Life Update as of Lately 😢

To all my readers and followers I want to be transparent with you all let you all know that I’ve not been doing well. I recently lost a family member and it has been really hard to deal with. I don’t deal with death very easily. Ive been trying to stay busy and pretend like nothing happened but it’s painful each day. I want to apologize to my book blitz teams that I work with for some of my late posts, I try to always post the following day. I don’t know …and now the holidays are coming up and my heart is not in it this year. So if I’m a little late with a post my apologies it’s definitely not done on purpose. I’m hoping soon I’ll start to feel better. 💜 Thank you

#blogtour Almost There by Jean Seager 

 

A Collection Inspired by True Stories of the Jewish Immigrant Experience


Historical Fiction

Publisher: Acorn Publishing

Almost There offers an intimate, emotionally resonant portrait of the
Jewish immigrant experience in early twentieth-century America. This
collection of linked short stories follows individuals who faced the
uncertainty of a new land, summoned the courage to navigate unfamiliar
cultures, and endured the antisemitism that shaped their world.

While fictionalized, these narratives were inspired by interviews with
Americans who shared memories of their immigrant ancestors. Their stories
unfold against the backdrop of sweeping historical events, such as the Great
Depression, World War II, the Holocaust, and the founding of the State of
Israel.

Poignant and powerful, Almost There illuminates a pivotal chapter in American
history and speaks to the timeless search for belonging, identity, and home.

 

About the Author

 

 Award-winning writer Jean Seager graduated from the University of California,
Berkeley, and received two graduate degrees from San Diego State University.
Her writing has appeared in the

literary publications Mikrokosmos and The Long Story. In 2018, her story
“The Award” won second place in the San Diego Public
Library’s short story contest.

A granddaughter of Jewish immigrants who came to America from eastern Europe
in the early twentieth century, Jean was fascinated by her mother’s
stories of growing up as a second-generation immigrant in Tennessee’s
tobacco country. The Jewish immigrant experience continued to intrigue her and
became the catalyst for her writing.

Jean is a native Californian and long-time resident of Coronado, a suburb of
San Diego, where she lives with her husband Bill.

Contact Links

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#blogtour Miracle Grow of the Mind by Carol LaHines

 

Literary Fiction, Family Fiction

Date Published: October 13, 2026

Miracle Grow of the Mind is a funny, heartbreaking exploration of
parenthood, disability, medical bureaucracy, Big Agro, food allergies, and
environmental pathogens. When Amy and Michael’s son is born prematurely,
they are thrust into a world of pediatric neurologists, sensory reintegration
therapy, and endless evaluations.

Michael also struggles with a mother suffering from dementia, who insists he
is the grown-up version of a brother who died in infancy. When the Kafkaesque
Bureau of Preschool Special Education threatens to make their son repeat
kindergarten, the family must confront how they are living and decide which
therapies—everything from Mel Finkelstein’s sensory reintegration
sessions to pediatric neurologist visits—are worth the emotional toll.

“Everyone should read this miracle of a book. Carol LaHines is a
fearless writer. With brutal honesty, laugh-aloud-humor, faultless dialogue,
understanding, and ultimately with great empathy and compassion, she portrays
all our misguided efforts to control our bodies, our children, and our
lives.” —Sheila Kohler, author of award-winning novels including
Bluebird, Cracks, and Becoming Jane Eyre

 

About the Author

 

 Carol LaHines’ debut novel, Someday Everything Will All Make Sense, was
a finalist for the Nilsen Prize for a First Novel and an American Fiction
Award. Her second novel, The Vixen Amber Halloway (Regal House 2024) was a
gold medal winner in the Foreword Indies awards, a finalist for an American
Fiction Award and the Pencraft Award, and a Shelf Unbound notable indie, and
was featured on NPR and C-SPAN. Her fiction has appeared in literary journals
including Fence, Hayden’s Ferry Review, Denver Quarterly, Cimarron
Review, The Literary Review, The Laurel Review, North Dakota Quarterly, South
Dakota Review, The South Carolina Review, The Chattahoochee Review, Sycamore
Review, Permafrost, redivider, Literary Orphans, and Literal Latte. She is a
Pushcart Prize nominee and the recipient of the Lamar York Prize for Fiction.
Her short stories and novellas have also been finalists for the Mary McCarthy
Prize in Short Fiction from Sarabande Books, the David Nathan Meyerson fiction
prize, the New Letters short story award, and the Disquiet Literary Prize,
among others.

Ms. LaHines’ eldest son Dylan was born with Pierre-Robin sequence. His
condition, which can lead to breathing obstruction and is potentially fatal,
went undiagnosed and was compounded by other egregious medical errors, as a
result of which Dylan was medically challenged and severely disabled, at least
as defined by society. Having navigated these labyrinthine, Kafka-esque
corridors herself, she was moved to write this book as a testament to him and
all the other families like hers who have coped with an indifferent medical
bureaucracy. Miracle Grow is also laced with the satire, acerbic commentary,
absurdist subplots, and the tragic-comic sensibility Ms. LaHines is known for.

 

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Regal House Publishing

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#blogtour The Keys to the Castle by Libby Kay

 

In a place of fleeting pleasure,

the lucky ones find a true home. 

Keys to the Castle

The Castle Club Series Book 1

by Libby Kay

Genre: Friends to Lovers Contemporary Romance 

Fiona Oslo is used to being
alone. After losing her job and uncle in one awful day, Fiona hits rock bottom.
Weighed down by grief and a fear of the future, Fiona inherits the last thing
she expects…the keys to The Castle, Cincinnati’s premiere lifestyle club with
the potential to both inspire and push her outside her comfort zone.

Chase Martin is no stranger to
heartache. This combat veteran has experienced more losses than he’d care to
remember, but the routine of his security job at The Castle keeps the bad
memories away. Unfortunately, the sudden death of his mentor and business
partner threatens to take the only place Chase has left.

Fiona and Chase are thrust
together, working in a tenuous partnership that begins to feel anything but
professional. From late nights working in the club to cozy mornings sharing
breakfast, they start to imagine a life outside their business-partners-with-benefits
arrangement.

Together they will quickly
learn, the keys to this castle bring more than a fleeting moment of pleasure,
they promise a true home.

Best-selling author Libby Kay
has a new series that’s perfect for fans of spicy romances with found family
like Lana Ferguson and Lucy Score. Grab a copy for yourself and get a peek
inside The Castle’s sexy lifestyle.

 

**Releases Nov 17th – PreOrder Now!**

Amazon * Apple
* B&N
* Kobo * Bookbub
* Goodreads

Libby Kay lives in the city in the heart of the Midwest.
When she’s not writing sweet and spicy love stories, Libby loves reading every
romance novel she can find, binging true crime shows, or traveling with her
husband.

Libby cohosts the Romance Roundup podcast with Liz Donatelli
where they recommend romance books, do recaps of popular book-to-screen
adaptations, and interview authors. Check it out for your dose of romance!

 

Website * Facebook * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

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#blogtour Dane Bones MC by Marteeka Karland

(Kiss of Death MC 19)

MC Romance

Date Published: October 16, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

I expected Dane to hate me. I didn’t expect to lie awake wanting
his hands on me.

Brielle — I came to give Dane the truth about a past neither of us can
escape. Forgiveness is too much to ask for. Wanting him is unthinkable —
until his anger gives way to fierce protection, hungry kisses, and a voice
that makes me want to do everything he asks. Now I know how it feels to be
pressed against him, to hear him say my name like he’s been fighting
this as hard as I have. I want more. His bed. His trust. But the man I crossed
knows exactly how to use our past against us and giving in to what I want
could cost Dane his freedom.

Dane — Brielle Sloan’s tangled up in the worst years of my life. Now
she’s at my clubhouse with secrets that could change everything, trouble
on her heels, and a mouth I have no business thinking about kissing. Then she
stands up to me, and all I can think about is getting closer. Having her under
my protection means seeing the woman behind our past. Getting involved could
cost me my parole, but when she looks at me like she’s aching for me,
I’m ready to take that risk. Every touch makes keeping my distance
harder. Whoever’s after her will have to get through me first.

Excerpt
Copyright ©2026 Marteeka Karland

Dane

The long ribbon of highway carried me south along the riverfront before the
sun had cleared the mountain tops. Cold air bit through my coat collar and hit
the back of my neck. My bike thrummed under me, a steady vibration through the
handlebars and into my palms.

Three blocks later, I noticed a dark blue Fusion behind me. It held my pace at
two car lengths, never dropping back. I watched it in the side mirror without
turning my head. The driver kept a distance but didn’t seem to be trying
to hide as they followed. So, I promptly ran the next light. If the cops had
suddenly taken an interest in me, I wanted the biggest head start I could get.
Not because I’d done anything, but because right now, I could pretend I
didn’t see them and speed back to the compound. Once inside, the guys
could call the lawyer who sometimes helped us out. If they blue lighted me,
though, it was over. So? I did ninety.

The compact waited at the intersection. A couple seconds later, I slowed down.
I still kept an eye out but went much slower so I could take my eyes off the
road and glance back occasionally. I thought that might have been the end of
it, but a half mile down the road, I spotted the same car. OK. I’d play.

Instead of continuing to evade, I led the fucker straight to the compound. If
someone was after me, I’d need backup. It’s what Knuckles and
Gunnar stressed when I first came here. If I got into trouble, my first call
or my next stop would be the Kiss of Death compound.

It didn’t take long until I reached the warehouses by the dock where the
compound sat. A few minutes later, I pulled up to the gate and waited. Sure
enough, shortly after, the little blue Fusion rolled up to the entrance and
stopped.

I swung off my bike and crossed the fifteen feet between me and the car in
long, threatening strides. My fist came down on the compact’s roof hard
enough to feel the metal give. The sound cracked through the predawn quiet
like a gunshot. Inferno and Oktober stepped just outside the gate where
they’d been on watch and waited to see if I needed backup.

“Who the hell put you up to this?” Cold air snapped at my
coat’s collar. “Why are you following me?”

The driver’s window rolled down. A woman’s face emerged from the
shadows of the car interior, pale in the gray light, dark hair pulled back,
and she trembled visibly. Her gaze found mine and held.

At first, I was just annoyed. Then my brain finally caught up with my eyes and
pushed away from the car like she struck me. All of a sudden, the past came
back to punch me in the balls.

The woman at the bank. She’d been the one to testify against me. Her
testimony had been crucial to putting me away, so her face wasn’t one I
ever wanted to see again.

She exhaled. Her breath misted between us. An envelope sat clutched in her
hands, pressed against the steering wheel like she was afraid to let it go.

“I — I’m Brielle Sloan.” Her voice shook as if she were
nervous or scared. Good. I hope she was scared. “I saw that charity-run
article in one of the city’s online papers. I wanted to find you at your
clubhouse and didn’t realize who I was following.”

“You saw me in town and followed me.” Not only was she a bitch but
she was a stupid bitch. “You thought it was safe to follow a strange man
affiliated with any kind of MC to their clubhouse? Is that what I’m
hearing?”

She blinked up at me, shivering now in the October wind.
“I…” She swallowed. “I guess so.” When she
spoke that time, her voice was soft and subdued, likely knowing she’d
fucked up.

“You’re not here about a fuckin’ charity run.” I held
her gaze, letting my anger bleed through so she knew exactly what she was
dealing with. “What the fuck do you want?”

She took a breath before opening the door and stepping out. She was smaller
than I remembered from the courtroom. In fact, she looked like shit with her
cheekbones prominent and her skin almost sallow. She looked like she’d
missed more than a couple meals and ran herself ragged. Outside the car, her
breath came in short white clouds between us.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I didn’t want to
testify against you, but I was being threatened.” She held out the
manila envelope she’d been clutching to her chest, offering it to me.
“This proves he built that robbery around you.”

This was not on my bingo card. “Evidence I was set up? The fuck
‘er you talkin’ about?” Twelve years. Twelve years I’d
spent on the inside, just trying to survive in an environment not in any way
shape or form friendly to a lone white boy. The lessons I’d learned had
to be learned hard and fast.

She took a tentative step forward, insisting I take the envelope.
“It’s all in there.” Brielle’s voice changed. The
level quality thinned at the edges. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rourke. I
never meant to be the bad guy in all this.”

Wind cut across the service road. Cold river air, carrying the scents of
diesel and mud. Her hair stirred at the edges with a couple of strands
catching on her eyelashes. She didn’t push them away, instead held the
envelope.

I took the envelope from her just as I noticed another car. I’d been so
focused on the blue car, I ignored the other car following. This was a gray
sedan. Seeing it now triggered the memory and I knew I had more than one
person following me. When Brielle got out of her car, she’d turned the
engine off. I’d been waiting for her at the clubhouse gate with my bike
shut off. Which meant, the gray sedan I’d seen earlier couldn’t
see our lights and didn’t have a warning we were around the next bend.

As the car rounded the curve and finally saw us, the driver let off the
accelerator a moment before continuing on as if nothing had happened.
Admittedly, the driver could have lifted his foot on reflex. But I had a
tingle between my shoulders I’d learned never to dismiss offhand.

Out of the corner of my vision, I saw Oktober and Inferno ready themselves.
Inferno actually started toward me, though Oktober held back. Likely to have
the wider angle, and to call for reinforcements.

The car continued on and had to pass close enough for me to see the outline of
the driver behind the windshield. I thought the guy had a phone in his hand,
but it was hard to tell as the floodlights glared against the windshield and
the driver’s side window.

Brielle didn’t seem to notice the other vehicle. At least, she
didn’t glance at it. Instead, she seemed so focused on me nothing else
around her seemed to register. I could see her hands shaking, but she
didn’t tuck them away or try to hide it. Which meant, she likely
hadn’t known who was in the sedan or knew she’d been followed. If
she had and this was a setup, she’d have shifted her gaze to the car on
instinct.

Just as I thought the car would roll on and keep going, it stopped a few car
lengths away from us. I could see the driver aiming his phone at his side
mirror. Taking a picture?

“Don’t move,” I said to Brielle.

Oktober and Inferno both now moved to cover me and Brielle, between us and the
sedan. The sedan stayed a moment longer. I caught the outline of the driver
through the back window. Great.

“What’s going on?” Oktober looked from me to Brielle and
back.

“Not sure,” I muttered. “But someone just photographed me
and the woman whose testimony put me in prison. I doubt my parole officer
would be impressed to find out we’d had contact of any sort.” I
scowled, stepping backward so fast, Inferno had to stop me from knocking him
down.

“Easy, man,” he said softly. “What’s going on?”

I pointed at Brielle. “If you’re trying to get me tangled in
something to get my parole revoked, you can just take your sweet ass back to
wherever the fuck you came from.”

Gravel sprayed from the rear tires as the sedan hurried out of the area and
faded as the car swung onto the main road and disappeared toward Nashville.
Still, that itch between my shoulders became more insistent and bothersome.
Something wasn’t right at all.

“Who was in the gray car, Brielle?”

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “I… what?”

“The car that just stopped and took our picture. Who was following
us?”

She shook her head, a helpless expression on her face as she looked at Oktober
and Inferno, then glanced around the area. She turned her head to look down
the road opposite where the car had been. Could the woman be that clueless of
her surroundings?

Fuck. “So fucking stupid,” I muttered. I didn’t know if I
meant Brielle, or me. Because I was about to do something so incredibly stupid
as to not even be believed.

I tucked the envelope inside my coat. “Get in your car, Brielle.”

Brielle didn’t move. “OK. I’ll leave.”

“No,” I snapped. “Follow me to the compound. Follow me and
don’t stop for anything.” I moved back to my bike and climbed on.

“Everything OK?” Oktober followed me, Inferno hanging back to
watch over Brielle.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m taking her to
the compound. I’ll let Knuckles and Knight sort this out.”

“Sort what out?”

I met his gaze. “I’m pretty sure trouble just came crawling to our
doorstep.”

Oktober nodded at the little Fusion as Brielle climbed back inside.
“Someone was interested in whatever she brought me.” I indicated
the envelope. “It might be nothing, but if she’s not actually
working to wrap me up in some kind of trap, then she could be in some serious
danger.”

Inferno instructed Brielle which way to go once she passed through the gate.
As I watched, her eyes grew round and wide. Her already pale face seemed to
lose even more color as fear settled into her expression. She looked almost
haunted, like she knew it was only a matter of time before the bad guys caught
up to her.

She pulled up beside me, just inside the gate. “What’s going
on?”

I gave her a hard look, hoping I got through to her because, while I might be
angry with her, none of what happened back then had been her fault. And even
if it was, I knew the kind of man Grant Sutton was. Brielle had been little
more than a teenager when it had all gone down. He’d likely blackmailed
her or threatened her. Still, I couldn’t help my harsh tone. “Does
Sutton know you’re here?”

“What?” Her eyes widened and she started trembling even more.
“Why would he know I’m here?”

“I don’t know what your game is, but I’d bet my ass Sutton
has had you followed. He now knows you’re not playing by his rules
anymore. Whatever protection you thought you had just evaporated. Follow me
and don’t stop until I do.”

I rolled toward the compound, my brothers at my back. I knew one of them would
have contacted Knuckles. Both of them probably called their old ladies because
neither man would want the woman following me to be thrown to the wolves
without some backup. Whether she deserved that backup remained to be seen.
Either way, I’d get to the bottom of this. And I really hoped Brielle
Sloan was on the up and up.

About the Author

Marteeka Karland is an international bestselling author who leads a double
life as an erotic romance author by evening and a semi-domesticated housewife
by day. Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes pleasure in
spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited, vulnerable
heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful
ending, even, sometimes, the villains in her narratives. Her writings are
speckled with intense, raw elements resulting in page-turning delight entwined
with seductive escapades leading up to gratifying conclusions that elicit a
sigh from her readers.

Away from the pen, Marteeka finds joy in baking and supporting her husband
with their gardening activities. The late summer season is set aside for
preserving the delightful harvest that springs from their combined efforts
(which is mostly his efforts, but you can count it). To stay updated with
Marteeka’s latest adventures and forthcoming books, make sure to visit her
website. Don’t forget to register for her newsletter which will pepper you
with a potpourri of Teeka’s beloved recipes, book suggestions, autograph
events, and a plethora of interesting tidbits.

 

Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland

Author on Facebook

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15



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#blogtour Land of Math by Lan H Reilly

 

Children’s Non-Fiction

Date Published: 11-09-2026

Publisher: Mission Point Press

Land of Math is a vibrant juvenile picture book that introduces early
learners to the building blocks of mathematics through a whimsical narrative
centered on the structured realms of Ones, Tens, and Hundreds. The story
follows the diligent King Equation as he strives for stability in his kingdom,
only to have his plans upended by the playful antics of Prince Addition and
Prince Subtraction. When the princes’ magical meddling leads to an
overflow of Ones, the king must consult the High Wizard of Ordinals. By
utilizing the enchanted Carry-Over and Borrow Rivers, King Equation
successfully manages the numerical surplus, teaching readers about place value
and operational balance. This delightful adventure blends creative
storytelling with academic fundamentals, providing an accessible and engaging
way for children to master basic arithmetic and logic.

Excerpt


In the Land Of Matth with an A, the subjects loved order so much that
they built their towns in tight, neat little blocks. They were grouped by the
size and lived in homes built just for them. There were ONES, TENS, and
HUNDREDS.

The ONES were peasants who kept the villages running.

The Tens were ten times taller than the Ones. They were royalty who ruled over
towns and cities.

The HUNDREDS were ten times larger than the Tens and, therefore, one hundred
times greater than the Ones. Because of their enormous size, they watched over
the entire kingdom, There were only three of them: King Equation and his
brothers, Prince Addition and Prince Subtraction.

 

About the Author

 

 After recently completing Stahno the Space Explorer, Lan H. Reilly, a
self-taught artist, was inspired to write her next book, hoping to cultivate a
love for mathematics among her young audience. She was born in Saigon,
Vietnam, and spent most of her childhood there.

In 1975, she was evacuated with her family from the US Embassy and settled in
Wisconsin.

She later earned her Engineering degree at the University of
Wisconsin-Madison. She met her husband while working in Minneapolis, then
relocated to Michigan to raise their three children.

RABT Book Tours & PR

#blogtour Eternity in Motion by James E Winder

 

Poetry

Date Published: August 24, 2026

 

All joy wants eternity … wants deep, deep eternity. With this
declaration of primordial lust, the patron saint of post-modernity exalts his
mania for joy, alongside the unquenchable thirst of the will to power, and,
with it, the futile quest for the super-human. The cultural force of this
dictum, which has become a commonplace among the literati, still drives the
onslaught of thought and behavior, even, and perhaps foremost, among those who
remain ignorant of its explicit pronouncement. A prophet is always heard most
widely and wrongly, not through his own voice, but through the discordant
voices of his wayward disciples. Amid the endless cacophony of copycats, who
vainly mimic the grand style of their master, you’re tempted to forget
the desperate loneliness of the solitary individual, a hermit in his many
hideaways and masks, who, above all else, sought to transmute his solitude
into a macho justification for human tenderness.

Late at night, when she is fast asleep, you crawl into bed; and in the midst
of the dark, quiet night, you hear rhythmic spasms in her breathing as she
dreams. Thoughtlessly, carelessly, inevitably, your mind empties itself so
that there is only the sound of her breathing – paradoxically steady and
spasmodic. In your own late-night, overwrought, careworn mania, you manage to
convince yourself that what you really hear at this moment is the sound of
eternity singing. Physiologically, you might interpret this as a mental
phantom concocted out of the stresses and strains of a tiring day. But this
illusion produces a reality that the mind cannot deny without destroying a
part of itself. Loving your mind too much to bear losing even its most
illusory fragments, you cannot help but think that these moments are gateways
to eternity, that they are not merely the pleasant afterimages you dream up to
forget a day of painstaking and tedious work but that they are indeed what you
have lived through the day to reach, to grasp and caress, if only for a
fleeting instant. Such moments (and not the jobs you do) are the serious work
of your life.

 


This book, the third and final one in the eternity trilogy, continues to
recount the conspiracy of nowhere and now here that unfolded in “The History
of Eternity” and “Passages to Eternity.” Read this book, if you will, and
follow the adventures of this paradox as it reveals itself in the lives of 36
historical individuals, including Musil, Bloy, Peguy, George Eliot, Kripke,
Blake, Nishida Kitaro, Cather, Nagarjuna, Fitzgerald, Bruno, Paz, John Duns
Scotus, Mallarmé, Burke, Achebe, Murdoch, Epictetus, St. John of the
Cross, Turing, Lispector, Goya, Pirandello, Blanchot, Tennyson, Messiaen,
Cantor, O’Connor, Nin, Lowell, Racine, Vidal, Niebuhr, Twain, Derrida,
C.S. Lewis and many others.

 

About the Author

Mr. James E. Winder was born on June 16, 1953, in Athens, Tennessee, and
graduated summa cum laude from Vanderbilt University in 1975 with a B.A. in
philosophy and literature. He earned an M.A. in philosophy from Purdue
University in 1980.

James Winder spent the lion’s share of his career as a mid-level manager
and intelligence analyst for the National Security Agency (NSA), where he
retired in 2013 after 30 years of service. At NSA, Mr. Winder’s most
noteworthy assignment was in 1991-1992, when he served as Assistant Director
of the President’s Foreign Intelligence Advisory Board (PFIAB). During
that time, he co-authored a report for President George H.W. Bush on
intelligence lessons learned during the first Gulf War and provided extensive
research and documentation on a wide range of other matters of great interest
to the PFIAB board members. In a special commendation, then Acting PFIAB
Chairman, Admiral Bobby Ray Inman, cited Mr. Winder for his “expert
advice to the President of the United States” and for his
“extremely incisive and timely contributions on some very complex
issues.”

During three decades at NSA, Mr. Winder produced three classified, book-length
studies, most notably including a comprehensive report on an important
subject, which won NSA’s annual Cryptologic Literature Award. He also
wrote a wide variety of other in-depth reports on Soviet intelligence,
terrorism, and technical threats to U.S. telecommunications.

Mr. Winder is the author of The History of Eternity, a series of philosophic
meditations in poetic form, which is, according to Mr. Winder, the cryptic
story of his life and the lives of many others. There is – in the
history of philosophy or literature – no other work that is akin to it
in nature and scope.

 

Contact Link

BookBuzz

 

Purchase Link

Amazon

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