Amy has always loved science fiction–books, movies, shows and games. After devouring some of the classics like Dune and Ender’s Game in her tween years, she began writing short stories. In the ensuing years, Amy attended the Vancouver School of Arts and Academics in Vancouver, Washington, where she studied creative writing. She eventually became a Psychology major at Portland State University, but also pursued a minor in Professional Writing. After graduating, she stumbled into a career as a proposal manager. Amy currently lives in Portland, Oregon, with her husband. When she’s not writing, she enjoys travel, wine tasting, binge-watching TV series, and playing epic strategy board games.

The Cadicle series is a multi-generational
space opera epic, built around the premise that humans are a divergent race of
Tarans–and a fully established galactic empire exists just out of our sight on
Earth. Some Tarans have telekinetic abilities, and the only sanctioned place to
gain training for those abilities is with the Tararian Selective Service
(TSS)–which happens to be headquartered in Earth’s moon.


The first book in the series,
“Architects of Destiny,” is a prequel. Cris is a teenager born into a
High Dynasty on Tararia. He has telekinetic abilities, but his parents want him
to ignore the abilities and focus on the family company instead. In fact,
thanks to the Priesthood, the use of such abilities is all but banned. So, Cris
leaves home to go find himself. Along the way, he gets recruited by the TSS.


The second book, “Veil of
Reality,” takes place about twenty years later. Cris is a senior officer
in the TSS, and he has a fourteen-year-old son, Wil. Wil is the main character
of the series. He’s extremely gifted and has grown up within the TSS. He’s
kidnapped by a mysterious race on the outskirts of the galaxy, the Bakzen. Cris
goes on a rescue mission to find Wil and discovers a whole mess of conspiracies
between the TSS, Priesthood, and the rest of Taran civilization. War is coming,
and Wil will be at the center of it.


The rest of the series follows the main
characters as they face the toll of war, and ultimately need to address the
broken systems in the Taran government.
     Personal website
     Amazon Author page




See You Soon Broadway ebook coverMaris Forrester has a wonderful life with an amazing boyfriend and a fulfilling job. She’s happy and content . . . or so she thinks. Maris has always had huge dreams of being on Broadway. Ever since her very first performance as a child, she has envisioned herself on the stage under the shining lights. Now she has to decide whether she should to give up her wonderful life to chase those dreams.

When her parents announce they are moving, she comes across a long-lost family treasure. She doesn’t realize that this treasure may hold the key to her future and to all her dreams coming true.

And if that wasn’t sign enough, a mysterious stranger throws another wrench in the mix at a dazzling rooftop party benefiting the Arts. These could be signs of things to come.

But will she remain content in her perfect world, or will she step into the unknown world she has always dreamed of?

Buy on Amazon | B&N | Kobo


About the author:

Melissa Baldwin 2Melissa graduated from the University of Central Florida with a Bachelor’s Degree in Communications; she has always had a love for writing. An avid journal keeper, she took her creativity to the next level by fulfilling her dream with her debut novel, An Event To Remember . . . Or Forget. Since then she has written and published two more novels, Wedding Haters and See You Soon Broadway within 14 months.

Melissa resides in Orlando, Florida, with her husband and young daughter. When she isn’t writing, this multi-tasking master organizer is busy being a mother, wife, chauffeur, PTA President, and Fitness Trainer.

When she has free time, she enjoys traveling, running, fitness, fashion, and taking a Disney Cruise every now and then.

Follow the author:
Facebook | Website  | Twitter  | Instagram | Pinterest | Literary Addicts 


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Sara Tucker – An Irruption of Owls – PROMO Blitz


Family Saga / Memoir
Date Published: 7/14/2015

An odyssey, a homecoming, and six winters in Vermont.


A mysterious illness is the catalyst for this story about a daughter’s homecoming. Part of a family saga that takes place on three continents.


In picking up where OUR HOUSE IN ARUSHA (ISBN: 978-1456585440) left off, AN IRRUPTION OF OWLS views from the perspective of small-town New England the forces that shape the family’s lives.


The year is 2007, and the Texiers—Patrick, Sara, and nineteen-year-old Thomas—have left their home in Tanzania. They are biding their time in a New Jersey suburb, pondering their next move, when a family crisis spurs them to action. Idora Tucker, Sara’s mother, is suddenly unable to live alone. Something is very wrong, and nobody on her rapidly expanding medical team can figure it out. Within weeks, Sara has moved back into her childhood bedroom, Thomas has enrolled at a school in Prague, and Patrick has become the only French safari guide in recent memory to take up residence in Randolph, Vermont.



My mother, a cautious person, knew about the dangers of falling. She was a doctor’s wife, she had read the statistics, and she had buried one of the fallen—her father, who pitched headfirst off the back porch at the age of ninety-three, landing in a heap on the

asphalt drive. Grampa died in a coma a few weeks later, and my mother went on high alert for the next twenty-five years. At age eighty-six, she had ice grippers for her shoes, handrails in strategic places, and a necklace with a button that would send an SOS signal if worse came to worse. One of the handrails was in the spot where Grampa had taken his fatal plunge; another was on the stairs to the basement. Nothing short of an earthquake was going to disturb her equilibrium.


If, despite her precautions, she were to fall and break a hip, I was not to worry, because she had a plan for that, too: “Just put me in a nursing home,” she said. “Promise me. I’m telling you now, in case I lose my marbles.”


This advice—it was really more of an order—was drilled into me. My brothers and sisters heard it, too.


Nobody was very impressed. My mother was never going to lose her marbles.


On the other hand, Vermont does experience earthquakes from time to time. In 1962 there was one that rocked the State House, dislodging a support beam and cracking twenty windows. The State House is only twenty-three miles from my mother’s house.


“Maybe I’ll want to take care of you” was my standard response to the nursing-home prescription.


“Did you ever think of that?” Over and over, we had this conversation. Then my mother’s legs gave out, and we never had it again.


For the next five years, she lived at home. My husband and I lived with her, quitting our jobs and moving three hundred miles, doing odd jobs to make ends meet when we should have been chucking money into retirement accounts. At dinner, we sat on three sides of the kitchen table, my mother, my husband, and I. The middle seat was mine, a position that allowed me to surreptitiously kick whoever was misbehaving. Usually that person was my mother. “Try not to be so bossy,” she wrote in her final diary.


When I say that my mother’s legs “gave out,” I do not mean that she fell. She never fell, not once. As her legs deteriorated—muscles weakening, bones cracking—she kept herself upright through sheer willpower and a growing set of props. One of her canes had a metal tip with retractable teeth that would dig into the ice but not gouge the floors. Another was decorated with a butterfly motif. A third collapsed to fit into a handbag. She had a set of titanium trekking poles to use when the driveway was slippery. And she had me.



Sara Tucker has written headlines for the Louisville Courier-Journal, reviewed theater for the Albuquerque Journal, and edited articles about dusting for Martha Stewart Living. Everything she knows about winching she learned from the editor of Four Wheeler Magazine. At Condé Nast Traveler, she once played a singing reindeer in an office skit. At Cosmopolitan, she ran the copy department under Helen Gurley Brown. She has a house in Vermont and an apartment in France and divides her time between them. You can follow her adventures at


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“The Opposite Of Love” by T.A. Pace is a contemporary romance novel.

When 37-year-old Melanie is challenged to find a mate by her overbearing mother, she finds herself in a relationship that pushes her sexual boundaries, and in a place like Sin City, that can be a precarious ride. An homage to Erica Jong’s Any Woman’s Blues, The Opposite of Love is a psychological/sexual ride through Las Vegas and its local sex scene as experienced by two lovers who will test each other’s ability to accept them as they are, as well as their own ability to accept themselves. 

In my twenties I discovered Erica Jong’s FEAR of FLYING and many years later, I
am a fan of her books ; How old were you when her books entered your life and
influenced your thinking?


was about twelve when I discovered Fanny: Being the True Adventures of FannyHackabout Jones. My mother’s bookshelves were ours to explore at will, and
Fanny was probably my first “dirty” book. It exposed me to a world
that was human and mysterious and fascinating. Sex was being talked about
fluidly and nonchalantly, and was being had the same way. As a young girl, my
only exposure to sex was “the talk,” and to read about sex–casual,
messy, funny, hot, or otherwise–was interesting to me. Once you get past the
stigma of the “first time,” sex is so human, so peculiar and adventurous,
so different from person to person. And the way Ms. Jong writes about it
encompasses all of that.


Tell our guests your Top Ten favorite things about Las Vegas.


afternoon pool parties.


of living.


have three freeways. That’s it.


at Red Rock Canyon.




dip in the pool on a hot day.






you’re bored here it’s your own fault.




Are there any other favorite books or authors for which you would consider
writing an homage books ?


a tough one. I don’t know if anyone else has struck a chord with me the way Ms.
Jong has, although I do love Toni Morrison’s older works.



Welcome to my tour stop of The Opposite of Love by T.A.Pace.  The full tour schedule can be seen here.


When 37-year-old Melanie is challenged to find a mate by her overbearing mother, she finds herself in a relationship that pushes her sexual boundaries, and in a place like Sin City, that can be a precarious ride.

An homage to Erica Jong’s Any Woman’s Blues, The Opposite of Love is a psychological/sexual ride through Las Vegas and its local sex scene as experienced by two lovers who will test each other’s ability to accept them as they are, as well as their own ability to accept themselves.


James arrived at Melanie’s door promptly at seven-thirty wearing a suit and carrying a bouquet of flowers. Melanie opened the door in a burgundy chiffon gown that draped modestly in front and dramatically in back, with a slit up to her mid-thigh on one side. She spun in a circle, modeling for him, and he let out a low growl in sincere approval. Without a single strap holding it in place, it seemed like the dress could just slide right off of her shoulders. The thought made his dick pulse.

“That is some dress, babe.”

“Glad you like it,” she said. Then, nodding at the flowers, “For me?”

“Who else?” He handed them over with a kiss on the cheek.

He’d had his truck washed and waxed and when he opened the door she climbed in gracefully, her leg sliding out of the open slit in her dress, then sliding back in before he closed the door. That visual image reminded him of what he’d be doing to her later.

James didn’t always bring a date to the policemen’s ball. The last time he had was three years before and his date had worn a short, silver sequined dress with porn-star cleavage and platform heels that looked like they’d just fallen off a pole dancer. She’d had too much to drink and giggled at everything anyone said. Did she make his dick hard? Sure. But she looked like she was paid for, and that didn’t help his image with the higher-ups. Melanie was the kind of woman who could be sexy without being trashy and manage interesting conversation and drinking without being silly or embarrassing him. She was the kind of date who could help him get promoted.

It was August and monsoon season was at its worst. Almost daily, black storm clouds materialized over the valley, looming like dark ghosts, dropping an inch of rain and hundreds of lightning strikes in the matter of an hour, downing trees and power lines and causing flash floods before moving on and leaving the residents feeling vaguely assaulted. But worse, the air had become the one thing locals couldn’t tolerate: sticky. Even humidity of thirty percent was likely to have a Las Vegan mopping his forehead and complaining of swampy weather.

They valet parked, and once inside the casino, they were safe. No matter the weather outside, the air-conditioned wombs of the casinos were always mild and dry. As they crossed the casino floor heading toward the banquet hall, men playing blackjack and craps twisted their heads around and leaned back from their tables to get a look at Melanie. With her high heels she was still about two inches shorter than James, but the way she held herself made her appear statuesque. She didn’t have bombshell curves, but her femininity was palpable and what curves she had were classy. She held her head high and kept her arm threaded through his as they walked. James tried to remember ever feeling so proud to have a woman on his arm, and couldn’t. The thought made him a little nervous, but more than anything, he felt like the man. His colleagues would be insane with jealousy and insatiable with questions.


Tourmaline .

During my recent trip to visit family in Ohio, I went to Ikea for the first time ever. While, there I, of course, had to buy their dollhouse furniture set – Huset.

The cardboard box the set comes in has all these decorations you can pop out. So I decided to make a whole room display completely out of the box.

I recorded the process, though my camera died partially through – but I think you’ll get the picture.

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