LGBTQ+ BOOK PROMOTIONS

Monday, 2 November 2020

New Release - Beneath the Grandstand by Amy-Alex Campbell

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Beneath the Grandstand

Author: Amy-Alex Campbell

Publisher: AAC Publishing Australia

Cover Artist: germancreative

Release Date: October 27, 2020

Genre: Australian M/M Romance

Trope/s: Friends to lovers, Security guard & homeless man

Themes: Homelessness, depression and anxiety, childhood abuse (non sexual)

Heat Rating: 3-4 flames

Length: approx. 75 000 words

It is part of the Marsden Park Series, but is a standalone.

Goodreads

Buy Links

Amazon AU | Amazon US | Amazon UK

Paperbacks

How do you define two lost souls who are completely alone in the world except for each other?

Blurb

When Cameron's failing relationship finally comes to an end, he finds himself on the streets of Sydney, homeless and alone. All he has left is a suitcase full of his clothes, and his job as a security guard. Battling severe depression and anxiety, Cameron fears he has hit rock bottom.

A chance meeting with a young homeless man soon changes everything, though. Abused as a child, the mysterious Mr Loner has a dark secret that threatens to unravel his very existence. Will Cameron get his happily ever after, or will Mr Loner’s past destroy them both?

A confronting MM romance set in Western Sydney, Australia.
The second instalment of The Marsden Park Series.

"How do you define two lost souls, who are completely alone in the world, except for each other?"

Excerpt

The stench of BO and stale sweat hung in the air, thicker than the throng of people packed into the vestibule of the train. As the doors opened at Redfern station, the passengers took a collective gasp and squeezed in tighter together, as more people forced their way into the overcrowded space. Someone elbowed Cameron in his back, and shoved him nose-first into another man’s armpit; on his other side, he could feel someone’s dick grinding into his hip. Cameron grimaced and managed to turn his face away from the armpit. The day these people spend $3.95 on some deodorant, I’ll have a bloody stroke, he thought irritably.

With a jerk, the train started rolling slowly towards Central Station. Peak hour on any Sydney train was a nightmare, especially on one of the older trains that were overheated and stunk like dirty leather. Cameron berated himself for taking the 7am shift; it was Friday and supposed to be his day off. His last shift had finished at midnight, and with over an hour travel each way, he had been lucky to get three hours sleep.

The train pulled in at the station with a screech and another jerk. Cameron patted his arm to ensure his security license was still firmly in its pouch on his arm, then braced himself. As soon as the doors opened, he was swept with the crowd of commuters onto the platform, and into the tunnel towards the concourse.

Once he reached the concourse, the crowd thinned, and he was able to walk at his own pace again. There was a slight chill in the air; winter was just a few weeks away, and soon that chill would turn into an icy frost. Cameron shivered and walked faster towards the main exit.

He knew better than to even try to catch the light rail that early in the morning. He tapped his Opal card at the barriers, and cut through the park next to the station. It would be much faster to walk the distance, than try to squeeze onto another overheated sweatbox.

The park was full of brightly coloured tents, the only shelter that the homeless people had. Cameron felt bad for them; he himself was a bee’s dick away from being homeless, and the thought of living on the streets terrified him. With a lurch, he pushed the thoughts from his mind, and picked up his pace.

About the Author

Amy-Alex Campbell is a queer Australian author who grew up near Bendigo, Victoria.

While epic fantasy is her genre, Campbell also writes M/M romance. In contrast to her fantasy series, the Marsden Park series is written in ‘Australian’.

When Amy-Alex isn’t writing, she is either adding lore and blogs to her website, or caring for her yabbie and two axolotls.

Social Media Links

Blog/Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

Follow the tour and check out the other blog posts and reviews here

Sunday, 1 November 2020

New Release - Sort of Dead by Rob Rosen #giveaway

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Sort of Dead

Author: Rob Rosen

Publisher: JMS Books

Cover Artist: Written Ink Designs

Release Date: October 31, 2020

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romance, Paranormal M/M Romance,

M/M Romantic Comedy, M/M Mystery

Trope/s: Ghost story

Themes: Redemption, unfinished business

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length: 65 200 words/ 182 pages

It is a standalone story.

Goodreads

Buy Links

JMS Books | Amazon US | Amazon UK

Because sometimes it takes dying to have the time of your life.

Blurb

Nord wakes up to find himself sort of dead. Well, that is to say, he’s dead, alright—murdered, in fact—but not in heaven, at least not yet. In this limbo-like state, he meets Max and learns that everyone there is waiting for the final poof, hopefully to a better place. Only, with unfinished business back in the real world, like bringing his murderer to justice, Nord’s poof is nowhere in sight. And so, he and Max set out to find the killer and make things right again. Of course, that’s easier said than done when you’re nothing more than a couple of randy spirits.

With the help of Voltan, a diminutive mystic with a predilection for turbans, and Clark, a nerdy computer geek eager to shed his loner past, plus a ghost accountant, Bruce, Bruce’s drag queen brother, Eve O’Destruction, and Nord’s kick-ass mom, the newly enamored pair set out to hunt for the murderer, and are quick to discover how much they’d taken for granted when they were alive.

In this hysterically funny and often poignant mystery about fate and love and family, it ultimately takes dying for our heroes to have the times of their lives.

Excerpt

I woke with a start and stared up at the ceiling. “That’s weird,” I said. “Where’s my ceiling fan?” I blinked. I blinked again. I thought to make it a trio, but then realized I hadn’t blinked the first two times—which is to say, I blinked but there wasn’t that whole ceiling, no ceiling, ceiling, no ceiling thing, which is what happens when I blink and I’m staring up at my ceiling. Not that what I was staring at was a ceiling to begin with, but still.

I continued staring up. I supposed what I was staring at was white, given that it looked white, and I supposed that what I was staring up at was a ceiling because, give or take, most ceilings are white, mine included, but the white I was staring at sort of shifted around a bit. FYI, my ceiling didn’t do that, except perhaps when I was drunk.

“Did I get drunk last night?” I asked myself. Only, I couldn’t remember last night. I couldn’t remember going to sleep, even. I remembered waking, but that was it. And I didn’t feel drunk. In fact, I felt great. Better than great, actually. Blissful would’ve been a good word for it. Light, too. As if I’d been weighed down and now I wasn’t. “Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty—”

“You can try, but He doesn’t seem to listen,” I heard, then jumped in place.

My head whipped right. Nothing. My head whipped left. “Um, how did you get in my…” My what? This wasn’t my room. This wasn’t my ceiling. Was what was above me a ceiling anyway? “Wait, who doesn’t seem to listen?”

The man to my left grinned. He looked about my age, early thirties, give or take, nice looking guy, too. Very Bradley Cooper like, stunning blue eyes and all. He was prone. He was lying next to me. He was naked. I stared down at my body. I, too, was naked. I continued staring down. There was no bed. There was my body, there was his body, there was that shifting white. “Don’t freak out,” he said.

My heart wasn’t madly pumping in my chest and I wasn’t sweating, but I felt like I was freaking out, nonetheless. Especially because my heart should’ve been madly pumping and I generally start to sweat when I’m freaking the fuck out. All that is to say, I was FREAKING THE FUCK OUT!

“I’m freaking the fuck out!” I shouted his way. “Who are you? Where are we? Why is the wall and ceiling and floor shifting?” I blinked. It felt like I blinked, but I didn’t get the right effect again. “And where are my fucking eyelids?”

“You get used to that,” he replied.

I sat up. That is to say, I tried to sit up. Only, I didn’t think I was actually lying down, and you can’t sit up if you’re not lying down to begin with. “Stop the ride,” I squeaked out, “I want to get off.”

I was still staring at him. He was still grinning. “Give it a minute,” he said. “Takes about five minutes for all of it to right itself.”

“All? What all?” I continued staring. It seemed like a minute went by. I was no longer lying there. I was standing. He was standing next to me. The not-a-ceiling was now not-a-wall, and it was still shifting, and I was, duh, still freaking out, fuck and all.

“You were lying down before you got here, so it seemed like you were lying down when you arrived. Get it?” He said it very comfortingly. I felt less than comforted. Very.

“Dude—”

“Max.” He held out his hand. I shook it. I felt his hand in mine. There was indeed comfort in that.

“Nordstrom,” I said.

He laughed. He had a nice laugh. He had a nice grin. Max seemed nice. “Did your mom have a penchant for upscale shopping?”

I shook my head. “I was born in one. And my mom had a penchant for making sure I was teased well into adulthood.” I let go of his hand. “Nord. My friends call me Nord. Otherwise, they don’t get a Christmas present.”

About the Author

Rob Rosen is the a author of the award-winning novels Sparkle: The Queerest Book You’ll Ever Love, Divas Las Vegas, Hot Lava, Southern Fried, Queerwolf, Vamp, Queens of the Apocalypse, Creature Comfort, Fate, Midlife Crisis, Fierce, And God Belched, Mary, Queen of Scotch, Ted of the d’Urbervilles, and Sort of Dead, and editor of the anthologies Lust in Time, Men of the Manor, Best Gay Erotica 2015, and Best Gay Erotica of the Year, Volumes 1, 2, 3 and 4.