Thicker Than Bone by Mathew J. Metzger


Thicker Than Bone


Matthew J. Metzger

Length of Book: 85,000 words

Genre: gay romance, erotica, interracial. Warning for strong racist/homophobic language used by antagonist

Author Bio:

Matthew J. Metzger is a British author currently living, working and writing near Bristol in the south-west of England. He is both asexual and transgender, and seeks out the loud characters, rough stories, and quirky personalities that explore the rich diversity of the QUILTBAG world. He writes both adult and young adult novels, covering topics from mental illness to ill-advised crushes, and particularly enjoys writing about universal issues from the QUILTBAG perspective. Matthew can be found on Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest and Tsu, or at his website.

When not writing (which is rare), Matthew is usually found crunching numbers at his day job, working out to inappropriately chirpy pop songs, or being owned by his cat. It is important to note that the man does not, naturally, own the cat.

Social Media Links: Facebook and Twitter


If you could save someone’s life, would you? Anyone’s?

Ali’s older brother has a swastika tattooed on his knuckles, a prison ID number for nearly beating a man to death for the crime of being Middle Eastern, and spent his teenage years ruthlessly persecuting Ali for being gay. 

Blood may be thicker than water, but Ali has spent most of his life desperate to prove that he is nothing like Tony. A committed vegetarian, charity-supporter, and blood donor, Ali would do anything for anyone, and is frequently teased by his partner, Yazid, for being too soft-hearted. Ali may share parentage with Tony, but he is determined not to share anything else if he can help it.

So when Tony contracts leukaemia, and Ali is the only match for the urgently-needed bone marrow transplant, Ali is caught between two equally awful choices: to refuse, and condemn a man to death, or to donate.

And in donating, save the life of the man who nearly murdered Ali’s Iraq-born boyfriend? 


Yazid gave up trying the moment that the clock on the wall ticked over to seven. Tracy cheered. “Get yerself on the other side of that bar!” she crowed, shoving Yazid hard in the back. “G’wan, yer ingrate, yer not one of my staff no more!”

Danielle, his pink-haired replacement, giggled and started pouring a Guinness before Yazid could even ask for it; he laughed and whipped off his work shirt to the delighted shrieks of a hen party just starting up in the corner.

“Put that away!” Tracy jeered, her strong accent turning it into ‘pertharraway.’ She tossed Yazid his backpack from the storage cupboard under the till, and he obediently offered the hen party a little self-indulgent flex or two before tugging a t-shirt over his head and ‘putting it away.’

“Knock it off, you lot, ‘e’s a gay-boy!” Tracy shouted, and the bride-to-be, one of their regulars, whistled even louder.

“Even better then, get it back out and give us a show!” she yelled back and Yazid laughed.

“Speaking of gay-boys,” Tracy said, “where’s yours?”

“Family thing,” Yazid said, grinning at Danielle when she plonked the liveliest Guinness he’d ever seen in front of him. “His mum’s birthday, I think. Maybe his sister’s. I dunno, I wasn’t listening.”

Tracy crowed with laughter; Lee, one of the kitchen skivvies, loped past and clapped Yazid so hard on the back he nearly hit the bar.

“Lucky you, getting to escape this place,” he said, and Tracy hit him with a packet of crisps. “Oi! Cow!”

“Pick yer knuckles off the floor and get movin’ with them bar snacks!” she retorted. Yazid snorted as Lee was scolded back into the kitchen, and downed a third of his Guinness in one gulp.

“Steady on, love,” one of the other barmaids said. “No plans later, then?”

“Nah,” Yazid said. “Starting the new job next week, but the other half couldn’t get much time so our little party’s at the weekend.”

She blew up into her fringe. “That’s disgusting.”

“Didn’t fink you was ‘omophobic or nuffink,” Danielle said in her thick London accent. She was a student working to pay her fees to the University of Leeds, and was routinely mocked for the way she spoke. She didn’t seem to mind.

“Nah, the bit that’s not right is that he gets a bloke like that, and I don’t,” the barmaid said.

“Like what?” Danielle asked.

“Like that,” came the significant reply, but before Yazid could work it out, a pair of arms slid around his shoulders and a kiss landed against his temple.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

“Hey babe,” he beamed, twisting to offer a one-armed hug. Ali slide onto the stool next to his, a broad smile splitting his wind-flushed face. He looked stunning, and Yazid — emboldened by the fact he’d never have to step foot back in this place if he didn’t want to — leaned across to kiss him.

“I made some excuse to Mum,” Ali said. “Wanted to come and see you instead.”

“Damnit, I was going to get with Lee round the back later,” Yazid whined, and Tracy shrieked with laughter.

“Now that would be sick,” she said. “What can I get you, my love?”

The bar was empty but loud, the hen do and a couple of lads at the pool table making it seem busier than it actually was, and as the evening shift drifted in for their own patterns, Lee and Lizzy, one of the cleaners, clocked off and joined them for a toast to Yazid’s new job and ‘escaping the madhouse’ when Tracy was out of earshot. Yazid’s good mood was bolstered by a win on the fruit machines, and then the hen party staggered off to start their bar crawl proper, and their little party of four squashed into the abandoned booth.

“Gonna be almost feminine without you, mate,” Lee said, clacking their glasses together messily. “Won’t be no blokes left!”

“Yazid doesn’t count as a bloke,” Lizzy argued. “Gays don’t count!”

“More bloke than any of you tarts,” Lee snorted.

“Definitely all bloke,” Ali said. “When you’re not being a princess,” he added snidely, and Yazid laughed, dropping an arm around him faux-casually.

“Princess Yazida, that’s me,” he agreed, to Lee’s good-natured ribbing and Lizzy’s alarmingly high giggle. “Lizzy, he just means nobody to discuss the football with without having to compete for you girls.”

“Sorry Lee, you just ain’t my type,” Lizzy said, and waggled her fingers in front of her chest with a leery grin. “You just ain’t got the knockers!”

“Neither have you, you flat-chested tart!” Lee retorted, and Yazid laughed. He waved to Danielle for another pint, feeling at ease and relaxed, and quite prepared to get a bit wankered now Ali had shown up and would steer him vaguely homewards at closing time. Maybe with a detour to —

“What the hell are you doing here?!”

Ali’s angry voice jolted Yazid out of his happy buzz, then there was a fist in his t-shirt and he was jerked from his seat to the wall, the slightly sticky paintwork hitting him too hard in the back and his quarter-pint of Guinness crashing down his trousers to the floor.

“What the—”

“Shoulda known it was you,” Tony Barraclough snarled at disturbingly close range. His teeth were yellow, and he stank of cigarettes and weed. 

“Oi!” Tracy bellowed from the bar.

“Get off me,” Yazid snarled, and shoved. Tony was either too stoned or too surprised, and staggered back a good couple of feet. “You’re barred, now get the hell out,” he snapped, the good mood thoroughly gone. He’d had quite enough of this. At least at the new job, he could shove the bigoted idiot’s hand in a deep fat fryer if he came knocking.

“Tony, get out of here!” Ali shouted.

“You skipped out for him?” Tony growled. His voice was hoarse and raspy.

“I have a life!” Ali shouted, throwing up his hands. “You should try one, now try it elsewhere!”

“Now,” Tracy snapped, stalking over from the bar, all five foot nothing of her. “Yer barred, now get out before I ‘ave the police in ‘ere.”

“You skipped out,” Tony snarled, ignoring Tracy entirely, “for this Muzzie piece of—!”

Lee started up violently from the table, his dark skin burning to black in instant anger. “You shut your—!”

The noise level started to rise, Lee and Tony both yelling over each other, and Tracy’s shriek demanding Danielle to get one of the bouncers in, or call the police. Yazid found himself straightening his own back, squaring up to Tony’s aggressive stance. Okay. Thug wanted a brawl, he’d get one. Yazid was sick and tired of this utter crap. 

“Tony, piss off!” Ali shouted, riled up maybe the most by his brother’s appearance, and Tony’s lip curled.

“You skip out on your own sister for this bit of halal meat, s’at how it works, Ali?” he snapped right back, and Yazid opened his mouth without thinking.

“Nah,” he said, making an obscene gesture at his own crotch. “Halal drains the blood out, not pumps it up full. This meat’s all haraam, babe.”

Tony moved. His arm lashed out, something flashing in the dim light of the bar, and there was —

There was a blur of motion, and then pain and heat exploded across Yazid’s face. The room spun; he felt the wall against his cheek, then his arm, and then he was sitting on the floor and people were screaming. There was hot liquid running down his face, and the entire world was red and black, splashes and round dots vying for his attention. He felt himself sway, and put out a hand to catch the wall, only to miss and slump against it head-first. Pain. Pain-pain-pain. There was — 

There was a loud bang, and the bouncer — N…Ni… — the bouncer was shouting, and then there were dark shapes and Yazid could feel his stomach rolling.

“Bucket!” someone yelled. “Trace, get me a bucket, he’s gonna hurl!”

There were hands on his arms and shoulders, and Yazid closed his eyes, feeling sick and shaky from the spinning. The heat was still coming, and his hair and clothes felt wet. He could smell Sol — and that was it, he opened his jaw and threw up painfully. The clang of metal and the stench of vomit said the bucket had been dutifully got, and the screaming was morphing into the shrill call of a siren.

“What—” he tried.

“Easy, mate.” Lee. “Easy. You’ll be all right.”

“It’s okay.” Softer, gentler — higher. More frightened. Yazid twitched with the need to stop that fear, and curled his fingers around a hand that found its way to his. Ali. “It’s okay, you’ll be okay, you’re okay, oh my God…”

Then the pieces slotted together — and Yazid realized, just as he recognized the heavy thunder of police boots on the weak boards to the main bar area, that he’d been bottled.

Then he blacked out. 
Words from Mathew
I don’t actually like being an author.
There, I said it.

I’m obsessed with writing. I love having books on my shelf with my name on them. I like browsing stock photo sites to find suggestions for cover art. I enjoyed the freak-out an editor and I had a few books back when we realised there was no British alternative for a word I’d used that Americans wouldn’t understand. (I ended up having to rejig the entire paragraph.) I have been making up stories since I was two feet tall, and will probably still be doing it on my deathbed. Writing is as integral to my life as breathing.

But I don’t like being an author.

Whenever there’s a gathering — online or physical — of writers (especially romance writers) I feel like the guy in engineering who accidentally wandered into the marketing department’s Christmas party. (Cue a Dilbert comic here.) I am out of place. My opinions on almost any topic are deeply unfashionable in the writing world, my sense of humour is definitely off, and the less said about my politics, the better.

So why am I still doing this?

If this were how I felt every time I went into the office for my day job, I would have quit years ago and found a new career. So why haven’t I done that with writing? It’s pretty obvious by now that I am what business management textbooks and interview rejection reasons the world over deem a poor ‘cultural fit.’ So why am I hanging around? Why am I still doing this?

Because my writing isn’t about anyone but me.

At the end of the day, my writing is for me. My adult books are stories I had fun writing, and little more. Sometimes there’s a deep message in there, and sometimes there’s not. My young adult work is usually deeper, but it’s still for the kid I used to be, than any other people in the world. They’re the books I needed to see. Sometimes other people say they want to see them too, and that’s awesome. Sometimes other people empathise, and I reach out across the page to someone else like me for a change, and that’s even more awesome. 

But more often than not, they don’t.

I write for myself: to tell the stories I want to tell, and to see covers with my name on, the way I dreamed about when I was younger. And that’s all.

And in a way, that’s actually the most freeing position an author can be in.


If you could save someone’s life, would you? Anyone’s?
Ali’s older brother has a swastika tattooed on his knuckles, a prison ID number for nearly beating a man to death for the crime of being Middle Eastern, and spent his teenage years ruthlessly persecuting Ali for being gay.

Blood may be thicker than water, but Ali has spent most of his life desperate to prove that he is nothing like Tony. A committed vegetarian, charity-supporter, and blood donor, Ali would do anything for anyone, and is frequently teased by his partner, Yazid, for being too soft-hearted. Ali may share parentage with Tony, but he is determined not to share anything else if he can help it.

So when Tony contracts leukaemia, and Ali is the only match for the urgently-needed bone marrow transplant, Ali is caught between two equally awful choices: to refuse, and condemn a man to death, or to donate.

And in donating, save the life of the man who nearly murdered Ali’s Iraq-born boyfriend? 
Click here to find out more, read a sample, and (of course) buy a copy of your own.
Matthew J. Metzger is an asexual, transgender author dragged up in the wet and windy British Isles. Matt writes both adult and young adult LGBT romance, with a particular focus on the gritty situations and people often left out of the typical romantic set-up. When not writing, Matt can be found crunching numbers at his day job, sleeping, or pretending that he owns his cat, rather than the other way around. He can be found on Twitter, Facebook and occasionally at his website.


Undercover in Six Inch Stilettos by Carolyn Laroche


Undercover in Six Inch Stilettos

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Carolyn LaRoche

Book 1 of the Secret Lives Series – 225 pages (print)

Romantic intrigue- the only sex is between the husband and wife and not explicit

Carolyn LaRoche grew up in snow country but fled the cold and ice several years ago. She now lives

near the beach with her husband, their two boys, two finicky cats and one old dog. When she is not

at the baseball field cheering on big hits and home runs, she is busy teaching science to unwilling




Every woman has secrets, and Cyndi Mills is no exception…

Cyndi has a beautiful daughter, and her husband Jason is totally hot for her, but something is

missing. As a cop, Jason is extremely vigilant about safety and security, and Cyndi longs for

some time to herself, so she takes a Friday night job.

Jason thinks she’s cleaning offices, when she’s actually dancing in a red bustier and six-inch

stilettos at a club called Sugar Shakers, something only her three best friends, also police

When club employees start disappearing, the truth comes out…

A young runaway, Jade, and a military widow, Lola, vanish, and Lola’s body is later found in

the ocean. Cyndi begins investigating—with some help from her friends—but when

anonymous threats put her daughter in jeopardy, she has no choice but to confess her lie to

Jason, rocking their previously solid marriage.

Jason is furious, but Cyndi has to ask for even more if she hopes to solve the mystery…

Cyndi convinces Jason to sign her up as a confidential informant, and she officially goes

undercover at the club, while Jason struggles to control his jealousy. As the evidence mounts

and the danger becomes all too real, Jason fights to keep Cyndi safe.

But no amount of security can protect someone when lies are more common

than the truth and no one is who they appear to be.

“When does a secret become a lie?”




Jason leaned against the counter, arms folded across his chest. She recognized that

look immediately. He was doing the cop thing, analyzing her, and she could tell he knew

something didn’t add up. His left eyebrow rose just a tad higher than the right as he studied

her. “Why do you have glitter in your hair?”

Cyndi shook her hair and a shower of glitter rained down on her sweatshirt. Damn.

Somehow she had missed a boat load of sparkle. Damn, that stuff got everywhere.

“Jody brought her daughter’s costume for a dance recital to work so I could help her

fix a tear. It was all covered in sparkles. The damn stuff got on everything. Had to go back

over the carpets with the sweeper twice and I’m still not sure we got it all.”

Jason continued to stare down at her from his full six feet of height. His stare was

laser sharp, his presence imposing. It was no wonder he was so good at catching the bad guy.

Hardened criminals squirmed under the intensity of that stare. Hopefully he couldn’t see

through her despite the fact she felt as transparent as the shower curtain hanging in their

“You think Harper is going to want to do that stuff?”

“Harper is four. It’s a little early to predict if she will be a dancer or a swimmer

“Yeah, well, I just don’t want that glittery stuff all over the house. The guys won’t ever

let me live it down, I show up to work all sparkly like that.” He shook his head.

Cyndi stepped closer to her husband and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m

exhausted, honey. How about we go to bed?”

Jason hugged her close. “You gonna wear a little French maid’s outfit like you do

when you clean those offices?”

“Can’t fault a guy for trying.” Jason’s grin was a sharp contrast to his earlier scrutiny.

He pulled out the neckline of her top and peered down into it. “Come on. I know you gotta

Thank God she had changed in to her old white bra from the discount store and left

her bustier at work. Stepping back, Cyndi held her arms out and spun around slowly. “You’re

looking at it, baby. Doesn’t my ratty old sweatshirt turn you on?”

“Not as much as a little maid’s outfit would. It’s nearly Halloween. Maybe I ought to

pick one up for you to wear at work. You know, so you don’t mess up your own clothes.”

“Ohhh, Jason… you are such a guy!”

“You would rather I be such a girl?”

“Of course, not! Just don’t be so obvious about being a man all the time.” Cyndi filled

a glass of water from the tap, drank it in one gulp, then placed her used cup in the sink before

heading toward their bedroom. “Come on, cop man. You play your cards right I might let you

frisk me before we go to sleep.”

Cyndi heard light switches flip, door chains sliding and the announcement that the

house emergency alarm was being set. Jason rushed through his nightly round of safety

checks as he yelled to her from various locations around the house.

“Do you have anything on you that might hurt me?” Snap went the deadbolt on the

front door. “Needles, knives, or guns?” Click went the security latch on the sliding door to the

back yard. “Do I need gloves or cuffs…?”

“Not sure you’re gonna need gloves but cuffs might be fun,” she called back as she

climbed out of her clothes and dropped into the cool sheets.

1Thank you, Pamaceeve, for having me as a guest on your blog today. I am very excited to share with

your readers the first book in my Secret Lives series, Undercover in Six Inch Stilettos. I’ve had a lot of

people ask about the title and the premise behind the book. I realize that the whole concept of a

woman married to a cop getting away with what Cyndi did for so many weeks may seem a bit

unrealistic. As much as there is a place in the world for serious fiction and tear jerkers, I like to think

that there is a need for fun and humour as well. Undercover in Six Inch Stilettos was written to

entertain, make people laugh and root for the good guys.

The idea for this book came from a conversation I had with some friends. We were online, joking

around in a group chat, much like Cyndi and her friends do in the book and someone mentioned that

I should write about a bunch of women who are friends like we are. That simple comment morphed

into an entire series about a group of friends who seemed to be magnets for trouble and sexy men

in uniform. Tossing in the awesome soundtrack of 1980’s rock and roll and a cast of colourful

background characters made it the perfect fun read for the beach or the couch on a rainy day.

The entire Secret Lives series takes that same humorous approach to love and mystery solving. Cyndi

and Jason are already married for ten years in the book and they are crazy about each other, in and

out of the bedroom where Jason’s job as a police officer creeps into everything he does, even

seduction. This part of the plot is important to me as I wanted to write a book- actually a series of

books- where the hero and heroine were older and more established in life than the typical single

twenty or thirty somethings that are often found in romance books. A fulfilling intimacy doesn’t have

to disappear at the age of forty- something Cyndi and Jason definitely portray. The second book in

the series, In the Shadow of the Shield, releases next month and in it, Diana shows the world that a

second chance at love and romance mid-life is possible. Life doesn’t end at forty and books with

couples in middle age can be just as fun and engaging as those with twenty five year olds. Maybe

better- experience comes with age like taste with a fine wine.

Maybe Mandy 1 Kinky Carnival Games by C.C. Genovese



Kinky Carnival Games: Maybe Mandy 1


Mandy isn’t thrilled about her upcoming blind date…until she meets Braden. He’ll take her to the carnival where they’ll embark on a sex-charged journey like neither has ever experienced before.


Amazon US:

Amazon UK:

Amazon CA:

Amazon AU:

Amazon author page

Facebook author page





The Lie by Bethany Mills and Carmen Love

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Source: The Lie by Bethany Mills and Carmen Love

Nothing More by Dillion Kane

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Catch up on Nothing More by #DillionKane before Nothing’s Free comes out! It is only $.99.Grab your copy today!

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Fall Again:Lost Boy by Donna Figueroa

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Fall Again: Lost Boy


Donna Figueroa

Author Bio: 

About Donna Figueroa

Donna Figueroa is an actor and writer living and working in Los Angeles, CA. She has worked on stage and on the big and small screens. Her credits include appearances on several daytime dramas, voiceovers for animation, commercials and industrial projects, audiobooks and several television commercials.

She is a producer and storyteller at The Story Salon, Los Angeles’s longest running storytelling venue where she has written, performed and developed three one person shows.

Donna considers herself an athletic shopper always in search of the ultimate bargain. 

She lives in Hollywood with her husband writer/comedian Tony Figueroa, and their three neurotic cats.

Social Media Links,


What if you met the right person-at the wrong time?

In Fall Again: Beginnings, the first instalment of the Fall Again series, actors Marc and Lauren meet in New York City in the late 1980’s. While there’s an obvious attraction, circumstances dictate that their relationship remain within the realm of a platonic friendship. Over time they struggle to maintain the façade of friendship to their closest friends and to each other. Until one night…
The Fall Again Romance series continues.

Fall Again: Lost Boy

Marc: The Interim Years

When Marc Guiro learns Lauren Phillips is gone, his life shatters.

LOST BOY, the second novel in the FALL AGAIN series begins as Marc frantically returns to New York, only to find that the woman he loves has left New York permanently. Marc is devastated, but struggles to put his life back together, often making choices that drastically alter the course of his life. 

 With support and encouragement from old and new friends, Marc unknowingly begins a personal odyssey to find himself- an arduous journey that brings Marc personal and professional fulfilment, and eventually leads him back to the woman whose memory refuses to leave him.

Two minutes later, when Mel opened the door to the apartment, Marc barged inside. “Where’s Lauren?” This was a frantic demand as opposed to a question.

If Marc had looked at Mel, he would have seen she was deeply troubled, but he hardly noticed her. The only thing that mattered was seeing Lauren. 

 Marc was moving toward Lauren’s closed bedroom door before Mel stopped him by firmly grabbing his arm.

“Marc, stop-I need to talk to you!”

Marc tried to shake her off. “And I need to talk to Lauren!”

But Mel only tightened her grip and angrily raised her voice. “No, I said stop!” 

 Mel had never intended to sound so cruel, but at least Marc stopped and looked at her, stunned, as the manic energy that had come over him dissipated.

Mel slowly released the grip on Marc’s arm while making every effort to calm herself down. “Look, I don’t have a lot of patience right now. I’ve had a rough day!”

Marc resented her comment. The only thing preventing him from exploding was fatigue. “That’s funny, Mel, because I’ve had a rough day too! Actually I consider today a continuation of yesterday, since I didn’t sleep last night knowing that this morning I would be breaking things off with Miriam. That task was successfully accomplished before nine this morning. Needless to say she wasn’t too happy about the breakup, and neither were her parents-or my parents! I made my mother cry and my father called me a disgrace to the family.”

Mel remained still as Marc recounted the events of his day. Her day had been smooth and easy in comparison. “Marc…I’m so sorry.”

He took a deep breath and continued to recount what had to be the longest day of his life. “Since I’d already caused enough pain in Montreal, I decided to head back to New York. Three major airports, a four-hour layover in Boston and one trip through U.S. Immigration later, I’m here.”

Mel could see that Marc was under a lot of stress. She took his coat before giving him what she felt was a much needed hug. Her voice took on a soothing quality. “I just wasn’t expecting you back until tomorrow.”

 Marc was hardly in the mood for small talk. “That was the plan but I’m back now-and I need to see Lauren.” He broke free of Mel’s embrace and quickly moved to Lauren’s closed bedroom door. He called to her while opening the door. “Lauren?”

 Marc stood frozen in the doorway of Lauren’s room, confused. All of her belongings were gone. He turned back to Mel as his voice caught in his throat. “Where’s Lauren?” 

Mel could see that Marc was worn down, vulnerable and exhausted as she dreaded what was coming next. “Marc…she’s gone!” 

For the first time since he arrived, he heard the sadness in Mel’s voice, a sadness that now filled his own. “God, Mel! Where is she?” 

As she spoke, Mel saw tears fill Marc’s eyes. “I don’t know!”

 With that Marc brushed past Mel as he headed to the front door. But instead of opening the door, he struck it hard with his fist, and then struck it even harder a second time. 

Mel was frightened by Marc’s unexpected and violent display of emotion. “Marc stop. Please calm down. You’re scaring me!”  

Her emotional outburst stopped him. When he turned to face her, he was barely audible. “Mel, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

Mel watched Marc shakily sink down against her front door before she heard uncontrolled sobs. At first, all she could do was stand and watch helplessly before her instincts kicked in. She sat on the floor next to him while doing her best to console him.

 All this time she had only been worried about Marc hurting Lauren, never imagining that Lauren would hurt Marc. But as Marc put his head into her lap, she sadly realized that Marc and Lauren had hurt each other.


Releasing the Manuscript Within: A Few Words about Editing
 For those of you who’ve written and published books, I’m sure I’m preaching to the choir. You’ve probably gone through similar experiences in your author’s journey and have stories of your own on this topic. 

For new authors who are self-publishing, please, have your manuscript PROFESSONALLY edited!

You’ve heard this before. Along with writing good manuscript and having a good eye-catching cover, having your book professionally edited will make your book more viable in a market place that is saturated with books.

When I began writing, I began reading as much I could in my genre. There’s a lot of good work out there, and work that could better. As a novice, I could clearly see who had gone the extra step and had their manuscript edited.

 I read one book that had so many problems that I wanted to stop reading, though I completed the novel-which wasn’t easy. I was continually taken out of the story by constant typos and spelling errors. The manuscript was repetitive in many places which severely slowed the action. Most reviewers of this book had not completed the book for these reasons. 

As I prepared to publish my first book, I was hesitant to turn my manuscript over to an editor. As far as I was concerned, every word I’d written was gold. I did have a proof reader who found many common errors. (Over time you become so close to your project that you lose the ability to see the simplest errors.) While proofreading is important, it’s not editing. You need someone with this unique skill set.

For my next project, I did use an editor. After I found someone I was comfortable working with, I turned over my manuscript, which two people had already proofread. My thinking was that he’d find a few missed typos or recommend a few different words here and there. Imagine my surprise when my manuscript was returned with many, many pencil marks and detailed notes in the margins. 

I panicked, but my editor put me at ease. “You have written an excellent story and you’re ninety percent there. My notes are only suggestions that I think will make your story stronger and tighter. Trust me.”

In the end, I agreed with and implemented most of his suggestions into my manuscript. I’ve learned that all of my words are not gold. My editor trimmed nearly thirty pages from my novel and creating a stronger and tighter read which flows effortlessly. Cutting away excess released emotion in my writing. In essence, my editor released the manuscript buried within my manuscript.

There was one segment that he suggested I restructure- a sequence that had been problematic. With his suggestions, the problems were easily fixed

 While I feared losing my writer’s voice, my voice now rang through strong and clear.

 Bottom line, my novel was better.

Working with an editor is a unique and somewhat intimate experience. Don’t be afraid. Put away your doubts and your ego, and find an editor. Your book is already good. Why not make it better? 

The Lie by Bethany Mills and Carmen Love

Pamaceeve's Blog



Catch up on The Lie before the release of

The Betrayal book 2

#BethanyMills #CarmenLove

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Summary for The Betrayal

Paul Matthew’s life is good or so he believes. His business is flourishing, including his books, and he has the woman of his dreams on his arm. He trusts Jeanette completely and falls more in love with her each passing day. He’s given up all other women and is completely devoted to Jeanette.

Jeanette Jenkins didn’t expect to fall in love, but she did. When she found out Paul was living a lie, her first thought was to leave, but curiosity along with revenge fueled her to stay. Now after placing herself in his secret world she feels conflicted on her feelings for him or could she like the secret life of him more. Will their love stand…

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Calm Assurance Orlosian Warriors Bk 1 by Dariel Raye


“Calm Assurance”


Two hearts, two different worlds, uncompromising love.

A straight-laced Nephilim-descendant and a human trouble-magnet?

When Asriel – Orlosian Warrior, descendant of Nephilim, law enforcer – is sent to guard Malina, a human with a penchant for drawing trouble like a tornado, she becomes his obsession.

With no hope of finding love in his dimension, he breaks the cardinal rule, leaving his home to protect her, but she has also drawn the attention of his enemies, and he is forced to face demons from his past. If Asriel chooses to stay with Malina, not only does he risk forfeiting his right to ever return to his dimension, but he will need her blood to survive.

Stinger created by Belisama Press

Code Black by Sheri Velarde


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A disease that can destroy the entire fabric of society, how can one face down such odds?

Sara lives on Key Largo, a place she knows she should have left after the last hurricane, but she can’t

quite walk away from it. When warning sirens go off, she fears for the safety of her home more than

anything else. That is, until she realizes that something much more than severe weather is heading

her way.

When her own government blows up the only escape to the mainland and her neighbors begin to

attack one another, Sara learns she can only depend on herself. With the aid of her uncle and

Cameron, a National Guard soldier helping her along the way, she is on the run for her life. Harsh

realities she never thought she would have to face are now part of her life. Can she do what it takes

to survive, or will she always be on the run and wondering what might have been?


“What the hell do you mean ‘the bridge is closed’? Something odd is going on here. We’ve never had

the National Guard here for an evacuation, and you are telling me that you just expect us to wait it

out here on the island and not ask questions? I heard the warning sirens. We are supposed to be

evacuating! Let us through!” Sara demanded, trying to push past the mass of muscle in a National

Guard uniform blocking her way.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We have orders that no one is to cross the bridge. No one is allowed to enter

Miami,” the officer said, not budging an inch.

“I just told you that the evacuation sounded, e-v-a-c-u-a-t-i-o-n, and you’re telling me that we can’t

leave? It’s probably a late hurricane, and you expect us all just to hope we make it through that here

in the Keys? We need to get to the mainland!” Sara threw up her hands in frustration. The memory

of the last hurricane which destroyed her family home remained clear in her mind. She should have

moved after her family had lost almost everything, but something held her in Key Largo.

“It is not a hurricane warning, ma’am. Please go back to your home and you will be fine.”

Just then, the officer’s walkie-talkie went off. “Miami has been lost. Move everyone away from the

bridge. We must prevent the spread and contamination. This is a Code Black. Repeat, this is a Code

Black. All civilians must be moved a safe distance from the bridge. You have five minutes.”

Author bio

Sheri Velarde, lives in New Mexico with her fiancé and their two dogs.

Being an avid reader since an early age, she has wanted to be a writer for as long as she can

remember. She has been writing all her life, but only recently started to actually try to pursue her

dream of writing for a living. She specializes in all things paranormal and that go bump in the night.

Her heart truly lies in exploring unknown worlds or adding the supernatural to our world. If it goes

bump in the night or has magical connotations, Sheri writes about it.

She is constantly putting out new material with various publishers, so it is best to keep up with her

on her website

In her spare time Sheri is an artist, jewelry designer, independent comic writer/artist and freelance

non-fiction writer. Hiking in the mountains, going to live concerts, art openings, museums, and

hosting intimate dinner parties.



Last year I took the leap to becoming a full time author quitting my day job and writing for a living,

scary and exciting at the same time! Taking the plunge and following my dream was extremely

frightening. I still sometimes wonder if I should head back out and get a safety net day job, just in

case. It’s risky living without a safety net of a guaranteed check every two weeks. But what is life

without some risks?

I didn’t choose to be a writer, it chose me. It is my passion. I write whether I am intending on

publishing a piece or not. So I decided to follow the old adage, do what you love and you will never

work a day in your life! Ok, so that is hard to remember when neck deep in edits and you feel like

crying because you have to be the worst author in the world, but overall I am so much happier now

that I am putting my whole heart into something I love. My last day job almost sucked the life out of

me, literally. I had just been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis and had some mobility issues and let’s

just say one manager was less than supportive. I feared about being discriminated against in the

workforce and I still do to some degree, but writing is work without all that fear and stress. It has

been my beacon of light this past year, along with my now husband who encouraged the jump to

becoming a full time author.

A couple months ago I was lucky enough to see one of my favourite bands, the Foo Fighters, live and

got to see the joy on the face of their front man Dave Grohl as he performed. He has been in the Foo

Fighters for 20 years alone, and Nirvana before that, and many bands before that. Yet when he

performs you still see the love for music that he has. That is what writing is to me. This past year has

been tough with some publishers shutting their doors and me having to search for new home for my

book babies. Is it sad? Yes. Is it discouraging? Yes. Am I going to give up my dream? No. The writing

world is not an easy one, but it is one I love and still one where I feel accepted. There have been

many good things this year as well. First paperback fantasy released? Check? First book signing?

Check. Pushing myself as an author? Check. Code Black is my very first strictly horror piece and so far

it has been received rather well. This year has also seen me release my first m/m romance and I am

not done yet. I am planning on more horror and more genres in the future! My husband and I are

even talking about starting our own publishing company so I can continue to grow my love of writing

and publishing. Can’t wait to see where this writing journey takes me next!

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