Showing posts with label young adult novels. Show all posts
Showing posts with label young adult novels. Show all posts

Saturday, August 10, 2013

Sapphire by Bryan Alaspa - Book Tour & Giveaway (Young Adult Paranormal Romance)



Bryan W. Alaspa is a freelance writer and professional author of both fiction and non-fiction. Having lived in Chicago almost his entire life, he spent a few years living in St. Louis. Bryan's writing first began when he sat down and wrote a three -page story on his mom’s electric typewriter in the third grade. It’s been all up-hill since then!
With over 20 books in both fiction and non-fiction genres available, you can find most of them at Amazon.com with few books just for your Kindle and iPad users. Be sure to check them out.
A blogger for some time, you can learn about upcoming books as well as various author events Bryan is involved in.




Genre: Young Adult, Mystery, Thriller, Suspense, Romance, Paranormal
Publisher: SalGad Publishing
Release date: June 2, 2013

Book Description:

Jimmy Parker is a typical high school student. Unpopular with the girls and picked on by the boys, he’s just trying to survive long enough to escape the tiny Pennsylvanian town of Knorr. With Jimmy and his friend, George, heading to the school dance, they expect nothing but the usual ritual humiliation from their peers. But when a girl in a brilliant blue dress enters their lives at the side of a lonely old bridge…everything changes.

Her name is Sapphire, and she is the most alluring girl that Jimmy has ever met. Yet, there is something strange about her; something different. Why has he never seen her at school? Why does she only want to meet up near the bridge? And why does everybody keep warning Jimmy to stay away from her?

Before long, Jimmy is plunged into a decades-old mystery. The town of Knorr has many secrets; some held by powerful men. Men that would do anything to keep them from getting out. Something dark happened one night in Knorr, and now Jimmy is a part of it whether he likes it or not.

And Sapphire holds the key to understanding it all.

Jimmy discovers that his bond with the mysterious girl creates a unique power between them. A power that bridges time, space, and even dimensions. It is the one thing that could save them both.

Because sometimes the most powerful force on Earth is love.


Praise for Sapphire:


A superb, well written story with a 50 year timeline. Initially a ghost story that turns into a mystery that becomes adventure and investigation turns again into a whodunit.” ~Robert Drake, Amazon Reviewer

I was drawn to this book for the cover and it had been recommended to me by friend who knows my love of Western PA. I thought this book really captured the rural feel of a teenager's life and just as I was feeling a little complacent about it, Jimmy and George meet up with Sapphire on the river bank and the story really takes off.” ~Mary H., Amazon Reviewer

A story of mystery and murder. A chilling, ghostly tale. An account of the pains and joys of youth, a romance, a love story like no other.” ~Daniel Cheely, Amazon Reviewer




Excerpt



Jimmy stood in front of the full-length mirror and did not like what he saw. The sleeves were too short. The white cuffs of his shirt stuck out from the sleeves of his jacket. Any dork could see that. Unfortunately, most of the student body at Knorr High School already thought of him as a dork. The last thing he wanted was feeling that way during his senior prom. However, here he was, looking at an image that could only be described as “dork.”
No one will notice,” said his mother from behind him. She was hovering over his shoulder like a specter. She was smiling and proud. “You can take it off once you get there, and no one will even be paying any attention. Everyone will be too busy having a good time to care what you’re wearing.”
Jimmy sighed and tugged uselessly at the jacket’s sleeve. “Mom, you just have no clue.”
She came forward and hugged him. Then she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Jimmy felt even more like a geek.
I’m not supposed to,” she said. “Mothers are not supposed to have a clue.”
Why couldn’t I have rented one?” Jimmy asked for the nine-hundredth time that afternoon.
You know why,” she said, turning her back and fussing with something out of his sightline. “We can’t afford it. Your uncle had this perfectly serviceable tuxedo and it’s a shame not to use it.”
She reappeared beside him in the mirror, her hand on her hip. Her mouth was a tight line. Jimmy knew that poking at the nerve that they were not a family of means was a low blow. He had seen that look before. This was the same look she had given him as a kid when he wanted a toy that was just too expensive. It was the same look she had given him when he begged her for a cell phone. And he saw the exact same look from her whenever he talked about needing a car.
I spent a lot of time getting the shirt and pants to fit you,” she said. “I did the best I could with the jacket. If you want, you can spend the night at home with me instead of going at all. So, either deal with this situation the best you can or don’t go. I really don’t care.”
She cared. Jimmy knew she cared. She and his father had worked their fingers to the bone to provide for Jimmy. The family had never gone hungry. They had never been without clothes. They may have shopped for their new school wardrobe at Goodwill, but they had clothes. They may have eaten more macaroni and cheese than others, but they were never hungry. Their car may have been rusted through and coughed out oily blue smoke, but they always got where they needed to go. The house may have been run down and it may have been in the part of town most of the other kids avoided, but they always had a roof over their heads. Then his father had died, suddenly, a few years ago. The pain was always there, behind Jimmy’s eyes, lurking around every corner. His dad had done what he could to make sure his family was cared for, but it had not been easy. His mother worked very hard.
Jimmy smiled his crooked smile. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I appreciate it, Mom. Come on, it wouldn’t be a weekend if I didn’t complain about something.”
His mother’s face softened and then her smile returned. Jimmy managed to turn away, searching for the bow tie, before she could plant another kiss on him. He was only willing to be gracious up to a certain point. He found the tie and fiddled with it for a moment. When he turned back toward the mirror his mother was fiddling with something behind him again. He affixed the tie and straightened it. He took another look. His image still said “dork,” but he had lived with that image for a long time.
Before too long he would be elsewhere, and all of the things he had gone through in high school would be over. He could live with looking like a dork for another night. Besides, he was going with his best friend George, anyway, so things couldn’t get too bad.
When is George getting here?” his mother asked.
About five more minutes,” Jimmy said.
I wish you two had managed to find some nice girls to ask,” his mother said.
Mom, there isn’t a girl in Knorr High School that would be caught dead attending the senior prom with Jimmy Parker or George Howell,” he said as he adjusted his tie one more time. It immediately went crooked again, and he decided that the tie really didn’t matter.
I’m sure that’s not true,” his mother said.
Jimmy turned to face her. “Mom, trust me on this one. George and I are not the most popular kids in school. In fact, we are far from it.”
She reached out and pinched his cheeks. This was the one thing worse than the kiss on the cheek. One thing was certain: his mother had some kind of cheek fetish.
But you’re such a smart, nice kid,” she said.
Jimmy snorted. “Mom, even in your day the smart and nice kids were not the popular ones in school, were they?”
She put her hands on his shoulders. “I found your father in high school. He was smart and nice.”
He also played football,” Jimmy said.
He was the kicker,” she said. “You know, back in the old days when dinosaurs walked the Earth, and your father and I were young.”
Kickers still wear uniforms,” Jimmy said. He paused to make sure his hair looked OK one more time. The cowlick towards the back of his head was still there despite the industrial strength hair gel he had put in there.
Just then, the phone rang. Jimmy’s mother vanished into the kitchen and Jimmy turned back to the mirror and adjusted his tie for the millionth time. He also tried to plaster his hair down, but to no avail. He sighed. He was always going to look this way, right?
Jimmy,” his mother said, returning to the bedroom. “It’s Jesse.”
Jimmy smiled. Jesse was the town’s librarian. The library was small, but filled with wonder, as far as Jimmy was concerned. It overlooked a river and was surrounded by touristy attractions, but inside it was all books and musty smells. Jimmy had buried himself there when his father died and Jesse had taken a kind of liking to him. It may have been a stretch to say that Jesse was a father figure, but their relationship was pretty close. Jimmy ran to the phone.
Hey, Jimmy! Are you looking sharp in your suit?” Jesse asked.
Jimmy laughed. “Jesse, I would not look sharp wearing a suit full of razor blades.”
Come on, you know that isn’t true,” Jesse said. “I’m sure you and George will have a good time. Maybe try to get up the nerve to ask a girl to dance.”
I wouldn’t put money on that,” Jimmy said. “I’m betting most of the girls there arrive with dates.”
You just never know,” Jesse said. “I had a pretty amazing time the night of the big dance when I was your age. And I ended up going with a beautiful girl, to boot. You need to be a bit more positive.”
A honk came from outside. This was followed shortly by a sound that was only slightly quieter than a Howitzer shell going off in the living room. George had arrived with his car. The engine settled into a low rattle as the car set about trying to shake itself to pieces again.
Yo, Jimmy!” came the bellow from the car. That could only have been George leaning out the driver’s side window. George was not known for being subtle.
That sounds like George,” Jesse said.
Yeah, that’s him,” Jimmy said.
There was a pause. It seemed like there was more to say, but anything else would have crossed some line between them and that line was still held by Jimmy’s father, even though he was gone.
You be careful tonight, Jimmy,” Jesse said. “Come by the library when you can and tell me all about it or give me a call tomorrow.”
I will,” Jimmy said, and paused, then added. “Thanks for calling.”
You bet,” Jesse said.
Then he was gone, and Jimmy ran back to the bedroom. His mother was there with her hands to her throat in an unconscious anxious gesture she often did, looking as if maybe she had been crying. His mom appreciated how Jesse looked after him, but the pain of losing his father was still there. Jimmy smiled and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Another honk came from outside, so Jimmy had to move.
Jimmy tried to move past his mother, but she grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him back and looking him full in the face again. She smiled, and, much to Jimmy’s consternation, he saw tears swimming in her eyes. She was about to give him some sort of speech about how proud she was of him. It would be similar to one she had given him when he had first gotten the scholarship to attend Clark University.
Be careful,” she said instead, her voice quavering. “And have fun.”
Jimmy smiled. This time, he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. He left quickly just because he did not want to see her cry. He ran down the hall and through the living room.
Jimmy bolted through the door and heard it bang shut behind him. George was hanging out the window of his car, his tuxedo jacket already tossed in the backseat. He had a huge grin on his face, his hair already wild and windblown from driving with the window down.
Come on, the party awaits!” he yelled in the rather odd way of speaking that George had and that so marked him as an outsider, and leaned back into the car, reaching over the passenger’s seat to unlock the door.
What’s it waiting for?” Jimmy asked as he opened the large, rusty door with a loud screeching sound.
Us, my man,” George said as Jimmy planted his ass on the passenger seat and slammed the door. “It is waiting for us.”
Jimmy laughed. “You do live in an amazing fantasy world.”
George leaned around the passenger seat to peer out the back window as he shifted into reverse. “You should move into my world, my friend,” he said. “Plenty of room, and the fun never stops.”
Jimmy laughed again. He thought that maybe it would be a night to remember, after all. Once Jimmy was situated in the passenger seat, as often happened when he was with George, Jimmy’s own form of speech slipped into the oddly formal way that George spoke.
Then lead on, sir,” he said. “Lead on!”











Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Untimed by Andy Gavin - Promotional Tour & Giveaway


Untimed
by Andy Gavin

Genre YA Time Travel Adventure/Romance

Publisher Mascherato Publishing
Release Date December 18, 2012

Book Description:

Untimed is an action-packed time travel novel by Andy Gavin, author of The Darkening Dream and creator of Crash Bandicoot and Jak & Daxter.

Charlie's the kind of boy that no one notices. Hell, his own mother can't remember his name. So when a mysterious clockwork man tries to kill him in modern day Philadelphia, and they tumble through a hole into 1725 London, Charlie realizes even the laws of time don't take him seriously. Still, this isn't all bad. Who needs school when you can learn about history first hand, like from Ben Franklin himself. And there's this girl... Yvaine... another time traveler. All good. Except for the rules: boys only travel into the past and girls only into the future. And the baggage: Yvaine's got a baby boy and more than her share of ex-boyfriends. Still, even if they screw up history -- like accidentally let the founding father be killed -- they can just time travel and fix it, right? But the future they return to is nothing like Charlie remembers. To set things right, he and his scrappy new girlfriend will have to race across the centuries, battling murderous machines from the future, jealous lovers, reluctant parents, and time itself.


Excerpt: Chapter One "Untamed"

UNTIMED by Andy Gavin Illustrations by Dave Phillips Advance Review First Chapter Cover Art Not Final Formatting Not Final Illustration Formatting Not Final © 2011-2012, Andy Gavin. All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. MASCHERATO PUBLISHING PO Box 1550 Pacific Palisades, Ca, 90272 publishing@mascherato.com http://andy-gavin-author.com Copyright © Andy Gavin 2012 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. MS version: 3.20a 75,300 words, November 19, 2012, 1:19:29 PM PST Cover Photo-Illustration copyright © Cliff Nielsen 2012 Interior Illustrations copyright © Dave Phillips 2012 E-book ISBN 978-1-937945-05-3 Hardcover ISBN 978-1-937945-03-9 Trade Paperback ISBN 978-1-937945-04-6 Chapter One: Ignored Philadelphia, Autumn, 2010 and Winter, 2011 My mother loves me and all, it’s just that she can’t remember my name. “Call him Charlie,” is written on yellow Post-its all over our house. “Just a family joke,” Mom tells the rare friend who drops by and bothers to inquire. But it isn’t funny. And those house guests are more likely to notice the neon paper squares than they are me. “He’s getting so tall. What was his name again?” I always remind them. Not that it helps. Only Dad remembers, and Aunt Sophie, but they’re gone more often than not — months at a stretch. This time, when my dad returns he brings a ginormous stack of history books. “Read these.” The muted bulbs in the living room sharpen the shadows on his pale face, making him stand out like a cartoon in a live-action film. “You have to keep your facts straight.” I peruse the titles: Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, Asprey’s The Rise of Napoleon Bonaparte, Ben Franklin’s Autobiography. Just three among many. “Listen to him, Charlie,” Aunt Sophie says. “You’ll be glad you did.” She brushes out her shining tresses. Dad’s sister always has a glow about her. “Where’d you go this time?” I say. Dad’s supposed to be this hotshot political historian. He reads and writes a lot, but I’ve never seen his name in print. “The Middle East.” Aunt Sophie’s more specific than usual. Dad frowns. “We dropped in on someone important.” When he says dropped in, I imagine Sophie dressed like Lara Croft, parachuting into Baghdad. “Is that where you got the new scar?” A pink welt snakes from the bridge of her nose to the corner of her mouth. She looks older than I remember — they both do. “An argument with a rival… researcher.” My aunt winds the old mantel clock, the one that belonged to her mom, my grandmother. Then tosses the key to my dad, who fumbles and drops it. “You need to tell him soon,” she says. Tell me what? I hate this. Dad looks away. “We’ll come back for his birthday.” * * * While Dad and Sophie unpack, Mom helps me carry the dusty books to my room. “Time isn’t right for either of you yet,” she says. Whatever that means. I snag the thinnest volume and hop onto my bed to read. Not much else to do since I don’t have friends and school makes me feel even more the ghost. * * * Mrs. Pinkle, my ninth-grade homeroom teacher, pauses on my name during roll call. Like she does every morning. “Charlie Horologe,” she says, squinting at the laminated chart, then at me, as if seeing both for the first time. “Here.” On the bright side, I always get B’s no matter what I write on the paper. In Earth Science, the teacher describes a primitive battery built from a glass of salt water covered in tin foil. She calls it a Leyden jar. I already know about them from Ben Franklin’s autobiography — he used one to kill and cook a turkey, which I doubt would fly with the school board. The teacher beats the topic to death, so I practice note-taking in the cipher Dad taught me over the weekend. He shows me all sorts of cool things — when he’s around. The system’s simple, just twenty-six made-up letters to replace the regular ones. Nobody else knows them. I write in highlighter and outline in red, which makes the page look like some punk wizard’s spell book. My science notes devolve into a story about how the blonde in the front row invites me to help her with her homework. At her house. In her bedroom. With her parents out of town. Good thing it’s in cipher. After school is practice, and that’s better. With my slight build and long legs, I’m good at track and field — not that the rest of the team notices. A more observant coach might call me a well-rounded athlete. The pole vault is my favorite, and only one other kid can even do it right. Last month at the Pennsylvania state regionals, I cleared 16’ 4”, which for my age is like world class. Davy — that’s the other guy — managed just 14’ 8”. And won. As if I never ran that track, planted the pole in the box, and threw myself over the bar. The judges were looking somewhere else? Or maybe their score sheets blew away in the wind. I’m used to it. * * * Dad is nothing if not scheduled. He and Sophie visit twice a year, two weeks in October, and two weeks in January for my birthday. But after my aunt’s little aside, I don’t know if I can wait three months for the big reveal, whatever it is. So I catch them in his study. “Dad, why don’t you just tell me?” He looks up from his cheesesteak and the book he’s reading — small, with only a few shiny metallic pages. I haven’t seen it before, which is strange, since I comb through all his worldly possessions whenever he’s away. “I’m old enough to handle it.” I sound brave, but even Mom never looks him in the eye. And he’s never home — it’s not like I have practice at this. My stomach twists. I might not like what he has to say. “Man is not God.” One of his favorite expressions, but what the hell is it supposed to mean? “Fink.” For some reason Aunt Sophie always calls him that. “Show him the pages.” He sighs and gathers up the weird metallic book. “This is between the three of us. No need to stress your mother.” What about stressing me? He stares at some imaginary point on the ceiling, like he always does when he lectures. “Our family has—” The front doorbell rings. His gaze snaps down, his mouth snaps shut. Out in the hall, I hear my mom answer, then men’s voices. “Charlie,” Dad says, “go see who it is.” “But—” “Close the door behind you.” * * * I stomp down the hall. Mom is talking to the police. Two cops and a guy in a suit. “Ma’am,” Uniform with Mustache says, “is your husband home?” “May I help you?” she asks. “We have a warrant.” He fumbles in his jacket and hands her an official-looking paper. “This is for John Doe,” she tells him. The cop turns to the man in the suit, deep blue, with a matching bowler hat like some guy on PBS. The dude even carries a cane — not the old-lady-with-a-limp type, more stroll-in-the-park. Blue Suit — a detective? — tilts forward to whisper in the cop’s ear. I can’t hear anything but I notice his outfit is crisp. Every seam stands out bright and clear. Everything else about him too. “We need to speak to your husband,” the uniformed cop says. I mentally kick myself for not ambushing Dad an hour earlier. Eventually, the police tire of the runaround and shove past me as if I don’t exist. I tag along to watch them search the house. When they reach the study, Dad and Sophie are gone. The window’s closed and bolted from the inside. All the other rooms are empty too, but this doesn’t stop them from slitting every sofa cushion and uncovering my box of secret DVDs. * * * Mom and I don’t talk about Dad’s hasty departure, but I do hear her call the police and ask about the warrant. They have no idea who she’s talking about. Yesterday, I thought Dad was about to deliver the Your mother and I have grown apart speech. Now I’m thinking more along the lines of secret agent or international kingpin. But the months crawl by, business as usual, until my birthday comes and goes without any answers — or the promised visit from Dad. I try not to let on that it bothers me. He’s never missed my birthday, but then, the cops never came before, either. Mom and I celebrate with cupcakes. Mine is jammed with sixteen candles, one extra for good luck. I pry up the wrapping paper from the corner of her present. “It’s customary to blow out the candles first,” Mom says. “More a guideline than a rule,” I say. “Call it advanced reconnaissance.” That’s a phrase I picked up from Sophie. Mom does a dorky eye roll, but I get the present open and find she did well by me, the latest iPhone — even if she skimped on the gigabytes. I use it to take two photos of her and then, holding it out, one of us together. She smiles and pats my hand. “This way, when you’re out on a date you can check in.” I’m thinking more about surfing the web during class. “Mom, girls never notice me.” “How about Michelle next door? She’s cute.” Mom’s right about the cute. We live in a duplex, an old house her family bought like a hundred years ago. Our tenants, the Montags, rent the other half, and we’ve celebrated every Fourth of July together as long as I can remember. “Girls don’t pay attention to me.” Sometimes paraphrasing helps Mom understand. “All teenage boys say that — your father certainly did.” My throat tightens. “There’s a father-son track event this week.” A month ago, I went into orbit when I discovered it fell during Dad’s visit, but now it’s just a major bummer — and a pending embarrassment. She kisses me on the forehead. “He’ll be here if he can, honey. And if not, I’ll race. You don’t get your speed from his side of the family.” True enough. She was a college tennis champ and he’s a flat-foot who likes foie gras. But still. * * * Our history class takes a field trip to Independence Park, where the teacher prattles on in front of the Liberty Bell. I’ve probably read more about it than she has. Michelle is standing nearby with a girlfriend. The other day I tapped out a script on my phone — using our family cipher — complete with her possible responses to my asking her out. Maybe Mom’s right. I slide over. “Hey, Michelle, I’m really looking forward to next Fourth of July.” “It’s January.” She has a lot of eyeliner on, which would look pretty sexy if she wasn’t glaring at me. “Do I know you from somewhere?” That wasn’t in my script. I drift away. Being forgettable has advantages. I tighten the laces on my trainers then flop a leg up on the fence to stretch. Soon as I’m loose enough, I sprint up the park toward the red brick hulk of Independence Hall. The teachers will notice the headcount is one short but of course they’ll have trouble figuring out who’s missing. And while a bunch of cops are lounging about — national historic landmark and all — even if one stops me, he won’t remember my name long enough to write up a ticket. The sky gleams with that cloudless blue that sometimes graces Philly. The air is crisp and smells of wood smoke. I consider lapping the building. Then I notice the man exiting the hall. He glides out the white-painted door behind someone else and seesaws down the steps to the slate courtyard. He wears a deep blue suit and a matching bowler hat. His stride is rapid and he taps his walking stick against the pavement like clockwork. The police detective. I shift into a jog and follow him down the block toward the river. I don’t think he sees me, but he has this peculiar way of looking around, pivoting his head side to side as he goes. It’s hard to explain what makes him different. His motions are stiff but he cuts through space without apparent effort. Despite the dull navy outfit, he looks sharper than the rest of the world, more in focus. Like Dad and Sophie. The man turns left at Chestnut and Third, and I follow him into Franklin Court. He stops inside the skeleton of Ben Franklin’s missing house. Some idiots tore it down two hundred years ago, but for the bicentennial the city erected a steel ‘ghost house’ to replace it. I tuck myself behind one of the big white girders and watch. The man unbuttons his suit and winds himself. Yes, that’s right. He winds himself. Like a clock. There’s no shirt under his jacket — just clockwork guts, spinning gears, and whirling cogs. There’s even a rocking pendulum. He takes a T-shaped key from his pocket, sticks it in his torso, and cranks. Hardly police standard procedure. Clueless tourists pass him without so much as a sideways glance. And I always assumed the going unnoticed thing was just me. He stops winding and scans the courtyard, calibrating his head on first one point then another while his finger spins brass dials on his chest. I watch, almost afraid to breathe. CHIME. The man rings, a deep brassy sound — not unlike Grandmom’s old mantel clock. I must have gasped, because he looks at me, his head ratcheting around 270 degrees until our eyes lock. Glass eyes. Glass eyes set in a face of carved ivory. His mouth opens and the ivory mask that is his face parts along his jaw line to reveal more cogs. CHIME. The sound reverberates through the empty bones of Franklin Court. He takes his cane from under his arm and draws a blade from it as a stage-magician might a handkerchief. CHIME. He raises the thin line of steel and glides in my direction. CHIME. Heart beating like a rabbit’s, I scuttle across the cobblestones and fling myself over a low brick wall. CHIME. His walking-stick-cum-sword strikes against the brick and throws sparks. He’s so close I hear his clockwork innards ticking, a tiny metallic tinkle. CHIME. I roll away from the wall and spring to my feet. He bounds over in pursuit. CHIME. I backpedal. I could run faster if I turned around, but a stab in the back isn’t high on my wishlist. CHIME. He strides toward me, one hand on his hip, the other slices the air with his rapier. An older couple shuffles by and glances his way, but apparently they don’t see what I see. CHIME. I stumble over a rock, snatch it up, and hurl it at him. Thanks to shot put practice, it strikes him full in the face, stopping him cold. CHIME. He tilts his head from side to side. I see a thin crack in his ivory mask, but otherwise he seems unharmed. CHIME. I dance to the side, eying the pavement, find another rock and grab it. CHIME. We stand our ground, he with his sword and me with my stone. “Your move, Timex!” I hope I sound braver than I feel. CHIME. Beneath the clockwork man, a hole opens. The manhole-sized circle in the cobblestones seethes and boils, spilling pale light up into the world. He stands above it, legs spread, toes on the pavement, heels dipping into nothingness. The sun dims in the sky. Like an eclipse — still visible, just not as bright. My heart threatens to break through my ribs, but I inch closer. The mechanical man brings his legs together and drops into the hole. The seething boiling hole. I step forward and look down…. Into a whirlpool that could eat the Titanic for breakfast. But there’s no water, only a swirling tube made of a million pulverized galaxies. Not that my eyes can really latch onto anything inside, except for the man. His crisp dark form shrinks into faraway brightness. Is this where Dad goes when he drops in on someone? Is the clockwork dude his rival researcher? The sun brightens, and as it does, the hole starts to contract. Sharp edges of pavement eat into it, closing fast. I can’t let him get away. Somehow we’re all connected. Me, the mechanical man, Sophie, and Dad. I take a step forward and let myself fall.

About The Author:

Andy Gavin is an unstoppable storyteller who studied for his Ph.D. at M.I.T. and founded video game developer Naughty Dog, Inc. at the age of fifteen, serving as co-president for two decades. There he created, produced, and directed over a dozen video games, including the award winning and best selling Crash Bandicoot and Jak & Daxter franchises, selling over 40 million units worldwide. He sleeps little, reads novels and histories, watches media obsessively, travels, and of course, writes.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest





Saturday, August 3, 2013

Guest Post & Giveaway: Ice Rose by Alison Neuman (YA Mystery Romance)


Writer’s Passport: Research Versus Reality

As a reader my favorite books include adventures where I’m transported to another world. For that moment, I hear the sounds and smell the air. The worlds roll into a movie in my mind’s eye. As a writer, my goal is to create picturesque worlds for my characters to travel within. To paint places so vivid readers feels the warm sun on their faces. To have their mouth water at the aroma of the apple pie.

In order to write specific details required to bring a place to reality or to evoke an emotion the place must be familiar. This is where I find myself wading into a discussion about research versus reality. Writers seem to be of three thoughts on the matter: the best worlds are created in your imagination; you must research – be there; a mix will serve you best.
Each of my books are based in reality. Real places. Real sensory igniters. Before attending college research, was a daunting task. A dreaded task. Thanks to an amazing technical writer/ research instructor, research has a new definition: an exploration and adventure into creditable possibilities. Finances limit my ability to travel in my character’s shoes but in the comfort and safety of my office I can surf down a sand dune in Africa one minute and explore the Nunavut walruses the next. Still missing is the sand rushing under my surf board or the frigid ocean moisture as a walrus grunts in the foreground.

For me finding a real place to base the reality of my character’s world is my adventure. Packing my imagination and ignoring the glare of my computer screen to study the culture and geography of the outside world not only provides me perspective, it gives my writing world richness. Research gives my world credibility, but the best destinations I have visited through books have been created in the writer’s mind. Which do you prefer?





 Picture
Genre: Young Adult/Mystery/Romance
Publisher: Fireside Publications
Release Date: September 15, 2010
AuthorAmazon

About The Book:

Ice Rose
 — A teenager’s world is turned upside down when an explosion steals her dad and her identity. Entering an exclusive academy that immerses her in the world of secret agents, she must overcome her fears and disabilities to discover the truth about her dad’s mission, his software, and the mystery man stalking her before she ends up like her father — lost.









Alison Neuman lives in Alberta, Canada, where she is a freelance writer and lyricist. Nearing the end of her studies for the Bachelor of Applied Communications Degree program at Grant MacEwan College, she was inspired to complete the first draft of  Ice Rose. The pace of secret agent books and movies gave her an unlimited playground for  imagination. Music and performing are passions she was able to bring into her writing and build into her characters.

Alison’s writing has appeared in “MacEwan Today”, “Westword”, and the “Edmonton Journal” along with three tracks on the CD release Outside The Window. Co-writing the screenplay adaptation of the book Whale Songwith author Cheryl Kaye Tardif exposed her to the world of screenwriting, which she hopes to continue to examine further in the future. Alison also has been writing shorter pieces of non-fiction, one entitled Establishing Roots, that earned a top ten ranking in the Edmonton Stories contest. This past spring she was a winner in The Expressions of Hunger Contest in the Emotional Poetry category. Her piece Undeniable Craving was on display in June and July in various artistic locations across the city of Edmonton.  She has completed a final edit of her memoir “Searching For Normal” and is currently writing her next young adult manuscript.

When not writing creatively, Alison  is editing or writing for her business, Sandy Tree Communications.




Monday, April 29, 2013

Cover Reveal & Giveaway: Chrysalis by Michelle Cornwell-Jordan


Picture




CHRYSALIS 


YA Paranormal Novel

Set to release Summer 2013

Add to Goodreads


About The Book:

After the war between Man and the Supernatural. The world settled back into a harmonious rhythm. Man and Preternatural existing side by side, building a society that was technologically advanced and beneficial to both kinds. Ruled by ThunderKins(Children of the Sun). But there was dissatisfaction in several of the Divisions one of Fire and the other Rain. (Fire) Division did not accept the rule of ThunderKin. The Thunderkin heir was targeted for destruction, believing this would cause the Thunderkin rule to be overthrown. So Chaos was birth and Chaos had a name….Ayda

Ayda Blackhawk was the beautiful, mysterious new girl at Eagle Ridge High School, in the Mountain Division of the New World, She was not there to make friends but to bring destruction. Her assignment? To kill the Thunderkin heir. But Ayda meets Adrian the ThunderKin leader, and through a twist of fate, the rules change which places Ayda, Adrian and their world at the cross roads to either destruction or redemption

The cover was created by the amazing (Amy Rooney-CVWriterDesigns) 
Website: http://www.courtneyvail.com/

Photography by the fantabulous (Tiffany McDonald- Anecdote Photography)
Website: http://www.anecdotephotography.com/home.html

Big Hug and Much Gratitude to the very awesome duo Models
Jessica Becerra - FaceBook: https://www.facebook.com/#!/jessica.becerra12?fref=ts
And Javier Gonzales - https://www.facebook.com/#!/javier.gonzalez.1804?fref=ts

Picture
Michelle Cornwell-Jordan is a Young Adult/ New Adult author.

Her titles include a co-written work with Danny Jones calledReahket, her solo young adult novella series Night School Vampire Hunter Trilogy and a contribution to the HerStory Anthology released March 08th2013(Pagans Writers Press)

She is also the producer/host of the online radio segment, IndieReview Behind the Scenes, where she and her co-host Jamie B Musings interview Indie authors and musicians.

Michelle has been married for seventeen years and has a fourteen-year-old daughter. A book lover, her favorite genre has always been paranormal adventures.

Find out more about her on her website http://michellecjordan.wix.com/author#!

Follow her on twitter at @mcjordan37

Fan her on FaceBook at IndieWritersreview YA blog http://www.facebook.com/pages/Indiewritersreview-YA-blog/243295842393117

And FaceBook at IndieReview Behind The Scenes Internet Radio

https://www.facebook.com/#!/IndiereviewBehindTheScenes?fref=ts

Website | Twitter | Facebook | IndieReview Behind The Scenes




Sunday, March 10, 2013

Snow by Kathryn Hewitt - Book Bash & #Giveaway



About The Author:

Kathryn Hewitt was born and raised in the small town of Camden, South Carolina. Breaking away from becoming a statistic, she was an Honors Graduate from Camden High School and went on to study British Literature and Sociology at Charleston Southern University, inspiring to teach High School English.

Kathryn has a passion for teaching teenagers and reaching out to those who seem as though the world has closed the door. Because of her own experiences, including becoming a teenage mother at fifteen, Kathryn knows the value of life and the blessings it contains. Understanding the importance of making wise decisions, Kathryn passionately seeks to instill that wisdom into the minds of every young lady she encounters. The inspiration for Kathryn's writings comes from her own experiences, and she is never afraid to speak the truth that others refuse to acknowledge.

Kathryn married in 2005 and is a stay at home mom with her four sons. She and her family currently live in the same town she grew up.

Author Bio Summary

As a teenage mother, Kathryn Hewitt understands the consequential trials and sacrifices resulting from teen pregnancies. Leadership positions throughout high school, college, and church provided a forum for her activism in promoting premarital abstinence and accountability, and pro-life support.

Kathryn currently lives in Camden, South Carolina with her husband and four boys.



Book Genre Religious Fiction/ YA (13+ or 7th grade)Publisher Westbow Press, Inc A Thomas Nelson DivisionRelease Date May 2012
Amazon

Snow is a fiction novel, based on true events, about the struggles of a teenage girl and the consequences of a devastating mistake. Whether readers are young adults, exploring their sexuality for the first time, or an older adult, struggling to understand their teenage daughter, everyone will have a character in which to relate.

Young adults will be gripped by the reality and bluntness of it's characters. Parents will appreciate the censorship of otherwise “uncomfortable” topics. With sexuality among young adults beginning at an early age, "family values" are now being pushed back into the forefront of parental teaching. Snow influences people with Christian values, such as sexual abstinence, pro-life advocacy, and prayer, without pushing God as the subject of the book. Biblically based information is strategically scattered throughout the novel with dialect and personal thoughts.

The protagonist's quest to discover the path she needs to take unearths findings of a secret life, lead by her boyfriend. With two lives at stake, readers will eagerly anticipate the outcome only to find themselves with lessons and warnings about the consequences of making detrimental mistakes. Comfort will be found in understanding that God is bigger than any situation and He catches ever tear. Miracles so often go unnoticed, yet powerfully affect those they touch. Snow will set the stage for future novels reflective of countless miracles and divine intervention.

Excerpt:

Mrs. Davis grabbed Luke by the arm and pulled him along behind her as she purposefully marched toward the bar. After ordering a Grey Goose martini, she turned around to face Luke.

"You know why I brought you over here," she glared at him, her voice shaking with anger.

"Yeah, I know." Luke sat on the bar stool and folded his arms on the counter.

"What are you going to do about this, Luke?"

"I don't know, Mom. She wants to have it."

"You can't allow that to happen. You know that."

"I can't make her do it." Luke ran his hands through his un-gelled hair. " And her mom! She just won't stop interfering. She had this church lady come over yesterday and talk to Ruth about
having the abortion. That lady managed to change her mind, because, believe it or not, I did have her convinced."

Mrs. Davis sipped her martini and lit a cigarette. "Well, we have to get rid of this one. You can't have two of these things hanging over your head for the next eighteen years."

"I don't know how to convince her." He laughed as he said, "I told her, when we first found out, that I'd hire someone to beat her up and make her miscarry."

Mrs. Davis chuckled, "Or you could just kill her."

"Mother, please."

Mrs. Davis tapped the ashes off her cigarette and motioned for Luke to leave. "Don't worry; I'll take care of this. Tell her to come here."

Luke got off the bar stool and went into the arcade. He should have gone straight to look for Ruth, but part of him didn't want his mom to convince her to have the abortion. He loved how
sweet and obedient Ruth was and didn't want to lose her. His eye caught a military game, so he headed over, ready to release some frustration.

What Readers Are Saying:

"Heart-tugging, heart-warming. beautiful story." ~InsightfulTruth

"The honest account girls need!" ~M. Morgan

"Finally! A book that isn't afraid of the truth." ~T. Gill

  • Characters & Important People (From Amazon)


    • Ruth McColl: 20 year old Ruth McColl walks a treacherous road to her past where she is faced with the demons that have haunted her for years. Broken and filled with unworthiness, Ruth sabotages every relationship. Will she do the same with the man she's about to marry?15 year old Ruth is a fun loving, outgoing young girl filled with innocence and determination. An honor student and active in her church, Ruth is caught up in a whirlwind romance with a man, too many years her senior. The decisions she must make will alter her life forever. The question is, will it be for the better?

    • Luke Davis: Luke, a charmer, shows up in the small town of Westbrook just in time to catch the eye of young Ruth. Captivated by her innocence it doesn't take long for Luke to set his sights on his newest prize. But what is his ultimate desire? And why was he sent to Westbrook?
  • Notes for Parents:


    • Reading Level: Young Adults

    Read this yourself. You'll gain a great understanding of what your kids are going through at school and socially. Then, give it to your daughter (or son). This novel was written to tell the truth. It's not sugar coated...it's just blunt. The main character, a virgin, looses her virginity to a guy she believes loves her. Over time he has made her feel obligated to prove her love to him. After a one time mistake she finds herself pregnant at 15. Her boyfriend has a checkered past filled with girls that either were pregnant or are pregnant. He and his family pressure her to abort the baby. The novel graphically describes the abortion process and reveals the emotions that overwhelm Ruth. There are many lessons in this book and although it may invoke discussions about premarital sex, abortion, and abuse you will be grateful that your daughter (or son) is receiving a valuable, positive message.Because of the content, I do not recommend this book to anyone under 13 or 7th grade.





Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...