Thursday, April 30, 2020

Virtual Book Tour and Giveaway: Wired by the F.B.I. by Glenn Painter

Welcome to the virtual book tour for Wired by the F.B.I. by Glenn Painter. This book tour is hosted by Goddess Fish Promotions. On my stop, I have an excerpt for you as well as a guest post. There's also a tour wide giveaway for a $100 and a $50 Amazon or Barnes & Noble gift card. Be sure to follow the rest of the tour for more content. Good luck!
Title: Wired by the F.B.I.
Author: Glenn Painter
Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
Publication Date: August 22nd 2019
Print Length: 331 pages
Genres: Suspense, Thriller
Christian Romano lives his life as a con-artist, burglar, drug dealer, and a ladies' man, using his good looks to con wealthy women out of jewels and money. When he is arrested and jailed in one of the most violent jails in the U.S. (Cook County in Chicago), a steamy affair begins with a nympho female jail guard. When he loses control of the romance, Christian must end the affair by reporting her to Internal Affairs. It turns out that she is already under suspicion for supplying drugs to various gang members inside the jail. He has to decide if he is "rogue" enough to help set her up for arrest. Meanwhile, the FBI wants to recruit Christian to gather information against a sadist ex-cop, Scott Mason, who has been arrested for murder. The risk? Christian must wear a wire and testify. The reward? Witness protection for Christian and his girlfriend and a modification of his prison sentence. Will Christian risk his life for a chance at freedom? Will the female sheriff "get even" with him? Or will his life end at the hands of the jail's drug lords or a lunatic former cop?

**The eBook is only $2.99 and the print copy is discounted 40% on Amazon!**

U.S.S. Just Kill Me Now

Once we were through that charade, Smith began to explain how it all worked.

“This is a Swiss-made Nagra recorder. It’s a little heavy, but it gets the clearest recording of any machine we have ever used. Once you turn the machine on, you must let it run until the two hours expire, then take the tape out and exchange it with another. We will come by every couple day to bring new tapes and pick up the ones you have recorded. Do you understand everything so far?”

I could feel my mouth go dry as I stared into the case and wondered, What the f*** have I gotten myself into?

Then, the sound of Smith’s voice snapped me back to attention, “Here, get a feel for it.”

I took the silver-cased recorder from him and thought to myself, It’s too heavy and clunky to ever be concealed. The recorder was the size as a Sony Walkman cassette player, but three times heavier. Two wires, four feet each, ran from the machine with white plastic heads attached to each end. I had a bad feeling about the size and shape of this thing. It would be a real concern later.

Then Rogers said, “Because the heads on this machine are so sensitive, we will tape the recorder to your upper thigh and run the wires around your leg until the heads sit directly under the waistband of your underwear.”

Out of frustration, I said, “Great, if I have to piss and someone saddles up next to me and happens to look over at my manhood, they’re gonna get an eyeful of recorder wiring. Chances are I will be beaten to death after that miscue.”

My mind kept going back to the obvious lack of insight these square, fed boys had toward the real life within a jail.

“I’m about to go back to a jail with zero airflow and 100-degree heat. We walk around in our boxers all day.”

It was crystal clear that neither of these agents gave a rat’s ass about my safety.

Smith said, “We’ll just have to tape it higher up your thigh.”

“No, how about we strap it up your ass and let you go up there face-to-face with your boy.”

That was all they wanted to hear of my sarcasm and all hell broke loose as we tried to figure out how this was ever gonna work. The real logistical nightmare hit when I finally dropped my jail uniform pants and pulled up my boxers to see how it would fit on my inner thigh. After several years of martial arts and weightlifting, my thighs were far too big to fit the recorder under my boxers. Two agents played with the leg of my underwear, as they slid the fabric up and down with no success in figuring out how to get the damn machine up under my nut sack. Finally, I had had enough.

I asked, “Does anyone here have a knife with them?” They all stared at me in stunned silence.

Rogers finally spoke up. “I have a pocketknife,” he said as he handed it to me.

I jerked my boxers off and stood there with my dick dangling in the wind for all to admire. I measured the boxers to see where this heavy sack of metal was going to be placed. I began cutting a crude square hole in the upper right leg of my underwear. I was pretty certain the recorder would fit snugly in the hole. I slid my boxers back on and held the recorder where I had just cut the hole. The fit was very good, but now there was a different problem.

The recorder showed, so I had to come up with another way to cover the hole. I decided that if I was gonna pull this off, I would have to wear a second pair of boxers over the first pair. The outer ones had to hang lower on my torso and loosely enough to cover the recorder where it stuck out of my underwear. The hope was that the inner pair would hold the recorder in place well enough so it wouldn’t slip around. If this worked, I might be able to get away with it.

In my mind, I was thinking, what a cluster f*** this operation is. This would soon prove to be the way the F.B.I. does everything. So long as they are getting what they want, all else be damned. But at the moment, I had to wear this heavy chunk of metal under my nuts and hope that it stayed put and didn’t fall from my boxers like the anchor of the U.S.S. Just Kill Me Now.

Rogers wrapped the recorder with the ACE bandage he had brought and stepped back long enough for me to give it a light tug. I tugged on it ever so gently and knew immediately that it was too heavy.

“This thing is not gonna stay on my leg while I spend several hours walking up and down the tier. Are you trying to get me killed?” I asked. “Did either of you think to bring duct tape?”

Barry Smith had the audacity to respond by saying, “I didn’t want to bring any because I did not want to take the chance of it being considered contraband here at the jail.”

“You thought to bring my suicide machine, but you thought duct tape would set off alarms?” I shot back.

By now, Williamson had heard enough and walked back to his office. He reappeared a few moments later with some heavy, clear packing tape. We used that over the ACE bandage that the feds had brought to hold the recorder up. I gave the new configuration another slightly harder tug and everything seemed better. We then moved on to the next logistical nightmare, the swapping out of the tapes. It was actually Walsh that brought it up.

“How can the tapes be retrieved from Christian without stirring up attention?”

I had seen a movie once where a thick book was carved out and contraband was kept in the hollowed-out hole inside.

“Hey, I have one of those super thick books by Michener. I think it is about ancient Israel. I could take a razor blade out when it is time to shave and cut a hole in the center pages of the book to make a cavity large enough for the tapes. What do you guys think?” I asked.

Everyone was nodding their heads in agreement.

“I can put the book in my bars on the rear side toward the catwalk where no one will notice anything different. I have about four or five books back there now. What I can do is reverse this book so that the title faces out. When Sergeant Walsh walks around the tier, that will be his cue to grab that particular book, take the tape out and replace it with a new one.” I suggested.

They all agreed with the plan, so with the tape swap seemingly figured out, I was feeling a little better. I stood up to see how the recorder looked under my pants; and to my surprise, I could not see it through the clothing. I felt ready to go back to the jail and put the second pair of shorts over the first.

Barry Smith handed me a piece of paper and said, “This is a private phone number to our office that we call the ‘Hello’ line.

“When it rings through, it will be at a central desk where all the agents can pick it up. They will only answer by saying ‘Hello.’ When the jail recording announces that it is a collect call, everyone knows to accept the charges. You will then be speaking to one of the agents in our office. If it is after hours, the answering machine will come on, so speak to it as if you were leaving a message for me or Agent Rogers.”

It both surprised and impressed me that he was willing to give me a direct line in case of an emergency. For the first time, I felt a little less like a disposable piece of trash to these people. I took a pen from Buchan and rewrote the number in code so that if it were ever found, no one could access the actual number. When I was done, I stuffed the paper in my sock for safekeeping.

I looked at the two F.B.I. agents and asked, “Am I supposed to steer the conversation toward any certain topics?”

Smith spoke for them. “Since the conversation seems to come out of Mason’s mouth so frequently, just let him go, and see what happens.”

Barry Smith then handed me a second tape to have as a backup for the one that was already in the machine. After stuffing it into my other sock, I walked out with the heavy recorder strapped under my balls.

When I arrived back to my tier, Scott was talking on the phone. I walked past him and headed to my cell to get out of the jail clothes. I stripped down to my boxers to beat the crazy heat that hung over the unit like napalm. I stuck my head out of my cell to make sure the hallway was clear and slipped the second pair of boxers over the first. After pulling the outer pair down a few inches, they seemed to cover the protruding recorder just enough. I looked down and couldn’t tell where the recorder was. Just to be on the safe side, I put on an oversized shirt and let it billow out as I walked; this looked natural for the surroundings. It wasn’t five minutes and Scott was at the bars of my cell.

“You go to the hospital?” he asked.

“Yeah, I had to wait for the MRI machine to empty before I could go in. The radiologist was taking a smoke break between every MRI.”

I walked out of my cell and turned left, away from the guard post and began the ritual of walking from one end of the long hallway to the other.

When I walked away from my cell, I could feel Scott place his hand on my back. I tried not to freeze out of panic, but he had never touched me like that before. I had to wonder, Is he cleverly checking for a recording device? I tried to push the paranoia out of my mind, but it was tough with the stakes this high.
Glenn Painter is single and lives in Central Florida. He became interested in writing at an early age but did not make it his career until 2014 when he published his first book, Beyond the Sentence.

Glenn has written this story from the notes by the man who actually lived it. However, extensive research was also require in order to make the story factual.

Glenn has also founded a company, ‘Prisoner Civil Right Services.’ He is an advocate for incarcerated individuals who have had their rights violated. He is in constant contact with these individuals, their families and the council. Most of his stories are inspired by ‘factual events’ that have happened to these individuals. This makes his stories both fiction and non-fiction.

Glenn says that writing is very challenging, and you must love the trials and tribulations that come with it. He believes that patience, perseverance and determination are required essentials to see a book through to being published. The journey is just as important as the destination.

Advice for Writers
by Glenn Painter

The best advice I can offer is never give up.

The world will be able to detect any fear you might even if they have not met you. The fear of failure is the biggest fear of all, and that fear reflects in one’s writing. Failure if just a steppingstone to success. Giving up is the final chapter to any goal you set. If you must ask the question to yourself concerning ‘what you want to do’ then, don’t do it. It’s okay to talk to yourself if you stay positive, otherwise you may be bonkers.

Be prepared to have plenty of determination, patience, perseverance, ambition and a great imagination and you will succeed.

Keep your descriptions of the characters to a minimum. One thing I dislike, is when authors write descriptions of characters that encompass several pages. Too much description of anything usually causes the reader to skim through it or just lose interest. One example would be:

Fat Bernard Roen, a legend in the Chicago world of crooks and lawyers is as intimidating to look at as much as he is to go against in the legal arena. At 6’4” and at least 400 pounds, he looks like an unkempt bear that has just rolled out of hibernation. One lens of his eyeglasses is taped over with actual duct tape because of a glass eye. He never carries a briefcase, but instead, carries stacks of legal papers that look like they are about to scatter all over the ground.

In other words, put a few ‘laugh out loud’ moments in your writing and you will keep the reader interested.
Hello Readers!

Welcome to my 15-week book tour which starts on April 14th and concludes on July 30th.

This tour was planned before the onset of this terrible covid-19 virus which has invaded our world. I want to extend my deepest sympathy to everyone, especially those who have lost loved ones.

A donation from me will be going out immediately to the charity I have listed below and I will also be donating 25% of any royalties from the book which is featured on this tour, to the COVID-19 Response Fund. This fund gives support to preparedness, containment, response and recovery activities. The 25% of royalties will be donated when I receive the final notification of number of books sold. I am also encouraging all authors to make some sort of donation to help with the recovery efforts. WE ARE ALL IN THIS FIGHT TOGETHER!

We all are wondering what the long-term impact this COVID-19 virus will be to our communities and our livelihoods, Every American, as well as the companies that have worked very hard for every author have been affected, but I have faith that we will recover from this terrible pandemic if we all stick together and we all do our part – no matter how small.

I will also be donating:
$100 Amazon Gift certificate to one randomly drawn commentator.
$100 Amazon Gift certificate to one randomly drawn host.

These drawings will be done via Rafflecopter that will be created by Goddess Fish Promotions at the end of the tour. To all of my fellow-authors – please don’t forget our marketing representatives, book agents, reviewers,commentator’s, hosts, etc..who are probably working from home and trying to help us.

I will be posting all pertinent information on my website once the tour is over. The Gift Certificates will be mailed immediately after the tour is completed and the 25% will be posted once I receive Royalties resulting in the sale of all electronic and print versions of WIRED By The FBI.

I wish that I could do more, however, with every-one’s support, WE WILL BEAT THIS TERRIBLE SETBACK.

Thank you. God bless all of you and the United States of America.
Glenn Painter
One randomly chosen winner via Rafflecopter will win a $100 Amazon gift card, and another randomly chosen winner via Rafflecopter will win a $50 Amazon or Barnes & Noble gift card. To increase your chance of winning, leave a comment at a different stop on the tour each day. Good luck!
a Rafflecopter giveaway

Wednesday, April 29, 2020

Book Blitz and Giveaway: Infinite Us by Eden Butler

Title: Infinite Us
Author: Eden Butler

Publisher: City Owl Press
Publication Date: April 28th 2020

Print Length: 264 pages
Genres: Contemporary, Romance

Love is timeless…

Nash Nation loves zeroes and ones, over-sized monitors and late office hours. He’s too busy taking over the world to make time for relationships—that is, until his new neighbor Willow O’Bryant barges into his life, and now Nash can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t the first time she’s interrupted his world.

Then, the dreams start. And in the dreams—memories.

Memories of a girl named Sookie who couldn’t count on love or friendship, never mind forever. Memories of a library and a boy called Isaac and secrets made in private that destroyed his world.

The memories seem real, but who do they belong to?

When Nash and Willow discover the truth, life as they know it unravels.

The bridge between this life and the next is shored up by blood and bone and memory. Sometimes, that bridge leads to the place we’ve always wanted to be.
NOTE: This is a completely revamped re-release version of this title with new characters and is a standalone with a HEA


Eden Butler is a writer of contemporary, fantasy and romantic suspense novels and the nine-times great-granddaughter of an honest-to-God English pirate. This could explain her affinity for rule breaking and rum.

When she's not writing or wondering about her possibly Jack Sparrowesque ancestor, Eden patiently waits for her Hogwarts letter, reads, and spends too much time in her garden perfecting her green thumb while waiting for the next New Orleans Saints Superbowl win.

She is currently living under teenage rule alongside her husband in southeast Louisiana.

Please send help.

Win a $20 Amazon gift card or an eBook copies of Infinite Us by Eden Butler!


Tuesday, April 28, 2020

Book Blog Tour and Giveaway - Full Circle: A Memoir by Pamela Lombana


Genres: Memoir / Domestic Abuse / Forgiveness 
Publisher: Wordfall Publishing
Date of Publication: December 5, 2019
Number of Pages: 217

Scroll down for the giveaway!
Alcoholism and domestic abuse creep silently into people’s lives, shattering dreams. For Pamela Lombana, the excitement of marriage turned into paralyzing fear as alcohol became her husband’s best friend. Surviving the daily physical and emotional abuse was the norm for her and their children. Full Circle tells the story of how love and God’s abiding grace helped Pamela find the strength to leave her husband, Fernando. During this journey, healing and forgiveness allowed her and the children to be there for him when he needed them the most.


Our Story—Mami’s Book
by Christina Lombana

January 23, 2016

This is my mom’s story. It is also my story. And my siblings’ stories. It is all our stories. It is a story of alcoholism, illness, fear, hatred, escape, love, and ultimately, forgiveness and death.

My father was not a good father. I do not believe that you can be a bad husband and a good father; the two roles go hand in hand, and part of being a good father is giving your children an example of true love. My dad adored my mom, but it wasn’t enough for him. He always had to have more: more money, more women, more love, more whiskey. Always more. Practicing moderation was not his strong suit, and it ultimately killed him.

Ever since I can remember, I was just a little afraid of my dad. My mom tells a story that took place early on in their marriage: One time, my father came home to a mess; there were toys all over the floor. We were two kids under two, and I’m sure it wasn’t easy keeping up with us. He started yelling at her, and I, at eighteen months, came up to him and started saying, “No, no, no, Papi, no.” However, I don’t remember that. I never felt that brave, not enough to stand up to him again—at least, not until many, many years later.

In my first memory of my dad, I was about three years old and crying. I don’t really know why; possibly, it was one of his practical jokes that had seemed funny to everyone except the victim of the joke, or perhaps he had raised his voice at me, and I got scared.

My dad was not a bad man, but he was a tormented one. All his life, he carried demons of the abuse he suffered at the hands of my grandmother. He never laid a finger on us because, in his eyes, then he, too, would have been the abuser. He could be the kindest, funniest person, but he could also be the most terrifying—all within a matter of minutes. He was mercurial and volatile. You could never quite be sure when the switch would flip, and it was incredibly stressful, particularly for a young child.

There are many people who remember my dad as a saint or as the life of the party—always ready to lend money or tell a joke. I also remember my dad that way, but he was so much more complex than most people ever knew.

Life is not just black and white; humans are not simply good or evil. In every person, there is the capacity for good and the capacity for evil. Our lives are defined by the choices we make. Some decisions are more harmless, like choosing cars or choosing a job, but other choices can start you down a path toward self-destruction.

My dad didn’t start down that path consciously. I know he had no intention of hurting the people he loved, of pushing away everyone who cared about him, or finally, of killing his body. He wanted to be a father and husband with the perfect family, but he also wanted to be the “fun” friend, the “rich” friend, the brilliant playboy to whom young boys looked up.

These were only a few of the many complex pieces that made up my dad. Ultimately, he made many, many choices that led him further and further away from the family man and closer to his young death.

This is the story of how we coped, how we survived, and how we were transformed.
Pamela Lombana grew up in Colombia, South America, and emigrated to the United States to attend university. In 1999, Pamela became a pediatric nurse practitioner and went on to run a pediatric clinic in Spring Branch, Texas. Pamela loves working with families and children and focuses on educating her patients and their families. Pamela values strong family ties and friendships. She has three children and four stepchildren. Writing is a passion that started in Pamela's teenage years. She enjoys being amongst nature and loves to go hiking with her husband, Mark.

Pamela is passionate about empowering women and providing them with tools to navigate life through her book, Full Circle: A Memoir, her blog, and Wordfall Publishing. Pamela wrote her memoir to offer hope and courage to women experiencing alcoholic and abusive situations.

THREE WINNERS: Signed copy of Full Circle by Pamela Lombana!
APRIL 21-May 1, 2020
(U.S. Only)
Notable Quotable
Author Interview
Guest Post
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Book Blitz and Giveaway: The Run Around by Bernadette Franklin

Title: The Run Around
Author: Bernadette Franklin

Publisher: Pen & Page Publishing
Publication Date: April 28th 2020

Print Length: 520 pages
Genres: Comedy, Contemporary, Romance

Arranging a wedding for her brother and a five-time thoroughbride tests Hope’s skills and patience. She’d believed the vows would be the most dangerous part of the ceremony, but a baseball to the head during the photography session proves her wrong and lands her in the sights of her brother’s best friend, Fredrick.

He wants her to plan his wedding.

She wants to be his bride.

Diving into the treacherous world of wedding planning, Hope keeps her word and arranges the vows for the one man she believes she could love. He doesn’t know how much she cherishes him and his friendship.

What she doesn’t know lands her in the heart of a royal mess.

Luckily for me, the blow had been a graze, it hadn’t hit anything important, and I figured the only reason I bled was thanks to one of the dumbass clips taming my hair.

I wanted to keep the wedding disasters to the things I hadn’t planned for. A baseball to the head counted, but it wouldn’t kill me.

I hoped.

Some risks were worth taking, and I’d have to remind my brother later I loved him that much.

A call to Wolfgang would fix my ruined dress and makeup problem, but I hesitated. Telling him what had happened would result in well-earned mockery. I retrieved my phone from its cleavage prison to discover it still had some life left in it. Dialing his number worsened my headache.

The rest of the day would suck, but I would make it through somehow.

“What went wrong?” Wolfgang answered.

“I took a stray baseball to the head. I need your makeup skills and my reception dress. Help a woman out? Please? I’m not above begging at this point.”

“A baseball? To the head? How did that happen? Are you all right? If you were hit with a baseball—”

“Don’t you even dare suggest I go to the hospital.”

Wolfgang sighed. “What happened?”

“Fate, karma, the universe, or whatever you want to call it, wishes I would die already. I fell into the pond. I bet I’ll make the front page. Who knows? Maybe someone caught the whole thing on video. I might go viral.”

The groan on the other end of line promised Wolfgang was at the end of his rope, too. “Your brother must be freaking out.”

“Ben’s keeping him busy taking pretty pictures to immortalize the day I almost drowned in the botanical gardens pond.”

“Where were you hit?”

“It was a graze off the side of my head. My hair should hide any bumps. The bleeding stopped.”

“Are you dizzy, have a headache, or feel ill?”

I suspected once I tried to get up and walk around, I would be dizzy. I wasn’t a fan of my own head right now, and I could be honest about otherwise being all right. Unfortunately, if I lied, he would know it. He always knew. “Maybe.”

“I’ll be there in twenty. I’ll bring the dress and your makeup, but you’re going to the hospital before the reception. If you go to the reception.”

“I am not.”

“You are, because I am taking you there.”


Bernadette Franklin is a figment of imagination owned and operated by two cats, a few plants, and a human.


Win a $25 Amazon gift card and four signed Bernadette Franklin novels (Claustrophobic, Ginger Snapped, Bat out of Hell, and Shammed)!