KARMA’S RENDEZVOUS By Jeffrey G. Roberts

More than 5,000 miles and an ocean apart, two artists fall in love through letters.

Jeffrey’s novels can be found on Amazon

May 17th

Dear Inga,

Imagine my luck! I know Global Artists.com promised interesting and compatible match-ups, but I was skeptical. But after finding you, I’m convinced! We’re both the same age—thirty, and we’re both artists. And though your profile says you play the violin, which must be wonderful, I paint. Hell, I can’t even breathe on key! LOL. So, we’re both artists. I hope we can write to each other—if I haven’t scared you off! Ha-ha.

Grant Martin




June 3rd

Dear Grant,

Of course, you have not scared me off! An artist is an artist, no matter what the medium is. I would be delighted to write to you. Yes, how lucky we are! I just joined Global Artists.com a month ago—and now we have found each other! Underbar! That’s Swedish for “wonderful”. That is where I am from; a little town called Vastervik. I play my violin in a small community orchestra. I do not drive, but where I live everything I need is quite close. Thank goodness for friends, yes? We can never have too many of them. LOL. I usually play classical, but I can play just about anything. Lessons when young really paid off. Who knew? And you are a painter? Fantastic! I always wished I could paint. Perhaps you can teach me! Write soon!

Your friend,

Inga Johansson




June 10th

Dear Inga,

How nice to hear from you! I looked up Vastervik on my computer. It looks like quite a pretty little town. I’ve never been to Scandinavia, but I’d sure like to! Where I live is certainly quite different from your home. I live in Tucson, Arizona, in the Southwestern part of the United States. It’s hot and dry, but with its own special beauty. More little hummingbirds here in Arizona than anywhere else in the United States. Pretty little critters. I hear their wings beat so fast they sound like buzzing bees. You would think I’d know that, living here. But I just moved here. I’ve got to get out of my studio more often. LOL.

Well, I know we’re the same age, and what we both do, but I don’t know what you look like. We should email our photos if that’s okay with you? But I guess I can describe myself before I do: I’m six feet tall (what is that in centimeters, anyway?), weigh 185 pounds, and have short blonde hair and blue eyes.

Your friend, Grant




June 15th

Hello Grant!

What do they call that in America—a “hunk”? Ha-ha! I am sure you have to fight the girls off! Frankly, I am jealous. LOL.

From what I have seen in pictures, Arizona looks magnificent! Tucson is far larger than Vastervik. What a fine city. How I would love to see it someday.

Hummingbirds? How delightful! Yes, someday. I would love to know more about your artwork. What type of things do you paint?

I look forward to hearing from you again real soon, Grant!

Your friend,


‘What a foolish girl you are, Inga! You are setting yourself up for more disappointment! Have you not had enough in your life?’




June 19th

Hello there, new friend!

A hunk, huh? Ha-ha. The only “Hunk” I know is a name for a candy bar here! Delicious. But thanks for the compliment. So—what do you look like, Inga?

As for my work, I paint primarily landscapes; places I’ve been to in my new home here in Arizona. It’s so different from where I was born and raised, in the state of Kansas. So, I paint the majestic mountains of Arizona; snow-capped in Winter, and our giant Saguaro cactus, which look like green candelabras. The Southwestern deserts have a haunting beauty all their own. I should email you some of my work! And perhaps you could send me an audio file of some of your work? I’d love to hear it!



‘Are you out of your mind, Grant, asking her for that? Or are you just out of your mind with loneliness? Make sure brain is engaged before putting mouth into gear!’




June 24th

Dear Grant,

A “Hunk” is a candy bar too? Well, I will bet you are just as sweet! LOL. As for myself, I am 5’4” in the American system of measurement, average body size, and weight, with long brown hair and green eyes.

I saw a movie once as a child that was filmed in the Southwestern United States. I think it was a Western. And that is what you paint? Such mystical beauty! You are lucky you live in an area that provides you with such inspiration!

You must have a nice home. I assume you live alone? I have a small house here in Vastervik. My elderly father lives with me. My mother passed away when I was little. It is a pleasant enough home though caring for my father can sometimes be a bit difficult. But I am not complaining. We actually help each other. How about your family? Write soon!

With affection, Inga


‘I am truly frightened. I am so attracted to him. I fear this will not end well. I must go to church on Sunday.’




July 1st

Dearest Inga,

I’m sorry I haven’t written you in almost a week. I’m just getting over a bad cold. But work never stops, regardless. So, I had a deadline to finish painting a canvas for a wealthy customer. It was $5000, so I had no choice but to work through the aches, pains, sneezing, and coughing. I’m surprised you didn’t hear me cursing, all the way in Sweden! LOL. But I’m much better now. I have attached a picture of me so you can tell I’m not a candy bar. Ha-ha.

Yes, I live alone, in a nice house up against the foothills of the Catalina Mountains. I must admit, it does get a little lonely at times. It’s too big for one person. But I have good friends, and a nice pool, with beautiful desert views. I’ll try to send you some pictures of it. Oh, and I have two sisters. One lives in Kansas, the other in Montana.

Love, (dare I say that?)


‘What are you, a moron? I fear this won’t end well. And yet…’




July 8th

Dearest Grant,

I am sorry, but “Hunk” is indeed the correct word! As you Americans say, ‘If the shoe fits’? Now there is a face to go with the name! And I like it! Thank you. And as they say in the U.S.A., ‘One good turn deserves another’ (My, Americans certainly have a lot of funny sayings!) so I have attached a recent picture of me so you can think of Inga at night, in your big lonely house in the desert. LOL. Yes, I get lonely at times too, Grant. Why does there have to be over 8000 kilometers between us? Oh, I am also attaching an audio file, as you asked, of one of my recitals; an Enya violin solo entitled To Go Beyond. I hope my appearance, and a sample of my talent, arouses your further curiosity about me, dearest Grant. As always,

Affectionately Yours,


P.S. Oh dear, I am sorry: I meant to say “Love, Inga!” (Wink!)

‘Oh, dear God, Inga, you foolish woman! You literally said you loved him! Are you mad? I suppose I am. In love. May God be with me. And him.’




July 13th

Darling Inga,

Is it strange to express a love to someone you’ve never met? Or is it Karma? Or destiny? Either way, I don’t care. I believe I’m falling in love with you. Do you believe in God, Inga? I don’t care what faith or denomination, just some representation of a higher power? I suspect you do. Me too. And that is who I believe has engineered this and brought us together. Do you agree? And I certainly don’t want to disobey God, right? Wherever this leads—we’ll lead it together. If that’s what you want.

All my love,


P.S. By the way, two more things: 1. I saw your picture. You’re beautiful! And 2. I heard your violin solo. Hauntingly beautiful. Like you.

‘Well, the die is cast, Grant. It’s in God’s hands now.’




July 15th

My darling Grant,

Tragedy today! My heart is hemorrhaging! My father, whom I adored, passed away last night in his sleep. He was ninety. I am devastated. I am now alone, Grant. I have no family or siblings. I am alone, and my heart is broken.

I love you, and I do not know what to do.





July 16th

My darling Inga,

My deepest and heartfelt condolences. I only wish I was there to hold you, comfort you, and wipe away your tears. But I do know one thing: you are not alone! Not any longer. Your father, even now, wants only your happiness. Perhaps this is a sign. Perhaps we are a sign. May I be so bold as to suggest this may be the time to start a whole new chapter in your life? A clean slate as they say. This may be the 1st day of the rest of your new life! If you want it. I can provide it. It will be awkward; maybe at times even a bit difficult. But we will do it together. Again, if you want it. You are not alone, Inga. You have me. My home is your home. My life is your life. Together. Let me bring you to Tucson. Stay with me. As long as you wish. If you decide to leave, I will pay for your flight home too, whenever you like. I’m reaching out to you, Inga—with love and compassion. If you’ll have me.

I suspect we both have—issues. Whatever they are, we will deal with them—together. Let me know.

All my love,


‘No turning back now, Grant. I just hope she’ll accept me.’


He met her at the airport a month later, after she took care of her father’s affairs, and arranged for the sale of the house.

Grant saw her in the terminal, waiting. She was easily the most breathtakingly beautiful girl he had ever seen. But she did not seem to notice him, even when he approached her. And she was holding a cane. He walked slowly up to her.

“My beautiful Inga,” he said softly. They embraced tightly, and could not let go of each other. “You’re blind,” he said quietly.

“Does it matter?” she asked, terrified of what he might answer.

“Does what matter?” he answered. And they embraced again, kissing passionately.

She lowered her head to his chest and whispered, “I love you.”

He gently put his hand under her chin and raised her head. “You have to look at me, sweetheart. You see, I’m deaf.”

She was silent for a moment.

“Does it matter?” he asked her quietly; also terrified at how she might respond.

“Does what matter?” she answered. And they embraced again.

God’s math was indeed strange: his 1% hearing and her 2% eyesight equaled 100% love for each other.

He might have lost his hearing, but when they held each other he could indeed hear something—the symphony of two beating hearts in love.

And Inga now “saw” the most beautiful man in the world. She might have lost her sight—but not her vision.




Jeffrey G. Roberts was born in New York City and lived on Long Island, and then South Florida. I attended Northern Arizona University, in Flagstaff, AZ. I write science fiction, fantasy, horror, comedy, and comedy/fantasy. My story, Karma’s Rendezvous, is a first for me – a romance story. I have 3 novels on Amazon: The Healer, about 2181 Mars, Cherries in Winter, a time travel/alternative history/romance novel, and In the Shadow of the House of God, (March 2018) an eerie urban fantasy about a wager the devil makes with God. I live in Tucson, Arizona.




Twitter – https://Twitter.com/talejotter

Goodreads – https://www.Goodreads.com/book/show/20691277-the-healer

My Website – http://www.Atalespinner.weebly.com

Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/Atalespinner

Linkedin – https://www.linkedin.com/pub/jeffrey-roberts/75/5a7/4b7.

Also on Pinterest and Google+

E-mail – Talespinner2525@yahoo.com


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Lamplight Symphony By John Pink

A tale of hope to warm the cold winter nights by John Pink

John’s story The Fall of Charon was shortlisted in the Fall Writing Contest sponsored by Shorting Fiction Break & Becoming Writer!


Lamplight Symphony

By John Pink


Based on Kansas’ 1975 single, Lamplight Symphony


In a candlelit room, the light of the full moon romanticized Arlo Gates’ boudoirs. The glare spanned across the vast yard and crystallized the scenery of topiary bushes and shrubs, the light snow, and the shape of the blowing wind. A winter’s night, cold and bright, with the stars shining resplendently.

In the uppermost room of the estate sat a lonely, old Arlo. Broken down by the lack of the thrill of business, the unforgiving pace of age, and loneliness. Sitting on a bench with an open book

reminiscing about those loved and lost. Perseverance had made him a hard man for Nature to kill; neither age nor disease had sealed his fate like it had for so many of his friends. His desire to live was

always stronger than his willingness to accept whatever destiny had in store for him: a quality he now regrets ever having. He had no energy, company, or joy to help speed up his days.

Yearning for a life gone by, he shone a lamplight on the pictures of faces of the past. Faces that made his childhood innocent; others that inspired him to be the ambitious young man he was always remembered for; many who also helped his business flourish; and others that influenced his life in other ways. He recalled events with strangers and allies alike. Memories are now his one and only joy.

He finally turned the page to his favorite part, the single-most thing that gave his life more meaning than any business or any friend: Anne. The muse for his inspiration and the drive for his

ambition. A companion, a friend, a lover. Sorrowfully, she wasn’t there to make his heart race any longer. There was no more flare, no desire, no more whiskey-driven revelries, or late-night

conversations. Arlo remained alone with nobody to warm his bed.

The old man saw a picture of him and Annie in their youth; her pushing him on a swing. Their complexion was innocent, their eyes full of life, and their smiles brimmed with happiness. A single tear fell from Arlo’s eye. Forgotten dreams flashed through his weary mind.

Next, he saw a picture of their wedding night, Anne alight with a white and silver dress. Her face shone with serenity, and he remembered her delicate march down the aisle. Though they had met at an early age and had known each other for what seemed like forever, their faces still glowed with new-found love.

Turning to the next page, he saw a memorable event. A grand ball that had taken place in China. He had been invited there as part of a gesture for completing a business venture with the Chinese. They were both gallant and splendid that night. They shared the euphoria of taking the Gates name to new heights, the chivalry of breaking the world’s expectations for modern business, the excitement of being together and having what the rest of the world only dreams of having: each other. Amidst the festivities of the night, they both managed to elude their host and his security and scurried into a little alley. The excitement proved too much to resist putting their hands on each other. Hidden and silent, they made love against the wall of the alley. That night, he was sure: they had conceived their first son.

Lastly, he saw a picture of one of the last of Barnum & Bailey’s Circus shows before ole’ P. T. Barnum kicked the bucket during a performance. No freak, atrocity, or spectacle could best the innocence in Anne’s eyes as she expressed fascination one act after the next. The light in her eyes was a reminder that she would always occupy a place in Arlo’s heart.

The only place Annie occupied now was a small grave in the backyard of his family estate, on the access to the cold and chilling forest. He took his lamplight and placed it near the window to gaze

at the humble gravestone that marked where her lifeless body lay. The slumbering wood made the visage somber. He put his hand to his heart as if reaching for something he couldn’t find anymore. A

sudden flash of how the love of his life was whisked away from him in an unexpected instant appeared vividly before his eyes, a memory too painful to recall; he brushed it off.

Instead, the old man remembered how stubborn she was when he asked for her hand, how she completed him, gave purpose to his actions, how he had known her since they were children, and his

life with her was clear the moment he made contact with those piercing hazel eyes. More tears flowed across his cheeks.

“Oh, what I would give”, he said in a soft voice. A once successful businessman who acquired quite a fortune. He placed his family name in a prestigious echelon; he had servants who catered to his every whim; he could afford every comfort known to man, yet, he would have gladly given it all away to be reunited with his wife. He would have given anything to raise the one who lies beneath the snow.

Arlo took a chug of the last bottle of whiskey he had received as a gift upon selling the company. He sat on his bed, a cold and dry reminder he would fail once again to get any sleep. He beheld the picture of the swings and gave a small whimper, which then turned into a sob. He looked to the side and pretended Annie was still there, comforting him and guiding him through the dark and

lonely night. Tired of crying, he threw the empty bottle into the fire, causing a fiery crash that quickly dissipated. He laid on the bed and was able to close his eyes, with the lamp still lit, placed on his


In a sudden fit, he aggressively awoke from his restless nap in the middle of the night, short of breath and delirious, as if waking up from a nightmare. The lamp was still lit, though only the last drop of oil-fueled its fire. Arlo sat up and placed his feet on the hardwood floor and found it freezing and pleasant at the same time. Chills went up his spine, and he was prompted to stand. Bent over and trying to regain his composure, he caught a glance of the picture he took to bed.

Startled, he grabbed it for study. He saw himself as a young lad, he saw the swings and the black-and-white grass, he saw the clouds and the sun, but there was no one pushing him on the swing. His younger-self was looking behind him, laughing at someone, but there was no one there. Perplexed, Arlo ran his hand down his mouth.

Arlo stopped breathing and experienced horripilation as he felt another presence in the room. Suddenly, he was called by the echo of what seemed like a beast awakened from its slumber. He lifted

his gaze and saw a celestial apparition. The room was grey and the light emitted from the ghost created no shadows, only a peering glow ran across its shape. Arlo’s frail lips trembled; he was simultaneously amazed and appalled at what he was seeing. The ghost came closer and the lonely old man knew not what to do; he froze. As the specter became clearer, he could recognize familiar traits; characteristics that made him lose his fear and become indulged.


Standing before him, the vision seemed to have peaceful glowing eyes. The ghost wore a long thin dress, was barefoot, and had her hair down, completely still. The shapeless aura that adorned its silhouette made it warm against the cold of the night. It was clear to see: her lips, her eyes, her complexion, unmistakable and unforgettable features. It ran its fingers through the old man’s right hand, which he was hesitantly holding up attempting to touch the phantom of his wife. The blowing of the snow became as audible as the man’s bewilderment. Filled with fear but fueled by joy, he

gingerly embraced the ghost of his wife and was impelled into a music-less dance.

After a short waltz, akin to the dance on their wedding night, the ghost caressed the old man’s face, smoke protruding from her fingertips. “I’ve come to soothe you”, she whispered. Their eyes

locked, and with a sigh of relief, their mouths pulled closer to each other. As soon as their lips touched, the lamp oil ran out and the flame went, along with the old man and the ghost.

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The Gift by Rocco Marinelli

christmaspresents (2)

The Gift

by Rocco Marinelli


The gift had traveled a long way to get to its final destination. Wrapped tightly within its package, it had flown for hours through the cold December air before it finally landed on the rooftop. The building didn’t have a chimney, so the large man carefully carried it down the elevator.

10-year-old Tommy had been waiting for this present long before Christmas. He no longer believed in Santa, it would truly be a miracle if he received the item he wished for this year. But he still had faith that such a miracle could happen.

His mother desperately hoped his package would arrive on time as well. She knew the busy Christmas season often delayed the arrival of presents for many and she prayed it wouldn’t get lost in the holiday madness.

Before Tommy went to sleep that night, he asked his mom, “Do you really think it will come?”

With tears in her eyes, she hugged him and answered, “Yes Tommy, I do believe it, and you should too.” He smiled as he drifted off to sleep.

The gift was going to need some careful assembly before it ran, but at least it didn’t need batteries. The most important thing was that Tommy had to truly like it in order for it to work.

There was a strange mixture of excitement combined with an air of calmness in the room as the gift was removed from its wrapping. Everyone marveled at the complexity of such a rare and wondrous present.

After several hours of meticulous construction, the group of people huddled around Tommy anxiously waited to see if it was the right gift for him. Fingers were crossed and prayers were said.

Tommy awoke, a little groggy and asked, “Did it come, Mom? Does it work?”

Everyone in the room had smiles on their faces and tears of joy in their eyes. “Yes Tommy,” his mother said clutching his hand, “It’s a perfect match.”


What do you think the “gift” is? Comment below


About Rocco-

Rocco resides in the Adirondacks of Upstate, NY, working primarily as a content writer, but he likes to explore his creative side as well. Rocco has had some of his creative works published by “NY Literary Magazine” and he’s the featured writer in an upcoming anthology by “RumbleFish Press”. Rocco has many other short stories and poems patiently waiting in the shadows for someone to bring them to light. Find him on facebook at https://www.facebook.com/people/Rocco-Marinelli/100009725134221

Rocco also blogs at https://roccorolla.wordpress.com/about/



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Charlie’s Christmas Carol

Another fun Christmas book kiddos of all ages will love!

Charlie’s Christmas Carol

Twelve-year-old Charlie is having a difficult time getting into the Christmas spirit as he’s facing his first Christmas since his mother’s passing. His father and sister buy a Christmas tree and try, unsuccessfully, to get him to trim it with them. Charlie seems destined to miss out on the Christmas spirit altogether until his scout troop spends an evening at a nursing home singing to the residents and playing board games with them. When Charlie meets old Mr. Henry and a young girl named Carol his perspective changes, as comes face to face with the needs of others.

CCC Cover Front


What you’ll find inside:

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Pick up a copy for all the munchkins on your Christmas list

Need to buy in bulk (12 copies or more, tax & shipping may apply), contact books@littlecabpress.com


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Miki the Reindeer Learns About Love

Looking for a great kids book to give to all your favorite munchkins for Christmas? We’ve got it!



Filled with fun critters living on a farm in Alaska, Miki the Reindeer learns about Love is a heartwarming tale of a young reindeer who learns the vast and varied meanings of love!

Miki is fun at Christmas time when the world is white with snow, on Valentine’s day when everyone is thinking about love, on Mother’s day when the world is celebrating the love our Mothers give and any other day throughout the year when you need to remember what love is all about!

Grab a copy for each of your little critters- $9.95 each at Amazon

Need to buy bulk quantities? (More than 12, shipping & taxes may apply) Contact books@littlecabpress.com


About the Author

Taia Joy Flake grew up on a 700-acre ranch in Northern Arizona. Her imagination and creativity were well fed in the fairytale type environment. She moved all around the western United States before finding a home in the city of Mesa, AZ where she currently lives. As a devoted and active member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Taia’s goal is to bring joy and happiness through her stories to children of all ages throughout the world.

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Daddy’s Home by Carol Palmer Nugent

A short story to honor our Vets on Veterans Day! Thank you for your service and sacrifice. We salute you!


Daddy’s Home

Spring, 1968

Momma said my Daddy’s coming home today. He’s been gone a long time and I miss him so much. When he sees me, I know he’s gonna throw me up in the air, catch me in his strong arms, and hold me tight.

I love having Daddy home. We wash the car together. We feed our dog, Max, and go to the barbershop to get our hair cut. Daddy keeps his real short ‘cuz he’s an Army guy.

When I grow up, I want to be an Army guy too. I’ll have ribbons and medals on my uniform and a rifle to practice shooting.

Daddy flies on an airplane with the other Army guys to help people in a place far, far away. Momma always cries when Daddy goes. That makes me sad, and I cry too, but when he comes home, Momma still cries. She says they are happy tears, but when I see him, I’m just gonna smile and hug him ‘cuz I’ll be so glad to have my Daddy home.

We’re going to meet Daddy at the church. Momma says all Daddy’s friends will be there, and Grandma and Grandpa too. Momma dressed me in my nice shirt and pants, ‘cuz she says we have to look our Sunday best.

When we arrive at the church, I run ahead to try and find Daddy, but I can’t see him anywhere. Then Momma takes my hand and we walk to the front of the church. That’s where I finally see my Daddy, lying very still, sleeping, I think, in a long wooden box.

“Daddy,” I shout and run to him, but he doesn’t wake up. Something is wrong with Daddy. Mommy is crying now and holding me tight.

“Wake up, Daddy, please wake up.”

“Your Daddy’s gone to heaven,” she says

“No, no, no,” I reply, but I know Daddy isn’t going to wake up. I start to cry, knowing my Daddy will never again grab me under my arms or throw me in the air. He won’t catch me or hug me tight. My Daddy is really gone.


Present day

I can still feel the pain in my heart when I remember back. I have missed my Dad every day since his death. Nothing can replace him and the place he holds in my heart. It’s like there’s a hole there, so big, that the wind can blow right through. Nothing can fill the void, but there is something which has replaced the flood of bad memories, and that’s when I come home from work each night and my little boy runs to me, yelling, “Daddy.” I grab him under the arms, throw him into the air, catch him, and hug him tight.

by Carol Palmer Nugent

About the author-  Carol Palmer Nugent is a member of Word Weavers of Northern Arizona and American Christian Fiction Writers. She lives in Arizona with her husband and two dogs. She enjoys gardening, reading, writing, and learning something new each day. She has had short stories published in Good Old Days and Ruby for Women Magazines, a true story in A Woman of Wort Anthology, and two stories in Little CAB Press’s Christmas Collection Volume II. In addition, Carol received an honorable mention in the 85th Annual Writer’s Digest Writing Competition.   



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Simple Ways to Promote Your Book on Facebook


  1. Take a pic of you and your book, make that pic the cover photo on your Facebook timeline.
    1. After you’ve changed your cover photo, click on the cover photo and then click on “add a description”.
    2. Put the buy link to your book in the description and add 1 or 2 “blurb” sentences about your book, (give people an exciting reason to click the link and check out your book).
  2. Find something exciting once a week to post about your book and add the buy link into the post.
    1. Post can be as simple as: Awesome lady I met at the hair salon bought my book last week and called me today to say how much she loved it! Made my day!!! (then add buy link)
    2. These should be real experiences, not made up, but make them sound super exciting and cool!
  3. Take your book on a photo tour! Post photos of “Me and my book, making friends at: the library, the park, the theater, the grocery store, the zoo, etc.” The photos can be of you and random strangers, have the stranger smile and hold up your book. (Not dangerous looking strangers obviously!) Have the stranger sign your book, (have a copy for the purpose of collecting others’ signatures, a book signing in reverse where the reader/potential reader gets to sign rather than the author) and give them a sale page or some type of promo item of the book in return, (perhaps they’ll buy your book online).
  4. Ask your local library to let you host a reading or book talk. Take pictures of yourself with the book and the attendees and post (with their permission) to Facebook- say something fun, like, “Had a great time reading my book to these awesome new friends!” Post the pic and the buy link to your book. Give out promo items to attendees, sale sheets, bookmarks, anything to help them find and buy your book.

Have fun with your book, get creative, post frequently, and always, always, always add the buy link for your book in every fun post you make about your book!

What are your fun ideas for promoting your book on Facebook and social media? Comment below.


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