Tag Archives: Book Blitz

Book Blitz: ‘Lead Like a Pro’ by Dr. Matthew Raidbard

Title: Lead Like a Pro

Effective Leadership Styles For Athletic Coaches

Author: Dr. Matthew Raidbard

Publisher: Mascot Books

Genre: Sports Coaching

About the Book:

Athletic coaches are asked to wear more and more hats with each passing season, and in many cases, they are not receiving the support or training necessary to help them succeed in their ever-expanding roles. Drawing on over a decade spent as a college basketball coach and original research conducted on what leadership styles and behaviors help athletic coaches be successful, Lead Like a Pro provides coaches with the resources to transform their leadership practice and reach their full potential.

Whether you are a volunteer coaching your child’s team, a part-time high school coach who’s also a teacher, or a full-time college or professional coach, this book will teach you new ways to enhance your leadership style and become a better coach for your athletes and team. All coaches should be constantly working on improving their leadership abilities, but not all coaches have the time or opportunity to attend leadership conferences, training sessions, or classes. Lead Like a Pro provides insight into different leadership techniques, and teaches coaches how to evaluate their current practices so they can develop a strong leadership style that fits their personal values and beliefs.

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“No leader is perfect, and no coach practices all the best leadership behaviors 100 percent of the time. However, if underlining every decision a coach makes and behavior they model is the belief that what the coach is doing is in the best interests of the athletes and team, then whether down the road that decision or action turns out to be right or wrong is not necessarily the most important thing. The process can be just as, if not more, important than the outcome, because leaders are going to make missteps and wrong decisions. As long as leaders stay true to themselves, do not try to become someone else, or allow outside factors to lead them to fundamentally compromising who they are at their core, then they will remain on the right track and continue to have what no coach can be successful without: the trust and respect of their athletes.”

About the Author:

After obtaining his Bachelor of Arts in history and classical studies from Indiana University, Dr. Matthew Raidbard decided to pursue his dream of being a college basketball coach. His first college basketball coaching job was at Western New Mexico University, where he also completed his Master of Arts degree in Educational Leadership. In 2018, Dr. Raidbard conducted a study on how college basketball coaches perceived themselves as leaders, finding that many coaches were unsuccessful because they lacked the necessary tools and training to be effective leaders. His findings inspired him to write this book and dedicate himself to helping coaches at all levels improve their leadership abilities so that they can be the best and most effective leaders for the athletes they are entrusted to coach.

Social Media Links:

Website: www.raidbardleadership.com

LinkedIn: www.linkedin.com/in/matthew-raidbard-ed-d-631470116

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Book Blitz: ‘A Dog of Many Names’ by Douglas Green

Title: A Dog of Many Names

Author: Douglas Green

Publisher: Circuit Breaker Books

Genre: Adventure / Fiction

About the Book:

Born a runt, Rascal is destined to be an underdog. Despite what looked like an unbreakable bond with the daughter of the family who bred her, Rascal’s devotion is discarded when she finds herself left roadside, with nothing but a few pieces of kibble to help her survive. Abandoned and alone, Rascal must learn to fend for herself and embark on a harsh and dangerous journey through the mountain wilderness of Southern California. Along the way, she encounters strangers who teach her about the good and bad of humans. But will she ever find a home that lasts? A Dog of Many Names is a courageous story of survival, seen through the eyes of an unforgettable dog, struggling between her greatest needs — to find her own strength, and to love and be loved.

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Chapter One

The Empire

And then, one by one, the eyes opened…

Everything you hear about Southern California is true—stars, beaches, awful traffic—but about sixty miles east of Los Angeles lies another world. Called the Inland Empire (to convince farmers to move there long ago), it’s a dusty land of factories, warehouses, and homes. A land of struggle.

For example, take Fred and Myrna Corbett. Fred’s grand- parents stopped here on their way from Oklahoma during the Depression. Years later, Myrna’s father moved nearby for a military job after serving in Korea and met her mother one night as she sang for a touring band.

Fred and Myrna met in high school. But they were in their thirties before both suddenly realized they’d always liked each other. Next thing they knew, they were married, then pregnant, and then mourning the loss of a son who almost made it to breathing. But this only made the birth a year later of a baby girl, Angela, especially joyous. By this time, the local couch factory had closed, and Fred had started his own furniture repair business, while Myrna kept her job at the chain drugstore counter three days a week. And now that Angela had defined them as a family, they bought a dog.

Greta was, everyone said, as perfect a German shepherd as ever had been seen. Larger than normal, with defined musculature, noble chin, and a splendid mask (the coloring on her nose and mouth), she was a natural watchdog and companion, and easily the most valuable possession—if you’d use that word—in the Corbett home.

But the Corbetts had another role for her too. Given her looks and her pedigree, they found that breeding her with José Hastings’ similarly beautiful Siegfried gave them litters of pups which, after splitting the profit, brought in  a welcome few thousand dollars a year. Myrna joked that, while they lived in an area called an empire, the only real imperial power around was Greta and Siegfried’s progeny taking over the whole county.

Fred refused to keep Greta in a crate, except when she was nursing pups. But he did keep their eight-foot fence in good repair, to ensure no one but Siegfried would ever date their beloved debutante. Which eventually led to quite a mystery.

When Angela was almost nine, Greta was found to be pregnant again, but when she gave birth it was clear the puppies…weren’t Siegfried’s. All but one bore a clear resemblance to Walter, a chow-Doberman-and-more mix owned by Homer Scott down the street. But how could Walter, who was too stocky to jump over a shoebox, have managed to climb into their yard?

Fred searched the yard and found no possible way. But as he finished, he noticed muddy footprints on top of Greta’s doghouse, which was just tall enough for her to have climbed onto it and pulled herself over the fence. Pulled herself?

Despite regular visits with Siegfried, she risked her life to escape to Walter? Fred went into the house, where Myrna was showing the newborns to Angela, and revealed his discovery. “We won’t let anyone know about them till they’re eight weeks old,” Myrna explained. “Then they’ll be so unbearably cute, no one will be able to resist them.”

Angela smiled, remembering when “unbearably cute” was the term her mother would use to describe her, just before covering her tummy in loud kisses. She counted the babies out—five, six, seven, with the seventh just half the size of the others. She asked why, and Fred explained that, even inside the womb, puppies compete for food, and the smallest often comes out malnourished. “And the runts usually end up fearful, because they’ve been beaten up for longer than they can remember.”

“Ohh!” Angela whined, and reached out to hold the tiny morsel, but Myrna reminded her not to touch them yet. Seeming to grasp the idea, though, Greta leaned over and started licking the tiny one.

And then, one by one, the eyes opened. And their personalities as well.

The cheerful brat who would bite his siblings to get more access to Greta’s  milk; the nurturer who spent all  his awake time licking his brothers and sisters, even when they were sleeping or nursing; the explorer who had to    be watched so that she wouldn’t find a way out of the fenced-in kitchen (“Like mother, like daughter,” Fred shook his head); the lazy sleepy boy who didn’t seem to mind any treatment as long as he could remain exactly where he was; the nervous watcher, always checking around as if some- thing bad were coming at him; the big bulky girl, shoving others all day, but with no ill will—just moving whatever was in her way. And the sad-eyed runt, pushed away by the others at every feeding time, but pulled in by Greta when she’d cry, or at the bottom of the pile at playtime, or sleeping on the outside of the tiny pack—pressing herself against whomever was available for warmth. Ironically, she was the only one who looked like a tiny version of noble Greta, while all the others looked like Walter or a mixture of the two.

And at eight weeks, Myrna’s theory proved right. All it took was posting on a website, and the phone started ringing immediately. The puppies, unable to sleep with the noise, watched to see what the furless giants were doing. When the sixth call came in, Myrna smiled at Angela and answered, “Daisy Hill Puppy Farm!” Angela giggled, even though she didn’t know what her mom was referring to. But then Myrna’s eyes widened suddenly. “Oh, I’m sorry, Rich. Nothing. What…?”

She looked concerned. “Today? But I’m…I’d…I’d have to bring Angela in, is that…? Okay, sure, I’ll be there.”

She hung up, looked at Angela, and almost said some- thing, but thought better of it.

“What, Mommy?”

“We have to go in to work.”

“Oh, Mom, I don’t want to! It’s boring there, and I want to stay with the…”

“I’m sorry, honey,” Myrna cut her off. “It won’t be for long. Something’s…something’s up.”

They left out the back door, as sixteen eyes watched.

All the eyes were startled open two hours later, by the sound of the door unlocking and Angela asking, “What does ‘got her trained like a little monkey’ mean anyway?” in annoyance. The puppies began whining, as Greta pulled them in and began cleaning them.

“What? Who said that?” Myrna asked absently, looking at her phone.

“Mr. Daniels. When we first went in. He gave me that big, loud, ‘Hey, Angela! How’s it going?’ and I said ‘I’m fine, Mr. Daniels. How are you?’ and he told you that you had me trained like a little monkey.”

“Oh, honey, he’s just… He’s not very good with people. He was actually complimenting your manners.”

“Well, if he’s not good with people,” Angela asked while opening a bag of electric-colored candy, “why is he your boss?”

Myrna paused to think that one out. “I think because he’s good at dealing with his bosses. That’s a good lesson to remember, dear.”

The runt, getting shoved aside by the pushy pup, watched Angela give that idea some consideration for about one second, before giving up on it. “And why does he ask questions and then talk over me when I answer?”

Myrna turned to Angela. “That was awful, honey. He was wrong to do that. He asked you about your school, and then when you started to tell him about it, he turned and talked to me, completely ignoring you. I hated it.”

“So why didn’t you stop him?”

“Because…” Myrna winced. “Because what he was saying upset me more. I’m sorry.”

Angela nodded blankly but turned to the crate. “And how are you, little squirrels? Did you have a good afternoon?”

“Better than ours,” Myrna muttered under her breath as she opened the refrigerator.

Greta looked up from her pups and gestured a friendly lick to Angela. Two of the puppies stayed feeding, while the others came up to the bars to lick and chew her fingers. “Why do you think they smell so good, Mommy? Even their peepee smells nice.”

“Oh, that’s probably so we don’t get mad and kick them out when they bite us with those sharp teeth.”

“But they’re too sweet to…Ow!” She pulled back her finger from the brat as he wagged his tail and headed back to his mother.

“Oh, Myrne, no…” Fred moaned as he walked in, the watching pups able to hear his worry. “What happened?”

“I’ve known it was coming. Ever since they started in- stalling those self-checkouts in the front, I’ve told you.”

“But you’ve been so loyal. Who was it? Rich?” “Of course.”

Angela, holding the sleepy little one in her lap, while Greta and the other pups focused on the scent emanating from the oven, chimed in, “I don’t like him, Daddy. He asked me how I liked school and I told him it was fine except that Julia Gonzales called me stupid, and Robin Walker pulls my hair, and—”

“Honey, let Mommy tell me.”

Angela sat back with her mouth still open, and then looked down as the pup in her lap nuzzled her hand.

“Oh, you know, it’ll be two weeks’ pay—what’s in the contract—and he’ll write a letter of recommendation and talk me up. Usual company policy. All ‘Hey, Myrn, you know I don’t make policy, right?’” Myrna said, in a good enough imitation of Rich to make Angela giggle.

Myrna and Fred smiled at her, but then nobody could think of anything to say, so the room went silent, except for the whimpering of the exploring puppy, trying as usual to open the crate’s gate.

“And Mommy took me and her out for candy. And I got a—”

“‘Herself and me,’ honey. Or ‘us,’” Fred counseled Angela, not taking his eyes off Myrna’s clenched face.

“I thought the darkest chocolate I could find might help,” Myrna smiled.

Angela’s face soured. “I tried it. It tasted like the tar on the playground.”

Fred turned to her. “You really ate the—?” “Actually, honey, dinner’s almost ready,” Myrna interrupted. “Can you put him back and go wash up? Face and hands—your mouth looks like a rainbow from all those gummies.”

Angela gave a silly, wide smile, with a “Yummm!” as she carefully put the squirming handful back into the crate and walked out. He sniffed at his curious siblings, curled up in a corner, and shut his eyes.

“There’s something else…” Myrna said low, once the child was out of earshot. “I got a call.”

“What about?”

“It’s Greta,” she whispered, but the sleeping mother across the room heard her name, her ears raising just slightly. “A breeder called. He saw our ad and said she’s probably got only one good whelping in her left, and he’d be happy to take her where he can watch her more closely than we did, to make sure they’re purebred.”

“Oh, I can build our fence higher—that’s no problem. Why would we—?”

“Three thousand dollars,” Myrna interrupted.

Fred started to talk, but stopped, thinking. “Up front?” he finally got out.

“Cash. He says he’s got buyers looking for shepherd pups, as well as wanting some for himself, and Greta’s so known…”

“But I can’t just give her away. That’d be like selling off you or Angie.”

She took his hand in hers. “He said we’d be able to visit her all we wanted. And we’re going to need the three thousand by the end of the month.”

Fred sat back, his body deflating. With his mouth twisted, he thought out loud, “Well, let’s check him out, anyway. To make sure he’s legit.”

Angela walked in. “Are you all cleaned up?” Myrna asked, opening the oven and releasing enough aroma to send all the puppies yapping.

“Clean enough for pizza!” Angela smiled.

Over the next week, countless interested buyers came by the house to check out the puppies, till all seven were booked to be picked up on their twelve-week birthday. As it might be too difficult for Angela to watch, she was sent to her grandparents the night before the pickups, and Fred and Myrna set to glumly doling out the youths they were more attached to than they liked to admit.

First, though, they took Greta to the breeder’s home, figuring it would be too cruel to make her watch her chil- dren being given away. He did seem kind and welcoming, repeating that they should come often for visits.

Then, with no time to feel emotions, Fred and Myrna rushed back to face the puppy-adopters. The feisty brat went to a farmer with a large field; the nurturer to a fam- ily with a child in leg braces who needed a protective companion; the explorer to a young couple who loved hiking; the sleeper to an aged couple who’d just had to put their fourteen-year-old Labrador down; the observer to a storekeeper as a watchdog; and the bulky shover to a local high school football coach, who respected the mutt’s attitude toward life.

The last family finally showed up, excited to take home the funny brash nipper. “But you picked the runt. The shepherd-looking one,” Fred explained.

“No, we picked the fun one. We were holding the little one, but we said we wanted the other.”

“Oh, sorry, but he’s gone. This one’s all that’s left. Would you like her?”

“Well…” the father whined, irritated. “Really, no. We wanted a fun playmate for our boys. This one’s scared of her own shadow. Thanks for nothing.” And they left in a huff.

Fred was still doing his best to explain to Angela, as they walked into the kitchen later, that, as expected, Greta and the other puppies had gone to other homes, and they’d put another ad out for the remaining pup. Angela didn’t re- spond, but looked inside the crates as her father left. There was the little one, gnawing on the bars. “Are you going to be mine?” Angela whispered. “Are you my friend?”

The puppy licked her through the opening with her grey-dappled tongue and then rushed back to gnawing. Angela giggled.

Myrna yelled from the next room that it was time for bed. Angela put her finger into the cage to let the puppy chew on it, said “Goodnight, little rascal,” and headed off to brush her teeth—while the puppy went back to dealing with her own, in her puppy way.

About the Author:

DOUGLAS GREEN is the author of the widely-acclaimed 2015 book The Teachings of Shirelle: Life Lessons from a Divine Knucklehead, and runs the advice website AskShirelle.com, based on the wisdom in the book, which he was taught by his ridiculous dog. Released from decades in the entertainment business for good behavior, he directed the film The Hiding Place, and now works as a psychotherapist in Los Angeles, specializing in children and teenagers.

Social Media Links:

Website: www.authordouglasgreen.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/TheTeachingsOfShirelle

Twitter: @DougGreenAuthor

Instagram: www.instagram.com/douggreenauthor

Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/7421468.Douglas_Green

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Book Blitz: ‘Divine Words’ by JT Newman

Title: Divine Words

Series: Book One of the Divine Words Series

Author: JT Newman

Genre: Dark Fantasy / Horror

About the Book:

Murderous Absetian war golems lead an attack on Kovos’ home, destroying his village and threatening the entire nation of Terrat. Determined to defend his land and desperate for vengeance, Kovos learns to harness dark new powers and sets out to forge his destiny.

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Granted a decade to plan for this very eventuality, the Queen’s Royal Army, generally known as the QRA, had prepared in every way it could imagine to defend the village, including the possibility of a night assault. A number of short towers dotted the village near the walls. Each tower was equipped a glass device called a watchlight that resembled a miniature lighthouse beacon. From his position at the top of the tower, Kovos could see large figures moving in the lights, approaching the village. Golems.

“Golems at eleven o’clock,” shouted the captain, and a messenger pulled a series of ropes that activated additional lights set atop the command tower. The lights flashed out orders to soldiers on the wall, and to those responsible for manning the watchlight towers.

Runners began to jog along the walls, handing out clay balls to the soldiers. Each ball was about the size of a head of cabbage, and Kovos knew they held a liquid that turned to acid when exposed to air. Behind the walls, much larger clay balls filled with the same concoction were loaded into a quintet of catapults. Lit by the watchlight towers, Kovos saw a cluster of six golems approaching the walls, eating up yards with each stride. The captain eyeballed their advance, consulted with an engineer behind him, and then ordered the defense into action.

“Fire!” he shouted. 

Lights flashed, and the men on the walls lobbed the clay balls over the wall with a curious underhand motion that sent them high into the air. Catapults thudded forward, launching their payloads. Eyes straining, Kovos watched for the results. Not every ball hit a target, but those that did had a marked effect. Any golem that was struck by an acid ball, or even splashed by a near-miss, began to disintegrate. Bits and pieces fell off them in clay chunks as they continued to advance. Half of the golems were down in moments, and the remainder went down under concentrated fire before even making it past the ditch.

“Ha! That’ll show those damn Abbis!” the captain shouted, and punched a fist into the air. A messenger hurried over to him, gasping from the run up the stairs.

“Sir,” panted the messenger. “There’s been an attack to the south as well. Light cavalry with flame orbs.”

“Eh?” said the captain. He hurried to the southern end of the tower, jostling his staff out of the way. 

Even without moving, Kovos could see flames rising to the south. 

“Damn,” he heard the captain say. “They set fire to the wall.”

Flame orbs were about the size and weight of an apple. Standard use was to toss or hurl them with slings at an enemy position. The orbs would crack and explode upon connecting with a hard target, spewing flame for a few yards in every direction. 

While the rest of his colleagues looked to the south, the engineer peered through a brass-shod telescope, studying the results of the acid balls on the golems to the north. Shortly, he collapsed his telescope and looked around for the captain. 

“Sir,” he shouted over the noise. “Those were standard golems. Nothing like the reports we’ve had on the war golems.”

“Eh?” the captain bellowed in reply. “Why would they use ordinary golems?”

“Distraction,” muttered Kovos, under his breath. The Absetians had used the fear of killer golems against the defenders. The captain apparently had the same idea.

“Lights to the south,” he ordered.

Slowly, the watchlight towers turned to the south. 

“What is that, then?” said the captain.

Kovos squirmed through the crowd to get a better look. A wave of darkness was advancing on the southern end of the village. The watchlights focused on the movement and revealed a solid block of golems moving at a run toward the burning wall. Kovos gaped. Golems didn’t run. They moved faster than you’d expect, simply because of their size, but never ran. These golems not only ran, they blended in with the night thanks to black paint. The attacking golems also looked leaner than regular golems, giving them a predatory aspect.  

“Turn the catapults! Runners to the ready!” bellowed the captain.

It was too little, too late. The golems pounded through the ditch, completely ignoring the stakes, and rolled up the earthwork. Without pausing at the top, and lacking any apparent fear of the roaring flames, the golems burst through the weakened wall and were into the village. 

“The Divine have mercy on us all,” whispered the captain.

Kovos didn’t think they would.

“Snipers aloft,” the captain ordered. “Take out those war golems’ overseers. I don’t care how vicious they are. Without someone to tell them what to do, they’re just hunks of clay. Reserve squads to the streets. Hammer squads to the ready. Pass out the rest of the acid. Shale is now a free fire zone.”

Lights flashed, relaying the captain’s orders, and the streets of Shale became a battlefield. Kovos saw soldiers dressed in black streaming into the village, following the path smashed through the village’s defenses. The appearance of enemy soldiers coincided with the characteristic popping sounds of auto-bows, as those defenders not too busy battling golems fired a volley into softer targets. The reserve squads flooded into the streets, and Kovos knew Lora was among them.

Two reserve squads rushed the block of war golems, prodding at them with spears and screaming, though in fear or excitement, he couldn’t tell. The golems responded by swiping heavy fists at their waist-high antagonists, sending bodies flying through the air. With the golems distracted, the hammer squads moved in, hurling their chain nets, and whipping chain weapons around arms or legs. Three golems tumbled to the street, either hopelessly entangled or dragged off-balance. Sledgehammers descended on the fallen war golems, aiming for heads and joints. Even from high above the fray, Kovos could hear the cracking sound of the sledgehammers hitting home, and none of the golems rose to continue the fight. Heroic as it seemed, the losses incurred were dreadful. The QRA lost at least a half dozen soldiers for every golem brought down. Even without the black-clad human Absetian reinforcements pouring into the village, the numbers didn’t add up to victory. Kovos made a decision.

“Captain, I must see to my family,” he said, making it a statement, not a request.

The captain nodded sadly.

“Off you go, son. Ganus guide you.”

The fighting was everywhere. Dead and dying soldiers from both sides lay where they had fallen, some crushed underfoot by active combatants. Blood gathered in crimson puddles, and smoke and ash whirled through the streets, making line-of-sight impossible beyond a few yards. The watchlight towers had come under attack, and the light from those that remained standing counted less to guide his way than the fires raging through the village. He could smell meat cooking, and didn’t have to guess at its source. 

Oddly, the deaths bothered him less than he’d thought they would. He didn’t take pleasure in the sight of maimed or charred corpses, but he didn’t gag or retch, either. So far he hadn’t come across the bodies of any villagers, but he knew it was only a matter of time. Hopefully, his family wouldn’t be the first. Kovos snuck through back alleys, climbed over fences, and flat-out ran from any soldier he saw approaching. He was nearly within sight of the smithy when his luck ran out. 

Kovos had hidden in the shadows of his old schoolhouse (which was astonishingly untouched among the carnage) as he waited for a squad of Absetian troops to rush past. When the last of them had vanished into the gloom, he’d taken one more cautious look around, and made a break for it. He managed maybe two steps before the impossibly huge form of a war golem suddenly loomed up out of the smoke, blocking his path. The thing looked nothing like standard constructs. Close up, its lean, predatory design was even more obvious. It looked lighter and more agile than other golems, and every edge was rounded. The war golem’s head was ovoid and completely smooth under the black paint, lacking the merest hint of human features to soften its appearance. Even standing still, it radiated menace.

Set among the fires of his burning village, the scene represented Kovos’ oldest fears, his worst nightmares. Although its arms ended in hands rather than scythes, and it lacked glowing red eyes, he had no doubt the war golem meant to end him. Kovos froze, and might have whimpered. He felt a hot flow of urine trace its way down his leg and was too terrified to be embarrassed. 

With a horrible sort of casualness, the war golem seized him in one hand and squeezed. Kovos felt ribs snap, and blood gushed out of his mouth. It shook him like a rag doll, and his head snapped back, his neck flaring with a searing pain. Then, just as casually, it threw him at the school. He crashed through the wooden wall and felt more things break and tear inside him. He rolled bonelessly though the classroom, coming to rest in a shattered heap in one corner. He couldn’t move, could barely breathe. Kovos involuntarily coughed up blood and, with a final spasm, he died.

Dead but not out, Kovos’ tale continues in Divine Words

About the Author:

JT Newman has received author credit in nearly thirty books while working for several different tabletop RPG companies, including White Wolf, Onyx Path, and Green Ronin. He and his wife live in northeast Ohio with two small dogs, and one large cat.

Social Media Link:

Website: www.newbis7.wixsite.com/jtnewman

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Book Blitz: ‘The Mind’ by Gloria Foster

Title: The Mind

Author: Gloria Foster

Publisher: Creation House

Genre: Mystery / Suspense

About the Book:

The brightest victories often lie in the darkest places. The normal ordinary life of Sheila Leclaire, an investment banker, takes a turn in Sommerville, Virginia as she is haunted by voices. In overcoming her condition, she traces the root of her illness—a childhood secret that she cannot remember.

Kirkus Review Quotes:

“A debut novel analyses how the mind processes childhood trauma and examines its effects” – Kirkus Reviews

“In her energetic series opener, Foster certainly delivers an intriguing premise and addresses timely and important issues” – Kirkus Reviews

“A psychological tale with a messy plot” – Kirkus Reviews

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Purchase Links:

Amazon – UK / US

About the Author:

Gloria Foster has made her debut as a fiction author in The Mind novel. She says that fiction writing gives her the opportunity to be the maker of her own storyline, characters, and their captivating conversations. She holds a Bachelor of Arts degree in Mathematical Sciences.

Social Media Links:

Website: www.gloriafoster.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorgloriafoster

Twitter: @GloriaLFoster

Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/20634633.Gloria_Foster

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Book Blitz: ‘Signs We Don’t See’ by Carrie Beamer

Title: Signs We Don’t See

Author: Carrie Beamer

Publisher: Evernight Teen

Genre: YA Contemporary

About the Book:

Etta Litali has grown accustom to the superstitious behavior that comes along with being in an Italian family. But when her dad begins to spend his nights stealing signs from every city pole within three miles of their home, her house becomes overrun with dirty poster boards and the neighbors begin to notice.

Stressed her dad will end up on Oprah as the man who hoards stolen signs, Etta distracts herself with a boy named Jordan. Despite the ban Jordan’s clique has on Etta, their connection grows into something special.

Jordan starts to miss school and disappears leaving Etta confused and wondering if their relationship was ever real. Knowing Jordan is hiding something, Etta has to find a way to show Jordan he can trust her or she will lose him. The only way to do that is to reveal to him that she’s been keeping a secret too.

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About the Author:

Carrie Beamer grew up in Kansas City, Missouri where the sports and barbecue make the humidity in the summer and the frigid temps in the winter worth it. She fell in love with reading as a young girl when she picked up her first Beverly Cleary book and was pulled into the world of Ramona Quimby.

Her passion for writing young adult comes from a love of the mischief we all explored as teens. She believes no matter where you grew up or what era, you walked a fine line of keeping it all together or completely falling apart while navigating the ups and downs of school. Teen angst is a rite of passage that we all recover from at some point, and she loves to write about it.

She’s a high school registrar who fills her nights with writing and reading into the wee hours. Her weekends are spent hanging out with her two sons and trying to tame a couple of obnoxious rescued dogs, and life couldn’t be better.

She has published two YA novels with Evernight Teen titled KEEP WHAT REMAINS and SIGNS WE DON’T SEE.

Social Media Links:

Instagram: www.instagram.com/clbeamer

Twitter: @CarrieBeamer2

Linktree for all book links: www.linktr.ee/cbeamer

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