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We
are sometimes inordinately affected by a statement we read by D.H.
Lawrence, Mark Twain, Aldous Huxley, J.R. Tolken et al, and a single
sentence or phrase can set us into ideas that may remain stamped in us
even if they never lead to a definitive work. Decades ago, I read a
single 12-word sentence by Friedrich Nietzsche in a printed work that
was so devastating, I never repeated to anyone and was gratified when I
Googled and didn’t find a digital version of it; I implore it to remain
obscure.
These
are among the parts that sum us up, and in some cases define our
direction. If we are an idealist, we may ask ourselves, was Mother
Teresa correct when she said we should see every person we meet as Jesus
Christ, or was Lord Shiva correct when he said that when we see someone
we should be so emphatic we become that person? Although they seem to
present two different concepts, could they both be correct? In other
words, can we see every person as Jesus Christ and also become that
Jesus Christ? Or does what Michael Stipe said, that “all these fantasies
come flailing around” apply to these Teresa and Shiva statements,
draining them of their real-world veridical legitimacy? Do we need to
resolve such questions to push forward into idealistic writing?
A
scrupulous use of quotes from famous writers can spice up our writing
because they seem more credible than the same statement from an unknown
person, but we have to be scrupulous and not just assume a source and
credibility. Recently while lunching with my honey she quoted Gandhi
about “blind and toothless” and I quoted Oscar Wilde about declaring his
genius at customs, but later I Googled both quotes and we may have both
been misinformed. The citing of “blind and toothless” was first uttered
as early as 1914 before Gandhi before he returned to India and became a
philosophical giant, and there’s no proof that Wilde said this at New
York customs as is reported.
None
of this does a writer any good who hasn’t read widely and found out
what these personalities have to offer, nor is it necessary to know
about them in all cases. William Faulkner was well versed in the great
writers of times past but ultimately produced his own signature prose
that was compelling without references to works by Monstesquieu, Whitman
or Plath or idealism of any sort. He chose instead of focus on
characters that he invented who were based on life around him in a
Southern state.
His celestial companion was waiting for him
Precariously
climbing a sea-side cliff near Big Sur, ten-year-old Joey Blake was as
yet unaware that near his grasp was an object, so odd, mysterious and
alien to earth that it would change his life forever and the lives of
countless others in the next few astonishing days. Reaching up as far as
he could for a handhold it was just there; it had subconsciously lured
him, occupied his mind, and made him find it. It was like he was meant
to see and discover this object of unimaginable power … the power to
change reality.
Time travel and more
This
young adult series of sci-fi fantasy novels begins with The Reality
Master and continues through four other exciting and amazing stories
about time travel and mysterious alien devices. Joey and the reader will
face dangerous shadowy criminal organizations, agents of the NSA,
bizarre travelers from other times and even renegade California bikers
and scar-faced walking dead.
- Vol 1 The Reality Master
- Vol 2 Threat To The World
- Vol 3 Travel Beyond
- Vol 4 Missions Through Time
- Vol 5 The Return Home
Genre – Science fiction, Fantasy, Young adult
Rating – G
Storytelling Redefined
I listened to a Joanne Penn podcast on www.thecretivepenn.com about
Wattpad, a new social platform for readers. Wattpad has 24 million
users, the majority are readers, with only 10% authors. Average session
length is 30 mins, and 85% read via mobile devices.
It
is a very popular site for teenagers, fan fiction is hugely popular,
search One Direction on the site and you will see hundreds of stories.
It has been described as the YouTube of writing because
of the way it enables authors to share their work with the world.
Wattpad also has a global growth. US, Canada and UK are the largest, the
Philippines stands apart. Wattpad is the #1 app and it is driving the
physical bookselling bestseller lists.
Authors
can upload either the completed or working version of their books for
readers to read. It is not possible to upload a book as one single file;
it has to be done on a chapter-by-chapter basis. Then your followers
get notified the moment a new chapter is shared. The notification
appears on the phone, tablet or computer. Then the best part; followers
make comments and vote for your work.
I interviewed Bruce Elgin, on my website www.theindiejourney.com about
his experience on Wattpad. Bruce’s novel Schism has been read over
117,922 time, has 4521 votes, 1732 comments and was selected for the
Wattpad feature story.
I asked Bruce - Have you found Wattpad a useful platform for your work? Bruce
replied: I love Wattpad. I am a total dork for Wattpad. How else can a
writer get fans from every corner of the world? When I started on
Wattpad I was brainstorming ways to get the word out about Schism. I
had some casual fans from Voodootown, but didn’t know who most of them
were. But, on July 18, Schism will be a featured story on Wattpad and
hundreds of thousands of people (who already love to read!) from every
corner of the world are going to check it out. And for everyone that
votes for even one chapter, I will know who that person is and can thank
them personally. Add to that the ability to talk with readers as they
read and we’re looking at a brand new paradigm of reading.
I asked him if he have you seen an increase in your book sales, from launching it on Wattpad, if yes by what percentages? Bruce: Yes! It’s small so far, maybe a 30% increase, but with Schism being featured, I think the bump will get much bigger.
I
have posted chapters of my first novel War Kids on Wattpad, and found
that the readers are very supportive and they have given me useful
comments. It is great to have a direct connection with the readers.
Hayley
Lawson is the author of War Kids. She has written a young adult
contemporary novel set in Syria; a story about the Syrian Civil war
though the eyes of children.
She
was born in Lancaster, England. Growing up in a single parent household
with five other siblings; was hard, and also character building.
As
a young child she found a passion for drawing, and continued this into
adulthood, graduating from the University of Central Lancashire, England
with a BA(Hons) in fashion design.
At
aged twenty seven, Hayley and her husband packed up their belongings
for a lifelong dream to move to California. Her America dream was
complete with the birth of her daughter. Her love for traveling,
continued after the birth of her daughter traveling around America with
the family, and the best travelled dog.
A
new job positioned opened up New York, and the family decide to
relocate to Long Island, NY, which is where she currently resides.
On August 21 she was moved by the images of the Syrian conflict, and embarked on an unlikely journey of writing her first novel.
All profits from the book will be going to the save the children charity.
When
fourteen-year-old Jada wakes up in a hospital, the last thing she
thinks is that her life has completely changed forever. But when the
very real civil war forces her to flee from every open space, she must
use the firearm skills her father taught her to reunite with him and
protect herself. Armed with a single gun and a key to an unknown locker,
Jada crosses Syria on a journey with a group of children called the
Fearless Freedom Fighters. With the leader, Zak, they mount a plan to
rescue their fathers while they try to cope with the merciless murders
of their families. As Jada and Zak lead the group together, love
blossoms, but with soldiers hot on their tail, they need to stay
vigilant in the face of war.
Reviews from Wattpad
Very interesting story, very powerful. I can really feel the emotion...Peter
This
book really touches my heart because there is so much truth is in this
book. The detail is so brilliantly displayed, its beautifuly written.
There are pretty intense chapters, its good... scrap that its excellent.
Loe the work ...although I am upset. I know this is a fictional story,
but I just can't help but feel extremely bad for all the lost lives
especially the innocent and young ones...Saddy
A REMARKABLE BOOK, DEMANDS TO BE READ Goodreads review from Joe Eliseon
Genre - Young Adult
Rating – PG-13
a Rafflecopter giveaway
And
today, of course, the sun was shining miserably on my head, as I
quickly headed for the oak-tree shaded bus stop. In my rush to get out
of the house, I’d forgotten to put on my dark sunglasses, but I dug them
out of my pack now, twisting around awkwardly as I made my way into the
comforting shadows. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Katie Parker
coming out of her house across the street.
“Great,”
I muttered under my breath. Placed beside Katie’s blonde, tanned
perfection, I looked all the more irregular. I tried to put on a happy
face anyway and be sociable, a definite struggle for me.
“Hi
Katie,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. I refused to
ever say ‘good morning,’ as I hated mornings and saw nothing good about
them whatsoever. I didn’t expect much in the way of a reply. Katie,
annoyingly perky in her cheerleading uniform, was miles away from my end
of the social spectrum. So, I was shocked when she turned her bright
blue eyes on me dazzlingly, and spoke to me in a way she never had
before this day.
“Hi Maura!” She was so chipper, it was stifling. “Beautiful morning isn’t it?”
I
wondered briefly what she would say if I shot back: “Actually, I like
the rain,” like I was thinking. I thought better of it and replied,
“Sure is.”
“Aren’t you excited about prom?” she bubbled.
Oh,
so that was it. She was overexcited about prom and probably just
needed an outlet for venting all her pent up enthusiasm. Prom was in a
few weeks and no one had asked me, not that I really wanted to go. The
thought of my pale shoulders exposed in some fancy dress made me
cringe. I tugged at the edge of one of my long sleeves unconsciously in
response.
CHOSEN AS ONE OF 400 FOR THE SECOND ROUND OF THE AMAZON BREAKTHROUGH NOVEL AWARD FOR 2014!!!
ARE YOU A FAN OF VAMPIRE ROMANCE?
Rising Tide will sink it’s teeth into you, keeping you awake into the wee hours of the night
Maura’s life just can’t get any worse…or can it?
Isolated
and sheltered by her lonely mother, Maura’s never been the best at
making friends. Unusually pale with a disease-like aversion to the sun,
she seems to drive her classmates away, but why?
Even
her own father deserted her, and her mother, before Maura was born.
Bizarre physical changes her mother seems hell bent on ignoring, drive
Maura to fear for her own life. And her luck just seems to get worse.
Life
is about to become even more bewildering when her mother’s abrupt…and
unexplained…decision to move a country away sets off a chain of events
that will change Maura forever. A cruel prank turned deadly, the
discovery of love and friendship….and its loss, as well as a web of her
own mother’s lies, become obstacles in Maura’s desperate search for a
truth she was never prepared to uncover.
Featured on one of the most popular health blogs on the internet as a giveaway!
Be
sure to check out the blog on Maria Mind Body Health to win a free copy
today! Go to Mariamindbodyhealth.com and check out the blog Chicken
“Wild Rice” Soup for your chance to win!
Offered as a giveaway on Goodreads!
Head over to Goodreads for a chance to score a free copy today!
Featured on Litpick.com
Offer a review of Rising Tide on Litpick.com
Genre – YA Paranormal Romance
Rating – PG
I knew absolutely nothing about being an author until after I published. Yes, I realize that’s a bit like tying my shoes before I put them on, but that’s the point. If I have hard time putting on my shoes, odds are I’ll go looking for a different pair, which will probably put a different spin on what I’m wearing.
For me, writing by the seat of my pants gives me flexibility. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not sitting down at my computer banging out whatever pops into my head (okay, that’s not entirely true…). I do have a plot in mind. But it’s the journey from the beginning of the story to the end that holds twists and turns even for me. How is that possible, you ask? It’s the characters that lead me.
When I start to write my characters they almost jump up off the page and introduce themselves. Even the minor characters, like a guard who just needs to be in the hallway, has to have a story. I’m thinking of my character inSunset Rising, Bron Llewellyn. Honestly, she was just a guard in the first chapter. Why? Because the Pit is guarded and I had to have guards. I made her one of the “good” guards because even in a dystopic world, not every single guard is going to be mean, right? Then I asked myself, why is she a good guard? Why is she sympathetic to the Pit? By answering those questions, I hatched a subplot that wove seamlessly into the main plot and spilled into the second book of the series, Worlds Collide.
I’m a member of local writer’s group and I’ve talked to authors who create an outline first and then write to the outline. I’m amazed at this kind of organization. I wish I could apply it to my Tupperware drawer because I’d save myself at least 15 minutes every morning trying to find containers with lids that fit for my kids’ lunches. Then again, if I could readily match lids with containers, I’d probably make chocolate pudding more often for lunch. Chocolate pudding isn’t really that good for them. An apple is better. And an apple doesn’t require a container.
You see the logic?
The point is, if the story is already laid out for me, I’ll write to the storyline. I’ll stop asking myself questions—and if I do that, I’ll stop coming up with answers I didn’t expect. For me, writing by the seat of my pants gives me the freedom to be creative.
February 2024: Desperate to find refuge from the nuclear storm, a group of civilians discover a secret government bio-dome. Greeted by a hail of bullets and told to turn back, the frantic refugees stand their ground and are eventually permitted entry. But the price of admission is high.
283 years later… Sunny O’Donnell is a seventeen-year-old slave who has never seen the sun. She was born in the Pit, a subterranean extension of the bio-dome. Though life had never been easy, the last couple of months had become a nightmare. Her mom was killed in the annual Cull, and her dad thought it was a good time to give up on life. Reyes Crowe, her long-time boyfriend, was pressuring her to get married, even though it would mean abandoning her father.
She didn’t think things could get any worse until she was forced upstairs to the Dome to be a servant-girl at a bachelor party. That’s when she met Leisel Holt, the president’s daughter, and her fiancé, Jack Kenner.
Now Sunny is wanted for treason. If they catch her, she’ll be executed.
She thought Leisel’s betrayal was the end. But it was just the beginning.
“Sunset Rising” is Book One of a series.
Genre - YA Science Fiction, Dystopian
Rating – PG-16
“So, what do you think, Tara?” Paul dipped a french fry in ketchup and pointed it at her. “Should we hang up our Ghostbuster coats and neutron packs, and get out of this business altogether?”
“Well,” she said, poking at her salad with her fork, “I don’t think we should disband the SPR quite yet.”
They’d founded the Society of Paranormal Researchers during their sophomore year, and it consisted of the three of them. They had come up with the name mainly in order to register with the university’s Office for Student Organizations; if the school recognized them, they figured, they would sound more official – and less like random supernatural-seeking whack-jobs. They could also apply to receive funds, which they had done, successfully, the previous year: all of their equipment had been bought on the university tab. It still amused them that the Society of Paranormal Researchers at their rather distinguished university was really just three college kids, meeting over meals in the dining hall, chasing ghosts in between reading textbooks and writing papers.
Steven leaned over the table toward Tara. “Do you think he’s wrong?”
“Not at all. I think he’s right that, in many instances, when people think they see ghosts, what they’re actually experiencing is an optical illusion. But I don’t think that’s all there is. It’s like…” Again she bit her lip, and sat back in her chair – then straightened. “Pyrite, yeah? Fool’s gold. The existence of pyrite doesn’t mean that real gold doesn’t exist – even if pyrite is far more common.” She tilted her head at Paul. “Do you think everything we’ve seen is just an illusion?”
Paul picked up another fry. “Dude, I can hear ghosts. If all of that is just an illusion, then we’d better find me a straitjacket, and quick.”
“One thing I do find interesting, though,” Tara said. “He showed that our brains are wired to notice certain things. I wonder what role our brain’s wiring plays in who sees ghosts – and when, and under what circumstances.” She pointed her fork playfully at Paul. “What is it about your brain that lets you hear these things? Confess!”
Paul put up his hands. “All right; I admit it. The secret is that my brain is just as studly as the rest of my body. What can I say? Chicks dig ‘em big.”
“Just makes you a more tempting target for the zombies,” Steven said.
“Yes, that’s the price I must pay.”
Tara snorted, then took a bite of salad. “I don’t think there’s any way I can experiment on rats for this. I mean, I can put those little electrode caps on them to stimulate sections of their brains, but I can’t very well ask them if they see little rat-ghosts. Heck, I don’t even know if rats have ghosts.”
“If they do,” Steven said, “your lab would be full of them.”
“No doubt,” Tara grinned. “That suggests that there aren’t rat poltergeists, at least, or else we’d find beakers and test tubes inexplicably shattered on the floor all the time.”
“So, what do we do now?” asked Paul.
“I could do some research,” Steven said. “My schedule’s pretty light for the next couple of weeks. I could hit the library, see if there are any papers on paranormal experience and brain-structure, -chemistry, whatever. And of course, there’s always Google.”
Tara nodded. “Sounds like a start. I can help you, if you like. Paul? You up for that?”
Paul made a face. “Sadly, I have a ten-pager in Medieval History that’s due Friday, and I haven’t even started. Sorry, guys.”
“It’s okay; Tara and I can probably handle it.” Steven tapped the table with his fist. “Oh! I almost forgot! There was an article in today’s paper about a retired couple trying to sell a haunted house.” He pulled a clipping out of his bag and set it sideways on the table between Tara and Paul.
They both tilted their heads to take a closer look. “The house is just sitting there, empty?” Tara asked after a moment.
“Apparently,” said Paul, pushing up his glasses. “This seems to be a long-term haunt. I wonder when it started. They say the previous owners warned them about it, but did they tell them anything else?”
“I’d guess that they didn’t,” Steven said. “It’d be mentioned in the article if they had.” He turned to Tara. “What do you think?”
“I’m wondering if the Laceys would let us spend some time in that house.”
Steven reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of paper with a phone number written on it, and waved it at her. “Want to find out?”
“Absolutely!” Tara said. “Tell you what – I have a few things to do at the lab. You can call from there, and then we can go to the library.”
Paul stood. “Well, have fun. I’m off to try to write something intelligent about monks and manuscripts and monasteries and all that other old stuff that starts with M…”
Tara nodded. “Good luck with that. Try not to get buried in it.”
“Mausoleum,” he sighed. “The list goes on. Shoot me a text when you guys know more about the house, okay?” With a wave he turned away.
“Will do,” Steven replied.
“Bye, Paul,” Tara said. She watched him walk away, then turned back to Steven. “Well, I need to go spend some time with my little rat-poltergeists. Shall we?”
“Sure. Wait…” He inspected her closely. “You’re not doing any beheadings and de-brainings today, are you?”
She laughed. “No; we do those on Monday. Today I’m just looking at slides.”
“Promise?”
She held up one hand with two fingers extended. “Girl Scout’s honor!” She stood and picked up her tray. “Let’s go.”
Tara Martin – exceptionally accomplished neurobiology major with a troubled past. Steven Trent – confident political science major with an irresistible attraction to Tara. Paul Stratton – history major who is able to hear spirits. Together, they make up the Society for Paranormal Researchers at their prestigious New England University. When they’re not in class or writing papers, the three friends are chasing their passion….ghosts.
When the group learns of a local retired couple trying to sell a house they claim is haunted, they decide to investigate. As the clues unfold, a familiar spirit interrupts their investigation and Tara finds her life in danger. Can her friends save her before it’s too late?
Genre – YA paranormal, NA paranormal
Rating – PG-13
Before I died I was a giant loser. I’m not trying to be modest here or set the stage for a feel-good, underdog-gets-the-girl-and-wins-the-game kind of story. What I mean is: I, Max McKay, was a huge dork! I only had one kind-of friend, a kid I grew up around that I’d sometimes ride the school bus with or sit next to at lunch. I’d trudge through my days, doing the bare minimum at school to maintain average grades. At night I’d suffer through dinner with my family and, at the first possible chance, rush up to my bedroom and spend the rest of the night in front of my monitor. For me, the real world was made up of gnomes, dwarves, and two different kinds of elves. Good and bad were tangible things that could be identified by race or alliance.
I know that sounds lame, but my world made sense. It was contained. The ability to re-spawn made me brave. I took risks and did great things. Great digital things, that is. I lived—or should I say existed—this way until just after my sixteenth birthday.
What happened to me then was ninety percent my own stupidity, and ten percent plain old bad luck.
See, my family came over and gave me some stupid presents: socks, ugly T-shirts, handmade sweaters—the works. Then they sang “Happy Birthday” until I thought my face would catch fire. It was the worst. I mean, what’s the point in having a party where all the girls are related to you?
So I snuck off to my room at the first chance possible. I didn’t want to celebrate my years of existence at all, let alone with these people, in this world. I mean, really. Was living for sixteen years all that impressive? If zits, biology tests, and spontaneous erections were as good as it got, then what was the freaking point? I wanted to complete a mission, slay some orcs, save a princess. I wanted to explore the only realm in which I could be a man. That’s right, even nerds have secret, unrealistic aspirations like that.
I booted up my computer and…nothing.
It was at that moment, and because I was unable to see five minutes into the future, that I officially declared my birthday to be an epic fail.
I knelt in front of my computer tower and opened the casing. It was totally hopeless—the processor was shot. I had begged and begged for a new computer for my birthday, but for some reason my mom thought my feet being warm was a higher priority. Typical. She said I’d just play “those online games” and neglect my homework. She was right, but I hated her for saying it. So I fussed around with the components, hoping for a quick fix until I could cash in some birthday checks and buy a new part. I noticed some loose wiring and reached into my desk drawer for a screwdriver so I could take out the hard drive and get to the wires.
It was over in an instant. No tense music, no slow motion, no bird’s eye view. What I’ve put together is that when I raised my arm up to search the drawer, I also bumped my head on the bottom of the desk, setting in motion a chain reaction so ridiculous I still have trouble believing it.
See, there was a warm, flat, half-finished can of Mountain Dew on my desk—the desk I had just bumped with my head. Do you see where this is going? Somehow in the process of reaching for my drawer I hit my head hard enough to knock over the can of Mountain Dew and spill it into the open computer. I was still touching the open computer with my other hand.
What I’m saying is, I electrocuted myself. With soda.
Max McKay gets a second chance at life when, after a bizarre accident on his sixteenth birthday, he is reanimated as a new breed of thinking, feeling zombie. To secure a spot for his eternal soul, Max must use his video game prowess as well as the guidance of Steve the Death God to make friends and grow up. As if all that weren’t hard enough, Max discovers that he’s not the only zombie in town. As he enlists the help of his new friends, Adam and Penny, to solve the mystery of their un-dead classmate, Max discovers that he must level up his life experience in order to survive the trials and terrors of the upcoming zombie apocalypse. And, even worse, high school.
Genre – YA
Rating – PG
Have you always enjoyed writing?
No! I started writing a fantasy/sci-fi story when I was in middle school or so. My mom ran it through one of those computer programs that tells you the reading level of your writing. Mine was 6th or 7th grade and I felt really insulted (even though that was probably the grade(s) was in at the time!) and it put me off of writing for years.
What books did you love growing up?
My mom started me off early with Little Women and the books that followed (Little Men, Jo’s Boys, Little Cousins?) but then she gave me Trixie Belding and the Bobbsey Twin books which lead to my love of Nancy Drew. I would devour three or four Nancy Drew mysteries a week and all my allowance would go to buying new ones! I loved when she teamed up with the Hardy Boys because the books would double in size. A bookworm’s dream!
Do you find it hard to share your work?
I have a few tried and true folks who get to see early work. I trust them that they will be truthful on whether something sucks or not, but when it comes to telling other people; acquaintances from school, relatives, etc., I find it really hard to tell them I’m a writer and talk about my books. Then I often get strange looks when I finally do break down and give them a blurb.
Do you plan to publish more books?
Of course! I’ll keep writing until the voices go silent!
What else do you do to make money, other than write? It is rare today for writers to be full time…
I’m a direct support professional with the ARC. I work in one of their residential homes; helping developmentally disabled adults lead more independent lives.
What other jobs have you had in your life?
I’ve worked for Six Flags amusement parks, and for two companies that specialized in title insurance and home closings. I have built computers, worked for a security company (CCTVs), supervised an order entry department for a company that made pet products, and have worked for a marketing firm putting together PowerPoint presentations for their clients. I have worked in retail, been a nanny and a substitute teacher. I am now a direct support professional. You can say I’m a well-rounded employee.
If you could study any subject at university what would you pick?
Oooh good question, do I have to pick just one? It would either be another language (I practically minored in Japanese and took Spanish and Latin and a little Russian as well) or it would be art related probably more Photography classes.
If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?
Probably Japan. I’m fascinated with the culture and history and traditions. I’d miss my family and friends though.
How do you write – lap top, pen, paper, in bed, at a desk?
I started writing on a desktop but found it limiting. I switched to a laptop because I find I focus best outside the house. My local Starbucks is my favorite writing haunt, but sadly I haven’t had much time to get there lately. It’s been so long all my regular baristas have moved onto different locations or other jobs.
Where do you get support from? Do you have friends in the industry?
I have been lucky to make some great friends thanks to my writing group and online communications (Twitter, forums, NaNoWriMo, etc.) Some of them I’ve never met but still trust their advice and comments and they play a big part in my writing process.
How much sleep do you need to be your best?
Sleep? What’s that? Heh. I typically average 6 hrs a night but I would love to get more…my body just doesn’t agree with my head. I can write on less, but sometimes it’s hard to focus, until you hit that second wind thing.
Secrets. Their weight can be crushing, but their release can change everything—and not necessarily for the better. Ian is no stranger to secrets. Being a gay teen in a backwater southern town, Ian must keep his orientation under wraps, especially since he spends a lot of time with his hands all over members of the same sex, pinning their sweaty, hard bodies to the wrestling mat.
When he’s trying not to stare at teammates in the locker room, he’s busy hiding another secret—that he starves himself so he doesn’t get bumped to the next weight class.
Enter Julian Yang, an Adonis with mesmerizing looks and punk rocker style. Befriending the flirtatious artist not only raises suspicion among his classmates, but leaves Ian terrified he’ll give in to the desires he’s fought to ignore.
As secrets come to light, Ian’s world crumbles. Disowned, defriended, and deserted by nearly everyone, Ian’s one-way ticket out of town is revoked, leaving him trapped in a world he hates—and one that hates him back.
Genre - LGBT, YA
Rating – PG-13
The unknown figure’s back was to them as he connected the wires to the detonator. Will shoved Tom.
Only minutes remained.
They located the last connection point where the blasting caps were wired to two sticks of dynamite. The wires to the plunger snaked up the hill. The connecting strands were twisted, tightly, as with pliers. Tom snatched a rock, but Will grabbed his hand and pointed up the hill. Tom understood. The man would hear the pounding. They each took a twisted connection and tried to pry it apart with their fingers. They would need to break only one.
The wires resisted. Tom gritted his teeth, then remembered his pocket knife. He pulled it out, flipped the blade open, and wedged the tip between two strands. He twisted and the blade snapped. The sound startled the man. He whirled around and stared directly at the boys. Tom forced the broken blade into the gap in the wires. Will put his finger on top of one and pulled as Tom twisted. Blood ran down Will’s hand as the metal bit into his finger. They strained, and watched the man. His eyes darted in all directions. Then he made his decision. He pulled the plunger up, hesitated a moment, and slammed it down.
Genre - YA/Mystery
Rating – PG – 13
Chiku couldn’t help stare at the large bulge that was Rebecca’s baby-to-be. It made her reflect upon the gynecological exam Dr. Kessel had just given her. At sixteen, she couldn’t imagine being anyone’s mother, except maybe a chimpanzee’s. Rebecca was only fourteen, an eighth grader back home, a middle schooler. How could she be a mother? Yet even in wealthy well-educated America girls in their mid-teens were getting knocked up all the time, having their babies, and changing their lives in ways unpredictable and permanent. Not Chiku. Boys could go to hell.
“When was the last time you saw him?” Chiku asked.
“Two week. Three week. He ask me how my baby doing. I tell him, fine. He give me twenty francs. He always give me money.”
“And that was it?” Chiku gazed at Tim who was still holding all of the things she had given him from her buried stash. “What about Dr. Fisher? Do you know why he’d be in my dad’s house?”
Rebecca dipped her head in thought then gave out with a startled grunt as the baby inside her gave a hefty kick. “Soon,” she said, “Any day my Abasi.” Then she staggered against Chiku.
“You okay? Maybe she’s coming out now.” Chiku was aghast.
“No. No. He. Not yet. No water.”
“Well, you can’t stand here. You have to sit, Rebecca. In the shade.”
Chiku pulled the pregnant girl into the cooler cover of the banana tree. “You want water? Something to drink?”
Rebecca leaned against the tree rather than risk getting herself into a position from which she couldn’t rise. She panted, holding a hand against her belly, Chiku watching that hand move not of its own volition but due to the child inside raring to get going with life.
Not for me, Chiku thought.
Rebecca said, “I okay.”
“You’re sure?”
“When the water break, then we know.”
“Know what?” Chiku asked.
“That the baby is coming,” Tim said. He placed his hands on his friend’s shoulders. They were trembling as if she were the one about to go into labor. “Honestly, Chiku, what do they teach you in Brookline, Massachusetts?”
“How to avoid reality.”
Chiku took Rebecca’s hand. It was cool and sweaty and on her ring finger she was wearing something that looked awfully familiar to Chiku. “Nice,” she said. “Amethyst. My color. My ring, actually. How’d you get it?”
“Your father give me.”
“Cool. It matches your dress.”
Chiku didn’t care that it was an old ring, one that she had either lost or forgotten some distant time in the past and that probably couldn’t even fit her fingers anymore. She just wondered why her father would have given this particular girl this particular ring.
“I think they kill him,” she said.
“What?” Chiku’s eyes darted from the purple colored ring to the black face of the Hutu teenager.
“They were mad mad.”
“Who?”
“Fisher. Your father. Dr. Kessel. They all mad. And the others.”
“What others?” Chiku asked. “Does Colonel Fundanga know?”
“Colonel Fundanga one of them,” Rebecca said. “I keep quiet. Bad enough in the camp. I don’t want to die.”
Rebecca let out a long breath, took in a deep mouthful of air, and let out her discomfort once again. Then she smiled at Chiku before saying, “They come for you next. You his daughter.”
Genre - Young Adult
Rating – PG
Everyone in the room leaned forward, desperate to hear Amroth’s strategy. The Quodivar were the greatest threat to Lodia’s economy in more than a century, and the vast majority of the nobles gathered here had strong ownership in at least one merchant company. Amroth provided hope not only for peace, but for fat wallets as well.
“My plan requires great risk, but it is the only hope we have. Large armies do not work against the Quodivar. My last mission proved this. Instead, I will assemble a small team, an elite force of Haldessa’s finest. With this team we shall seek out the Quodivar and battle them the way they battle us: with stealth and cunning. I come here tonight to name the two men with whom I intend to enter battle. I will trust these two with my life, and with the fate of Lodia itself.”
A young boy near the front cried excitedly, “Who? Who will save us along with you, Captain Angustion?”
Amroth smiled kindly at the child, apparently not begrudging the interruption at all. “The first is a man whom you all know as a fine swordsman, a capable leader, and a loyal companion: Sergeant Balear Platarch!”
The crowd cheered heartily, and Balear, seated about midway between Amroth and the back of the room, stood and waved his hand with an embarrassed gesture. He bore the vacant expression of someone who had clearly drunk too much. Amroth motioned for him to come to the platform and stand beside him. Balear tripped more than once, but in the end he reached his beloved commander.
Across the room, Iren arrived at the chandelier’s cord. He spun the knife in his hand expectantly. He would time it just as Amroth finished his speech. The moment they stepped off the stage, he would cut the cord and drop the chandelier. It would crash horrendously behind them, everyone would gasp, and he would have the pleasure of watching both Amroth and Balear pick themselves off the floor.
When the cheers calmed, Amroth became contemplative as he said, “The second person I have chosen you all know well, and yet, I would guess, also do not know at all. I have thought long and hard on this choice. I do not make it lightly. I make it for the sake of Lodia, for we must have the best to succeed in this endeavor. For the final of my group I have chosen Iren Saitosan!”
The shouts of praise died in the crowd’s throats. Iren whipped his head up, utterly shocked, and then it happened. As his body jerked to face the captain, his hand swung downward. The sharpened carving knife sliced through the chandelier’s rope without pause.
From fantasy author Josh VanBrakle comes an epic new trilogy of friendship, betrayal, and explosive magic. Lefthanded teenager Iren Saitosan must uncover a forgotten history, confront monsters inspired by Japanese mythology, and master a serpentine dragon imprisoned inside a katana to stop a revenge one thousand years in the making.
Lodian culture declares lefthanded people dangerous and devil-spawned, and for Iren, the kingdom's only known Left, that's meant a life of social isolation. To pass the time and get a little attention, he plays pranks on the residents of Haldessa Castle. It's harmless fun, until one of his stunts nearly kills Lodia's charismatic heir to the throne. Now to avoid execution for his crime, Iren must join a covert team and assassinate a bandit lord. It's a suicide mission, and Iren's chances aren't helped when he learns that his new katana contains a dragon's spirit, one with a magic so powerful it can sink continents and transform Iren into a raging beast.
Adding to his problems, someone on Iren's team is plotting treason. When a former ally launches a brutal plan to avenge the Lefts, Iren finds himself trapped between competing loyalties. He needs to figure out who - and how - to trust, and the fates of two nations depend on his choice.
"A fast-paced adventure...led by a compelling cast of characters. Josh VanBrakle keeps the mysteries going." - ForeWord Reviews
Genre – YA epic fantasy
Rating – PG-13
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