Today we have the blog tour for Dead & Buried by Jennifer Rebecca! Check it out and be sure to grab your copy today:
Title: Dead & Buried
Author: Rebecca Jennifer
Genre: Contemporary Romance
About Dead & Buried:
You ever hear the phrase, about as successful as a soup sandwich? Well, that's me, I’m the soup sandwich, but instead of a soggy mess, you have a twenty five year old with a Bachelor’s degree in nothing useful who just quit her job at the local home improvement store where there were definitely no tortured billionaires looking to tie anyone up--and that's not a bad thing. I know, it's looking pretty sad right about now, but at least I don't still live with my parents… So, here I am, embarking on a new journey covering the Funerals and Obituaries section of the local paper, the San Diego Metro News, for the editor--brace yourself--my uncle, Sal. Unfortunately, while my parents are on vacation, my Granny and her friends are determined to stir up some trouble--but this time, they may have bitten off more than they can chew--especially when some of the residents of the local retirement community are turning up unnaturally dead. There is nothing that will keep me from protecting the people that I love, no matter how crazy they may be--not even the sexy, I mean stubborn, homicide detective, Trent Foyle, can stop me. My name is Shelby Whitmore and I'm kind of the newest reporter for the San Diego Metro News, but hey, I'm a hit with the blue hairs.
Amazon | iBooks | NOOK | KOBO
About the Author:
Jennifer is a thirty something lover of words, all words: the written, the spoken, the sung (even poorly), the sweet, the funny, and even the four letter variety. She is a native of San Diego, California where she grew up reading the Brownings and Rebecca with her mother and Clifford and the Dog who Glowed in the Dark with her dad, much to her mother’s dismay. Jennifer is a graduate of California State University San Marcos where she studied Criminology and Justice Studies. She is also an Alpha Xi Delta. 10 years ago, she was swept off her feet by her very own sailor. Today, they are happily married and the parents of a 8 year old and 6 year old twins. She can often be found in East Texas on the soccer fields, drawing with her children, or reading. Jennifer is convinced that if she puts her fitbit on one of the dogs, she might finally make her step goals. She loves a great romance, an alpha hero, and lots and lots of laughter.
www.JenniferRebeccaAuthor.com
JenniferRebeccaAuthor@gmail.com
facebook.com/JenniferRebeccaAuthor
Twitter: @JenniRLreads
Instagram: @JenniRLreads
Enter Jennifer’s Giveaway:
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Click to set custom HTML
Today, I am a published author. Today, all of my dreams come true. Not too many, but some moons ago, my mom told me that being a literature and writing major was about as useful as a four-year degree in philosophy or underwater basket weaving. But I was sold.
I had fallen in love with Keats and Shelley, Shakespeare, and the Brownings, and of course Nora Roberts and E.L. James, too. Since then I have wanted nothing but to be a writer. It’s my life’s goal. Now not the White House–visiting, Nobel Prize–winning, Great American Novel–writing kind, but the bodice-ripping, Fabio-covering, down-and-dirty-but-with-a-happily-ever-after kind.
I haven’t just been twiddling my thumbs since I graduated; I have been doing my romance-writing research, obviously. I’ve been reading as many romance books as I can. Writing as much as I can. And selling kitchen cabinet hardware at Home Depot like a boss. Hey, a girl’s gotta eat.
And I can sell the shit out of some kitchen cabinets. And cut keys and thread pipe. All while hoping I would meet a shirtless contractor swinging some serious lead pipe. And maybe inspire a few books.
Sadly, that only happened in my head, but it was a recurring, long-standing affair with no one real. Well . . . there was this one guy and he was wearing a shirt, but after some quality flirting and a seriously white smile, I never saw him again. But I digress.
Today, I am a published author. Actually, I haven’t published a book. Yet. I wrote a dandy little ditty for the San Diego Metro News. That’s right I am a journalist. Not the roasting-in-Afghanistan-with-the-troops or hanging-out-in-Compton kinds, either. I’m not Anderson Cooper, after all. Today, I am a published author . . . in the Funerals and Obituaries section. But hey, I’m a hit with the blue hairs. Today, I am the newest reporter for the San Diego Metro newspaper. Sort of.
I had fallen in love with Keats and Shelley, Shakespeare, and the Brownings, and of course Nora Roberts and E.L. James, too. Since then I have wanted nothing but to be a writer. It’s my life’s goal. Now not the White House–visiting, Nobel Prize–winning, Great American Novel–writing kind, but the bodice-ripping, Fabio-covering, down-and-dirty-but-with-a-happily-ever-after kind.
I haven’t just been twiddling my thumbs since I graduated; I have been doing my romance-writing research, obviously. I’ve been reading as many romance books as I can. Writing as much as I can. And selling kitchen cabinet hardware at Home Depot like a boss. Hey, a girl’s gotta eat.
And I can sell the shit out of some kitchen cabinets. And cut keys and thread pipe. All while hoping I would meet a shirtless contractor swinging some serious lead pipe. And maybe inspire a few books.
Sadly, that only happened in my head, but it was a recurring, long-standing affair with no one real. Well . . . there was this one guy and he was wearing a shirt, but after some quality flirting and a seriously white smile, I never saw him again. But I digress.
Today, I am a published author. Actually, I haven’t published a book. Yet. I wrote a dandy little ditty for the San Diego Metro News. That’s right I am a journalist. Not the roasting-in-Afghanistan-with-the-troops or hanging-out-in-Compton kinds, either. I’m not Anderson Cooper, after all. Today, I am a published author . . . in the Funerals and Obituaries section. But hey, I’m a hit with the blue hairs. Today, I am the newest reporter for the San Diego Metro newspaper. Sort of.
