Tuesday, May 27, 2014



Following a tragic year, Abby thinks she is making a wise choice when she agrees to marry Jacob. While admittedly not in love with him, he has always made her feel safe and protected. That feeling quickly dissipates when he reveals his true colors on their wedding day. With no means to escape, Abby must decide her fate. Not willing to bend to her new husband’s rule, she is in a fight for survival, and a desperate race to discover what secrets he is keeping from her. Secrets that threaten to destroy the very foundation of her soul. Set in New Orleans during a storm that devastated so many, Surviving the Storm is a tension-building tale of suspense that does not let up until the two storms collide. 

The storm is coming Friday, June 13th, 2014.

About Sherry A. Burton

Born in Louisville Sherry was raised in the small town of Fairdale Kentucky. Eloping December of 1980, with a Navy man, while still in her teens, she has spent all of her adult life moving from state to state counting over thirty two moves in her thirty years of marriage.  Sherry can attest first hand to the fact that a whirl wind marriage can indeed last. Sherry credits her frequent moves and long separations to her ability to feel her characters desire to find true happiness.
Sherry has worked as a private nanny and is a certified dog trainer. Sherry is a mother to three adult children and has five wonderful grandchildren. Sherry’s hobbies include reading, walking, and mostly spending time with her “friends” which is how she refers to the characters she creates. She believes in daily affirmations, positive energy and feels that karma will have the final say.  Sherry currently resides in Chesapeake Virginia and has several other books in the works, including a sequel to Tears of Betrayal.  Sherry A. Burton is her pen name. Sherry writes children's books under her real name of Sherry A. Jones.

Monday, May 26, 2014

Interview with Allen Renfro, author of AMBIGUITY


Allen Renfro

The phone rings.

Will is glad he didn't go straight to bed after his shift. The call is probably Derek. After a night of bar hopping he’s probably too drunk to drive and needs a ride home.

At such a late hour Reverend Wallace wonders which elderly member of his congregation has died.

Nearly asleep Laura knows she shouldn't answer the phone in the middle of the night, but it could be her husband who is out of town.

They are wrong.

In the wake of a senseless and horrific crime a city is torn apart and a nation is in shock. As investigators delve into the lives of the suspect and the victims they unravel an even darker mystery. A grieving community will struggle to deal with the consequences of the secrets that are revealed. Secrets that will leave no life untouched. 


First of all, thank you for joining me today, Allen. I’m delighted to have you on the blog. Before we talk your book, it would be nice to get to know you.

Tell us a little bit about yourself.

Thank you for having me! Well, I'm a graduate of Tusculum College, Tennessee's oldest college despite what the folks at the University of Tennessee say! I have a degree in organizational management which really means that I'm a writing geek with a business background. I love writing and reading and horror movies. I'm an absolute history nut! I love taking historical tours and I love documentaries about history. I love hanging out with friends and, yes, I do consider gin and tequila to be friends.

Now, tell us about you as a writer.

I'm the author of five novels with hopefully several more to come. As a writer I feel like I've been cut from a unique mold. I don't see myself as a writer who will always write within one or two genres. I write what challenges me, what provokes me and I hope that my readers are equally challenged and provoked while being entertained at the same time. And sometimes that may be a young adult story or it could be the most violent story anyone has ever read. I think that's what excites me as a writer: the journey of an unknown, what story will come next, not always having a clear path. Get on the ride and see where the story takes me!

Has writing always been your dream? How did you become an author?

You know that's an interesting question for me. I believe it was always my dream even though I didn't realize it until I was much older. I was writing novellas when I was in the sixth grade, taking pen to paper. When I was that young I didn't realize that I was writing stories other people might want to read and enjoy. I just did for it myself. It was in high school that I understood how much I enjoyed writing enough that I would want to write for the rest of my life. It's funny now that I think about it, but in my senior yearbook under the topic ambition I wrote: "to become the great American writer."

I gave up writing for many years for reasons now that I can't explain. It's always been such a wonderful outlet of expression for me it seems to be a ridiculous notion that I would simply stop writing. When I started writing again I decided to write a novel. I shared portions of a story that became my novel The Raised with some friends and they loved it. I actually became an author just by putting one foot in front of the other and finishing that first project.

What is your writing routine? Did you research? Are any of your stories based on your own life?

I think chaos might best describe my routine!  No, actually, I don't have a structured method of writing. It seems that most of my writing occurs on weekends and late at night.  I wear out my favorite Pandora music station but otherwise I want a quiet environment. I do research on technical issues. If the story is a murder mystery I want to make sure the plot is believable so I will research and talk to my friends in the medical field or in law enforcement for guidance. Of course if there are historical references I double check all those facts. But seeing as how I write fiction I don't necessarily limit myself to what one would deem as "facts."  Supernatural stories especially push the boundaries of fact so why not just run wild with it.

I think there will always be pieces of me in every story that I write. I see myself in a lot of my characters at different times. On occasions I give them my opinions and the words they speak are straight from my mouth. Will I ever say what parts of a story refer to me? No, probably not. I think my stories are more interesting than me. I think all of us as writers want that to be the case.

What can you share with us about Ambiguity, your new novel?  Who are the main characters? Would we like them if they were our neighbors in real life?

Ambiguity <deep breath and a smile> it's a story that my conscience demanded I write. Even though it's a work of fiction, it's a very timely subject. In reality it's happening right now in this moment. Now, having described the story like I just did let me elaborate on that.  The story kicks off with a horrific, violent event as it is unfolding. This brutal event is the catalyst to the rest of the story. The repercussions of this act of violence ripples through the lives of every character in the novel revealing secrets that many of the characters desperately want to keep hidden.  As the story unfolds the reader will realize that there's more to what happened on the first tragic night of the novel than just one single violent act. While all the characters in Ambiguity will take sides in the debate that follows the tragedy, the main characters will unravel a deep dark mystery they would never have imagined could be possible.

When it comes to the characters many of my readers will recognize several characters from my novel Bridge Water. I decided to use these characters because of the controversial nature of the story in Ambiguity and just because I wanted to try something a little different when it came to storytelling. Ambiguity is not a sequel. It's a brand new story that stands all on its own. I wanted to put these characters in a different situation and see how they would be affected. I quickly learned that these characters now seem even more real to me.

As far as main characters I guess I would have to say there are groups of main characters, each with a story that evolves throughout the novel.  There is Detective Will Jones, Detective Kyle Edgeworth, Detective Derek Cooper and Erik Layton, aka Laylay, who all appeared in Bridge Water. Then you have Reverend Edward Wallace and his wife Judith along with the character Laura Jennings and attorney Jake Johnson. Throughout the novel these characters will interact with each other and other characters. None of the characters in Ambiguity feel like minor characters. At one point or another each becomes the main focus of the story.

Some of the characters you would absolutely love to have as your next door neighbor. Others, however, you wouldn't dare turn your back on them. That's the core of Ambiguity really. Don't believe everything you see and hear because it may not be the truth.

Did the story of Ambiguity flow easily, or did it present any writing challenges for you?
What was your biggest challenge in writing Ambiguity?

The story definitely flowed but it had its own unique challenges as well. The emotional aspects of the story were difficult to write. There were times I had to step away from my desk because of the feelings it stirred up in me. There is definitely an emotional rollercoaster feel to the story in Ambiguity. Personally, I felt the need for the characters to express their grief after the tragic events that kick off the novel while still moving the investigation forward. I think Ambiguity has a ripple effect type of feeling that is cathartic not only for readers but definitely for me as I wrote it.

I think the biggest challenge for me was developing characters that don't agree with me politically or morally. Trying to express their view point even though it's one I could never agree with was very difficult but was rewarding in its own way. It's not the same as creating a villain. It was like a debate class where I was asked to defend the point of view I don't agree with. I definitely learned a few lessons in the process of writing this story.

Is there a message in Ambiguity that you want the readers to understand?

I guess if there is a message in Ambiguity it is that there are consequences in everything we do or say regardless of the intention. That's not to say that consequences have to be bad. But obviously being a fiction writer the consequences are very bad in Ambiguity. At the end of the day all I really want is for readers to have enjoyed an emotional ride and I hope they are provoked into thinking about a subject in a completely different way.

How did you choose a title? Are you the type of author who knows the title before you start writing, or do titles cause you anxiety? 

Oh, my answer to this question could get me in trouble!

The title actually came to me very quickly but the circumstances that led me to deciding on the title stems from my own life as a country boy from Tennessee. As a southern boy from the Bible Belt, I represent an entire family, not just myself. You never want to do anything bad that could tarnish the family name. Every member of the family has a responsibility not to show the family in a negative light.  We don't need all the neighbors gossiping about us. All things considered bad like getting drunk; being arrested; being promiscuous; having an affair; being gay, are supposed to stay behind closed doors. We don't air our dirty laundry. So what happens out of this unwritten rule is that you behave and present yourself in public one way that may not be who you really are. Many of the characters in Ambiguity have adopted this rule. It's not until the tragic events at the very beginning of the novel that their facades are torn down. So, basically this is how I use the title Ambiguity, by broadening the definition of ambiguous. Instead of a statement or expression having an unclear or multiple meanings, it is my characters that are unclear or are being defined in more than one way: either good or evil or a combination of both depending upon the circumstance. They always present themselves in the most positive light in public, but when behind closed doors they are very, very different.

Titles don't necessarily cause me anxiety but I think we all recognize the importance of a strong title for a book or movie or even a song. My first novel, The Raised, gave me fits in coming up with a title and then Bridge Water was actually inspired by a street sign. I see that street sign every day and before I wrote Bridge Water I would think: "that would be a great title for a book." And I literally wrote the story around the title. You never know where inspiration may come from.

I guess when it comes to book titles I should put it this way: I hope I never feel anxiety over coming up with a title!

Who would you want to play the main characters in Ambiguity if a movie is made, based on your story?

You know I haven't thought much about that. I think for Will Jones it would have to be Henry Cavill and for Will's boyfriend Derek Cooper maybe Channing Tatum with Aaron Paul's intensity. I think Andrew Lincoln would make a great Reverend Ed Wallace, I think he needs to play a part like Ed. Ed's wife Judith perhaps Uma Thurman and for Laura Jennings I would love for Charlize Theron to play that part. For Johnny Bales Chris Evans would be the guy! For Kyle Edgeworth, Matthew Fox would be awesome and for Erik Layton, aka Laylay, the funniest character with the most direct personality, I don't know, could we put Margaret Cho's personality in Johnny Galecki's body?

Besides writing, what are your pastimes?

Well, like I said earlier, I'm a history buff so watching lots of documentaries and reading. I love horror movies. This may sound weird but I do love to visit cemeteries, especially really old ones. It's more to learn history but there's always the horror element of cemeteries that can make it an exciting trip. But above all that my favorite pastime is hanging out with friends at our favorite Mexican restaurant drinking margaritas and talking. It doesn't get much better than that!

Thank you for joining me today Allen. You can connect with this very talented author at these sites:

Thursday, May 22, 2014


Now Available 




The phone rings.

Will is glad he didn't go straight to bed after his shift. The call is probably Derek. After a night of bar hopping he’s probably too drunk to drive and needs a ride home.

At such a late hour Reverend Wallace wonders which elderly member of his congregation has died.

Nearly asleep Laura knows she shouldn't answer the phone in the middle of the night, but it could be her husband who is out of town.

They are wrong.

In the wake of a senseless and horrific crime a city is torn apart and a nation is in shock. As investigators delve into the lives of the suspect and the victims they unravel an even darker mystery. A grieving community will struggle to deal with the consequences of the secrets that are revealed. Secrets that will leave no life untouched

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

DANCING BAREFOOT by Amber Lea Easton!


DANCING BAREFOOT by Amber Lea Easton 
All Romance eBooks: http://goo.gl/Hd8eTg
Smashwords: http://goo.gl/g56oj0


Prequel to the Soon to be Released DANCING BAREFOOT

A blog exclusive novel, "In Between" is a prequel to the contemporary romance/romantic suspense novel, "Dancing Barefoot," that releases in May 2014. That being said…the answer to the above question may not be as clear cut as you'd expect. 

Chapter One Starts Here
Bella Italia.
Jessica leaned out of the window until her hips pressed against the sill and her toes barely touched the floor. If she twisted her body to the left and arched her back just so, she could see the dome of the Duomo Santa Maria del Fiore peeking above the row of buildings lining the streets of Florence. A breeze tossed black curls into her face as she laughed from joy and disbelief. Finally, after years of scrimping, saving, and studying, she had made it to the city of her dreams.
"You like?" The landlord asked from behind her.
"I like." She slid back to her feet and looked around the apartment that would be hers for the next five months.
Wide windows encompassed the street facing wall, a low hanging ceiling fan spun slowly above a sunken living room furnished with a golden sofa that had seen many lives, behind it and up two steps rested a double-bed barren of linens.
Already knowing she would sign the lease but pretending to take more than five minutes to make her decision, she walked around the space. She dragged her fingers over the walls with chipped paint, imagination already dancing with possibilities.
"There is plenty of light here. We are close to everything you could possibly need." A cigarette bobbed in the corner of the landlord's mouth as he spoke. His gaze moved over her with lazy appreciation when she leaned her hip against the kitchen counter. Standing no taller than five foot four, a good three inches shorter than her shoulders, with black hair speckled with gray, a sharp nose, and dark eyes that saw everything, he resembled a silver fox. "We have a deal, yes?"
"Oh, yes. Definitely." She rubbed her hands along the countertop. She couldn't stop smiling. 
Graduate school and an internship had come and gone. She'd insisted on taking this time for herself before returning to Boston for a career in architecture. It had taken some negotiating and a whole lotta charm to finagle four months of freedom, but she'd done it.
Excitement and disbelief bubbled through her blood. She ached to be alone so she could dance around the room and soak it all up.
"We sign the lease then. Six months?"
"Four. I can only do four." She bit her lip to stop the laugh. Ever since landing in Italy, she couldn't stop smiling and was starting to feel like a fool for the unfamiliar giddiness welling up inside of her.
"A lot of artists live here. You will be happy. Six months." Luca cigarette bobbed in the corner of his lips with each word he spoke.
"Four. I need to go back to Boston to work." She pushed her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, surrendering to laughter when he muttered something in Italian she couldn't understand. Two years of studying the language, yet the words still weren't tumbling off of her tongue with ease. So much for Rosetta Stone's promise.
"I thought you were an artist." He squinted at her, finally removing the cigarette and smiling.
"I paint," she said the word hesitantly, even though that's why she'd come here. Years of keeping her hobby closeted to do the responsible things like taking care of her mother and working two jobs to get through her undergrad and then graduate school made it hard to embrace that this was now her reality. Temporarily. 
He shrugged his narrow shoulders, his gaze skimming over her one more time before he turned toward the hallway.
She followed him down three flights of rickety stairs to his office where she'd abandoned her luggage. The passageway was barely able to accommodate two people shoulder to shoulder so she walked a step behind him, not wanting to get too up close and personal with the landlord. Music from one of the apartments echoed through the space. A woman hummed along, her voice drifting through the air like a haunting melody. Outside a horn honked, someone cursed in Italian. The place smelled as if all the scents that had ever been cooked there had been absorbed into its walls.
It was better than she'd ever dreamed.
"I'll pay you for the four months in advance. Is that okay?" She signed the paperwork without looking up, her mind already thinking about the budget.
"I do not turn down money. It's good." Luca leaned back in his chair and tapped the cigarette against an overflowing ashtray. "How long have you been in Italia?"
"About three hours," she said with a smile. When she looked up, she noticed his amused grin.
"You artists are all the same. Impulsive. It is good for me, though, so I don't mind." He winked and reached for the money she'd put on the desk.
Artist. Her smile widened at the word. How long had she waited to claim that title for herself? Back home she was the dutiful daughter, brilliant graduate student, hard working intern, and loyal friend who hid her artwork behind closed doors. For too many years she'd been told how silly it was to paint, that she needed to do something useful with all of that talent...like architecture. Here she could indulge in her love of both worlds.
Luca smiled when she just stared at him in silence. "I mean it, Ms. Moriarty. You will be happy here."
"I already am." She pushed away from the desk, anxious to unpack, roam the streets for a market, and settle into her fantasy life a world away from where anyone knew her. Artist. She tossed the word around in her mind, appreciating the way it made her feel.
"I will help with your bags." He looked toward the four suitcases she'd stacked in the corner of the room.
"No, no, I have it. I can manage." She looped them together, already accustomed to dragging them through airports and down sidewalks to get here.
"As you wish." He shrugged and settled back into his chair, good humor shining in his dark eyes.
Key in her pocket, she used both hands to tow the bags from the room. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, blew a long curl from her eyes, and looked at the narrow passage. Undaunted, she turned sideways and slowly started her ascent. It wasn't until the second landing that she regretted her decision not to ask for help. The stairway trapped all the heat from the building like a sauna. Sweat slid between her shoulder blades. More hair had come loose from her haphazard ponytail and now either snaked over her face or plastered against her neck.
At the sounds of male voices below her, one of them being the landlord's, she sighed. Onward and upward!
Sweaty palms caused her to lose her grip on the bags behind her. They thudded and rattled before crashing into the wall and continuing their wild descent. Slam! Curses!
She abandoned the other two on the step in front of her and ran after the wayward luggage only to stop short at the sight of the blond man spread out against the stairs covered in camera cases and her baggage.
"Oh my God, are you okay?" She rushed to his side, squeezing between the narrow walls to bend over him.
"American. Why am I not surprised?" He pushed her bag off of his face and twisted onto his side, her other suitcase somehow trapped between his legs.
When he looked up at her, all thoughts evaporated from her mind. Her limited knowledge of Italian...gone. Poof! Hell, all memory of forming a word disappeared.

Green eyes glared up from beneath dark blond hair. His face looked like someone she needed to draw or paint or...touch. Sculpted cheekbones showcased not only the angry glare, but also a full mouth set in a frown. He looked away and grabbed the straps of the various camera cases now strewn about her feet.
She looked down and noticed she stood on one of the straps. His accent wasn't Italian, but she couldn't place it. When he moved, his t-shirt pulled across his back and showed off the lean hardness of his shoulders.
Self-conscious of her travel worn and sweaty self, she looked away, bent to retrieve one of the stray suitcases, tripped over his forearm, and crashed face-first against his thigh. Pain burned through her nose. Certain she'd broken her entire face, she whimpered against his leg. Grabbing his knee to push herself up, she accidentally slammed her foot against his head. Blood stained his jeans where her face had been.
Damn. A bloody nose. She rubbed a hand over her face and winced at the blood staining her fingers.
"You are a disaster," he said, more amusement than annoyance in his voice. "Do not move. Hold on."
Again she wondered about the accent beneath his English. Not British. Not Italian. She flattened her palm against the wall above his hip and tried not to look at her blood dripping onto his crotch.
He had propped himself on his elbows and watched her with a twisted grin. His hair skimmed across his eyes, giving him a dangerous look when paired with that smile that didn't need any translation given their positions. "You're bleeding, I hope you did not break your nose."
"You and me both," she muttered beneath the hand that pressed against her face while she struggled to maintain her balance with the other. If she didn't adjust herself, she'd slide right down his legs into a heap over her bag. Deciding that she needed both of her hands to get out of this situation, she grabbed his knee with the bloody hand, and slid her legs along the wall until she was in a less precarious position.
"Narrow stairway," she said, feeling like an idiot.
He used his elbows to pull himself up one more stair, sliding his body out from beneath hers. She couldn't help but stare at him as he finally stood. The man defined the word sexy. Long, lean, and with a presence about him that screamed "fuck me." The fact that he smiled at her like she was the most amusing thing that had happened in his life in years dampened the appeal.
She tore her gaze away and grabbed her stray bags, wishing her first meeting with a hot neighbor had gone a lot better.
"Let me help you." He grabbed one of the bags from her hands and met her gaze. "Do not argue. You nearly killed me."
"Killed is a slight exaggeration, don't you think? Maimed maybe, but not killed."
"I could have broken my neck." He laughed, not breaking eye contact. "You must be the new neighbor. I live across the hall from you with my sister, Ava."
Mouth suddenly too dry, she ripped her gaze from his. "I have two other bags ahead of you. Don't trip."
Oh, God, did I just say not to trip? She sighed and pretended to adjust her sweaty grip on the bag in her hand.
"I will try to be careful. Stairs can be dangerous places. You never know what is coming down on you." That accent...it would drive her crazy not knowing where he was from.
She couldn't stop staring at his ass as he walked in front of her. How could she help it? It was right there at eye-level. She glanced at the blood on her hand and winced. What a mess. He'd called her a disaster and she wasn't doing much to prove him wrong. But that butt in those jeans combined with the long legs...definitely a view worth soaking up.  
Thud, thud, they progressed up the steps. He took the other two suitcases in stride, without looking back at her for permission.
Luca had left the door to her apartment ajar. The blond man walked ahead of her and dropped her luggage near the bed. He glanced around before disappearing into the bathroom.
She dropped her bags and went toward the kitchen sink hoping for something to help with her nose. Nothing. Glasses, plates, and utensils filled the cupboards but not one washcloth or towel.
"Here. Let me." He gripped her shoulders and turned her. His shirt was off displaying rippling muscles and a suede necklace. He'd soaked the t-shirt with cold water, which he now shoved against her face. All she could do was stare at his chest.
It seemed all he could do was laugh at her.
"You didn't need to sacrifice your shirt," she muttered from beneath the material.
"Small sacrifice." He winked and stepped away, letting her hold the t-shirt.
"Thank you. I'm sorry about losing control..." her gaze focused on the center of his chest, "of my luggage, I mean. Of course I mean the bags, I mean...I'm sorry for knocking you down."
He shrugged in response, as if being taken out by a pair of flying suitcases was an everyday occurrence. Grinning, he turned his back on her and looked around the apartment. "Nice light in here. Bigger windows than we have, but we have a balcony. We are two doors down, across the hall."
He stepped down the two steps into the sunken living room, hands shoved into the back pockets of his jeans. He moved like a man who had all the time in the world to do whatever he damn well pleased.  
He looked at her over his shoulder and smiled a take-me-to-bed-and-let-me-worship-your-body smile complete with dimples she hadn't noticed until now.
"I am Jacques Sinclair," he said.
"I'm Jessica Moriarty."
"Where are you from, Jessica Moriarty?"
"Boston." The word tore from her throat like sandpaper grating against dry wood.  She looked at the balled up t-shirt held against her face and sighed.
He paused a few inches in front of her and let his gaze slide over her face before roaming down her body. "It is good to meet you, Jessica Moriarty. Do you need anything else?"
"No, I'm fine."
"Of course you are. You are Ms. Independent-Do-Not-Help-Me, yes?"
She winced at the amusement in his eyes and the memory of falling face first into his lap. Warmth flooded her face.
She gulped when he stepped around her and walked into the hall. She didn't move until she heard the door close behind him.
Muttering about her lack of grace, she walked to the bathroom to check out the damage and stopped at one look at her reflection. Black curls stuck to her sweaty face and neck, mascara had melted to create shadows beneath her eyes, and blood stained the front of her blue blouse. She tossed his white t-shirt into the sink, again noticing the lack of towels, and added more cold water to it before pressing it again to her face.
The shirt still smelled like him despite the water and the blood. Smiling beneath the materia, she sank onto the toilet and thought about his naked chest.
Bella Italia. Definitely.

Prequel to Dancing Barefoot

Monday, May 19, 2014

SEPTEMBER AGAIN Free May 19 & May 20

May 19 & May 20 download the critically acclaimed SEPTEMBER AGAIN on Amazon for FREE! While you are there, downloaded the first book in the September Stories, the award winning indie sensation SEPTEMBER ENDS for only 99c. 
It's like 2 books for the price of one. You can't beat it! 
Snag your copies now!

 September Again

Monday, May 5, 2014