he stole them. It wouldn’t have been the first time, after all.

The pistols were small and old. Their black barrels were no longer than my outstretched index finger, the sort of weapon my grandfather might have stripped off the corpse of some Nazi officer during the war. They looked ridiculous to me, but Zach was quite serious about them, as he was about any technology the rest of us considered antiquated. When I asked him if they even worked, his expression soured. Of course they do! He’d tested them to make sure. Yanks and their bloody guns. Whatever else they may feel about them, they’re all obsessed by them. Even Zach, the latchkey kid born and bred in downtown Manhattan. When he collected me from Prelims, one pistol weighing down each pocket of his dinner jacket, he must have been the most heavily armed person in all of Oxfordshire.

Giveaway:

Click here to enter to win a paperback copy of The Zero and the One by Ryan Ruby thanks to Legend Press. UK addresses only.

Blurb:

zero_one_high resA bookish scholarship student, Owen Whiting has high hopes of Oxford, only to find himself immediately out of place. Then he meets Zachary Foedern from New York. Rich and charismatic, Zach takes Owen under his wing, introducing him to a world Owen has only ever read about.
From Oxford to the seedy underbelly of Berlin, they dare each other to transgress the boundaries of convention and morality, until Zach proposes the greatest transgression of all: a suicide pact. But when Zach’s plans go horribly awry, Owen is left to pick up the pieces and navigate the boundaries between illusion and reality to preserve a hold on his once bright future.

About the Author:

Ryan RubyRyan Ruby was born in Los Angeles in 1983. He has written for The BafflerConjunctionsLapham’s Quarterlyn+1, and the Paris Review Daily among other publications, and has translated two novellas from the French for Readux Books. He lives in Berlin.

 

The Zero and the One by Ryan Ruby is out now and available from Amazon UK and Amazon US.

cover reveal, giveaway

#coverreaveal #giveaway Don’t Close Your Eyes by @hollyseddon @ifonlyread #hookedbyHolly

I’m excited to be part of the cover reveal for the paperback release of Don’t Close Your Eyes by Author Seddon. I reviewed Don’t close your eyes back in August and I really enjoyed it. I’ll post the review here so that you can easily read it. But even more exciting is that I have a competition to win a signed copy of Don’t Close Your Eyes!!

So, without further ado here is the fabulous cover for the paperback of Don’t Close Your Eyes by Holly Seddon.

DCYE PB cover high res

My Review:

I was attracted to Don’t Close Your Eyes because it features twins, and as a twin mum I do like reading books with twins in. But this book is a lot more than just a book about twins. It’s a twisty psychological thriller that has the reader questioning everything that they think is happening.

Robin used to be in a band, travelling the world, but now she spends her days locked in her home, scared to open the door and obsessed with the lives of the residents of the block of flats that she overlooks. She speaks to no one yet is convinced that someone is trying to get her. She thinks that she is doing ok, but it is clear that she isn’t, especially when she starts getting over involved in the lives of one family living behind her.

Her twin sister is Sarah, we know that they haven’t been in contact for years and we know that Sarah is doing no better than Robin. Kicked out of her home and desperate to see her little girl she doesn’t know where to turn for help, and without knowing that her twin needs Sarah as much as she needs her twin, Sarah tracks Robin down.

I really wasn’t sure where the story was going to take me, I really felt for Robin and how lonely she was, she had totally isolated herself and makes it very difficult to get herself out of it. What’s going on with Sarah is a bit more complicated and it wasn’t what I was expecting!

Despite the years of no contact Robin and Sarah still have a special bond which comes from being a twin, and together they are able to confront their fears and face the reality of their lives.

It’s hard to write this and not give spoilers, but I enjoyed Don’t Close Your Eyes, despite the majority of it being set inside one house it kept me reading and wanting to know more and see what would happen, it really is a tense and uncomfortable read at times.

Blurb:

Robin and Sarah weren’t the closest of twins. They weren’t even that similar. But they loved each other dearly. Until, in the cruellest of domestic twists, they were taken from one another.

Now, in her early 30s, Robin lives alone. Agoraphobic and suffering from panic attacks, she spends her days pacing the rooms of her house. The rest of the time she watches – watches the street, the houses, the neighbours. Until one day, she sees something she shouldn’t…

And Sarah? Sarah got what she wanted – the good-looking man, the beautiful baby, the perfect home. But she’s just been accused of the most terrible thing of all. She can’t be around her new family until she has come to terms with something that happened a long time ago. And to do that, she needs to track down her twin sister.

But Sarah isn’t the only person looking for Robin. As their paths intersect, something dangerous is set in motion, leading Robin and Sarah to fight for much more than their relationship…

Giveaway:

So hopefully you have now decided that you must read Don’t Close Your Eyes so how exciting that you could have a lovely signed copy for your bookshelf? Enter here to win. Good luck!

About The Author:

hollyseddon

Holly Seddon is a full time writer, living slap bang in the middle of Amsterdam with her husband James and a house full of children and pets.

Holly has written for newspapers, websites and magazines since her early 20s after growing up in the English countryside, obsessed with music and books.

Her first novel, TRY NOT TO BREATHE, was published worldwide in 2016 and became a bestseller in several countries. DON’T CLOSE YOUR EYES is her second novel.

Don’t Close Your Eyes is out now and available from Amazon UK and Amazon US.

giveaway

#giveaway Dark Chapter by Winnie M Li @winniemli @ifonlyread

 

 

9781785079047
Dark Chapter by Winnie M Li

 

I’m delighted to have a giveaway for Dark Chapter by Winnie M Li and published by Legend Press. Although not an easy subject matter Dark Chapter has many positive reviews and is clearly being enjoyed by many. If you are based in the UK then you can enter to win here.

Blurb:

Vivian is a cosmopolitan Taiwanese-American tourist who often escapes her busy life in London through adventure and travel. Johnny is a 15-year-old Irish teenager, living a neglected life on the margins of society.

On a bright spring afternoon in West Belfast, their paths collide during a horrifying act of violence.

In the aftermath, each is forced to confront the chain of events that led to the attack.

Inspired by true events, this is a story of the dark chapters and chance encounters that can irrevocably determine the shape of our lives.

About the Author:

IMG_9684 HR

Winnie M. Li is a writer, producer, and activist.  And frequent backpacker who has somehow managed to spend the past 15 years, engaged in film and literature in various parts of the world.

Taiwanese-American and raised in New Jersey, Winnie studied Folklore and Mythology at Harvard, specializing in Celtic Languages and Literature.  In 2000, she was selected as a George Mitchell Scholar and earned her MA in Anglo-Irish Literature at the National University of Ireland, Cork.

While in Cork, Winnie began volunteering for the Cork International Film Festival.  Shortly afterwards, she moved to London to work for Ugly Duckling Films / Left Turn Films, a small independent film production company.  Eventually as Head of Development there, Winnie was involved in producing six award-winning feature films and two shorts, one of which was Oscar-nominated® and the other Oscar-shortlisted®.  In addition to overseeing script development at Ugly Duckling Films, Winnie concentrated heavily on the marketing, financing, and distribution of their projects.

In 2010, Winnie began working with the Doha Film Institute (DFI) in Qatar, where she served as Programme Manager for the 2nd and 3rd editions of the annual Doha Tribeca Film Festival.  As Film Series Producer for the DFI, she founded the Institute’s year-round screening series, bringing 150+ screenings of arthouse and foreign films to a city accustomed to mainstream Hollywood movies.

In 2013, Winnie returned to the tourism and travel sector, working as a short-term Project Consultant for Temasek Holdings in Singapore.  There she spearheaded the creative development of a future nature-themed tourist attraction, consolidating research within the attractions industry, eco-tourism, and wildlife conservation to develop new narratives for reaching the public.

In her spare time, she lectures on film studies and film production, and has spoken at Harvard University, Trinity College Dublin, the University of Aberdeen, the London School of Economics, and Northwestern University in Qatar.  A former writer for the Let’s Go travel guide books, Winnie has traveled extensively on five continents.  Her other published writing ranges from literary non-fiction to newspaper op-eds to academic essays.  She is based in London and wrote her debut novel, Dark Chapter, while in the Creative & Life Writing MA Programme at Goldsmiths, University of London.

As of Autumn 2015, Winnie is a PhD researcher in the Department of Media and Communications at the London School of Economics.  She is researching the impact of social media on the public discourse about rape and sexual assault, on an Economic and Social Research Council grant.

She can be reached on Twitter @winniemli

Dark Chapter is out now and available from Amazon UK and Amazon US

blog tours, giveaway

#blogtour #Q&A #giveaway The Winter’s Child by Cassandra Parkin. @cassandrajaneu @Legend_Press

winters child Blog Tour Banner jpeg.jpg

Blurb:

thewinterschild

Five years ago, Susannah Harper’s son Joel went missing without a trace. Bereft of her son and then of her husband, Susannah tries to accept that she may never know for certain what has happened to her lost loved ones. But then, on the last night of Hull Fair, a fortune-teller makes an eerie prediction—on Christmas Eve, Joel will finally come back to her. As her carefully-constructed life begins to unravel, Susannah is drawn into a world of psychics and charlatans, half-truths and hauntings, friendships and betrayals, forcing her to confront the buried truths of her family’s past where nothing and no one are quite as they seem.

I’m delighted that Cassandra Parkin has stopped by If only I could read faster to answer some questions about herself and her writing, and of course her new book, The Winter’s Child. I don’t know about you but some of Cassandra’s answers gave me a good chuckle! And I’m going to be searching bookshops for a copy of her secret book!

(I apologise for the dodgy formatting of the Q&A, WordPress appears to have gremlins at work today)

Q&A:

Giveaway:

This is one of those books that I want to read based on the cover alone! But add the blurb to that and I know that I need to read it. And that’s before you take into account the amazing reviews that I’ve been seeing. If you’re the same then you are in luck as I have a giveaway for The Winter’s Child by Cassandra Parkin! You can enter using the link below but please be aware that it is UK postage only. 

To enter please click here.

Or, if Rafflecopter is playing up as it so often does then click here http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/6404b2ab4/?

About the Author:

Cassandra Parkin grew up in Hull, and now lives in East Yorkshire. Her short story collection, New World Fairy Tales (Salt Publishing, 2011) won the Scott Prize for
Short Stories. Cassandra’s writing has been published in numerous magazines and
anthologies.
Follow Cassandra on Twitter
The Winter’s Child is out now and available from Amazon UK and Amazon US
blog tours, giveaway

Giveaway: Wolves In The Dark by Gunnar Staalesen @OrendaBooks #booktour

wolves blog tour poster

I am very excited to be on the blog tour for Wolves In The Dark by Gunnar Staalesen and translated by Don Bartlett on behalf of Orenda Books. Staalesen’s Varg Veum series has been going for almost forty years and this is the 21st book in the series about the private detective. Pretty amazing to keep a series going for so long and for it to still remain hugely popular and award winning.

Don’t be put off by this being such a long series and thinking that you need to start right at the beginning, these books can all be read as a standalone, although chances are that when you’ve read one Varg Veum book you will want to read more.

So, I have something very exciting, for those of you that have read Staalesen’s books before, and for those who have not yet had that pleasure. I am giving away not one, but three books in the series!! You will win We Shall Inherit the Wind, Roses Never Die which recently won the Petrona Award, and the new Varg Veum book, Wolves in the Dark.

How amazing is that?!! Now, of course, you can’t get something this good for nothing, but all we are asking is for a few clicks of your mouse to be entered. Click herehttps://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js“> to enter to win this great prize!

 

 

About We Shall Inherit the Wind:

1998. Varg Veum sits by the hospital bedside of his long-term girlfriend Karin, whose life-threatening injuries provide a deeply painful reminder of the mistakes he™s made. Investigating the seemingly innocent disappearance of a wind-farm inspector, Varg Veum is thrust into one of the most challenging cases of his career, riddled with conflicts, environmental terrorism, religious fanaticism, unsolved mysteries and dubious business ethics. Then, in one of the most heart-stopping scenes in crime fiction, the first body appears

A chilling, timeless story of love, revenge and desire, We Shall Inherit the Wind deftly weaves contemporary issues with a stunning plot that will leave you gripped to the final page. This is Staalesen at his most thrilling, thought-provoking best.

About Where Roses Never Die:

September 1977. Mette Misvær, a three-year-old girl, disappears without trace from the sandpit outside her home. Her tiny, close middle-class community in the tranquil suburb of Nordas is devastated, but their enquiries and the police produce nothing. Curtains twitch, suspicions are raised, but Mette is never found. Almost 25 years later, as the expiration date for the statute of limitations draws near, Mette’s mother approaches PI Varg Veum, in a last, desperate attempt to find out what happened to her daughter. As Veum starts to dig, he uncovers an intricate web of secrets, lies and shocking events that have been methodically concealed. When another brutal incident takes place, a pattern begins to emerge. Chilling, shocking and full of extraordinary twists and turns, Where Roses Never Die reaffirms Gunnar Staalesen as one of the world’s foremost crime thriller writers.

Wolves in the Dark:

Reeling from the death of his great love, Karin, Varg Veum’s life has descended into a self-destructive spiral of alcohol, lust, grief and blackouts. When traces of child pornography are found on his computer, he’s accused of being part of a paedophile ring and thrown into a prison cell. There, he struggles to sift through his past to work out who is responsible for planting the material . . . and who is seeking the ultimate revenge. When a chance to escape presents itself, Varg finds himself on the run in his hometown of Bergen. With the clock ticking and the police on his tail, Varg takes on his hardest—and most personal—case yet. Chilling, shocking and exceptionally gripping, Wolves in the Dark reaffirms Gunnar Staalesen as one of the world’s foremost thriller writers.

You can find the Varg Veum books on author, Gunnar Staalesen’s Amazon UK page.