Tamela Miles is here to tell us about A Hundred Black Sunrises, A Friday the 13th Story, dark paranormal romance.
There's also a great giveaway.
________________________
Keeping secrets keeps you alive.
Sienna would know.
A Hundred Black Sunrises
A Friday the 13thStory
by Tamela Miles
Genre: Dark Paranormal Romance
A hundred
different ways to break your heart, a hundred different ways to take your last
breath. Sienna and Finn are exploring their strange attraction to each other
until strange becomes something sinister. The clock is ticking as they fight to
unravel the mystery of what draws them together on fateful Friday, the 13th.
What readers are saying:
A Hundred Black Sunrises is a haunting and emotionally charged horror
short that blends reincarnation, cursed love, and inevitable tragedy. The story
follows Sienna and Finn, two souls drawn together across lifetimes, only to
face the same dark fate again and again. What begins as an intriguing
connection quickly spirals into something far more sinister, as the truth
behind their bond unravels. Though short, the narrative delivers a powerful mix
of supernatural horror and tragic romance.
A loud cracking sounded across the room and a huge, sil- ver
gilded mirror fractured in half, splitting apart their reflec- tions. Elijah
grabbed her hand and spoke softly. "Let me get you away from here,
Poppy."
As they moved toward the dining room entrance, one of the
kit- chen servants appeared. Her brown eyes widened and then narrowed at the
scene laid out before her. She hastily wiped her hands on her white apron and
latched onto Poppy's other hand.
"Run far, far away from this cursed place. Take nothing
with you. His evil was contained while he was alive, but his death
means..." she trailed off and shrugged her shoulders.
"What...what did he mean by "a hundred black
sunrises?" Poppy asked in a tremulous voice.
The servant smiled
sadly. "Nothing good, you can believe that." She gestured towards the
hallway leading to the front door as a dozen other servants from the kitchen
suddenly crowded around them. "Now, go! Take her and go!"
Elijah needed no further encouragement and pulled a dazed
Poppy down the hallway, already filled with black smoke. As he opened the heavy
door, she looked back one last time to say goodbye to every- thing she had ever
known, and her gaze lit on Christianpaul's smiling portrait of himself as a
much younger man. She shivered as Elijah led her out the front door and she
clutched his arm fearfully. Poppy knew every brushstroke of that painting and
never in her life had the bastard worn a smile in it.
Tamela Miles is a California State University San Bernardino graduate
student with a Bachelor of Science degree in Child Development and a former
flight attendant. She grew up in Altadena, California in that tumultuous time
known as the 1980s. She now resides with her family in the Inland Empire, CA.
She’s a horror/paranormal romance writer mainly because it feels so good having
her characters do bad things and, later, pondering what makes them so bad and
why they can never seem to change their wicked ways.
She enjoys emails from people who like her work. In fact, she loves
emails. She can be contacted at tamelamiles@yahoo.com or her Facebook page,
Tamela Miles Books. She also welcomes reader reviews and enjoys the feedback
from people who love to read as much as she does.
Camille Anthony is here to tell us about Tales of the Quiet Kitty, scifi fantasy romance, LGBTQ+.
Read on for details.
______________________
Sci-Fi Fantasy Romance, LGBTQ+
Date Published: May 15, 2026
These futuristic sci-fi tales are anything but quiet.
Board the Quiet Kitty Waveship and travel with Brant Sel, a Sh'Bahkyr Tygyr
and his crew: Bevel-leveB, a Medusoid Jenari with a sentient cock, and Willa,
a Sprite from the wounded planet Sparkle.
Brought together by fate, these three have common goals -- to rescue and
gather their lost peoples so they can take down the corrupt, brutal
Corporation, run by the most evil beings in the three Galaxies... Humans.
Publisher's Note: This box setcontains the previously released Quiet Kitty
novellas Under the Cat's Paw, Dancing with the Devil, Holiday Dreams, Naked
Secrets, and Cat Scratch Fever.
EXCERPT
Excerpt from Under the Cat's Paw
The door opened and the sensor controlled walkway winked out beneath her
weighted feet. Almost sorry to reach her destination -- she so rarely had a
chance to see daylight -- Willa plodded heavily into the interview room, her
small ankles locked into a pair of slaver's cuffs. Head down, neck bowed, she
flicked her eyes about in quick, furtive forays, taking in the room's sparse
furnishings: a six foot long cushioned slab and a straight-backed, armless
chair. Noting the absence of tweezers, whips, electronic probes and other
sadistic devices with a thankful sigh and a renewed sense of hope, she dared
to sneak a quick glance at the room's other occupant, determined to somehow
influence him to take her with him. A harsh, swift breath lifted her full
breasts and set her covering plumes to fluttering.
Before her stood a grey-skinned bi-pedal Being lounging at ease, his long
slender hands resting on the upper horizontal bar of a tall-backed chair. He
faced her, his nude body -- tall, slim and muscular -- displaying a total lack
of self-consciousness. A thick mop of unruly platinum hair waved in the brush
of an unseen -- and unfelt -- breeze, falling over his forehead to obscure his
sightless silver eyes. His mouth hung open, allowing a nineteen-centimeter
tongue, coated with cilia, to protrude slightly.
She identified the Being as a Jenari. A member of a race powerful enough to
stand up to the Corporation, his kind usually did not travel in Corporate
Space. Jenari rarely mingled with other races, remaining a mystery rarely seen
among the Corporation's citizenry. Because of this much speculation abounded
regarding their peculiar genetic makeup.
She had heard enough about the genetically blind, Medusoid race to know the
Jenari's tongues served as their true "eyes." With their tongues, they
"tasted" the air, able to sense their environment more accurately than could
most sighted persons.
Currently, the naked alien appeared nonchalant and relaxed. His posture
broadcast his sense of control, his power over her in this private chamber,
obviously unaware how easily that privacy -- his privacy -- had been breached.
The so-called secure interrogation cubicle was anything but, her master having
ordered it wired for video and sound, rendering it accessible and easily
monitored by him.
The Jenari cocked his head toward her now, giving the impression of eyeing her
askance, locating her so accurately, she almost doubted his sightlessness.
"Sso... you are Willa. Your masster tellss me he hass had you trained ass a
SSexengineer... capable of keeping a Dinyar-classs Wavesship and a medium
number of crew in tip-top orgassmic condition."
The male's sibilant words slid from his lips. He framed his sentences oddly,
their cadence broken and rendered choppy by the repeated extrusion of his
tongue. The cilia laden appendage darted out between every several words,
sipping the air in her direction.
"You look much too fragile for ssuch sstrenuous work. A female of your
delicassy sshould be cossseted and cared for... your cunt well conditioned
with frequent usse... your ssweet cream churned with a long thick sspoon..."
Willa felt the Jenari's thick voice, his dulcet tones, flowing over her,
calming her jangling nerves. Her pussy, long denied any easing, dewed in
response to the pictures his words painted. A strong compulsion beat at her,
making her want nothing so much as to loll at his feet in adoration.
Strange, how clear his words are, given that he speaks using that crowded
appendage... Oh, Drasarka -- not so strange when he is attempting to
mind-thrall me!
"Sparkle!"
With a negating shake of her head and an inward surge of disgust at the
endless power-games of males, she threw up her mind blocks, easily winning
free of the subliminal influence. Angered beyond thinking, she verbally
blasted the alien, incensed he would try such a trick on her. "Your mind speak
will not work on me, Jenari."
She tossed her head, meeting his renewed mental challenge with a sneer. "I am
a Sprite. I cannot be compelled by your voice, nor can your honeyed words
thrall me."
The alien's wide mouth spread in a practised movement that aped a smile. "You
are a fressh ssassy baggage! I can ssee why your masster ssayss you invite
beatingss, sslave!" His lips closed in a thin line, concealing his tongue.
She cringed, damning her mouth and her loss of self-control. By Sparkle! When
would she learn to keep her comments to herself? What would she do if her
unruly anger lost her this chance of escape?
It had taken too long to convince her master she truly wished to serve his
plans by spying for him. She had spent the long, grueling years learning about
ship propulsion units, drive flux capacitors and other diverse technical
entities for just such a chance as this: escape. During that time, she'd
swallowed her gorge and taken the physical abuse and so-called sexual
cruelties Lord Avron had doled out, never letting on how his milder tortures
ignited her carnal hungers. She'd only slipped up once, but that lapse had
proven costly.
Avron had somehow learned she needed his release -- any partner's release --
inside her, needed the life-giving fluid of come washing the walls of her sex
in order to flourish and grow a healthy set of pinions and fronds. Since that
time, he'd kept her at the minimum edge of physical and psionic sexual
starvation, taking pleasure in gauging what lengths she would go to, the
degradations she would endure in order to receive a few drops of come.
Years of maneuvering, of posturing and subterfuge had paid off. Lately, unrest
and political furor had escalated within the Corporation. Due to financial
setbacks and personal miscalculations, Lord Avron had lost respect among his
peers. The other Corporation Lords, like canker-phish -- more deadly than the
great blalor-sharks of Trofu that devoured their own young -- hovered about,
sniffing around his weakness, waiting for his failure. Her master had been
forced to regroup, jettisoning some of his plans for advancement just to
maintain his present lofty position among the powerful despots.
Unwilling to go outside his private power base to obtain help and whatever
information he sought, it had been easy to convince him of her willingness to
win the position as Sexengineer aboard the Quiet Kitty Waveship and garner
information from its crew to transmit back to him. Why he had become obsessed
with this vessel, she neither knew nor cared. All that concerned her lately
was finding her scattered people. Sparkle called for her and its other
children, its summons an imperative she could not ignore. Time was fast
running out for her. If she messed this interview up, she knew Avron would
kill her.
Belly roiling with resentment, she averted her face to hide her grimace and
abased herself before the alien -- probably her last chance at freedom. "I
offer apologies to you, Gentle-Being. I beg you to take no offence."
"Be at easse, Ssprite. I tesst all who sseek to sserve aboard my vesssel. No
one sso eassily controlled iss welcomed aboard my Quiet Kitty. Let uss begin
anew..."
One long arm extended palm up, in the manner of greeting peculiar to her
slavers, the alien stepped from behind the chair, unerringly approaching
Willa. "I am Bevel, masster of the Quiet Kitty Waveship."
She choked, eyes riveted in desperate immediate hunger to his newly revealed
sex. Obviously, her information loop had seriously failed to include some
pertinent data...
Standing before her, hands extended, awaiting her acknowledgement of his
greeting, the alien was an impressive sight. Or rather, the impressive sight
was his more than ten inch penis swaying lazily between his grey muscular
thighs. A darker grey than the rest of his skin, the Medusoid cock undulated
back and forth, its serpent-like moves hypnotic, compelling, drawing her
fascinated gaze.
About the Author
A funny thing happened on the way to the grave... In 2006, Cammy was diagnosed
with Pulmonary Sarcoidosis and given two weeks to live. She promptly
discharged herself AMA -- Against Medical Advice -- since, as she stubbornly
informed her doctors, she could die at home far more comfortably than at the
hospital. But then... she got an idea for a new story. Then another, and
another...
Fifteen years and dozens of fantastic tales later, Cammy passed quietly in her
sleep, at home, as was her wish. We miss her. Her work lives on, and we hold
her in our hearts. Cammy decided many years ago that upon her passing, she
wished to donate her royalties to The Quiet Kitty fund, which helps authors
with emergency medical expenses. We do, to keep her in our hearts and minds.
Nicholas Deitch is here to tell us about Death and Life in the City of Dreams, literary fiction.
There's also a great giveaway.
____________________
Literary Fiction
Date Published: April 16th
Publisher: Acorn Publishing
Jaded city planner Townsend Meadows looks out across Evermore Valley
with the ghost of his dead friend by his side. “Do you ever
wonder,” Fen asks, “what this city will look like five hundred
years from now?”
Their city is teetering on the brink of collapse, and the mayor’s answer
is a gleaming new auto mall at the valley’s edge. For Townsend,
it’s the death of everything a city should be. Struggling to regain his
passion and forced to choose between compliance and conviction, he must risk
his career to fight for a more hopeful and verdant future.
From an
architect’s vision at the dawn of the twentieth century, to a
rancher’s dynasty scarred by violence and greed, to a city
founder’s hidden message of hope, this story about the rise, fall, and
reawakening of an American city reaches far beyond the present. A timely,
sweeping novel of memory, corruption, and resilience, Death and Life in the
City of Dreams asks, “What legacy will we choose to leave for our
children?”
About the Author
Nicholas Deitch is a writer, architect, and advocate for social justice whose
fiction explores the intersection of cities, history, and human resilience.
His passion for storytelling began when a colleague recognized the emotional
depth of his nonfiction work. Since then, he has honed his craft, publishing
short stories in Litro Magazine, Club Plum, and Santa Barbara Literary
Journal. His short story “Grace Eternal” won Best Fiction at the
Santa Barbara Writers Conference (2019).
Death and Life in the City of Dreams, his debut novel, is deeply influenced by
his experiences in nonprofit leadership and the design of inclusive
communities and urban places.
Originally from Los Angeles, he now lives in Ventura, California, with his
wife and creative partner Diana.
Ashley E. Sweeney is here to tell us about Eliza Waite, historical fiction.
There's also a great giveaway.
_________________________
Historical Fiction
Date Published: 05-16-2016
Publisher: She Writes
Press
Celebrating the 10th Anniversary
After the tragic death of her husband and son on a remote island in
Washington’s San Juan Islands, Eliza Waite joins the throng of miners,
fortune hunters, business owners, con men, and prostitutes traveling north to
the Klondike in the spring of 1898. When Eliza arrives in Skagway, Alaska, she
has less than fifty dollars to her name and not a friend in the
world—but with some savvy, and with the help of some unsavory
characters, Eliza opens a successful bakery on Skagway’s main street and
befriends a madam at a neighboring bordello. Occupying this space—a
place somewhere between traditional and nontraditional feminine
roles—Eliza awakens emotionally and sexually. But when an unprincipled
man from her past turns up in Skagway, Eliza is fearful that she will be
unable to conceal her identity and move forward with her new life. Using Gold
Rush history, diary entries, and authentic pioneer recipes, Eliza Waite
transports readers to the sights sounds, smells, and tastes of a raucous and
fleeting era of American history.
Excerpt
September 1, 1896
Cloudy, first fall chill. Deer in garden again. Need to
mend fences.
“Good fences make good neighbors,”
her aunt used to say.
Eliza examines her muddied property and stifles a
snort. There are no neighbors, no cheery hellos or help at harvest time, no
shared secrets or meals offered at the door when grief steals joy clean away.
No, her neighbors are all gone from this windswept island plagued with
relentless autumn rains that close in on the coming darkness.
Eliza
removes her nightclothes and rushes into her undergarments, woolen skirt,
muslin blouse, and thick socks. She gathers up her skirt, and pushes out
through the cabin’s rickety door, inhaling wood smoke and counting her
memories, both blessings and curses.
I do not know if I can endure
another winter here, especially after what happened last year.
Before the
epidemic there had been a store, and a post office, and a cannery, and a
school. And—of course—a church. On those long ago Sundays, Eliza
had squirmed each time Jacob mounted the stairs to the simple wooden pulpit at
First Methodist on tiny Cypress Island, his pompousness preceding him. Eliza
sat stiffly in the front pew with Jonathan close beside her. Jonathan’s
delicate hands held hers and his small brown leather boots dangled over the
front lip of the wooden bench. If she tries hard enough, Eliza can still hear
Jonathan’s warbling voice stumbling over the words of the ancient
hymns.
After Sunday services, Eliza and Ida
Lawson had poured weak coffee into china cups at opposite ends of the
cloth-covered table in the basement of the church. They adjusted the china
cups, filling in spaces when others were served. They checked the sugar bowls.
They rearranged the teaspoons, and placed them symmetrically. They exchanged
glances and shared private conversations in between parishioners.
Did you
hear the foreman killed a Chinaman over at Atlas Cannery?
Another
parishioner would interrupt. Pleasantries. Then another interruption. More
pleasantries.
Did you see Sly Chapman walking Adelaide Winters home from
school on Wednesday?
There was always scuttlebutt about the townsfolk, or
the trappers, or the fishermen, or the loggers. And always about the Chinamen.
In the kitchen, Eliza and Ida would mimic the Chinamen, taking small steps and
bowing to each other. They stifled their laughter. Only once had they had an
awkward and guarded conversation about the intimacies of marriage.
IDA’S
COFFEE CAKE
This is one of the best of plain cakes, and is very easily
made.
Take one teacup of strong coffee infusion, one teacup molasses, one
teacup sugar, one-half teacup butter, one egg, and one teaspoonful saleratus.
Add pinch of salt.
Add spice and raisins to suit the taste, and enough
flour to make a reasonably thick batter.
Bake rather slowly in tin pans
lined with buttered paper. Tops with cinnamon sugar and serve warm.
But
those days are long past. Now all Eliza has is a heap of gravestones to
visit.
About the Author
Multi award-winning author Ashley E. Sweeney’s fourth novel, The Irish
Girl, released December 2024. Her previous novels, Eliza Waite, Answer Creek,
and Hardland, have won a total of 20 awards, including the Nancy Pearl Book
Award, Independent Press Award, WILLA Literary Award, and New Mexico-Arizona
Book Award. Sweeney, a native New Yorker and graduate of Wheaton College in
Norton, Massachusetts, spends winters in Tucson and summers in the Pacific
Northwest.
Alina Jacobs is here to tell us about Mr. Emotionally Unstable: A romantic comedy.
There's also a great giveaway.
________________________
Mr. Emotionally Unstable: A Romantic Comedy
Alina Jacobs
Publication date: May 5th 2026
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance
Someone is breaking into my house… and cleaning my kitchen.
At first, I think I’ve lost my mind. Then I decide it’s kinda nice—until the death threats start.
But worrying about stalkers is for people with disposable time.
Which I do not have, thanks to my entire family showing up unannounced to move in with me.
Yay! Surprise houseguests!
As a mature adult woman in her thirties, my stalker is the closest thing to a relationship I’ve had in years. No one’s lining up for a curvy woman with a bad attitude, bras with holes in them, and zero tolerance for man-children.
And no, Mom, I don’t need you giving my number to every creepy guy you meet at the grocery store.
Except… I do need to find my newly single little sister a boyfriend-slash-meal-ticket so she (and the rest of my houseguests) will move out.
I’d toss her to my mystery stalker, but he did my laundry, and I’m not ready to give up on those perks yet. Besides, I’ve already got the perfect man for her: billionaire, hot, and way out of my league.
Better yet, I no longer have a crush on him, at least not since Fitzgerald Svensson served me eviction papers with a side of insults disguised as flirting.
Now he keeps showing up at my sister’s dates.
Yes, it’s a group activity. We’re recreating our toxic childhood dynamics here, m’kay?
Which means he must be interested… right?
Only problem—he’s hanging around me instead of her.
But it’s an even bigger problem when I wake up one night pinned by a six-foot-five male with his hand over my mouth, his knee spreading my legs, whispering in my ear, “Surprise, Creampuff.”
This is a standalone romantic comedy with a food delivery addicted dog, a hilarious Granny and a heroine of a certain age who has lowered her standards. HEA guaranteed!
I follow their horrified gaze. “Creampuff,” I say, voice low, jaw locked so tight it might crack, “you sicced your granny on me? And here I thought you liked me.”
I’m not flirting.
I’m furious.
Because my lobby—my tower—is full of topless senior citizens with knitting needles, terrifying half my hotel clients. I take pride in my hotels. French antiques sourced myself, bespoke carpeting, and my hand-selected marble foyer backdrop a dozen bare breasts swaying like revolutionary flags.
“I’ve cast three hundred stitches of rage!” her grandmother roars, holding up a half-finished scarf like a battle banner.
“And you threw coffee on me.” My voice is cold. Sharp. “Get these women out of my tower. Now.”
She hesitates. Like she’s considering taking their side.
Of course she is.
“Maybe they have a point,” she mutters.
I stare at her.
“Are you going to whip your shirt off and join them?” I snap.
Her face goes strawberry-jam red as my eyes drag—slowly—from her chest back to her mouth.
Her breath catches.
I feel it.
I ignore it.
“I wouldn’t. This is—we’re in public.”
I give her a sharp smile. “Do that,” I offer, “and I might let the protest continue.”
She swallows hard.
I step up to her, crowding her with my height. Sure, flirting’s fun, but this is business.
Her eyelashes flutter.
“And here I thought,” I say, “I was one of your biggest clients.”
Her face blanches. Sure, the fresh-pastry budget is an insignificant line item to me, but to her small business? It’s a lifeline.
She looks like she wants to die.
Good. Let her feel the pressure. She’s not the only one who can be cornered. If she loses this hospitality contract, she’s finished. We both know it.
But only I know that I won’t rip up the contract.
Set her free?
Never. She belongs to me. Wholly.
She just doesn’t realize it yet.
I follow her as she rushes toward her grandmother, my hands jammed in my pockets, in full control as I slowly trail her.
Over by the fireplace, two elderly women string up a knitted banner.
KNOTS NOT HOTELS!
“You need to grow a pair,” her granny is shouting at her. “You can’t let a man treat you like shit and still expect to hit that.”
My eyebrow lifts.
Winnie glances back at me. “He’s not hitting anything.”
“If you don’t get these half-naked elderly women out of my tower, I might.”
“Gran…” Winnie begs.
Her granny steps into my space, hands up for a fistfight.
“You’re a bully.”
“Booo!”
“Bread, not beds!”
“Crochet, don’t pay!”
The topless women encircle us.
I squeeze my eyes shut. If they’re not Winnie’s, I don’t want to see them.
“He acts like he’s never seen tits before,” Granny Frances huffs. “Maybe you should fuck the neighbor’s son, Winn.”
My eyes snap open. Straight to Winnie.
Heat. Anger. Something darker. “Is that why you refused to go on a date with me, Creampuff?”
Her chin lifts. “No. I refused because I hate you.”
I exhale, steady, even. Then I reach up and undo my tie. Watch her eyes bug out as she realizes what I’m doing.
“NO CROISSANTS, NO PEACE!”
I twist off my dress shirt. It’s not lost on me that her gaze slides down my face to my collarbone, down my chest, down…
The chanting starts to trail off.
“Are we sure he needs to be protested?”
Author Bio:
I write the kind of books I love—romantic comedies featuring snarly guys with hearts of gold, kick-ass heroines, and a swoon-worthy happily ever after! Also wine. And cupcakes.
When I’m not writing I can be found drinking tea, surrounded by my massive to-be-read pile! So many books...
You can connect with me on social media or find information on my books at my website.
Sign up for my newsletter so that you can get information about new releases, giveaways, and more!
Kasie Haley is here to tell us about Burning for You, a contemporary romance.
Read on for details...
_____________________
Burning For You
Kasie Haley
Publication date: July 24th 2026
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Lainey Wells hasn’t returned home to Tennessee in ten years. When her Grandpa passes away, she’s the only one left to help take care of her Grandma and keep her safe. Returning to a town where everyone hates her and calls her a murderer is her worst nightmare, and she doesn’t plan to stay. Not unless someone from her past can convince her.
Casey Richards isn’t afraid of anything. He’s not afraid of fighting in wars overseas, and certainly not running into burning buildings. Firefighting is his biggest passion in life, except for one other thing. Lainey Wells, the girl he has loved since they were kids. Ten years have passed since they’ve seen each other and when she suddenly returns, it’s his chance to convince her to stay.
Happiness has not come easily for either of them. Will he ever be able to make her stop blaming herself for what happened in their past? Lainey knows that staying could be dangerous, but Casey is ready to go to war for her.
Will they get their second chance, or will they burn out?
Author Bio:
Hi! I'm Kasie. I'm 28 and from Saint Louis, Missouri. My home is full of lots of laughter with 5 kiddos, 2 dogs and 2 cats. Plus some animals with scales. I love writing to release stress and have fun! I hope you love my books!
Patrick Simiglai is here to tell us about Fueled by Pain, his nonfiction memoir about self-esteem.
Read on for details...
_______________________
Nonfiction / Self-Esteem / Memoir
Date Published: January 15, 2026
Publisher: MindStir Media
What if your pain wasn’t holding you back… but pushing you
forward?
From abuse and neglect to crime, addiction, prison, and crushing
debt—Patrick Simiglai’s story is not just about survival.
It’s about transformation.
In Fueled By Pain, ultra-endurance athlete and mental performance coach
Patrick Simiglai shares how he rebuilt his life from the ground up using
discipline, resilience, and 23 powerful mental techniques designed to help you
do the same.
This is not a motivational quick fix.
This is a blueprint for real, lasting change.
Inspired by elite forces like the Danish Frogman Corps, Patrick pushed himself
through extreme physical challenges—ultramarathons, rope climbs, and
marathon swims—discovering that the real battle isn’t in the
body… it’s in the mind.
Inside this powerful book, you’ll discover how to:
• Master your inner dialogue and stop self-sabotage
• Build discipline that lasts beyond motivation
• Develop unshakable mental resilience under pressure
• Break free from addiction, fear, and limiting beliefs
• Turn pain, discomfort, and resistance into your greatest advantage
• Create long-term success through integrity and self-trust
Patrick’s journey—from chaos to clarity—proves that no
matter where you start, you can rebuild your life. Today, he is a successful
entrepreneur, endurance athlete, and mentor helping others unlock their
potential and take control of their lives.
His message is simple—but powerful:
You don’t need a new life. You need a new relationship with yourself.
Pain, resistance, and discomfort are not signs that you’re on the wrong
path. Often, they are proof that you’re walking in the direction of
growth. You don’t have to feel ready. You just have to show up honestly
and keep your word to yourself—especially on the days when no one is
watching.
About the Author
Patrick Simiglai is a Danish ultra-endurance athlete, mental performance
coach, and speaker dedicated to helping individuals transform their lives
through discipline, resilience, and powerful inner dialogue. As the author of
Fueled By Pain, Patrick shares a raw and deeply personal journey of overcoming
adversity and building mental strength from the inside out.
Competing in some of the world’s most grueling ultra-endurance
races—including 200- and 300-mile events across deserts, mountains, and
extreme terrain—Patrick has developed a unique approach to mental
toughness rooted in real-world experience. His work bridges the gap between
extreme physical performance and everyday personal growth, offering practical
tools for leaders, athletes, and teams to perform under pressure with
integrity and consistency.
Patrick’s path to success was anything but conventional. Growing up in a
childhood marked by abuse and later struggling with drug and alcohol
addiction, he understands firsthand the challenges of feeling trapped by your
own thoughts. His transformation—from chaos and self-destruction to
purpose-driven achievement—forms the foundation of his coaching,
speaking, and writing.
Through his work, Patrick emphasizes that true growth begins with mastering
your inner dialogue. His philosophy is simple yet powerful: you don’t
need a new life—you need a new relationship with yourself. By embracing
discomfort, taking responsibility, and committing to disciplined action, he
teaches others how to unlock their full potential and create lasting change.
Originally written in Danish and later rewritten in English as a personal
challenge, Fueled By Pain reflects Patrick’s belief that growth comes
from stepping outside your comfort zone and committing to the process, even
when it’s difficult. Drawing from years of journaling, coaching, and
extreme endurance experiences, the book delivers 23 mental techniques designed
to help readers build resilience, overcome self-doubt, and achieve long-term
success.
Today, Patrick Simiglai works with individuals and organizations worldwide,
inspiring others to confront their limits, strengthen their mindset, and turn
pain into purpose.
