Spotlight: About a Girl by Mary E. Palmerin

(Heartless, #1)
Publication date: June 5th 2018
Genres: Contemporary, Young Adult

Synopsis:

Sprucewood High School changes everyone. The girl with sad eyes who walked out of the bathroom stall; she made herself puke. The star basketball player can’t read an entire sentence, so he takes his anger out on the introverted kid after third period. His face turned purple and blue.Olive was just a girl. Fletcher was just a boy. And there they were, together, wandering in the chaos of it all. Their paths crossed, all because of fate. She was the lost girl who wanted to love, but she also wanted to die. He was the mysterious new kid with golden eyes that held a story she wanted to know.Together, they attempt to figure out a way to numb themselves from the pain of finding out who they are in this world, where they belong, and how to handle the memories that haunt them in their nightmares. Addiction in its nastiest of forms torments them, threatening their false paradise as they attempt to escape their pain.Will their self-destructive ways be too much for the love they start to feel? Or is it even love when it is clouded by the H they shoot into their veins? Hearts break and souls get crushed at Sprucewood High.  

Excerpt

Prologue

Olive

The Day Death Welcomed Me

The Day After Love 

I sat there with a silent jar of thoughts, which was consuming every ounce of myself that I had left. My long, unkempt black hair dangled annoyingly across my face as I laid atop my tiny safe place with my knees pulled up to my chest. The creaking of the ground sent dust up into the humid spring air from the thunderstorm the night before, and my attention span was that of a fly. My window air-conditioning unit was useless during the grueling Kentucky weather. I couldn’t help but dazzle my stare with the dirt that danced just before me. It was strangely calming as I sat there, half-naked with my still developing body in nothing but underwear and a button up flannel, wondering if I would have the balls to die today.

My life was different. My life had changed. I was not going to make it until tomorrow. My script had been altered, it was re-written due to fate. The sirens of my heart were singing and screeching the highest they ever had. I was off track and at the most desolate place I’d ever been in my life. Isolation isn’t true when you are unsure about the thoughts and feelings in your head. I had ten-thousand emotions taking up space in mine. I wasn’t alone. I was in the presence of things that didn’t make sense. Truths had yet to be revealed.

I wanted to fall into a tunnel where the pitch black of night could suffocate me, just like it did in my head. I wished I could dance over the moon with the stars in my dreams where nothing else mattered, where pain didn’t exist, but the world was turning more hateful every single day that I woke up. As time passed, I would often stare at things, not understanding why my knees would buckle as my tongue would tie itself to the syllable before making me stutter like a little kid who was called out during class. Weird instances and feelings occurred more often, and over time, my teenage self couldn’t wrap my brain around my frame of mind. I started to make choices, self-destructive choices, which sent me closer to the edge of hell after things happened and nightmares were the result.

I never said much. Talking wasn’t something I was used to doing. I became an expert introvert. I never thought I would’ve been able to come up with the right words if I decided to talk to my mother, so I did what I did best. I stayed quiet until my will found a way. 

‘Hey, Mom. Not sure why I feel weird when I see or smell certain things, especially old trucks or walk past the cologne aisle at the convenience store. I’m feeling a little down. I’m not sure what’s going on inside my head.’ 

I don’t even remember the day I started to change. It’s ironic how phases meld together like colors from paint swirling about in water. I muddled around, leaving pieces of myself behind. I regularly hurt myself, toying with the idea of suicide, but the definiteness of death was something I needed before the puzzles from years ago came together to haunt me with a pain that would no longer be tolerable. And then fate had to come in and hurt me even more. Who would have guessed, as much as I prayed for death, I was too much of a coward for it. Well, apparently I prayed hard enough.

“Branch. You up and ready? We need to leave to get to Dr. Sarya’s office.”

That’s what I was to my mother. Her little olive branch; the peace offering of her life that fell apart before it could come back together and fall apart one last time. My parents divorced when I was six, and my father never took time to look back. I remember little about him except his dark hair and deep voice. He walked out of our two-bedroom country house and never looked back with his torn leather suitcase in tow, staring at me with sad eyes. I remember that moment, but never one with him before. Now, I understand how bizarre his behavior was, and mine was even more peculiar. I was never able to recall a birthday celebration, Christmas, or Thanksgiving with him.

No memories would be recalled until years later.

As time passed and I entered the gates of hell, also known as Sprucewood High School, the invisible crack was pried open. I was forced to face the girl who I was destined to become. The more I tried to understand the change in my head, the more I attempted to find an answer. But the harder I looked, the more I was hurt. 

That day, I was done trying. My body was too tired to fight anymore.

I laid in bed, my sweat clinging to my comforter like Saran Wrap. My eyes made their way over to the corner of my room, and I smiled at the only constant in my life that laid crooked in the corner. I imagined them, the worn pink fabric pointe ballet shoes, still remembering how my feet felt in them when I would leap across the floor without any care. I used to point my foot, inserting it until they were laced up perfectly. I would do the same with my other foot when I could still dance. My feet used to feel like heaven. If only my heart and body could join them, then life would have been easy for me.

I grabbed the remote to my stereo and turned my CD player on, which had a tendency to skip anytime you put in anything except my Ani DiFranco or Janis Joplin. Ani started belting out in her deep, raspy tone and I daydreamt about my feet gracefully sweeping across the floor as my eyes remained closed. I was trying to find my heaven, convinced I could change my mind before it was too late. Time, to me, had been wasted. It did nothing but hurt. I let myself smile as I continued to imagine myself standing in second position, my arms out to my side as I prepared to pirouette and dance until the sun burned the pain away; the same kind of discomfort I failed to understand, the type that was thrown my way at that hell-hole where perfection and pain walked down the halls like yin and yang. 

I saw goodness for a little bit. He was the boy with golden eyes and brown hair that hung above his eyes. He had pain like me. I could see it. Fletcher was hiding from the ugly, trying to comprehend his own demons, but he’s gone and it’s too late to get him back. He was sucked into the same kind of fucked up shit that I was. He lost. I was losing, too.

Thinking of him made my heart ache as silent tears started to fall from my eyes. The girl I had become was unrecognizable. My hair was disheveled, my hips wider with weight, and my eyes sunken in from either lack of sleep or too much; there was never an in-between. My heart was tired of working so hard. I was tired of living. 

A year before, from the outside looking in, my world looked fine. I was the ordinary girl with supposed friends and decent grades. My crooked-tooth grin was deceiving, though. My brown eyes were sad, and even more so since I lost the only boy who had a chance of understanding me. I hurt him, and now he’s gone. My eyes were growing too tired to care anymore. I felt it coming, the end. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. Who would have guessed I would be just a girl about to die alone?

I wished I could still punish myself for hurting Fletcher. He was the only decent thing I had and I fucked it up. There was no going back. It was too late. 

I pulled his handwritten goodbye letter from underneath my pillow, sobbing at his message, understanding that I needed to be with him. My tears stopped in that second when I reached the clarity I had been searching for through the murky misunderstandings of my so-called life. It’s ironic how one can reach such a conclusion when death is sure to greet you. 

I remember gazing out my window, imagining it open despite the heat from the unapologetically warm summer day, remembering how Fletcher would look at me from below with a pebble in his hand and a sparkle in his eye. 

The ghost of my yesterdays floated away as I continued to remember the lattice that led up to my window, the same thing Fletcher would use to climb up to see me, but he wouldn’t be seeing me anymore. Instead, every day, I would be reminded as little pieces of him were left behind with evidence of my mistakes. 

My eyes grew too heavy as echoes from my mother’s voice screamed. She was an ocean away and it was too late. I was too far gone to be saved. I closed my eyes as visions of better times washed away the pain. Finally, I would be able to dance over the moon and the stars would be my friends. They could shine for me and love me, despite the darkness I never understood.  

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About the Author

Mary E. Palmerin is an internationally bestselling author of The Monster Series, Redeeming Rhys, and half the madness behind The Red Market Series. She currently resides in Indiana with her husband and two boys. She enjoys writing raw, taboo tales that strike various emotions in her readers. When she isn't busy writing, she usually has her nose in a good book. Mary loves spending time with her family and friends, being outdoors, cooking, art, tattoos, red wine, traveling, and anything that makes her laugh. She loves to connect with her readers!

Connect:

https://www.instagram.com/author_marypalmerin/

https://twitter.com/palmerinmary

https://www.facebook.com/maryepalmerin/

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7576313.Mary_E_Palmerin

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Spotlight: The Wreckage of Us by Brittainy Cherry

The Wreckage of Us takes place in the inauspicious town of Eres, Nebraska. Not exactly a place where happily-ever-afters are made. What made you choose this setting?

I wanted to tell a story about a small town that was overlooked by the world as a whole. Most people would overlook a town like Eres, Nebraska, but there are still people who are living, who are loving, and who are struggling in these small towns. I wanted to show their stories, and how even though the rest of the world may not see them, that they still matter. They deserve their happily ever afters just as much as the rest of the world.

Hazel, your heroine, is newly eighteen when her criminal step-father throws her out of the house. She literally has nothing when the story begins—not even her mother’s support. What choices does Hazel make? Do you agree with them?

Hazel chooses to find a job in order to help her mother from a distance. I think she acts on impulse, not exactly thinking things through. She doesn’t get the opportunity to think far into the future, she only has right in that moment. Second by second. I do agree with her choices in a way, since she isn't harming anyone with these choices. She is just doing her best to make it to the next day.

Forget about healing, Hazel is in survival mode. What keeps her going?

Her twisted love and care for her mother is keeping her going—along with her unborn sister. She knew what it was like to grow up in her household, and she wouldn’t want her little sister to go through those same kind of struggles. So, that pushes Hazel to keep moving forward and fighting for her family.

Your hero is a very interesting mix of both the town’s “golden boy” as well as the town’s “bad boy”. Ian is…complicated. How did you get to know him? How does Hazel get to know him?

I believe Hazel and I both got to know Ian the same way—piece by piece. He has a wall of protection up from the world due to the trauma he experienced as a child. Being abandoned by his parents really did a number on Ian’s trust. Yet, the beautiful thing about Ian is when he loves, he loves fully. He does everything he can to make sure those he loves are taken care of. Once his pieces are discovered, he makes a beautiful complete puzzle.

Music is Ian’s whole life. He sees it as his escape, a way out of the stifling Eres, Nebraska. However, he struggles with his emotions and allowing himself to really feel the music he is making. What needs to change for him? 

He needs to tap into his darkest struggles. He has to go to the edge of his anger, his hurts, and express those feelings on the page in front of him. Ian holds so much in that it becomes a creative block in a way. Once he starts breaking those walls down—with the help of Hazel—he discovers his real creativity. He finds his voice, he finds his songs. He finds himself.

Hazel and Ian are an unlikely pair. They really get on each other’s nerves and they want different things out of life. Yet despite their differences, they find a connection. What is the spark that brings them together?

I think it’s loneliness. They grew up without having the true love of their parents. And in the town of Eres, drugs are a big issue. Those drugs affected both of their parents lives in different ways, but it’s a connecting factor for them both. They are able to connect with one another because they both know what it’s like to hurt so deeply and dream of a parent’s love.

The theme of “impossible love” runs through your novels. Two people that can’t possibly make it work realize that they don’t want anyone else but each other. What excites you about these types of stories.

I think there’s something so exciting about a love worth fighting for. When the passion is given from not only one side of the equation, but both the hero and heroine know the feelings they have run deep. Sure, there are struggles, like there are in everyday life, but they know they wouldn’t want to struggle with anyone else in the world. They fight for their happily ever after, no matter what. And that, in my mind, is what makes the impossible love become possible and true. That’s what gives us the happily ever afters that we as readers crave.

Currently our country and the world are going through unprecedented crisis. The arts have become so important for people to feel a sense of normalcy. As a writer, how do you hope your story affects your readers?

I hope my stories give my readers hope. I hope it reminds them that even throughout the storms, the sun will always shine once the clouds move to the side. There’s beauty in the storms, too, if you are willing to look hard enough. There are lessons of self that can be learned, and I think my characters discover that from time to time. I just hope to showcase that this is still a time to believe in happily ever afters, and that the world’s story as a whole, is far from over. We still have so much beauty to still discover. We still have so much light to find. And those facts alone, give me hope, and I hope my stories do the same for readers. I hope I give them light.

How has our current situation affected projects you are working on now? (Any spoilers you can tell us about what is up next for you?)

I’m finding myself more forgiving of my writing pace! I fell off for a while, and found it hard to be creative, but now that I am in a groove, I am finding writing fun again. It’s my great escape from the issues around me. Words save me day in and day out, and I’m thankful for that. Up next for me is my second book in my Compass series, which is entitled Eastern Lights. It’s my first ever romantic comedy, that is filled with so much heart. I think readers are going to love getting to know Connor and Aaliyah’s story!

Release Date - September 8, 2020

Publisher - Montlake

Summary

I know I should stay away from Ian Parker.

But when my drug-dealing stepdad kicks me out, I have nowhere to go. Squatting in an abandoned shed on Ian’s grandpa’s farm seems like as good a plan as any.

Ian finds me there, of course, and he insists on me moving into his spare room. I should say no, but the appeal of a roof and a warm bed is too much. Not to mention Ian’s brown eyes and strong arms.

We’re nothing alike, but the spark between us is undeniable. My life is finally looking up.

Until I call the cops on my stepdad and unintentionally get my pregnant mom arrested.

Now I have to sacrifice my dreams to take care of my mom’s baby. She’s the only family I have left. Meanwhile, Ian’s band is taking off; his dreams are coming true.

Ian is my one chance at love. I just hope he doesn’t become the one chance that got away.

Excerpt

A typical Eres Saturday night.

I wandered the ranch with a notebook and pen in my hand. I kept scribbling down lyrics and crossing them out before trying again to create something better, stronger—realer. I kept drumming my fingers against each other, trying to unlock the pieces that I was missing. As I paced back and forth, a voice broke me away from my mind.

“It’s the words.”

I looked up to see Hazel sitting in the rocking chair that Big Paw built for my mother years ago. I used to sit in Mom’s lap as she’d read me stories before bedtime all those years back.

There’d been times I thought about getting rid of the chair in order to forget that memory, but I hadn’t found the strength to let go just yet.

“What do you mean it’s the words?” I asked, walking up the steps of the porch. I leaned against the railing facing her.

She blinked and tilted her head in my direction. “Your words are trash.”

“What?”

“The lyrics to your songs, they are complete garbage, filled with clichés and bubblegum. Don’t get me wrong, the music style and tempos are brilliant. And even though it pains me to admit, your voice is so solid and soulful that you could be a star in a heartbeat. But your lyrics? They are pig shit.”

“I think the saying is horseshit.”

“After spending weeks in a pig pen, pig shit seems to truly sum up my feelings about your music. But my gosh, your voice. It’s a good voice.”

I tried to push off her insult, and tried to ignore her compliment, too. But it was hard. I had an ego that was easy to bruise, and Hazel was swinging her punches while also speaking words of praise. It was as if every bruise she made, she quickly covered with a Bandaid.

Insult, compliment, insult, compliment. Wash, rinse, repeat.

“Everyone else seemed to enjoy it,” I replied, tense with my words.

“Yeah, well, everyone else are morons who are drunk off their minds.”

“Oh? And you think you could do better?”

She laughed. “Without a doubt.” “Okay, Hazel Stone, master of lyrics, give me something to go with.”

She gestured toward the other rocker beside her—the one Dad used to sit in.

I sat down.

She pressed her lips together. “Okay. Give me one of your songs. One that you know is crap but are pretending isn’t crap.”

“They aren’t—”

“Lying isn’t going to get us far tonight, Ian.” 

I narrowed my eyes and murmured a curse word before I began flipping through my notebook to find a song for Hazel to magically make better. “Fine. We can do Possibilities.”

“Hmm… What is it about?”

“A new relationship forming. I want to showcase those beginning feelings, you know? The fears and excitements. The nerves. The unknown. The—”

“First chapters of love,” she finished my thoughts.

“Yes, that.”

She took the pencil from behind my ear and took the notebook from my grip. “May I?”

“Please. Go for it.”

She began scribbling, crossing things out, adding things in, doing whatever came to her mind. She worked like a manwoman, falling into a world of creativity that I didn’t think she’d held inside of her. The only thing I knew about Hazel Stone was where she came from, and the clothes she wore. I hadn’t known anything else, but now she was pouring herself out on the page, and I couldn’t wait to see what the hell she was scribbling.

She took a breath and handed the notebook back to me. “If you hate it, no harm, no foul,” she said.

My eyes darted over the words. “It’s possible this is forever ours. It’s possible we’ll reach the stars. We’ll fight for this, we’ll make it real. Is it possible, possible, to show you how I feel?”

“Shit.” I blew out a breath of air. “Hazel…that’s... It’s like you crawled into my head and read the thoughts I couldn’t decipher. That’s the chorus. That’s it.”

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About the Author

Brittainy Cherry has been in love with words since she took her first breath. She graduated from Carroll University with a bachelor’s degree in theater arts and a minor in creative writing. She loves to take part in writing screenplays, acting, and dancing—poorly, of course. Coffee, chai tea, and wine are three things that she thinks every person should partake in. Cherry lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, with her family. When she’s not running a million errands and crafting stories, she’s probably playing with her adorable pets.

Connect:

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/BrittainyCherryAuthor

Twitter - https://twitter.com/brittainycherry

Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/bcherryauthor

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Spotlight: The Book of Hidden Wonders by Polly Crosby

THE BOOK OF HIDDEN WONDERS (Park Row Books; September 1, 2020; $27.99 USD), a beautifully imaginative story of a father and daughter growing older together, their magical world of stories, and a fantastical treasure hunt that leads to a priceless and shocking family secret.

Romilly Kemp grows up with her eccentric father and her adorable cat Monty within the walls of a dilapidated mansion in the scenic English countryside. As Romilly has trouble fitting in with her classmates, she turns to her reliable furry friend, and as her father struggles to make ends meet, he turns to his art and writes children’s books based on Romilly and Monty. Soon, the tiny Kemp family’s world changes with the unexpected success of The Kemp Treasure Girl books and Romilly is thrust into the spotlight as their home is overrun by tourists looking for a treasure whose clues lie within the illustrations of her father’s stories.

As they both grow older, Romilly and her father begin to grow apart, and Romilly turns to his books to find the connection they have lost. And much to her surprise, the rumors were true – between the pages of The Kemp Treasure Girl stories are the clues that start Romilly on an unforgettable journey that leads her to the heart of a mysterious family secret worth far more than the gold and jewels the tourists on her estate have been searching for.

Excerpt

Prologue 

You probably know me as the Kemp Treasure Girl. Maybe you had the books as a child. Perhaps your dad read them to you in those wilting hours of sleep where books become dreams and dreams become books. Did you look for the treasure, digging in your garden, unsure of what you were searching for?

Mine was an unusual infamy for one so young. Not an all-encompassing, celebrity fame, but one that flattened me into two dimensions and picked out the colour of my eyes and my dress. One that stopped people in the street and made their necks crane back round to gaze at me.

The version of me in the books was my friend. She was always there for me, sharing in my adventures, appearing at the lifting of a page. But children grow up, and as I grew taller and wiser, Romilly Kemp in the book stayed young and innocent, a sickly-sweet imposter who wore my dress and suckled at my father’s love, leeching it away until there was barely any left for me at all.

But then I made a real friend. Someone I could trust: someone who knew intimately my deepest, darkest thoughts even if I dare not acknowledge them myself.

But the beginnings of a friendship are like the beginning of a book: you never know how they will turn out until the very end.

One 

Braër was an ancient farmhouse. A month of living there had still not unearthed a fraction of its secrets.

As I ran from the house, tugging on unfamiliar wellies, I stared up at Braër’s mossy roof and dirty walls. Dad told me that it had probably once been called Brother Farm, but time and the soft Suffolk accent had changed it.

The house itself was long and low and surrounded on three sides by a moat clogged with cowpats and slime. Perched in the water at one end was a gargoyle, with a sinister, winking face. It ogled me as I ran past, its eyes bulbous and staring.

On the south side of the house, down an overgrown path stretched a bumpy meadow filled with sagging grass. It was the perfect camp for my newly invented invisible army, and the edge of my territory. I could go there on my own, making pretend campfires and having sword fights with prickly bushes, knowing that I was safe. I could barely see the house above the long, scratchy grass.

As I set off down the path, a sharp whistle brought me back. Dad was stooped in the back door, his huge shoulders nearly touching the frame on either side. Something small and snow-like was curled up in his open palm.

         ‘What is it?’

         ‘I wanted to draw one, so, why not?’ he said, planting the tiny kitten into my eager arms, and suddenly it was mine. ‘It’s a Siamese,’ he said, wiping his hands on his trousers, leaving a snail’s trail of white fur on the corduroy.

‘Is it a girl or boy?’ I asked, trying to look through the fur at the correct place.  

         ‘A boy.’ Dad crouched down, looking at me as I hugged the kitten. Briefly he reached forward and touched my cheek, and I leant into the roughness of his hand. ‘Yes,’ he said to himself, his voice a growl of love, ‘it’s that look in your eyes, right there that I want to capture.’ He straightened up, his knees creaking. ‘I’m going to need to paint him. And you, of course. I have an idea...’ he trailed off. Frowning at me, he turned on his heel and entered the house, leaving the kitten and I alone.

         I examined his bony body. He was small and soft, and smelt of wee and sawdust.  He had pale creamy fur tinged with chocolate brown at each edge. As I was studying him, he uncurled himself, tipping off my arms and towards the moat below us. I caught him by the tail just in time, tucking him back safely into the crook of my arm. He opened his eyes for the first time and stared at me with big, red-blue irises. He was hot and slightly sticky-damp in my hands, and I loved him immediately.

         I balanced him on my shoulder and made my way up the two flights of stairs to my bedroom, filling the kitten in on the minutiae of our lives.

         ‘Dad lost his university job ages ago, and he’s been trying to work out what to do with himself ever since,’ I said, tickling him under his chin as I ran up the second staircase; the tiny windy one that Dad was forever tripping up on. ‘He says we’ve moved here so he can paint instead of teach art. It’s the summer holidays, and I’m going to be nine soon, and Dad says he might have to give me a painting instead of a real present for my birthday, but that’s okby me because his paintings are like stories made real. He says someone has to make money, or we’ll be living on bread crusts and moat water. Here, this is us.’

I pushed open the three-foot-high door that marked the entrance to my vast bedroom.

The kitten perked up as we climbed through into the huge, bright space. It was the shape of a tent, one of those old-fashioned tents – a huge triangle. And it felt like a tent too: when it was windy outside, the air caught beneath all the beams and vibrated until you felt like there was nothing but thin canvas between you and the sky.

When Dad had first shown me my room, I spent the entire day in there, not daring to believe all this space belonged to me. There were dustsheets over the furniture, and in the corner, a pretty parasol leant against the wall as if the young lady it had belonged to had left it there only moments before. I liked to open it up and walk the length of the room in a sedate manner, pretending I was as posh as the young lady who had owned it last.

I tipped the kitten onto the bed, and studied him. ‘You look like someone important,’ I said, ‘and important people have long names. How about Captain Montgomery of the Second Regiment?’ Montgomery seemed satisfied with his name, and curled up happily on the quilt.

Excerpted from The Book of Hidden Wonders by Polly Crosby, Copyright © 2020 by Polly Crosby. 

Published by Park Row Books

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About the Author

POLLY CROSBY grew up on the Suffolk coast and now lives deep in the Norfolk countryside. Last year, THE BOOK OF HIDDEN WONDERS was awarded runner up in the Bridport Prize’s Peggy Chapman Andrews Award for a First Novel, and Polly also won Curtis Brown Creative’s Yesterday Scholarship, which enabled her to finish the novel. She currently holds the Annabel Abbs Scholarship at the University of East Anglia, where she is studying part time for an MA in Creative Writing whilst working on her second novel.

Connect:

Author Website

Twitter: @WriterPolly

Instagram: @Polly_Crosby

Facebook: @PollyCrosbyAuthor

Goodreads

Cover Reveal: Snowman by AC Netzel

Release Date: November 12

New York real estate developer, Summer Sloane, was just handed a career-changing assignment… persuade three small business owners in the middle of nowhere to sell their properties to make way for a condo complex. Salivating at a juicy promotion, corner office, and impressing her hard-to-please father, she travels to wintry Arid Falls to dazzle the locals and get their signatures on the dotted line.

Little did she know she was stepping into a living, breathing Christmas town crammed with excessively cheerful, fruitcake-loving, over hair-gelled locals who are a few logs short of an open fire—a place even Hallmark would envy.

Her confidence is shaken when she meets charismatic lumberjerk, Nick Snow—the owner of a bait and tackle shop, guardian of a feisty eight-year-old, and her biggest obstacle. 

With advice from her chiropractor-addicted best friend, Val… Summer ignores her growing affection for the town brimming with Christmas crackpots—and her undeniable attraction to the handsome, kind-hearted Lumberjerk… who sends naughty tingles in all the wrong places. 

Can Summer get her signatures and return home with her heart intact, or will the eccentric Christmas town and the man who gets her blood boiling and pulse racing change her mind?

~A little sweet, a little heat, a little offbeat~

Lace-up your snow boots… this is not a clean romance.

Pre-Order Link: Amazon

Meet AC Netzel

I’m an accidental writer, a wife, and mother. I’m basically lazy at housework and discovered that writing books was a great way to get out of it. 

I’m in love with love and want to spread the joy, make you laugh, and swoon. If you’re smiling when you’re done reading my books, I’m a happy author. 

I like to write about women with a little snark, their relationships with the men they love, and the friends they keep. I may seem a little cynical when you first meet me… but the truth is I’m a Happily Ever After Girl.

A little sweet, a little steamy, a little snarky Romance Author.

Connect with AC Netzel: Join Facebook Reader Group - The Casual Room. 

Get inside info on what I’m working on, bonus content, giveaways, and just hang out and chat. This is NEW to me and I’m excited to learn about you (and you learn about me). Click here to join: https://bit.ly/2ANTjNW

Website: http://www.acnetzel.com/

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Spotlight: These Vengeful Hearts by Katherine Laurin

Mean Girls meets Siobhan Vivian’s The List in THESE VENGEFUL HEARTS, an utterly addictive standalone YA debut that follows 16-year-old Ember Williams as she seeks revenge against the Red Court, a secret organization of Heller High’s most elite female students that specializes in granting and requesting favors—and which is responsible for the accident that left her older sister paralyzed.

A thrilling novel about a secret society and the dangers that lie in wait for anyone brave enough to join—perfect for fans of Karen M. McManus, Kara Thomas, and Maureen Johnson.

Whenever something scandalous happens at Heller High, the Red Court is the name on everyone’s lips. Its members deal out social ruin and favors in equal measure, their true identities known only by their leader: the Queen of Hearts.

Ember Williams has seen firsthand the damage the Red Court can do. Now, she’s determined to hold the organization accountable by taking it down from the inside. But will the cost of revenge be more than she’s willing to sacrifice?

Excerpt

chapter one

Of the ways I’d want to start a Monday, finding a car covered in blood was not one of them. The murmurs began just after first period, and fragments of muted conversation led me out to the Heller High parking lot. I was curious to see the spectacle drawing so much attention.

The crush of students flowing out of the school buoyed me along in a tide of bodies. Between gaps in the crowd, I caught glimpses of the word smeared across the car’s windshield in blood red relief.

LIAR 

Gray clouds hung low, casting the macabre tableau in watery light. The chill that slithered up my spine had nothing to do with the brisk October morning. I skirted a group of girls in front of me, recognizing familiar faces from my geometry class, and found myself staring down at the thick crimson streaks. The letters looked nearly dry, and I couldn’t fight the morbid impulse to touch them. A distinct tackiness remained. Was it corn syrup or actual blood? I didn’t care to investigate further. 

There was no proof that the infamous secret organization made up of Heller High’s elite even existed, but this exhibition had all the makings of a Red Court takedown. Whispers from the ring of students surrounding the car reached me and I stepped backward, edging away from notice until I was part of the throng gathered to witness the scene. It didn’t seem like anyone was paying attention to plain old jeans-and-a-tee-every-day Ember Williams. Good. 

Other words, some so ugly I couldn’t look at them for more than a moment, marred the rest of the car’s windowed surfaces. My eyes skipped to the girl huddled beside a tree next to the parking lot. Tears stained with mascara ran in inky rivulets down her cheeks. Two of her friends rallied around her, whispering softly. 

No amount of consolation was going to wash away the stain from this one. More than a few heads from the crowd were turned in her direction. I didn’t know her name, but I had a feeling she’d be remembered as that girl, the one whose car was vandalized with blood. She’d been marked by the words we’d all seen: liar, cheater, tramp. 

Why did the Red Court target her? Who wanted this girl humiliated—to be brought so low in front of the whole school? Or had she been reckless enough to throw in with them and ask for a favor she couldn’t repay? No. The vulnerability in her expression was too raw to fake. This girl was a pawn in the Red Court’s game. The pull to learn more about the group known for dealing out ruin and favors in equal measure went beyond cursory interest. I needed to know more. 

My stomach gave an uncomfortable tug, as if my body was eager to put distance between me and the girl now that I’d seen the damage. A sob shuddered through her, and I tore my gaze away, shifting my feet and noticing a stickiness below my sneakers. A thick coat of red clung to the bottom of my shoes, marking me too. Ugh. I must have stepped in a pool of the blood. I told myself it was fake blood because I couldn’t stomach the alternative. I’d have to go change into my running shoes before next period. 

“Everyone back inside,” a teacher called from the main doors. His tone left no room for argument. 

The mass of students quickly dissolved, moving back into the school. The whispers rose to chatter as theories were passed around like mono on prom night. I trailed behind a couple holding hands as they maneuvered through the crowd. 

“This is the worst one so far,” the girl said. 

Her boyfriend scoffed. “Worse than the video of Brett Shultz’s keg stand? No way. He got kicked off the football team for that. Brett had Division I schools scouting him, too.” 

A rogue Facebook account cropped up just after the school year began with some incriminating footage of the varsity running back at a party in a stunning display of upper body strength and chugging technique. The video made it all the way to Principal McGovern, who reluctantly had him removed from the team, along with the school’s shot at a state title. 

“Do you really think she cheated on her boyfriend?” someone behind me asked. 

“Does it matter?” his friend responded. 

I shook my head in silent reply. It didn’t matter. That was the power of the Red Court; gossip and innuendo were all it took for a star student to fall from grace after accusations of cheating. 

As I passed a small cluster of teachers just inside the doors, I stepped nearer to catch the edges of their hushed exchange. 

“—needs to do something.” 

“The district’s policy on bullying—” 

“I know the policy, but this is beyond ‘bullying.’ It’s the third time since the school year began.” 

This may have been the third public display of destruction in the last six weeks, but it was hardly the third time the Red Court had struck. Their takedowns were legendary and highly visible to ensure maximum exposure, but they also excelled in the small things no one would notice unless they were looking for anomalies. My eyes were wide open. 

For as long as anyone could remember, there have been rumors that the mysterious Red Court was pulling the strings behind the scenes at Heller High School. Its ranks were shrouded in mystery, but its influence was undeniable. Rigged Student Council elections, changed grades, and ruined reputations were all in their repertoire. 

Half of the school treated them like the Boogeyman, the near mythical thing that was out to get you. It was easier to deny their existence than to acknowledge the specter of their presence. Takedowns like the one outside were as likely to be attributed to the Red Court as they were to be pinned on anonymous wannabes posing as the Red Court to allay suspicion. It seemed like the other half of the over two thousand students at Heller made a sport of trying to guess which members of the prom court were legitimate and which ones owed their wins to the Red Court. 

But I knew the truth.

The Red Court was real, and I needed in. 

I pushed my way through the crowded halls to get to my locker. All around me a chorus of voices carried the news of the Red Court’s latest victim, the story spreading faster than I could move. 

My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was probably my best friend. I ducked into an alcove to check my texts. 

Gideon: Did you hear? 

Me: I saw, actually 

Gideon: And? 

Me: It was probably them. Who else would mess around with that much blood? 

Gideon: Ew. Was it real blood? 

I thought of my shoes again and shuddered. 

Me: Who cares? The car looked like the prom scene from Carrie. They got their point across. 

Gideon: I saw Mrs. Martin leading the girl into her office. 

If something like that ever happened to me, I’d want to be put in the hands of the nicest—and most capable—guidance counselor, too. 

Me: Yeah, I saw her outside. 

Gideon: It’s too bad. She looked wrecked. 

We were reaching the point in the conversation at which I was supposed to condemn the monsters who did this. I wasn’t ready to go there with Gideon. Revealing the true depth of my disgust at everything the Red Court stood for was not something I could do over text. Truthfully, my feelings about the Red Court were this gnarled mass inside of me, too big to start talking about at all. 

Me: I gotta run. Lit is calling. 

Gideon: Ok, see you after. 

Before I’d made it halfway across the school, the warning bell rang. I gave up the attempt to change my shoes and turned to book it upstairs so I could suffer through American Lit with a room full of disenchanted sophomores. Oh joy. On an ordinary day, class was a chore to get through. On a day like today, with my mind busy dissecting the latest Red Court takedown, it seemed like my school would live up to its nickname after all. Welcome to Hell High. 

“Ember?” Mr. Carson called my name like a question.

Crap. I must have missed something. I couldn’t seem to concentrate on Mr. Carson’s analysis of Leaves of Grass, which was a shame. Whitman had some serious 19th century game going on. “I sing the body electric” gave me chills the first time I read it. 

“Yes, Mr. Carson?” 

He sighed impatiently. Or perhaps disappointedly. “Do you have any thoughts on the final section?” 

I glanced at my notes from the night before to read the scribbles aloud, but a mocking voice cut in. 

“Whitman’s talking about the physicality of the body and how it is part of the soul or is the soul. Like it’s just as important as the soul, which at the time was elevated above a person’s body in significance.” 

I threw a baleful look toward Chase Merriman—insufferable know-it-all—and was given a smug half-smile in return. He just loved to one-up me. Mr. Carson turned his gaze to me for more input, but my premeditated discussion points wouldn’t add anything to the dialogue. I gave my Lit teacher as unaffected a shrug as I could manage even though a sharp retort branded with Chase’s name tried to claw its way out of my throat. I pushed it down, not deigning to give Chase the satisfaction of knowing he got under my skin. 

Mr. Carson continued droning on, asking for our “thoughts” and “feelings” about the poem. Poor guy didn’t seem to understand his audience. Disengaged was our default setting. It really took some doing to rouse us. Though Whitman’s work was taboo back in the day, most of the students here had probably seen something more risqué in their Instagram feeds over breakfast this morning. 

The bell rang and Mr. Carson’s shoulders slumped. Another day of not making a difference. I almost felt bad for him, but this was his chosen career path. He had to know what he was getting into when he signed up to teach freaking poetry at a public school. 

“Could you hang back a minute, Ember?” Mr. Carson’s words caught me six inches from the door and freedom. 

I smiled tightly. The next period was my off-hour, but Gideon would be waiting. Every moment I wasted in the classroom diminished the chances of running out for my caffeine fix, which were already slim since I had to trek back across the school to change my sneakers first. I would not spend a moment longer than necessary in these shoes. 

“What’s up, Carson?” He was one of those teachers who thought using “Mr.” in his title meant he was uncool, so I dropped it whenever I needed extra brownie points. Not that my brownie point bank account was in that much need. 

“It’s unlike you to space out during an epic poetry discussion. Everything ok?” 

Mr. Carson was probably my favorite teacher, and we had a strong rapport, but I couldn’t tell if his use of “epic” was sincere. I hoped for his sake he was being cheeky. 

“Just having one of those days, you know?” Vague, Ember, be vague. “I’m sure I’ll be back to contributing the only meaningful insight tomorrow,” I added with a rueful smile, which he returned. 

“Sounds like a plan. So you know, I’m always here if you need an ear.” He shut his copy of Leaves of Grass with a snap, effectively ending our conversation. 

“Thanks!” I bolted out the door as fast as I could without seeming rude. 

Running down the steps two at a time, I nearly crashed into Gideon as he waited at the foot of the stairs near the school’s main entry. 

“What’s the rush, Em?” His words came out in a whoosh as he caught me. 

“I need to stop by my locker before we get coffee. Let’s go!” 

“Seriously? There isn’t time for a detour if we’re going to make it back before the hour is up. Let’s just hit the library instead.” 

He was right of course, but I was in desperate need of a large Americano. I wanted to argue, but once Gideon made a decision, there was no way he’d change his mind. If only there was someone as bullheaded as him on the debate team with me. 

Gideon broke down what he’d heard about the takedown this morning as we walked through the halls. I was too busy sulking to add to the commentary. I spun the combination on my locker, wondering how in the world I could explain the bloody shoes to my mom. The door swung open, and I tossed my bag to the ground. I was already toeing off my sneakers when a flash of red caught my eye. 

The Queen of Hearts sat alone on the top shelf of my locker, the coy smile on her face said she knew something I didn’t. If the rumors were to be believed, she did. A Queen of Hearts was the eponymous calling card of the Red Court’s leader, and its presence could only mean one thing: my invitation had finally come.

Excerpted from These Vengeful Hearts by Katherine Laurin, Copyright © 2020 by Katherine Laurin. Published by Inkyard Press. 

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About the Author

Katherine Laurin lives in Colorado with her husband, two sons, and tiny dog. When she's not writing, Katherine enjoys reading, traveling, hiking, and listening to true crime podcasts. These Vengeful Hearts is her first young adult novel.

Connect:

Twitter: @writerkatherine

Instagram: @kl_writer

Author Website: https://katherinelaurin.com/

Audio Spotlight: Alexandra's Riddle by Elisa Keyston

Genre: Romantic Fantasy

Series: Northwest Magic, Book 1

Release date: Jul. 22, 2020

Synopsis: Lose yourself in the magical forests and charming towns of the Pacific Northwest, where picturesque Victorian homes hide mysteries spanning decades, faeries watch from the trees, and romance awaits...for those bold enough to seek it.

Cass is a drifter. When she inherits an old Queen Anne Victorian in rural Oregon from her great-aunt Alexandra, all she wants is to quickly offload the house and move on to bigger and better things. But the residents of the small town have other plans in mind. Her neighbors are anxious for her to help them thwart the plans of a land developer eager to raze Alexandra’s property, while a mysterious girl in the woods needs Cass’s help understanding her own confusing, possibly supernatural abilities.

And though little surprises Cass (thanks to her own magical powers of prediction), she never could have anticipated her newfound feelings for the handsome fourth-grade teacher at the local elementary school — feelings that she thought she’d buried long ago. Cass has sworn off love, but Matthew McCarthy is unlike anyone Cass has ever met. If she isn’t careful, he could learn her secret. Or worse — he just might thaw her frozen heart.

But falling in love could spell danger for both of them. Because it’s not just the human residents of Riddle that have snared Cass in their web. Cass’s presence has caught the attention of the fae that dwell in the woods. They know she has the Sight, and they don’t want to let her go....

Listen to an excerpt from the book here.

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About the Author: Elisa Keyston

Elisa Keyston is an author of sweet romance with hints of magic, intrigue, and suspense. She was the series lead for the first season of The Pioneer Brides of Rattlesnake Ridge, a shared-world historical romance series from Sweet Promise Press, and she’s also the author of the Northwest Magic series from Crimson Fox Publishing, a sweet contemporary romance series with a touch of magic and mystery set in her home state of Oregon. She’s a graduate of Sonoma State University with a degree in history, which inspired her love of historical fiction and modern stories set in historic places. When she’s not writing, Elisa spends most of her time gardening, collecting gnomes and fairies for her backyard, and fawning over her furbabies.

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About the Narrator: Blair Seibert

Blair Seibert is a voice actor in Los Angeles. She provides voiceovers for non-fiction and fiction audio books, TV and radio commercials, online marketing videos, corporate training videos, phone messaging systems and more! Her voice has been called “magical,” soothing and reassuring at the same time. Her voice is warm, emotive, friendly and engaging and portrays a diverse range of characteristics, from corporate to “motherly” to sultry. She is enthusiastic, professional, and easy to work with, and strives to deliver services that exceed her clients' expectations.

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