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Release Day Blitz: Dark Paradise by Angie Sandro


It's my absolute pleasure to be a part of Angie Sandro's release day blitz for her fantastic debut novel Dark Paradise. She's done this for me countless times and I'm so excited to be returning the favor. I'm proud to call her my friend and critique partner. Her novels is a taste of something Gothic. It's that new adult paranormal you've always been craving. I have all the details for you below with an awesome giveaway to match. Check it out!


About DARK PARADISE:

DARK LEGACY

Mala LaCroix has spent her whole life trying to escape her destiny. As the last in a long line of "witch women," she rejects the notion of spirits and hoodoo and instead does her best to blend in. But when she finds a dead body floating in the bayou behind her house, Mala taps into powers she never knew she had. She's haunted by visions of the dead girl, demanding justice and vengeance.

DEADLY SECRETS

Landry Prince has always had a crush on Mala, but when Mala discovers his sister, murdered and marked in some sort of Satanic ritual, he wonders if all the rumors about the LaCroix family are true. Yet after Mala uses her connection to the spirit world to identify his sister's killer, he starts to form his own bond to her . . . a very physical one. As they move closer to each other and closer to the truth, Mala and Landry must risk everything-their families, their love, and even their lives.

EXCERPT:

He looks down, and our eyes meet.
“Kiss me,” I blurt out.
“What?” His breathing quickens. “What did you say?
Oh, shit! I just propositioned him. Me, squeaky clean, cowardly Mala. Lack of oxygen must’ve given me brain damage. I take a shaky breath and straighten in his arms. “I said kiss me.” My voice cracks. “It’s okay. I won’t punch you or anything. You have my permission.”
“Your head’s not on straight.” Landry gazes off across the water … distant, cold. Oh, so sad, and it breaks my heart. All I want at this moment is to drink the pain in his eyes. Guzzle it down so it never fills him again. I know nothing’s forever. A momentary patch is about all the comfort I can give him, but maybe for now, it’s enough. For both of us.
“I know. I’m scared.” I take Landry’s face between my hands, holding tight when he tries to pull away. “Stop. Listen. Why do I have to keep dealing with the craziness of my life alone? I’m so tired … Why is it wrong to want to escape?”
My trembling fingers lightly trace the curve of his jaw. I never in a million years thought I could be so bold. I’ve always protected my heart because I feared it would get squished. Being afraid hasn’t gotten me anywhere but alone. “I like you, Landry. And … and I think you like me. At least a little bit, right? You make me feel safe … alive. Maybe … maybe I can make you feel the same way.”
His eyes, thick, black lashes outlining luminous silver, close as I trace my fingers across his eyelids. I press my lips to the angled plane of his cheekbone in a gentle kiss. His skin tastes salty from sweat and smells of grass. Rich and pungent. Intoxicating. His stomach muscles tighten against mine, but he doesn’t move. I kiss the other cheek, then tilt his head toward mine and brush my lips across his, so lightly that it’s more a mingling of breath.
My tongue caresses his lips. I taste him in small nibbles, and then, feeling bold, I pull his plump bottom lip between my teeth, gently teasing him until he finally responds.
Impatient, he threads his fingers into my hair so I can’t pull away. His tongue flicks against mine as I open my mouth to his, deepening the connection between us. I’ve heard about French kisses, in high school the girls giggled about them and rated the boys according to skill, but until now, I’ve never liked a guy enough to want his tongue in my mouth.  Landry rated pretty high on the Awesome Kisser scale. Now I understand why.
The rush of excitement chases away any lingering fear. At some point, he stretches out on the ground, and I lay on top of him. My hands caress his wide shoulders and rise to tangle in his silky hair. I rub against his chest, wishing our clothing didn’t separate us. I want to feel the softness of his skin against mine. I want to trace the tempting dimple in the small of his back and lick the faded scar to the left of his belly button.
Yeah, I totally peeked when he did his striptease in the boat. I may be the queen of denial, but I couldn’t deny myself the sculpted beauty of Landry Prince in all his glory. I pull my mouth free of his lips and slide down the hard length of his body. He sucks in a breath, stomach tightening when I run trembling hands up his chest, lifting his T-shirt to give me access to that scar. I trace my tongue around it a swirl of motion, like licking an ice cream cone. He tastes ten times better than chocolate—maybe like chocolate and caramel with marshmallow chunks—all gooey and melty in my mouth. So tasty that I want to lap him up. But I bite him instead.
Satisfaction throbs at his growl. The soft bit of flesh between my teeth almost sends me over the edge. I’m so hot … burning up inside.
I release him, licking the soft indentations in his skin.
“Mala,” he moans, quivering when I pin his reaching hands to the ground. I give him a wicked grin, then lower my head. I steadily work my way up his chest, biting and licking until I reach his pecs. I run my tongue around his left nipple, then blow across the hard nub. His hips shift, a slight jerk upward. His erection presses against the fabric of his jeans. Is it uncomfortable?
I bite my lip, scared at the bold nature of my thoughts. It’s like years of repressed sexuality screams to be set free. Too many romance novels have given me a working knowledge of what goes on. I can fake it until I make it, but I’ve got to decide right now how far I want to go. Soon I’ll be too far gone. My body decides for me. 

Want more? Then grab your copy today:

B&N | Kobo | iTunes | Amazon

About Angie:

Angie Sandro was born at Whiteman Air Force Base in Missouri. Within six weeks, she began the first of eleven relocations throughout the United States, Spain, and Guam before the age of eighteen. Friends were left behind. The only constants in her life were her family and the books she shipped wherever she went. Traveling the world inspired her imagination and allowed her to create her own imaginary friends. Visits to her father's family in Louisiana inspired this story. Angie now lives in Northern California with her husband, two children, and an overweight Labrador.

Please visit her Blog, like her Facebook Page, and follow her on Twitter

Make sure to enter the giveaway below. I know I will!

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DDYA Giveaway


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Working with Editors

            In high school, I wrote without any thought to editing. Using my father’s electric typewriter (and I’m totally showing my age here), I wrote whatever popped into my head. Well, let me clarify. I start with a story in mind then write what comes naturally to me in connection to the story. Afterwards, horrible spelling and wrong grammar notwithstanding, I’d bind my stories and bring them to school for my classmates to read. No editing necessary.

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            Starting my writing career this way helped and hindered me. It helped because today I’m able to construct my novels a chapter at a time based on an overarching storyline. I have a beginning and I have the end then I fill in the blanks in the middle. This assures a tighter plotline. For me, anyway. It hindered because I had no concept of editing whatsoever. This messes with the ego because I automatically thought my work didn’t need changing. It’s not perfect, but that’s how I intended to create it. Budding writers out there don’t start out this way. *wags finger*


finger gif photo: Conan Finger Shake Gif ConanFingerShanke.gif

            This terrible mindset followed me well into my early twenties. I stood by my work and hardly listened to anyone’s feedback. Maybe this is also because the critique groups I did participate in would nitpick rather than give actual constructive criticism. Oh, they thought they were being constructive. Hell, I thought so too. It’s only now after working with a variety of editors that I can distinguish between what is considered constructive (i.e. what will help improve the story) versus your run of the mill nitpicking (i.e. the negative stuff).

            For some of you who might not know yet, I’m currently published by three different publishers. This is no accident. I intentionally submitted to different publishers because I wanted to learn more about my craft. Working with as many editors as possible certainly helps.

            Many writers abhor the editing process for many different. I’ve seen many cry over it. I understand it can be intimidating and that comments can be seen as criticism of one’s work. I’ve come to believe that editing is the best part of the process. It can be taxing, for sure. But it is also the most rewarding because you already have something to work with.


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            Let me elaborate.

            When writing, you’re forced to fill a blank page with words. Basically, you need to translate what’s in your head onto paper. With editing, you already have everything on paper, which takes the edge off. Now your job becomes improving on what you already have. And the best thing about it is you have an editor who helps guide you in the right direction.

            For my debut novel, Taste, the comments of my editor for the first two pages alone were longer than the actual two pages. In fact, every sentence had multiple comments attached to them. Here’s a picture of what I mean:



            Looking at this picture today doesn’t fail to bring out a cold sweat in me. How I survived that initial editing process is beyond my reasoning skills. But I can honestly say that my editor really helped make my writing better. Many readers don’t get a glimpse of what goes on during the editing of a novel. The final product you have in your hands is leaps and bounds beyond how it all started.

            Now, let me show you a picture of the first two pages of Savor, one of my latest novels, during the editing stage:



            Here you no longer see any comments, just some tweaks by my editor on some of the sentences. Taste is my debut and Savor is my sixth novel (fifth to be published). The difference in editing is vastly obvious because each of the editors I’ve worked with since my debut helped me hone my craft. If you want to see the progression of the improvement in my writing based on editing, this is how you should read my novels: start with Taste then move on to Reaping MeSoftly then to Til Death followed by Romancing the Bookworm before Unreap My Heart and end with Savor. The dates of publishing vary, with Til Death being the most recent release. But like what I mentioned above, Savor is my latest in terms of what I’ve written and edited (it shows the most improvement).

            With each novel I write, I try my best not to make the same mistakes that my editors have pointed out in previous novels. Of course, there’s no such thing as a novel that doesn’t need editing. From experience, the process gets easier because when you know better you do better (ßMaya Angelou quote).

            So, working with editors is actually awesome. They are there to support you as a writer and help you improve your craft and nourish your talent. They are also there to push your limits, demand better of you, and show you avenues into the story you didn’t think possible during the writing process.

            In short, I’m an editing junkie. I want more. No. Need more.     

April Bestseller

Til Death continues to be a bestseller for YA 
at National Bookstore. 
Thank you, everyone, for making this happen! 


Life After Death

I’m a huge Ghost Adventures fan. That alone should already tell you what my views on life after death are. Actually, anything paranormal I like a lot. I find that aspect of our lives so fascinating. Which is also why Halloween is my favorite holiday. The gif below this post is actually part of CCTV footage from the UK where it's believed the ghost of a monk opened the doors.

When I was little, I had a nanny who was born on one of the more mystical islands found in the Philippines. Every night, she would always tell me stories. Many of you might call these ghost stories. But to her, these were part of real life. She told me that I would grow up to live my life among the paranormal.

Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. I don’t see ghosts, and thank God for that because I would totally freak out. But I’ve had things happen to me that I can’t really explain beyond what I can see in front of me. Things like being the only one in the house and then suddenly smelling the sweetest floral perfume and when I tell my mother about it she says her grandmother wore that kind of scent. Or that there’s this corner of our house the dog refuses to go to and barks at every time we pass it like there’s someone there. Crazy dog. Or that the corner of my bed would move and wake me up from a dead sleep.

So, yeah, I do believe in life after death. I believe that we all have spirits in us, or some form of energy, whatever you might want to call it. Sometimes, during death, some of this energy is left behind and that’s what we might call ghosts.

Now, if you ask me if there’s a heaven, that’s a whole different topic of conversation. *winks*

ghost gif photo: Hampton courtyard Ghost GIF GIFONE.gif

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