Giveaway and Author Interview: Hush Little Baby by Deborah Piccurelli

Welcome to Writing for Christ Deborah Piccurelli, it is great to have you here!

It’s a pleasure and honor to be here!  

Do you have an interesting fact about yourself the average reader probably doesn’t know?

Maybe it shows from what I write, or in my website, but I am an advocate for sanctity of life issues.

Do you have a favorite genre to read/write?

I like to read all genres, but my favorite is romantic suspense, which is why I write it.

Do you have a nugget of writing advice that has completely changed how you view writing?

It’s the marketing thing. Be prepared and have a plan. It’s not as easy as I thought.

5 things you love?

Can some be people? First, of course, I love the Lord, and His Word. I love my family (husband, sons, puppy), I love writing (naturally), and reading (naturally, again).

What do you enjoy most about being a published author?

I am touched whenever I receive feedback from readers about how much they liked my books and couldn’t put them down until they reached the end.

Places for readers to learn more about you?

www.deborahmpiccurelli.com

Twitter: @DebPiccurelli

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/1035534-deborahp

I plan to join Facebook very soon, but have avoided it until now. I am also having a blog constructed and added to my website which I call, “Nuggets from God.”

Thank you for being with us today!

My pleasure, and thank you for having me! 

Readers, here is your chance to enter to win Deborah's latest book!

Please leave an email adddress! If I draw your name and there is no email, you will not win.

For extra entries:
~Be a follower
~Be a subscriber

Contest is only open in the U.S. and void where prohibited. Chances of winning are based on the number of entries and winner is draw from a non-biased third party- Random.org. I am not responsible for any lost or damaged items for said prize.


Thanks for coming by to enter! Contest ends on February 10th.

Attn Readers! If you're struggling to leave a comment on my blog, please email your comment entries (in ONE email) and I will submit it for you. But PLEASE only do this after you've failed to leave a comment. My email is: caseym.writer(@)gmail.com 

I Knew This Day Would Come (New Blogging Schedule)

I admit I've put this day off for a long time. But now I'm being forced into it.

I've always blogged 5-6 times a week. I love blogging and it's never been a hardship for me. But I realized something recently: I can't do everything. SURPRISE!

Oh I know I've had posts like this before, but really, I can't do everything. Even the things I love to do and don't find as work. So here goes:

I'm only going to blog three times a week.

Gulp. Now I've said it. So I've gotta do it.

Except...

(yeah, I know. Whatever.)

Those weeks I have to post more than three times a week because of the posts that have to go up on a certain day. 

So...my new blogging schedule will be:

Giveaway Monday (same as always)

Devotional Wednesday (also Conversation Wednesday once a month)

Book Review Friday 


Fridays and Wednesdays will be interchangeable as far as their blog topic as more often than not I am required to post a book review on a Wednesday and can't wait for a Friday.

I will still post my Up and Coming Fiction! posts on Saturdays as I find a great work of fictional art 'cause I plain love those posts and can't live without my fiction. 

I'm also toying with the thought of combining my vision and love for Operation Encourage an Author and putting it into Writing for Christ. This blog is obviously more off the ground and has an awesome readership ;-)) and I can encourage an author once in a while here instead of a second blog (that unfortunately is slowly dying--still toying). Thoughts?

The times they are a changin' and I'm not sure I'm super excited, but with age does come more responsibility and in this case a part time job that wants more of me. (how dare they. ;-) 

What say you?

Experiment--And I Need Your Help!

I'm hijacking another Wednesday post, but I need your help. :-))

Photo Credit

Have you seen the new threaded comments for blogger? I noticed that when I used my regular Internet Explorer, the page wouldn't load a direct link to a blog with threaded comments and I couldn't leave a comment. (I just know they were missing my wise and witty comments.)

However, after I updated to Google Chrome, I could leave comments.

My mom's work computer however, which is your regular computer internet WOULD let me leave comments.

So confusing.

I say ALL that to ask this: if you can read this post and leave a comment, please leave a simple 'yes'.

If I don't see a lot of comments, I will assume you can't. I want my blog to be user friendly and love our conversations. But I love the threaded comments option...

Let's see if we can get this puppy to work.

Thanks for helping me out. :-)

Rapid-Fire EXPLOSIVE Fiction! Firethorn by Ronie Kendig ~ Review

My Review:
I might not always get or understand all the tactical moves, I may not always follow the lingo and track all the players in the story. But one thing I *do* get when it comes the “Discarded Heroes” is this: the heart, the power, the faith, the drive, the conviction behind each of these men and women jumps through the pages and grabs me by the throat.
This last installment is nothing if not fast paced and high-intensity. And I saw something I never thought would be possible: Nightshade, special black ops team, dismantled and seemingly destroyed.


Each page leaves nothing to be desired and I should warn you now, if you care for your sleep, you won’t read this at night. Each word is used to the utmost advantage, catapulting me into the set of this story as though it were visually before me on a television screen.
Legend and Kazi are a duo not to be messed with from the very start and their romance, woven in amongst copious gunfire, death threats and bombs just adds another cord of tension for characters and reader.
It takes talent to take a reader who doesn’t normally read this genre (me) and transport that reader (me) into a world completely foreign and make that reader (me) a player throughout every intricate detail.
The ending left me mourning the loss of these brave heroes, but with more than enough hope they will continue to save the world, long after I’ve left them.
This review is my honest opinion. Thanks to the publishers and author through FIRST for my copy to review.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Read more about the book, author and the first chapter....

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Today's Wild Card author is:

Ronie Kendig

and the book:

Firethorn, Discarded Heroes #4

Barbour Books; Discarded Heroes edition (2012)

***Special thanks to Ronie Kendig for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

An Army brat, Ronie Kendig grew up in the classic military family, with her father often TDY and her mother holding down the proverbial fort. Their family moved often, which left Ronie attending six schools by the time she’d entered fourth grade. Her only respite and “friends” during this time were the characters she created.

It was no surprise when she married a military veteran—her real-life hero—in June 1990. Married more than twenty years, Ronie and her husband, Brian, homeschool their four children, the first of whom graduated in 2011. Despite the craziness of life, Ronie finds balance and peace with her faith, family and their three dogs in Dallas, TX.

Ronie has a deep love and passion for people, especially hurting people, which is why she pursued and obtained a B.S. in Psychology from Liberty University. Ronie is an active member of the American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) and has volunteered extensively, serving in a variety of capacities from coordinator of a national contest to appointment assistant at the national annual conference.

Since launching onto the publishing scene in 2010, Ronie and her books have been gained critical acclaim and national attention, including:

• Finalist in Christian Retailing’s 2011 Readers’ Choice Awards (Nightshade)
• RWA’s Faith, Hope, & Love’s 2011 Inspirational Readers’ Choice Awards in Romantic Suspense (Nightshade)
• Named one of the Top 25 Christian Fiction Suspense, Mystery, and Thriller Writers by FamilyFiction (Sept 2011)
• 2011 FamilyFiction Readers’ Choice Awards – 3^rd place as New Favorite Author, 8^th place with Nightshade for Novel of the Year.
• INSPY Award Shortlist final in Mystery/Thriller (Dead Reckoning)
• The Christian Manifesto’s 2010 Lime Award for Excellence in Christian Fiction (Nightshade)

Visit the author's website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

Blown and dismantled, Nightshade is ready to repay the favor.


Former Marine and current Nightshade team member Griffin "Legend" Riddell is comfortable. So comfortable he never sees the set up that lands him in a maximum security prison, charged with murder. How can he prove his innocence behind bars?


Covert operative Kazi Faron is tasked with reassembling Nightshade—the black ops team someone dissected. Breaking Griffin out of a federal penitentiary amid explosive confusion may turn out to be her last assignment. What will it take to convince the fugitive that whoever set him up has also dissected the Nightshade team? As Kazi and Griffin race to rescue the others and discover the traitor, love begins to awaken in their hearts.
Can a covert operative and the felon she's freed overcome their mutual distrust long enough to save Nightshade? Will anything prepare them for who—or what is coming?





Product Details:

• List Price: $12.99

• Paperback: 352 pages
• Publisher: Barbour Books; Discarded Heroes edition (2012)
• Language: English
• ISBN-10: 1602607850
• ISBN-13: 978-1602607859

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

To all American military heroes

At home and abroad,

Those who have gone before

and those serving today—

THANK YOU!

Because of you, we are FREE!

RECON CREED

Realizing it is my choice and my choice alone to be a Reconnaissance Marine, I accept all challenges involved with this profession. Forever shall I strive to maintain the tremendous reputation of those who went before me.


Exceeding beyond the limitations set down by others shall be my goal. Sacrificing personal comforts and dedicating myself to the completion of the reconnaissance mission shall be my life. Physical fitness, mental attitude, and high ethics—The title of Recon Marine is my honor.


Conquering all obstacles, both large and small, I shall never quit. To quit, to surrender, to give up is to fail. To be a Recon Marine is to surpass failure; To overcome, to adapt and to do whatever it takes to complete the mission.


On the battlefield, as in all areas of life, I shall stand tall above the competition. Through professional pride, integrity, and teamwork, I shall be the example for all Marines to emulate.


Never shall I forget the principles I accepted to become a Recon Marine. Honor, Perseverance, Spirit, and Heart.


A Recon Marine can speak without saying a word and achieve what others can only imagine.

Swift, Silent, Deadly

Chapter 1

The Shack


“It’s sad, really.” Marshall “The Kid” Vaughn trudged away from the thumping rotors of the helo that had deposited them back at the Shack, his pack almost dragging the ground. “Ya don’t realize how much a person adds until he’s gone.”


“Legend’s not gone.” Max “Frogman” Jacobs hoisted his rucksack into a better group, his mind locked on Sydney and their two sons waiting for him at home. Poor woman had to be going out of her mind with two of his Mini-Me’s running around.


“Yeah.” John “Squirt” Dighton hit the light breaker, then waited for the six-man team to clear the door. “He’s just temporarily detained.”


Lights sizzled and popped to life. Groaning bounced off the grimy windows as he hauled the door closed, locked it, then started toward the showers.


The Kid grunted. “Forty-years-to-life temporary.”


In the locker room, a depressive gloom hung over the team. They’d been on countless missions, hit just about every terrain and environment imaginable, but none had taken the toll the last couple had. And there was one reason—they were down a man. Griffin “Legend” Riddell. If Max could write the playbook, they wouldn’t do another mission without the guy. But with the man in federal prison for murdering a congressman, it’d be a long wait.


It was quiet. Too quiet. Max looked around the Spartan room. Walls of lockers, most unused. A few benches. A giant once-white bin for dirty duds. And the team. Six men, now. All very skilled. Good men. Even the one missing. Every man here knew Legend had been set up—he didn’t murder that congressman. But nobody could prove it. The evidence was damning. Justice—injustice was more like it—came swiftly. Lambert, ever the puppeteer, couldn’t pull the right strings to get Legend off.


“I’m heading up to visit him tomorrow. Anyone game?” Colton “Cowboy” Neeley slumped on a bench and ran a hand over his short, dark hair. His blue eyes probed the group.


“Nah, man. I’ve got a date,” the Kid said.


Squirt beaned him with a towel. “What girl would go out with you, mate?”


The Kid snapped the terry cloth back at the former Navy SEAL. “Your sister.”


Squirt froze. His jaw went slack. Then his eyes darkened.


Laughing, Canyon “Midas” Metcalfe rose to his feet from the corner. “You just proved his point by thinking your sister would actually go out with him.”


Squirt swallowed, his face drained of color. “I introduced them at a New Year’s party.”


Midas laughed harder. “Your mistake, mate.”


Shuffling closer, Squirt pointed a finger at the Kid. “I swear, you touch her, I’ll shove a fist full of witchety grubs down your gullet.”


“Give me credit, dude.” The Kid raised his hands. “I’m a gentleman.”


Max grunted. “Right.” As he strode around the lockers to the shower well, he heard more threats and much more laughter from the Kid. Max shook his head. Would the Kid ever grow up, learn when to leave things alone?


As he tossed his oily, grimy duds on the bench, Max paused, thinking maybe he should send his report to Lambert now so he wouldn’t have to mess with it tomorrow. The mission had been simple enough, a snatch-n-grab of an Iranian doctor. It’d been nice and clean, in and out. The report wouldn’t take long. Then he could shower, bug out, and know he had the whole weekend with Syd and the boys.


Max jogged up the iron stairs, which creaked and groaned beneath his weight. Down the hall to the right. He punched in the code and entered the secure hub, the door hissing shut behind him. The most high-tech part of this dump-of-a-warehouse.


Shouts drew his attention to the blinds. He jabbed two fingers between a couple and spread them to peeked down into the main area. Squirt and the Kid raced into the bay and back the way they came. Squirt looked ready to kill. The Kid’s face revealed his fear. Max shook his head again. Man, he wanted Griffin back. The guy seemed to bring balance to the team. Badly needed balance.


Max powered up the computer. Hand propped on the warped wood, he waited for the system to boot.


More shouts. Loud thuds.


He pinched the bridge of his nose. Would they never—?


Tat-a-tat! Tat-tat-a-tat!


Instinct drove Max to his knee at the sound of gunfire. He scrambled to the window. Through the slanted blinds, he peered down into the slab of cement. His brain wouldn’t assemble what he saw. Gunmen. A dozen or more. Rushing into the Shack from the parking bay. Moving swiftly, as if. . .


They know the layout.


Max darted to the door and jerked it open. He sprinted down the hall toward the stairs. As his boot hit steel, he froze. A shadow emerged. Floated into the hall.


Too late.


Max jerked back. Pressed his spine against the wall.


By the showers, the Kid looked up. Max signaled to him. Then made his best and loudest Nightshade whistle, hoping it would penetrate the building, give the men warning to take cover.


The Kid threw himself back into the locker room.


Men swarmed the corner. One looked to his left, one right. His weapon slowly rose as he traced the stairs with his M16.


Max leapt backward into the darkness and into office. He closed the door. As the lock clicked, darkness dropped like an anchor over the entire building. Behind him, a glow screamed his location. The monitor!


Max spun. Lunged across the desk. Stabbed the power button. And paused with his hand still near the monitor. If someone was coming after them. . .accessing this computer. . .


On his knees, Max yanked the cords free. With the box, he moved to the window and reassessed the parking bay. Another van with a half-dozen men with AK-47s. They streamed into the warehouse.


Max’s gut wound into a dozen knots. They were screwed.


Think! Hand on the door, he considered going back downstairs. But that would get him captured. Killed. Yet he’d rather be with his guys than running like a chicken.


No, not running. Considering options, gaining the advantage. Planning. The invasion force was armed to the teeth. They knew who they were coming after. They’d brought weapons. And those guys moved with precision. Swift, deadly precision.


Though Nightshade had a stellar ops record, perhaps they had finally met their match. Still. . .two to one? Nightshade had faced worse.


A large black Suburban screeched to a halt in the middle of the parking bay. Two men emerged, both wearing trench coats.


Max cursed his luck to be up here, away from his gear, his weapons. Up here, without firepower. Thus, powerless.


Okay, enough. He was going down there. He eased the door open and slid across the hall. Bathed in darkness, he crouched at edge of the landing, using the wall for cover. A dozen men so far, rushing here and there. Quick, quiet chatter between the men.


A smirk slid into Max’s face. His team had taken cover and these goons couldn’t find them. If he could just get a weapon. . .


“Can’t find them.”


“They’re here. I saw them go in,” the man nearest the SUV shouted. “Find them! Lights!”


Light rushed through the building as headlamps from the vehicles stabbed the dusty, damp building. Max yanked back, out of sight. He needed to get down there, defend his men. His boot hit the landing.


Shouts erupted. A shot bounced off the steel rafters, taunting as it echoed through the Shack. Stilled, Max waited. More shouts. The sound of a scuffle. The half-dozen men waiting by the SUV lifted their weapons to the ready.


The locker room door swung open. A man walked backward, his AK-47 aimed at a large form filling the doorway. Cowboy. Arms raised, dressed only in his jeans, he stalked forward. Someone shoved him from behind, which barely moved the big lug.


Spine pressed against the wood, Max peered down into the bay.


“You move one wrong muscle,” the one in front of Cowboy growled, “and so help me God, I’ll kill you.”


“No you won’t.” Cowboy lowered his hands. “If you wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be out here.”


Ride ’em, Cowboy.


From the side entrance to the showers, three men dragged a shouting, cursing Kid into the bay. Max smirked that it took three tangos to wrangle the Kid.


Hand clenched, Max’s mind went into overdrive. What could he do? God. . .I need. . .something. What could he pray for? Intercepting the team was impossible. Twelve, fifteen armed tangos against one unarmed man?


He latched on to the hope that they’d only found Cowboy and the Kid. No Midas, Squirt, or Aladdin. Good. Maybe they could regroup and—


A man flew through the bay door from the showers and landed with a thud a yard from the others. Midas flipped over, scissored his legs, and swept the thug off his feet. The Kid seized the confusion to attack the men guarding him. And impressively. With a hard right, he dropped the first and used that weapon to disable the second.


Cowboy took a step back and rammed his elbow into the gut of the nearest guard. The gunman bent forward—straight into Cowboy’s meaty fist. The big guy pivoted, slapped the interior of the gunman’s wrist, effectively seizing the weapon and flipping the muzzle around. He fired at the guy.


Crack!


In the split second it took for Max to realize the sonic boom that rent the air wasn’t the report of Cowboy’s .45 MEU but of a rifle, Max saw the man in the black trench coat drop to the ground. A circle spread out like a dark halo.


“Sniper!” someone shouted.


The dead guy had fallen backward. Most likely shot from the front. Which meant. . . Max’s gaze rose to the rafters. With no light, it’d be the perfect hiding spot. But. . .who? Squirt? Aladdin?


Crack!


The man guarding Colton stumbled forward, then went to his knees before hitting the cement.


The man in the black trench coat nearest the SUV dropped. A pool of blood spilled out.


“There!” One guard swung and fired his fully automatic at the ceiling. Four others followed suit, firing at the bank of grimy windows on the southeast wall of the building.


Max followed their direction and watched. Waited, his breath caught at the back of his throat. Cracks and shattering glass blended with the staccato punches of the guns to create a wild cacophony of noise. Max tuned it out, praying whoever—Aladdin or Squirt—wouldn’t be hit.


But then he saw it. A shift of a shadow. Like someone rolling. . .


The gunfire petered out as a body plummeted the eight feet to the ground.


The thud seemed to have supernatural powers as it pounded Max’s chest and pushed him back. Away from the window but not far enough that he lost line of sight.


Silence dropped on the Shack.


“Where’s Max Jacobs?”


As the question streaked through the warehouse, Max registered a red glow in the far corner. Even as he noticed it, he heard a beep. Another. His gaze darted to the source of the noise. Two men were walking the perimeter, their M16s dangling as they raised their arms and pressed something against the supports. Arms lowered and the men stepped back revealing gray bricks with wires.


Explosives.


Gotta stop this. Do something. His gaze collided with Cowboy’s. The big lug gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.


Max’s nostrils flared as he wrestled with what to do.


“Where’s Dighton?”


How do they know our names?


“Dead,” someone answered.


Pulled back into the shadows, Max clenched his eyes and bit down on his tongue. Dighton was dead. What about Aladdin—had he survived the fall?


Sirens wailed in the distance.


“Load ’em up.”


“What about Jacobs?”


“Outta time.” The leader left as the gunmen dragged the team out of the building.


Stealthily, Max held on to the box and sprinted the length of the hall to the side of the Shack. In the conference room, he plunged toward the window. Craned his neck to peek out. Three vehicles—twin white vans and a black town car.


The guys were loaded into the van and one into the car.


The leader shifted, held something out, then it wavered.


Detonator.


Max spun around, searching for an out. Doors. Only one way down—the stairs. But they led to the bay, which would be engulfed.


Windows. Overlooked the dock. The canal. It was January. The water would be brutal cold. His split-second assessment told him no matter what route he took, it’d be deadly. Despite his training, if he didn’t find shelter out of the water once he broke surface, he’d die an ice cube. If he stayed, he’d die a fireball.


Good thing SEALs are insulated against cold water.


Max vaulted toward the window, hurtling the computer through the window. The glass shattered as a violent force blasted through the air. It lifted him. Up. . .up. . . Flipped him. Searing pain sliced through his arm. Heat stroked his back and legs. Fire chased him out of the building. Into the night.


Boom!


Another wave slammed into him. Threw him backward. Toward the water.


Something punched his gut. Knocked the breath from his lungs.


Bright white lit the night. Blinded him. Then—almost instantaneously—black. Pure black. And he was falling. . .down. . .down. . .

Ro n i e K e n d i g

Firethorn

Discarded Heroes # 4

OTHER BOOKS BY RONIE KENDIG
Nightshade (Discarded Heroes #1)
Digitalis (Discarded Heroes #2)
Wolfsbane (Discarded Heroes #3)

Giveaway and Author Interview: Death in Dahlonega by Deborah Malone

Welcome to Writing for Christ Deborah Malone, it is great to have you here!  Do you have an interesting fact about yourself the average reader probably doesn’t know?

First let me say thank you for having me as a guest.  I write for “Georgia Backroads” a historical magazine – just like my main character in “Death in Dahlonega.” I also enjoy photography. 

Do you have a favorite genre to read/write?

Cozy mysteries would be my favorite to read and write. But, since I’ve had my blog I’ve read many different genres and I’ve really expanding my reading enjoyment.

Do you have a nugget of writing advice that has completely changed how you view writing?

There’s probably more than one I could list, but I would say writing in active voice instead of passive.  I’m still working on this one.

5 things you love?

Oh my! Besides the Lord of course.  My children. Chocolate. Reading. Writing. And Arithmetic – just kidding about arithmetic.  Last, but not least, my friends.

What do you enjoy most about being a published author? 

Well it’s still new to me and I’ve been on a roller coaster ride. I guess I’d have to say seeing my dream in print. Knowing I didn’t give up when I wanted to.

Places for readers to learn more about you?

www.deborah-malone.com

www.deborahsbutterflyjourney.blogspot.com

www.lamppostpubs.com

Thank you for being with us today!

Casey, thank you so much for having me. It has been an honor to be on your blog.

Readers here is your chance to enter to win Deborah's novel!

Please leave an email address. If I draw your name and there is no email, you will not win!

For extra entries:

~Be a follower
~Be a subscriber

Contest is only open in the U.S. and void where prohibited. Chances of winning are based on the number of entries and winner is draw from a non-biased third party- Random.org. I am not responsible for any lost or damaged items for said prize.

Thanks for coming by to enter! Contest ends on February 3rd.

Up and Coming Fiction! Through Rushing Water by Catherine Richmond!

When the life she planned for herself is snatched away, Sophia's eyes open to the life God has planned for her.

Sophia Makinoff is sure that 1876 is the year she's going to become the wife of an up-and-coming congressman. But when the congressman humiliates her by proposing to her mousy roommate, Sophia wants nothing more than to disappear and avoid the wedding plans. She grasps at her first opportunity for escape and signs up for the Board of Foreign Missions.

She thinks she'll be going to China . . . but even running away doesn't go as planned when she's instead sent to the Ponca Indian Agency in the Dakota Territory. It's an abysmal, primitive place for a lady of society, but as she gets to know the people, she discovers she can't abandon them. The motives that led her there were anything but pure, but she finds a new purpose in trying to protect "the least of these."

The water rushes around her—literally and figuratively—as Sophia learns that the only way to fulfill her purpose is to ignore the distractions and focus on God's leading.

Through Rushing Water by Catherine Richmond

Thomas Nelson / July 2012 /

ISBN: 9781595549259 / Pages 352 /

Paperback: $15.99

Thomas Nelson ~ Catherine Richmond

Mailbox Friday

I got so many books in the mail this week and was pretty excited for many of these. It never ceases to get old, ripping open that package and seeing the glossy new cover of a lovely book. :-))

I have very eclectic taste. ;-)

What did you get your mailbox this week??

Friday's note:

The winner of K. Dawn Byrd's The Secret of the Love Letters is...

God's Jewel!

I've emailed you, so be haunting your inbox. ;-)