A Matter of Circumstance and Celludrones by Claire Robyns - Virtual tour and giveaway

Today author Claire Robyns visits on her tour with Goddess Fish Promotions for the Victorian Steampunk/Paranormal adventure novel, "A Matter of Circumstance and Celludrones".

Claire will be awarding a $50 Amazon gift card to two randomly drawn commenters during the tour, so leave a comment today and follow the rest of her tour by clicking on the banner above.

Lady Lily d'Bulier is prim, proper, and prefers to think of herself as pragmatic rather than timid. And avoiding life-threatening situations at all costs is just plain practical. But everything changes when Lord Adair tracks her down in London; searching for answers he seems to think she has.

Greyston Adair is a blackguard and a smuggler, although British Customs will have to catch him red-handed to prove the latter. Fortunately, the dirigibles they float around in have never been able to get near his air dust.

Hell is rising, One Demon at a Time...

With Lady Ostrich hunting them, and the mystery of how their lives tie back to Cragloden Castle and the powerful McAllister clan, Lily has no option but to throw propriety to the wind and run off with Greyston to Scotland, away from the immediate danger and toward possible answers.

Now enjoy an excerpt:

She glanced across to find him staring out of his window.

In profile, silky brown hair stroked the hollow below his cheekbone and his clenched jaw formed a rigid line. His trousers were a dark grey, matched with a waistcoat worn over a crisp white shirt. Broad shoulders filled a meticulously tailored jacket that was left unbuttoned. He’d crossed one leg over the other and rested an elbow on the door ledge.

He looked every inch the well-groomed gentleman who’d been admitted to Lady Cheshire’s Mummy ball.

Every inch the heart-stopping Lord Dashing.

Her gaze settled on the ruined neck cloth and loose ties hanging down his front. A blush heated her throat as she recalled the unfamiliar hardness of lean muscle and his particular scent of pine forest and ash and something altogether male. She’d danced her share of waltzes, but this took intimacy to an entirely new extreme.

He brought his attention from outside to meet her brazen stare with a quirked brow. “At least you haven’t leapt to your death yet.”

The heat drained from her skin. Lily lowered her eyes, clasping her fingers in her lap to hide the trembling.

I’m not dead.

She lifted her gaze to him. “What do you want with me, Lord Adair?”

The ghost of that exact question, asked as she’d served him tea in her drawing room, answered. I knew Lady d’Bulier. Lily held her breath.

Lord Adair grimaced. “I knew your mother, Lady d’Bulier.”

She let that breath out on a trembling sigh. “You mentioned something about keeping me safe. From what?”

In response, he half-rose and rapped hard up against the roof with his fist. A moment later, the carriage drew to a halt in a clearing alongside the road.

Lily’s hand quickly went to the door handle on her side. She hesitated. There was no urge to run for her life. She was more afraid of her memories, of what might or might not be real, than of Lord Adair.

When Lord Adair alighted and offered her a hand, she shifted along the seat and allowed him to help her out. Neither of them wore gloves. Skin touched skin as she stepped from the carriage.

One more intimate social transgression; she was beginning to lose count.

She slid her hand from his as soon as her feet touched the ground. Her slippers were no protection from the mulch of fallen leaves and damp soil as she walked beneath a cluster of trees.

She spun about, determined to get some answers, but her gaze stalled on the large man in the driver’s box. “He’s the celludrone,” she gasped. “He’s the one who fought that woman.”

She’d only caught snatches of him before Lord Adair had pushed her out of sight behind the settee. The aftermath, however, was burned into her skull. This man, and Ana, torn apart at their seams, nothing left but mechanical pieces strewn across her drawing room. Dear Lord, had these spells she suffered from evolved into some type of visionary premonition? Had she witnessed her imminent death?

Claire Robyns lives in Berkshire, England, with her husband and twin boys. For so long as she has memories, she was either reading, dreaming about reading, or planning what she'd be reading next. Then one day she started dreaming about writing and that was the beginning of an amazing journey.

When Claire isn't thigh-deep in laundry, shopping, cooking and general crowd control, you'll find her head-and-heart-deep in the tangled lives of her characters.

Visit Claire at her website www.clairerobyns.com or on twitter @clairerobyns or on facebook www.facebook.com/clairerobyns

Buy Links

Amazon.com:

http://www.amazon.com/Matter-Circumstance-Celludrones-Matters-ebook/dp/B009GNHRAS/ref=sr_1_3_title_1_kin?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1361907276&sr=1-3&keywords=claire+robyns

B&N:

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-matter-of-circumstance-and-celludrones-claire-robyns/1114044426?ean=2940044191365

Kobo:

http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/-Matter-Circumstance-Celludrones-Dark-Matters/book-EvMg7ZSEv0mvjJR5XN1Ifg/page1.html?s=qIHw5UWUNUyia42VfIIoug&r=1

Jessie's War by Meggan Connors - Virtual Tour and Giveaway

Today we're talking to Meggan Connors on her tour with Goddess Fish Promotions for the Civil War steampunk romance, "Jessie's War".

Meggan will be awarding a silver pocket watch pendant and a cameo choker, and a signed paperback copy of The Marker, her historical romance to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour. (US/CANADA ONLY)

Thanks for stopping by and visiting, Meggan!

It’s Time for Fun Facts with Meggan Connors First, thank you for having me here at It’s Raining Books. Today, I’m talking about fun facts about me. Let’s get this party started, shall we?

1. I have a talent for making fun of myself.

I’m serious on this front. I could make a career out of making fun of myself, and the unexpected, quirky, and just plain weird things that happen to me. In fact, I am about to demonstrate this mad skill of mine in this blog.

2. I am afraid of cows.

It sounds crazy. The husband tells me they’re big and slow and probably not that smart.

But… they’re big. And they stampede (hey, I’ve watched Westerns on TV). And…and…Pamplona? I know, that’s bulls, but still. Bovines.

When I was much younger, a friend of mine convinced me I needed to go cow tipping. Talk about my Heart of Darkness. Oh, the horror! I got within fifteen feet of a calf, screamed, and was on the other side of the fence before my friend could even blink. To this day, I don’t know if one can even tip a cow. All I know is that I have no plans on trying.

3. I’m not fond of clowns, either.

When the husband and I first got together, he has this heinous, atrocious collection of Red Skelton pictures. OMG, all those creepy clowns. Needless to say, the pictures found their way to his parents’ house, where they live to this day.

This loathing of clowns runs very deep, and probably stems from watching Killer Clowns from Outer Space one too many times. In fact, here’s a sample conversation between my children and me:

Chewey, age 5. “Mommy, chase me.”

Me: “Honey, I’m wearing heels. I can’t chase you.”

Monk, age 8: “Chewey, you know Mom doesn’t run unless she’s being chased by clowns.” Then she laughed like a maniac.

This is mostly true. I’ll run if I have an escaping preschooler, I have to, or if I’m being chased by clowns. I suspect this is also true if I’m being chased by cows.

In all honesty, I’d rather not test this theory.

4. If there is the remotest possibility that I could be hit in the face by a ball, it will happen. And not in a good way.

When I let out my dirty little secret—that balls tend to hit me in the face—it invariably gets a chuckle. No, I don’t mean it in that way. I mean, I’ve been hit in the face with a basketball, a baseball, and a football, and all either while I’m behind a fence, or when I’m at a collegiate sporting event. Either way, it’s wrong, man. Simply wrong.

5. And, last but not least, I am the queen of wardrobe malfunctions.

While I have many stories about my clothes randomly falling off, I will share this gem:

I was on the shuttle up at the university. The thing was packed with football players and cheerleaders… and me (obviously, neither of those). I was wearing a cute skirt, boots, and a silk shirt. When I went to stand up to get off the shuttle, I stood on my skirt.

It fell off.

I don’t mean that it slid down. I mean, it fell off. The thing hit the ground and got tangled in my boots. I wrestled with that thing like it was a freaking anaconda. Yes, wearing my giant granny panties. In front of the football team.

The shuttle was silent. I’m sure I could have heard crickets chirping, if I hadn’t been cursing under my breath and begging God to let me put my clothes back on.

Eventually, I got my clothes back on, and, with my head held high, I got off that very silent shuttle.

As I walked into my building, I paused.

They weren’t silent anymore. They were laughing. No, more than laughing. They were guffawing, cackling and howling with laughter. I could still hear them laughing as the shuttle stopped at the next stop.

As for me, what did I do with my most embarrassing moment?

I laughed. I laughed until I cried, and then I told the first person I saw.

We’re friends to this day.

I wanted to thank the good people at It’s Raining Books for hosting me today. I had fun!

She's about to become a pawn in a brutal game between nations...

The American Civil War has raged for more than ten years. The outcast daughter of a famous inventor, Jessica White has struggled to salvage what little remains of her life. Then, one cold winter night, the lover she'd given up for dead returns, claiming the Union Army bought the plans for her father's last invention. But he's not the only one who lays claim to the device, for the Confederacy wants the invention as well. Both sides will kill to have it.

...And only he can save her.

As an agent for the Union Army, Luke Bradshaw is a man who will use whomever and whatever is at his disposal in order to complete his mission. An attack by Confederate soldiers ensures that Jessie will turn to him for help, but Luke can't help but wonder about the secrets she keeps--and if those secrets will ultimately prove fatal.

Someone knocked, and Muha’s tentative barking turned hysterical.

Taking her revolving shotgun back down, she crept to the lever that would pull down the shutters and arm the Gatling gun mounted to the rooftop.

“Go home, sheriff. Not talking to you today.”

“It’s not the sheriff.”

Her hand froze and the shotgun clattered to the floor. Gooseflesh dotted her arms and her pulse quickened, a frantic rat-a-tat-tat like a hail of bullets, as her body recognized what her logical mind denied.

The room went quiet. Muha sat with her ears pricked up, her tail thumping cautiously against the worn pine floor. The wolf recognized the gravelly voice, too.

The knock became more insistent, sharper. “Please open the door, Jessie.”

It was a dead man’s voice.

She struggled to fill her lungs with air as the pine door shook beneath her visitor’s heavy fists. Those hands would be big and strong and ridged with calluses. Her heart twisted painfully in her chest, and she tried not to think about them. Or their owner.

She’d gotten over his loss just like she’d gotten over all the others.

With trembling hands, Jessie picked up her shotgun and rested it against the wall. Her legs leaden, she walked to the door and put her hand on the knob, but hesitated.

She’d dreamed of this moment for years, of this man walking back into her life.

Now she couldn’t bring herself to let him in.

“Please. It’s freezing out here.”

She turned the knob, and Luke Bradshaw stood in her doorway, the brim of his hat heavy with snow, and small flakes clung to the dark lashes fringing his silver eyes.

He was as tall as she remembered, towering over her as he stood on her sagging front porch, bringing with him the scent of smoke and sulfur and snow. A black slouch hat covered his head and rested low over his eyes, and a black duster swirled around his bright-spurred boots. The silver six-shooter on his left hip glittered in the low light, and a large, black satchel was strapped to his broad back.

Muha pushed her head past the door.

Luke gave her a lopsided smile and took off his hat. “Hi, Jess.” A scar she didn’t remember ran through his right eyebrow, and another creased his chin. He held his hand out to Muha and scratched behind her grizzled ears, the way he always used to greet her. He handed her a piece of jerky, and despite the long years, a friendship was immediately rekindled. “There’s a girl.”

“Luke.” Jessie reached out to touch his cheek. The stubble of his unshaven jaw was rough beneath her palm, and his skin was cold. Her fingers trembled as she traced his lips, his breath warm against them.

He kissed her fingertips.

Dead men didn’t breathe or kiss a girl’s fingers. Dead men didn’t leave as boys and come back as men. Dead men didn’t come home with new scars or shiver with cold.

“You’re alive,” she whispered.

“Yep.”

His sweet, boyish smile melted her heart, and something inside her, denied for far too long, splintered and howled in despair.

She slapped him.

The crack echoed in the empty, snow-lit darkness behind him. Jessie stepped back to slam the door on this would-be ghost who had the gall to walk back into her life and act as if he’d never left.

Meggan Connors is a wife, mother, teacher and award-winning author who writes primarily historical and steampunk romances. As a history buff with a love of all things historical, she enjoys visiting both major and obscure museums, and reading the histories of the Old West and the British Isles. She makes her home in the Wild West with her lawman husband, two children, and a menagerie of pets. When she's not writing, she can usually be found hiking in the mountains, playing in the snow, or with her nose in a book. Favorite vacation destinations include the sun-kissed hills of California, any place with a castle or a ghost (and both is perfect!), and the windswept Oregon coast.

Links: Website: www.megganconnors.com

Twitter: @megganconnors

http://www.amazon.com/Jessies-War-Civil-Steam-ebook/dp/B00BWACFE6/ref=la_B00AVGKU4O_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1364249478&sr=1-3

Revenge of the Mad Scientist by Lara Nance - Virtual tour and Giveaway

Today we're visiting with author Lara Nance on her tour with Goddess Fish Promotions for the Romantic Steampunk Adventure, "Revenge of the Mad Scientist".

Lara will be awarding an autographed original map of Arabella's steampunk world to a randomly drawn commenter at each stop, and a $50 Amazon gift card and an original steampunk necklace to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour, so comment today AND follow her tour (if you click on the banner above, it'll take you to a list of her tour stops)! The more you read and comment, the better your odds of winning. You could be introduced to a great new author AND win a really cool prize!

Also, if you sign up for her newsletter on her website from Jan 29 - Feb 3, you will be entered for an autographed copy of her book as well as an original steampunk necklace.

When Lady Arabella Trunkett’s father, the High Lord Minister of Urbannia is kidnapped, all clues point to the mysterious country of Gandiss and the world is thrown into political upheaval.

Arabella is convinced the more sinister nation of Carabarras is to blame, urged on by a mad scientist seeking revenge. So, she sets out on a perilous airship journey across a variety of exotic locales to save him, and halt the potential world war.

But airship pirates, secret assassins and slave traders aren’t her only trials. The fickle hand of fate has made the captain of the only airship available for charter, the man who left her at the altar. For eight years she's wished him dead. Now he's her only hope.

“Oh!” She jumped up, put a hand in her purse and withdrew the handkerchief. “I forgot to tell you about this. I found it on the floor in the room from which Father was taken. I’m positive he left it as a clue but I’m not sure what it means.”

Benji took the piece of cloth with the stick pin and his youthful face screwed up in concentration as he examined it, then he bolted to his feet “D, d, dash it all, Belle. Do you know what this is?”

She shook her head and her heart raced at his tone.

“It’s a ceremonial j, j, jewel given to the Sarcs of Carabarras.”

Her eyes widened. She’d heard of the secret group of assassins but didn’t know any more than the general public. She hoped her adopted boy genius had more details. “You’d better explain.”

“The Sarcs are t, t, taken as children and trained within the secret organization. When they finish their t, t, training, they’re given a task to fulfill. Usually that means k, k, killing someone. If they're successful, they’re given the t, t, title of Sarc and one of these.” He held up the gold and ruby pin. “They wear it on the inside of their c, c, cloaks and never take it off until they die.”

“Or until it falls out of their cloak while they’re kidnapping someone…or…that someone steals it as a clue.” Belle hadn’t really examined it, so she reached out and took it from him. She turned the pin around seeing it in a new light. The golden head resembled some type of flower and the large ruby was planted in the middle of the blossom. She looked up at Benji.

Lara Nance grew up and lived in many cites throughout the South. She loves to write in a variety of genres, but the basis of all of her stories is a great tale that will take you on an adventure of imagination.

If you want to escape and lose yourself in a novel, you've come to the right place. Choose your genre and settle in to be entertained. From thrilling mysteries and steampunk tales, to paranormal romance and adventure, she's willing to explore a variety of compelling stories full of danger and suspense, along with a touch of romance.

Having been on the fencing team in college and now living on a sailboat convinces her that she was a pirate in another life, or possibly kin to Errol Flynn… However, due to the unfortunate demise of the romantic pirates of the past, she lives out her fantasies, thrills and adventures in her stories. Lara loves to weave interesting true historical tidbits into her fiction which invite the reader to explore further after the novel is finished.

Currently docked in Norfolk, Virginia (until the wind changes) Lara enjoys living on her sailboat and spends time reading, of course writing, indulging a variety of artistic endeavors, cooking and sailing with her husband, Joe and their Yorkie, Rio.

Link to Website: www.laranance.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Lara_Nance

Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Lara-Nance-Author/164262596944196?ref=hl

Buy link at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Revenge-Mad-Scientist-Book-ebook/dp/B008XJ8LJ2/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1353853847&sr=1-1&keywords=revenge+of+the+mad+scientist+by+lara+nance

The Hands of Tarot by SM Blooding - Review tour and giveaway

(Full length Steampunk / SFF)

This review is done in conjunction with the author's virtual tour with Goddess Fish Promotions. SM will be awarding a Tarot Doll of their choice to a randomly drawn commenter (US/Canada Only) during the tour (for more information: http://www.smblooding.com/ht1-order-tarot-doll-autographed-book), so comment today AND follow the tour (if you click on the tour banner above, it'll take you to a list of her tour stops) -- the more you read and comment, the better your odds of winning. You could be introduced to a great new author AND win an awesome prize!



She killed his father. She imprisoned and beat him.

And now she thinks he’s her trophy.

Synn El’Asim will do almost anything to prove her wrong. But he’s only proving her right.

Queen Nix awakened his Mark of power and inducted him into the House of Wands. She knew what she was doing. The son of the two most powerful Families standing against her is the ultimate prize.

What she didn’t take into consideration was that maybe he was too strong for her. Maybe.

The Families aren’t. They’ve been weakened, and it’ll take a lot more than one young man with a powerful Mark to take on the Hands of Tarot.



I have to say right off that I struggled with the book and with writing this review.  First: the book is marked as YA, but I wouldn't let my daughter read it (she's almost fourteen) because the torture the hero, Synn, goes through (as well as others that Nix has enslaved) is significantly sexual and while not a lot is laid bare on the page, it's definitely and very clearly implied.

However, older teens and adults, especially fans of fantasy and steampunk, should find this book quite satisfying.  Though I admit to being utterly confused through the first several chapters (I couldn't picture this world in my mind at all -- I felt as though I'd been tossed into a completely foreign land with no clues as to how any of it worked), eventually I began to figure things out and the last half of the book went much smoother.

The storyline and world is unlike any other I've seen.  I hesitate to call this "steampunk" since the genre includes a setting in an alternate 19th century Earth (I admit, I even looked it up and this wasn't the case with The Hands of Tarot.  Yes, the story has airships and technology, but it was still outside the usual. This isn't a bad thing ... it's one of the reasons I kept reading.  I was intrigued by the uniqueness of setting and story.

 Ms. Blooding has done an excellent job creating a story I've never really seen before. Yes, we have great peril for groups of people and a tormented hero who has the entire world riding on his shoulders and who much make great sacrifices to save those he loves, but its presentation is fascinating and different.  And, the ending!  The author makes the reader feel as though ends are being wrapped up and then WHAM!  They're all loose again.  A strong start to what promises to be a really good series.  I'm certainly interested in what happens in the next book.  Well done, Ms. Blooding!

Rated 4 Flowers -- This was a very good book! I'd recommend it to my friends.

SM Blooding lives in Colorado with her pet rock, Rockie, their new addition, Mr. Bird, who’s a real bird. She likes to hike the beautiful Rocky Mountains, and is learning to play the piano and guitar. Currently, she’s trying to MURDER them both. Friends call her Frankie.

She’s dated vampires, werewolves, sorcerers, weapons smugglers and US Government assassins. Yes. She has stories.

She’s also an investigator with a local paranormal investigation group, Colorado Paranormal Rescue!

Twitter

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Website/blog

Amazon – Kindle   

Amazon – Paperback    

B&N – Paperback   

Autographed copy  

Additional information

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http://www.smblooding.com/

http://www.smblooding.com/the-hands-of-tarot/

Virtual Book Tour and Giveaway with Theresa Meyers

Today we're welcoming author Theresa Meyers to the blog on her tour with Bewitching Book Tours for her Steampunk Romance, "The Slayer".
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The author is giving away an Advanced Reader Copy of her second book in her Legend Chronicles steampunk romance series, THE SLAYER, along with an autographed cover flat and an antique china cup (cups will vary) accompanied by an assortment of teas and decadent Bliss chocolate!

Just enter to win by using the Rafflecopter widget below her post -- sorry folks, the widget isn't working. Go HERE to enter. Good luck! And, now, I'll turn the blog over to our guest. Take it away!



Why Rain Makes the Best Writers
By Theresa Meyers

Since I’m here today at It’s Raining Books, I thought it only appropriate to talk about why rain makes the best writers. I live in Washington, so we get plenty of opportunity to test the theory. But if you look at the writer’s groups locally, there’s a plethora of fantastic writers. I blame the rain. Seriously.

When I lived in Arizona, there were days you looked out at the cloudless blue sky in the morning and wished for some kind of cloud or weather disturbance, just to break the monotony. Having spent a good part of my teens in the Pacific Northwest, I had this inexplicable urge to be working outside whenever the sun was out. It’ was like a mandate from Mother Nature, which conversely meant that I didn’t get a whole lot of writing done unless it was pen on paper and I detest writing in long-hand because I can’t keep up with my own story in my head. Now it might have been having two teeny people in diapers and nursing at the same time, but I like to think I could have worked on stories even then.

But when we moved back to the Pacific Northwest after about a decade a wonderful thing happened: rainy days. When it’s raining outside, there is no compulsion to get out of your desk chair, away from your computer and work outside. You know it’s ridiculous so you don’t even try. It’s far more tempting to settle in with a nice hot cup of tea at the keyboard and let the imagination soar.

That’s one reason I think rain makes better writers.

The second is because once you’re housebound, you don’t have much choice but to deal with the stir-crazy stories in your head. Writers are a little different than most people. One of the questions I often get, especially when I talk to groups of young writers, is “Where do you get your ideas from?” I try to explain that it’s not so much a process of going out and searching for the ideas as siphoning them off of my brain so that my head doesn’t explode with the sheer volume of them crowded up in my cranium. Writers see stories everywhere. They materialize just when we’re the busiest, on deadline, trying to juggle dinner, homework and the checkbook, or when we are doing the most mundane things like washing dishes or walking the dog.

That’s why I think the rain helps. In Arizona, when the rain comes it pours down in buckets and sheets like someone unzipped the sky and let it all drain out in one big slosh of water. In Washington, it’s more of this constant. It might be a drizzle that you feel like an idiot taking out an umbrella for, but you’ll get soaked if you don’t. Or it might be this steady pelting that goes on for months. But because it is somewhat of a constant (except for those glorious few weeks of summer and a few nice days in mid-winter) it becomes mundane, like walking the dog. It somehow lulls the brain into a state of creativity.

Of course, it’s also far easier to imagine the Victorian streets in their misty haze, when our weather in Washington isn’t much different than London’s. Which makes writing steampunk, like my latest release THE SLAYER, so much easier. It’s not like I had to go that far to know what being soaked to the skin in a hazy drizzle feels like.

The third reason rain makes better writers is because of the old saying “April showers bring May flowers.” The rain allows us to be creative for long stretches, but it also allows us to appreciate so much more the end result. It’s like a sunny day here in Washington. When it comes, you revel in it. Those spots and momentary celebrations are exactly how a writer’s life goes. Work for long stretches, more of it dreary than not, and in the end you get a brief moment of euphoria. It’s enough to keep you going because that moment is so brilliant and bright.

So say what you will, but I think the rain makes us better writers.

Amazon Barnes & Noble Books-A-Million IndieBound
ebook: Kindle

Brothers Winchester, Remington and Colt know the legends—they were trained from childhood to destroy demon predators, wielding the latest steam-powered gadgetry. It’s a devil of a job. But sometimes your fate chooses you...

CHASING TROUBLE

Winn Jackson isn’t interested in hunting nightmares across the Wild West—even if it’s the family business. Unlike his rakehell brothers, Winn believes in rules. As sheriff of Bodie, California, he only shoots actual law breakers. That’s what he’s doing when he rescues the Contessa Drossenburg, Alexandra Porter, a lady with all the elegance of the Old World—grace, beauty and class. And then he sees her fangs.

Alexandra isn’t just some bloodsucking damsel in distress, though. She’s on a mission to save her people—and she’s dead certain that Winn’s family legacy is the only way. Luckily, aside from grace and class, she also has a stubborn streak a mile wide. So like it or not, Winn is going to come back with her to the mountains of Transylvania, and while he’s at it, change his opinions about vampires, demon-hunting, and who exactly deserves shooting. And if she has her way, he’s going to do his darnedest to save the world.

About Theresa Meyers:

Raised by a bibliophile who made the dining room into a library, Theresa has always been a lover of books and stories. First a writer for newspapers, then for national magazines, she started her first novel in high school, eventually enrolling in a Writer's Digest course and putting the book under the bed until she joined Romance Writers of America in 1993.

In 2005 she was selected as one of eleven finalists for the American Title II contest, the American Idol of books. She is married to the first man she ever went on a real date with (to their high school prom), who she knew was hero material when he suffered through having to let her parents drive, and her brother sit between them in the backseat of the car. They currently live in a Victorian house on a mini farm in the Pacific Northwest with their two children, three cats, an old chestnut Arabian gelding, an energetic mini-Aussie shepherd puppy, several rabbits, a dozen chickens and an out-of-control herb garden.

You can find her online on Twitter, Facebook, at her Web site or blogging with the other Lolitas of STEAMED!

http://www.theresameyers.com/

http://www.theresameyers.com/blog/

http://twitter.com/Theresa_Meyers

http://www.facebook.com/TheresaMeyersAuthor

http://www.ageofsteam.wordpress.com/