Kayaking Moments of Zen Book Blitz #rabtbooktours

 

Nonfiction; Sports, Recreation, photography

Date Published: 10-15-2026

Publisher: Mission Point Press

In a search for simplicity and serenity, Jon R. Constant explores the idea that it’s not the quality of the equipment that matters most, but the attention to the moment with the equipment available. Using a mobile phone rather than a high-end camera, Jon captures many moments of inspiration as he explores the stunning waters of Michigan’s “Little Finger.”

Kayaking becomes a way to slow down, to be fully present enough to notice the light on the water, the natural surroundings, and the stillness between paddle strokes. These images are not about perfection. They are about moments of wonder on the waters of Michigan’s Leelanau Peninsula.

About the Author

Jon is a retired teacher, having taught social studies at Traverse City Central High School for 38 years. Jon was the offensive coordinator for the Trojans’ first state championship football team in 1978 and later was named the boys’ varsity head coach, a position he held for 22 years. His teams had a 341–161 record and won 12 district and 2 regional titles. Jon grew up in Grand Haven, Michigan. There he had a small boat and motor that he kept on the Grand River and would use to explore the river and its many bayous. He graduated from Hope College and played quarterback for the Flying Dutchmen for four years and played basketball for two years. Jon enjoys the variety of all four seasons at Cedar Lake. When he isn’t kayaking, he enjoys “working” at the scoring table for Trojans basketball games and in the press box at Thirlby Field for Trojans or Traverse City West Titan football games, reading, feeding and watching birds, and following the activities of his three active grandchildren. Among his proudest accomplishments is that he was able to write two books about kayaking. He is sure that this is also surprising to anyone who knew Jon in Grand Haven or at Hope College!

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Wylder Magick Teaser #rabtbooktours

Contemporary Multicultural Magic

Paranormal Dark Romance

Date Published: October 23, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Eight days...

Elias Wylder, that egotistical SOB, had the gall to trick Moriah into bonding with him during her Opening Ceremony! Now her year of hiding is almost up. Only eight days and she'll be free. In eight days, Moriah can repudiate the bond with Wylder and claim her rightful place in Arcane Society. Until then, she dare not allow the powerful warlock to discover she still loves him, despite his trickery. She must keep her distance, no matter how close she wishes they could be.

But Wylder's not the kind to take no for an answer.

Humbled by her loss, Elias will do anything to find Mariah, even begging the Council of Magick for help. Unfortunately, his year of futile searching is almost up. An Athame Warlock must present his lady to the Council before the year passes, or lose her forever. Elias can't allow that to happen. Mariah's taken more than Wylder's magick -- she's stolen his heart. He's got just eight days to find her, and win her back!

Excerpt

Copyright ©2026 Camille Anthony

Thursday, October 14, 11:00 PM

(Northeastern Division Time)

"By the Lord and Lady! Wylder, how did you come to misplace the academy's most promising student?"

Wylder sneered at Lemuel Westerner, refusing to give the irritating council member the satisfaction of answering. Yet he could not help acknowledging, if only to himself, his utter responsibility for the disaster now facing him. By totally fucking up, asshole. How else?

My own actions had caused this. I saw something I wanted, something wondrous, and with my usual damned arrogance, tried to snatch it for myself.

"And why are you only now bringing this to our attention?"

Just being here, ordered to be here, had his temper flaring hotter than the salamander-ignited fires blazing through San Francisco at this very moment, and here was Westerner, an old enemy, finally mated and a full member of the council, trying to lord it over him.

Elias Wylder -- the most powerful warlock since his evil ancestor, Grimm the Rogue -- glared at Lemuel Westerner until the hairy, burly shifter gulped and hunched down in his seat. Elias narrowed his eyes, bunched his thick eyebrows in an intimidating scowl, until he realized there was more likelihood of the man growing a second head than there was of his growing the balls to truly confront Elias in challenge. "What's gotten into you, little mule? You know better than to speak to me in that tone of voice."

Just the thought of Lemuel trying to stand up to him made Elias's lips turn up in a contemptuous smirk. "Little cat, you couldn't possibly be thinking about challenging me. Even drawing upon the enhanced power bestowed by your mated state, you haven't a hope in hell of defeating me. Any contest between the two of us would be ludicrous -- no contest at all."

The werecat's lips pulled back from his teeth in an angry snarl but before he could do other than posture, another council member spoke up. "I, too, would like to know the particulars of Miss Maganistus' graduation. Where is the record of the ceremony? If you officiated at it, why has she yet to come before this council to receive her diploma and wand? The shock waves we've been attributing to her graduation were felt as far away as the Outer Isles."

Lady Selima's quiet voice worked wonders on his mood, as usual, and Elias turned to face her, sensing her nurturing magick flowing over him, calming his fractious anger. "Until now, I deemed it a personal matter. I didn't feel the council needed the information, as at the time, it did not fringe upon national security. It does now."

Her gentle mind reached out, attempting to touch and soothe his turbulent spirit. He closed his eyes, resting a brief moment in the peace she generated before mentally jerking back with a curse. Giving a sharp shake of his head, he broke contact with the compassionate lady, unable to afford even one second of weakness. The fluctuation in his power continued to increase. His control deteriorated daily. "Stop stroking my aura, Selima. You weren't invited."

The mellow magicker spread her hands out, palm up. "I sense great upheaval in your heart and soul. I but seek to ease --"

"Butt out! I don't need you softening me up." His low growl rumbled through the room like static electricity. "Don't make me tell you again."

The dark menace in his voice would have made any other cringe, but it didn't surprise him to see Selima continue toward him, arms still outstretched. Before she could reach him, her husband drew her back, arrowing an admonishing glare toward the male upsetting his tenderhearted mate.

Antoiyn Grooden placed a comforting hand over his wife's while his other hand furtively sketched a powerful protection rune in the air. "She means no harm, Wylder."

Elias snorted, an imp of adversity temping him to burn a rune of his own into the air. He resisted, knowing the situation was already hot enough. "Stand down, Grooden. I mean her no harm." He enjoyed teasing the stuck-up, tight-assed older male, and a toothy grin curled his lips as he continued to bait the powerful mage. "As if any signing of yours could stop my magick if I were inclined to --"

"Oh, for the goddess' sake, Wylder, cut out all the dramatics and just tell us what happened with the girl. We put you in charge of seeing to her graduation exercises, and now no one can find a trace of her. It's as if she fell off the face of the earth. So, what did you do... kill her?"

Horrified silence cloaked the room's occupants in the aftermath of the daring outburst made by Westerner's mate, until the silence shattered under the bark of Wylder's involuntary laughter. Only Judith would actually come out and say something like that to me! How could I have ever fucked this mentally blonde airhead?

Oh, well, he reasoned a second later, chuckling and shaking his head, my cock didn't give a fuck about her absent thought processes...

His grudging amusement over her customary no-clue-ism gradually faded as his night-dark eyes touched on each of the mated pairs, noting with disdain how they had drawn back, distancing themselves from poor Judith and the anticipated backlash of his anger.

Wylder's black eyes flashed, a grimace drawing his mouth tight. "Look at you, presenting as small a target as possible, pretending you aren't frightened enough to piss yourselves." He taunted them, not bothering to hide his disgust at his fellow council members. "None save Selima and Judith have the courage to speak their minds, let alone meet my gaze." He snorted, mouth curling up in a mocking half smile when even the Elven pair -- next in power to him -- refused to acknowledge his derision. "Judith may not have enough sense to fill a thimble, but apparently she and Selima are the only ones in these chambers with any balls."

Like a caged beast, he paced the parquet floor, running agitated hands through his shoulder-length mass of dense, black hair. Turning on his audience, he shouted, "What has this council come to? Once, this body of rulers stood for something. Now all I see is a pathetic group of cowards. Is this all that remains of the mighty Council of Magick? Well, you need an infusion of new blood. You need me!"

"Not yet, we don't," Lemuel snapped, face distorted with a mix of jealousy, envy and fear. "You don't get to take control of this council until you are mated."

"Meanwhile," Grooden interrupted, smoothly bringing the conversation back on track, "you were telling us about Lady Maganistus --"

"No Lady until she receives her wand, Chairperson Grooden," someone reminded him.

"As for what happened with Lady Maganistus --" The emphasis on the title did not go unnoted by Wylder's listeners. "-- I supervised her graduation, which she passed with glowing expertise. I left her sleeping, recuperating from the rite. When I returned, I found she had escaped."

"Escaped? Why did she need to escape? She was a graduate, not a prisoner."

"What did she do... better yet, what did you do?"

The memory of what he had done made his cock, never totally quiescent since that long ago evening, swell to painful hardness. Wylder chose his words with care, his rebellious thoughts running in counterpoint. "In my judgment, she was too powerful to risk with just anyone, so I chose to personally supervise the ceremony." And I didn't want any Warlock's cock in her but mine!

 

About the Author

A funny thing happened on the way to the grave... In 2006, Cammy was diagnosed with Pulmonary Sarcoidosis and given two weeks to live. She promptly discharged herself AMA -- Against Medical Advice -- since, as she stubbornly informed her doctors, she could die at home far more comfortably than at the hospital. But then... she got an idea for a new story. Then another, and another...

Fifteen years and dozens of fantastic tales later, Cammy passed quietly in her sleep, at home, as was her wish. We miss her. Her work lives on, and we hold her in our hearts. Cammy decided many years ago that upon her passing, she wished to donate her royalties to The Quiet Kitty fund, which helps authors with emergency medical expenses. We do, to keep her in our hearts and minds.

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

 

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Patch Teaser #rabtbooktours

 

(Hades Abyss MC 16)

MC Romance / Age Gap

Date Published: October 23, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

She risked her future for my brother. I’ll risk everything for her.

Maren -- Treating a gunshot wound could cost me my license -- and career. I did it anyway. Saving a biker’s life was supposed to be one reckless decision. I never expected Patch -- the quiet, controlled man who brought him to me -- to become someone I could depend on. Then I discover someone has been using the veterinary clinic where I work for an illegal operation, putting everything I’ve worked for -- and possibly my life -- at risk. Patch says he’ll handle it. I’m beginning to understand exactly what that promise means. And I’m not sure I want to walk away.

Patch -- For twenty years, I’ve made sure my brothers come home alive. Then Freak takes a bullet, our doctor is gone, and my only option is a vet tech with steady hands and enough courage to risk everything to save him. Maren should have walked away from us afterward. Instead, I keep finding reasons to see her. Protect her. Make her problems mine. And when I discover someone has been using her clinic for something dangerous, there’s no question what happens next.

No one touches what’s mine.

WARNING: This book contains violence, gunshot wounds, kidnapping, organized crime, illegal activity, and medical emergencies. It also features an age-gap romance and sexual content. Intended for mature readers.

Excerpt

Copyright ©2026 Harley Wylde

Maren

The overheads in reception were already off. I’d hit the switch twenty minutes ago, same as every night. The front desk phone sat on the counter playing something low and instrumental that I’d stopped hearing half an hour back. The lobby chairs were pushed in. The magazines were stacked. The credit card terminal had been wiped down and the drawer emptied into the safe. Every surface clean. Every light off except the surgical suite.

I hauled the mop bucket through the door with one hand on the handle and the other braced against the frame. The wheels caught on the threshold. I lifted and rolled and it cleared. The bucket sloshed. Bleach and hot water at a ratio I could smell without measuring. Three parts to one. Maybe two and a half. My nose knew better than my measuring cup.

Stitch was asleep on the procedure table. Full extension. Orange belly up, three legs splayed, the missing left hind an absence so familiar I’d stopped noticing the shape of it. His one good ear was folded back against the vinyl. He didn’t open his eyes when I came in. He knew the sound of the wheels. He’d been sleeping there for six years in direct violation of every health code Gerry had ever been cited for and never fixed.

The latch on the supply cabinet needed a thumb on the bottom edge. I found it without looking. The cabinet swung open. I grabbed the bottle of disinfectant spray, set it on the counter, and closed the door with my hip. The spray bottle went into my left scrub pocket. Right pocket held a roll of gauze and a pair of shears.

The sink handle stuck. I jiggled it left, then right, then left again. The water came on cold. I filled Stitch’s ceramic dish to the rim and set it on the floor beside the table leg. He still didn’t move. The water would be there when he woke up. It always was.

The clinic was mine in this hour.

Gerry had left at four-thirty, after sorting out where his keys were. He’d said something about a dinner with his sister in town.

Tessa had clocked out at six sharp, her scrubs swapped for jeans and a sweatshirt. The building settled around me after hours. The fluorescent hum. The faint tick of the hot water heater through the wall. The smell of bleach and fur and the underlying note of something chemical that never quite aired out.

I moved through it without thinking. My hands knew where everything lived. The suture drawer was three inches left of the anesthetic cabinet. The saline bags hung on the far wall hook behind the scale. The crash cart sat where it had sat for six years, its contents arranged by size rather than use because that was how I’d found it and how I’d kept it. I could reach any of it in the dark. I had, twice, during power outages.

The supply levels ran in my head instead of on the clipboard. Two cases of 4-0 suture. Three boxes of exam gloves, large. One case of saline, half-empty. The drug drawer was locked. The key lived on the ring with the keys for the back door and the crash cart.

The lead technician credential hung on the wall behind the front desk.

Framed. My name in block letters. Maren Hale, CVT, Lead Technician. Six years in that frame. Six years in this building, working for a man who left at four-thirty. I could have moved. There were clinics in Springfield paying fifteen thousand more for the same credential. There were teaching hospitals in St. Louis that would have taken my hours and my recommendation letters and put me in a lab coat with somebody else’s name on the door.

I hadn’t moved.

There was a specialty credential I’d been eighty hours short of for two years. Emergency and critical care. The hours were free but getting them was another matter. Not to mention the exam fee, and the two days off work that ‘d need.

My grandmother’s memory care facility cost thirty-two hundred a month. The number hadn’t changed in two years. It wouldn’t change until she died. I wrote the check. Every time. What came after the check was mine. Usually about eight hundred dollars. Sometimes less. Enough for my bills and the occasional pair of scrubs when the elbows wore through.

I wasn’t unhappy.

I had a job I was good at. I had hands that didn’t shake. I had a cat on a procedure table who trusted me enough to sleep through a mop bucket three feet from his head. I had a grandmother who sometimes remembered my name when I visited on Sundays.

The mop handle was warm from my grip. I leaned it against the wall and sprayed the counter with disinfectant. The mist settled. I wiped it down with a paper towel I’d folded twice. The surface came up. No streaks. No residue. I tossed the towel and reached for the light switch.

The surgical suite went dark. Just the exit sign above the door throwing a dull red glow across the floor. Stitch had shifted in his sleep. One paw now draped over the edge of the table. His breathing was slow. Even. He slept like a man who knew exactly where he was.

I stood in the dark for a second. Let the quiet settle. The phone in reception had stopped playing. The building hummed. Somewhere out in the lot, a car passed on the county road. Headlights swept the front window and were gone.

This was enough. For right now, in this hour, with the floors clean and the supplies counted and the cat asleep on the table he wasn’t supposed to be on, it was exactly enough.

 

About the Author

Harley Wylde is an accomplished author known for her captivating MC Romances. With an unwavering commitment to sensual storytelling, Wylde immerses her readers in an exciting world of fierce men and irresistible women. Her works exude passion, danger, and gritty realism, while still managing to end on a satisfying note each time.

When not crafting her tales, Wylde spends her time brainstorming new plotlines, indulging in a hot cup of Starbucks, or delving into a good book. She has a particular affinity for supernatural horror literature and movies. Visit Wylde's website to learn more about her works and upcoming events, and don't forget to sign up for her newsletter to receive exclusive discounts and other exciting perks.

 

Author on Facebook, Instagram, & TikTok: @harleywylde

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

 

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The Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Release Blitz #rabtbooktours

 

One O'Clock Hustle, Two O'Clock Heist, Three O'Clock Séance

Romantic Suspense, Romantic Mystery

Date Published: October 20, 2026

Three mysteries. One reluctant partnership. And a dangerous attraction neither of them can ignore.

 

In One O’Clock Hustle, Richie Amalfi is accused of murder. Instead of fleeing, he turns to Rebecca Mayfield, a fiercely independent, by-the-book cop, for help. She soon discovers that solving the case may require her to bend a few rules—and that the charming man she’s determined not to trust may be the only person who can help her.

In Two O’Clock Heist, Rebecca finds herself investigating the murder of a friend. The only person willing—and able—to help her uncover the truth is the one man she most wants to avoid: Richie Amalfi.

Then, in Three O’Clock Séance, Rebecca and Richie face another dangerous mystery, one that takes them into the unsettling world of a séance—and deeper into a relationship neither of them quite knows how to handle.

 

The Inspector Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries combine gripping murder investigations, romantic suspense, and a slow-burning attraction between two very different people. Start with One O’Clock Hustle and discover why, once the clock strikes one, you may find it hard to stop.

 

 

About the Author

Joanne Pence is a USA Today bestselling author who has written mysteries, romantic suspense, contemporary romance, historical fiction, women’s fiction, fantasy, and thrillers. Her books take readers from the streets of San Francisco to the mountains of Idaho and across centuries of history, blending compelling characters with mystery, danger, romance, and the unexpected.

A longtime storyteller with a Master’s degree in Journalism from the University of California, Berkeley, Joanne has been writing professionally for many years. Her books have received numerous honors from major writing and publishing organizations.

Born and raised in northern California, Joanne now lives in Idaho, where she continues to write stories that offer readers a variety of times, places, and unforgettable characters.

 

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Not Done Yet Teaser #rabtbooktours

 

The Magical Run of the College Team That Lost Its School

Nonfiction; Sports, Baseball

Date Published: 11-17-2026

Publisher: Mission Point Press

In the spring of 2024, Birmingham-Southern College’s baseball team learned that their 170-year-old school would close before their season ended. Rather than surrender to disappointment, Head Coach Jan Weisberg and his players rallied around the program’s culture of playing for the person beside them. Amid uncertainty, grief, and growing national attention, the young team mounted a remarkable final run built on resilience, brotherhood, leadership, and purpose. More than a baseball story, Not Done Yet explores how people respond when the future they expected disappears—and what it means to finish with integrity when everything around you is ending.

Excerpt

The rise and ultimate fall of Birmingham-Southern College, a small liberal arts school on a hilltop in Birmingham, has a history that mirrors the fortunes and struggles of the United States since the mid-nineteenth century. In 1859, Alabama Southern University opened its doors in Greensboro but nearly closed them two years later when most of its all-male student body left to fight in the Civil War. By 1866, the student body had dwindled to twenty-eight. The school quickly rebounded, however, and in 1889, the graduating class numbered 289 students, including the first woman graduate.

In 1898, another Methodist school, Birmingham College, was established less than a hundred miles away. The new college was perched on a hill near the western edge of the rapidly growing city of Birmingham. After the Civil War, the two cities were a study in contrasts. While Greensboro was still largely dependent on cotton, Birmingham had made the smart move to steel, and its booming economy led to its nickname: “The Magic City.” By 1918, it was clear that two Methodist colleges this close together would be unsustainable. The answer: merge the two and call the new school Birmingham-Southern College.

The merger solved an immediate problem, and BSC thrived—for a while—but faced a devastating enrollment drop during World War I. The college hung on during the Great Depression but lost most of its male students and faculty during World War II. Two decades later, the Civil Rights Era brought new challenges. BSC became an early supporter of the movement, enrolling its first Black students in 1965, and continued to embrace diversity as a core part of its mission.

 

About the Author

 

 Brian Nelson is a lifelong baseball fan, former player, and dedicated coach whose love for the game spans generations. A pitcher at the University of California, Santa Barbara in the 1980s, he later coached his three sons and their teammates through Little League, high school, and college. Drawing inspiration from a deeply literary family—especially his grandfather and mother—Nelson brings an analyst's brain, a storyteller’s heart, and impressive baseball knowledge to his writing. After a multi-decade career in finance, he has returned to his earliest passion to tell this story. This is his first book.

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Foster Freddy Wants a Family Book Blitz #rabtbooktours

Juvenile Chapter Book

Date Published: September 7, 202

Foster Freddy Wants a Family is a heartfelt true story about resilience, second chances, and the journey to finding a forever home.

Freddy is a spirited rescue dog with a big personality and an even bigger heart. Though he can be stubborn, bossy, and sometimes a bit of a troublemaker, his playful nature and determination shine through—even as he faces serious medical challenges, including multiple surgeries.

Through three foster homes and nearly three years of waiting, Freddy’s journey is filled with ups and downs, laughter and tears, and the unwavering hope of belonging. His story offers a meaningful look at the realities of fostering, the patience it requires, and the profound impact of love and care.

This inspiring and emotional story reminds readers that every animal deserves a chance—and that sometimes the most challenging journeys lead to the most rewarding endings.

About the Author

Christina J. Donato is an author with a background in creative writing, political science, and sociology. Raised on Long Island, New York, she later relocated to New England, where she built a career as a mainframe programmer.

Now based in Rhode Island, she shares her home with her husband and their dog, Nera.

Ms. Donato enjoys word puzzles, black-and-white movies, anything Beatles-related, being active in her church, practicing the frame drum, and hosting doggy playdates with Nera.

Her love of animals and deep appreciation for poetry and storytelling come together in her writing, where she highlights meaningful, real-life experiences with warmth and authenticity.

 

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Almost There Release Blitz #rabtbooktours

  

A Collection Inspired by True Stories of the Jewish Immigrant Experience

Historical Fiction

Publisher: Acorn Publishing

Almost There offers an intimate, emotionally resonant portrait of the Jewish immigrant experience in early twentieth-century America. This collection of linked short stories follows individuals who faced the uncertainty of a new land, summoned the courage to navigate unfamiliar cultures, and endured the antisemitism that shaped their world.

While fictionalized, these narratives were inspired by interviews with Americans who shared memories of their immigrant ancestors. Their stories unfold against the backdrop of sweeping historical events, such as the Great Depression, World War II, the Holocaust, and the founding of the State of Israel.

Poignant and powerful, Almost There illuminates a pivotal chapter in American history and speaks to the timeless search for belonging, identity, and home.

 

About the Author

 

 Award-winning writer Jean Seager graduated from the University of California, Berkeley, and received two graduate degrees from San Diego State University. Her writing has appeared in the

literary publications Mikrokosmos and The Long Story. In 2018, her story “The Award” won second place in the San Diego Public Library’s short story contest.

A granddaughter of Jewish immigrants who came to America from eastern Europe in the early twentieth century, Jean was fascinated by her mother’s stories of growing up as a second-generation immigrant in Tennessee’s tobacco country. The Jewish immigrant experience continued to intrigue her and became the catalyst for her writing.

Jean is a native Californian and long-time resident of Coronado, a suburb of San Diego, where she lives with her husband Bill.

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