Remy Halliburton has celebrated the holidays every year with her family at Christmas Hills Resort until her parents died in a plane crash with the owners. She hasn’t visited since the accident but finally takes a trip to the snowy Colorado mountain resort she once loved, hoping her boyfriend will chase her and pursue her over his job. She wants to fall in love with Christmas again, but is brokenhearted to find the resort is not only shut down, but completely devoid of snow. 

Seth Lockhart spent the last three years trying to keep the spirit of the resort alive after his parents’ tragic plane accident. This year, he plans to spend the holidays alone. But then Remy shows up on his doorstep, luggage packed and ready to celebrate. As they spend time together, their lifelong friendship grows into something stronger, and she has to face reality about her life back home. As the magic of Christmas surrounds Remy and Seth, every kiss of snow brings them closer to falling in love.

Preorder Order Link: http://www.amzn.com/B08NN8MJCY

You can read more about my first holiday romance With Every Kiss of Snow on my BOOK PAGE.

Please feel free to use any of these graphics to help me spread the word!

The post With Every Kiss of Snow a Holiday Romance appeared first on Angela Smith.

The ever-evolving world of publishing can sometimes seem like sailing on a glassy lake, all gentle waves and forward motion. At other times, it can seem like you’ve been hit by a rogue wave that knocks you off your feet. leaving you gasping for air. How can you regroup when a line you love, one you’ve given heart and soul to for years, not to mention all of your creativity, suddenly shuts their doors?

I was faced with this set of circumstances a couple years ago, and I have to admit, it knocked me flat. In some houses, the rights will automatically revert to the author when such an event occurs, but some will hold you to the terms of the original contract. They’ll continue to offer your books for sale until the terms are met but will not spend any of their marketing money to promote you. Such was my case. I didn’t want to spend any of my money promoting my books, since the terms of the contract stated the book needed to fall below a certain threshold of sales for a given period, so any sales I generated would prolong the amount of time the publisher could retain the rights. I was in a canoe without a paddle, so to speak.

I spoke to my fellow author friends, some of whom had been in similar circumstances, and they encouraged me not to do anything rash. Even though my mind was racing in all directions, I came to the conclusion they were right. Until the rational part of my mind caught up with the panicked part, I needed to find my inner calm.

Once I achieved some semblance of stability, I took stock of my career. Until I could regain the rights to my stories, I had some time away from the relentless media promotion and marketing wheel I’d been on for the past couple of years. It was time to consider my next moves. So far, I’d made somewhat of a name for myself as an author of historical romances, but I also dabbled in contemporary works, gave a passing nod to Regency romances and thought about cozy mysteries. I also dipped into the self-publishing world, since its praises were being touted on a regular basis. It was time to truly figure out what I was passionate about and pursue that goal. And for that, I needed help.

I hired an author coach who assessed my publishing history, studied my website along with my other social media content, and came up with a game plan. I revised my website, dropped the idea of writing Regencies, and devoted myself to what I loved the best. American history has never been taught correctly in school, in my opinion. Instead of memorizing dates, I have always been more interested in the ordinary people who lived through the times. I wanted to explore how a regular citizen handled being in the midst of the Revolutionary War, the Civil War, the suffragette movement, the westward expansion of America, and so on. I could memorize the dates and facts surrounding the sinking of the Titanic, but I never grasped the intensity of the moment until I met Jack and Rose, who were two ordinary passengers who put the event into perspective and brought it to life. That was what I wanted to do with all the facets of America’s rich history.

That was the dawn of my inspiration for my new series, called Revolutionary Women, being released by Prairie Rose Publications. The first book in the series, A British Heiress in America, releases June 25, 2020, with a second one releasing in November, and the final one in January, 2021.

I haven’t yet given up entirely on self-publishing, but right now I’d rather be writing than operating a business, which is what self-publishing is. I’d rather have someone else get my book ready for Amazon, create a cover, edit my work, and promote it, as long as I can have a say in the cover and release schedule. I also realize publishing houses don’t do a ton of promotion, regardless of how big or small they are, so most of it is still up to the author.

What I’ve realized from the past few years is having my publishing house close its doors has been a blessing in disguise. Now that all my rights have been returned and republished, it’s breathed new life into my body of work and is reaching a new audience. I’ve been afforded the time to figure out what I want to do and the direction in which I want to steer my career. I appreciate my friends who kept up the encouragement along the way. My abandoned Regency series provided me with two secondary characters whose story arcs I liked better than the Regency debs, and they are now the heroines in the first two books of my Revolutionary War series, so that whole experience was not a total failure. Something good can come out of something bad, after all. I appreciated my old publisher for giving me the opportunity to start my career. And now, I’m hoping my new Revolutionary Women series will continue my trajectory. I always enjoy hearing from my readers, so please reach out to me at any of the following social media sites:

Website: http://www.beckylowerauthor.com

Facebook: http://facebook.com/becky.lower

Twitter: http://twitter.com/BeckyLower1

Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/authorbeckyl/

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/becky-lower

Blog: http://beckylowerauthor.blogspot.com

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6159227.Becky_Lower

G+: https://plus.google.com/103332938863838564766

Amazon page: https://www.amazon.com/Becky-Lower/e/B008DTC15C/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1480527074&sr=1-2-ent

Buy Link for A British Heiress in America:

Here’s an excerpt from the book. I hope you enjoy:

Off the Coast of England, 1775

The minute the ship began to move out of the docks, Pippa’s courage faltered, as if it took a swan dive over the railing and began dog paddling toward the pilings. The shores of her home country faded in the distance, along with her ability to change her course. She desperately wanted a cheroot but couldn’t light up and give herself away even if she had one. Instead, she curled up between the water barrels and closed her eyes, hoping her stomach would settle if she didn’t witness the rocking of the ship. She let the up and down motion lull her into a stupor.

“Blimey! What ‘ave we here?” One of the crew of the Gladys Maria jostled a barrel away, exposing Pippa’s hiding place. She fell backward, hitting her head on the deck, the sun blinding her. She winced, at both the crack to her head, and at the harsh sunlight. One hand shielded her eyes, the other cradled the back of her head, leaving her body exposed.

A swift kick in Pippa’s ribs made her yelp in pain. She curled into a ball, but meaty hands grabbed at her and forced her to her feet. She doubled over and grabbed her midsection, retching.

“Well, iffen it ain’t a little stowaway.” The deckhand laughed as he grabbed the back of Pippa’s shirt and tugged her upright. “Cap’n will not be pleased to see the likes of you.”

Pippa swallowed her bile and struggled as the man grabbed her trousers as well as the nape of her shirt and half-carried her below deck. “I can walk by meself, guv’ner.” She intentionally lowered her voice, but still it sounded more like a socialite than a boy to her ears. Could she pull this off? Her limbs were shaking so badly she wasn’t at all certain she could walk by herself.

He dropped her to the floor once they got below deck but still kept a hand at the nape of her shirt, bunching the fabric in his large hand. “So, walk then, laddie.” He shoved her forward, and she stumbled, but kept her balance.

He’d called her a lad. She blew out a breath. At least one man bought her disguise.

“Where to?” As if she had a say in the matter.

He grabbed her arm and hurried their pace. “To the captain’s quarters. That’s where we take all the stowaways.”

She trembled but wrenched her arm away from his grasp. “How many of us are there?”

“Yer the first one I’ve come across this trip, but there’ve been others.” She glanced at the deckhand. His grizzly face was bearded, his sneer revealed a shiny gold tooth, and his matted hair fell to his shoulders. He made her insides quake. Definitely, he was the most fearful person she’d ever come into contact with. “’Tis a pity we’re so far out to sea already. We coulda just tossed you back into the harbor a couple hours ago.”

Pippa couldn’t stop the full body tremor that pulsed through her. She didn’t know how to swim. Young ladies of the Ton didn’t partake in such foolishness. She took a deep breath and faced forward. Not being able to swim was the least of her concerns right now. She had an appointment with the captain, and her fate awaited.

The gnarly deckhand stopped in front of a door and knocked once.

            “Enter.”

He opened the door and shoved Pippa inside before he followed.

“I was just about to crack open one of them water barrels when I found this mongrel, hiding in the middle.” He clutched her arm again.

As if she could have escaped this small room, with the deckhand standing in front of the door and the captain staring at her as if she were a bug he wished to squash. She held her breath.

“Nice work, Ben. Leave the boy here. I’ll decide what to do with him.” The captain rounded his desk and continued to stare at her. She stared back. English society had thus far limited her to dancing in ballrooms and charming various titled gentlemen, and she was ill-equipped to deal with the likes of the rugged-looking captain. His face was tanned, his body muscled, and altogether, he was the most handsome man she’d ever met. His jawline could slice paper, his blue eyes matched the sea.

Pippa expelled a breath, feeling the walls of the cabin close in. She’d never been alone in a room with a man before. Of course, her first experience would have to be with the most handsome man ever, and she in disguise as a boy. A disguise she needed to keep up for the duration of the voyage. In the ballroom, members of the Ton applauded her using her feminine wiles on a man, but in this case, those tools would not work. She couldn’t charm her way out of her situation.

The post My Winding Road in Publishing appeared first on Angela Smith.

By J. Arlene Culiner, and Being the Great Procrastinator

So here I am, a writer as well as being “The Great Procrastinator”. Before actually sitting down to work on a story or article, I’ll cook something, fool around, brush the dogs, wander here and there, think about tackling the heaps of papers everywhere. Eventually, I’ll force myself to get started, but writing this article for you, Angela, has meant weeks of procrastination. Why? Perhaps because the title is so daunting: Real Stories by Real People? How much easier it is to invent characters (even if they are often disguised self-portraits), and drum up plots. But write openly about myself? Sheesh… I had no idea it would be so difficult.

Perhaps because the title is so daunting: Real Stories by Real People? How much easier it is to invent characters (even if they are often disguised self-portraits), and drum up plots. But write openly about myself? Sheesh… I had no idea it would be so difficult.

Why? I suppose because it will sound like bragging, it will be tooting my own horn, and I’m not fond of doing that in public.

Well, here goes: I was one of those kids who ran away from home at seventeen. I craved a big life. I wanted city lights, country lanes, endless romance, and adventure. No ideas of a big comfy home and security could lure me. I wanted to see the inside of a coal mine, to walk (alone) across much of Europe on dirt lanes and paths, to sleep in fields, spend time in the Sahara desert, trudge through Ukrainian snowstorms, be a belly dancer in Turkey, an artist, a writer, a musician, an actress, a photographer, and, of course, be an international femme fatale.

So I did all of those things.

Okay, I’m not saying I’m brilliant at everything. I’m not. But I’ve done/am doing exactly what I set out to do. These days, I play oboe, English horn, flute, tuba, and baroque oboe in four different (amateur) orchestras, I am a contemporary social critical artist which has meant I have traveled all across Europe with my shows, I live in a mini-museum (http://www.jill-culiner.com) in a small French village. I very occasionally work as an actress (https://vimeo.com/188556966), I narrate audiobooks, and I’m a writer of romances, mysteries, and non-fiction (http://www.j-arleneculiner.com). I also tell stories on Sound Cloud ( https://soundcloud.com/j-arlene-culiner). My photography exhibition about the vanished Jewish community, La Mémoire Oubliée, traveled through Europe and went to Canada under the auspices of UNESCO and the French Ministry for Foreign Affairs, and these days, I often go do research in very strange, forgotten places where I can’t speak a word of the language.

I’ve lived on the English moors, in a Bavarian castle, in an adobe house in Hungary, in a Turkish cave, on a Greek island, in London, Paris, New York, Toronto, San Francisco, Amsterdam, and in many small villages all over the place. Yes, I’ve taken silly risks, I’ve been in grave danger far too often, I’ve been a complete failure at many things, I’ve never had enough money to do anything the easy way, or to stay in flashy places, or to own a car that is worth more than five hundred dollars, but I sure do have fun. And, by the way, I’ve never owned a television: why would I want to sit passively in front of one? 

Like Agnieszka Szumska, another one of your guests, I’m a vegetarian because the idea of being responsible for animal suffering is terrible. I also eat organic food, and I love and rescue dogs and cats. I protect as many animal, plant, insect, and reptile species as I can, and live very simply. I make my own bread, sauerkraut, pickles, and fruit juices; I bottle food for the winter; and I avoid air travel and use public transportation. For us, going on a holiday means walking out of the house and taking an ancient pathway to another village — something that is possible all over Europe. I try to be nice to everyone, and I smile at the people I pass on the street. If anyone wants to chat, I’ll lend an ear.

            I suppose it will be no surprise that, although I also write romance books (it’s a rather conventional branch), I do create unconventional heroines. Yes, they are real people, but they are always older — in their 40s, 50s, and 60s — and they take chances, dare to follow dreams. Of course, my heroes aren’t slouches either. I also try to make my romance books as rich as possible, in vocabulary, plot, information, and with sentences that flow and are beautiful.

            You, Angela, say you write romance in order to solve love’s mystery. What a lovely goal. I write romance simply because falling in love (despite its complications) is truly delightful.

I suppose I’ve said it all.

Thanks, for letting me visit.

Author Website http://www.j-arleneculiner.com 

Blog: http://j-arleneculiner.over-blog.com

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1728686415/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/JArleneCuliner/

The post So Here I Am, with Jarlene Culiner appeared first on Angela Smith.