Compromised by Design – #HistoricalRomance #GuestBlogger #Giveaway

This sounds like such a fun book! Where did you get the initial idea? ~ Lisabet

To tell the truth, I got the initial idea from a short story I’d just written for a writing contest for the Hampton Roads Writers’ conference. The short story involved a young lady who was bound and determined to marry a gentleman that she met once and fell in love with, but for whom her father had a great dislike. So to get her own way, she arranged for the gentleman to sneak into her bedroom and compromise her so that her father would have to let them marry.

Sound familiar?

But as I was writing the short story, I got one of those “what if” moments. What if the lady tried to get herself compromised, but she sneaked into the gentleman’s room, got compromised, then discovered it was the wrong man? I was so enthusiastic about the idea that as soon as the short story was done, I started writing As Long As You’re Mine.

Mind you, the title is one of the few things that’s remained the same through draft after draft of this book, as is the name of the hero, Rafael Beauregard. But the heroine’s name and a lot of her character have changed over the years. I began writing this book in 2012, but after initial queries got me nowhere, I went on to other books over the years. But I’ve always thought about ALAYM and have had a real fondness for the work.

So much so that after the past year, when I broke my shoulder and couldn’t write at all for more than six months, I thought about ALAYM. It was a perfectly good romance—well, not perfect as my editor pointed out in a very long conversation about what I needed to do to fix it—but my shoulder was better, I could write for short stretches at least, and the book was already written for all intents and purposes. All I had to do was edit it.

And because I wanted to have at least one book published within the year, I brushed it off, took all my editor’s advice, and finally published As Long As You’re Mine on March 31 of this year. Don’t you love it when a wild and crazy idea turns out to be a good one also?

Blurb

A scandalous mistake…or a wicked way to happiness?

Hoping to compromise herself, Lady Amantha Easton sneaks into the bedroom of her would-be suitor only to find a total stranger there—a totally handsome, charming stranger to be sure—but not at all the man she plans to marry. She leaves his room with her reputation intact—barely—only to fall victim to the gentleman’s charms in a public place. Now Amantha must face the fate she’s tried to avoid—marriage to a man who will never love her.

All Rafael Beauregard wanted was a warm bed and a good night’s sleep…but what he got was an unexpected romp with a beautiful vixen and a fiery kiss that left him wanting more. An excellent trade, except now he’s got to marry Lady Amantha, one of the most willful women he’s ever met. So Rafe’s challenge is to persuade her that marriage to him might be the best thing for them both…once he convinces himself.

Excerpt

“Oh, Raif!” She could scarcely breathe now. “That…feels…so good.”

“I thought it might. You’re awful sweet.” His low, sleepy voice sounded odd under the covers. On the verge of asking if he was well, she lost the thought when he lifted his head from her breast and crushed his lips to hers.

All else forgotten, she wouldn’t have cared if the house burned down around them. His lips were hot, insistent. Then he plied the seam with his tongue, softly urged it to part for him. She had no desire to resist and soon he had buried his tongue deep in her mouth. A tentative stroke of her own brought a growl of encouragement, and she abandoned herself to explore his willing mouth. She did things she’d never dreamed she’d do, with Raif or anyone else. And she only wanted more. “Oh, Raif. I never thought it could be like this.”

He chuckled. “How soon you forget, Jenny.”

“Jenny?” Amantha froze, her blood turning to ice in her veins. “Who’s Jenny?” Sudden anger lit a fire in her, and she pushed him away. “How many women were you expecting in your bed tonight, Raif?”

“What?” The sleepiness had flown from his voice. “You’re not Jenny?”

“You expected me to be?” This was a nightmare. They weren’t even married and Raif was being unfaithful to her.

“I didn’t expect anyone in my bed.” He threw off the covers and fumbled at the bedside table.

“What do you mean you didn’t expect me? We had planned this, Raif.” What the devil was the man playing at?

“We?” A match flared as he lit the lamp, the sudden light after the darkness almost blinding her. She put her hand up to shield her eyes.

“What do you mean, we?” He sat up in the bed, rubbing his eyes. “Who are you, sweetheart?”

The voice, now unmuffled, certainly did not have the superior tone of Raiford Tolbert. Slowly Amantha lowered her hand to find a man with dark hair she’d never seen before peering at her.

Dear God, what had she done?

About the Author

Jenna Jaxon is a best-selling author of historical romance, writing in a variety of time periods because she believes that passion is timeless. She has been reading and writing historical romance since she was a teenager. A romantic herself, Jenna has always loved a dark side to the genre, a twist, suspense, a surprise. She tries to incorporate all these elements into her own stories.

She lives in Virginia with her family and a small menagerie of pets--including Olive, an almost silent cat, Earl Grey, a very curious bunny, and a Shar-pei mix dog named Frenchie.

Blog: http://www.jennajaxon.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jenna.jaxon

Instagram: @passionistimeless

Bluesky: jennajaxon1.bsky.social

Threads: https://www.threads.net/@passionistimeless

TicTok: @jennajaxon1

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/jenna-jaxon

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Jenna-Jaxon/author/B005CHPBD2

Twitter/X: @1jennajaxon

Book Amazon Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GS54DPYB/ref=sr_1_2

Jenna Jaxon will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner.

 

You never forget your first – #FirstNovel #Inspiration #MFRWHooks

First novels are products of passion. No one pushes life aside and sits down to generate thousands of words of prose without deeply personal reasons. While many first-time authors deliberately weave auto-biographical elements into their books, rookie novelists who pen stories intended as pure fiction also tend to reveal more about themselves than they’d planned.

We write about what excites us, what moves us, what matters. First novels often have a level of authenticity lacking in more polished work. Passion compensates for failings in craft due to our inexperience.

I began Raw Silk on a whim, but it quickly became an obsession. The immediate inspiration was Portia da Costa’s Black Lace title Gemini Heat, which I found on the book swap shelf in an Istanbul hotel in 1998. In those days, the Black Lace imprint advertised itself as “erotic fiction for women, by women”. As I closed the cover of Gemini Heat after my second re-reading, my heart still pounding from arousal, I wondered whether I could write something in a similar vein, capturing the intensity and joy of my own sexual awakenings. If I did, might Black Lace publish it?

Breathless with excitement, I pounded out the first three chapters of Raw Silk in a couple of weeks and sent them off via air mail to the Black Lace editor in London. Then I let go of the outcome, returning my attention to the other aspects of my life—marriage, job, friends, and so on. I received a formulaic post card from the publisher a few weeks later, advising me that my submission had been received and cautioning me that due to the large number of manuscripts to be vetted, I might not hear from them again for several months. I shrugged, not having expected more.

Two days later I got an email from the Black Lace editor, offering me a contract for an 80K word novel.

My first reaction was astonishment, my second panic. What did I know about writing a novel? Then I re-read my first three chapters, and passion took over. The story of Kate’s erotic odyssey in the exotic City of Angels poured out of me onto the page, almost without effort. I finished the initial draft in a matter of weeks, producing thousands of words with barely any revisions.

The first edition of Raw Silk was released by Black Lace in January 1999. The book has since been reprinted by several other publishers including Blue Moon Books and Totally Bound. Over the years, through multiple editing rounds, I’ve managed to smooth some of rough edges off my original amateurish prose. With each edition, too, I’ve deepened the romance elements, at least partially due to changes in the market. (Even Black Lace rebranded itself as a romance imprint.) The current edition is in many ways a typical erotic romance, chronicling the development of a committed relationship and offering a happy ending. Indeed, the bonus chapter included in the latest edition serves up a wedding!

Still, as Kate struggles to understand and accept her own desires through experiences with multiple partners of both sexes, the focus is as much on the journey as on the happily-ever-after. At the same time, she learns that love and lust are not easily separable, one of the most profound lessons in my own life. Depending on your inclinations and disposition, you might categorize the book as romantic erotica or erotic romance.

My personal view? The category doesn’t matter. Read the book for what it is, the very first of the fifteen full-length novels I’ve produced so far: intensely emotional, exuberantly sensual, and despite its explicitness, somehow innocent.

First novels are acts of love.

If you’re curious, the book is currently on sale, discounted from the usual price of $5.99 to only 99 cents. I hope you’ll check it out.

Blurb

In a foreign land, a woman discovers exotic new realms of the senses.

“You were born to this. You may not understand, yet. You may not believe. But I will teach you.”

When software engineer Kate O’Neill leaves her lover David to take a job in Thailand, she embarks on a sensual journey that will change her forever.

In the glittering City of Angels, Kate becomes sexually involved with two very different men—a handsome and debauched member of the Thai aristocracy, and the charismatic, dominant proprietor of a sex bar. With Anand Rajchitraprasong, she discovers her own almost unlimited capacity for erotic pleasure. Meanwhile, Gregory Marshall shows her what she has hidden from herself: a deep desire to submit, to surrender herself body and soul to someone with the power and compassion to master her.

The Hook

It was already past seven o’clock in the evening when she arrived back at her house in Bangkok. Ae had left for the day. Kate found a note, in the maid’s childish block-printed English.

Mr. Marshall call 3 o’clock. Please call him 02 243 0657

She felt a rush of pleasure. Gregory had never telephoned her before. Still, she was annoyed to note that her heart was pounding and her mouth dry with nervousness as she dialed the number and listened to the repeated rings.

She was almost ready to hang up when he answered. “Hello. Marshall here.”

“Gregory, it’s me. Kate.”

“Kate!” She heard warmth in his voice, and relief. “Where have you been? I was concerned about you.”

“I had to get away, away by myself to think. The time at the hotel was so—intense. And confusing. I needed to sort things out.”

“I understand.” The voice on the other end of the line was uncharacteristically gentle. “I pushed you hard the other night. Maybe too hard. It seems to come so naturally with you that I forget your inexperience.”

“No,” she answered, almost whispering. “It wasn’t too hard. I see a little more clearly now, how it is between you and me. I see myself more clearly.”

“Ah, Kate! You have so much to learn! If you still want this, of course.”

“I do want it. I want you.” She found herself blushing at her forwardness.

“And I want you, Kate, in ways you probably cannot begin to imagine.”

She recalled her night of lurid fantasy as he paused.

“Or maybe you can. Still,” he continued, “I think I will give you some time to recover. And next time, perhaps, offer a lesson that is less physical.”

Kate felt a stab of disappointment.

“Don’t worry,” Gregory laughed, as if he had read her thoughts. “You won’t find it easy. So, how about next Saturday night?” he asked. “Will you make yourself available?”

“Of course,” Kate answered, thinking that it would be a long week.

“I will send you instructions. I will expect you to obey.”

Kate was silent, wondering what new indignities he would contrive for her.

“Till then, Kate, be well.” His liquid voice was like a caress. “Goodnight, my eager little slave.”

Buy Links

Ebook is only 99 cents until May 9^th! (Regular price $5.99)

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/Raw-Silk-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B0DF6Q2S2B

Amazon CA:https://www.amazon.ca/Raw-Silk-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B0DF6Q2S2B

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Raw-Silk-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B0DF6Q2S2B

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1611408

Paperback (Amazon): https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DKJ2PW92

Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/218068923-raw-silk

Add on Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/raw-silk-by-lisabet-sarai-2024-09-01

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks!

Charity Sunday: Protecting the children - #Immigration #LegalAid #CharitySunday

I just returned home from a ten-day vacation, only to realize that today is the last Sunday in April! So unfortunately I did not have the opportunity to create a sign-up list for other authors who might have wanted to participate in the April Charity Sunday blog hop. Next month, I promise!

Meanwhile, Charity Sunday stalwart Dee S. Knight emailed me to ask whether I’d forgotten to post the list! Please visit her Charity Sunday post here: https://www.nomadauthors.com/blog/2026/04/25/charity-sunday-travis-manion-foundation/

For today’s event, I am showcasing KIND – Kids In Need of Defense (https://supportkind.org). Worldwide, and especially in the U.S., immigrants and refugees are facing unprecedented scrutiny and draconian, sometimes violent or inhumane, enforcement. Children suffer more than anyone, not only from the physical rigors of detention but also from the psychological and emotional impact of being separated from their families. The latter can create life-long trauma that will prevent these kids from leading peaceful and productive lives.

KIND has a highly-focused mission: to protect and support unaccompanied migrant children. The organization provides pro bono legal representation for youth faced with the complexities of immigration law; social services to help children integrate into a foreign culture; policy initiatives to advocate for more sane and compassionate immigration legislation; and international awareness campaigns to highlight the problems of unaccompanied children worldwide.

Please visit KIND’s website to learn more about their work. For April’s Charity Sunday, I will donate two dollars for each comment I receive on this post. Note that the post will remain open for comments until May’s Charity Sunday.

For my excerpt, I’m sharing a bit from my story Divided We Fall. I wrote this in 2017, shortly after Trump’s first election victory. The story presents a world in which inter-group hostilities are deliberately fostered in order to undermine organized resistance. This trend has indeed come to pass.

Things are much worse than I ever imagined.

Do what you can. Leave a comment. Share this post. Practice compassion.

Excerpt

Please note that this excerpt contains racial slurs. This is deliberate in order to portray the hostility between the characters.

There are no walls. Just IEDs, trip-wire bombs and snipers. We’ve learned a few things from the jihadis.

The Santa Anas whip at the white rag attached to my broom handle as I cross Vermont. No-man’s land. Black hair tangles in my eyes, obscuring my vision. I should chop it all off, maybe even shave my head. That would be safer. Would look scarier, too. Pathetic how vanity survives, even in the most desperate situations.

Afternoon shadows stripe the broken pavement. The only vehicles visible are burned-out skeletons, picked clean by scavengers from both barrios. I dart from one to the next, keeping a good distance away from the blackened hulks while still trying to use them for cover as I approach the Niggertown gate. Any one of them could be booby-trapped, though that would break the unwritten rules that have allowed us Viets to co-exist with the niggers. So far at least.

I don’t want to be here. I’ve got no confidence my truce flag will buy me any kind of safety. But what can I do? My little brother’s disappeared, last seen headed toward the black ghetto. We searched every corner of Viet Village. Unless he’s deliberately hiding―not likely given his age and his usual good behavior― he must have wandered outside the bounds.

The many kinds of harm he might meet scroll through my mind like credits for some old movie. I force myself to slow down as I approach the West Century intersection, the only un-mined street leading east into Niggertown. Gripping my flag in one hand, I raise the other high to show I’m unarmed. It’s true, aside from the switchblade hidden my boot. I don’t step out of the abandoned grocery my family calls home without that knife. When I sleep, it hangs from cord around my neck, nestled between my breasts. Older Brother calls me Blade-Heart. He thinks it’s a joke, but his nickname suits me. I might ask Uncle Pham to tattoo it on my bicep.

“Freeze, bitch.”

I’m expecting the challenge, but still, my stomach does a queasy flip. I remain motionless, as instructed, keeping both hands visible. A tall, lean figure steps out from behind some pollution-rusted shrubbery in front of a ruined apartment building. He carries his Kalashnikov like it’s another limb, one which he points directly at me. Funny how there’s never enough food, but no problem getting guns.

“What you doin’ here? This ain’t your territory. You get your gook ass back ‘cross the street before I kick it back!”

Though the guard talks tough, I can see he’s young, maybe younger than I am. He fixes me with a belligerent glare and brandishes his weapon like he’d just as soon shoot me as not, but there’s a softness to his mouth that lets me imagine him smiling. Using his left hand to draw an ugly blade from his belt, he strides in my direction.

He wears threadbare jeans and a faded camouflage shirt, open to the waist. The inky skin on his bare chest gleams with sweat, despite the brisk wind. The paler flesh of a scar slashes across his chest, just above his left nipple. That must have been a dire wound, close to fatal. He might be young, but he’s no stranger to battle. None of us is, these days.

Please leave a comment – for the children who are our collective future. And do visit Dee’s post!

On Vacation!

Image by Peter Olexa from Pixabay

Hello, Readers! I’m off in the tropics this week, enjoying some well-deserved R&R. I’ll be back next week.

Meanwhile, if you’re looking for something new to read, check out my Books page:

https://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html

You can search by genre, by length, by series… or if you need inspiration, just click the button labeled “Surprise Me!”.

You can also browse my extensive set of free erotic and romantic reads at https://www.lisabetsarai.com/freereads.html

See you next week!

Only a man, beaten down by sorrow — #PNR #EroticRomance #MFRWHooks

For today’s MFRW Book Hooks blog hop, I’ve got a bit from my short paranormal erotic romance Hot Spell. My hero, Aidan, has a dangerous gift. He can control fire – kindle it and suppress it. But he has discovered through a terrible accident that if he gives in to desire, his partner will suffer the consequences and be burned to a crisp.

Blurb

The flames of passion are more than metaphor

Comfortable and at home in nature, Sylvie doesn't mind being alone in the wilderness. But she's not the only being haunting the glades and the trails. The stranger she encounters bathing in the stream near her camp obviously wants her, but refuses to act on his desire. Aidan is cursed with a power he fears will destroy her if they surrender to their passion. Can Sylvie refrain from tempting him?

The Hook

“How did you find out?”

Sylvie and Aidan sat opposite one another, across a table littered with dirty dishes. The meal had been more substantial and appealing than Aidan had promised. He’d augmented the chili with wholegrain bread, chocolate chip cookies and red wine from a box on the shelf above the stove. Sylvie was full as well as a bit tipsy.

“More wine?” Aidan seemed to ignore her question.

“No, thanks, I’ve had more than enough. But tell me—please. I’ve never heard of a Fire Elemental.”

Aidan leant back in his chair and sighed. “All the time I was growing up, I felt…different. There were things I could do… At the same time, I was limited in some ways. I couldn’t read books unless I wore leather gloves. Otherwise, the paper would char. I couldn’t swim. Even with my head above water, I couldn’t really breathe. I was an only child. My mom died when I was born and my dad… Well, I guess at some level he blamed me. Anyway, I lived a pretty solitary life until I met Alisa.”

He trailed off, obviously beset by painful memories.

“I’m sorry. Forget I asked. I should mind my own business.”

“No, no—you should know. I want you to know.” He squared his shoulders and leant forwards, skewering her with his gaze. Sylvie felt naked. No, she wished she was. “After—the accident—after Alisa was gone—I was pretty insane for a while. I ran off into the wilderness. I didn’t care what happened to me. That’s when I discovered I could start a fire with a simple effort of will. I learned that I had other talents, too. I could fly, or something close, riding the wind to go where I pleased.”

Excitement skittered down Sylvie’s spine. “That first night, at the creek, you disappeared…”

Aidan nodded. “I knew I had to get out of there. I wanted you way too much for safety. Anyway, I woke one dawn, curled under a tree, to discover that the forest was blazing around me. I hadn’t started this fire. It was probably a lightning strike. Somehow I knew that I could stop it if I wanted to. All I had to do was control my breathing and concentrate. Within minutes, the flames dwindled and died away.”

“That’s when you decided to become a warden and a fire fighter.” Sylvie could see the logic behind his choices, even though they hadn’t really healed him.

“Right. When I returned to civilization, I did some research. It turns out that Elementals—creatures who embody and control the forces of nature—feature in the mythology of quite a few Native American tribes. Not just Fire Elementals, either. That’s how Native Americans explained the upheavals and disasters that afflicted them. Floods, windstorms, landslides, earthquakes—these were the deeds of dissatisfied beings who controlled water, air or earth. Elementals are a bit like the Greek or the Norse gods—personifications of natural phenomena. But it appears that Elementals are real.”

He slumped back into his chair as if the tale had sapped his strength. Despite his stature and his poise, his handsome, rugged features and powerful body, he didn’t look like a god. Sylvie saw only a man, beaten down by sorrow and guilt, weary from the effort of suppressing his basic needs.

Find all the buy links at https://www.lisabetsarai.com/hotspellbook.html

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks hop!

Review Tuesday: The Induction of Satine by JL Peridot -- #SciFi #Erotica #ReviewTuesday

The Induction of Satine by JL Peridot

Muscoca Media, 2017

Satine Luna doesn’t believe the rumors about off-world prisons for people caught misbehaving on the main planet. Then she’s arrested for theft, hustled into a transport, swept off to a bleak installation on one of the moons and delivered into the hands of Warden Jet. The warden treats her with surprising respect, even as he strips her of autonomy and dignity. Expecting brutality and painful discipline, Satine is initially confused. As the process of her induction continues, she finds that desire is not incompatible with punishment.

I’ve been aware of J.L. Peridot’s work for many years, since we were both active during the golden age of literary erotica in the first decade of the twenty first century. I’ve always found her prose supremely arousing without being gratuitously explicit. She often focuses in on subtle sensory nuances and the corresponding emotional resonance, leaving the reader to infer the blatant physical responses.

Recent books of hers that I’ve reviewed (for example, Yet We Sleep, We Dream and Until We Met Again) have drifted more deeply into science fiction themes while retaining an undercurrent of eroticism. The Induction of Satine, in contrast, offers pure unadulterated sensuality.

We know almost nothing about Satine. Hints suggest she might have been a member of some criminal gang, planet-side, but that’s just an impression. The society in which she lives is likewise a cipher. The rumored lunar prisons might be instruments of oppression or tools to advance civilization.

The author does give us a sense of Satine’s personality: manipulative, rebellious, motivated entirely by self-interest. At the same time, she’s clearly young and rather surprisingly innocent. As Warden Jet begins the process of her “rehabilitation”, she struggles to hold on to her resistance in the face of traitorous desire and burgeoning pleasure.

This is pure erotica, luscious and compelling. There’s no real plot to get in the way. At the same time, The Induction of Satine has a depth that is often missing in ordinary smut. As I’ve often tried to emphasize in my own stories, there’s no such thing as “just sex”. JL Peridot understands and demonstrates this truth.

This is the first of a planned quintet of short tales involving Satine. I have the next one, The Manipulation of Satine, on my tablet already. I am looking forward to reading it.

Something at home wasn’t right... #Memoir #Healing #Giveaway

Blurb

A raw and unflinching memoir of survival, truth, and transformation. Phillippa Mann takes readers deep into the fractured world of a girl who grew up living with a monster--a world where love and fear shared the same face, and silence became a means of survival.

Through heartbreak, chaos, and betrayal, Phillippa's voice emerges from the shadows as she begins to piece together a life that was never hers to begin with. Her journey is one of courage and reckoning, of facing the unbearable truths that shaped her, and finding strength in vulnerability.

More than a story of pain, House of Cards is a testament to the power of healing and self-forgiveness. It reminds every survivor that bringing hidden truths into the light is not the end - it's the beginning of reclaiming your story and rebuilding the foundation of who you were always meant to be.

Excerpt

My parents were married in England in June 1969. They emigrated to Canada in 1970, had my brother in September 1972 and me in October 1974. Both sets of my grandparents emigrated to Canada shortly after this to be closer to us.

I was born in Northern BC. My mother separated from my dad and moved to the Lower Mainland in 1976, approximately 900 km away, with her boyfriend at the time. While I have no recollection of that period as I was quite young, I’ve come across photos of my younger self with my dad and brother, and I can see the joy on my face. In those times, I truly felt happy. I remember camping with my dad, fishing, pretending to shave with him, and the smell of the Coleman stove. It was returning home to my mother after spending time with my dad that was the toughest part. Even though I was so little, I knew that something at home wasn’t right. I always felt such intense sadness and anxiety when my dad brought us back home after summer camping, winter break, or his weekend visits. I didn’t know how to articulate what I was feeling, and I struggled to express my emotions at such a young age, but I just knew that I hated it when my dad brought me back home. This is the first recollection I have of the abuse.

Naturally, at such a young age, I didn’t see it as abuse, and it took me over two decades to realize it. My dad would drop me off at my mother’s house before returning north, and even though I knew I’d see him again in a few weeks, to a three- or four-year-old without a grasp of time, it seemed like an eternity. I would cry when he left because I loved him so much and didn’t want him to leave. After my dad left, my mother would be so unkind to me, often ignoring me for days. I do not remember a single word being spoken to me. I recognize she must have said something to me; however, I remember the silence more than anything—the absence of good nights, hugs, or any trace of warmth. It continued until I finally begged her to say something, anything. Eventually, once she got what she wanted, she’d pretend nothing had happened, slipping back into normalcy as if the hurt had never occurred.

About the Author

Phillippa Mann is a Canadian author who is passionate about helping others find healing through shared experience.

Her memoir, House of Cards: Surviving Munchausen by Proxy and a Mother's Web of Lies, explores the emotional journey of growing up in chaos and reclaiming strength through forgiveness and self-discovery.

Family is at the heart of everything Phillippa does. She and her husband share a love of creating together, and their children and grandchildren inspire her every day to live with gratitude, laughter, and purpose. When she's not writing, Phillippa can be found playing with her Corgi, Glenn, crafting handmade gifts, baking cookies and cupcakes for her family business, Sweet Lavender Designs, which she started in memory of a dear friend.

She is currently working on her next creative project, a heartwarming children's book titled Hop Hop and the Great Garden Adventure, inspired by the wonder and imagination of her grandchildren.

Website

https://phillippamannauthor.com/

Instagram

@phillippamann.author

Amazon

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1834381525

Phillippa Mann will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner.