Monday, 29 February 2016



Today we're joining the NORA AND KETTLE blog tour by chatting with author Lauren Nicolle Taylor.

Lauren in the lush Adelaide Hills. The daughter of a Malaysian nuclear physicist and an Australian scientist, she was expected to follow a science career path, attending Adelaide University and completing a Health Science degree with Honours in obstetrics and gynaecology.

She then worked in health research for a short time before having her first child. Due to their extensive health issues, Lauren spent her twenties as a full-time mother/carer to her three children. When her family life settled down, she turned to writing.

She is a 2014 Kindle Book Awards Semi-finalist and a USA Best Book Awards Finalist.

Hi, Lauren! Welcome to We Do Write. Tell our readers a bit about NORA AND KETTLE. What's the story about?

Nora and Kettle is essentially a story of survival. The two main characters are both suffering from very different adverse situations yet the way they view the world, the way they deal with their struggles is pretty similar. Nora lives a very privileged life yet is a victim of domestic violence. Kettle is homeless and although free from his previously violent and lonely upbringing in an orphanage and then as a prisoner in a Japanese American Internment camp, he must deal with trying to live honestly whilst living on the streets. 

Their lives intersect several times, each having an influence on the other without realizing. Until finally they meet and suddenly just ‘surviving’ doesn’t seem like an option anymore. Through love and friendship, they give each other the courage to seek a better life.


How did the idea of the story come to you?

I always start with characters. I get a sense of who they will be and then build a story around that.

It’s funny. Initially Nora and Kettle was going to be a science fiction story. Still based around similar characters but a wholly different setting. Kettle was not initially going to be Japanese American but as I was writing, the characters came to me, and then the idea of setting it in the fifties just fit.

Are you a plotter or a pantser?

I am most definitely a pantser for at least the first half of a book, and then I do start plotting out the story lines. Particularly with this story, the little details were so important. As their stories started to intertwine more and more toward the end, I felt like I could easily lose track of where I was going if I didn’t write some things down.

What’s the hardest part of writing for you?

Stopping! Writing is a compulsion for me.

What do you absolutely have to have nearby when writing?

My notebook and COFFEE!

I hear you on the coffee! If you could have any super power, what would it be?

Healing. If I could heal the sick I think that would be the awesomest super power ever.

What's the weirdest thing you've googled?

Okay, I don’t recommend you do this but I was recently researching my next book and I wanted to find the name for these large rat-like animal that live in Arizona and other prairie lands. I found the name and then typed it into Google to find an image, just to make sure it was what I had seen when I travelled through the USA last year. Anyway, if you search California Prairie Dog you may get shock. Actually don’t. Don’t do it. I certainly regretted it.

Finish this sentence: If I'm not writing, 

…I'm probably rearranging my living room.

Here’s the part where you thank the people who are supporting you. Let's hear your shout outs.

I want to thank you Clean Teen for always supporting and believing in my writing, my husband Michael for putting up with my crazy and my three kids who keep my feet firmly on the ground.

Thanks for stopping by the blog!

Connect with the author:

Author links:
http://www.laurennicolletaylor.com/



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Friday, 26 February 2016

#FridayReveals: NOBODY'S LADY by Amy McNulty #Month9Squad #Month9Books



Today Amy McNulty and Month9Books are revealing the cover and first chapter for NOBODY’S LADY! Book 2 in the Never Veil Series which releases April 12, 2016! Check out the gorgeous cover and enter to be one of the first readers to receive an eGalley!!

On to the reveal!



Title: NOBODY’S LADY
Author: Amy McNulty
Pub. Date: April 12, 2016
Publisher: Month9Books
Format: Paperback & eBook
Find it: Amazon | Goodreads

For the first time in a thousand years, the men in Noll’s village possess the freedom to love whom they will. In order to give each man the chance to fully explore his feelings, the lord of the village decrees all marriages null and void until both spouses declare their love for one another and their desire to wed again. What many women think will be a simple matter becomes a source of village-wide tension as most men decide to leave their families and responsibilities behind.



Rejected by the lord and ashamed of her part in the village’s history, Noll withdraws from her family and lives life as an independent woodcarver. This changes when her sister accuses her of hiding her former husband Jurij from her—and when Jurij eventually does ask to move in. Determined not to make the same mistakes, Noll decides to support her male friends through their new emotional experiences, but she’s soon caught up in a darker plot than she ever dared imagine possible from the men she thought she knew so well. And the lord for whom she still has feelings may be hiding the most frightening truth of them all.



Excerpt


Chapter One

When I thought I understood real friendship, I was a long-lost queen. When I discovered there was so much more to my life than love and hate, that those around me were just pawns in a game whose rules I’d unwittingly put in place, I discovered I was a long-forgotten goddess. But goddess or not, powerless or powerful, my feet were taking me someplace I wasn’t sure I wanted to go. What did I hope to find? Did I truly believe I could hear him call me—that he’d want to call me? Yes, I did. I wanted to see him again. I wanted to hope, even if I wasn’t sure I was allowed. If I deserved to. I headed down the familiar dirt path beneath the lattice of trees overhead, pausing beside the bush with a partially snapped stem that jutted outward like a broken limb. The one that pointed to the secret cavern.

Only, it’s not much of a secret anymore, is it?

My feet picked themselves up. Glowing pools would never again tempt me.

I reached the black, towering fortress that had for so long shaken and screamed at the power of my glance.

For the first time in this lifetime, I stared up at it, and nothing moved. My legs, unused to such steady footing while in the sight of the lord’s castle, twitched in anticipation of a fall that never came.

There was no need. My feet dragged me forward.

At the grand wooden door, I raised a fist to knock.

But I stopped. I felt like if I touched it, the entire castle might crumble. It had done so once before. Not at my touch exactly. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was responsible for whatever destruction I’d find in this place. But that was presumptuous of me. He was strong-willed, and he wouldn’t crumble at the prospect of freedom. If anything, he’d be triumphant over it.

You can’t stop now. I pulled my sleeves over my wrists and propped both elbows against the door, pushing until it gave way.

The darkness inside the foyer tried to deceive me into thinking night had fallen. The stream of light that trickled from the familiar crack in the garden door called the darkness a liar.

I gripped the small iron handles, the material of my sleeves guarding the cold metal from my touch, and pulled.

My touch had come to the garden before me.

The rose bushes that surrounded the enclosed circular area were torn, ripped, trodden, and plucked. The blooms lay withered, scattered and turned to dust, their once-white petals a sickly shade of yellowish brown, smooth blooms turned coarse and wrinkled.

The fountain at the center no longer trickled with water. Its shallow pool was stagnant, piles of brown festering in mildewing green liquid. Dotted amongst the brown was pallid stone rubble. The tears of the weeping elf child statue, which belonged at the top of the fountain, had ceased at last. But the gash across its face told me the child’s tears had not been staunched by joy. I wondered if Ailill had had it carved to represent the pain I’d inflicted on him as a child. And I wondered if now he could no longer bear to remind himself of what I’d done.

I hadn’t done this. But I felt as if I had. If Ailill had gone on a rampage after he came back to the castle, it was because of what I’d done to him. Everything I touched turned sour. I yanked and pulled, trying to draw my hands further into my sleeves, but there wasn’t enough material to cover them entirely.

“Well, what a surprise.” I gazed into the shadow beside the doorway. How could I have not seen? The stone table was occupied. The place where I’d sat alone for hours, days, and months was littered with crumpled and decaying leaves, branches, and petals, obscuring the scars left by a dagger or knife striking time and time again across its surface. The matching bench that once nestled on the opposite side was toppled over, leaving only dark imprints in the dirt.

“A pity you could not make yourself at home here when you were welcome.”

My breath caught in my throat.

The man at the table was clad entirely in black, as I knew he would be. The full-length jacket had been swapped for a jerkin, but I could see the embossing of roses hadn’t been discarded in the exchange. He wore dark leather gloves, the fingers of which were crossed like the wings of a bird in flight. His pale elbows rested on the table amongst the leaves and branches and thorns. He wore the hat I was used to seeing him wear, a dark, pointed top resting on a wide brim. Its black metal band caught a ray of the sunlight almost imperceptibly. But I noticed. I always did.

His face was entirely uncovered. Those large and dark eyes, locked on me, demanded my attention. They were the same eyes of the boy I’d left alone to face my curse—not so long ago from my point of view. He was more frightened then, but there was no mistaking the hurt in those eyes both then and now.

“You are not welcome here, Olivière.”

His words sliced daggers through my stomach.

“I … I thought I heard you call me.”

He cocked his head to the side, his brown eyes moving askance. “You heard me call you?”

“Yes … ” I realized how foolish it sounded. I was a fool to come. Why had I let myself fall for that sound again, for my name whispered on the wind? Why was I so certain it was he who’d said my name?

He smiled, not kindly. “And where, pray tell, have you been lurking? Under a rose bush? Behind the garden door? Or do those rounded female ears possess a far greater sense of hearing than my jagged male ones?”

I brushed the tips of my ears self-consciously. Elric had been so fascinated by them, by what he saw as a mutilation. This lord—Ailill—wasn’t like that. He’d touched them once, as a child. He’d tried to heal them, thinking they were meant to be pointed.

The boy with a heart was the man sitting there before me. Even after all we’d been through, he’d still done me a kindness by healing my mother. “No, I just thought—”

“No, you did not think, or you would not have come.”

I clenched my jaw. My tongue was threatening to spew the vile anger that had gotten us into this mess to begin with.

He sighed and crossed his arms across his chest. “I gave explicit instructions that I not be disturbed.” He leaned back against the wall behind him, his chin jutting outward slightly.

I wiped my sweaty fingertips on my skirt. I wouldn’t let the rest of my hands out from the insides of my sleeves. The sweat had already soaked through them. “I needed to thank you.”

He scoffed. “Thank me for what? For your prolonged captivity, or for not murdering both your mother and your lover when I had the chance?”

So you admit you took Jurij to punish me? You admit they were both in danger in your “care”? Quickly, I had to clench my jaw to keep down the words that threatened to spill over. He’s not who I thought he was. He wouldn’t have harmed them.

I loosened the muscles in my jaw one hair’s breadth at a time.

“For healing me when you were a child. For accepting me into your castle instead of putting me to death for trespassing in it. For … For forgiving me for cursing you, even though you were innocent.” My voice was quiet, but I was determined to make it grow louder. “For saving my mother’s life.”

He waved one hand lazily in the air. “Unfinished projects irk me.”

“But you didn’t have to.”

A shrug. “The magic was nearly entirely spent on the churl anyway.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He leaned forward and placed both palms across the rotted forest remnants on the table. “My apologies,” he said, his lips curled into a sneer. “I simply meant that I wasted years and years and let the magic wither from my body to save a person of no consequence. You may thank me for that if you like. I would rather not be reminded of it.”

How odd it was to see the face I’d imagined come to life. The mocking, the condescending—it was all there. I just hadn’t known the canvas before.

And what a strange and beautiful canvas it was. That creamy peach skin, the brownish tint of his shoulder-length tresses. He was so much paler than any person I had ever seen. Save for the specters.

Despite the paleness, part of me felt I wasn’t wrong to have mistaken one brother for another. Elric had been dark-skinned, but they seemed almost like reflections of the same person; they shared the same brows, the same lips, and even eyes of a similar shape if not color. Perhaps the face before me was a bit gaunter, the nose a bit longer. It was easier to focus on the differences. Thinking of the similarities made me want to punch the face in front of me all the more—and that would undermine everything I had set out to do when I made my way to him. I wanted to see if you were really restored to life. Say it. I wanted to know if you really forgave me. Say it. I wanted to know why I … Why I feel this way about you, why I keep thinking about you, when I used to be unable to stand the sight of you. Say it, Noll! I dug my nails into my palm and shook the thoughts from my head. He’d called my mother a “churl.” I couldn’t just tell him everything I was thinking. “Have you no sense of empathy?”

“What a coincidence that you should mention that. I am sending Ailill to the village with an edict. He can escort

you there.” “Ailill?” But aren’t you him? Could I have been mistaken? Oh, goddess, help me, why do I do this to myself? Why do I think I know everything?

He waved his hand, and one of the specters appeared beside me from the foyer.

The specters. There were about a hundred of them in the castle. Pale as snow in skin and hair with red, burning eyes. Mute servants who seemed to anticipate the lord’s every command. Only now I knew who they really were.

Oh. “You call him by your own name?” I asked.

He raised an eyebrow. “I call them all by my name. They are me, remember?”

His icy stare sent another invisible dagger through my stomach. “Yes, but—”

“A shame you never cared to ask my name when you were my guest,” he said. “I have a feeling things might have turned out much differently—for all of us.”

“You knew what would happen! Why didn’t you warn me?” I had to squeeze my fists and teeth together to stop myself from screaming. This wasn’t going at all like I had hoped. But what had I hoped? What could I have possibly expected? I thought I’d be forgiven. I thought that Ailill and I might start over, that we could be friends, perhaps even … What a fool I’ve been.

Ailill turned slightly, his attention suddenly absorbed in a single white petal that remained on a half-trodden bush beside him. “I was not entirely in control of my emotions,” he said, “as you may well know.”

“I tried to give you a way out!” My jaw wouldn’t stay shut.

Ailill laughed and reached over to pluck the petal from its thorns. “Remind me exactly when that was? Perhaps between condemning me to an eternal life of solitude and wretchedness and providing yourself with a way to feel less guilty about the whole affair? And then you just popped right back to the present, I suppose, skipping over those endless years in a matter of moments.” He crushed the petal in his hand.

“A way to let myself feel less guilty?” He wasn’t entirely wrong. But it wasn’t as if he had done nothing wrong.

Ailill bolted upright, slamming the fist that gripped the petal against the twigs and grass on the table. “Your last words to me were entirely for your own benefit, as well you know!”

If, after your own Returning, you can find it in your heart to forgive me, the last of the men whose blood runs with his own power will free all men bound by my curse.

“How is wishing to break the curse on the village for my benefit?”

“Perhaps because the curse was your doing? Perhaps because you only wanted the curse broken to free your lover from it in the first place?”

“Stop calling Jurij my ‘lover.’ He’s not—”

“And you did free him with those words. You knew I would forgive you.”

“How could I have known? I didn’t think it possible you’d forgive me, not after all we’ve been through.”

“You knew because you knew I wanted to be free myself. That I would do anything—even forgive you for half a moment—to earn that freedom.” His voice grew quieter. “You never wanted anything from me, not really. I was just a pawn in your game, a way to free the other men in your village, a way to punish the men from mine.”

I fought back what I couldn’t believe was threatening to spring to my eyes. No tears, not in front of him.

“The men of the old village deserved everything they got,” I spat at last, knowing full well that wasn’t the whole story.

Ailill scoffed and put both hands on his hips, his arms akimbo. Oh, how I tired of that pose. The crushed petal remained on the table. Its bright white added a bit of life to the decay.

“There were plenty of young boys not yet corrupted,” he said. “And some that might have never been.” He took a deep breath. “But, of course, you are not entirely to blame. I blame myself every day for ever taking a childish interest in you. That should not have counted as love.”

I swallowed. Of course. Before the curse of the village had broken, a woman had absolute power over the one man who loved or yearned for her. When I visited the past through the pool in the secret cavern, I discovered a horde of lusty men who knew nothing of love but were overcome with desire. Since so many had lusted for any female who walked before them, and I had carried the power from my own version of the village with me, it had been child’s play to control the men. But why had that power extended to Ailill? He had only been a boy then, broken, near silent—and kindhearted. He couldn’t have regarded me with more than a simple crush on an older sisterly figure, but it had been enough.

“But you did forgive me.” Why couldn’t I stop the words from flowing?

Ailill shook his head and let a weary smile spread across his features. “Forgive you? I could never forgive you. No more than I could forgive myself for daring to think, if just for a moment, that I … ” He stopped.

I shook my head. “The curse wouldn’t have been broken. The men in the village wouldn’t now be walking around without masks. Nor you without your veil. If you hadn’t forgiven me.”

Ailill tilted his head slightly. His dark eyes searched mine, perhaps for some answer he thought could be found there. “I would still need the veil even now?” he asked, his voice quiet. “Are you certain?”

Removing the veil before the curse was broken would have required the Returning, a ritual in which I freely and earnestly bestowed my heart and affection to him. It would have never happened, not with the man I knew at the time to be mine. So yes, he would still need the veil to survive the gaze of women. I was sure of it. He’d been arrogant, erratic, and even cruel. Perhaps not so much as Elric, Ailill’s even more volatile older brother, the one who wound up with a mob of angry, murderous women in his castle and a gouge through his heart. But even so.

It was my turn to cross my arms and sneer. “I said you could break the curse after your own Returning, and I specified that you didn’t need my affection to have a Returning. All you needed to do was crawl out of whatever abyss I’d sent you to.” I shifted uncomfortably in place. “And I suppose I should be grateful—for my mother’s sake—that you did.”

Ailill waved a hand at the specter beside me and brushed aside a pile of clippings on the table to reveal a hand-written letter. It was yellowed and a tad soggy. “Yes, well, the endless droning that made up your curse gets a bit foggy in my mind—assuming it even made sense in your mind to begin with. I am afraid I lack the ability to retain exact memories of an event that took place a hundred lifetimes ago when I was but a scarred child terrified of the monster before him.” He looked up to face me as the specter retrieved the letter from his extended hand. “But I suppose it was not all that long ago for the monster, was it?” He turned again to the table, shuffling brush about aimlessly. “Take her with you to the market,” he said.

The specter made to grab my arm as he passed. I slipped out of his reach only to back into another specter who had appeared quick as lightning from the foyer. He grabbed one arm, and the first specter seized the other.

“Let go of me!” I shouted as they began to drag me away.

The specters didn’t pause, as they once would have.

“Stop!” called Ailill from behind me. The specters did as they were told.

Ailill spoke. “I forgot to inform you that my retainers lost all desire to follow your orders when I did.” He waved his fingers in the air. “Carry on.”

I struggled against the grip the specters had on my arms. Again. He has me under his thumb again. “I can walk by myself!” I screamed as my toes slid awkwardly against the dark foyer floor. “I don’t need to go to the market!”

A black carriage awaited us outside the castle doorway. A third specter opened the carriage door, and my captors heaved me up into the seat like a sack of grain. The one with the letter slid in and took the seat across from me. He stared vacantly at the top of the seat behind me.

I leaned forward, whipping my hand out to stop the carriage door as one of the specters moved to close it. I didn’t care what I touched in the castle anymore. Let the whole thing crumble.

A black-gloved hand covered mine. I jumped back. Ailill stuck his head inside the carriage. His face stopped right before mine, the brim of his hat practically shading me under it. The sight of his face so close to mine, unveiled and painted with disdain, caused a thunderous racing of my heart. It was as if I’d just run the length of the entire village.

“You kept your hair short,” he said. He reached his free hand toward it, then pulled back.

I’d once let the bushy mess of black hair grow as long as it wanted, but once I cropped it closely to my scalp, I found it easier to deal with. “There hasn’t been enough time for it to grow, anyway. Not for me.”

He snorted. “Of course. But it makes me remember you as you were, long ago. When you cursed me and every man whether he deserved it or not.” He leaned back a bit, putting more space between our faces. “I think you will be most interested in going with my servants to the market,” he said. “But there will be no need to thank me in person afterward. I would rather not see you again.” His eyes drifted upwards, thoughtfully. “In fact, remind the villagers that I am closed to all audiences. My servants will be out there to see that my edict is obeyed.”

Before I could speak, he leaned back and let my hand fall from his. He reached around the door to close it.

“Wait—”

And slammed it in my face.




About Amy: 

Amy McNulty is a freelance writer and editor from Wisconsin with an honors degree in English. She was first published in a national scholarly journal (The Concord Review) while in high school and currently writes professionally about everything from business marketing to anime. In her down time, you can find her crafting stories with dastardly villains and antiheroes set in fantastical medieval settings. Visit her website at amymcnulty.com.






Giveaway Details:



1 winner will receive an eBook of NOBODY’S GODDESS and an eGalley of NOBODY’S LADY. International.

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Thursday, 25 February 2016

Trailer Reveal: Facsimile by Vicki L Weavil


Welcome to this week’s M9B Friday Reveal! But wait it's a Thursday you're probably asking yourself! Yes it is but we have a super special reveal for you today and we will have a reveal tomorrow as well!

This week, we are revealing the trailer for
Facsimile by Vicki L. Weavil
an upcoming Month9Books Title!
facsimile ebook final
Title: FACSIMILE



Author: Vicki L. Weavil
Pub. Date: March 8, 2016
Publisher: Month9Books
Format: Hardcover,
Paperback & eBook
Find it: Amazon| B&N | Goodreads
For a ticket to Earth, seventeen-year-old Anna-Maria “Ann” Solano is willing to jettison her birth planet, best friend, and the boy who loves her. Especially since all she’s required to do is escort Dace Keeling, a young naturalist, through the wilderness of the partially terraformed planet Eco. Ann‘s determination to escape the limitations of her small, frontier colony never falters, until Dace’s expeditions uncover three secrets. One offers riches, one shatters Ann’s perceptions of herself, and one reveals that the humans stranded on Eco are not its only inhabitants.
Ann’s willing to sacrifice friendship and love for a new life on Earth. But when an entire species is placed in jeopardy by her actions, she must make a choice – fulfill the dream that’s always sustained her, or save the planet she’s never considered home.
Now here's the trailer!






Vicki Weavil 11
Vicki L. Weavil is represented by Fran Black of Literary Counsel. Her Young Adult Fantasy, CROWN OF ICE -- a dark YA retelling of H.C. Andersen's "The Snow Queen" -- is published by Month9Books. Two companion books to CROWN OF ICE -- SCEPTER OF FIRE and ORB OF LIGHT -- will be published in 2016 and 2017. Her YA SciFi -- FACSIMILE -- will be published by Month9Books in 2016, with a sequel, DERIVATION, to follow. A new YA Fantasy, THE DIAMOND THIMBLE, will be published by Month9Books in 2018. She also writes adult SciFi.
Author Links: Website | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads | Tumblr



Complete the Rafflecopter below for a chance to win.
Title will be sent upon its release.





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Wednesday, 24 February 2016

A Hold on Me Blog Tour: Interview with Pat Esden PLUS Giveaway


Today we're joining the blog tour for A HOLD ON ME by chatting with author Pat Esden. Come get to know more about Pat and her book. And don't forget to enter the rafflecopter at the end of the post for your chance to win a cool prize.
Hi, Pat! Welcome to We Do Write. Tell us a bit about yourself.  
Thank you for inviting me to stop by. My name is Pat Esden and I’m the author of the new adult paranormal series, Dark Heart. The first book in the series, A HOLD ON ME came out February 23.
Tell our readers a bit about A HOLD ON ME.
A HOLD IN ME is a gothic tale of love and revenge.  The main character is Annie, a twenty-year-old woman who has grownup picking and dealing antiques with her father. When her father is diagnosed with dementia, his illness forces them to return to their ancestral home on the coast of Maine where their estranged family lives.
Once there, her father’s situation deteriorates and Annie’s longstanding suspicions about her family grow ever larger. She turns to an unlikely ally for support—Chase a dangerously seductive young groundskeeper.


How did the idea of the story come to you?
Johnny Depp and our shared love for the old TV series Dark Shadows inspired me to write A HOLD ON ME. I was writing a different novel at the time, but when I heard Depp was working with Tim Burton on a remake of the show, it struck me that having fun and creating something you’ve always wanted to try was important to me as well. However, I didn’t have any desire to create a campy remake of Dark Shadows. I wanted to write a gothic novel that had an atmosphere reminiscent of the show and also to the romantic suspense novels from the same time period—but with an updated flare and sizzle to make it appealing to contemporary readers.




That's awesome. Are you a plotter or a pantser?
I’m a plotter. I begin with a story’s turning points, and then fill in the rest of the plot details. In the end, I have a fairly complete chapter-by-chapter outline. I also write a detailed synopsis before I start writing.
What’s the hardest part of writing for you?
The hardest part is writing the last third of the first draft. The beginning of the first draft is all about exploring the world and characters. It’s fun. The next third is about action building toward the climax. But when I hit the last third, I have a hard time pushing forward instead of going back to revise the earlier sections. Revision and later drafts are the part I love the most.
What do you absolutely have to have nearby when writing?
I have different ‘trinkets’ for every book, things that remind me of the story and give me luck. For A HOLD ON ME, I have an ancient coin with a bee on it and a small clay lamp from a dig site in Greece, and a seagull statue that I inherited when my sister passed away.
If you could have any super power, what would it be?
Puppy whisperer! I have a Golden Retriever puppy. I love her dearly, but having to change my daily writing schedule around her needs hasn’t been easy. I’d love to be able to lull her from wild-chewing-crazy-dog into sleepy-bundle-of-cuteness with just a couple words.
What's the weirdest thing you've googled?
This is a hard one. I’ve Google a lot of strange things. Lately, it probably would be ‘intimate massages during pregnancy’. I probably shouldn’t have used the word ‘intimate’. I got the information I wanted for the novel, but I also saw a few things I wish I could un-see.
Finish this sentence: If I'm not writing, I'm probably ...
at an auction, museum, out somewhere exploring something new, meeting new people, or asleep on the couch. Yeah, I’m a little like my new puppy: either busy doing something or I’m crashed.
Here’s the part where you thank the people who are supporting you. Let's hear your shout outs.
I belong to Waiting-On-2016 author group. I’d like to give a shout out to all the members. They are a fantastic and supportive group, and the books they have coming out this year truly open up new territories in the middle grade, young adult, and new adult categories. Check out our blog https://waitingon2016.wordpress.com or every other week there is a twitter chat where you can learn more about the authors, the topics that are important to them, and their books.  #WO2016  

Thanks so much for stopping by the blog, Pat! Good luck with your series!

Find the author online:




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Tuesday, 23 February 2016

EDGE Book Blitz: A Young Adult/New Adult Paranormal Collection



EDGE: A Young Adult/New Adult Paranormal Collection
Publication date: April 5th 2016
Genres: New Adult, Paranormal, Young Adult
Limited Edition Paranormal Boxed Set
20 New York Times, USA Today, and International Bestselling Authors.
20 of today’s most magical, sought-after titles.
Yours for only $0.99.
Twenty Edgy Young Adult & New Adult Paranormal Tales
Twenty of today’s favorite young adult and new adult authors have come together to bring you a collection packed with full-length, spellbinding reads sure to keep you keep you on the edge of your seat and up way past your bedtime!
But reader beware: These novels take everything to the edge–and not just the edge of your seat. With authors who aren’t afraid to push the boundaries, you get stories that take everything to limit, creating whimsical reads that teens can actually relate to and that adults can enjoy, too.
Save over $50! This set is only available at this price for a limited time, so scroll up and grab your copy before it’s gone!
PRE-ORDER today for only 99¢!
Sneak a peek at a couple of books in this collection:
Pretty Little Wherewolf
“Whatever, Di. Help if you must, but don’t baby me.”
If Di heard her, she didn’t respond. Not that Giselle needed verbal confirmation; she turned back around and slammed her locker shut without looking, and then stumbled straight into something… someone… hard.
“Oh, sorry,” Giselle mumbled, trying to steady herself. She hadn’t caught the scent until after she looked up and saw who she’d almost knocked down – or, well, collided with. She couldn’t have knocked him down if she’d tried.
Hello, Boy!
He was magnificent. Was every guy in this school a male model? Towering over her at well above six foot, with muscles that went on for days, he was built like a statue with a hard jaw and stone-cold eyes to match. Though his looks were definitely worth paying attention to, it was his smell that had her standing dumbfounded. In all the years since she’d first experienced the change, she had never run into anyone like her. Now, standing here right in front of her was yet another wolf. She’d thought the lingering scent of wet earth might have been left in Di’s wake, but the longer he stood here, looking down at her, the stronger the smell got.
“Do you have a problem?” he asked with a voice that complemented that spectacular body of his. Smooth and deep. Seriously… what a package. Her wolf was definitely at attention and begging for a second to come to the surface for a closer inspection. It was all she could do not to wolf out right there in the hallway, with all the students around to see. Yeah. That would make for a great first impression.
Hiya, everyone… I’m the new girl, and… oh, yeah, and I’m a wolf, too. She might as well tape an old “Kick me” sign on her back; it would be less conspicuous.
While she was practically drooling where she stood, the strange boy, wolf, man –whatever he was – looked positively murderous. “Are you going to stand here all day, or can I get to my locker?”
So much for making a good first impression on him. “Sorry.” Giselle cleared her throat, wanting to say something smart, but for once, she didn’t have the words. She sidestepped sheepishly, and enjoyed the back view of him as he brushed past her to his own locker.
Damn. Nice butt.
Her wolf agreed, too. Wonder what his wolf looks like. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours! She couldn’t help but stare. How often did she run into other wolves? Male wolves.
Other Side of Forever
“Allie, why do you hate me so much?” he asked softly as he stared into the sky.
His question took me by surprise. Did he really think that?
“I…I don’t hate you, Ethan.” I stumbled over my words. “I barely know you.”
“Then why do you try so hard to avoid me?”
“I don’t,” I lied, knowing that I did, but not in a mean type of way. I closed my eyes and sighed, wishing he didn’t have to ask so many questions. Couldn’t he just go back to saying nothing at all?
“You do,” he argued. I could hear the change in his voice. He was smiling.
“No. I don’t,” I answered sarcastically. His persistence was pinching my nerves.
“Then look at me,” he challenged.
Without thinking, I turned my head and looked at him. His warm, sweet breath blew against my face as he exhaled. The scent of peppermint. His dark eyes snatched me up and whisked me away. I was lost and unprepared as he drew me deeper and deeper inside him. The walls he created around me were getting higher and harder to climb. Like I had slipped into a trench and I was sinking into the earth.
Ethan pressed forward, attempting to close the gap between us. His lips were so close to mine I could feel the heat emanating from them. And just as our lips were about to brush, the voice in my head begged and pleaded and screamed for me to stop.
Then I turned away.


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Release Day: NEIL FLAMBE AND THE DUEL IN THE DESERT by Kevin Sylvester




Neil, “the flamboyant, irrepressible chef” (Kirkus Reviews), hits the road in his food truck and drives right into a new case in the sixth book in The Neil Flambé Capers, the culinary mystery series celebrity chef Gordon Ramsey calls “good fun.”




Hardcover304 pages
Expected publication: February 23rd 2016 by Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

Neil has lost his beloved restaurant. Though he misses it dearly, he and his friend Larry are headed on a new adventure. They are travelling to the Salsa Verde ranch in Arizona with their new food truck to participate in the legendary food truck gathering, the Broiling Man Festival. Once he arrives, Neil discovers that the Verde ranch is in danger of foreclosure, at the mercy of a developer who wants to turn it into housing and a factory farm. The only hope for the ranch is a treasure map left behind by the very first Verde, a chef who discovered a mine while escaping from a murderous army colonel. Neil and Larry are on a quest to find the treasure, but each time they think they’re close to finding something, they come up with nothing. Will the boys find the mine—and the treasure—in time to save Salsa Verde ranch?
Check out Neil's very own website here!



My 6th Neil Flambé book is now out, and it's a miracle (for me) that this ever happened. Like all true miracles, it happened because of other people. 

The idea for the series began as a kind of joke, or (more accurately) a dare among my friends at the CBC Radio show, Sounds Like Canada.

It was 2007 and the final Harry Potter was coming out. Who would take Harry's place in the hearts of children all over the world? They dared me to come up with "the next big thing."

Enter the ginger, obnoxious but incredibly talented Neil. I love Neil. He grew out of my own interest in food, travel and mystery. (I sometimes joke that I threw Julia Child, James Bond and Miss Marple in a blender and got Neil.)

I wish I could cook like he does. I wish he would be nicer to people.

What was amazing was how easily the original story flowed from my brain. We aired a ten-part mini-series in the summer of 2007, and I was sure it would be a great, real, book. 

But what was equally amazing was that I had a long way to go to actually write a good book. The radio plays were fun, but nor for kids. They were too foodie, too precious, too violent... and not funny enough.

So this is where the "larger message" of my little essay comes in. To be a writer I found that the idea was'nt enough. You have to (a) finish the book. But you also have to (b) realize that the first draft (or 27 drafts) will suck. So then you (c) seek help.

My friend and editor Charis stepped in, and offered to read my first feeble attempts. She ripped into me good.

Oh yeah.... (d) don't take criticism personally. Listen to what the person is saying. What she was saying to me was that I needed to actually think of who I was writing for. I had written a book about a kid for an audience of adults like me. "Make it fun,." she ordered.

Thanks goodness I listened (after a few moping days of self-pity).

Enter Larry, Neil's goofy, non-foodie cousin. He's the kid readers' entree into the world of high cuisine and amazing food. And he also gave the series the humorous interplay that it was lacking with just Neil moping around.

He helped flesh out the fully human world that NF now lives in. It's been a world that has seen them under attack, framed for murder, apparently killed, and losing everything that held dear.

But they have always, and still, have each other.

So, this might be the last book in the series. That's actually not my decision. If enough people buy the book, it won't be. 

If it is, man have I had a good ride. And I owe it all to my friends.


KEVIN SYLVESTER is an award winning illustrator, writer and broadcaster.  His new sci-fi series MiNRs is now out from Simon and Schuster. His series The Neil Flambé Capers is already a bestseller and critical success. Students across Ontario picked 'Neil Flambé and the Marco Polo Murders' as the Silver Birch winner for fiction in 2011! There are 5 books in the series so far, Neil Flambé and the Bard's Banquet is the latest, and the 6th book is due in Spring 2016.

Super-chef Gordon Ramsay calls the series “Good Fun”.

He now splits his time between his attic studio in Toronto and the radio.


And the greatkidsreadspodcast at greatkidsreads.com




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Monday, 22 February 2016

Sick Day Reading with Claire


Today, Claire recommends some books and ways to feel productive for when you're sick...it's that time of year!




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Friday, 19 February 2016

#FridayReveal @Month9Books: THE LINGERING GRACE by Jessica Arnold


Today Jessica Arnold and Month9Books are revealing the cover and first chapter for THE LINGERING GRACE, which releases March 15, 2016! Check out the gorgeous cover and enter to be one of the first readers to receive a eGalley!!
A quick note from the author:

In The Lingering Grace, Alice is glad to find her life returning to normal after a near-death experience. When a young girl drowns in a freak accident similar to the one that nearly killed her, she suspects that something deeper might be going on. This incredible cover is a reference both to the drowning girl at the heart of the story, and to Alice—who is also in over her head. It’s hard to tell whether the girl under water is sinking deeper or rising to the surface. This story centers on Alice making that very choice.

On to the reveal! 



Title: THE LINGERING GRACE
Author: Jessica Arnold
Pub. Date: March 15, 2016
Publisher: Month9Books
Format: Paperback & eBook
Pages: 320
Find it: Amazon | Goodreads

All magic comes with a price.

The new school year brings with it a welcome return to normalcy after Alice’s narrow escape from a cursed hotel while on summer vacation. But when a young girl drowns in a freak accident that seems eerily similar to her own near-death experience, Alice suspects there might be something going on that not even the police can uncover.


The girl’s older sister, Eva attends Alice’s school, and Alice immediately befriends her. But things change when when Alice learns that Eva is determined to use magic to bring her sister back. She must decide whether to help Eva work the highly dangerous magic or stop her at all costs. After all, no one knows better than Alice the true price of magic.




Excerpt


CHAPTER ONE

“I’m so sorry.”

Tony turned on his left blinker. “Didn’t your dad say something about getting you a car soon?”

Alice gave a single, grating laugh. “He’s been saying that ever since I got a license.” Tony knew this as well as she did; if he was teasing, she wasn’t in the mood. She slouched down in the passenger seat as they pulled into the library parking lot. It was almost empty; the library was closing in twenty-five minutes. She rapped her fingers against the car door, gripping a notebook and a pen tightly in her other hand.

“Hey.” Tony parked. He grabbed her arm before she could jump out of the car. “Everyone forgets an assignment sometimes.”

She tried to smile, but her mouth ended up in a lopsided grimace. “You’re right. I’ve just been so . . . you know.”

Concern flashed across Tony’s face, and his grip on her arm tightened for a second before he let go. Alice clicked her pen as they hurried into the library. She’d had this assignment for weeks—how could she have left it until now? This wasn’t like her. Tony grabbed her hand as they walked and she looked down at their entwined fingers, glad that this at least was surviving, despite her half-present brain.

It wasn’t sudden, this relationship, so it baffled her why it still felt fragile—why she was still relieved every time he wanted to spend time with her. They’d been officially dating for two months now, and they’d known each other for three. She was certain she had gotten the better end of the deal; Tony had been helping her keep her head above water ever since last summer. Meeting him had been one of the only good things to come out of that vacation from hell. He’d helped save her life when she had nearly died, the victim of a witch’s curse on a creepy old hotel.

Physically, her recovery had only taken a few weeks. But everything else … well, it was still an uphill battle. Daily life was mundane and mind-numbingly routine—more meaningless than it had ever seemed before. Alice zoned out on a regular basis. The world would fall away and she would stare into space, not thinking anything, not feeling anything but the empty space inside her where everything was quiet. That empty space had never been there before, and it was only with Tony that she felt it close up for a few precious hours at a time. Only with Tony was she herself again.

Tony noticed her looking at him and smiled.

“We’ll find something here. I know it.”

“We’d better.”

It was hard to be hopeful after spending three hours driving around to all the libraries in the area with no luck at all, courtesy of this supremely dumb assignment. They’d been talking about primary and secondary sources in English class and Mr. Segal was requiring them to find one primary source (not on the Internet either—at the library) to include in their research paper. Alice knew she shouldn’t have put it off. She just hadn’t known it would be this hard. Now, with the paper due tomorrow, she had absolutely nothing to show but a blank computer screen and mounting panic.

“I think I chose the wrong topic,” she said as they walked by the front desk. A librarian looked up and scowled at them.

“We’re closing in twenty minutes,” she said. Her expression made it clear that if they made her stay a moment later, they would regret it.

Alice squeezed Tony’s hand and spoke through clenched teeth. “I’m gonna fail this project. And the class. And I’ll become a high school dropout. And I’ll never get into college. Will you still like me when I’m living under an overpass?”

“Yes. But you’re not going to fail. And I wouldn’t let you be homeless.”

“My hero,” she grumbled and he laughed.

They hurried through the nonfiction sections, passing row after row of packed shelves. The farther into the library they went, the more overwhelming the smell of old paper became. Alice wasn’t sure if the musty library air was thanks to rotting books or the persistent mold problem that had shut the library down for months a while back. The city said everything was under control; Alice’s nose told her otherwise.

“Ugh, I was hoping we wouldn’t have to come here.” She ran her fingers along the book spines as they hurried down a row. “This place creeps me out.”

Tony looked up at the dim rectangles of fluorescent lights scattered across the ceiling. “Not exactly cozy, is it?”

Alice shook her head and then stopped, squinting at the books to her left. “804 . . . 804.01 . . . here we go.”

She traced the call numbers with her fingers. Tony knelt down next to her, scanning books as he spoke.

“Excellent. Let’s hope Mr. Librarian Number Two was right.”

They’d been hunting down a copy of Literary Criticism of the 1800s for three hours now. Alice had discovered it while digging through the online library catalog—it was the only thing she could find that fulfilled the “contemporary criticism” requirement for her paper. The only problem was that the full text wasn’t online and, thanks to an interlibrary loan snafu, the only copy had slipped under the radar almost completely. The librarian at the last library they’d visited had been ninety-nine percent sure it was at the downtown branch, and so they had braved the rush-hour traffic and hurried over.

“What a nightmare,” she groaned. “I don’t see it.”

Tony grabbed her notebook and squinted at the call number she’d written. “Are you sure that’s a four? Looks like it could be a nine to me.”

“Let’s hope it’s a nine, then.” She jumped to her feet and grabbed his hand, pulling him up as well. They hurried to the next aisle.

He squeezed her hand. “Hey—we’ll find it. Don’t worry.”

She squeezed back but said nothing. Don’t worry. If only it were that easy. Unfortunately, her blank moments didn’t bring Zen into the rest of her life. They were more like blackouts than meditations—moments when fatigue got the better of her. The rest of the time, she was sprinting to keep up with the mindless churn of to-do lists that filled her days. How did people live like this? Every day stuffed with pointless urgency. It was exhausting. Sometimes Alice found herself longing for just a taste of magic again. Magic was a glimmer of something beyond logic and reason and sunrise and sunset. Without it, life melted into a meaningless churn of waking and sleeping.

Tony was patient with her—in more ways than one. She wasn’t sure how he managed to put up with her frequent mental lapses and her total lack of girlfriend know-how. Frankly, she was mortified by her own awkwardness. In her more positive moments, she told herself it wasn’t her fault. He was her first boyfriend. No one had warned her about these things.

If only someone had warned her about these things. Holding hands, kissing, it all looked so easy when other people did it. At first, for her, it had been a humiliating disaster. She didn’t know what to do with her body, how to move. She would press her lips into Tony’s without aim or direction, as haphazardly as she kissed her dad’s cheek. For Tony, on the other hand, finesse seemed to come naturally. His kisses were caresses. He was artistic. When they held hands, while her arm went stiff as a board, he would stroke the back of her hand with his thumb, making little circles—or hearts. She liked to think of them as hearts.

Her heart was pounding from half-jogging to the end of a row.

“Do you see it?” Alice asked, trying to read the call numbers on both sides of the row simultaneously.

Tony shook his head. “Not yet.”

“I don’t believe this,” Alice grumbled, sinking to her knees. “It’s got to be here. I can’t rewrite this whole paper—I don’t have time!” She ran her hands across the books on the bottom shelf, vainly hoping that the right one would just jump out and grab her by the throat. Tony scratched his forehead. Alice was starting to recognize these things he did. She knew now that when he scratched his chin, he was thinking deeply; when he scratched right below his hairline, he was worried.

“Maybe it was just shelved wrong,” he suggested. He turned around and started scanning the bookshelf behind him.

Though Alice worried it was useless, she re-scanned the spines on the shelf in front of her. Maybe Tony was right—maybe they had missed something. But she had that sinking feeling in her gut and her eyes were burning; she was frustrated almost to tears. Her sight grew blurry as she stared at book after book.

“The library will be closing in five minutes,” said a voice over the intercom.

Five minutes.

She blinked very quickly, trying to clear her vision. Her eyes stopped on a particularly tattered old book without a visible call number, and she reached out to grab it, glancing behind her at Tony, who still had his back to her.

Her fingers touched the binding and she gasped. It was the strangest feeling—a tingling in her fingers, a warmth that traveled up her arm and into her shoulder. Alice pulled the book from the shelf and felt as if all the hair on her body were standing on end. She shivered and stroked the cover, which was brown leather and plain. It was blind-stamped with three concentric circles, like a rounded eye.

Peeling the cover back, she scanned through a few pages at random and knew immediately what she was holding. There was a sharp tug in her abdomen, and she almost put the book back then and there. It wasn’t the first spellbook she had seen. She had discovered several while fighting for her life in the hotel last summer. They’d belonged to the witch who set the curse. One of them had been covered in scrawls and notes—an inconsistent, impossible mess.

This little volume was an entirely different story. It was printed; the old monospaced type left odd gaps between letters. Someone had carefully underlined a few sentences throughout, but overall, it looked nearly untouched. If it hadn’t been for the yellowed pages and the smell of rotting paper, she might have called it pristine.

Each page was laid out in the same way: a heading in large, capitalized type followed by an ingredient list and several paragraphs of instructions. To the left of each title were one to three small triangles. Some were colored in with solid black ink while others were empty. They were presented without explanation, but Alice felt sure they must be a scale of sorts: a rating to indicate how long a particular spell took to prepare or its difficulty or something like that. There were small sketches throughout. On one page, a tiny flower was drawn to the right of the ingredient list. On the bottom of another, a tiny frog, splayed out, cut open, its ink-drawn limbs hanging limply at its sides.

Her stomach turned; quickly, she shut the book. A shiver tickled her spine—the familiar sensation of being watched. Was it a coincidence that she had come across this book? Or could it be that the curse had left a magical stamp on her, a kind of otherworldly magnetism? Had she found the book, or had the book found her?

“I don’t believe it.”

Alice jumped, clutching the book to her.

“Hey—I found it!”

Tony was holding the book out for her to see, smiling widely. She took it from him with one hand; with the other, she slipped the leather book behind her back. The movement was instinctual. All she knew was that she didn’t want to return the book and leave so many questions unanswered. Nor did she want to explain to Tony why she had to know more.

“Thank God,” she said, grinning back. “You are a hero!” Maybe she could pass the book off as another ancient volume of literary criticism? Not a chance. Tony was too curious; he would want to look at it himself.

“See?” He helped her up and put his arm around her shoulders. “Told you it would be okay.”

“I guess you were right.”

He took the book back from her and examined it. Alice’s grip on the spellbook tightened. No, she definitely could not let Tony near this book if she didn’t want him to panic and light it on fire or something. “It’s kind of like finding buried treasure.”

“Except the treasure is a book and the only thing it was buried in was the library’s glitchy loan system.”

“Still—it feels good.”

“The library is closing. Please check out all books at the front desk,” the intercom blared.

Alice and Tony jogged past row after row of dimly lit bookshelves. As they did, Alice slipped the leather-bound book into her bag before she could talk herself out of it. It wasn’t stealing, she told herself. Not really. She would take it home, glance through it, and return it to the shelf within a few days. It was just a quick investigation—albeit a secret one. But really, it had to be secret. Ever since the hotel, Tony couldn’t even watch a card trick without freaking out. If she told him a spellbook might have found her … maybe magically … well, she was doing him a favor by not mentioning it.

She was just being responsible. Really.

***

Tony dropped her off at home half an hour later. Still immensely pleased with his book-finding success, he’d suggested a celebratory dinner, but Alice insisted that she really did need to work on her paper. This was true.

She didn’t mention that she was far more anxious to crack open the book she hadn’t checked out than read the one she had.

The house was so quiet when she walked in that for a second she thought she was the only one home. Usually, the ruckus of her brother’s video games in the living room would be drowned out by the drone of her dad listening to NPR in his office. But the living room was empty and her dad must have stayed late at work because the doors to his office were open and the room was dark. Just the light in the kitchen was on, and it was only on second glance that Alice saw her mother sitting on a barstool, staring blankly at the faucet. Someone hadn’t turned it off completely and water was leaking out one drop at a time.

“Mom?”

Her mom jumped up.

“Oh, hi, honey. I didn’t hear you come in.” She walked around the counter and turned off the faucet. “Were you with Tony tonight?”

“Yeah, we were at the library.”

“Good … that’s good … ” she said absently before lapsing into silence again.

“Um … how was your doctor’s appointment?” Alice asked to alleviate the uncomfortable quiet.

Her mother’s lips twitched upward, then tightened. She abruptly turned her back to Alice and opened the fridge.

“Fine, fine … ” she said, her voice drowned out by the crinkling of plastic bags.

Alice’s worries about her paper were immediately replaced by deeper, more insistent fears. “What’s wrong?” she demanded.

“I can’t hear you, sweetie.”

“What happened?” she repeated. “Is something wrong?”

Her mom emerged from the fridge, holding some celery sticks and a jar of almond butter—her “guilty” snack. Normally she wouldn’t have had the almond butter. (She liked to remind Alice that too many nuts would make a person chub up like a squirrel before hibernation.) Her eyes briefly met Alice’s as she turned to the sink and started to rinse off the celery.

“Oh, just a sad story in the news today.”

Alice’s heart immediately slowed. “See, this is why I never read the news.”

Her mom scrubbed the hollow of the celery stalk with one thin finger. “A single mom just moved into a new house with her two young girls. The girls went swimming unsupervised. The six-year-old drowned.”

Alice’s chest constricted, but she tried to brush it off. “They didn’t know how to swim? Why did they get in the pool?”

“Really, Alice.” Her mom’s voice went snappish. “You of all people should know—these things can happen to anyone.” She grabbed the celery stalks and the jar of almond butter and walked out of the room without another word. Alice heard the bedroom door close.

Alice sat still on the bar stool for a moment. A weak trickle of water was leaking from the faucet; she got up and turned it off.

You of all people.

A final drop of water hit the sink like the tiniest of hammers. Last summer, at the cursed hotel, she had nearly drowned in a swimming pool. Tony had pulled her out just in time.

She could remember all too clearly the press of water in her lungs. Not everyone knew the craving for air—the feeling that your head was being squeezed and squeezed until finally, in the last moments, when you thought you were going to explode … an arm around your waist pulling you up. A hand clapping you on the back, a voice telling you the coughing was okay, telling you to breathe when that was all you wanted to do until the end of time … just breathe.

Tony had saved her life. But the little girl would have felt the tightness, the void in her chest that nothing could fill, until the darkness came slowly in—not a stranger knocking down the door, but a cool-headed thief waiting for the window to fall open. Rushing into the opening, filling the lungs with cold black water … and then darker and darker until there was nothing—no space left.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” Alice refused to turn into her mother, having panic attacks every time she heard a bit of disturbing news. She took a deep breath, shook her head, and walked slowly up the stairs to her room, pretending she was empty as a balloon floating higher and higher … out of her body, out of everything.






About Jessica:

Jessica Arnold lives (in an apartment) and works (in a cubicle) in Boston, Massachusetts. She has a master‘s degree in publishing and writing from Emerson College.


Where you can find Jessica: Website | Twitter | FacebookGoodreads








Giveaway Details:

1 winner will receive an eBook of THE LOOKING GLASS & an eGalley of THE LINGERING GRACE. International.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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