Fighting Her

 

 

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New Release
 
Fighting Her
by Gillian Jones
 
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Genre: YA Inspirational Romance
 
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Fighting Her is a YA rockstar romance about finding not only love, but self-love, and learning you are enough no matter what.  Warning: Deals with subject matter some readers might find sensitive, Fighting Her is a YA version of Fighting Weight.
 
We all have that voice inside our heads.
 
The one that speaks to us incessantly. That voice we trust to make the right decisions, to keep us on a positive path, even when others try to bring us down.
 
But what happens when that voice changes?
 
When it’s no longer a voice of reason, a voice of comfort giving us a pep talk when we need one?
 
What happens when that inner turns into a bully?
 
You’re fat.
Don’t you dare eat that.
You’ll never be as pretty as her.
You’ll never be as good as them.
You’re lazy. You’re stupid.
You are disgusting.
You. Are. Nothing.
 
What happens when that inner voice makes your body take its side?
 
Binge.
Purge.
Binge.
Purge.
 
And what happens when the bully starts to win?
 
If you are 18-year-old Alina Cassidy, then you fight like hell.
 
 
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About the Author
 
Wife, mother, proud Canadian. Shoe addict, red wine connoisseur, lover of laughter and the friendships that cause it. I’m a sucker for those epic romances that steal my breath and leave me always wanting more.
 
 

 

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Fighting Weight

 

Presents
 
Release Blitz: Fighting Weight
by Gillian Jones
 
AMAZON
US CA UK
Available with Kindle Unlimited
 
Genre:Inspirational Contemporary Romance
 
GOODREADS
 
 
We all have that voice inside our heads.
 
The one that speaks to us incessantly. That voice we trust to make the right decisions, to keep us on a positive path, even when others try to bring us down.
 
But what happens when that voice changes? 
When it’s no longer a voice of reason, a voice of comfort giving us a pep talk when we need one?
 
What happens when that inner voice turns into a bully?
 
You’re fat.
Don’t you dare eat that. 
You’ll never be as pretty as her
You’ll never be as good as them.
You’re lazy. You’re stupid.
You are disgusting.
You. Are. Nothing.
What happens when that inner voice makes your body takes its side?
Binge.
Purge.
Binge.
Purge.
And what happens when the bully starts to win?
If your name is Alina Cassidy, then you fight like hell.
Warning: Deals with subject matter some readers might find sensitive. But I promise an HEA.
 

 

About the Author
 
Wife, mother, proud Canadian. Shoe addict, red wine connoisseur, lover of laughter and the friendships that cause it. I’m a sucker for those epic romances that steal my breath and leave me always wanting more.
 
Follow the Author
 
FACEBOOK
TWITTER
INSTAGRAM
GILLY’S GEMS
 
 
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FACEBOOK
TWITTER
 
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From Ashes of Pity into Beauty of Purpose

FROM ASHES OF PITY INTO BEAUTY OF PURPOSE

by Debra Gray-Elliott

 

Genre: Non-fiction Christian Self-help/Inspirational

Every day of every second a woman has an abortion. Every day of every second a woman has to live with the emotional turmoil of her decision. Forty years ago, at the age of sixteen I had an abortion changing me forever. I fell into the darkness of pity and struggled to rise from the ashes into the beauty of purpose.

From Ashes of Pity into Beauty of Purpose takes women who have had an abortion from hurting to healing through many journeys of self-discovery, showing them how God delights in them, how they can achieve their purpose, and learn to live again.

Struggling to rise from the ashes of pity takes many journeys. A woman who has had an abortion goes through many of journeys of self-discovery. She must learn to heal, forgive, give herself value, respect herself, have confidence, and be content in who she is.

Going through each journey helps a hurting woman discover nine ways God delights in them. From Ashes of Pity into Beauty of Purpose shows a hurting woman how to become a woman of faith, knowledge, encouragement, compassion, strength, wisdom, hope, character, and purpose in order to get through the ashes into the beauty.

Discovering how God delights in them helps a hurting woman find her purpose. From the Ashes of Pity into the Beauty of Purpose directs women toward the beauty of purpose with healing the broken, helping the hurting, and harboring the lost so they can live again by rejoicing in everything, renewing their mind, reviving their spirit, rejuvenating their soul, and reminding themselves of their beauty.

Rising from the ashes of pity is difficult. From Ashes of Pity into Beauty of Purpose is designed to make the journey easier.

CHAPTER ONE

THE JOURNEY OF SELF-HEALING

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore, will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Psalm 46:1-3 KJV

The years have slowly tick-tocked away and I still have not found the solace needed throughout my journey of self-healing. I constantly find myself (as I am sure other women who have suffered and survived through an abortion; planned or unplanned) pondering the reality of what happened to me, to my body over forty years ago.

In my personal journey of self-healing, I have dealt with that reality in many ways to block the memories. I wanted to forget those painful memories forever seared in my mind, burned into my soul. I turned to drugs (one of the most common areas that many young women who have experienced an abortion do too often) tuning out the pain, the memories.

Drugs are a quick fix and only temporarily block the pain and the reality. Drugs aren’t the answer, nor should be a solution to a woman’s journey of self-healing. I also turned to unprotected sex as a way of forgetting the pain I had pent up inside my hollowed-out body, a shell of my soul. I knew unprotected sex was wrong. I knew I could get pregnant again. In the months following my abortion, I became confused as to who I was. I became reckless and irrational in my behavior. I didn’t care what I did or who I had sex with, I just wanted to forget. I couldn’t face myself. The bitterness and shame grew deep within my soul like the roots of a mighty oak tree.

My heart and mind were being strangled with guilt and shame. I could not let myself heal. It took years for me to come out of my dazed stupor and realize unprotected sex wasn’t the answer for my healing process. It took years to realize I was never alone.

Throughout the years of my most painful, personal journey I have learned to express my feelings in writing. I have found that writing is a good release of all the pent up emotional baggage a woman stores inside herself after an abortion. As a Christian woman who has experienced an abortion, the most meaningful part of my journey of self-healing has been the bible.

The Word of God has brought comfort to my hurt. I learned to replace drugs and unprotected sex with God’s love. Psalm 46:1-3 tells us that God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. When our heart and soul are troubled, we should turn to God. We heal through His strength and very presence in our lives. Let the Word of God heal you. Let it be your strength, your solace, and your comfort in your journey of self-healing.

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Debra Ann Gray-Elliott is a Christian speaker and author who shares the Lord’s message of hope and love in everyday life

Her works includes two poetry collections, as well as inclusion in several Christian anthologies.

Debra’s recent works include her personal stories of dealing with the loss of her daughter Ashley in 2013 in the anthologies Grief Diaries: Poetry & Prose and More and Grief Diaries: Will We Survive.

Debra’s first non-fiction Christian inspirational book From Ashes of Pity into Beauty of Purpose brings emotionally charred women who have had an abortion out of the pits of fire, through the ashes into the beauty of purpose. With the direction of God, hurting women weather through the painful journeys, become women of spiritual beauty, find God’s purpose, and learn to live again.

Debra is currently working on a new devotional to honor her daughter Ashley who passed away in 2013. Dancing through the Storms 365 Day Devotional: Surviving the Loss of a Child takes grieving parents on a daily journey of healing and hope.

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**Heavenly**

1Blurb

Annie Ryan was born and raised in the quaint town of Heavenly Corners. She owns the local bookstore and is an upstanding and civic-minded resident. A widow with a daughter away at college for the first time gives Annie time to relax and enjoy life on the lake she dearly loves. That is until her life is turned upside down by a death, a Yorkshire Terrier, an attempted murder, a handsome man who returns to Heavenly Corners after twenty some years, an eccentric aunt, a hard-boiled detective, and a young officer sweet on her daughter. Will Annie and her BFF and partner-in-crime-solving, Georgie, be able to keep Annie from prison or worse? This is the first in the Annie Ryan Cozy Mystery series.

Excerpt

I was busy dusting off bookshelves around ten when I heard the door chimes jingle. I expected more people to come to the store, chat, and discuss last night’s tragedy, but it was early. Maybe they were at the diner discussing Inga over coffee.
I walked up front in time to see Douglas Kelleher place a large paper bag on the counter next to a dog carrier.
“What’s all this?” I asked.
“Good morning, Annie,” Douglas said. “When Aunt Inga’s housekeeper arrived this morning we told her what happened last night. She told Mags and me that Aunt Inga left a letter in her desk drawer for us in case this ever happened suddenly. The housekeeper said it contained funeral plans.”
I studied his face for some explanation and said, “Many people do that. What does it have to do with the dog carrier and bag?”
“Well,” he said tapping his foot and bouncing his body. “Umm, she left her funeral plans, but her first concern was for Yummy. Aunt Inga said no one would care for Yummy properly. No one that is, except you. Aunt Inga wrote that Yummy likes you, and it would be less stressful on him if he lived with you.”
I stood and stared at him. My mouth must have been hanging open because Douglas began to speak again.
“Everything you need is in the bag. Bowls, food, treats, toys, his pedigree papers, a printout of his vet care. I added a check in the envelope to help you with his care. It does seem to be a bit of an imposition. Don’t worry about vet care. My sister called the vet and arranged for all his care to be charged to her.”
“That’s very generous, but I’m not sure I should be the one to care for Yummy.” I bent over and stared at the little Yorkie staring back at me through the metal door of the dog carrier.
“But Annie, it was Aunt Inga’s final wish for Yummy to be with you.” He leaned forward and stared into my eyes.
I nodded and said, “Okay, I’ll give it a try. Yummy and I do get along.”
“That’s great. Yummy should be with someone who cares if he begins to miss my aunt,” Douglas called over his shoulder as he headed out the door. The bell chime jingled again, and Yummy and I were alone.
I opened the carrier door, and the tiny dog ran into my arms. Yummy shivered but settled down as I petted him. I put food and water in his bowls and placed them under the counter out of sight of customers, but where I could see him. There was a blanket at the bottom of the bag, and he settled onto it in the corner.
“Maybe this won’t be too bad,” I mumbled.
Yummy didn’t seem to have any interest in his food or water. I had an idea and sent a text to Georgie:
“When you bring lunch, could you bring a plain
burger patty – no bun or cheese?”
She texted back:
“??????”
I sent another text with a pic of Yummy:
“Inga left me Yummy. He won’t eat.”
She texted back:
“Sure, no problem.”
She followed with a row of yellow smiley faces.

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BIO

2

I was born in Wisconsin and lived there until I was eighteen. Then I spent eight years in Washington state and California before returning to Wisconsin. I love eerie places and books. I began with a love of Nancy Drew books and as I grew I found H.P Lovecraft, Poe, Agatha Christie, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle among others. When I am not writing, I am reading or watching sunsets. I enjoy making up stories about people I meet or see on the street. I can see a story in a picture, especially if the picture is eerie. My imagination runs wild and free. I have self-published two books of supernatural short stories and a book of children’s stories for my granddaughter, Brittney. Gypsy Spirits is my debut novel and the first in the series of three “spirit” books. I have self-published the second and third “spirit” books, “Annamarie and Magdalena” is the second and “Lena” the third. I also self-published a supernatural mystery, THE LETTER. The sequel to THE LETTER, OLD MAN MALONE RETURNS, was released in June 2013. Since then I have added three more Kellie Conley mysteries. I decided to try my hand at a cozy mystery and released “Heavenly Corners,” the first in the Annie Ryan series. I took a step outside the box with Kathryn’s Justice, a thriller. I am sure my muse will guide me into another story plot.

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**New Release – Ugly**

 Title: Ugly

Author: Margaret McHeyzer

Genre: YA/NA

 Release Date: October 26, 2015

 

Blurb

 

If I were dead, I wouldn’t be able to see.

If I were dead, I wouldn’t be able to feel. 

If I were dead, he’d never raise his hand to me again. 

If I were dead, his words wouldn’t cut as deep as they do. 

If I were dead, I’d be beautiful and I wouldn’t be so…ugly.

I’m not dead…but I wish I was.

 

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$2.99 for a limited time only

Price will change to $3.99 soon after release

AMAZON US / UK / AU

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Prologue

It’s days like today I wish I was dead.

“Lily Anderson, you get your ugly ass out here right this minute. Don’t make me come after you,” Daddy screams.

He’s so angry. I knew the moment I heard him come home from work I was in for it. I was in my bedroom, lying on the floor trying to do my math. He slammed the front door so hard the windows in my room shook.

And then I knew, I knew I was in for it.

“Lily Anderson!” he yells again.

As soon as I heard him yell I ran to my hiding spot. I’m inside the closet in the hallway, wedged as far into the corner as I can get. Mom’s old coat hangs in front of me and I can still smell a faint waft of the perfume she used to wear.

“Lily Anderson!” he shouts. I can hear the anger in his voice and I can already feel the pain he’s going to inflict on me when he opens the closet door. I know what’s coming.

I close my eyes tight, scrunching them up so no light can seep through. I put my hands over my ears so I can’t hear him.

“I swear to God; if I have to find you, you will not sit for a month.”

My knees are folded into my chest. I’m trying to make myself small, invisible, so he forgets I’m here. I’m rocking myself, trying to block out what he’s saying.

School is safe. School is safe. School is safe. I keep repeating the mantra because in a few short hours I’ll be back at school. Maybe tomorrow I can go to the library after school, stay there until it closes and then sneak in after Dad’s passed out, because he’s had too much to drink.

It was never like this before. Ever.

I’m twelve years old and I can remember when Mom, Dad, and I were all happy. But that was years ago. It’s been a long time since there’s been any happiness in this house.

Well, before Mom died anyway, and not a day since.

Mom died when I was nine. I don’t remember much about her, except I remember her telling me how ugly I am. How life would be better if I was taken away from them. How I’ll never be anything, because I’m stupid and ugly.

Sometimes I dream happy things. Like me, Mom, Dad and a little blond-haired boy all going for a picnic. The sun beamed down on us as we played outside and laughed. We’d eat yummy sandwiches Mom made for us, and we’d drink homemade lemonade. We’d spend hours outside, laughing and talking and just having fun. Mom would tell me how pretty I am, and how much she loved me. She would play with my hair, braid it, and then we’d go and pick bright flowers to take home and put in a vase. Dad would smile and call us “his girls”, always kissing Mom and hugging me. Dad would put the little boy on his shoulders and run around the park, trying to catch the clouds.

I love those dreams, and I hold onto them; wishing they were real. But I’ve never had a mom like that, and my dad doesn’t talk much unless it’s with his fists, or to tell me how ugly and useless I am.

I feel him walking around the house. The floorboards creak and the vibrations from his footsteps come through the floor to where my bottom is. I close my eyes tighter and try and breathe as quietly as I can.

Please go away, Daddy. Please go away.

My heart is beating so fast. My hands are shaking and I’m trying really hard not to think about what’s going to happen the minute he opens the closet door.

Shhh, it’s so quiet. The only sound is my heart thrumming in my ears. Nothing else. Not a whisper, not a rattle…nothing.

Maybe Daddy’s left. Maybe he’s gone to the pub to have a few drinks. Maybe, just maybe, he’s left…forever.

I take a deep breath and just relax for a moment. My shoulders drop and I finally stop rocking.

Slowly I take my hands down from my ears, and I’m so happy because I can’t hear him yelling at me. I can’t hear him at all.

Gradually, I begin to unscrunch my eyes from the way I’ve tightly closed them. But something’s not right. There’s light coming into the closet.

I don’t even get a chance to open them fully before a rough hand reaches in, latches onto my ponytail and yanks.

“I told you it’d be worse for you if I had to find you,” Dad says, as he drags me out of the closet by my hair.

I’m desperately trying to hold onto my head so he doesn’t rip my hair out. My feet are trying to find traction on the dirty floorboards.

“Please, Daddy. Please. You’re hurting me,” I begin sobbing as I plead with him.

“Then your ugly ass should’ve come when I called you, you stupid bitch. You’re fucking worthless, you ugly idiot,” he says. But now his voice is calm as he continues to drag me toward the family room.

That’s when he’s most scary. When his voice is low and his eyes are filled with hate.

He throws me against the side of the sofa and takes a step back to look at me.

I look up and can see he’s the angriest I’ve ever seen him. “You dumb, ugly piece of shit,” he says, as he paces back and forth in front of me.

“Sorry, Daddy. Whatever I did, I’m so sorry.” I cower into myself, trying to make myself as small as possible.

“You’re just too fucking stupid, aren’t you?” he spits toward me as he brings his hand up to scratch at his chin.

“I’m sorry,” I say again. Tears are falling hot and fast down my cheeks. My head hurts from where he was pulling my hair, but I don’t dare try to rub the spot.

“You ugly fuck.” He kicks a boot into my leg.

The pain is instant and my leg feels like it’s shattered. “Please, Daddy,” I beg again, burying my face into my hands.

But ‘please’ never seems to work.

Nothing does.

I’ve just got to take the beatings, because that’s what stupid, ugly girls do.

 

Author Bio

There’s something about the written word that is pure magic.

Possibly it’s the fact there are 26 letters in the English alphabet, and they can create something so beautiful or so empowering they’re capable to change our lives.

How important is it that we break suit and stretch our minds?
I like to think of myself as ‘unique’. My stories aren’t for everyone, and sometimes I may push what you believe to be ‘normal’.
Normal is subjective.
I prefer to be known as a person who’s never been ‘bound by custom’ but is ‘unique by choice’.
I hope you do read and enjoy my stories.

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