Tuesday, 7 July 2015

Lisa Worrall: Un-Deniable Blog Tour


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*waves like an idiot* Helllooo! Thank you for having me here today J

I’ve been asked a few times how Sue and I came up with the idea for Left at the Crossroads.
We’d both wanted to write a story set in the English countryside and I’d already done about five thousand words on Micah’s tale, which turned into Book 1. So when Sue emailed me and said, “Fancy writing something together?” I jumped on her – virtually of course.
After bandying back and forth, we decided it would be easier if we wrote a series of six books but, instead of doing a chapter each, we would do a book each instead. But the one writing the preceding book, would introduce the characters that would be the focus for the following one. Obviously it was a collaboration, although I think her response when I asked her who she wanted me to introduce in book 1 for book 2 was, “Surprise me.”
I think it’s also a lot easier to write with someone if you know them really well. Sue and I have known each other for six years now and we’re not only colleagues, we’re friends. Being friends makes the writing experience much easier, because you know they’re not just massaging your ego. Believe me, she doesn’t hesitate in telling me what I’ve written is lime green donkey balls – one of my more colourful phrases that she thinks should live on forever lol.
I’m very lucky to have her with me on this journey through Little Mowbury and even more lucky to have her as such a big part of my life. So I hope you’ll join us as we introduce more characters and delve deeper into the backgrounds of existing ones. We’re having a blast and hope you will, too J

AboutTheBook
Un-Deniable jpg
Title: Un-Deniable

Series: Left At The Crossroads #3

Author: Lisa Worrall

Cover Artist: Meredith Russell

Length: 45,000 words

Release Date: June 29, 2015

Blurb: Little Mowbury is a sleepy English village deep in the Cotswolds. The kind of village where you’re only a local if your lineage can be traced back to the dinosaurs. Where you can find everything in the single village shop from morning newspapers to dry-cleaning, and getting your shoes mended. And, of course, where everybody knows everybody else’s business. It’s easy to find… you can’t miss it… just ask anyone and they’ll tell you… “It’s left at the crossroads.”

Oliver Bradford has had enough of the hustle and bustle of the A&E department in a big city hospital. Not to mention the tension caused by the break-up of his three year relationship with one of the hospital’s top surgeons. When his sister urges him to apply for the position of GP in the quiet village of Little Mowbury, he wonders if this might be just the fresh start he needs. Unfortunately, hitting the post-mistresses’ dog with his car isn’t the best introduction to his patients.

A solitary soul, Deano Wells grew up in Little Mowbury and has been having lunch at the Thatcher’s Arms on a Thursday for the last thirty-five years. First with his father, who brought him to the pub at the tender age of ten after a hard morning in the fields, and then by himself after his father passed on. He runs the farm with a practised hand and minds his business mostly, but that doesn’t stop Oliver from being drawn to the big, quiet man and he knows the feeling is mutual, so why does Deano keep pushing him away?

CommonExcerpt

Oliver stared at the map. Why he had no idea. The next stage of his journey hadn’t leapt out at him in the last twenty-five minutes so what did he think… the power of his frustrated gaze was going to burn the route onto his retinas if he glared at it long enough? He tossed the map onto the passenger seat of the BMW and buried his fingers in his hair, gripping tightly in his annoyance.

The irritating monotone voice on the GPS unit had suddenly sounded as though she’d drained an entire bottle of JD, with her words slurring into one another before she faded out completely. That had been ten miles back, and he’d managed to lose himself twice since his chatty companion had left him to fend for himself. Of course, he’d tried to coax her back with promises and gentle soothing and, when that hadn’t worked, had repeatedly pressed every single button he could find then whacked the screen with his fist. None of which had convinced her to start talking again. That’s when he’d remembered the map he’d purchased on a whim at the garage he’d stopped to fill up at earlier. The same map he’d just screwed up into a useless ball and thrown down beside him.

Where the chuff is this place? It’s like bloody Brigadoon!

Oliver opened the door, climbed out of the car and shielded his eyes against the sun with his hand. He couldn’t deny it was beautiful countryside, or that it was indeed in the middle of nowhere. That combination had been the main reasons he’d found the job opening so attractive. Oliver leaned against the car, crossed his arms and filled his lungs with fresh country air. He could hear Becky’s voice now as she’d burst into his flat, waving the Haymarket magazine at him.

He would be the first to admit that seeing Andrew at the hospital every day had begun to suck all the enthusiasm for his job right out of him, and being an intern in the casualty department wasn’t something you could afford to do unfocused. It hadn’t taken long for him to decide he needed a complete change. A change of employment, of pace, of bloody everything.

Becky, his sister, had been very supportive when she’d found out about Andrew’s string of affairs. Although the support had only come after she’d told him she’d always thought Andrew was a wanker anyway. He had pointed out that it would have been quite helpful if she’d given her opinion when he’d started dating Andrew. Not waited until he’d had his heart plucked from his chest and stomped on by said wanker.

“Well, I thought I’d grow to like him, didn’t I.” Her response had been less than apologetic.

“And did you?” he’d asked.

Becky had simply topped up his glass of Jacob’s Creek and replied, “Good God no. Man’s a tosser.”

Five unbelievably long months later, she’d shoved the Haymarket under his nose and jabbed an excited finger at the advertisement she’d circled in fuchsia lipstick. “It’s perfect! Exactly what you need. New job, new house, new people. Fire up the laptop and let’s send your C.V.”

Oliver gazed around him, the only sounds the gentle thrum of the BMW’s engine and birdsong from the trees shrouding the country lane. Becky had been deciding the route his life should take from the moment they were out of nappies—having a twin was not always a blessing, especially when they knew you better than you knew yourself. The C.V. had been emailed and before he’d had time to breathe he’d had two phone interviews and a Skype call with the retiring GP. Now he was staring at miles of British countryside wondering if Becky had been wrong this time.

His main priority at the moment, however, was trying to figure out how to get to where he was going. There was, of course, the possibility he could be stranded in the arse-end of fuck-alone-knows-where forever. His frantic family would end up sticking posters of him around London and he’d eventually be found wandering around a farmer’s field wearing a cabbage leaf hat, up to his neck in sheep shit.

“Lost, are ya?”

“Jesus!” Oliver exclaimed. He spun round to find a weathered face staring at him over the hedge. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“Lost, are ya?” the elderly farmer repeated.

Oliver couldn’t see any mode of transportation, so where had the old man come from? All he had was a walking stick and a border collie. Maybe he flew in on the stick, or rode in on the dog. Oliver’s inner voice wasn’t exactly being helpful, so he ignored it and pasted what he hoped was a winning smile on his face. “Yes, sir, I am. My GPS gave out on me about ten miles ago.”

The old man gave a disapproving grunt. “Can’t be doing with those new fangled electro gadgets. They never work round ‘ere. Sun’s best way to get ya where you’re goin’.”

Oliver glanced up at the steadily beaming yellow ball in the sky and frowned. Unless the sun had directions to Little Mowbury etched into it, the bloody thing still looked the same to him. The man was obviously delusional. But then sniffing sheep shit had to have an effect on a person after fifty years or so. “Would you know how to get to Little Mowbury, sir?”

“’Appen I do.”

“That’s great,” Oliver said on a sigh of relief, and smiled widely as he waited for the man to continue… and waited… and waited. What the hell? Is he giving me directions telepathically? Osmosis maybe? “Um… could you tell me?”

“‘Bout eight miles up road,” the farmer replied, scratching idly at the bald pate visible under the rim of his flat cap. “Just keep goin’ straight ‘til you get to crossroad an’ turn left. Stay on road for ‘bout four mile, but don’t go past Thatcher’s Arms.”

“Thatcher’s Arms?” Oliver echoed.

“Uh-huh, pass Thatcher’s Arms an’ you’ve left village.”

Oliver stared, open-mouthed, at the man. Was this actually happening or had there been bad prawns in that sandwich he’d bought in the same garage as the map? It was like conversing with Peter Butterworth in Carry on Camping. Were Sid James and Barbara Windsor going to pop out from behind a bush with Kenneth Williams? He inwardly cursed the Saturday afternoons his dad made him watch old British comedies, and shook his head in the vain hope it would dispel the bad sandwich dream he was trapped in. Nope, Farmer Barleymow still stared him down from the other side of the hedge.

“Okay, thank you,” Oliver slid back into the driver’s seat and closed the door. He fastened his seatbelt and nodded at the old man. “So that’s follow this road to the crossroads, do a left and just keep driving until I hit Little Mowbury?”

The ancient farmer looked at him as though he was mad—or stupid—or both. “You ain’t from round ‘ereabouts, are ya? Like I said, it’s left at t’crossroads.”
“Right, thanks, left at t’crossroads,” Oliver waved a hand out the open window and put his foot on the gas. “’Appen I might make it after all,” he mumbled in a poor imitation of the man’s accent as he headed, hopefully, towards Little Mowbury.

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AboutTheAuthor

I live in Southend-on-Sea, a small seaside town just outside London on the South East coast of Essex, England that boasts the longest pier in the world; where I am ordered around by two precocious children and a dog who thinks she's the boss of me. I've been writing seriously for three years now and love giving voice to the characters warring to be heard in my head, and am currently petitioning for more hours in the day, because I never seem to have enough of them.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lisa.worrallauthor

Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/295176367326040/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Lisa_Worrall

Google+: https://plus.google.com/101894831911797620850

Blog: http://lworrall.blogspot.in/


TourSchedule

June 29:
Elisa - My reviews and Ramblings
My Fiction Nook

June 30:
Rainbow Gold Reviews
Amanda C. Stone

July 1:
Bike Book Reviews
Prism Book Alliance

July 2:
Diverse Reader
Hearts on Fire

July 3:
MM Good Book Reviews
The Novel Approach

July 6:
RJ Scott
Love Bytes Reviews

July 7:
A Celebration of Books
Love.Imperfect.Real.

July 8:
Gay Media Reviews
Loving Without Limits

July 9:
Bayou Book Junkie
Drops of Ink

July 10:
BFD Book Blog
Sid Love Writes

July 13:
Man2ManTastic
Molly Lolly: Reader, Reviewer, Lover of Words

July 14:
Elin Gregory

Saturday, 4 July 2015

Social Media Accounts

For a short time I'm deleting my Facebook and Twitter. Nothing has happened. I'm just not able to focus with them on and I've not got enough will-power to stay off them. Once I've finished my book I'll be back.


The Isle of Wight trip


I'm home from the Isle of Wight (a research trip - honest) and very sad because I love that place with a passion. K.C. Wells and her husband are wonderful hosts and I hate leaving.

I thought I'd show you some of the inspirations for the Isle series and meet the family (kind of).

I was starting to think I'd dreamed about the inspiration for the Blue Lagoon. Then we parked outside it! On my first trip to the Isle of Wight we had dinner here. It seems strange to think that was so many years ago. So much has happened since then.

Sandown Beach - my first inspiration


The inspiration for Wig and Nibs's restaurant

Sandown seafront where so much of the story takes place



Sandown Pier

Where Liam and Sam played crazy golf

Yesterday's view

At KC's writing room for breakfast. My daughter and son. She doesn't do mornings!
The sight I hate most - saying goodbye to the Isle of Wight on the ferry

Isle of Waves



The Isle Series: Book Three 

Wig Tobias and Nibs Tyler have been together for a long while, but this year their love is about to be tested. Their business, the Blue Lagoon Restaurant on the Isle of Wight, is vandalized, and it may or may not be a coincidence that the neighbors want to buy them out. Making matters stickier, the police don’t seem interested in investigating until a friend of the couple, an out of town copper, prods them to take action. 

Their friends, Paul and Olaf, Liam and Sam, and the whole Owens family come to help Wig and Nibs in their time of need. But Paul and Olaf may need a nudge from Wig and Nibs to keep their relationship alive. Meanwhile, a dear friend falls gravely ill. And if that’s not enough, Nibs has been hiding his own medical problems from Wig. When a gale strikes the Isle of Wight, the Blue Lagoon and its owners could be facing the end—unless they and their friends can unravel the knot of misfortune one hitch at a time.

Excerpt

“ANOTHER ONE of your ex-boyfriends married off.” Wig Tobias grinned at his partner, Nibs Tyler. “One less for me to worry about.”

“Like you’ve ever been worried about Sam Owens.”

Wig laughed at Nibs who was rolling his shoulders in an effort to relieve his tired muscles. “You’re right. Sam’s a doll. Tense muscles, babe?”

“Every part of me hurts.” Nibs groaned. “Why did you drag me into providing the reception?”

“Don’t give me that. You loved every minute. It’s not often we get a chance to be with friends.”

“It was fun,” Nibs agreed. “But the Owenses can be too much at times. Sam or Paul on their own are bad enough, but all seven of them in one room, plus Rose and Mattie…? Christ, it was like a tsunami. I kept running away to avoid the woman in the pink dress who wanted to squeeze my arse. Who the hell was she?”

“An aunt, I think. She could obviously see what a fine arse you’ve got,” Wig said and slapped it to make the point.

“I don’t mind you touching my bum, but she was like an octopus, all over me.”

“You should have told her you were taken.”

Nibs snorted loudly, the sound echoing around the cul-de-sac in the quiet of the night. “I did. I even pointed you out. She said I should look for a real woman. I told her if I wanted a woman I would have found one, and you were all man—my man.”

As a man fully in touch with his masculine and feminine sides, Wig gave a satisfied chuckle and slipped his hand into his partner’s as they walked toward the van. “And that’s why I put up with your farts.”

Nibs made a sound like a grumble and pulled Wig closer to him. Wig sighed happily as he sank against Nibs’s solid body. At six foot two, his partner was nearly half a foot taller than Wig and almost as wide. He grinned at the thought of Nibs being mauled by a woman. Nibs didn’t mind women, he was very fond of them, in the abstract, but he wasn’t keen on being touched by anyone except Wig.

“You’re laughing at me.”

Wig giggled. “Busted.”

“I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Because you love me.”

Nibs huffed loudly. “Take me home, and I’ll show you how much I love you.” He made it sound like a threat.

“Oooh, will it involve whips and chains, master?” Wig fluttered his eyelashes.

“Stop that, otherwise I’ll put you over my knee and spank your arse red.”

“You know how to make a boy happy.” Wig walked around to the driver’s side of the small van they owned. He was more than happy to take Nibs home if there was playtime at the end of the drive. They were usually too tired to do more than sink into bed after a long working day, but tonight was different. Nibs’s playful demeanor suggested he wanted more than a kiss and a cuddle before rolling over to sleep.

Tonight had been a rare night off from the restaurant for both of them. They’d provided the catering for Liam and Sam’s wedding but afterward had stayed as guests and old friends of the family. Although the party was still going, Nibs and Wig left early because they had to set up the restaurant for breakfast in the morning.

“We should do this more often.” Nibs squeezed Wig’s hand once they were in the car.

“Cater for weddings?”

“Have a night away from the restaurant. We don’t get enough time free just to be together.”

Wig said nothing, because this was the booze talking. Nibs loved his restaurant with a passion that bordered on obsession, and Wig had long since given up trying to get him away from the place. In his darkest moments, Wig mused on the fact that there were three in their relationship, and if he pushed Nibs too far, Nibs wouldn’t hesitate to pick the restaurant first.

Wig gunned the van and drove down the road. Nibs was quiet, brooding over something as they drove toward Sandown Beach.

“What are you thinking about?” Wig asked after five minutes of silence.

“We ought to get married.”

Wig nearly drove the van into a gatepost. “What? You always insisted that getting married is for straights, and gay people don’t need to celebrate heteronormative traditions.”

“Yeah, well, it seems to work for others. Maybe we could wait until it’s an actual marriage.”

Wig chewed on the inside of his cheek. He’d spent years suppressing his yearning to get married—or civil partnershipped—and now just because their friends had done so, suddenly it was okay and Nibs would consider it? He would thump Nibs if he didn’t shut up.

“Why aren’t you talking?” Nibs asked. “I’d have expected you to be all over me like a rash.”

“One, I’m not some STD, and two, yes, I want to get married. You’ve always known that. But if you think this is a decent proposal, you’ve got another think coming.”

Nibs groaned. “Don’t tell me you want me down on my knees and showering you with red roses.”

“That’s a start, although I was thinking Paris by candlelight or a flash mob in B&Q.”

“Sam should never have shown you that video.”

“Baby, they set the bar. The only way is up, now.”

“Christ.” Nibs smacked his forehead. “What’s wrong with a date and a quick wedding at the register office with a couple of witnesses?”

“What’s wrong?” Wig asked.

Nibs obviously caught the dangerous tone in Wig’s voice, because he said, “Ignore me, I’m being stupid.”

“You think it’s wrong that I want a decent proposal and a big white wedding after waiting all this time? Good God, next you’ll be proposing a fish-and-chip supper at the local van.”

“I like the chippie.”

“At the very least, Chrissie does the catering.” Chrissie, yet another Owens, ran a pub on the island. “But first you’ve got to propose, and until you’ve got that right, you can forget everything else.”

Nibs sighed and shook his head. “You’re a real fucking diva. You know that, don’t you? I don’t know why I put up with such a high-maintenance brat.”

“Because you love me.” That wasn’t a question. Wig knew how much Nibs loved him. After a decade they might not have been as passionate as they once were, but the love was still there, stronger and deeper than ever.

He pulled in to their parking space behind the restaurant. As soon as Wig cut the engine, Nibs pulled him into a deep passionate kiss. Wig leaned in, happy to give as much as he could back to his lover.

“Time for bed,” Nibs said as he pulled back.

“Time for play?” Wig asked hopefully.

“Get to bed. I want to see you naked and waiting for me,” Nibs ordered.

“Yes, sir.” Wig scrambled out of the van, locking it as soon as Nibs was out and running toward the door. He stopped on the doorstep to the back room, the overhead light emphasizing the fact that something was dreadfully wrong.

“I thought you had an order, young man.” Nibs came up behind him and nuzzled his neck. “Mmm, you smell good.”

Wig turned to Nibs and pushed open the back door, showing him the splintered wood and damaged lock.

The amusement and lust slid off Nibs’s face. “What the hell?” He pushed past Wig and went inside.

Wig grabbed his arm. “What if they’re still in there?”

Nibs shook him off and rushed into the restaurant proper, flipping the switch so that the room was flooded with light. Wig followed him in time to hear the choked sound from Nibs.

“What’s happened? What have they done?”

Wig stopped, a wave of sickness overwhelming him as he surveyed the devastation in front of him.

~~~
Where the story started...


Read Liam and Sam's story in The Isle of... Where?

Continue the story in


Read Paul and Olaf's story in Isle of Wishes





Friday, 3 July 2015

New Cover: Summer's Song

I have a new cover. Okay, so I bought the cover from the very talented Meredith Russell because I like it. The one thing I don't have is a story. So I had a discussion with K.C. Wells about what the title could be. The first thing she said was Song of Summer. Which got me thinking about Summer's Dawn. So here it is. I'm going to write a sequel to Summer's Dawn.

Watch this Space!



Thursday, 2 July 2015

Hark! The Isle of Wight Beckons

Today I'm off to the Isle of Wight with the kids to see the wonderful K.C. Wells and catch up on some research for The Island Doctor.



Yes, the Isle series is continuing although with new characters. In case you're worried, the Owens are in the book. Can you imagine them not being here? This is an unedited snippet.


Cameron led him up onto wooden decking and into a large restaurant. Jeff had a feeling it was the type of place Tris avoided like the plague as there were small kids in breathing distance. “The guys are over there.” He pointed to one side where a group of men were laughing.
“Cameron!” A short man with immaculately-styled dark hair rushed towards him.
Jeff took a step back.
“Easy,” Cameron said. “It’s only Wig. He can be a bit flamboyant.”
Flaming was the word Jeff would have used. Totally, utterly flaming. He hung back awkwardly as they hugged each other, then Cameron stepped back, saying, “Hey, this is Jeff.”
Wig eyed Jeff but he obviously liked what he saw because he smiled broadly. “Welcome to the Blue Lagoon, Jeff.”
“Thanks.” Jeff held out his hand but Wig ignored it to airkiss him on both cheeks.
“Come on over and meet the rest of them. Boys, this is Jeff. Play nice.”
They all looked up and Jeff felt like it was his first day of school and he had to meet everyone.
“Ignore Wig,” Cameron said. “No one’s going to eat you. This is Jeff Martin, he’s Gran’s GP. Jeff, from the left – Liam, he’s American and shy – Sam, he never shuts up – the eighties reject is Paul, I told you about him already – Olaf, he’s all kinds of cute even if he is huge – don’t growl, Paul. I know he’s yours. Colin, he’s another Owen but he likes girls and Dan, same family, also likes boobs. Just remember they’re all Owens or belong to Owens, okay?”  
Jeff stared at him helplessly and Sam laughed.
“Sit next to us,” Sam said. “You’ll work it out soon enough.”
Jeff settled next to Sam and Cameron squeezed in next to him.
“So how long have you two been screwing?” Paul asked.
Cameron draped an arm around Jeff’s shoulders. “We’re not and Jeff’s just had a nasty breakup so leave him alone.”
In the bevy of ‘sorries’ and ‘sad to hear that, Jeff’, Jeff’s main feeling was that Cameron’s body pressed up against his was making Jeff all warm and he’d really like to just to lean into his chest and stay there. 


Wednesday, 1 July 2015

Letters from a Cowboy at All Romance eBooks.

Dreamspinner Press' All Romance eBooks ads for July are western themed and Letters from a Cowboy is featured. You can buy it for 30% off along with books from Ariel Tachna, Andrew Grey, Scotty Cade, Jaime Samms and Remmy Duchene.






Tuesday, 30 June 2015

Un-Deniable by Lisa Worrall

Un-Deniable 400x600
Buylink: Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk and ARe
Blurb:
Little Mowbury is a sleepy English village deep in the Cotswolds. The kind of village where you’re only a local if your lineage can be traced back to the dinosaurs. Where you can find everything in the single village shop from morning newspapers to dry-cleaning, and getting your shoes mended. And, of course, where everybody knows everybody else’s business. It’s easy to find… you can’t miss it… just ask anyone and they’ll tell you… “It’s left at the crossroads.”
Oliver Bradford has had enough of the hustle and bustle of the A&E department in a big city hospital. Not to mention the tension caused by the break-up of his three year relationship with one of the hospital’s top surgeons. When his sister urges him to apply for the position of GP in the quiet village of Little Mowbury, he wonders if this might be just the fresh start he needs. Unfortunately, hitting the post-mistresses’ dog with his car isn’t the best introduction to his patients.
A solitary soul, Deano Wells grew up in Little Mowbury and has been having lunch at the Thatcher’s Arms on a Thursday for the last thirty-five years. First with his father, who brought him to the pub at the tender age of ten after a hard morning in the fields, and then by himself after his father passed on. He runs the farm with a practised hand and minds his business mostly, but that doesn’t stop Oliver from being drawn to the big, quiet man and he knows the feeling is mutual, so why does Deano keep pushing him away?