Hi all! Today I have the thrill of revealing the cover to Ellie Garratt’s new anthology: Nine Short Tales of the Strange and Macabre
Thanks for hosting me today, Misha. It’s good to be on this virtual trip to South Africa.
On one of my prior visits, I took note of Misha’s side bar where she talks about drifting. The book I’m touring touches on just that subject.
Kyra, one of my characters, is stuck in a relationship with a user, has discovered that she’s settled for far less than she’s worth and also has financial issues because she shops too much.
In the novel, she moves in another direction, thanks to guidance and support from her friends. In life, we face the same challenges. We move through each day, living them as they come, but don’t always make a decision to change course. Sometimes, we’re fortunate enough to have good friends—like the women in Distraction—and sometimes we have to go it alone, making the best decisions we can.
I’d be delighted if you’d take a trip with my characters in A Baker’sDozen: Thirteen Steps to Distraction. You’ll meet Dionne, Justine and Kyra a year before Distraction takes place. This prequel is complimentary for the duration of the Friendship-is-Forever Tour, so download your copy from Smashwords.
As a bonus, at the end of this Friendship tour, there’ll be a main prize of a Distraction note pad & pen and a $10 Amazon gift card. The second prize is a paperback copy of Distraction. Stop by my blog sometime to enter the giveaway on the Rafflecopter.
Thanks again for having me, Misha, and thanks to those of you who’ve stopped in to read and share your thoughts.
J.L. Campbell is a proud Jamaican and the author of Contraband, Distraction, Dissolution, Don’t Get Mad…Get Even, Giving up the Dream and Hardware (pen name Jayda McTyson). Campbell is always on the lookout for story making material, loves company and can usually be found lollygagging on her blog. Link with her on Facebook or through her Twitter handle @JL_Campbell.
“Some folks treated the past like an old friend. The memories warmed them with fondness for what was, and hope for what was to come. Not me. When I thought of long ago, my insides curdled, and I was left feeling sour and wasted.”
“We found my ‘grandfather’ sitting at his dining room table. An entire scorched pot of coffee dangled from his shaky hand. His skin was the ashen gray shade of thunderclouds, not the rich mocha from the photo I’d seen. There were dark blue circles under each swollen red eye. A halo of white hair skirted his bald head, a crown of tangles and mats. Corpses had more life in them.”