Guest author blog: Rebecca Raisin on her dream bookshop, and win £100 of National Book Tokens!


What does your dream bookshop look like?

Originally posted on The Hive Network:


Rebecca Raisin

Reading is a magical past-time for me. You can pry open the cover of a book and be transported to a foreign land, with evocative scents, and vivid scenery. Or be taken to a different planet, a different era.

Books have always been my go-to place when I’ve needed comfort or escape – there they are, like the most stoic friend. And like so many bookworms, I’ve always imagined paradise as owning a tiny little bookshop, one slightly off the beaten track.

My dream bookshop isn’t shiny, and it’s not new.

It’s almost sepia, it’s so dimly lit.

The old wooden floors creak with age, and are bowed from decades of foot traffic. Books snake precariously up from the floor, are double stacked on shelves, and wherever we can find room. Every book deserves its place, whether it’s a novel missing its cover, or a textbook with dog-eared pages…

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A must read! The Night Porter by Mark Barry!

When I happened upon this book on sale today I had to share it with you! I read it a few months ago, and it’s still with me today! I absolutely loved it, so I thought I’d share the blurb, and buy links with you. It’s such a bargain, and such an amazing book! Take a look :) untitled


The Night Porter by Mark Barry


About the book:

Set in a hotel, in November, in the fictional town of Wheatley Fields, (based on Southwell, near Nottinghamshire, deep in Sherwood Forest). Four writers, all nominated for an upcoming awards ceremony, come to stay. One mega successful romance author, a top US thriller writer who sells in seven figures, a beautiful young YA tyro on the brink of world wide stardom… …and a degenerate, nasty, bitter, jealous, trollish, drunken (but brilliant), self-published contemporary fiction author. The Night Porter is instructed by a secretive and powerful awards committee to look after their EVERY need, to ensure they make it through the two weeks to attend the ceremony. At the same time as keeping an eye on their wishes, antics, fights, relationships and never-ending ego explosions. And trying desperately to avoid getting involved himself. It’s a comedy drama about writers (and Night Porters!) with twists and turns, nooks and crannies, shadows and mirrors. I don’t think you will see an Indie published book like this anywhere in Cyberspace. Probably not a tradpubbed one either. It casts a sometimes shadowy light on modern publishing, the writing business – and the people in it. Writers who like to read about writers and writing will enjoy the book as will readers who enjoy innovative, clever and multi-layered fiction.

Find the book here:

Amazon UK 77p

Amazon US 99c

Amazon Aust 1.05c

Find Mark here:


SALE! The Bookshop on the Corner…

The Bookshop on the Corner has been picked up for a sale across all platforms and all countries! The month ahead is going to be packed with character quizzes and competitions to celebrate reading and our love of books!


US Amazon
UK Amazon
AUST Amazon
Google play

I look forward to discussing your favourite books, and what books mean to you!

Here is Becca from Becca’s books reading a snippet of Chapter one!


Book Spotlight – AL Michael with The Last Word

Please welcome the uber fab AL Michael to the blog today! She’s sharing an excerpt of her new book The Last Word with us! It’s getting rave reviews, so make a cup of coffee an settle in to read a sneak peek! Enjoy!


The Last Word- A.L. Michael

Meet Tabitha Riley…

Tabby Riley’s online life was a roaring success. Her blog had hundreds of followers, and legions of young fans ardently awaited her every Tweet. Her real life was a bit more of a disappointment. Living in a shared flat in North London, scratching a living writing magazine articles on ‘How To Please Your Man in Bed’ wasn’t where she thought she’d be at twenty-six – especially when there was a serious lack of action in her own bedroom.
Although that might all be about to change when she’s offered a position at online newspaper The Type as a real journalist – and gains a sexy new editor, Harry Shulman, to work with. Harry’s confident, smooth talking, and completely aware that he drives Tabby mad. Which is fine, because Tabby’s dated an editor before, and it’s never happening again. Ever. But as her reputation at the paper grows, Tabby has to wonder: is it time to get out from behind the screen and live her life in the real world?

Praise for The Last Word

‘I had to stop myself giggling,’ Amazon reviewer

‘Snarky Chick Lit with heart’ Amazon reviewer

‘I know it’s a good book when at the end I shut the kindle cover and sigh with contentment. The Last Word totally did it for me.’ Calliope, Random Book Muses

Chapter One

This cannot be my life, Tabby Riley thought as she finished her latest article. Four hundred words on the dire consequences of plucking outside your brow line. She needed ice cream.
Rhi was sitting in her usual spot in the middle of the living room floor, and Tabby had to skip over the sea of papers and books surrounding her to get into the kitchen. She retrieved the Ben and Jerry’s and a spoon, then stood in the doorway, watching her housemate.
‘Do you think I’m a bad feminist?’ Tabby asked, recalling the last few articles on weight-loss, decoding male body language, and how to dress like a manic pixie dream girl.
‘Yes,’ Rhi didn’t look up, ‘but I think you’re an excellent person. So could you hold out on whatever crisis you’re about to have until I finish this chapter? Please?’
It was hard to refuse when Rhi said ‘please’. It happened so rarely.
‘Sure, it was nothing,’ Tabby picked at the chocolate chips, suddenly not so in the mood for ice-cream, ‘I just get so bloody tired of myself sometimes.’
‘Well, luckily I never do. Be a love and put the kettle on? I’ll be done in ten minutes, warn the biscuit tin!’
And then Rhi was back in her zone, craned over, picking a pencil out of her blond dreadlocked bun. She flicked down her blue-rimmed glasses, and suddenly Tabby didn’t exist anymore. Rhi’s ability to go from zero to study in under ten seconds was something that had driven Tabby crazy when they were at university, but seeing as Rhi went to her job at the library and then came home to work on her Masters degree, whilst Tabby wrote articles in her pyjamas all day, it just seemed unfair. Everyone else was going somewhere. And Tabby couldn’t remember the last time she’d had to wear real clothes.
She clicked on the kettle, made herself a cup of tea, knowing it would be at least half an hour until Rhi would finish. She unlocked the back door and padded out into the poor little concrete excuse for a garden, hoping to see a little of the fading daylight.
Last year she’d tried to plant herbs as one of her article-inspired kicks, then promptly forgot about them. Their sad, weedy little skeletons drooped over the ceramic pot.Two previously-white deck chairs and a plastic table they’d found in a nearby skip sat there like survivors of war. Tabby once again considered how maybe if she got the outward look of her life together, then maybe the real stuff would come along with it. In fact, she was pretty sure she’d written an article on that. She roughly wiped down one of the chairs, and stuck the mug of tea on the table. It wobbled precariously. Next door, the teen boys who thought starting a band called ‘Dyspraxic’ was a cool idea practised their guitar solos. Five months on and they weren’t any better.
Tabby rolled herself a cigarette, cheerfully finding not only all the components in her dressing gown pockets, but a lighter in her pyjama bottoms. Score.
‘Hey,’ Rhi stepped outside, stretching in that feline way she had, ‘no tea for me?’
‘Thought you wouldn’t be done for ages,’ Tabby shrugged.
‘Give me a toke on that, then.’ She held out her hand, ‘Why are you smoking anyway?’
Tabby tucked a dark curl behind her ear, then reached around and found an earring caught in the back of her hair. She threw it on the table and grimaced, ‘I feel like I’m falling apart.’
Rhi sat on the doorstep and pulled her jumper around her, ‘We all do. What’s wrong exactly? The articles? I thought they were being well-received?’
‘Yeah, but they’re…well, let’s be honest, they’re shit.’
‘Yeah, but it’s shit people want to read. Well-written shit, obviously.’ Rhi hurriedly added, reaching over to take a gulp of Tabby’s tea, then making a face when she realised there was no sugar.
‘Yeah,’ Tabby sighed, looking up at the few spindly tree tops they could see from the real gardens around them. Tabby loved London, loved their shitty little house in Tufnell Park. Loved red buses and tube stations and all night kebab shops. She loved her home town in the way most people love their parents-for making you who you are. But sometimes she would give anything to see a bit of greenery, to be out on a farm or sitting by the sea. The constant greyness of London before the spring arrived could be a little hard to bear.
‘Tabs,’ Rhi was easily exasperated, but that was okay, because Tabby was sick of her herself too, ‘there’s only so many times I can say this. If you don’t like what you do, don’t do it! Do something else, anything else. Go back to interning at newspapers, or retrain as a teacher or something. Just stop moaning about it.’
At least Rhi was honest. Tabby couldn’t imagine herself saying that to anyone, even if it was true. She felt her shoulders slump as she visualised herself as a teacher, with the little shits throwing apples at her head. She tried as a copy editor, but couldn’t even imagine what she’d wear to work in an office. The only thing that made any sense was ranting and raving about useless things on websites, her blog and Twitter. Things like whether a Jaffa Cake was a cake or biscuit (clearly a cake, it was all in the name and the chocolate-to-base-thickness ratio) or how to trick your body into exercising without it realising. This was her life, as the latest cheque that arrived in the post from her mother reminded her. It would at least keep in her in red wine and chocolate buttons for a few more weeks.
And her followers loved her, that was true. These young girls who respected her opinions on fashion and music, LOL’d her jokes and ‘Liked’ her updates. Retweeting with the words ‘SO TRUE’ before things she’d written. She was a truth-sayer, bringing snarkiness and sarcasm to the masses of girls who felt too smart to be loveable. That was something, right?

Buy the Book on Amazon, Kobo, Nook, Apple and many more!

Author Info:

Spotlight on Molly Ann Wishlade with book “Bound”

Welcome the hugely talented Molly Ann Wishlade to the blog today! She’s sharing an excerpt of her new Wild West Series, with book one, Bound. And she’ll be back to share the rest of the trilogy this week! If you love a sexy cowboy, then this is right up your alley!

Take it away, Molly!


Bound – The Wild Wild West #1 – by Molly Ann Wishlade

Bound will be released by Carina UK on 28th July
Genre: Historical Western Romance
Series: The Wild Wild West Novella Series

Runaway mail-order bride Layla Powell is terrified when she is captured by two powerful cowboys purporting to work for her fiancé – the mysterious Mr Jackman. At first Layla fights tooth and nail for her freedom, but Charlie and his lover Etu have their own erotic methods to subdue their feisty captive…
In fact Charlie is really Layla’s fiancé, she was supposed to be his wife in name only, but he and Etu like what they see. They are sure that just one night of being pleasured by them both will be exciting enough to convince Layla to abandon her plans to run and keep her in their bed forever!

Here are two excerpts from the novella for you to enjoy:
“Don’t you move a muscle!”
Layla stiffened as a hand covered her mouth. She blinked hard and tried to peer through the gloom.
Panic seized her. Where was she? What was happening?
Her arms were pinned to her sides. There was a weight crushing her chest, restricting her movement and her breathing. She wriggled instinctively, her mind still foggy with sleep.
She was trapped!
“Now listen up, missy,” the deep voice continued. “Stop your struggling! I’m gonna remove your Stetson but you better keep still, ya hear?”
That was why she couldn’t see! She had pulled her father’s old hat over her eyes so that she could get some sleep. The afternoon sun had been hot, even through the trees. But now…someone had discovered her.
Would he hurt her?
She squinted as the cover was removed from her face. It didn’t make much difference. It was pitch black. She must have slept through the whole of the afternoon. Darn it! She’d only intended on taking a quick nap. She tried to focus on slowing her breathing but she was only able to catch little breaths.
The man straddling her chest pushed Layla’s hair back from her face with a callused hand and she frowned. As her eyes adjusted, she could just make out the outline of his head, a dark silhouette against the stars above. He moved and the hand covering her lips exerted more pressure. Her teeth dug painfully into her lips. Her heart thudded against her ribs and she felt sure that he must be able to feel it hammering beneath his muscular thigh. Fear surged through her and a red haze flooded her brain.
She had to get away. She had to escape.
She forced her mouth open then bit down on the flesh of his palm. It was instinctive, a physical reaction to a physical situation. She was consumed by terror. If he was going to hurt her then she’d inflict pain upon him first. However she could.
He growled and whipped his hand away but his weight remained in place. Crushing. Constricting. Impossible to displace.
“Now then, missy.” He pressed his mouth against her ear. She winced, expecting to smell unwashed man and to feel his stubble graze her cheek but instead she smelt potash soap on clean-shaven skin. Even with her sleep-addled brain, the scent reassured her as it brought with it images of civilisation and safety. Of a long-ago childhood. So he wasn’t a bandit. He hadn’t been out here for days or weeks. Perhaps he was even respectable. But that was probably too much to hope for. And as she knew all too well, even a man who appeared to be respectable could be hiding a darkness. A hidden side that would lead to pain, degradation and heartbreak for a woman who fell for his charms.
“I’m gonna remove my hand from over yer mouth. But you gotta promise not to scream.” He laughed. “Not that it would do you much good out here…but, well, to be honest with you…I can’t abide a woman screaming. You understand?” His voice reverberated through her chest, tickling beneath her armpits like a feather and making her nipples turn confusingly into hard little peaks. She had hoped to disguise herself as a young man by binding her ample bosoms tightly and donning trousers but it seemed she’d fooled no one.
Layla nodded. She was stuck in a bad box, no doubt about it. She realised now that screaming would get her nowhere. Might even conjure up a few other wastrels who’d be intent on having their way with a woman fool enough to wander out into the Black Hills alone.
What had she been thinking? But she’d been lost, alone, without a choice. She had acted upon the instinct to flee, too afraid to stay and meet her fate. The fate that she’d played a part in arranging.
The man removed his hand and she moistened her lips with her tongue. She could taste wood-smoke and soap. This man kept himself clean. He’d also recently made a fire. Her belly growled and she silently cursed her human frailty.
“You hungry, eh missy? We’ll have to see about getting you some victuals in a while then. But you gotta promise to behave.”
“Who…” Layla tried to take a deep breath but the man’s knees crushed her sides.
“Who am I?” He finished her question. “Well that’s for me to know…and for you to find out.”
Layla gasped. “I…I can’t…bre…”
“Oh!” He jumped to his feet. “Sorry…Didn’t realise I was squashing ya.”
He grabbed her hands and pulled her upright.
“Now remember what I said…” He kept hold of her wrists.
“I remember,” Layla nodded. Black spots swam before her eyes and she staggered. The stranger caught her beneath her armpits with his large hands then scooped her up. She leant her head against his chest, momentarily too weak and dizzy to protest.
“Now I’m gonna take you back to where I’ve set up camp then we’re gonna have us a little chat. Understand?”
“Yes,” Layla whimpered. She cleared her throat. Better not to sound afraid. “I mean…yes, I understand.”
What on earth did he want? What if there were more men there and he intended on sharing her with them? She glanced around but the trees were thick and the moon was a sliver in the sky. She’d likely break her neck if she tried to run off and she felt too weak to even attempt it. Better to wait and see what he wanted to talk about and maybe get something to eat. Build her strength a little so she could think. Clear her head. Then plan.

Charlie had to stop himself from taking a few steps forward and grabbing hold of Layla. The sheer beauty of her naked form was playing havoc with his body and mind. Sure, he’d seen a woman’s body before, seen a few in fact, but none of them had been this perfect, this beautiful, this desirable.
He dragged his eyes away from her creamy flesh.
“Etu?” He nudged his lover’s shoulder but Etu didn’t move. He stood in front of Layla like a statue, his eyes glued to her body. He watched as Etu hovered his hands over her form, tracing her curves without actually making contact. Etu had fallen hard.
Charlie knew that he would have to take charge.
He grabbed the rope that Layla had escaped from and ran it through his hands. If he wasn’t so confused by the feelings running through him, he’d have found the situation funny. Here they were, the three of them, in the woods at night, naked. Charlie, his lover and their mail-order bride.
Who’d have thought that an advert in a paper would come to this?
He had to tie Layla up. He just had to. He couldn’t risk her escaping again. Especially now that she’d seen him with Etu.
“Put your hands behind your back, Layla.” He used the voice he reserved for calming a startled horse. Low, deep, commanding.
Layla opened her eyes and stared at him. She cleared her throat as if to speak. Her bottom lip quivered. He felt his gaze drawn to her breasts again then lower. Lower. To the auburn curls at the apex of her thighs. He knew that if he parted her legs he would see the shiny pink folds of her sex. Glistening. Inviting. Encouraging him to penetrate her feminine flesh.
Dammit! He had to stay strong here.
Etu turned to him. “Charlie…is this really necessary? She won’t try to run off now. Look at her.” Etu gestured at Layla and Charlie swallowed hard. He couldn’t stop looking at her. It was driving him crazy the way that her beautiful auburn hair fell over her shoulders and her green eyes shone. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought that she even looked aroused.
But that would be ridiculous, right?
He moved towards her and she stiffened. He pulled her hands behind her and looped the rope around them. This close, he could smell her sweet musky scent. It made him want to pull her against his chest. His whole body was responding to her proximity, her femininity. It was so different from Etu’s. It made him want to run his tongue over every inch of her flesh in order to taste her sweetness.
His erection brushed the backs of her thighs as he tightened the rope. She gasped. He bit hard on his lip and breathed deeply. He had to regain his control. But it would be so easy to press his cock between the soft flesh of her buttocks until he found a way inside.
“Now kneel.” His voice was husky. He ached with the strain of denying his desires.
He helped her to lower to the ground. Etu knelt also. Watching. Hardly blinking.
Charlie knew that Etu was overwhelmed too. It was as if something had sparked between the three of them and it wouldn’t take much to set the three of them on fire. But the ensuing blaze could make charcoal of them all.
He put his hands on Layla’s shoulders and pushed gently, to make her lie on her side. Her skin was warm and smooth beneath his fingers. It reminded him of velvet. He began to wind the ropes around her, tying her like a hog, all the while repeating to himself that she was a swindler. She was not the sweet, innocent young woman that her letters had suggested. She did not need his protection and a place in his life. She would not be good for him and Etu. It would not be wise to open her rounded thighs and to nuzzle her wet pink flesh, to suckle her bud until she shattered against his tongue. Time after time until his mouth filled with her heady juices and he found the ultimate fulfilment that he could now admit that he craved.
But as he moved his hands deftly around her flesh, accidentally grazing her as he did so, he realised that he was not fully convinced.
The softness of her skin. The fullness of her breasts. The soft auburn curls that covered her mound. Her sweet vulnerability that seemed to reach out to his protective instinct. Her scent, such a contrast to Etu’s yet just as good. Just as intoxicating.
All these things about Layla invited him to believe that she was who she had said she was. What he wanted her to be. All these things made him want to believe that she could be the woman to complete what he had with Etu. And all these things aroused him in a way he had never expected to be aroused around a woman.
There was something special about Layla Powell. No doubt about it.

Molly 1
Buy links:


Molly’s Links:
Total-E-Bound Blogspot on 12th of every month:

How do they do it? A thank you to book bloggers…

I wanted to write a quick post this morning to say a HUGE THANK YOU to all the book bloggers I know, and to Becca from . Not only does she always support my writing but she also agrees to my crazy requests with a big smile and an ‘Of Course!’ More on this at the end of the post!

The book bloggers I know spend as much time reading as they do organising blog posts, Q & As for authors, guests posts, tours, and of course reviews, plus a multitude of other things, like redesigning their blogs, tweeting, facebook-ing, Pinterest-ing…well you get the idea. They champion authors, and help us spread the word about our books on almost all social media platforms. And THEY DON’T EARN A DOLLAR FOR IT. They often read numerous books a week which they write lengthy well-crafted reviews for, and most of these lovely ladies work ‘real jobs’, too.

I wanted to let them know how much I appreciate them. When The Bookshop on the Corner was published a couple of weeks ago, I asked my blogger besties very last minute if they could do a cover reveal for me…they all agreed. Then on publication day, if they could do a post with an excerpt, they all did. I was so blown away that in just under a year of writing for Carina UK that I’ve made so many firm friendships with these lovely girls whom I’ve never met. This sparked an idea! I NEED to meet these girls in person and say Thank You! But they’re mainly in the UK. So cut a long story short – we are now booked to go to the UK next year and I’m going to finally get to hug all of these wonderful, inspiring, book-loving women! And say thank you in person!

I’m beyond excited, and can’t wait to tell them how grateful I am, and how much their hard work means to me, and the plethora of authors they help everyday.

So, here’s another example of their commitment! I asked Becca to read some of the first chapter of The Bookshop on the Corner! She said, “Sure! I’ll do it now! Which part?” I love you, Becca!

Here it is! Enjoy!