Thursday, February 11, 2016

Enchanted Book Promotions ~ A Hard Days Night by Anastasia Winters and Greg Godek



About the Book
Title: A Hard Days Night
Authors: Anastasia Winters and Greg Godek
Genre: Romance

Author Bios
Anastasia Winters
I’ve been a writer of romances for twenty-nine years, but an author (meaning published) for, um, one month. I wrote my first romance in First Grade (“The True Story of Cinderella and Anastasia”), then wrote about a million pages of an unknown number of romance stories before I (and my writing partner) penned A Hard Days Night—this, my first published romance novel. OMG!
Somehow it turned out to be an erotic romance, so please don’t tell my mother.
But I do have my mother to thank for introducing me (unbeknownst to her) to the wondrous world of romances. I somehow stumbled upon her copy of Love’s Wild Desire—Jennifer Blake’s 406-page exploration of unbidden ecstasy—in the back of her closet, behind the shoeboxes, under the magazines—when I was eight. I didn’t know what was going on most of the time in that novel, but I did know that I was intrigued, baffled and thoroughly hooked (I didn’t yet know what it meant to be “turned on”!) I spent the next sixteen years as a closet reader of romances. Sixteen years! My English professors and my fellow students would have been aghast if they had known I read those “trashy” books. It was my guilty pleasure.
I came out when I was twenty-four. (I happened to watch the films The Bridges of Madison County and The Notebook within two days of each other), and—in a blinding flash of the obvious—I realized that these tremendous romances had managed to cross over into the mainstream of American culture. My insight: Romances didn’t deserve to be labeled as “trashy”! It’s then that I went public. And despite my trepidation the world didn’t end, my cat didn’t leave me, and my reputation suffered not at all.) So there you go.
I still can’t believe that I’m the writing partner of Greg Godek. (He’s a bestseller! He’s been on Oprah! OMG!) He and I have an amazing working relationship, and as a male-female writing team we seem to be nearly unique.
I have a pretty good imagination, but I can’t imagine you’d want to read any more about me at this point. How about if, instead, you read my next romance novel. And the next and the next and the next and the next. Just a thought.

Greg Godek
I’ve been writing relationship books (advice for real life romances) for twenty years, and writing romances for a three. Back in the roaring 90s I wrote and published 1001 Ways to be Romantic. The stars must have been aligned because I sold three million copies. Somewhere along the line I lost my mind and decided it was a good idea to undertake the biggest booksigning tour in the history of publishing: Two years spent criss-crossing America aboard a custom 36-foot RV, visiting 43 states and 189 bookstores.
Along the way I was invited to appear on Oprah, Donahue, The Today Show and Good Morning America; my advice and antics have appeared in The Sunday New York Times, The Boston Globe, Cosmo, Playboy, Reader’s Digest and (honest to god) The National Enquirer.
The genesis of 1001 Ways to be Romantic is too long a story to relate here, but the highlights are…teaching romance seminars for ten years before sitting down to write the book…and a longstanding fascination with the complex relationship between fictional romance and real life romance.
I feel honored to be welcomed into the community of romance writers. As one of the few males in the sorority I’m both an insider and an outsider, and I’m experiencing what it’s like to be a minority. (Hmmm, sounds like the plot for a romance novel!)
I’m also lucky to have met my co-author Anastasia Winters. (Now that’s a crazy story! For another time.) Anastasia and I are currently writing the sequels to A Hard Days Night and we’re toying with ideas for some erotic romance for men. Look out below!

Links
Follow them on Facebook
Follow them on Twitter
Follow them on Pinterest

Follow them on Instagram

Excerpt
Maxwell and Abbey looked down from the rafters and watched the frantic female fans running this way and that. Abbey imagined what might happen if the gaggle of groupies spotted them. “What would they do to me? Ignore me? Beat me up? Shove me aside? Stomp on me with their heels? I can see myself on the cover of The National Enquirer—face gashed, two black eyes, disheveled hair with a stunned, wide-eyed look on my face. The headline: ’Unknown Woman Nearly Killed in Mob of Mad Maxwell Groupies.’ The photo caption: ’Mystery woman nearly left for dead after a backstage stampede of frantic women chased Maxwell.’ And ’She was way out of her league,’ commented one busty blonde.”
Abbey looked around at their precarious perch. The catwalk hung in open space above the stage like a strand of a spider’s web. “We’re so exposed!” she thought.
She whispered to Maxwell, “They’ll easily see us if they look up!” She shuddered at the thought of it.
Maxwell shook his head confidently. “Those stage lights over there are shining down on them. If they look up, the glare will blind them. And anyway, we’re in the shadows.” He smiled.
“He is so confident!” Abbey thought. “He just exudes it. I’ve never been in the presence of anyone so confident.” And then as an afterthought, “It’s so sexy!”
They sat quietly together as the gals skittered this way and that below them. Their breath slowed.
Abbey felt as though she were in a movie…A series of black-and-white images flashed through her mind…crowds of girls running…screaming…rock stars running for their lives. She turned her head just as Maxwell turned toward her…and simultaneously they both whispered, “A Hard Day’s Night!” And they nearly fell over laughing—and tried to muffle the sound with their hands clapped tightly over their mouths.
They huddled together in the dark, waiting out the storm. They looked at each other and grinned. The silence stretched on, and Abbey felt surprisingly at ease. Well, it was an ease with an undercurrent of electricity.
She didn’t want to ask. She thought, “I don’t want to appear insecure.” But she couldn’t help herself. She turned toward him and whispered, “Why me?”

No comments:

Post a Comment