Darkest Days N W Harris (The Last Orphans, #4) Publication date: May 22nd 2017 Genres: Post-Apocalyptic, Science Fiction, Young Adult The ancient slave mongers who killed the adults and enslaved the children have angered a more advanced species of aliens. Composed of pure energy, this superior race has attacked the Anunnaki home world and is now setting a course for Earth. The energy-based aliens believe in a system of trial by battle. They seek to push Shane and his friends into the arena with the ones who killed their parents. The results will determine if humans deserve to live, or if they should be made extinct as well. It’s up to Shane to keep his friends—and an army of kids who look up to him—alive. They’ll be fighting not just for their own lives, but for the fate of the entire human race. Can the enemy of Shane’s enemy be his friend, or is this just another species determined to exploit and destroy them?
GUEST POST BY N.W. HARRIS:
What would I tell a new author?What to tell a new author, hmmm… There is so much to tell, though every writer’s journey is different. First off, I’d tell them to write for themselves. If one writes just to get published and make money, I think they’ll go mad and/or quit before they ever get close. Why? It takes years to polish one’s craft enough to be published by a creditable publisher. I think writing has to be looked at as a hobby that could become a career. A writer has to want to write because there is something that is inside them that needs to get out. Write for a creative outlet. Write like it doesn’t matter if anyone besides you ever reads it. Write almost everyday, but it is important to take days off too. Much of the education for the profession comes from practical experience. Sure, a writer draws from their experiences and traditional education. My educational background is mostly based in science, biology and anthropology, and it provides a volume of information to draw upon. But, I had to learn the craft of writing by trial and error. Every writer has to find his or her voice. That can take years, and it can only be discovered by hard work. I’d tell them to persist. It’s my favorite word. You have to write a novel. Destroy it. Rewrite it. Invest countless hours and sometimes even years. Then you have to be willing to let all that work go because it was just the classroom where you polished your craft. You have to swallow rejection after rejection and keep fighting. When you get criticism, you have to listen to it. I’m not saying a budding writer should try to oblige every critic, but growth is critical and growth comes from taking in criticism. Deal with any pain it might cause quickly, and then get into the game again by applying what you’ve learned.
Author Bio:Born at the end of the Vietnam war and raised on a horse farm near small town north Georgia, his imagination evolved under the swaying pines surrounding his family’s log home. On summer days that were too hot, winter days that were too cold, and every night into the wee morning hours, he read books. He lives in sunny southern California with his beautiful wife and two perfect children.
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COVER REVEAL TIME!
We are super excited about this third book in the Threads of the Moirae Series by Jennifer Derrick and even more thrilled now that we have a gorgeous cover. Check out the official cover reveal for Hunted Fate which is scheduled for release on July 24, 2017. After you marvel at its beauty, check out the pre-order deal and secure your copy today. If you haven't started this series, now is the time since Broken Fate is currently free!
HUNTED FATE by Jennifer Derrick
(Threads of the Moirae #3) Published by: Clean Teen Publishing Publication date: July 24, 2017 Genres: Mythology, Romance, Young Adult
PRE-ORDER FOR $3.99 on AMAZON! (More retailers coming soon.)
Alex and Atropos have taken refuge at an abandoned mountain resort. But the break won't last long. The humans and the gods are after her, and there's a war to prepare for—a war that could depose the gods once and for all. A heart-pounding romantic adventure where Greek mythology and modern-day life collide, Hunted Fate is the third book in the Threads of the Moirae series.
Author Bio:Jennifer is a freelance writer and novelist. As a freelancer, she writes everything from technical manuals to articles on personal finance and European-style board games. Her interest in storytelling began when she was six and her parents gave her a typewriter for Christmas and agreed to pay her $.01 per page for any stories she churned out. Such a loose payment system naturally led to a lot of story padding. Broken Fate, her first novel, earned her $2.80 from her parents. Jennifer lives in North Carolina and, when not writing, can often be found reading, trawling the shelves at the library, playing board games, watching sports, camping, running marathons, and playing with her dog. You can visit her at her official website:www.JenniferDerrick.com.
The wait is over! From the bestselling author of the Acceptance series, comes an all new YA-standalone that's sure to be the first summer smash-hit! Sarah Negovetich delivers and you won't want to miss out. Grab your copy today!
Title: Ghost Code
Author: Sarah Negovetich
Genre: Young Adult/Sci-Fi
Release Date: May 15, 2017
"Ghost Code is a fast paced thrill ride that will take you to the very edge--of life and of love--and leave you begging for just one more page."
-Bestselling Author Sherry D. Ficklin (The Hacker Series)
"Without dreams, what's the point of being awake?"
After a lifetime of fighting cancer, eighteen-year-old Viv Quiroga is dying. But she’s determined to go out on her own terms. Instead of wasting away in a hospital watching her mom worry over their mounting debt, she volunteers for a private research program.
For thirty days she’ll live in a coma as a human lab rat. When her time is up, they turn off the machines and pay off all her medical bills.
It’s supposed to be a one way trip.
Until Viv wakes up and learns what it really means to live.
Sarah Negovetich knows you don't know how to pronounce her name and she's okay with that.
Her first love is Young Adult novels, because at seventeen the world is your oyster. Only oysters are slimy and more than a little salty; it's accurate if not exactly motivational. We should come up with a better cliché.
Sarah divides her time between writing YA books that her husband won’t read and performing on stage at BE Theatre. Her goal in life is to never grow up.
FIND SARAH NEGOVETICH
Grab your copy today!
July Lightning Shannon A. Thompson (Bad Bloods #4) Published by: Clean Teen Publishing Publication date: May 1st 2017 Genres: Fantasy, Young AdultFrom best-selling author Shannon A. Thompson comes an exciting new duology in the Bad Bloods universe. Sixteen-year-old Caleb has been called many things: a patient, a musician, even a prostitute…now he has a new name—son. After his identity is uncovered, Caleb bands together with the family he once rejected in order to save the city of Vendona. But it won’t be easy. Enemies wait around every corner—and so do harsh realities. With Violet and Kuthun by his side though, nothing seems impossible. As Vendona sits on the verge of an economic collapse and a massive hurricane threatens the city, Violet and Caleb must show its citizens how to overcome decades of hostility and division to save themselves. Standing or not, a sea will rage, a wall may fall, and all will depend on immortal pain and sacrifice.
Author Bio:Shannon A. Thompson is a young adult author, avid reader, and a habitual chatterbox. As a novelist, poet, and blogger, Thompson spends her free time writing and sharing ideas with her black cat, Bogart, named after her favorite actor, Humphrey Bogart. Her other two cats bring her coffee. Between writing and befriending cats, Thompson graduated from the University of Kansas with a bachelor’s degree in English with an emphasis on creative writing, and her work has appeared in numerous poetry collections and anthologies. Represented by Clean Teen Publishing, Thompson is the best-selling author of The Timely Death Trilogy and the Bad Bloods duology. When she is not writing, she is climbing rooftops, baking cookies, or watching murder shows in the middle of the night, often done with her cats by her side. Visit her blog for writers and readers at www.ShannonAThompson.com.
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Whew! If you're keeping up, you know that today is the day Season 2, Episode 2 releases, continuing Queen Ariel's story. By now, you're probably following the pattern: we are releasing an episode every other day. We'll continue to do this until all ten stories have been told! This project was a HUGE undertaking! Starting with the artistry of the uber-talented Jo Michaels, who hand drew each of the queen's shoes, colored them beautifully, and then set them into the various backgrounds to create the unique covers for each book. They are truly works of art! Don't believe me? Check them out...
In addition to the 10 seasons (30 episodes!), we also produced the War & Pieces Frayed Fairy Tales coloring book. Have you seen it? You can color each queen's shoe to your liking, and there's even a blank heel to design your own. The beautifully detailed title pages were designed by the amazing N.L. Greene. This will make a lovely accompaniment as you read the stories, or a thoughtful gift for the fashionista in your life.
Last, but not least, if you're like me, you enjoy a multi-sensory experience while reading. I love a good cup of coffee or tea and a scented candle to evoke the story's setting. While we don't have candles for our series, we do have TEA! There is a tea blend for each queen on Adagio Teas. They're part of the War & Pieces Frayed Fairy Teas fandom. My personal favorite is the Rapunzel blend - chocolate, caramel and orange. Yummy and refreshing! You can get the small tins and try them all.
Now, if you've stuck with me this far, you HAVE to take a minute or two and enter the Rafflecopter. I'll be giving away a special gift pack of War & Pieces surprises, including a copy of the coloring book and Season 1, Episode 1. Good luck!
Happy Monday, everyone! Guess what? Today's the big day! I'm on pins and needles today, let me tell you what. There's a ton of info in this post, so stay with it until the end! But let's get to what we came for: War and Pieces release day information!
Title: War and Pieces ~ Frayed Fairy Tales - Season 1: Episode 1
Authors: Tia Silverthorne Bach and N. L. Greene
Genre: Mature YA
Length: ~10k words
Buy Links: Kindle ~~~ Smashwords ~~~ Barnes and Noble ~~~ iBooks
All are just $0.99!
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there were zombies…
That’s how it all started. Authors have created a major problem with stories like Cinder, The Dark Queen, and Asleep, and it’s wreaking havoc here in Ever After. Our queens are fighting for their lives.
Rather like Mother Nature, keeper of the fine balance that’s life in your world, tales that begin with “Once upon a time” were never meant to be messed with.
Now, Ariel is underwater with all the defenses she’s been launching, Aurora hasn’t slept in weeks, and Rapunzel is tangled in… Well, I can’t even begin to tell you.
Rather than try, I’ll let you see for yourself. You and I will talk again afterward—if I survive long enough. So, as our fateful story begins:
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away…
Start the serial series now, and get ready for a wild ride. We have 10,000 words scheduled to release every other day through the end of June. Yeah, it's a big story! But you don't wanna miss it.
Join our fan group on Facebook to keep up with the books, join the release day party, and enter to win some cool prizes this week while we release all of Season 1.
Pop on over to the voting group (you don't have to join to vote), and vote on your favorite fan art shoe entry!
Let's DO THIS THING!
Title: Only Skin Deep
Author: N.L. Greene
Genre: Dark Romantic Suspense
Editor: Raye Greene and Carie Whitcomb
Cover Designer: Wilde Designs
Hosted by: Lady Amber's PR
Mateoâs perfectly normal life was upended one fateful night when tragedy struck his family. After years of running the streets and fighting the temptations that would surely make him spiral out of control, he finds himself somewhere unexpected. At the gym, he isnât a troubled kid on the streets. Heâs a fighter.
Elizabeth has never known normal; sheâs never known love. Born to parents who thought she was better off as an ashtray than a kid, she quickly learned that the only person she could ever trust was herself. When she was taken away from home and thrust into the system, she traded one form of torture for another.
When their paths converge, Mateo thinks heâs met the girl of his dreams, but Elizabethâs past rears its ugly head.
Can two broken people find a way to overcome their challenges and find love in one another? Or will the skeletons in their closets tear them from each other's arms?
Author N.L. Greene is a writer of many genres from YA Fantasy, to NA Paranormal Romance and Contemporary, to Adult Historical Fiction, and many more to come. Her first series, The Deadly Flowers Series (written under the pen name Riana Lucas), is a 4 book series about a Faery warrior, Poppy. Writing under the name N.L. Greene, she has written NA magically romantic books in the series The Mystic Seeker Series, and about bullying in her mature YA Contemporary novel, Twisted. She has also had the opportunity to collaborate with four other amazing authors to create Fractured Glass and Seven, both of which are award winning novels.
N.L. Greene currently lives in Florida with her husband and two beautiful daughters. When she isn't writing or reading, she enjoys traveling around the world with her family, shopping and doing other girly things with her girls, or playing video games with her husband. She is a lover of dogs, chocolate, and anything pink!
Street Team: https://www.facebook.com/groups/1796494457339211/
"There is more treasure in books than in all the pirate's loot on Treasure Island."
— Walt Disney
How true are those words? Books take us to new places. They introduce us to different ways of thinking and experiences unlike our own. Books allow us to visit wondrous worlds that exist only because a writer dreamed them up. It is through books that we expand our vocabulary, our imagination, and maybe even our views on life and those we share it with.
"Today a reader, tomorrow a leader." — Margaret Fuller
Teachers play such an important role, not only in the technical aspects of reading, but also in modeling a life-long love of literature. I have seen this first-hand with my children and their teachers, and that's why today, I am pleased to share with you a recent project my daughter and her eighth-grade classmates completed. Each student selected a book they read during the month of March. At the end of the month, they created a book box, decorating it inside and out to the theme of their featured novel. Then, they presented their projects to their classmates.
I was blown away by the thought and creativity that went into these book boxes, and I know you will be too. Take a look and feel free to leave a comment. I'm sure the students would enjoy hearing what you think. And if you have students of your own, or children, or nieces and nephews, or grandkids, or neighbor kids, consider trying this project with them--it's something you'll both be able to enjoy and learn from.
Until next time... Happy Reading!
While the Northern Flock had to be quiet to survive, the herd played music in order to live.
Caleb’s hand found mine. “Dance with me?” he asked, but I hated my answer.
“I can’t.” My confession came with my wrecked knee. With one gesture, Caleb seemed to understand, but as he turned his eyes to his herd—to Britney prancing around with Plato, to Kat covering her ears, to Yasir holding Hanna with his protective gloves between them—Caleb pulled me up to my feet.
“Let me do it for you,” he said, and then, he lifted me up and placed me on the tops of his boots.
As he swayed, I saw the sunburn on the tops of his cheeks, the sand in his hair, the sea salt on his skin. Then, his chapped lips as he managed a shaky smile. For once, Caleb looked disheveled, and I had never liked him more.
“That’s some crew you have,” he said, but I hadn’t noticed anyone else in the world around us until he spun.
Life-sized shadows—dozens of them—danced all around us, and I recognized their shapes as people I would always know. Blake and his teddy bear. Floyd’s stretched limbs, and Ami’s swinging braids. Even Adam’s speed.
Alive or dead, the shadows of every member of my own flock joined in on the dance of a herd, and my heart fluttered at the sight.
Losing control had never felt so great.
Neither had a storm descending down upon us.
Of Glitter and Gold: A Canary Club Anthology
NOTHING GOLD EXCERPT:
It’s easier than I imagined to sneak into the party. The music is so loud and the crowd so enormous that no one sees me wind my way through the shrubs on the outskirts. The massive estate is far enough away from the city that I had to hitch a ride to get here, and I’ll have to time my exit just right to make the train back to Manhattan.
Brushing off my secondhand suit coat, I enter the party via the back patio. A wide pool is filled with people, most still in their fancy evening wear. My eyes slide past them, searching for the one person at this shindig that I know. I scan past butlers with white gloves holding silver trays covered in champagne glasses, past gleeful dames in short skirts with blood-red lips, and past gents in their glad rags I can tell with one glance cost more dough than I make in a year working at the mill.
When I finally see him, his pinstripe suit, matching fedora, and red pocket square, he’s standing atop the massive staircase on the ledge overlooking the party. Deacon Brewer, the reason I’m here tonight. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his trousers as he chats up a fella I don’t recognize, along with the dame hanging off his arm. Plastering on an easy grin, I wind my way through the people, helping myself to a glass of bubbly as I head for the stairs. The stone steps are covered in gold confetti, the whole place practically dripping with it. Long, red velvet drapes hang from arched windows, and leafless branches painted gold and draped with crystal beads sit in tall vases in every corner. Nothing has been left un-gilded.
I shake my head at the audacity. Might as well have a neon sign--someone, please rob the joint.
Deacon sees me coming and dismisses himself from his conversation, welcoming me with an open hand.
“Dickey Lewis, glad you could make it, boy,” he offers warmly.
As if I had a choice.
“Of course, Mr. Brewer,” I respond with more warmth than I feel. Truth is that I’m in deep to Deacon after a few bad bets at his club last month, and he opted to make me work it off rather than take it outta my hide. I suppose that makes him clever, but I can’t help the gnawing feeling that this is a debt I may never fully repay. “What’s the score?” I ask, lowering my voice.
Draping an arm across my shoulders, he walks me through the glass doors and into the house. Still crammed with people drinking, dancing, and generally wrecking the joint, he pulls a cigar from his vest pocket with his free hand.
“Upstairs in the den is a lovely Monet, behind which is a very large safe. Cash, some baubles, and a bankbook are inside. I don’t care about the rest; you take what you need. But the bankbook needs to find its way into my hands tomorrow morning by eight am.”
I take a deep breath, rolling my tongue over my teeth before answering, “How am I supposed to get into the safe?”
He barks a deep laugh, slapping me on the back. “Guess you’ll have to get a little creative. Just get in, get out, and don’t let nobody see ya, got it?”
All I can do is nod and watch him swagger away. Sure, I’ve boosted loot before, but always simple jobs, smash and grabs. Nothing like this. What have I gotten myself into this time?
Still, whatever else is in there is mine for the taking, I tell myself. Could be a big pay day, judging by the looks of the place.
I wander casually through the house, trying to look as if I belong while also counting the number of cops and guards watching the area. It’s not as many as I expected. I grab a dark-haired dame by the waist, offering her a charming smile and asking for a dance. We Charleston together for two songs, finally stopping to imbibe more champagne. When I ‘accidently’ stumble into her, she spills the contents of her glass on my jacket, fumbling a wide-eyed apology.
Waving her off with a smile, I hand her my glass, “You take this, and I’ll go find a place to wash up.”
“You could always take a dip in the pool, honey,” she says, batting her eyelashes.
Beside her, a gentleman points up a secondary set of stairs near the front door. “Washroom is up there, I think.”
I mutter a thanks and a promise to return, then make my way up the stairs, continuing to stumble around as if drunk, occasionally opening a door to find a couple necking or a room full of folks smoking the Indian hop in long pipes.
Finally, the thumping of the music fading below me, I make my way to the library. Beyond that, I find the only locked door on the entire floor. Digging into my pocket, I pull out my lock kit, a simple flattened iron jimmy and a hooked pick. Sliding both in the lock, I slide them back and forth, listening for the mechanism inside to release. It doesn’t take long and the door springs open, allowing me to step inside and close it quickly behind me. It’s dark except for the glow of a single lamp atop a massive oak desk, behind which is a tall arched window overlooking the front of the estate. From this spot, I can see the cars lined up along the circular drive, partygoers coming and going in wild abandon. Pulling the pocket watch from my vest, I wipe my fingers across the cracked glass face, checking the time. Only thirty minutes until the train. If I miss it, it’ll be two hours before the next one. Not the end of the world, unless someone notices the lift before I’m gone. That’s a long time to stick around with a pocket fulla stolen goods.
I glance around me, the blood chilling in my veins. Every wall except the one with the window is covered in framed paintings. And I have no idea which one is a Monet.
Scrambling, I begin lifting each, checking the wall behind for any sign of the safe. Finally, on the opposite wall from where I started, I find it. Carefully lifting the heavy canvas free, I set it on the floor and turn my attention to the wall safe. It’s not large, about the size of a bread box with a spinning combination dial in the center. Unsure what else to do, I pull the pocket knife free from my trousers and flick it open, trying to wedge it between the door and the frame. As soon as I do, I know it’s going to be futile. The thing is heavy steel; no way my knife is gonna bust it open. Putting it away, I begin spinning the dial at random, praying I’ll get lucky.
I’m so flustered I don’t hear the door open or the footsteps from behind me until it’s too late.
“It’s my birthday,” a voice offers, making me spin, hands balled into fists to fight my way free from the room.
The dame is tall, her garnet-red hair rolled into bouncy curls and pinned in a messy heap at the back of her neck. Her dress is green, almost the same color as her eyes, and it hugs her slender frame as if it were a second skin. Even the long strings of pearls twined around her neck seems completely natural, not just a decoration but an extension of her. I take a breath, blinking, momentarily stunned. She drapes one hand on her hip, her entire body listing to the side as she points to the safe.
“The combination,” she repeats. “It’s my birthday.”
Finally recovering my voice, I stammer. “I was, uh, just…”
The corners of her mouth turn upward. “Breaking into my father’s safe?”
I don’t know what to say. I feel her in the room, the way one might feel the air change right before a storm, a heaviness that settles in, leaving my soul with a sense of foreboding. My instincts battle inside me. Do I grab her and tie her to a chair, or do I flee? The weight of her gaze makes it impossible to think clearly.
“Relax,” she says, raising a glass I hadn’t noticed her holding to her lips and taking a slow drink. “I’m not calling the guards if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Oh? You’re just gonna let me crack this safe and walk away with whatever’s inside?”
She shrugs. “It’s not my money. What do I care?”
I lick my lips, sizing her up. A spoiled little rich girl who wants to stick it to Daddy. I’ve seen a few of those in my day. I can work with this—if I can get my head back on straight. It’s not like me to get so flustered by a dame, not even a high-quality one like this.
“Besides…” She sets the glass on the desk and saunters toward me. “It’s not like we don’t have enough.”
I catch a hint of her perfume in the air when she brushes by me, lavender and something else I can’t quite place. Taking the dial in her hand, she spins the knob until the door finally clicks, then she steps back, giving me a go-ahead gesture.
I hesitate, flicking glances at the bare skin where her neck meets her shoulder, at the creamy whiteness of her skin, before settling my eyes on her face. “What’s your name, doll?”
She looks down, sheepishly at first, but then raises just her eyes to look at me with an expression of bold defiance. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
I swallow, considering her offer. She’s already gotten a good look at me, enough to rat me out to the cops. The look on her face is one of challenge, I realize. She’s daring me to trust her.
“Dickey,” I say, pulling the flat cap off my head and holding it over my heart as I bow to her. “Dickey Lewis, at your service, Miss?”
“Lillian Rose Duke,” she answers. “But my friends call me Lilly.”
Replacing my hat, I grab the safe handle and twist, pulling open the heavy door. Grabbing a large wooden box first, I hold it out to her. Moving back, I grab two stacks of fresh bills and stuff them in the pockets of my suitcoat. Finding the bankbook last, I tuck it into the back of my pants before pulling my shirt and jacket over it.
I spin to Lilly, watching as she upends the box, spilling jewelry onto the desk in a pile. She picks through it, finally just scooping it all into her hand and sauntering over to me. Getting so close I feel the warmth of her, she grabs the lapel of my jacket, sliding the gold and stones into the inside pocket.
“Give these to your girl, Dickey Lewis.”
She releases my lapel, but doesn’t step away. Instead, she leans forward. Thinking she’s going to kiss me, I straighten in anticipation, but she just trails her fingers along my collar until she’s cupping the back of my neck.
“I ain’t got no girl,” I admit, my heart pounding behind my ribs.
“Well, isn’t that a shame?” she says, her lips a hair’s breadth from mine.
Unable to resist, I close the final distance between us, clutching her by the waist as I urge her lips to mine. I’ve never tasted gold before, but I imagine this is what it would be like—champagne, honey, and nerves of steel. When she finally pulls away, I’m gasping. Tugging tugs the white linen handkerchief from my pocket, she wipes my face, then hers, of her smeared lipstick before returning the hankie to its place.
“I hope to see you around, Dickey Lewis.”
With that, she spins on her heel and heads for the door, listening for a moment before pulling it open and stepping out. The room is instantly colder, the air thinner. I can finally breathe, can think.
As I slink from the party and disappear into the shadows, making my way down the street to the train station, I can’t force the sight of her from my mind, or the taste of her from my lips.
Even if it takes every penny in my pocket and every breath in my body, I will see Lillian Rose Duke again.
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