Search

Didi Oviatt

Author of suspense novels Search For Maylee, Aggravated Momentum, The Stix, and New Age Lamians. As well as the short story collection Time Wasters and (co-author of) The Suspenseful Collection. Columnist for The Conscious Talk Magazine.

Category

marketing

Feel Me Fall, by James Morris #Blitz #excerpt

Genre: YA/ Thriller/ Survival

Publication Date: May 2017

Blurb:

Secrets and survival in the Amazon

Emily Duran is the sole survivor of a plane crash that left her and her teenage friends stranded and alone in the jungles of the Amazon. Lost and losing hope, they struggle against the elements, and each other. With their familiar pecking order no longer in place, a new order emerges, filled with power struggles, betrayals, secrets and lies. Emily must explain why she’s the last left alive.

But can she carry the burden of the past?

Discover the gripping new adventure novel that explores who we are when no one is watching, and how far we’ll go in order to survive.

Feel Me Fall Cover 2D

Add to Goodreads

Excerpt

I have tried so hard to forget, but memory is a stubborn thing. Memories linger no matter what I do. They’re there all the time—and worse. Even my dreams aren’t safe. I have vicious nightmares, and they’re real—too real—and suddenly I’m back there. I can’t will them away, I can’t squeeze them away, and the more I try, the more they burrow in my head. I want to cut open my skull and dig my fingers into my brain and just pull them out.

I press the Call Nurse button.

This place, this room; it’s no better than a white coffin. Sometimes I feel like the walls are closing in on me and I have to remind myself nothing’s moving. Nothing at all.

Breathe, I tell myself. Just breathe.

A nurse enters. She’s got skin the color of rich walnut. She says, “It’s late, you should be asleep.”

“I can’t.” She tilts her head, knowing it’s a lie. The truth is I don’t want to. “Can I have some coffee?”

“You’ve got to sleep sometime, honey.” She walks over and gently grasps my bandaged hand. “Do you want me to stay with you a while?”

Usually my mom is with me, but she must’ve had to run home. Reduced to a little girl, I nod.

I close my eyes, but my mind runs and runs. Tubes and fluids enter my body, but there’s nothing to stop the anxiety. My heart pounds and sometimes I fear I’m on the cusp of crossing into whatever lies on the other side of sane. Being in the hospital makes it harder. The white walls and sick people only remind me that I am so far from normal. My mom’s apartment in Los Angeles is less than five miles away, but it might as well be a million.

The nurse, staff, doctors, everyone; they all know me for one thing. The thing that will define me for the rest of my life. I am a survivor. The only survivor of Air Brazil, the plane that crashed in the Amazon jungle carrying 134 passengers; 37 of them students, teachers, and chaperones from Riverdale Academy High. I used to hear about plane crashes and wondered how the victims felt in the seconds before impact, wondered what it was like to know you were about to die.

Now I know. And I’d give anything not to.

I knew those people from school. Every. Single. One.

They aren’t faceless names. They are people and they are dead.

The counselor didn’t help, either. She told me not to feel guilty. Survivor’s guilt, she called it. She warned I could expect to be angry and sad. I could expect to be confused. I wanted to tell her I was angry and sad and confused long before I got onto that plane.

My counselor told me to write my story down. By writing I could make sense of all that happened. I keep thinking if I remember everything the way I need to that the memories will fade away. That I can accept what happened. I can accept that I survived and everyone else died.

The laptop on my nightstand is waiting for me. I’m scared to touch it.

###

I was dead to the world and when I came to I was drowning. Water gushed into my mouth and I was tumbling, flailing, not knowing what end was up or down. I heard the sounds of screaming and the roaring of water and then nothingness. Coming up for air, I held something, something rectangular. The seat cushion I was holding kept me afloat. I was in a river and I didn’t know why. I kicked and kicked and it made no difference. I never believed in God, an all-powerful being that allowed so many horrible things to happen, but as I saw the rocks up ahead, I prayed.

The current sped faster, churning like boiling water and I thought I was going to die.

I was 17 and I was going to die.

All the time wasted. All the things I never got to do.

I had one thought over and over: I don’t want to die. Someone else, but not me.

I held onto that seat cushion for dear life and plunged into the rapids. I was a human rag doll. The torrent sucked me into a watery hell and I couldn’t breathe; my eyes shut, mouth shut, face tight against the murk, willing everything to stop. I couldn’t breathe. I started to panic.

Someone else, but not me.

I needed air, my body screamed for it and I opened my mouth about to take in water when I bubbled up to the surface and gasped. As quickly as I was brought above, I was taken under again. I slammed against the rocks and buried my face deeper into the cushion. I saw nothing, heard nothing, and imagined I was in a womb. I could only wait for the terror to pass. There was no outlet; my fear was so deep and tangible I couldn’t scream. It felt like an actual substance that enveloped my body, my brain, my very being. I receded further and further within myself, a dark hole, my entire body a taut muscle.

Suddenly, I took a shot to the head and saw stars. A high-pitched squeal rang in my ears. I fought the growing sensation of darkness that threatened to overcome me, but I knew to give in meant death. I was tempted. So, so tempted. I forced my eyes open and saw the water, the dark water and wondered in that emptiness if I hadn’t died already.

My prayer must’ve been heard.

The water calmed and I was spit out near a bend. I realized I had to give up the cushion, my lifeline—it was holding me back. I let go, cursing myself as it floated away and I swam, giving everything I had. My body had nothing left but I commanded it, willed it, to swim. As I approached the shore, my shoes finally touched bottom and I heaved myself onto land.

I don’t know how long I lay there catching my breath. But there is no greater feeling of security than the sensation of the earth beneath your stomach, hands grabbing dirt. The scent of decay and wet leaves smelled like a bouquet. All this time I’d taken the ground beneath me for granted. Now I was thankful for this place to rest.

I was soaked. My jeans pressed against me, my hair drenched, my socks squished against my feet. I didn’t understand. I had left on a flight from Los Angeles with a layover in Panama City and then on to Asuncion, Paraguay for a year-end class trip. We were traveling as an inter-disciplinary trip for history, international relations, foreign language and biology. We were going to have the trip of a lifetime.

Then it hit me, a delayed reaction: I almost drowned. I almost died. My body seized and I was overwhelmed. I cried; I didn’t even know why or for what, but I sobbed on that little stretch of dirt. I heaved, gasping for breath. Every inhale was a wheeze, and I caught myself hitting the ground, my hands balled into tight fists, pounding and pounding.

Moments passed and I cried myself empty. I told myself: get up. You have to get up.

I placed my hands in the dirt to help me stand and looked around thinking: What is this place? There was green everywhere, too much green, and a river the width of three football fields in front of me. The air was heavy, a physical pressure against my skin. I was in the jungle, a tangled web of trees and totally foreign. Any other time, I might’ve been amazed by its majesty, only now I felt small. Trees towered behind me, the river flowed in front, and I was trapped.

It was then I felt the weight of my cross-body bag. I’d been wearing it the whole time. Not very heavy, I managed to unhook it and was about to open the zipper when I heard screams.

Floating down the river were more people. I wasn’t alone! A ripple of joy overtook me until I saw their faces reflecting what I sensed my own might look like—bruised, bleeding, and utterly thrashed.

Exhausted, I shouted my voice hoarse, “Over here!” I waved my hands over my head. “You can do it,” I encouraged. “Almost there!”

Some didn’t move at all. They floated, faces down, rolling through the current, lost in the rapids, disappearing for far too long. Those were the ones who didn’t thrash. Others were swept in the rapids, their screams barely heard over the rushing water only to be silenced on the other end. I was watching people die. The bodies were like a slow leak, trickling down the river a few at a time, and yet almost none of them emerged alive on the other side of the rocks. I couldn’t save them. They were too far away.

Someone else, but not me.

I didn’t mean like this.

Then I saw Viv and my heart nearly stopped.

She struggled in the water, past the rapids, a bobber about to go under. She was never athletic even though she was stick thin. Water gurgled from her mouth and she barely moved. I couldn’t bear to lose her. I wouldn’t allow it. I was terrified of my own exhaustion, but I jumped into the water and found a strength I never knew. I swam out to her. Her head dipped under the water and I would not let that be the last time I saw my best friend alive. I grasped her flotation cushion and then headed back to shore.

She looked at me, dazed. “Emily, it’s you.”

“Yes, it’s me.” I could barely contain my relief.

The sun shone over my head, reflecting in the ripples. “You look like an angel.”

I knew Vivian was out of it. “Stop talking now. Just swim. We’re going to be okay.”

I reached the shore for a second time and pulled her up with me. Once on land, she pulled me into a hug and nothing had ever felt better. Always shorter than me, her face burrowed into my chest and I felt I was protecting an abandoned baby bird. Her inky dark hair, usually so pretty was now plastered to her head, her make-up had washed away, and she was just this tiny thing. Her whole body shivered. “Tell me it’s a dream, tell me it’s a dream….”

“I wish it was, Viv.” I would’ve stayed hugging her if not for the other people in need of help.

Nico, Viv’s immature boyfriend, splashed ashore, his glasses gone, his nose bloody, red streaks smeared across his face. He was panting and heaved over, and I thought he might throw up. We had a history, but there was no time for irritation. Any familiar face was cause for celebration. He seemed surprised to see me. “You made it.”

He then eased Viv from my arms and into his.

Further down the river there was movement. It was Derek, all limbs and urgency, his face pockmarked with acne and not a hint of stubble. He splashed onto shore, his fingers digging into sand and he kissed the earth.

Twenty yards away, Ryan Wray followed. One of his prosthetic legs was missing—he’d lost his legs below the knee after contracting a rare case of meningitis a few years earlier—and he crab-walked onto land, his one pant leg empty, wet, and flat. He wasn’t alone. He helped guide Mean Molly with him. She was far from mean then, almost drowned, flustered and frantic. Once she got out of the water, she toppled in the mud, curling into a fetal position.

I stayed where I was as Ryan, Molly and Derek staggered along the shore, finally meeting up with us.

There was no time to rest or reflect. The river scattered more survivors along the shore. I pulled in a man and stopped in alarm when I saw that one of his arms had snapped off. I gently laid him down and he didn’t even notice until he turned his head. He said with an eerie calm, “That looks painful.” I recognized him from the plane. He’d sat a few aisles in front of me and slammed back drinks whenever we hit a patch of turbulence. On land, he didn’t even scream. His face was pale and blood spurted in rhythmic pulses from below his shoulder.

“What do we do?” Nico said.

I had no clue. I only knew we needed to do something. “Derek, your belt!”

Derek looked from his perch on the mud and shook his head. I couldn’t believe it.

“Derek, give me your belt! He’s losing too much blood.”

Derek, in shock or otherwise, didn’t move.

I searched for anything that would act as a tourniquet, but my efforts were in vain. The man’s blood had dwindled to a dribble, leaving a red puddle in the mud.

Another woman emerged from the water like a swamp creature, stumbling. We sat her down and she gazed at the water. She had a head injury like mine. Blood ran from her scalp and there was a small spot where her hair had been chafed away. It wasn’t a wound. It was a hole. Looking closer, I could see something I didn’t want to—her skull and what lay within. Her eyelids fluttered and she swayed, falling unconscious. I tried to grab her, but gravity took her to the ground. I nudged her once, twice; she didn’t respond. “Wake up,” I pleaded. “Please wake up.” She never moved again.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to run from this place.

It seemed like a Halloween parade. They had to be in costume or using special effects; the injuries and deaths couldn’t be real.

They were all too real.

One man drifted to shore, his face down in the water, his wispy gray hair splayed out on the water’s surface. We grabbed ahold of him and he was heavy, far too heavy for his slender body. We saw why. The flotation device had kept him afloat, but he’d drowned somewhere along the way.

The last man we helped suffered so many burns his face was charred and etched in pain—I had the horrible thought of grill marks on steak. Once on land he jumped back into the water. Maybe the water had soothed him. I tried to reach out and grab him. “Let me help you!” But he was hysterical, too fast, and we watched as he floated away. I tell myself that he would’ve probably died anyway.

It’s terrible that I only knew them as The Woman, The Old Man, The Man Without an Arm and The Burned Man. Somewhere people knew their names, their histories, secrets and loves. Many of them rested at our feet, their chests still, mouths open. We were among the dead, and I found that we all, consciously or not, distanced ourselves from the horror.

###

The six of us stood on the shore, a hodgepodge of strained relationships, but I hoped the past meant nothing now. Silence fell over us. My voice felt robotic. “What happened?”

They looked at me as if I was stupid and in that moment I knew.

You’ve been in a plane crash.

You’ve been in a plane crash and you survived.

Viv broke down crying. “Where’s everyone else?” I asked.

“Where do you think?” said Ryan.

There had been a whole planeload of people, 37 of them from our school including my English teacher, Mr. DeKoning. We couldn’t be the only ones left. Things like this didn’t happen. At least not to us. To me.

I struggled, trying to remember, and yet there was only me sitting in my cramped seat, my body wracked with discomfort after such a long flight, the recycled air making my skin feel plastic, and then this. “How did we end up in the water?”

Ryan looked at me, stunned. “You don’t remember?”

I shook my head.

“Maybe it’s better that way.”

Derek rose. “The plane crashed in the Amazon. At least that’s what the map on my seat showed. You don’t remember bracing yourself? The flight attendants freaking out?”

“She said no, Derek!” This from Viv.

Derek said, “The plane broke apart. Flooded. We were lucky to get out.”

I didn’t remember any of it. “How did I get out?”

“Same way we did,” Derek said. “We were all sitting near each other. Near the exit rows. Threw on our life jackets or grabbed seat cushions and jumped in the water. A lot of people….” He paused. “A lot of people didn’t.” Derek looked at the dead adults. “They did, though.” He spit near the dead bodies.

“What are you talking about?”

“You should’ve seen ‘em claw over everyone. Trampled over people. They scratched and pushed their way out. There were no heroes on that plane. Not them, at least. They deserved to die.”

Nico shot back, “No one deserved to die. No one.”

“I don’t know,” Derek said. “Bet if you checked under their fingernails, you’d find human skin.”

Ryan interrupted, “Anyone see Conlin?” We shook our heads. Pete Conlin was Ryan’s best friend. “He was sitting right next to me. He was right there.” Ryan peered out over the water, as if he could see Pete in the distance. “He was right next to me.”

I don’t remember what I did next. Maybe I cried. Maybe I fell on the ground. I receded back inside myself where nothing could hurt me. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. Beyond the wreckage and bodies, we were in some kind of Garden of Eden, untouched by humans, as pristine as anything I’d ever seen, canopies of trees, and plants and flowers like colorful origami, a perfume of nature, and yet we’d fallen from the sky. I hunched over, shivering, saying to myself I am safe, I am safe, I am safe.

Our layers of clothes were so wet there was no point in wearing them. Derek was missing a shoe. Most of Nico’s pants were ripped from the waist down. Viv’s designer sweatpants clung to her body. Ryan fiddled with his remaining prosthetic leg, knocking sand loose from the joints and making sure it moved properly. Disjointed and detached from his body, it looked out of place, like the rest of this nightmare. With his jeans rolled up, I saw his stump covered in scar tissue.

Derek stood near the jungle’s entrance, a quizzical look on his face, almost scientific. He didn’t seem all that fazed, and even ran his hand over some of the trees, feeling their bark. I wondered what was wrong with him.

Molly sat on the shore, plopped down like a scoop of soft-serve ice cream, her head in her hands. She sat alone, and I felt bad for her, but she had earned the nickname Mean Molly for a reason. I got up anyway and approached her. Even as I asked it, I felt stupid. “Are you okay?”

She ignored me. Then she spoke. “I never wanted to come on this trip.”

Molly didn’t once look at me. She just kept staring ahead. I left her alone.

Viv, Nico and I formed a triangle on the ground. Viv and Nico leaned into each other, and Viv’s crying went from a soft cry into heaves of despair. “I just want to go home. I just want to go home.”

We didn’t know it then, but the jungle was to become our home for far too long.

Feel Me Fall is Available on Amazon!

About the Author

James Morris

James Morris is a television writer who now works in digital media. He is the author of the young adult thriller What Lies Within, the dystopian love story Melophobia, the young adult suspense Feel Me Fall, and the young adult horror Screams You Hear. When not writing, you can find him scoping out the latest sushi spot, watching ‘House Hunters Renovation’, or trying new recipes in the kitchen. He lives with his wife and dog in Los Angeles. Catch him at jamesmorriswriter.com.

James Morris| Twitter| Facebook | Amazon

Giveaway Time!!!

James is giving away a print copy of “Feel Me Fall to one lucky winner, so don’t forget to enter the giveaway!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Book Blitz Organized By:

R&RButto200x200.jpg

R&R Book Tours

 

Advertisements

WIN $500!!

You guys this is so exciting! CTM (the magazine I write for) IS BOOMING!!!  I’m so thrilled, I can’t hardly breathe! As a part of celebrating our growth this month and forward, the CEO and Editors have decided to offer this amazing promotion! All yearly subscribers will be entered into a drawing to win a $500 gift!!

ALSO

Do to the popularity of book reviews, the awesomeness of previous author interviews, and new author requests coming in to review books, CTM has decided to offer a program for authors! CHECK THIS OUT!

CTM Read and Reviews

REMEMBER SHARING IS CARING!

Musicians and Authors: Comparison in Conversation! Benedict and Didi (Guest Post, Part 1.)

Last week Benedict Roff-Marsh came to me with the brilliant idea to do an interview in conversation style comparing the similarities between music and book production. Something in depth  and helpful to readers, that can have a home on both of our pages. I was absolutely elated at the idea!  So, without further ado, please enjoy!

Benedict at Bandcamp

28511912_10156170871132640_1906287655_n

 

Image link: https://benedictroff-marsh.bandcamp.com/

Please meet Benedict Roff-Marsh. Benedict is a musician. He has made music for 30 years, always using synthesizers as his bandmates. Benedict also Blogs a lot about the process of being creative and how to get work past the barriers of fear into the light of the public.

www.benedictroffmarsh.com

Didi Oviatt

28695554_10156170871582640_1410070576_o

 

Please meet Didi (MYSELF). Didi writes and self-publishes books like Search For Maylee, Aggravated Momentum, The Stix, and New Age Lamians as well as her own Blog about writing which has some distinct parallels to my own posts. Didi is also a columnist at The Conscious Talk Magazine, an online outlet for diverse intelligent readers. 

www.didioviatt.wordpress.com

amazon.com/author/didioviatt

www.conscioustalkmag.com

AND NOW FOR THE INTERVIEW WE’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR

B: Hi Didi. Thanks for agreeing to this interview, especially seeing we have only known each other for about 12 seconds. Something I really love about the Internet (and writing) is that it can allow a person to present a lot about themselves in a controlled way. Conversations can be messy but typed material is only as messy as you let it be. How does it feel having a total stranger tap tapping on your chamber door?

D: Hello Benedict! I’m thrilled to have met you too. I couldn’t be any happier with this conversation and a chance to pick at your brain a bit. I’ve been spending some time on your site, and I have to say your vast knowledge of music is impressive!

To answer your question: This age of technology and having strangers tap tapping on my door both scares and excites me… in equal measures! It seems the more advanced we get, and the more knowledge is accessible at our fingertips, the smaller our world becomes. It makes us both powerful AND vulnerable at the same time. Honestly, this frightens me beyond measure for the future of my kids, and grandkids to come. That said, it’s also empowering to be able to influence, create, and grow in a community of like minded people from anywhere on the globe on any given day. That’s a beautiful thing.

Now, I have a question for you:  It looks like you have been in the music business for many years. The Discography page on your site dates back as far as 1989 (I was four years old that year). Musicians are now technologically able to create, produce, and distribute their material from home just the same as authors are able to write, publish, and distribute their books. Do you feel that this is a positive or negative aspect for the majority of consumers, and why?

B: Now that is a curly one straight up. Two answers and depending on what day you get me either can be the dominant one:

  1. Technology has certainly lowered the cost of entry for being a composing & recording musician. In the last few years what can be done on a phone with free software exceeds what I could do with expensive Used gear back in the late 80’s! This is great as now really anyone has access to the tools they need to get their musical ideas out there to the whole world. You don’t even need a record company any more. Everyone has an equal ability to have a voice.
  2. I think it is currently a bit of a disaster area; or at least it has been for the last 20 years as now anyone can say or do what they want with no gatekeeper or curator to help keep standards high. Art is a big responsibility and being able to bang out all manner of garbage and call it self-expression like they just made “Hotel California” or “Stairway To Heaven” is not a positive thing for the nobility of expressing the human condition.

Thankfully I am starting to see that, while the mainstream record industry is stooping real low, there are some stirrings in the self-powered artist arena. So hopefully very soon I will be majoring with option #1.

I read a self-published book from a free eBooks site a while ago and rather enjoyed it. So, would I be right in assuming that what I say above is about right for books too?

D: First off, I’m glad you threw a reference to ‘Hotel California’ and ‘Stairway To Heaven’ (I love that particular age of rock). Secondly, you’re absolutely right! The whole time I was reading your question, I was asking myself that exact same thing and comparing the similarities. Being a Self-published author, I read a LOT of Self-published books. I try to support fellow Indi’s as much as I can, and I also enjoy the chase in finding a diamond in the rough. But, that’s just it… There is so much to read and sort through due to the abundance and simplicity in the publishing process, as well as so many books being rough unpolished rubbage, it can be hard. I think this is why so many people only read traditionally published works. They’ve been turned off by a few Indi reads, and turned their backs. Traditional books have already been filtered, so they’re more likely to be trusted by the consumer.

Now, that said… I’ve also read quite a few traditional books that are equally as hard to get through. A lot of authors have an in after their first one accepted, and the rest of their work can easily get sloppy with repetition. This day and age in writing, has opened the doors so wide for bibliophiles that the standard of both Traditional and Self-published can be a bit of a double edged sword.  

B: I write a lot about the stumbling blocks we face as musicians in getting our records finished and published. Because those means to create & publish are so available now, I wonder if aspiring wordsmiths really have essentially the same challenges us note wranglers do?

D: Yes, and no. There is so much to learn, I feel like even after years of dipping my toes in the water, I’m still learning something new on a regular basis. I also feel like once you’ve figured something out, everything advances and changes. Writing a manuscript is really only a start of the battle. It’s like the training and prep before going to war. Once you have the manuscript written, the real work begins. You’ve reached the battle destination, but haven’t exactly joined the fight. This is the point where you need to think tactically. There are so many options, so many potential roads to take, it can be overwhelming… and expensive if you let it.

At the end of the day, creating and publishing can most definitely be a struggle, but with enough persistence and dedication you’ll get there eventually. No matter which road you decided to take, the publishing job is finish-able.

In my opinion, it’s the marketing that truly takes the struggle cake. This is where the majority of new writers get hung up. They assume that because they’ve published a book, it’ll automatically be read by the masses. Sadly, this just isn’t the case. Getting your books out there can be hard work! You could have the greatest piece of literature known to mankind, yet if no one knows it exists then how will it ever be read? People spend very large sums of money on marketing, lots of which the outlets are scams and/or useless. They also spend a lot of time. Building a readership and author platform is double the time consumption of actually producing books. I could go on and on about marketing, but I’ll just stop here lol.

So, what about musicians? Is getting one’s music delivered to the ears of the masses as rocky of a trail as it is getting books in the hands of mass story lovers?

B: Short answer, yes. Very much so.

Putting your record on Bandcamp or YouTube is really easy (once you’ve done it once) but getting it heard, and more importantly generating paying fans, is soul destroying. I understand why people still wish for Mr Sony to arrive on their doorstep to take all the pain away. Sadly tho, I don’t think he’s coming.

In the meantime there are plenty of places that offer the nirvana of endless fans if you just Join Now and then Upgrade to the Pro plan. It’s rather clever but more often than not a total noose (a waste of cash & energy) as you can only develop fans organically. I see so many developing artists going in completely the wrong direction chasing stats in some web app instead of building what their natural talent is suited to.

Of course that just leaves them more frustrated, and less able to be helped. It is a sort of Dante’s “Inferno” out there. My Ma used to say that it was a sin not to use the talents that God gave us as He has a bigger plan that relies on each of us being the puzzle piece He intended. Once I swap God for Nature or Life I agree.

The problem we have right now with the internet, is that essentially everyone is posting something in hope people will listen but no one is listening because they are too busy posting their missive and trying to demand plays. This is all so me, me, me and leaves no space for conversation.

This circles me back to the way you grabbed onto Led Zeppelin & the Eagles as I truly worry that we aren’t getting those moments where an act can speak to and for the masses so powerfully. Will we ever see bands like that again? Will we ever see the like of H.G. Wells’ “War Of The Worlds” again?

You appear to have had some success getting nice feedback on your books. Can you try to help us understand what you did differently from those who get nowhere?

PLEASE STAY TUNED!  THE ANSWER TO BENEDICT’S QUESTION WILL BE BLED OUT, AND MORE!!

glasses-664078__340

A Creative Writer’s Logic Is Often Wackie #amwriting

I think there’s more than one reason the majority of writers refer to themselves as ‘starving artists.’ It isn’t only about money. I mean, granted we spend hours and hours, and then even more drawn-out tedious hours tapping away on the keys of a board, and for what? To turn around and spend even more countless hours advertising our own crap?  Sounds a little insane, right? So why do we do it? Some make millions $$, some make a measly double digit number $$ and then quit. But why? Why do we insist on being starving artists? Why take the time? What drives our little bibliophile brains to push the boundaries of literacy?

Most people think they know why, but for the most part they’re wrong.

tumblr_inline_nnumleRQv31sl560d_500

So let me just set the record straight!

The reason we writers do what we do, is because we’re all just a little off.  On one hand we’re smart, we love words and how we’re able to bend and twist them into creations, into life. We love the game, the competition, the struggle, the trudging forward into the unknown of adventure that may lay ahead in our writing journey.

Then on the other hand, we at times hate all of those same things. We loath that after all the time spent, we’re still lingering in some gray area. We can’t get all the white noise out of our heads. Unless we take the time to sit our asses in front of our projects and create random greatness in order to get it all OUT of our thoughts. Our minds don’t really shut up. The fact that writing is a channel to hone in on, offers some relief to the madness.

We’re all sorta weird, and sorta quirky, and sorta insane.

pencil-1486278__340

Let me also point out, that we ourselves as writers don’t always know why we do what we do! Some days we think we have it all figured out, and we can provide the most wonderfully logical answers…

BUT REALLY THAT’S WHY WE’RE WRITERS, BECAUSE WE’RE ALL FULL OF SHIT… We’re good at being full of shit, we make stuff up all the time.

giphy

Ultimately, in my opinion…. There really is no straight forward reason that we writers do what we do, aside from the fact that our logic is for the most part askew. Because NOT writing would actually take a larger toll on our well-being than actually writing. Creating is our glue, it holds us together and gives us purpose whether we like it or not.

So let me ask… Why do you do it? What drives you to be a writer?

Book Tour #review The Shadow Girl, by Misty Mount 5 of 5 stars @shanannigans81 @MistyAMount

Genre: YA/ Fantasy/ Coming of Age

Publication Date: December 28, 2017

Synopsis:

Shy, thirteen-year-old Zylia has always known she was different. Most teenagers feel unnoticed and unseen, but for Zylia, it’s something much worse. She’s disappearing from this world and doesn’t know how to stop it. At times, she’s not sure she wants to. Until she stumbles across a family mystery surrounding the disappearance of her great-aunt Angelica years earlier. During her quest to unravel the mystery, Zylia discovers she’s able to cross the boundary and enter the “in between” world. Now, it’s up to Zylia to save herself before she’s trapped “in between” forever.

Goodreads

Quote:

 “As the freezing rain hit me, I could feel the stares…smoldering on my skin. I longed for invisibility. At times like this, the very curse that plagued me was also my protection.”

Purchase Links:

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Smashwords

Misty Mount

About the Author

Misty Mount has written since age five and was first published at fourteen. By day she’s a caregiver, wife, and mother to a young son but during the quiet hours of night she becomes a novelist. She resides in Wichita, Kansas.

Facebook

Twitter @MistyAMount

Giveaway: 1 print copy of The Shadow Girl and 2 digital copies

Enter Giveaway Here

*Print copy is available to North American residents only

Graphic with Quote

MY REVIEW:

I think what I loved most about this book is the balance. There is a little mystery tied in, making you think and wonder. But, more importantly it brings about awareness on a couple different subjects that are rarely touched on. They’re real and necessary subjects that actual people and families face oh so often, making the entire story relate-able. From cover to cover this book brings about certain emotions that really tug on the heart strings! Tying it all together is the pace and character development, which was in my opinion perfected. I kind of felt like the pace was a bit slow, which in this particular case it made the story that much more real. It wasn’t rushed.

First lets talk about Zylia, the main character. She’s quiet and socially awkward, not only in school and around her peers, but at home as well. She goes un-noticed more often than not and prefers to disappear into the background. Her ambiance is borderline depressing, but in a poetic way… and its eye opening! Too often this is the case, especially with teens. We all know people who have suffered from this at one point in their lives or another, or even have suffered from it ourselves. Zylia gives us an insight to how it feels to be the outcast, the un-noticed one. I love how amidst her insecurities she’s also kind, compassionate, curious, and even clumsy. Her personality is one of a kind. This is no cookie cutter novel!

For me though there is one aspect that’s even bigger. Zylia’s grandmother has dementia. This aspect of the book really hit home for me, as my Grandpa is in the final stages of dementia as we speak. The similarities in behavior, temperament, and day to day changes of mindset between this character and my Grandpa was almost surreal to read. Misty Mount really hit the nail on the head with this disorder! Dementia is such a hard ailment, not only for the sufferer but also for the families involved. It’s confusing, draining, and just straight up devastating. This book portrayed it exactly as it is.

Kudos Misty! The Shadow Girl is an excellent book, very well written! It’s absolutely captivating and I’m thrilled to have experienced it!

R&RButto200x200

Book Tour provided by R&R Book Tours

Book Blitz: The Shadow Girl by Misty Mount @MistyAMount @shanannigans81

Genre: YA/ Fantasy/ Coming of Age

Publication Date: December 28, 2017

Synopsis:

Shy, thirteen-year-old Zylia has always known she was different. Most teenagers feel unnoticed and unseen, but for Zylia, it’s something much worse. She’s disappearing from this world and doesn’t know how to stop it. At times, she’s not sure she wants to. Until she stumbles across a family mystery surrounding the disappearance of her great-aunt Angelica years earlier. During her quest to unravel the mystery, Zylia discovers she’s able to cross the boundary and enter the “in between” world. Now, it’s up to Zylia to save herself before she’s trapped “in between” forever.

Goodreads

Quote Selections:

“I have always known that I am invisible—I had no idea that eventually I would fade away completely.”

 “Blackness. Nothingness. It was in the shape of a giant, hazy shadow, enveloping me, swallowing me, and digesting me into the unknown. It was my biggest fear and my ultimate fate.”

 “As the freezing rain hit me, I could feel the stares…smoldering on my skin. I longed for invisibility. At times like this, the very curse that plagued me was also my protection.”

 “…in school I felt more undetectable than ever. I walked through the crowded hallways like a human pinball, careening off one person and bouncing into another.”

About the Author

Misty Mount.jpg

Misty Mount has written since age five and was first published at fourteen. By day she’s a caregiver, wife and mother to a young son but during the quiet hours of night she becomes a novelist. She resides in Wichita, Kansas.

 Facebook

Twitter

@MistyAMount

 Purchase Links:

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Smashwords

Giveaway:

Enter the giveaway for your chance to win 1 of 2 digital copies of “The Shadow Girl”

 Click Here To Enter!

Tour Organized By:

R&R Book Tours Button

R&R Book Tours

Cover Reveal: Danu (line of Enya, book 2), by T.L Harty

Danu, by T.L. Harty is the second book in a YA Historical Fantasy packed to the brim with fascinating insight to a dangerously magical blood line. It was released just a few days ago and I can’t wait to read it. Stay tuned for a review, it’ll definitely be sooner than later!  I finished up the first book in the series just over a week ago and it was an excellent read.

Read the review for book one here: Review: Behold Ellowee: Destiny is Rarely Your Own, by T L Harty

Muriel is whisked away, safely nestled in Danu castle so she can’t be found.

Still coming to terms with her abilities, she begins to understand their importance, and gains more insight about her ancestry, as historical errors are revealed in a powerful way.

With so much to learn and loved ones to protect, she can’t afford to ignore the inevitable responsibility of her lineage.
Muriel is destined to complete the Council, which has been missing the Line of Enya seat for over 500 years.

Sometimes, life has to fall apart before it can finally come together.

#ARC sign up! Choose Between 7 books, Amazon #kindle Gifted!

My writing buddy Kim and I are inviting all friends to an ARC read and review round! This means you will be gifted a FREE Amazon Kindle copy of one of the below books, in exchange for an honest review. The event is taking place between the 1st- 31st January 2018. The only polite request is, if you receive a copy of the book you signed up for, please read and leave a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads during January 2018. Note that all but three of these books are novella length, and should not take long to read. Feel free to forward this event onto anyone who you may feel is interested! Sharing is caring!!

Further descriptions on each book can be found on Amazon Author Pages here:

DIDI’s BOOKS

KIM’s BOOKS

We are both so excited for this freebie review round!! It’s a hell of a way to kick of the new year.  The requests have been coming in and neither of us can wait to see your shining reviews on Amazon and Goodreads!  Thank you readers!

LET ME CHOOSE MY FREE KINDLE GIFT, I’d LOVE TO LEAVE A REVIEW!

Happy Reading!!!

book-759873__340

Start 2018 With Free Books!

Hello Book Lovers!

My co-author and I are inviting you to our Author Review Copy read and review round…. this means freebies!
 

1st-31st January 2018

Would you like a FREE Amazon gifted copy of one of our books below? (plus more!!!) There’s no catch, we promise. We’re doing an ARC read and review round. Anyone who is interested in a book will be gifted a copy, in exchange for an honest review. Check out the blurbs, if something takes your fancy there’s a Google forms link THAT CAN BE FILLED OUT HERE to indicate your interest and you will receive a free copy directly. The link will be clickable at the bottom of post as well.
Happy New Year!
Happy Reading!

The Red Room, Romance In The City

The Red Room is book one of the Romance In The City novella series, of steamy and romantic standalone short stories.

Rita Lane lives a double life in her day job she’s a receptionist at the prestigious London Park Hotel. By night her adventures begin. As a thirty something year old woman she is content with her single status. Richard Clarkson a New York based guest at the Park Hotel has firmly closed the door to romance, after a rocky marriage. As soon as Rita checks Richard into the hotel as a guest the sparks and electricity between the two begin.

After hours, the day before Valentine’s Day , their paths cross in an unexpected way. Rita and Richard’s desire for each other is on maximum …. will they cross the line to become more than just friends? The Red Room is a steamy short story set in London with diverse characters that will leave you wanting more.
41LmRaPtkuL

Lover’s Retreat, Romance Set In Paradise

Lover’s Retreat is book #2 of the Romance Set in Paradise Series of stand alone modern, steamy, suspenseful and romantic stories. All set in exotic locations around the world.

For thirty seven year old recluse Yasmin O’Neil, life feels like one crisis after another. Her husband left her five years ago, she starts to suspect she’s losing her hearing, and then her mother is diagnosed with cancer. When her mother passes away her fortune changes. Yasmin is fifty thousand pounds richer from her mother’s estate. Yasmin takes her fate into her own hands after years of being a recluse, she rediscovers herself at a spiritual retreat in Sri Lanka south Asia, before she plans to spend the next six months travelling around the world. In Sri Lanka, Yasmin’s path crosses with Michael Thomas, an army soldier on his own path of self discovery. With their luke warm initial encounter the pair don’t hit it off straight away. After some push and pull the two are finally on the same page. Their encounter turns from luke warm to steamy sizzling hot.

In Lover’s Retreat two very different characters originally on different paths, embrace the need for change and companionship. Set in the back drop of paradise, palm trees and untouched nature of Sri Lanka, these two lonely souls gain more than just self discovery they gain a soul mate.

51NK6teqAqL__SX260_

The Suspenseful Collection Volume #1

For Mature Readers Only:

A suspenseful novel with a twist. Eight short stories, by two suspense authors, from diverse backgrounds. From opposite sides of the Atlantic these stories have been created. One author started the tale and the other ended it. No discussion, no pre-planning, but yet their stories are seamless. With just creativity and the use of writing prompts, to craft one tale, with two different writers. This anthology of suspenseful, fast paced and engaging tales covers multiple genres. From heart felt romance, crime, fantasy, and steamy historical fiction. There is a story for everyone!

Steamy Historical Crime Fiction: It was The First Time I Killed A Man.

It’s 1972 and New York’s first female serial killer Lisa Vanacilli is in the hot seat again, ten years after her conviction of murder to the first degree and innocent plea. The ruthless but sexy reporter Tiffany Low cracks Lisa for a confession… at a price. Lisa is strong, courageous and says it how it is. This story has been extended due to reader’s demand. And is only for adult readers.

Psychological Fiction: Every Time I Hear That Voice From The Basement.

George appears to be harmless. The local neighbourhood geek on the outside, married to Jolene. In reality, he’s a very disturbed man. His path crosses with Dana, the local check out girl. This is a psychological suspense story with a twist.

Crime Fiction: The Entrance To The Tunnel Is His Only Way Out.

Juan is a wanted man, and an ex-gang member on the run from Atlanta to Mexico. With a hundred grand in cash stolen from his ex-boss, he meets an unlikely fate in Mexico. A fast-paced crime fiction story.

Contemporary Romance: When His Hands Run Up My Thighs I…

Love has no time limit, age limit or use by date. Sarah now in her fifties is reunited with her long-lost love Joshua. They last had contact in 1961. In the present day, thanks to the advancement of technology their paths cross. A heart-warming and modern tale, about long distance love, that will leave you warm inside.

Suspense: We Only Said Goodbye With Words, I Died A Hundred Times:

In 1963 Russian Femme Fatale Mila Petrov is London’s top Madam. Her entertainment house is booming, she has a team of London’s strongest women behind her. Unfinished business from her past creeps up and haunts her. It’s nothing she can’t handle. A suspenseful historical tale, with a strong femme fatale.

Fantasy: The Ones Who Live At The Bottom Of The Ocean, Come To The Surface.

A beautiful coming of age story, featuring sixteen year old Zoe and her mother May-Li. Myth becomes reality, as Zoe finds out who and what she really is. Her mixed descent reveals more than what meets the eye. This fantasy story is set against the backdrop of a Greek island and Hong Kong, China.

Suspenseful Crime Fiction: Guilty As Charged, In Self-Defence

California’s sassy, tough, and likeable defence lawyer Catherine has taken on a case so high profile, if she wins she’ll become a partner of Martin Law Firm. Defending forty six year old Mrs. Chevelle. An ex Las Vegas show girl, now a Hollywood wife, on trial for the murder of her high-profile husband. She claims she’s innocent. Readers are taken on a fast -paced journey on a mission to seek the truth.

Contemporary Fiction: It’s A Man’s Man’s World:

A beautiful modern tale showing the love and appreciation of a woman. James Brown said it right when he said, “it’s a man’s man’s world, but it would mean nothing without a woman or a girl.”

51ruGbCos2L__SY346_

Search For Maylee

Since Maylee was abducted from her high school the very month of graduation, her Aunt Autumn has never lost hope in finding her. It’s been three years. Autumn has finally reached inside herself and found the courage to track down an old lead. She moves across the country to find him. Will Autumn be able to pry Maylee’s case back open? More importantly, what will Autumn uncover in the process of searching for Maylee? It’s a cold dark world we live in, and she is about to find out just how cruel it can be. Strength and determination are on Autumn’s side and she will do what ever it takes.

51slZqFZ1NL

Havana Heat
THIS IS FREE NOW ON AMAZONHavana Heat is book one of the Romance Set in Paradise series of modern,steamy, suspenseful and romantic stories, set in exotic locations around the world. In Havana Heat readers are transported to the paradise of Cuba’s capital Havana, following the romance and heat build between Spaniard Detective Sebastian Garcia, and London born and bred wedding planner Melinda Jones. Melinda’s path crosses with the handsome and charming Detective at Casa De Amour Hotel as a guest at her client’s exotic location wedding. Both characters are in search of a slice of paradise, away from their own troubled love life back home. Once their paths cross the romance and sizzle begins.

When all hell breaks out at Casa De Amour Hotel, and conflict builds over their past both characters are faced with a decision to take a risk and see out their romance, or walk away. Forever asking themselves what could have been. Romance, thrills and excitement await in book one of this modern romance series set in paradise.

51fjpCH2m7L__SX260_

YES PLEASE I’D LOVE AN AMAZON GIFT
ENTER YOUR EMAIL ON THIS FORM

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: