Last Chance…Grab Beneath the Satin Gloves Absolutely FREE!

Phew! Let me catch my breath here after the craziness that has transpired over the last few days.

The Amazon freebie for the rerelease of my first book, Beneath the Satin Gloves, has been a smashing success.

And, like a proud kid with pigtails and pink polka dot ribbons showing off a good report card, I have to share this…

Amazon Bestsellers #6
Yep, that’s little indie author me, chilling at #6 on the bottom right there on Amazon’s Bestseller list in the Espionage Thriller category. Otherwise known as…shit yeah!

This would not have been possible without the incredible support I received from you all. Sharing and retweets were happening so much, I couldn’t keep up with thanking you all.

So, a huge THANK YOU to you guys. Your generosity is overwhelmingly lovely.

If you haven’t snatched up Beneath the Satin Gloves yet, have no fear! The freebie promo is running until tomorrow 3/1 (midnight PST).



Beneath the Satin Gloves Review

Beneath the Satin Gloves is Free!

Beneath the Satin Gloves

My first book, Beneath the Satin Gloves, has been reworked, polished, and rereleased.

And…you can have it for free until Sunday on Amazon! (Promo runs 2/25 – 3/1, midnight P.S.T.)

If you can be so kind as to leave a quick review when you finish the book, that would be very awesome of you. As an indie author, we depend on you, the beautiful people, to help get our names out there.

One reader described Beneath the Satin Gloves as “a little bit romance, thriller, time travel, and historical fiction”.

Here’s all of the info for the newbies around here…

A modern-day woman torn by her illusive dreams awakens to a strange life in 1943, hurdled against the throes of destruction in wartime Berlin. Following a haphazard trail of clues, she discovers her new identity as Alina Feuer, code-named Sparrow, a famous entertainer seducing a high-ranking SS officer to gather vital information for the Allies.

But Alina is an amateur in these incessant spy games. She relies solely on her wit and instinct to make her next move, while frantically hiding her erratic behavior from the watchful eyes of her suspicious liaison/love interest and her pestering socialite gal pal along the way. A reluctant heroine, she must use charismatic glamour as her weapon of choice to fulfill her deadly mission before the week is through.

Beneath the Satin Gloves Back With Message



Thank you for supporting the indie author movement.

The Rerelease of My First Book

Beneath the Satin Gloves

Nothing compares to the sweet love we writers have for the very first story we write.

Ah, man. The vast unknown we explore, the sincere concentration it takes, and the melancholy that blankets us when the story is finished…well, it’s unmatched.

I’ll share a little secret with you guys.

I didn’t grow up wanting to become a writer. Archaeologist, dancer, veterinarian, and fairy were all in there. But never writer.

I never dreamed of writing a novel. Hell, I certainly never thought I would write three.


Because I never thought I could do it.

I’d always loved reading and writing, but I never saw myself on the other side. As an architect of stories, building something that never existed before, something that would actually speak to people.

I was in my mid-twenties, lost and confused, working a high-end retail job that was the opposite of me, and partying any chance I got.

There were so many blurry years from working and playing way too hard that I realized something.

I had no purpose. My life was sailing by without me, while I was drowning in a meaningless sea.

Then one day, my husband Mr. H dared me to write a novel. I had a dream that inspired me, then I took out my little journal, and started writing gibberish on my lunch breaks.

It took me three years to write my first book. I didn’t know what I was doing. But, I created something and set it free.

And still to this day, I don’t really consider anything I put out there “a novel”. I also struggle with calling myself “a writer”.

Some of you may remember my crazy ass going back to my second book, Everything’s Not Bigger, and reworking the entire damn thing.

You probably thought I would move on from my past works at this point, right?

Well, I didn’t.

I went back to my first book, Beneath the Satin Gloves, and for the past three months, I have reedited the work with tireless energy during my bit of free time I cherish for these creative obsessions of mine.

I must admit, I really enjoyed reconnecting with Alina, my lounge singing spy—and WWII Berlin, an era and city I have forever been captivated by.

Anyone new around these parts should know that this book isn’t just another WWII thriller. There’s a time travel thing going on, since the main character is actually a woman from modern-day who wakes up in the past.

I shouldn’t play favorites, I know, but I do adore this story. It’s my firstborn, and there is no way to change that kind of undying love.

So even though the new version is already on Amazon, obviously I’m going to put this out there free of charge.

Beneath the Satin Gloves will be absolutely FREE next week 2/25-3/1 on Amazon and Amazon UK. So, stay tuned!

Until the rerelease, I’ll leave you all with a scene I like…

Beneath the Satin Gloves


Haunting whistles blew in the train station. The mechanical scents brought her back to reality after being in deep thought for many hours. Steam eclipsed the scene while the crowd hurried to board for unknown destinations across Europe, with frayed clothing and worried hearts.

Alina’s short time in the United States must have been an eternity for the people here. Everything had aged and there was an undeniable heaviness in each footstep. Laughter and gaiety had been decimated by an unfathomable fear of what was to come. Even the departing hugs were different, exuding a phantom touch instead of a comforting embrace.

Everything was dark and unsettling. The fearful train station validated her decision to throw herself into unforeseen danger.

She had strict instructions to board the train without a word to Emil. But she had one last thing she had to say to him, and the risk was worth taking.

Perched on a bench, one leg crossed over the other, he flipped through a newspaper in his simple suit, trench coat, and black hat. He was supposed to blend in, and Emil was an expert at being inconspicuous. Yet his striking looks worked against him, making him stand out in the drab crowd.

Emil sensed she was moving toward him. He walked away, expecting her to give up on the futile chase and board the train.

Maybe she was flirting with disaster as she seemed destined to do, but Alina yearned to see his face once more. What if it was the last time?

The distance grew between them. A heartbreaking emptiness washed over her, and she felt like she was drowning. Alina took bigger strides to catch up with him.

He stopped to look at the schedule on the board.

She pointed at a time, standing close to him, feeling his welcoming heat between their thick coats. 

His gloved finger pointed next to hers, sneaking one last touch. “Entschuldigung, Fraulein.”

“I want you to know I’m not afraid.”

Emil snickered. “You’re fearless, but I’m battling my own demons over here.”

“That’s why I came over.”

“Needless to say, but you shouldn’t have. You were distinctly ordered not to.”

“I really don’t care what your orders were.” Alina smiled, glancing at her watch.

He looked around, pretending to search for the appropriate departure track.

“Do you believe in past lives, Emil?” She scanned the schedule, drawing her finger down the time options.

“You disobeyed my orders to have a damn philosophy discussion?”

“Answer the question.”

Emil bent down to adjust his shoe laces, which were already tied. “I’d rather have this debate with a glass of brandy, lying naked with you, anywhere but here.”

“Would it surprise you if I said being a spy is the easiest thing I’ve ever done? Almost like I’ve done it before.”

He sighed and stood up, squinting at the schedule. “Are you just saying this gibberish to make me feel better? Because it isn’t working. The longer we stand here, the greater chance we have of getting killed.”

“I also wanted to say I love you, if that’s alright.”

He swallowed, then his eye twitched.

She realized he didn’t know how to deal with the sentiment. A man as attractive as Emil had been loved plenty of times before. But, had he ever loved anyone in return?

“I want to spend my life with you after this is over.”

Alina snuck a peek at his face to try to search his eyes for an emotional reveal. But, there wasn’t time.

Emil did the unthinkable—he walked off.

She watched him for a second, then turned her attention to the train. Crushed, Alina fought back tears as she meandered up the narrow steps of the entrance. 

What was she expecting? He couldn’t exactly sweep her into his arms.

She supposed it didn’t matter in the end. She wanted to confess her feelings in case it was her only chance. And confess she did, humiliating as it was.

Alina sank into the musty train chair, trying to shake off her feminine emotions. This wasn’t the time for an outburst. She needed to focus on the dangerous road ahead.

Shutting her eyes, she detained her tears behind their eyelid barriers. Her finger ran across a torn patch on the bottom of the chair.

To calm herself, she imagined sitting on a mountain overlooking a vast valley. She almost had the serene image set in her mind when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

Her heart beat faster as she opened her eyes. She almost released a loud sigh of relief when she saw it wasn’t the Gestapo but a helpful train attendant.

“Entschuldigung, Fraulein. You dropped this?”

Declining with a smile and a shake of her head, she changed her mind after recognizing the same newspaper Emil had been reading.


He nodded, then continued down the aisle.

As if it was a bouquet of roses, she inhaled the newspaper, a peculiar act which roused the curiosity of the two old ladies sitting across from her.

Alina grinned. “Don’t you just love the smell of newspapers?”

One woman tipped her bright blue hat at a chic angle, leaned in and lowered her voice. “Not with the filth in them these days, my dear. But I used to.” She began gossiping with her friend, pretending like the daring comment had never been spoken.

The train whistled to signal their departure—away from neutral Switzerland, into Nazi Germany.

Alina turned each page, longing to find something inside. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but somehow the man who delivered the newspaper seemed out of place. Almost like he didn’t work on the train at all.

On the last page, she saw Emil’s handwriting…

I do believe.

I do love you.

And I will wait as many lives as it takes.

The Totem Pole Quest

On July 28th I was sent on a quest by fellow Kiwi blogger, Gallivanta from Silkannthreades. A totem pole quest.

For real?


She dedicated a post to me in honor of the release of my third book, Nola Fran Evie. But the dedication came with a proviso…I had to locate a totem pole by Chief Lelooska somewhere in Portland.

The only clue Gallivanta provided was that a replica of the totem pole stood 7,000 miles away in Christchurch Airport, New Zealand. (Who knew?!)

And so I began my quest.

Totem Pole, I'm comin' to get ya!
Totem Pole, I’m comin’ to get ya!


Like any modern-day hero, I used my trusty compass, the Internet, to search for the totem pole. I wore a smug look on my face as I let Google do the work for me from the comfort of my home.

But, I couldn’t find its exact location.

However, I did step into the world of Chief Don “Lelooska” Smith, a great man who was given a great name at the age of 12—“He Who Cuts Against Wood with a Knife”.

And cut against wood with a knife is what he did…all his life in beautiful Oregon. The man carved thousands of masks and over a hundred totem poles, including the one I was hunting with the replica in New Zealand, until he died of cancer in 1996.

So, what’s with the New Zealand connection?

During the 1959 Oregon Centennial Exposition, the intricate pole was carved from cedar to honor Oregonian soldiers who participated in Operation Deep Freeze, a famous multinational series of exploratory missions to Antarctica during the late 1950s.

The base for Operation Deep Freeze was Christchurch Airport.

(And, you silly things never thought you’d learn anything on this blog.)

I was frustrated that I couldn’t find where the totem pole was today in Oregon and began to think that I was failing my mission. As I’m not the quitting type, I kept digging and digging and digging online, which eventually led me to…


Aha! I found you, Totem Pole!

Ecstatic, I called the zoo to plan my heroic visit. After weeks of online research I imagined staring proudly at the totem pole, and how I would gleefully show Gallivanta that I had completed the totem pole challenge in less than a month.

But…the totem pole wasn’t there.

I panicked. Surely the zoo didn’t get rid of this exceptional piece of tribal artistry that had been living there for decades. Surely not!

I talked to one person, then another person, and yet another person until I found Wayne, the mighty project engineer. He said…


Last year the Oregon Zoo began a major transformation to create the Condors of Columbia, which opened in May, and Elephant Lands, a project I’m very excited about which is opening in 2015. This expansion will quadruple the space the elephants inhabit, drawing on more than fifty years of research and science-based care to build a natural environment to honor the animals.

Come on, who doesn’t love elephants?!

During this time, the pole underwent a hefty restoration process—repairing cracks and rot, as well as painting, cleaning and detailing the carving. It was an intense team effort led by Lelooska’s brother, Chief Fearon “Tsungani” Smith, assisted by zoo volunteers, and overseen by the Lelooska Foundation.

This totem pole’s kind of a big deal.

Wayne and the Oregon Zoo were excited to hear about my totem pole quest and were generous to bring my husband, Mr. H, and I to the zoo when the totem pole was back in action.

It was finally happening. Now at the end of September, I was coming to the end of my quest. I was beaming with pride, eager to see the elusive totem pole I had chased for two months.

Then, I did something so typically Britt…


totem pole fail
Totem Pole Fail!

I went on the wrong day, before the pole was resurrected.

Good one, Britt!

I know, I know. But, we made the best of it and enjoyed a leisurely stroll through the zoo.

The bear and I had matching outfits.
This bear and I had matching outfits.
This goat trio looked like they were posing for an album cover.
This goat trio looked like they were posing for an album cover.
bobcat in cave
This bobcat let us hang out in his cave.
I skipped the carcass feeding. But Mr. H seemed satisfied.
I skipped the carcass feeding. But Mr. H seemed satisfied.


The following Monday I sheepishly admitted my mistake to Wayne from the zoo. He was nice enough to pat me gently on the head and invite us back for another visit when the pole was actually there.

Then finally…


Totem Pole Tada!
Totem Pole Tada!

This is truly one of the best zoos I have ever been to and I look forward to Elephant Lands opening next year. A big thank you to Wayne and the Oregon Zoo for being so awesome during the totem pole quest.

Gallivanta, you stinker…totem pole quest COMPLETED! 🙂


Williams Bacall Iyengar

cheers geniuses

It was just after midnight on a Tuesday. I had been out at our local bar, drinking good beers, talking about the eccentricities of life with my beautiful husband and our favorite bartender.

Then, when I slipped into my jammies at home, I found out about a third tragedy—after Robin Williams, after Lauren freaking Bacall. Another great loss to mankind.

B.K.S. Iyengar.

Dammit, I lost it. I finally, finally cried because I couldn’t do anything else. I should have gone to bed. I needed to get up for work the next morning.

But suddenly I was charged with emotional energy to write this little piece. My mediocre tribute to these great people.

I made myself some tea, put my headphones on, and started writing. Shit, this is epic for me. To lose all of these gorgeous souls within a week…brace yourselves.

 Robin Williams – Monday, August 11, 2014

Lauren Bacall – Tuesday, August 12, 2014

B.K.S. Iyengar – Tuesday, August 19, 2014

I sobered up enough to write this post. I promise it will not be my most eloquent work, but I felt compelled to write something. How could I not?


Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Photo: Wikimedia Commons

I avoided the Robin Williams tribute because I was floored when I heard the news, and I knew I couldn’t do a magical man like him any sort of justice. I grew up with him, as this sort of distant uncle who seemed to know everything I didn’t.

He portrayed the mysteries of life through acting with a dedication and grace that I have never seen before—Dead Poets Society, What Dreams May Come, The Birdcage—these are films that genuinely capture the human spirit.

They are brilliant, and Robin was a key player in that brilliance.

I had just returned from a romantic weekend in Seattle with Mr. H and I felt peaceful, loved, and hopeful. Then, the next day at work, a coworker of mine came dashing over with the news. Robin was gone.

I didn’t believe her. How could he?

My first boyfriend (and my first kiss) killed himself during my Sophomore year in high school. Right on the baseball field…a bullet to his lovely head. Suicide is not something I take lightly. I’ve known those who have threatened loneliness and I’ve known those who have acted on true alienation from that which we call the “norm”.

It’s scary. It’s heart-wrenching, It’s out there.

I wish it wasn’t, believe me. If I could figure out a way to absorb this from anyone…I would.


Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Photo: Wikimedia Commons

Right after one of my film heroes—Mr. Robin Williams—Bacall followed a day later. The pretty songbird that I had known for so long had left my window. She was gone and it was so eerily quiet.

Bacall was, quite simply…beauty. She was an effortless woman, with her infamous voice and come-hither appeal. Beyond the exterior, Bacall’s acting was top-drawer—always provocative, smart, and moving.

I’ve been a classic films aficionado for a good decade now. I respect Grace Kelly, I adore Audrey Hepburn, and I caved in to the charms of Marilyn Monroe.

But, Bacall. Just listen and watch. She was a force, a damn gorgeous force.


Photo: Yoga Journal
Courtesy of Yoga Journal

Where do I begin? Iyengar came to me much later when I was pursuing my Yoga teacher certification a year ago. I know what you’re thinking…big whoop. “Light on Life” by Iyengar is typically a required book.

Honestly, I didn’t want to read it. I certainly didn’t think I would like it.

On the cover was this man with bright white hair and matching eyebrows, smiling in a red robe, seemingly important and happy. Because he was important. Because he was happy.

He was Iyengar, the man who brought Yoga to those of us who truly needed it most…those of us in the West.

Last October I wrote a post called “I Am Still Learning”, which was inspired by Iyengar’s humble wisdom. I was a lost adult in so many ways until I found Yoga, until I connected with this man from another part of the world, a man who didn’t know I existed but didn’t care.

In some weird way, he was there for me when I needed him.

I’m not a religious person, but I am deeply spiritual. My faith belongs solely to the exquisiteness of mankind. Iyengar provided a connection to this realization and I will forever be grateful for that.

Williams, Bacall, and Iyengar left us. I can’t explain it, but I felt a strong kinship with all three of these incredible humans and I must say this…

Robin…thank you for your amusement, your intelligence, your cool.

Lauren…thank you for your loveliness, your emotion, your grace.

Bellur Krishnamachar Sundararaja (B.K.S.)…thank you for your influence, your spirit, your love.

If I had it my way, things would be so different. But there will not be an official holiday for any of these magnanimous souls. And so we will all go our separate ways—some will mourn, some won’t feel a thing.

I will forever know that these strangers did something special…and that they meant something very special to me.