Book Blitz, Buy the Book Tours

Book Blitz: Tomorrow’s Anecdote by Pamela Kelt

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About Tomorrow’s Anecdote :

Tomorrow's AnecdoteJust another day in the the newsroom? Hardly.

October 1987. Clare Forester is an overworked and under-appreciated features subeditor on a provincial paper in Somerset. She spends her time cheerfully ranting about her teenage daughter, the reclusive lodger, her spiteful mother, the Thatcher government, new technology, grubby journalists, petty union officials, her charming ex – and just about anything else that crosses her path.

If things aren’t turbulent enough, on the night of Thursday, October 15th, the Great Storm sweeps across Britain, cutting a swathe of destruction across the country.

Things turn chaotic. Pushed to breaking point, Clare finally snaps and loses her temper with gale-force fury – with disastrous results.

As she contemplates the chaos that her life has become, Clare soon comes to a bitter conclusion.

Never trust the past. It lies.


Excerpt:

No-one could have seen the line of trees falling like dominoes as they toppled towards the A36 under cover of darkness that Thursday evening. One minute, I was driving back in a rental car from Brighton to the West Country, my shoulders aching with keeping it on the road as a crosswind buffeted. The next, I was slowing down to tackle a tricky bend when a giant tree trunk landed on the bonnet with an almighty thump.
As the car juddered to a standstill, I rammed on the brakes out of instinct. The seatbelt cut into my neck as I lurched forwards, then back, just like a test mannequin. For a moment, I sat there, pulse palpitating, still gripping the wheel. Then I counted to ten, opened my eyes and found myself staring out at a confused mass of branches and yellowing leaves. They glowed oddly in the light of my remaining headlamp. It was like being upside-down in a tree house, but much less fun.
If I’d arrived at that spot a split second later, the tree would have landed plum on the roof. And me. My chest hurt. I realised the steering wheel was crushing my sternum.
The crash had shunted my seat forward. Hands shaking, I fumbled for the belt release, and pinged it loose. Wincing, I bent down and yanked at the floor-level bar, shoving backwards with the balls of my feet.
Nothing. Grunting with the effort, I tried again to no avail. The sliding mechanism must have jammed in the crash.
At that point, the electrics gave up and everything went pitch black. My forehead ached. I must have hit my head against the steering wheel. Darkness seeped into my mind and I slumped in my seat, semi-conscious.
My brain seemed to float away from my body and I began to relive the past three days I had spent in a ghastly Portakabin where I had endured the vilest form of professional torture … that most feared phenomenon of all, The Management Course.


About Pamela Kelt

Author Picture - Pamela KeltPamela Kelt first managed to avoid any semblance of a day job by taking Spanish at the University of Manchester. On completion of the degree and after a subsequent six brain-fogging months on a local paper, she fled to Oxford and completed her M. Litt. thesis on ‘Comic aspects of satirical 17th-century comic interludes’, which was not only much more fun, but strangely relevant to coping with the vagaries of the 21st century. After becoming a technical translator, she discovered that English was easier, and did copywriting for anyone who would pay.

On a stint in Australia, she landed a job as a subeditor and returned to journalism, relishing the chance to come up with funny headlines in a variety of provincial papers. Ah. Once a pun a time.

As her academic husband became a chemistry professor in something even she can’t spell, Pam moved into the more sensible world of educational magazines and online publishing – for a while, at least. A daughter arrived and reintroduced her to the delights of fiction, which she’d sort of forgotten about. So, one fine day, while walking the dogs at a local beauty spot, thinking ‘to hell with a career’, Pam took the plunge into writing for herself, and is now the author of six books to date (including one co-written with aforementioned prof) ranging from historical drama by way of teen fantasy to retro mystery.


This is a book blitz tour with Buy the Book Tours. This tour is also making other stops today, I hope you’ll stop by the other blogs and visit the other participants!

Authors’ Cafe
Christine’s Words
Tales of a Book Addict
3 Partners in Shopping Nana, Mommy, & Sissy, Too!
Nancy Jardine features
Night Owl Reviews
 For Whom the Books Toll
Cindy’s Love of Books
Loralee Lillibridge – Blogging Across the Back Fence
Margo Hoornstra – Writing Inside & Out
What Readers Want
Romance Me
Finding Fantastical Books

 

Book Blitz, Buy the Book Tours

Book Blitz Tour: Flappers, Flasks & Foul Play by Ellen Mansoor Collier

Flappers Book CoverAbout Flappers, Flasks and Foul Play :

“Boardwalk Empire” meets “The Great Gatsby” in this soft-boiled “Jazz Age” mystery, inspired by actual events.  Prohibition is in full swing in 1920s Galveston, Texas: the “Sin City of the Southwest.” Jasmine Cross, a young society reporter, feels caught between two clashing cultures: the seedy speakeasy underworld and the snooty social circles she covers in the Galveston Gazette. 
During a night out with her best friend, Jazz witnesses a bar fight at the Oasis–a speakeasy secretly owned by her black-sheep half-brother, Sammy Cook. But when a big-shot banker with a hidden past collapses there and later dies, she suspects foul play. Was it an accident or murder?
Soon new Prohibition Agent James Burton raids the Oasis, threatening to shut it down if Sammy doesn’t talk. Suspicious, he pursues Jazz, but she refuses to rat on Sammy. As turf wars escalate between two real-life rival gangs, Sammy is accused of murder. To find the killer, Jazz must risk her life and career, exposing the dark side of Galveston’s glittering society.

Excerpt:

A loud bang sounded, a crash, a door cracking. Heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs and three men in dark suits entered the Oasis, holding badges. Their guns raised high, the trio circled the room like Wild West lawmen. We had no place to hide. A stocky man shoved Dino against the wall and for once, he didn’t fight back. Sammy must have warned him to be on his best behavior. Frank crept towards the back like a spy, trying to disappear into the woodwork. I’d never been in a raid before, but I’d seen them on news reels. My heart throbbed in my chest as I braced myself for the worst: What if we all got arrested and thrown in jail?

“Federal Agent James Burton, Treasury Department. Don’t move and no one will get hurt!” yelled the tallest of the trio. Over six feet, he wore a fancy three-piece beige suit and felt hat. I didn’t know flatfoots got paid so well.

Cool as ice, Sammy sauntered out from the kitchen, smiling at the men as if they were regulars. “Welcome! How can I help you gentlemen?”

“You can tell us where you keep your booze,” Burton said, scanning the room.

“Booze? You’re in the wrong place, boys. All we serve here is good food and soda pop.” Sammy wiped his hands on a dirty red apron he’d thrown on for effect. “Hungry? How about today’s special—home-made spaghetti?”

“We need a drink to quench our thirst,” said Burton. “On the rocks, since we’re on duty.”

Sammy feigned surprise—not a bad job of acting for an amateur. “How about root beer or a Coke? The only cold drinks we serve here are soda pop. We’re bone dry.”

“That’s not what we heard—Mr. Cook, is it? We hear this place is full of hooch.”

I held my breath, trying to quell a bad case of the screaming meemies. How’d he know Sammy’s name? Who mentioned any hooch? Agent Burton and his men slid between the tables, his eyes dancing back and forth, studying each customer, as if memorizing their faces.

A burly cop in glasses pointed to an older bald man cowering in his chair. “You there! What’s that poison you’re drinking?”

“It’s lemonade,” the man stammered. “I swear.”

“Looks like a cocktail to me.” The agent stuck his finger in the glass, tasted it, then threw it down. Glass splintered into tiny slivers as liquid seeped into the wood floor….

Dropping his friendly facade, Sammy marched over to Burton, his boots crunching on broken glass. “I told you it’s a diner, not a bar. Leave him alone. Who do you think you are?”

“Like I said, name’s Burton,” he said, as if talking to a dim-witted child. “I’m the new head of Galveston’s Prohibition enforcement office.” He held up his badge like a shiny trophy. The two men were polar opposites: With his tanned skin and thick honey-blond hair, Burton resembled a golden retriever ready to attack a Doberman. No contest, if you ask me.

“You’re wasting your time here. No need to harass my help or my customers.”

“Seems your customers must like to play rough.” Burton tapped his own cheekbone, indicating Sammy’s black eye.

I nudged Nathan under the table, impressed by Sammy’s bravado. But maybe this wasn’t the best time to question authority. His big mouth could earn him a fat lip.

“What’s going on?” I whispered to Nathan. My throat was so dry, I could barely speak.

“Who knows? Never been invited to a raid before.”

Burton must have heard us because he strode over to our table, and draped an arm over my chair. “Evening, ma’am. What’s a classy dish like you doing in this crummy gin mill?”

How dare he! “Get your hands off me!” I shrugged off his arm, shoulders stiff. He backed away, surprised. Up close, I noticed how young he was, late twenties, face smooth and tanned.

Nathan stood up, a full head shorter than Burton. “Back off, buster. Leave my date alone.” Obviously Burton’s gun and badge failed to impress Nathan. What he lacked in stature, he made up for with attitude.

“Your date?” Agent Burton smiled. “Lucky guy.” He took a sip from my cup, then spit it out.

“If you’d asked nicely, I could’ve told you it was Coca-Cola.” Watch it, Jazz. In school, I’d often gotten in trouble for talking back to my teachers, but they hadn’t carried a badge or a loaded gun.

“Excuse my manners, miss. I can’t resist a pretty face and a smart mouth.”


Ellen M. Collier - Author PicAbout Ellen Mansoor Collier

Ellen Mansoor Collier is a Houston-based freelance writer/editor whose articles, essays and short stories have been published in several national magazines.She graduated from the University of Texas at Austin with a degree in Magazine Journalism, and was active in Women in Communications (W.I.C.I.), serving as president her senior year. FLAPPERS is her debut novel, and she’s currently working on the sequel, BATHING BEAUTIES, BOOZE AND BULLETS, due out this Spring.

This is a book blitz tour with Buy the Book Tours. This tour is also making other stops today, I hope you’ll stop by the other blogs and visit the other participants!

Laurie’s Thoughts and Reviews
Tales of a Book Addict
Turning the Pages
Tattered Pages
My Devotional Thoughts
Brooke Blogs
HBS Author’s Spotlight
Words Without Limits
Writing Belle
Uttley’s Take
Sharon C. Cooper