Spotlight: Fire & Ice by Michele Barrow-Belisle

Genre: YA Fantasy Romance

Cover Designer: AMDesign Studio

Publishing: BarBelle Publishing

Publication Date: Oct. 26th, 2021

Adventure wasn’t something Lorelei was interested in. Gifted by a dark Faerie with two other-worldly talents for singing and healing, she’s always shied away from her gifts, preferring invisibility, over attention and fame. But when she meets the enigmatic Adrius, with his dark and dangerous mystique and eyes that see into her soul, her life becomes irrevocably altered.

Adrius turns up in every one of her classes and knows more about her than any newcomer should. Including the condition of her mother who is suffering from a mysterious illness. Accepting his offer to help leads her into a terrifying and thrilling world, where Elves are even hotter than Legolas, and Faeries...are nothing like Tinkerbell. The two magical beings are fire and ice opposites. One Lorelei can’t help falling for, and the other she's compelled to be with.

Now she’s trapped, expected to prevent a war between witches and faeries, or forfeit her mother’s life. Nothing is what it seems. Not her family. Not the Fey. Not even Adrius, whose feelings for her balance precariously between desire and danger. Despite her better judgment, she can’t stay away.

As secrets unravel and unsettling truths are revealed, Lorelei must fight to save much more than her mother’s life. One mistake could put the fate of his world, and her soul in jeopardy.

But hey, no pressure...right...

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About the Author

Michele Barrow-Belisle is a USA Today bestselling author who spends most of her days eating chocolate while talking to imaginary people. It's technically not considered crazy when they're your book characters. Her favorite genres to write are YA fantasy romance and paranormal romance, and her debut series FIRE AND ICE (Faerie Song Saga) is currently in development for a feature film.

Michele resides in southern Canada with her husband and son who indulge her ever-expanding obsession with reading, writing and most importantly... chocolate.

Connect:

Website:  www.michelebarrowbelisle.com

Blog:  www.michelebelisle.blogspot.ca

Facebook Author Page:  www.facebook.com/authormichele

Facebook Street Team: www.facebook.com/groups/mbbstreetteam

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3059577.Michele_Barrow_Belisle

Twitter:  www.twitter.com/MicheleBelisle

Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/michele.barrow.belisle

Pinterest:  www.pinterest.com/micheley26

YouTube:  www.youtube.com/user/micheley26

BookBub: www.bookbub.com/authors/michele-barrow-belisle

Spotlight: Fan Club by Erin Mayer

In this raucous psychological thriller, a disillusioned millennial joins a cliquey fan club, only to discover that the group is bound together by something darker than devotion.

Day after day our narrator searches for meaning beyond her vacuous job at a women's lifestyle website - entering text into a computer system while she watches their beauty editor unwrap box after box of perfectly packaged bits of happiness. Then, one night at a dive bar, she hears a message in the newest single by international pop-star Adriana Argento, and she is struck. Soon she loses herself to the online fandom, a community whose members feverishly track Adriana's every move.

When a colleague notices her obsession, she’s invited to join an enigmatic group of adult Adriana superfans who call themselves the Ivies and worship her music in witchy, candlelit listening parties. As the narrator becomes more entrenched in the group, she gets closer to uncovering the sinister secrets that bind them together - while simultaneously losing her grip on reality.

With caustic wit and hypnotic writing, this unsparingly critical thrill ride through millennial life examines all that is wrong in our celebrity-obsessed internet age and how easy it is to lose yourself in it.

Excerpt

Chapter One

I’m outside for a cumulative ten minutes each day before work. Five to walk from my apartment building to the subway, another five to go from the subway to the anemic obelisk that houses my office. I try to breathe as deeply as I can in those minutes, because I never know how long it will be until I take fresh air into my lungs again. Not that the city air is all that fresh, tinged with the sharp stench of old garbage, pollution’s metallic swirl. But it beats the stale oxygen of the office, already filtered through distant respiratory systems. Sometimes, during slow moments at my desk, I inhale and try to imagine those other nostrils and lungs that have already processed this same air. I’m not sure how it works in reality, any knowledge I once had of the intricacies of breathing having been long ago discarded by more useful information, but the image comforts me. Usually, I picture a middle-aged man with greying temples, a fringe of visible nose hair, and a coffee stain on the collar of his baby blue button-down. He looks nothing and everything like my father. An every-father, if you will.

My office is populated by dyed-blonde or pierced brunette women in their mid-to-late twenties and early thirties. The occasional man, just a touch older than most of the women, but still young enough to give off the faint impression that he DJs at Meatpacking nightclubs for extra cash on the weekends.

We are the new corporate Americans, the offspring of the grey-templed men. We wear tastefully ripped jeans and cozy sweaters to the office instead of blazers and trousers. Display a tattoo here and there—our supervisors don’t mind; in fact, they have the most ink. We eat yogurt for breakfast, work through lunch, leave the office at six if we’re lucky, arriving home with just enough time to order dinner from an app and watch two or three hours of Netflix before collapsing into bed from exhaustion we haven’t earned. Exhaustion that lives in the brain, not the body, and cannot be relieved by a mere eight hours of sleep.

Nobody understands exactly what it is we do here, and neither do we. I push through revolving glass door, run my wallet over the card reader, which beeps as my ID scans through the stiff leather, and half-wave in the direction of the uniformed security guard behind the desk, whose face my eyes never quite reach so I can’t tell you what he looks like. He’s just one of the many set-pieces staging the scene of my days.

The elevator ride to the eleventh floor is long enough to skim one-third of a longform article on my phone. I barely register what it’s about, something loosely political, or who is standing next to me in the cramped elevator.

When the doors slide open on eleven, we both get off.

In the dim eleventh-floor lobby, a humming neon light shaping the company logo assaults my sleep-swollen eyes like the prick of a dozen tiny needles. Today, a small section has burned out, creating a skip in the letter w. Below the logo is a tufted cerulean velvet couch where guests wait to be welcomed. To the left there’s a mirrored wall reflecting the vestibule; people sometimes pause there to take photos on the way to and from the office, usually on the Friday afternoon before a long weekend. I see the photos later while scrolling through my various feeds at home in bed. They hit me one after another like shots of tequila: See ya Tuesday! *margarita emoji* Peace out for the long weekend! *palm tree emoji* Byeeeeee! *peace sign emoji.*

She steps in front of me, my elevator companion. Black Rag & Bone ankle boots gleaming, blade-tipped pixie cut grazing her ears. Her neck piercing taunts me, those winking silver balls on either side of her spine. She’s Lexi O’ Connell, the website’s senior editor. She walks ahead with her head angled down, thumb working her phone’s keyboard, and doesn’t look up as she shoves the interior door open, palm to the glass.

I trip over the back of one clunky winter boot with the other as I speed up, considering whether to call out for her attention. It’s what a good web producer, one who is eager to move on from the endless drudgery of copy-pasting and resizing and into the slightly more thrilling drudgery of writing and rewriting, would do.

By the time I regain my footing, I come face-to-face with the smear of her handprint as the door glides shut in front of me.

Monday.

I work at a website.

It’s like most other websites; we publish content, mostly articles: news stories, essays, interviews, glossed over with the polished opalescent sheen of commercialized feminism. The occasional quiz, video, or photoshoot rounds out our offerings. This is how websites work in the age of ad revenue: Each provides a slightly varied selection of mindless entertainment, news updates, and watered-down hot takes about everything from climate change to plus size fashion, hawking their wares on the digital marketplace, leaving The Reader to wander drunkenly through the bazaar, wielding her cursor like an Amex. You can find everything you’d want to read in one place online, dozens of times over. The algorithms have erased choice. Search engines and social media platforms, they know what you want before you do.

As a web producer, my job is to input article text into the website’s proprietary content management system, or CMS. I’m a digitized high school janitor; I clean up the small messes, the litter that misses the rim of the garbage can. I make sure the links are working and the images are high resolution. When anything bigger comes up, it goes to an editor or IT. I’m an expert in nothing, a master of the miniscule fixes.

There are five of us who produce for the entire website, each handling about 20 articles a day. We sit at a long grey table on display at the very center of the open office, surrounded on all sides by editors and writers.

The web producers’ bullpen, Lexi calls it.

The light fixture above the table buzzes loudly like a nest of bees is trapped inside the fluorescent tubing. I drop my bag on the floor and take a seat, shedding my coat like a layer of skin. My chair faces the beauty editor’s desk, the cruelest seat in the house. All day long, I watch Charlotte Miller receive package after package stuffed with pastel tissue paper. Inside those packages: lipstick, foundation, perfume, happiness. A thousand simulacrums of Christmas morning spread across the two-hundred and sixty-one workdays of the year. She has piled the trappings of Brooklyn hipsterdom on top of her blonde, big-toothed, prettiness. Wire-frame glasses, a tattoo of a constellation on her inner left forearm, a rose gold nose ring. She seems Texan, but she’s actually from some wholesome upper Midwestern state, I can never remember which one. Right now, she applies red lipstick from a warm golden tube in the flat gleam of the golden mirror next to her monitor. Everything about her is color-coordinated.

I open my laptop. The screen blinks twice and prompts me for my password. I type it in, and the CMS appears, open to where I left it when I signed off the previous evening. Our CMS is called LIZZIE. There’s a rumor that it was named after Lizzie Borden, christened during the pre-launch party when the tech team pounded too many shots after they finished coding. As in, “Lizzie Borden took an ax and gave her mother forty whacks.” Lizzie Borden rebranded in the 21st century as a symbol of righteous feminine anger. LIZZIE, my best friend, my closest confidant. She’s an equally comforting and infuriating presence, constant in her bland attention. She gazes at me, always emotionless, saying nothing as she watches me teeter on the edge, fighting tears or trying not to doze at my desk or simply staring, in search of answers she cannot provide.

My eyes droop in their sockets as I scan the articles that were submitted before I arrived this morning. The whites threaten to turn liquid and splash onto my keyboard, pool between the keys and jiggle like eggs minus the yolks. Thinking of this causes a tiny laugh to slip out from between my clenched lips. Charlotte slides the cap onto her lipstick, glares at me over the lip of the mirror.

“Morning.”

That’s Tom, the only male web producer, who sits across and slightly left of me, keeping my view of Charlotte’s towering wonderland of boxes and bags clear. He’s four years older than me, twenty-eight, but the plush chipmunk curve of his cheeks makes him appear much younger, like he’s about to graduate high school. He’s cute, though, in the way of a movie star who always gets cast as the geek in teen comedies. Definitely hot but dress him down in an argyle sweater and glasses and he could be a Hollywood nerd. I’ve always wanted to ask him why he works here, doing this. There isn’t really a web producer archetype. We’re all different, a true island of misfit toys.

But if there is a type, Tom doesn’t fit it. He seems smart and driven. He’s consistently the only person who attends company book club meetings having read that month’s selection from cover to cover. I’ve never asked him why he works here because we don’t talk much. No one in our office talks much. Not out loud, anyway. We communicate through a private Morse code, fingers dancing on keys, expressions scanned and evaluated from a distance.

Sometimes I think about flirting with Tom, for something to do, but he wears a wedding ring. Not that I care about his wife; it’s more the fear of rebuff and rejection, of hearing the low-voiced Sorry, I’m married, that stops me. He usually sails in a few minutes after I do, smelling like his bodega coffee and the egg sandwich he carefully unwraps and eats at his desk. He nods in my direction. Morning is the only word we’ve exchanged the entire time I’ve worked here, which is coming up on a year in January. It’s not even a greeting, merely a statement of fact. It is morning and we’re both here. Again.

Three hundred and sixty-five days lost to the hum and twitch and click. I can’t seem to remember how I got here. It all feels like a dream. The mundane kind, full of banal details, but something slightly off about it all. I don’t remember applying for the job, or interviewing. One day, an offer letter appeared in my inbox and I signed.

And here I am. Day after day, I wait for someone to need me. I open articles. I tweak the formatting, check the links, correct the occasional typo that catches my eye. It isn’t really my job to copy edit, or even to read closely, but sometimes I notice things, grammatical errors or awkward phrasing, and I then can’t not notice them; I have to put them right or else they nag like a papercut on the soft webbing connecting two fingers. The brain wants to be useful. It craves activity, even after almost three hundred and sixty-five days of operating at its lowest frequency.

I open emails. I download attachments. I insert numbers into spreadsheets. I email those spreadsheets to Lexi and my direct boss, Ashley, who manages the homepage.

None of it ever seems to add up to anything.

Excerpted from Fan Club by Erin Mayer, Copyright © 2021 by Erin Mayer. Published by MIRA Books.

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About the Author

Erin Mayer is a freelance writer and editor based in Maine. Her work has appeared in Business Insider, Man Repeller, Literary Hub, and others. She was previously an associate fashion and beauty editor at Bustle.com.

Connect:

Author website: http://erinmayer.com/

Twitter: @mayer_erin

Instagram: @erinkmayer

Spotlight: Beneath Blackwater River by Leslie Wolfe

She looked beautiful, her hair drifting freely in the water, a small locket floating by her face, attached to her neck with a silver chain. Her red lips were gently parted, as if to let her final breath escape…

When Detective Kay Sharp first left Mount Chester—population 3,823—in her rear-view mirror, she promised never to look back. The town only contained bad memories and dark secrets. But when a brutal crime surfaces, she finds herself home once more, and this time she’s not going anywhere.

Kay is called to Blackwater River, where the body of a seventeen-year-old girl has been found. Surrounded by snowy peaks and a forest alive with the colors of fall, the victim floats in the water, a hand-carved locket around her neck.

The locket seems strangely familiar. Digging into cold cases, Kay discovers that three-year-old Rose Harrelson was wearing it when she vanished fourteen years ago. In the middle of the night, the little girl’s bedroom—with Mickey Mouse on the wall and a hanging baby mobile—was suddenly empty. The unsolved case still haunts the town.

But the teenager they have found has been dead for only a few hours. If the girl in the river is Rose, where has she been, and who has been hiding her all this time? If she is someone else, why is she wearing the locket, and what happened to the missing child from all those years ago?

Kay knows she must solve the kidnapping in order to untangle the mystery of the dead body. As she unearths a web of lies and deceit spun for decades, the close-knit community will never be the same. And Kay will find herself facing a truly terrifying killer…

A totally gripping page-turner that should come with a health warning! Be warned: you’ll lose sleep and your heart will race like crazy as you read twist after twist. Perfect for fans of Lisa Regan, Robert Dugoni and Kendra Elliot.

Excerpt

FALLS 

Malia wore a flower in her hair. 

Not just any kind of flower; she’d gone through online shopping hell to get the plumeria blossom delivered to the hotel that morning, just in time for her planned trip to Blackwater River Falls. She’d paid a fortune for it, worth every cent. 

She wore the scented bloom over her left ear, a Hawaiian custom that told the entire world her heart was taken. By a twenty-seven-year-old, good-looking, and slightly awkward computer nerd from San Francisco named Tobias Grabowsky, who’d probably miss the symbolic meaning of the plumeria, and that was if he even noticed it in the first place. 

She didn’t care. She still wanted the flower to be just right, her hair perfectly shiny, the scent of the petals surrounding her like a mist from heaven, bringer of love and good fortune. But she wished she could’ve worn something else for that special occasion. She cringed at the thought of being proposed to in cream-colored stretch shorts and a red tank top instead of a breezy, white, ruffled gown that bared her shoulders. But if Toby wanted to take her to Blackwater River Falls that morning, she had to pretend she didn’t know why and wear the appropriate attire for hiking. 

But she knew, and the excitement had overwhelmed her since she’d first found the diamond ring in his jacket pocket. 

She’d been worried about his strange behavior the night they’d arrived in Mount Chester. Soon after dinner, expertly served by a blond with cleavage so deep it should’ve been restricted to adult audiences only, she’d noticed that Toby kept touching his right pocket as if to make sure something precious was still in there, tucked safely. That pocket was where he’d shoved the change and check from dinner, and Malia feared that Miss Cleavage might’ve sneaked in her phone number. Anxious for the rest of the evening, Malia could barely wait to get back to their hotel room. There, she lingered with the patience of a hungry spider for Toby to get into the shower, then plunged her hand into the pocket and found it. 

That 1-carat beauty was definitely not for Miss Boobs. 

Before Toby had come out of the shower, she had her plan in place. She’d make sure it was one to remember, and even if she had to wear shorts, at least everything else would be perfect. 

Blackwater River Falls was a one-hour hike from their hotel, climbing at a gentle rate on the western versant of Mount Chester through a stunningly beautiful, fall-tinged forest. As they gained elevation, oaks and maples gave way to a variety of pines and firs, their cones littering the paths. They held hands and hiked with enthusiasm, her impatience causing Toby to ask, “Why the rush?” a couple of times. She’d just smiled in response and slowed down a little, even stopped to press her lips against his for a quick moment, before rushing uphill again. 

They were a good ten minutes away when the whooshing sound of the falls started to be heard, faint and distant, yet precise, melodious, echoing against the rocky slopes of the mountain. 

“I can see it,” Malia announced cheerfully, letting go of Toby’s hand and sprinting ahead. “We’re there.” 

“All right,” Toby replied, panting heavily. “It will still be there in a few minutes, you know,” he quipped, stopping for a moment and looking around. 

She rushed back to him and grabbed his hand, then pulled him ahead on the trail. 

“Come on, you’ll rest when we get there,” she said, and he followed her with a resigned sigh. “You need to work out more,” she added. She was barely out of breath, the fresh air filling her lungs with pure energy. “All day long you sit in front of a screen,” she started, then bit her lip. Maybe she should wait until after the wedding to start criticizing him. She burst into laughter instead, imagining herself as a nagging wife, hands propped on her hips, tapping the tip of her slipper against the gleaming hardwood floors in their future home. 

“What?” he asked. 

“Ah, nothing, I’m just happy,” she replied, lifting her arms in the air and turning in place like a dervish. “Whoo-hoo,” she cried, and the mountain promptly echoed back. “Did you hear it?” 

“Yeah, and so did half the state of California.” 

A punch to his side was quick to follow, and she burst into crystalline laughter as he feigned injury and collapsed to the ground, holding his side and groaning as if he were about to die a wretched death. Now he would have dirt and pine needles on the white T-shirt he was going to propose in, but she didn’t care as much as she thought she would. She just loved hearing him laugh. 

When he stood, he touched his pocket briefly, and then brushed some dirt off his shoulders. She ran her hands over his back, wiping away whatever stuck to the cotton fabric, then they joined hands again and sprinted ahead. 

In a few minutes, they cleared the forest and stopped, hand in hand, to admire the tall, narrow falls against the blue sky, flanked by rocks tinged rusty red. Still panting, Toby gave her a long, loving look, as if trying to figure out what to do next, and then crouched to undo his laces and remove his shoes. 

“What are you doing?” Malia asked, her voice filled with disappointment, after her heart had promptly stopped thinking he was going to take a knee and propose in front of the majestic falls, only to see him preoccupied with the entangled shoelaces on his left sneaker. 

He kicked off both his shoes, then invited her to do the same. “Let’s go in there,” he pointed at the waterfall, “behind that water curtain. I read there’s a cave, not too big, and the water’s only a few inches deep.” 

She hesitated as she imagined dipping her bare feet into the freezing water. She forced a smile and took off her shoes and socks, then tiptoed, faltering on the sharp-edged gravel that littered the path to the fall’s basin. 

He jumped in first, without hesitation. “Yup, it’s freezing, but you won’t feel it,” he reassured her, once he had caught his breath. “Come on.” He tugged gently at her hand. “Take the leap with me.” 

Her face lit up in a beaming smile. She was ready to take a leap with him, the biggest leap of all, for the rest of her life. She put one hesitant foot into the icy water, then the next. He was right. After a few moments, she stopped feeling the cold as badly. 

They splashed toward the water curtain, and she winced at the thought of wading through a shower of freezing water to get to the cave, but that wasn’t the case. There was a narrow opening to the side, enough to allow them to sneak in. Inside the almost dark space, the loud sound of the waterfall was dimmed and seemed distant, as if the silence of the cave absorbed the screams of the crashing cascade. Filtered and powerless, the light that came through the torrent barely touched the glistening walls. 

She studied her surroundings for a quick moment. The walls were stained in hues of green and rusty red, with off-white blotches here and there, where calcareous stone interlaced with the granite. She dipped her hand in the freezing water, and cupped her palm to collect some. She wanted to taste it, but Toby stopped her hand before it reached her lips. 

“I wouldn’t do that,” he said. “You never know what’s in it.” 

She looked at the water still pooled in the cup of her hand. “It looks like it has a pink hue, or is that just the light?” 

“Could be what stained these walls.” He looked around briefly, then smiled widely, visibly nervous. “But I’m not here for spelunking.” He lowered himself on a bent knee, dipping it in the freezing water, while his hand revealed the ring nestled in its black velvet box. “I wanted it to be just you and me, my lovely Malia, when I ask you, will you marry me?” 

Her eyes widened in feigned surprise and sincere delight, while her smile broadened. She clasped her hands together in excitement, then extended her left hand toward Toby. He took out the ring from its box and slid it onto her finger. She looked at him grinning, sealing every detail of the image in her memory, to always remember, till death did them part. 

Then she screamed, a long, searing shriek of pure terror. 

A pale hand with long, narrow fingers grazed Toby’s calf, shifting slowly into the rippling water. 

Toby jumped to his feet and rushed to her, grabbing her shoulders. “What? What is it?” 

Speechless, she pointed at the body moving slowly back and forth under the water surface, barely visible in the dim light. 

In the flashlight coming from Toby’s phone, she saw a large boulder held the girl’s body in place, pinning it to the bottom of the cave. Her long black hair and her right arm had surfaced, the water only a foot deep, brought forward by the constant pounding of the cascade. 

She looked alive, her hair drifting freely in the water as if flowing in the wind, her beautiful face pristine, her red lips gently parted, as if to let her final breath escape. Her eyes seemed to stare at them, surprised, aghast, the terror of her last moments still alive in her irises. A small red locket floated right by her face, still attached to her neck with a silver chain. 

She couldn’t’ve been more than seventeen years old. 

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Audible | Paperback | Bookshop.org

About the Author

Leslie Wolfe is a bestselling author whose novels break the mold of traditional thrillers. She creates unforgettable, brilliant, strong women heroes who deliver fast-paced, satisfying suspense, backed up by extensive background research in technology and psychology. 

Leslie released the first novel, Executive, in October 2011. Since then, she has written many more, continuing to break down barriers of traditional thrillers. Her style of fast-paced suspense, backed up by extensive background research in technology and psychology, has made Leslie one of the most read authors in the genre and she has created an array of unforgettable, brilliant and strong women heroes along the way. 

A recently released standalone and an addictive, heart-stopping psychological thriller, The Girl You Killed will appeal to fans of The Undoing, The Silent Patient, or Little Fires Everywhere. Reminiscent of the television drama Criminal Minds, her series of books featuring the fierce and relentless FBI Agent Tess Winnett would be of great interest to readers of James Patterson, Melinda Leigh, and David Baldacci crime thrillers. Fans of Kendra Elliot and Robert Dugoni suspenseful mysteries would love the Las Vegas Crime series, featuring the tension-filled relationship between Baxter and Holt. Finally, her Alex Hoffmann series of political and espionage action adventure will enthrall readers of Tom Clancy, Brad Thor, and Lee Child.

Leslie has received much acclaim for her work, including inquiries from Hollywood, and her books offer something that is different and tangible, with readers becoming invested in not only the main characters and plot but also with the ruthless minds of the killers she creates.

A complete list of Leslie’s titles is available at LeslieWolfe.com/books.

Leslie enjoys engaging with readers every day and would love to hear from you. Become an insider: gain early access to previews of Leslie’s new novels. 

Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

Spotlight: Lady and the Tribe: How to Create Empowering Friendship Circles by Brenda Billings Ridgley

GENRE: Non-fiction, Self-help

BLURB:

Wives, mothers, and career women—we have all fallen victim to the silent epidemic that is, literally . . . letting ourselves go. Not the makeup free, yoga pants, weight gain routine. Little by little, we have allowed our preferences, interests, and individuality to slip away until we no longer recognize ourselves outside of our role as wives, mothers, or professionals. Who we are has become what we do.

In the process, our friendships have become the casualty of a “busy life” and lack consistency and depth. We have a gaping hole inside us that longs to be filled. How do we reclaim who we really are and fill this empty space that seemed to appear from nowhere? The answer lies in our Tribe. Our best friends see us more clearly than we see ourselves and are representations and extensions of our individuality. They are our companions, cheerleaders, and counselors—always in our corner. They are the branches of our tree of life that lift and support us, so we can flourish. Our Tribe is the family with whom we choose to live our life . . . with no strings attached.

Lady and the Tribe is a blueprint for building deep connections. As you read, you’ll be swept away on a journey of friendship as the author shares her own personal stories and those of other women. In the process, you’ll discover how to find, nurture, and deepen friendships and create a Tribe culture that is unique to you.

We can become whole again through the power of connection.

When three or more gather, we are Tribe.

Excerpt:

Awakening

Today, a dichotomy exists between our concurrent hyper connectedness—the immediate and ongoing ability to check up on faraway friends via social media—and our elevated sense of emotional alienation. Add to that, we as a culture are so focused on career success, financial accomplishments, and family milestones that we often lack the time and energy to connect with others beyond those arenas. Despite being surrounded by people, places and things, somehow we are left feeling alone. We are not alone because we lack relationships. We are alone because these relationships lack depth, knowledge, and certainty. In his column, “Loneliness is Killing Us,” George Monbiot suggests that, much as we labeled the Stone Age, Iron Age, Space Age, and Information Age, this era will be called “The Age of Loneliness.”

Almost without noticing, we have distanced ourselves from the people who choose to love us without obligation. These closest personal friendships are ever present—yet do not demand our time. They are an advocate in our corner, mirroring back to us who we really are. This neglect is not without a price. We must actively seek, grow, and maintain these relationships. If we fail, we won’t just lose a friend—we’ll lose a piece of ourselves.

The wonderful thing is that no matter where you are right now with your relationships, you can exponentially improve your connections by deciding to give them a little more attention and intention.

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Paperback | Bookshop.org

About the Author

BRENDA RIDGLEY is an author, speaker, and girlfriend guru who loves helping women connect, find success, and discover joy through friendship.  Her mission is to start a movement: women coming together to build thousands of new Lady Tribes around the globe.  Through her workshops, vlogs, blogs, and book clubs, Brenda helps women connect and communicate with respect, love, and trust. She holds an MA in human resources and has spent decades cultivating her own Tribe.  A Colorado girl at heart, Brenda lives in the Carbon Valley area with her husband, Parker, two kids, Parker Jr. and Gillian, and pooch, Perry.  She enjoys hiking and has conquered Longs Peak and several other 14’ers.  

To connect with Brenda, visit her website at www.BrendaRidgley.com.

Subscribe:

YouTube: @BrendaRidgley

Podcast: @TheConnectionConnoisseur   - https://www.podserve.fm/series/website/the-connection-connoisseur,3341/

Blog:  https://www.brendaridgley.com/blog

Follow:

Instagram: @BrendaRidgley --  https://www.instagram.com/brendaridgley/

Facebook: @BrendaRidgleyConnections - https://www.facebook.com/brendaridgleyconnections

Twitter: @BrendaRidgley

Spotlight: Absolution by Rachelle Storm

Chris Harris's destiny was bestowed on him before birth, just as it was on his two brothers, John and Randy. Not human but the physical embodiment of elemental water, earth, and fire, they've been burdened with protecting Earth and freeing the world from the Ultimate Evil. 

However, unlike their elemental forms, their human selves have desires of their own. After being hidden away in the remote town of Anderson, North Dakota, Chris and his two brothers hoped that their problems would end, but they've only just begun. Now their individual destinies are intertwined with the unpredictable McNamara sisters—Joanie, Victoria, and Stacie—and the Ultimate Evil is drawing ever nearer. Forced to choose love or duty, regardless of their decisions, nothing will ever be the same for the Harris brothers.

The first in a four-book series, Absolution blends together the forbidden romance of Twilight, the hidden magic and secret guardians of City of Glass, and the non-stop action of The Fifth Wave. Absolution is a whirlwind of adventure for Chris and his brothers as they explore a world more vast, and more dangerous, than any of which they'd dreamed. But now, the nightmare comes.

Absolution is available now at Amazon.com. The second book in the series, Absolution: Revelations, will be published July 2022.

Buy on Amazon | Paperback

About the Author

Rachelle Storm has been a fandom geek since its earliest beginnings and never stopped. A Black scholar holding a doctoral degree in Writing Studies, she researches rhetoric, music, and popular culture. In truth, Rachelle never isn’t writing or sharing her knowledge with her fans. However, on the off-chance she isn't working or experimenting with paper and ink, you can find her at music festivals and independent bookstores. Absolution is her debut novel. The second book in the series, Absolution: Revelations, will be published July 2022. Find her online at rachellestorm.com or connect with her on social media (Instagram; TikTok; Twitter; and Facebook). Join the Absolution fandom on Facebook or Goodreads.

Spotlight: Hearts, Homes & Holidays Anthology

A Sweet Romance Charity Anthology Filled with Family, Friends & Faith

Sweet Romance

Date Published: October 19, 2021

Family Ever After

Longing hearts, loving homes, and lively holidays combine in this Romantique Treasury. This warm-hearted anthology combines friends, families, and faith as hope blossoms in the lives of orphaned children.

ADOPTED IN ARKANSAS

Socialite Emily Simpson feels out of place. So, when Emily consults her aunt, Lachele suggests she use Matchrimony to find a husband. For farmer Derrick Bobo, he hopes an arranged marriage will give him a better chance of gaining custody of his autistic nephew, Zach. Can Emily adjust to a farm wife’s lifestyle? And more importantly, how will she deal with a boy on the spectrum?

A HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

Madeline Collier finds solace in charity work and fundraising for a local children’s home. Peter Townsend moves west from Philadelphia to escape his past and begin a new life. When an idea is planted for an orphan’s possible future, Madeline realizes she needs help. Can Maddie persuade Peter to commit to a marriage of convenience and, in so doing, help her give a child a forever home?

A NEW FAMILY

Eliot Graveney fought his entire life to be seen as the equal of those around him, but a flash of fire enters his world in the shape of heiress Marianne Daltrey. And Eliot’s life will never be the same. Can Eliot outsmart a wealthy man to help Marianne get her inheritance? Will he lose his heart in the process?

FOREVER FAMILY

Susan Vuichard is committed to making sure no child is forgotten in the foster system, which means opening her family farm to three sisters that have nowhere else to go. Richard Petra still suffers from a tragic loss, but sparks fly when he finds his high school sweetheart. Can this group somehow become a forever family?

JUST LIKE CHRISTMAS MORNING

Anna Beckett has a soulless job at Gallagher Industries. When she becomes a volunteer cuddler, holding the sickest babies in the neonatal unit, Anna begins to realize there’s more to life than work. Thrust into a Santa Claus suit at the children’s hospital, Jack Gallagher is surprised to recognize the accountant from work. Can they overcome their misguided perceptions to form a lasting bond?

KANDIE KISSES

Frazzled by a hectic lifestyle, Rachel Boulton has no choice but to rearrange her priorities when a surprise gift is left for her at work. With the help of her secret crush, Mick Polenz, can Rachel meet the overwhelming needs of this special delivery, or will she lose the greatest joy she’s ever known to the demands of unfulfilled ambitions?

LONG TO BELONG

Mark Diamond has never had a family of his own, but being on the spectrum makes relationships extra complicated - until Katie Reed, owner of the Bountiful Blueberry Coffee Shop, stole his heart faster than an underpriced IPO offering. For Katie, her shy beau has been as yummy as a dandelion-cocoa latte, but can they handle each other’s situation, or will their dreams be thrown out like yesterday’s brew?

MACY’S GIFT

Macy Williams loves her career as a photojournalist, but when her brother and sister-in-law die, Macy is drawn back to her small hometown to handle their estate. Cord Adams is surprised by his deceased friend’s choice of guardian. He only met Macy once, and the meeting was anything but cordial. Can two strong-willed individuals set aside their differences for the good of two young girls?

NOT PART OF OUR EVENING PLANS

As one of the couples who found love at River’s End Ranch, Jace and Dinky Cunningham struggle with the loss of their dreams for a family; but, circumstances can shift in a split second. Dare they hope this change of plans will bring them everything their hearts desire?

Proceeds from this collection of inspiring stories will benefit special-needs adoption grants through Reece’s Rainbow.

Connect:

Michele Pollock Dalton https://www.michelepollockdalton.com/

Michele Brouder - https://michelebrouder.com/

Nancy Fraser - http://nancyfraser.ca/

T.C. Hester - https://teddyhester.com/

Jean Jacobsen - https://jeanjacobsenauthor.com

Caroline Lee - http://www.carolineleeromance.com/

Kirsten Osbourne - http://www.kirstenandmorganna.com

Rose Pearson - https://www.rosepearsonauthor.com/

Christine Sterling - https://www.facebook.com/ChatSipandRead