Zombie Girl: Dead Awakened

Imagine waking up to find the world has ended, but unfortunately you're not alone...

For Connor Innis, awakening from a year-long coma with no memories, no ability to move, and unable to speak was bad enough. Then he learns that a bioweapon set off a zombie apocalypse—for real—while he was sleeping, and the world he can't even remember no longer exists.

Rehabilitation might be torture, but far worse awaits him outside. All too soon, the hospital Mentor declares him fit to leave but with nothing to go home to except a city full of mindless, flesh-eating monsters. That is, until he forms a strange relationship with the one he nicknames Zombie Girl.

http://www.lycaonpress.com/index.php?main_page=product_free_shipping_info&cPath=7&products_id=59&zenid=d178c0540f8045a322e34d6dc546ca9a

Excerpt:

There was a zombie outside the window, staring in. Every last fragment of hope that he'd had curled up and died. Not a person. Just a zombie at the door, setting off the buzzer probably by pure chance. He might as well have thrown himself off the balcony.

Heart pounding hard enough to make his chest ache, Connor stood very still. He stared into the misted grey orbs of her eyes. She stared right back. Not at him, but through him, as though something infinitely more desirable lay far beyond anything she could see. He read a kind of dull desperation in her blank face. A longing. Even if that longing was just to tear him apart and devour him. Or maybe that was his imagination.

"Hello?" His voice came out as a dry croak and he wet his lips. He had to try something. He couldn't spend the rest of his life in silence and alone. Even this poor shell of a human was better than that. And maybe—just maybe—he could reach her. Maybe even help her find a fragment of her lost humanity. "Can you hear me?"

No sound or movement. No response at all.

Despair squeezed his throat. The hospital Monitor said the victims didn't suffer brain damage. The virus just stopped all the normal responses, isolating higher functions from their basic animal instincts. Even animals could react to a voice.

"Hey!" He banged on the glass, but even that didn't break her hungry stare. Perhaps she couldn't hear him, let alone understand or respond. Losing those higher functions must have included any communication ability.

Connor sighed, then placed his palm flat on the glass. "I wish you understood me. I wish you hadn't all got sick when I didn't." He rested his forehead on the glass and closed his eyes. "I really wish I could help you."

A moment later a dull thud and a vibration in the glass drew his attention. He raised his head.

She hadn't moved from staring. But her hand pressed against his, separated only by the glass.

After spending twelve years working as an Analytical Chemist in a Metals and Minerals laboratory, Pippa Jay is now a stay-at-home mum who writes scifi and the supernatural. Somewhere along the way a touch of romance crept into her work and refused to leave. In between torturing her plethora of characters, she spends the odd free moment playing guitar very badly, punishing herself with freestyle street dance, and studying the Dark Side of the Force. Although happily settled in the historical town of Colchester in the UK with her husband of 21 years and three little monsters, she continues to roam the rest of the Universe in her head.

Pippa Jay is a dedicated member of the Science Fiction Romance Brigade, blogging at Spacefreighters Lounge, Adventures in Scifi, and Romancing the Genres. Her works include YA and adult stories crossing a multitude of subgenres from scifi to the paranormal and often with romance, and she’s one of eight authors included in a science fiction romance anthology—Tales from the SFR Brigade. She’s also a double SFR Galaxy Award winner, been a finalist in the Heart of Denver RWA Aspen Gold Contest (3^rd place), the EPIC eBook awards, and the GCC RWA Silken Sands Star Awards (2^nd place).

You can stalk her at her website, or at her blog, but without doubt her favorite place to hang around and chat is on Twitter as @pippajaygreen.

Website – http://www.pippajay.co.uk

Blogs –

Adventures in Scifi - http://www.pippajay.blogspot.co.uk

Spacefreighters Lounge - http://www.spacefreighters.blogspot.com

Romancing the Genres - http://www.romancingthegenres.blogspot.co.uk/

SFR Brigade - http://www.sfrcontests.blogspot.co.uk/

Twitter - https://twitter.com/pippajaygreen

Goodreads - http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5054558.Pippa_Jay

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Pippa-Jay-Adventures-in-Scifi/114058821953752

Pinterest - http://www.pinterest.com/pippajaygreen/

Google+ - https://plus.google.com/u/0/101080630877126516448/posts

Wattpad - http://www.wattpad.com/user/PippaJay

Amazon page - http://author.to/PippaJay

Spark by Atthys J. Gage

1. I write because… it's cheaper than psychotherapy.

2. If I were your favorite cookie, what would I be?  

Well, last time I answered this question, I said oatmeal raisin, but I was mistaken. My wife's chocolate chip cookies are unparalleled. I don't know what I was thinking earlier.

3. Plotter or pantster?

I plot. Extensively. Before starting a new novel, I chart it out, chapter by chapter, scene by scene. For my current novel, I had nearly forty pages of notes. Then, when I'm actually writing, I mostly ignore them.

4. What is your favorite type of character to write about and why?

I favor strong women. In five books out of six, my protagonist has been female, and I don't see that changing anytime soon. I'm not sure why that is. I like it when women don't wait for men to save the day. I like it when the damsel rescues herself. Even if it's as simple as a girl not waiting for the boy she likes to ask her out, that takes real bravery.

5. Hamburgers or sushi?

I love both for different reasons. I like sushi for its delicacy and variety, all the scents and the flavors. I also like the ritual of preparing the little dish of soy and wasabi, using the chopsticks. I like burgers for the pure pleasure of eating high caloric, savory meat. I have nothing against vegetarianism, but there is something viscerally satisfying about eating, well, viscera.

6. Name three things on your desk.

Tax papers (still unfinished), a copy of Joanna Russ's Picnic on Paradise, a magnifying glass (it’s amazing how print keeps getting smaller and smaller as I age).

7. What books have influenced your writing style?

There are so many books to name. To Kill a Mockingbird. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. The Book Thief. I'm a great admirer of Samuel R. Delany's many books. I love Jorge Borges. I've read every novel and story Nabokov wrote. They've all influenced me.  Directly or indirectly, every book I've ever read has influenced me.

8. Tell us a little about your book.

Spark is a tiny entity of uncertain origin. He's pure energy, like a sentient speck of stardust. He (pardon the use of the masculine pronoun) has psionic abilities. He can influence matter and link psychically with others. One night, he follows high school sophomore Francy MacMillan home from basketball practice...

9. What advice do you have for new and aspiring authors?

If you love the writing, write. If it becomes a chore, stop—because, really, the odds are heavily against writing ever becoming a career or even a significant source of income, even if you do get published (sad to say). But if that's reason enough to make you stop, then you probably shouldn't be writing anyway.

10. What is next on your writerly horizon?

Next up is to finish the editing on Flight of the Wren, which Lycaon will be publishing in the near future. I hope to be guest blogging about that very soon. It's another YA title, but very different from Spark, a much darker and more dangerous story. I think folks are going to like it.

Top 5 favorite movies

La Strada, Lawrence of Arabia, Citizen Kane, The Philadelphia Story, City Lights.  (Wow, is that random. All items subject to change without notice on any given day.)

Blurb:

Unexplained corpses? An unearthly visitor? One game between her team and the playoffs? Yeah, it’s been that kind of day for Francy Mac.

People are dying downtown, their bodies shriveled away to almost nothing. The police are mystified and outrageous rumors are flying. Fifteen year-old Francy Macmillan listens, but says nothing. It isn’t a comfort knowing that no matter how far-fetched the theories, the truth is even stranger. 

For Francy, the truth wasn’t very hard to find. It followed her home from basketball practice one night, a floating bauble of light that speaks inside her mind and shares her thoughts and her feelings. Is it an alien wanderer fallen from some distant star? Or a shard of some divine entity? Whatever it is, Spark seems to like her.

But as their friendship grows, a disturbing fact emerges: Spark knows who is responsible for those deaths. With Spark’s help, it is up to Francy to stop them. Spark leads Francy into a strange alternate reality, along with her friends: beautiful Echo with the dragon tattoo; moody Brooke with the wicked jaw; and Owen Owens, the boy with the fascinating eyes who may just get around to kissing her one of these days—assuming the world doesn’t end first.

Excerpt:

Snap! The air cracked like a cap pistol. Something bright flew across the room.

I wheeled around with my hand still full of hair.

"What the..."

It flared orange then red—a bright floating fleck of light. I watched it swirl, slowly stirring the air, rising like an ember from a campfire.

Fire!

I dropped my hairbrush. My hair was on fire! I grabbed my head with both hands, pawing through my hair. "No, no, no!"

But I couldn't feel anything burning. Everything was normal. I checked in the mirror. Nope. Not on fire. Not even a little.

I turned around again. The fleck hovered at eye-level now. It wasn't orange any more. It was blue. I leaned in a little closer. It blinked white, then blue again.

"Okay, this is..."

But really, I couldn't think of a word that fit. I circled it in slow, careful steps. It stayed still, dangling in the air. I reached out a finger. The fleck flashed silver and spiraled upward, before settling at eye level again. Reflected in the dresser mirror, a second fleck performed the same maneuver.

"What are you?" My voice quavered a little. I wasn't scared exactly, but I could feel my heart beating pretty fast. I leaned in closer. "What were you doing in my hair?"

It made a tight vertical loop, pulsing green, blue, and then green again.

"Why are you doing that?" I kept asking it questions like I thought it could answer. I guess I was really talking to myself. I pushed my lips out and blew, just gently. The fleck flickered in the tiny draft, but it didn't blow away. If anything, it drew a little closer. I had the sudden impulse to run downstairs and get a jar from the kitchen and see if I could catch it, but I didn't do that. Instead, I put my hand out. The fleck danced in until it was barely an inch above my open palm. I braced myself and watched it settle into my hand. It was cool and tiny on my skin.

"Hey," I whispered. "What are you?"

It glowed and I heard a sound, low and metallic. Bonk.

"Was that you?"

There was a chirp, and then a low warbling hoot like when you blow air over the top of a bottle. None of these sounds came in through my ears. They were just there, sounding inside my head.

Again, it went bonk. That seemed to be its favorite. A click, a whistle, a little wooden pop. Far-off thunder rumbled. Quiet at first, it rose up inside me, getting bigger and louder. The sound swooped up into a squeal then dropped even faster to a sub-woofer grumble and faded to silence.

"Is this supposed to mean something?"

It made a soft chugging noise, like a little toy train. The whole time, the thing just sat there glowing in my palm.

"I don't think we're getting anywhere."

It rose into the air until it hung just a few inches from my nose. I stared. It glowed blue, flashed silver, and then paled to dull violet.

"It's okay," I said, and this time I was totally talking to myself. "This isn't really happening. It's a dream. I'm dreaming. A dream about a little fleck of light that floats around, making strange noises..."

Then, it flared bright crimson and flew straight into my head.

 Buy links.

Lycaon Press.  http://www.lycaonpress.com/index.php?main_page=product_free_shipping_info&products_id=46

Amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/Spark-Atthys-J-Gage-ebook/dp/B00R3M4YXM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1425537244&sr=8-1&keywords=atthys

Atthys Gage is a writer and musician with a lifelong love for myth, magic, and books. His second real job was in a bookstore. As was his third, fourth, fifth, and sixth. Eventually, he stopped trying to sell books and started writing them. After studying classics at Haverford College, he developed an interest in the ways that ancient stories influence modern storytelling, and has always had a fascination for that cloudy borderline between the normal and the paranormal. He lives on the coast of Northern California with his long-suffering wife, strong-willed children, and several indifferent chickens.

Death's Melody

Author Interview Questions:

1. I write because… it sounds better than talking to my imaginary friends. 

2. If I were your favorite cookie, what would I be? oh totes chocolate chip. I am a sucker for the original.... but it doesn't have to be cooked, that's where my alliances end. chocolate chunks? yes? cooked? Naw!

3. Plotter or pantster? Panster. I can't plot out my day. Today, I planned on showering... lol it's 9 at night and I haven't gotten out of my jammies.

4. What is your favorite type of character to write about and why? OOOOH! I am such a sap for the misunderstood badboy. *Fans self* give me a man who shoots guns, takes names but answers to no one. 

5. Hamburgers or sushi? Hamburger!!! I was raised on a farm for gosh sakes!

6. Name three things on your desk. lol, well, i sort of don't write on a desk. I'm a couch potato kinda writer. So around me is an empty container of OREO's, a crusty coffee cup and my cell phone. (Which i check every five minutes thanks to Trivia Crack.

7. What books have influenced your writing style? Twilight, but let's be real; who hasn't that book influenced??

8. Tell us a little about your book. The Ringer Masquerade Series is all about falling in love when your out of time. The characters in these books have a stopwatch to their lives. They know when they will die and why. The trouble is when they find someone to live for.

9. What advice do you have for new and aspiring authors? Encase yourself in bubblewrap. There will be bad days, poor reviews, and some bla moments. 

10. What is next on your writerly horizon? I am currently working on the Twisted Fairytale Confessions. Death of the Mad Hatter (1) Locks: Rapunzel Unhinged (2) and soon Snow White Lies (3)

Top 5 favorite (pick one) desserts, movies, things to eat, ice cream flavors, books. Reese Peanut Butter Cup while watching Just Married after chomping down a Casey's Pizza= perfect night

“I was created to die. Death isn’t what scares me. What I’m afraid of is what they’ll do if I don’t play by their rules,” James said.

“You don’t have to do everything they want, James.”

The rage in James’ eyes fizzled into misery, but even as anguish threatened to overtake his soul, hope lingered. His familiar scent drew me closer. It reminded me of the young man he used to be. He towered over me, as if he could shelter me from the cruelty of life. It was tempting to let him, but I knew it would just be another lie. The Ringer made a game out of life and death. They created the rules and demanded everyone abide by them orsuffer the consequences. Nevertheless, I couldn’t ignore the truth any longer. I needed answers.

“Yes, I do. If I want to protect the ones I love…” James said. He leaned in close enough to steal a kiss. An agonized smile crept onto his face. “To protect you.”

A fate worse than death…

All of Catherine’s dreams ended with her progenitor’s sacrifice and the loss of her beloved. Surrounded by a scornful family and friendships built upon lies, she’s never felt more alone. The Ringer denies her plea to be an organ donor yet monitors her relentlessly. She is unable to live a life free of the hospital’s control. Her future unravels as disturbing questions arise and hidden lies surface. However, what’s even more troubling than the Ringer’s dangerous secrets are the torturous punishments they deliver to those who defy them.

 Buy link:

http://www.lycaonpress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=3&products_id=53&zenid=018f20907201516bd2132d44be942caa

Excerpt:

Sitting utterly still in front of the piano, Sebastian's dark eyes hinted at dangerous thoughts. He clenched his jaw. Every finger slammed down on the keys, creating a dreadful crashing echo throughout the room. His gaze never left mine as he stood, knocking over the bench. His chest didn't rise or fall as the rest of the world melted away until only he and I existed. When he finally breathed, it came out in a deep sharp exhale.

Desire paralyzed me. He walked haltingly across the room. His slow, calculated movements warned me that he was going out of his mind. The deranged look in his eyes stole the air from my lungs. Blinking wasn't an option. When he got within touching distance, he ran his hand through his hair.

Finally, he managed to speak, "If you keep looking at me like that I'll bloody—"

"Lose control," I finished for him while making my demand clear.

He closed his eyes as he dragged his fingers through the cowlick over his eyebrow. My impatience nearly drove me into his arms, but he opened his eyes seconds before I gave in. Taking the slightest step forward, he smirked, clearly enjoying the sight of me struggling. He leaned over me, his face close enough to kiss me. Instead he exhaled ever so slightly while a moan grew in his throat. It hit my neck, trickled down my chest, and stole my breath. Our bodies never touched. Every muscle flexed like it was painful for him not to wrap me in his arms.

I dug my fingernails into my palms as he tucked back a strand of my hair, careful not to touch my skin. I bit my lip as the warmth radiated off his hand. His mesmerizing blue eyes never looked as stunning—or consuming—as when he was frantic. Finally he slid his hand around the base of my neck and held me there. He teased me within an inch of my sanity. I hadn't even noticed his other hand venturing behind my back until he tightened his grip around my waist.

His lips barely grazed mine, but before he indulged in a kiss, he whispered hoarsely. "One day you'll admit the ironclad notion that I've already accepted."

"What am I in denial about?" I questioned.

"How much your soul yearns for mineI liI ," he said, and gently bit my lip.

Staring at my hands, I played the memory over and over. At the time it hadn't seemed like a turning point in our relationship. But it was. I'd let him see how frantic the mere sight of him made me, how his music lured me, how his charisma lit a fire in my soul. How his passion seized my heart. He gave me a taste of a life, of a world I never dreamed of yet had craved ever since. Thinking about it now I wished I had allowed myself to simply be with him—without distractions or limitations. Without a death sentence. Time was precious. I thought I'd understood it then.

Author bio:

I specialize in dark, paranormal romance - think "happy ever after" but with a twisted, dark chocolate center. Real-life romance isn't only filled with hugs, kisses, bunnies, and rainbows. True-love can be more thoroughly described in times of darkness and tribulation. It's in those harsh moments where you see what a person is truly capable of - both the good and bad. Sometimes prince-charming isn't always on time, and the glass slipper is a little snug. However, it doesn't mean Charming is not Mr. Right, and who says every shoe is the perfect fit?***

Sarah J. Pepper

@sarahjpepper

www.sarahjpepper.com

www.facebook.com/sarahjpepper.author

Bonded Against Fate

I write because…

It’s my favorite thing in the world to do.  I’ve been making up stories for as long as I can remember.  I love writing. 

If I were your favorite cookie, what would I be?

I would be white chocolate macadamia nut cookie.

Plotter or pantster?

I’m a total pantster.

What is your favorite type of character to write about and why?

I write strong women. I am a strong woman so these characters speak the loudest to me.

Hamburgers or sushi?

Sushi, but nothing raw.

Name three things on your desk.

My desk is pretty sparse I only have my iPod, notebook, and laptop.

What books have influenced your writing style?

I read a lot less now than I used to because don’t want my voice to mimic anyone.  I hope my books aren’t influenced.

Tell us a little about your book.

I am published under a different pen name with many adult romance publishers.  This is my first YA series and I’m really proud of these characters and their story.  This is the blurb:

Annika Valon isn’t your typical high school girl.  She has an out-of-this-world destiny.  Her friend Casmir and her foster parents Jayne and Victor have kept her safe, but when the shadows come for her, only Cas’s mysterious older brother can save her. 

Her foster parents are aliens, and so is she.  Her best friend is secretly aspiring to take a mythical vow to protect her, and there’s a planet in another dimension where forces are conspiring to kill her because she’s an honest-to-God princess. She finds herself magically bonded to her bestie’s big, hot brother.  Oh, and she has a killer trigonometry test in the morning.  High school just became a lot more alien.

What advice do you have for new and aspiring authors?

Just write.  Don’t worry about anything but getting the story out into the computer. Find a local writers group and learn from others.

What is next on your writerly horizon?

I’m going to finish this series and keep working on my adult stuff too. My current grown up work in progress is really making my muse purr right now. 

Top 5 favorite (pick one) desserts, movies, things to eat, ice cream flavors, books.

movies

Blurb and cover:

Annika Valon isn’t your typical high school girl.  She has an out-of-this-world destiny.  Her friend Casmir and her foster parents Jayne and Victor have kept her safe, but when the shadows come for her, only Cas’s mysterious older brother can save her. 

Her foster parents are aliens, and so is she.  Her best friend is secretly aspiring to take a mythical vow to protect her, and there’s a planet in another dimension where forces are conspiring to kill her because she’s an honest-to-God princess. She finds herself magically bonded to her bestie’s big, hot brother.  Oh, and she has a killer trigonometry test in the morning.  High school just became a lot more alien.

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin

Annika Valon groaned and her eyes ached from studying. Trigonometry was her worst nightmare. She'd lose her shot at valedictorian if she didn't study harder and ace the test. Her computer monitor told her it was past midnight so she shut down her laptop.

The small town's quiet broke as a slow moving car rumbled on the residential street outside her house. Light from the headlights darted across her pink bedroom walls. Standing up and stretching, she rubbed her shoulder absentmindedly before walking into her bathroom.

Annika stripped to put on her pajamas and while tossing her dirty shirt in the hamper she caught a glimpse of the mark on her right shoulder in the mirror's reflection. Self-consciously she hurried to put on a soft, pink pajama top. She'd had the strange half-moon tattoo on her right shoulder as long as she could remember. It was black and small. Sometimes she swore it tingled, which was ridiculous. The mark had bothered her lately. The symbol always reminded her of the amnesia that left a big void where her earliest years should be. Her gut tightened and there was an aching in her chest.

She shuddered. Only a monster would tattoo a child. She had no memories of her biological mother or father, or any memory before she was five and had come to live with Jayne and Victor Winter. When she thought about her mysterious ink, she was grateful she didn't know the people who'd branded her. They had to be evil. Does evil lurk inside of me too? Am I like them?

Annika picked up her hairbrush and looked up in the mirror. A shadow flashed behind her. She gasped. The large pink plastic hairbrush slipped from her fingers and clattered as it hit the sink. Turning around she saw nothing.

Annika squeezed her eyes shut tightly. It was happening again—she was seeing shadows—again. She'd kept her slow progression into insanity a secret, because she didn't want her parents to send her away.

She looked into the mirror again. This time the shape just stood there looking at her. Her own long black hair wasn't the culprit of the movement. The shadow was about the same height as she was. Its eyes glowed with an eerie blue light. The way it was looking at her made her feel sick. The thing radiated malice and hatred.

Annika gripped the sink for support and a shiver ran down her spine. This was the longest the image had remained. She could feel its gaze boring into her back. The only sound she heard was her thundering heart. She gazed at her reflection, but watched the shadow out of the corner of her eye. If she moved, it would go away.

Annika bit her lip and sucked a deep breath into her lungs. She'd never tried to talk to it before.

"What do you want?" she whispered.

It raised its transparent arm-like appendage and pointed at her. Cold terror rolled through her belly and made her shiver. She looked away into her own wide-with-fear green eyes. Then she gathered the courage to look at the shadow's image again. It was still there and it was still pointing at her. The nightmare stood menacingly behind her until it slowly began fading.

When it was finally gone, she relaxed her tense muscles. A breath she'd been unconsciously holding hissed out of her lungs. Deflated, she stood shaking. The encounter left her physically drained, as always. The first time she'd seen one of the shadows she'd ended up sick in bed for two days.

Over the last year she'd become accustomed to the horrible oily sensation of cold dread accompanying her spectral visitor. Her evolving reaction made her wonder if her body was building up a tolerance to seeing things. Does crazy make you physically sick too?

Forcing herself to remain calm and willing herself to be sane, she brushed her teeth and then washed her face. I am normal. This is normal. Everything is okay and normal and I'm not crazy. She looked in the mirror for confirmation she was alone and nodded at herself.

She had no idea if insanity ran in her family tree, but if she had a choice, she was going to be rational. On shaking legs, she left the bathroom.

Annika pulled back the quilt to lay down on her twin bed and stared up into the darkness. The glow-in-the-dark stars affixed to the light pink canopy over her head normally were a comfort, but not tonight. Change was coming. Darkness stalked her and she knew there was nowhere to hide.

***

Blurb

When everyone wants to use you, how do you know what’s right?

Annika Valon isn’t your typical high school girl. She has an out-of-this-world destiny.  Her friend Casmir and her foster parents Jayne and Victor have kept her safe, but when the shadows come for her, only Cas’s mysterious older brother can save her.  

Her foster parents are aliens, and so is she. Her best friend is secretly aspiring to take a mythical vow to protect her, and there’s a planet in another dimension where forces are conspiring to kill her because she’s an honest-to-God princess. She finds herself magically bonded to her bestie’s big, hot brother. Oh, and she has a killer trigonometry test in the morning. High school just became a lot more alien.

http://www.lycaonpress.com/

About the author:

Tamsyn Monroe is a busy working mom. She loves her kids and family. Her greatest joy is creating stories to entertain others, and she hopes they bring a little more romance into the world. She's been writing since her teens for her own enjoyment,but decided in her thirties to share her imagination with readers.Tamsyn enjoys biking, camping, reading, video games, and filling her home and life with love. If she's not working or chasing children, you can find her daydreaming up her next tale of romance.  

Tamsyn's Website: www.tamsynmonroe.webs.com

Reader eMail: tamsynmonroe@outlook.com

Sunrise

1. I write because…

It’s fun. Pure and simple. And I just love to tell stories. Nothing more, nothing less.

2. If I were your favorite cookie, what would I be?

Very tough question. It’s a toss-up between peanut butter with chocolate chips (which is the BEST combination ever) and oatmeal raisin. But I think I’d have to go with peanut butter and chocolate chips.  

3. Plotter or pantster?

I do both, actually. My first novel, Sunrise, was written completely by the seat of my pants. I had no pre-conceived ideas where I was headed with that story. I just wrote. However, its sequel and another work in progress are very much plotted out in detail. It just depends on what strikes me with each particular story. Neither is more effective than the other. You just have to go with whichever feels the most comfortable and allows you to be creative.

4. What is your favorite type of character to write about and why?

Definitely the antagonist. With a protagonist, there’s always the expectation that they conform to some degree or another to a universal sense of goodness and morality. You can give those characters some flaws, but at the end of the day they’ve got remain on the positive side of the ledger. With villains I’ve found more freedom to be complex and multi-dimensional.

5. Hamburgers or sushi?

Nothing against sushi, because I’ve been to Japan twice and have had the real deal, but there’s nothing better than a great burger.

6. Name three things on your desk.

Paper, paper, and more paper. I’m a clutterbug.

7. What books have influenced your writing style?

Dean Koontz and Ted Dekker. They’re the kings of character development, pacing, and crisp dialogue.

8. Tell us a little about your book.

It’s a paranormal romance in which an 18-year old high school kid survives a mass tragedy only to learn that it was an orchestrated event and that he was the intended target. When he’s caught in the crosshairs of a sinister nemesis, his guardian angel comes to his rescue – only to find there’s a huge price to pay for falling in love with a human.  

9. What advice do you have for new and aspiring authors?

Four things: study the craft of writing fiction, join a critique group, be patient, and never give up.          

10. What is next on your writerly horizon?

I’ve got two works in progress at the moment. One is False Light, the sequel to Sunrise. The other is a standalone work entitled, The Promise Keeper. I should probably pick one to focus on, but I’m really drawn to both stories.

Top 5 favorite (pick one) desserts, movies, things to eat, ice cream flavors, books.

Hard to narrow my top 5 movies, but here they are in no particular order: We Are Marshall, Meet Joe Black, Legends of the Fall, The Game, and The Legend of Bagger Vance.

Blurb:

When the shadows come and your world goes dark, can you hang on until sunrise – or will you give in to the darkness?  After a tragic shooting shatters Parker’s world, the darkness comes for
him. His guardian angel, Marie, fights to save his soul, but will her love be enough to save him?

Excerpt:

She looked at the branches overhead and squinted as a silver raindrop fell into her eye. She wiped it away with the back of her hand as the precipitation intensified. The ground under her feet grew wetter, the wind more menacing as it whipped through the treetops. Bluish-white streaks of lightning shot across the dark sky like sinewy fingers, followed by a distant rumble of thunder.

"You really shouldn't appear so much. It's not safe. Uriel and Markus wouldn't approve."

"Uriel and Markus? You mean you and everyone else. Contrary to rumors, I don't appear human as often as you think," she shot back. "Besides, I can handle Markus."

"Oh, that's right. I keep forgetting you're his favorite."

She cast him a sideways glance, lips slanting into a smirk. "Really, Jacob?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Hey, I'm just stating what everybody knows."

"Well, he only favors the best, I guess."

He removed his spectacles, took out a handkerchief, and wiped the lenses. "Very funny."

Marie grinned. "You're the one who started it. If you can't—"

The hair on the back of her neck stood erect, and her face went slack. Something's wrong.

Jacob quickly replaced his glasses, and they turned their attention back to the house as the mood shifted to one of shared alarm. An uninvited presence crept toward the backyard fence, watching and waiting like them.

Marie scanned the fence for any movement, but didn't see anything. It was there, though, and it wasn't alone. Her body tensed. "I feel two...no, three of them. Do you?"

"Yes. They're in the alley, behind the fence." Jacob closed his eyes for a moment, lines of concentration creasing his forehead.

Marie resumed searching for the intruders. What were they doing here? Why Parker's house? They'd never shown any interest in him or his family before. A brilliant flash of lightning, followed by a loud crack of thunder, illuminated the backyard in an eerie light. Marie's eyes darted along the fence. Several silhouetted figures lurked behind it.

Jacob opened his eyes. "Seth is near," he said, his voice taut with alarm.

Cold sweat broke out on Marie's forehead, and she wiped it away with a clammy hand. Of all the names, that was the one no guardian wanted to hear. Ever. She swallowed and tried to keep her voice from trembling. "Seth? Are you sure?"

Jacob didn't answer, but stared at the backyard fence. He interlocked his fingers and cracked his knuckles, his customary nervous habit. "When was your last fight?"

Although her preference was to avoid combat, confrontation always remained an option. Her last altercation had been a violent affair, but she had resolved long ago to do whatever it took to protect her charges, especially this one.

"Um, about twenty years ago. In Argentina." The melee during Carnival had been brutal. The colored lights of angel fire, agonizing screams, and the smell of burning flesh came back to her. An icy ball formed in the pit of her stomach, the landscape tilted and spun, and she placed an unsteady hand on the wet bark of the tree next to her.

"You'll be rusty if it's been that long. Remember, strike only when you have to and use quick, controlled bursts over as short a distance as possible."

Jacob's tone took on one of mock authority and bravado, but it wasn't convincing. Marie let the lecture slide for the moment. Seth's close proximity had Jacob rattled.

Marie looked back at the house. Parker and his family, asleep in their warm, cozy beds...they had no idea of the danger around them.

She clutched her chest, breathing becoming labored. "They're moving closer to the house, aren't they?"

Jacob jerked his head in an awkward nod. "Yeah." His eyes roamed the fence from behind wire-rimmed glasses. His forehead glistened. Was it from the precipitation...or fear?

A chill ran through her body and an army of goose bumps formed on her arms. She crossed them over her chest and cast a wary gaze toward the backyard fence.

"Something wicked this way comes," she muttered.

Jacob locked eyes with her and said, "C'mon. We have work to do."

They disappeared into the darkness and crept toward the alley.

Buy links:

Buy Links

Ebook

http://www.lycaonpress.com/index.php?main_page=product_free_shipping_info&cPath=1&products_id=49&zenid=7c1b5cbace47f203ccd04fe65cec9649

Print Book

http://www.lycaonpress.com/index.php?main_page=product_free_shipping_info&cPath=3&products_id=51&zenid=7c1b5cbace47f203ccd04fe65cec9649

Author bio:

Scott works in state government and is the author of several short stories and the recently published young adult paranormal romance novel, Sunrise. He lives in the suburbs of Austin with his wife and two precocious daughters - who enthusiastically assist him in his search for the perfect combination of chocolate and peanut butter.

Scott can be contacted through his blog at https://abelstories.wordpress.com/

The Revenge Artist by Philip Hoy

The Revenge Artist by Philip Hoy

Blurb:

A bullied teen embarks on a dark journey of revenge when she discovers the power to make bad things happen by drawing them.

Evelyn Hernandez is a high school junior who reads Shakespeare for fun, sews her own dresses, and keeps a sketch journal of her daily life. When varsity quarterback Garvey Valenzuela breaks her heart, she sends him to the emergency room with a busted hand.

Add black magic to her résumé.

The Revenge Artist is the story of a bullied teen who embarks on a dark journey of revenge when she discovers she has the power to make bad things happen by drawing them. The novel explores the emotional pain, isolation, and self-hatred caused by bullying and cyber-bullying in particular as it follows the self-destructive path taken by one teen attempting to defend herself from bullies.

Evelyn is temporarily empowered by her ability to hurt others, "Don't you know? I'm a witch... a real, honest to God, black-hearted, evil witch!" and this is what keeps her from seeing that her true power comes from her loyal and caring nature, the love and support of her friends and family, and most of all, her intelligence and creativity.

http://www.lycaonpress.com/

Philip Hoy, author of The Revenge Artist

Dana’s YA Book Pile Author Interview Questions:

1.   I write because…

I am a sponge. I soak up everything around me, from home, from my students, from the media, from books, until I reach a point of saturation and I must wring myself out onto the page. If I can’t find time to write…if I don’t make myself…then all of that input evaporates, and all those possible stories dry up and disappear. And wringing is really an appropriate image, because writing is difficult and almost never flows easily, but all of these influences are in the mix and what I think emerges is something I can call my voice, the same voice with which I speak, only far more polished.

2. If I were your favorite cookie, what would I be?

I would be the sugar cookies my wife makes during the holidays. I’m a light, crispy-crunch blonde with golden brown edges, filled with a buttery deliciousness that’s not overly sweet. You can keep a small pile of me nearby to nibble on while you are reading or writing, or you can put a handful of me in your coat pocket and take me with you to the movies, shopping, or wherever.

3. Plotter or pantster?

I imagine I’m a little bit of both. I work best with a rough outline, so I talk myself through the plot: first, next, later, finally, the next day, and so on, and then go back and write it. These are two very different things, though. The first is mostly planning, but the second is creating…and creating is the most difficult. You can plot and plot and plot some more, but sooner or later, you have to switch over from planning to constructing, and then submerge yourself in the world you are creating, and begin to write from the point of view of your characters. In other words, stop telling what your characters will do and start showing them do it. Once I begin writing, I guess I’m a pantster. I place the characters within the conflict and then see what happens. Even though I’m pretty sure I know what my character will do in a situation, I have to start writing in order to find out. Dialogue can be especially surprising. I may have certain lines in mind, things that must be said to develop the characters and the plot, but once two or more characters begin to speak, the conversation often takes on a natural, spontaneous rhythm that makes unexpected turns and arrives in unexplored territory. Writing can be as much an act of discovery as reading…sometimes maybe more.

4. What is your favorite type of character to write about and why?

I am attracted to characters that tend to drastically underestimate themselves. Characters who, for some reason or another, temporarily become their own worst enemies until they realize the strength they needed, or the answer they were looking for, was inside them all along.

Mostly, my high school students inspire my writing. My characters are teenagers. And like my students, they are just as much discovering themselves, as they are inventing themselves: still finding their voices, still realizing their powers, and still exploring their purpose in the world. In my novel, the high school dean complains, “You kids live in the extreme, in the moment, and why not when everything is happening to you for the first time?” I feel this is so true of young people; although, unlike the dean in my story, I believe this is exactly what makes teenagers so fascinating and so refreshing to be around.

5. Hamburgers or sushi?

Sushi.

6. Name three things on your desk.

Right now? My MacBook Pro, the hand-carved Maori wooden face my daughter brought back from New Zealand for me, and a bowl of oatmeal, my favorite late night snack. 

7. What books have influenced your writing style?

While I don’t think my style is necessarily similar to any of these writers, when I think of my choice to write for a young adult audience, these particular books come to mind: The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros, The Afterlife by Gary Soto, The Dead Father’s Club by Matt Haig, Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson, and The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky.

8. Tell us a little about your book.

The book is called The Revenge Artist and it is the story of Evelyn Hernandez, a bullied teen who discovers she has the power to make bad things happen by drawing them. The novel explores the emotional pain, isolation, and self-hatred caused by bullying and cyber-bullying in particular as it follows the self-destructive path taken by one teen attempting to defend herself from bullies.

Although there is a bit of the supernatural, or paranormal, in my book, it is categorized as a contemporary young adult novel. There is definitely romance, but the plot is much more concerned with the protagonist finding her voice than finding her man.

9. What advice do you have for new and aspiring authors?

Once you’ve finished that first book, begin submitting it to as many publishers and agents as possible. While you are awaiting responses, start writing your next story (never stop writing). If you are lucky, out of all the “no thank you” replies, maybe, just maybe, a publisher will include some notes along with your rejection letter. And even though specific criticism of your book may hurt a lot more at first than a generic, “it’s just not what we’re looking for at this time,” do not destroy or delete this letter…it is extremely valuable and rare. Later, after you’ve had a good cry, take it out and read it again. Chances are, it’s advice you can use.  

10. What is next on your writerly horizon?

I’ve decided to write a sequel to The Revenge Artist and I’m already half finished. Also, I’ve begun an author’s blog on my website that I really enjoy.  

Top 5 favorite movies: (I know, I have six…but narrowing it down to five was hard enough.)

1.      Indiana Jones

2.      Monty Python and the Holy Grail

3.      The Thirteenth Warrior

4.      Oh Brother Where Art Thou

5.      Galaxy Quest

6.      Zoolander

Excerpt:

Hi, I'm Garvey."

Evelyn looked up at him through her bangs. "Evelyn," she said without lifting her head. But his hand stayed outstretched between them for an unbearably long moment until Evelyn finally gave him hers.

"Nice to meet you, Evelyn," he said with two perfect dimples framing his smile.

She turned and smiled at the other two guys now sitting at the table. Garvey followed her gaze and greeted the two with a smooth lift of his chin and some kind of half audible guy-grunt which they returned in a similar manner. Tito and Erick. The two were inseparable. Must be nice to get to sit with your best friend, Evelyn thought as she twisted around in her chair to make eye contact with Denise who had ended up on the other side of the classroom. Evelyn gave her a please-kill-me look. Denise just smirked and rolled her eyes.

"Hey, I have a cousin named Evelyn," Garvey was saying. "We're not related are we?"

Evelyn turned back to face him. "No."

"Are you sure? She likes to wear dresses too, just like you. You know with tights or whatever." He made a motion with his eyes like he was looking through the table top at her pink stockings.

She instinctively pulled her knees together.

"Have you ever done that?" he went on, leaning a little forward. "You know, liked someone and then found out they were related, your cousin or something?"

"No."

Oh...My...God, she prayed silently, please stop talking to me. Schwartz made an exaggerated clearing of his throat to get everyone's attention. "Okay!" he said, "Now that you've all had time to get to know each other, when I call on you I would like you to tell me three things you've learned about the person across from you." The class became noisy again. "Evelyn," he announced loudly over the din, and everyone stopped talking and turned to look at her.

Perfect, she thought, how can this day possibly get any worse?

"Stand please," added Schwartz. "Nice and loud."

Evelyn stood, tugging down on the hem of her dress. "His name is Garvey," she said, and then in one monotone breath finished with, "he plays football, and even though sports and school keep him very busy, he still finds time to keep in touch with friends and exchange pictures on Facebook."

Garvey looked confused.

"Okay, that's two things," said Schwartz. "One more."

"His name doesn't count?" asked Evelyn.

"No, that's too easy," he answered, obviously enjoying himself. "One more...something most people probably don't know about Garvey."

Evelyn sent Schwartz daggers with her eyes. He knows I can't answer that, she thought, he knows I wasn't even speaking to him. But when she opened her mouth it just came out. "He once had a crush on a girl until he found out she was his cousin," she said and dropped into her seat.

Someone laughed abruptly, like the bleat of a sheep.

"Oh...kay..." said Schwartz. "Garvey, what did you learn about Evelyn?"

"Well, her name is—" He stopped himself, remembering to stand up.

Evelyn slipped lower in her seat.

"Her name is Evelyn," he went on, "she's an artist and..."

Now it was Evelyn's turn to look confused.

"And she's always drawing pictures in a notebook she carries around."

Schwartz was nodding his head slowly, counting to himself while Garvey spoke. He stopped now, looking at Garvey expectantly.

"And...she likes to wear pretty girl's dresses to school because she wants to be original and have her own style."

He sat down again, flashing Evelyn his trademark smile.

"Okay, thank you Evelyn and Garvey for setting the standard with those introductions," Schwartz continued. "Now let's hear from someone in the back of the room."

Author Bio:

Philip Hoy is a high school English teacher. When he is not creating lesson plans or grading essays, he is writing. He lives in Southern California with his wife Magdalena, also a teacher.