Blog Tour {Catching Jordan} Guest Post

Release Date: December 1, 2011
Publisher: Sourcebooks Fire
Age Group: Young Adult
Pages: 288
Format: Paperback

 

 

What girl doesn't want to be surrounded by gorgeous jocks day in and day out? Jordan Woods isn't just surrounded by hot guys, though - she leads them as the captain and quarterback on her high school football team. They all see her as one of the guys, and that's just fine. As long as she gets her athletic scholarship to a powerhouse university. But now there's a new guy in town who threatens her starring position on the team... and has her suddenly wishing to be seen as more than just a teammate.

 

Guest Post

 

Untraditional Romance: Catching Jordan puts a great emphasis on the untraditional relationship and character roles Jordan possess in the book. What effects (if any) do these types of relationships have on kids and people today? Is it important for people to be exposed to them?

At the beginning of Catching Jordan, Jordan feels she can’t show romantic interest in boys or the guys on her team won’t take her seriously as the captain and quarterback. If you think about it, it’s a pretty ridiculous notion, and it’s all in Jordan’s mind. The guys on her team care that she’s an awesome football player. They don’t care what she does in her free time unless it interferes with her ability to run for a touchdown from ten yards out.

But in Jordan’s mind, the fear is palpable. It’s very real, and I think that many people have similar, yet different fears, depending on who they are.

For instance, how many people out there are gay, but are too scared to share their true nature with the world?

How many people are interested in dating a person of another race or color, but don’t want to admit it for fear of how other people will react?

In the book, Jordan is an extreme tomboy who starts to fall for the alternate quarterback (Ty) on her team. Some of the guys on the team aren’t happy about it for various reasons. But once Jordan makes up her mind that she likes Ty, the other guys sort of shrug and move on with life.

The same can’t always be said for people entering into a homosexual relationship for the first time. Some people will balk at this. It’s just how things are. But some people will shrug and move on with life. It’s all a matter of exposure.

I think if more and more people begin to explore different kinds of relationships with different kinds of people, I imagine – over time, people will get used it.

The more and more we expose teens, and people of all ages, to new experiences and relationships, people and ideals will evolve.

That’s what I hoped to get across with Catching Jordan. It’s okay to think and act outside the box – everything will be okay. And if it’s not, at least you tried and probably learned something and put yourself out there. That’s cool.

Jordan’s very different. How many girls do you meet who openly like all-you-can-eat buffets and football?

How are you different? Do you hide who you are for fear of how people will respond? How have you worked to move past your fears? Have you encouraged others to put their fears aside?

 

Thanks Miranda for stopping by Ashley Suzanne {the blog} today to share your thoughts on your newest published book Catching Jordan. This definitely sounds like a fun to read. I am one of those girls who actually enjoy all you can eat buffets and football. I mean, c’mon now, what girl doesn’t like to watch a bunch of hot, muscular guys fighting to catch the ball and score a touchdown? =]

 

Meet the Author

 

Website | Twitter | Facebook

 

Buy the Book

 

Amazon | The Book Depository | Barnes & Noble

 

{TOUR} Happy Birthday to Me

 

Today I want to welcome Brian Rowe the author of the Happy Birthday series. He has conjured up this neat guest post of what a character in the series may tweet on a normal day in their life.

 

 

Before recently moving to Reno, Nevada, I spent eight years in Los Angeles, where I studied at Loyola Marymount University and worked in studio development, reality television, and feature film casting. My first love has always been writing fiction, and recently I decided to concentrate on writing books full time. My first book Slate, a women’s fiction novel, tells of a Hollywood casting director who uses her job to audition young men not for a movie, but for sexual gratification. My second book Happy Birthday to Me, a young adult novel, tells of a high school senior who starts aging a whole year of his life with each passing day. My third book Townhouse, a horror novel, tells of a young couple who start to suspect wrongdoing in their North Hollywood apartment complex.

I am currently outlining a sequel to Happy Birthday to Me, as well as a YA suspense novel that takes place in a Nevada ghost town.

 

If your characters (some or all, major or side) had Twitter accounts, what would their convos look like?

 

Cameron: woke up 62 today, having trouble peeing, back hurts, shoulder aches #Ihatebirthdays

Liesel: made it thru another day without using any #magic… congratulate me?

Wesley: counting the days til Carnage and We Need to Talk About Kevin. #FallMovieSeason is officially here!

Kimber: has anyone seen Sandra Bullock in The Proposal?Sooooo cuuuuuuute! I want her life. And I want Ryan Reynolds!!LOL http://d88dfasfdi

Mrs. Gordon: Consider this my first and last “tweet.” Twitter has ruined our nation’s stupid, snotty children. The world is coming to an end. Sincerely, Mrs. Gordon.

Coach Welch: BIG GAME ON FRIDAY NIGHT DON’T MISS OUT BUY YOUR TICKETS TODAY CHRS CHRS CHRS!!!

Hannah: I’m so happy to use this wonderful social marketing tool to advertise the following truth to you all #YouAreGonnaDie

Cam’s Dad: Come in for a free consultation Mondays and Fridays. Click on my website link here: http://www.renoplasticsurgery.com

Cam’s Mom: kissed my own son on the mouth the other day because I thought he was my husband #lifeisnotnormalatthemoment !!!

 

 

Seventeen-year-old Cameron Martin has a huge problem: he’s aging a whole year of his life with each passing day!

High school is hard enough; imagine rapidly aging from seventeen to seventy in a matter of weeks, with no logical explanation, and with prom, graduation, and the state championship basketball game all on the horizon. That’s what happens to Cameron, a popular pretty boy who’s never had to face a day looking anything but perfect.

All Cameron wants to do is go back to normal, but no one, not even the best doctors, can diagnose his condition. When he finds love with a mysterious young woman, however, he realizes his only hope for survival might be with the one person who started his condition in the first place…

Buy it on: Amazon, Barnes & Noble, The Book Depository

 

Enjoy! Thanks Brian for these awesome tweets! So funny :]

Static and Demon Whisper {Interview & Excerpt}

"STATIC is an edgy, dark, and delicious read! Tawny Stokes is a tasty new voice in YA fiction." –Michelle Rowen, national bestselling author

 

During the summer before her senior year, 17 year old band groupie, Salem Vale, has been following her favorite punk rockers, Malice, from gig to gig hoping that one night she might get backstage and meet the sinisterly sexy guys. She’s been saving her virginity for the lead singer Thane.  One fateful evening she gets her wish.  It’s a dream come true.

Except the dream turns to a nightmare when she wakes up in a dumpster, tossed away like yesterday’s trash, with no memory of what happened the night before. She feels strange, different, as if something is trying to get out.  Soon she realizes she’s changing…turning into something not quite human.

Now a hunger deep inside claws at her to feed, to siphon energy from those around her.  Before she can do just that, Trevor, the band’s roadie shows up and stops her from killing.  With his help she learns to control the hunger inside, because he’s just like her.  And in return he wants her help to do one little thing…

Help him kill the members of Malice.

 

Excerpt

 

 

Chapter 1
You belong to me…

I own you…

The hypnotic timbre of Thane’s voice surged through my body making me tingle all over. Like a rush of heroin injected into my vein, soothing me, exciting me, I was completely and utterly hooked.

The bustling crowd in front of the stage swayed back and forth and I swayed with them. I was caught in the movement—the flow of people stirred like a whirlpool to the intoxicating rhythm and razor sharp lyrics of Malice.

Your life’s in my hands…

I’m sucking your soul…

My favorite band for the past year, I’d traveled, with my best friend Chloe, across Idaho and Washington in the past two months to see them play. My mom had been really cool about it, even lending me her car—an old POS, but a vehicle nonetheless—to drive to the shows just as long as I didn’t drive home trashed. I’d attempted it one night, but got scared when I couldn’t keep it on the road, and pulled over at a rest stop. Chloe and I slept in the car.

Thankfully no crazed psycho killer raped and mutilated us. The worst that came at us was a stray dog looking for some scraps. Chloe gave it the rest of her cheeseburger that we’d picked up a MacDonald’s drive thru after the show.

For eight gigs, I’d been entranced by the four member—three guys and one girl—band. My body responded to every aspect of their music. My head pounded to the constant heady thump of the drums, my heart thrashed to every guitar riff, and my thighs clenched with every word lead singer Thane uttered into the microphone.
Some songs he looked like he was making love to the equipment, running his fingers up and down the silver pole, uttering a lover’s words in its ear. I ached and throbbed wishing I could be that thin pole of shiny metal. If only he’d hold me like that, gripping me tightly, running his sweet lips over my face and neck. My eyes nearly rolled back in my head in ecstasy imagining what that would feel like.

That was when Chloe punched me in the arm starling me from my fantasy. “Salem?”

“What?” I grunted, peering at her between strands of black and blond hair hanging in my eyes.

“Do you want some of this?”

I glanced down to see her passing me some vodka. I took the offered bottle and tipped it to my lips swallowing down a good portion. It burned going down, but it was a good burn, telling me I was still sober. Which I needed to be if I was going to complete my mission of getting a back stage pass to meet the band. This was their final gig for the summer in my home city—Boise, Idaho—and I wouldn’t get another chance to offer up my virginity to Thane. I’d been holding onto it just for him.

My mom had always told me that virginity was a gift and the guy better be someone special enough to give it to. I figured Thane was extremely special. I mean, my mom had given hers up to some Rock God in the 80’s, I suspected it was either Keith Richards or Iggy Pop because she had signed pictures of them both thanking her for a stellar night and when she mentioned either one of them she got this little smile on her lips and a devilish sparkle in her eye.

Before I could hand the bottle back to Chloe, the couple next to us bumped into my arm and I nearly dropped it. I turned around to glare at them, but they were so busy making out that they didn’t notice. That was one thing I did notice about Malice gigs, there always seemed to be a lot of couples kissing and groping each other either on the stage floor or in darkened corners peppered around the venue.

In Spokane, when I went to the bathroom at the club the band was playing in, I happened upon two girls making out in one of the stalls. Although I was an equal opportunity snogger, that had thrown me for a loop. I certainly knew some people were gay, I didn’t have an issue with that—I had an uncle who was gay and a friend at school—it was just I’d never seen it so graphically displayed before.

Once I’d finally given the bottle back to Chloe, she wiped the top with the hem of her t-shirt—I guess she didn’t appreciate my spit—and took a pull, then tucked it back into the pocket of her army green jacket that swam on her lanky but scrawny frame.

“Did you figure out how we’re going to score backstage passes yet?”

Shaking my head, I set my attention on the security guards off to one side of the stage, handing passes on strings to a few big-breasted Goth wannabes. At every show I watched similar guards giving passes to similar types of girls. The two times I’d asked for one, they’d looked me up and down, likely taking in my black 10 holed Doc Martens, jeans-a few worn spots at the knees and on the ass—shaggy mop of black and white hair, and Betty Boop t-shirt that didn’t stretch out to a DD cup, or to a C for that matter and disregarded me in the time it took to do the bra calculations.

This time I came armed. I’d shoved my mom’s silicone gel boobs into my bra under my vintage Sex Pistols t-shirt. That made me go from an A cup to a perky B. I was also wearing my extra special pair of worn jeans that made my ass look good. I’d considered also wearing my mom’s butt enhancer panties—she had real body image issues—but decided against it. I didn’t want to look like a complete whore.

“I’m going to ask real nice.” A trickle of sweat ran down the back of my neck. I wiped at it. I really didn’t want to have sweat stains on the back of my t-shirt. The heat in the club was nearly oppressive. Too many bodies packed into too small a room.

Chloe eyed me dubiously, black eyeliner starting to run down her gaunt cheeks. “You did that the last time. And the security dude was a real dickhead about it.”

“That was before I had these.” I stuck out my chest and cupped my boobs.

Chloe shook her head, her short cap of fire-engine red hair swinging. “Do you really think that’s going to work?”

“Duh? That’s all guys understand. Boobs. It’s as if they are actually communicating with them, the way they stare.”

“Well, then, good luck with hypnotizing these security assholes with your perfect B boobs.” Chloe laughed. “You should go soon cuz it sounds like they’re getting ready to wrap up the set.”

She was right. Devon, the girl band member, stepped forward to roll into her bass solo, her pink Tokyopop pigtails bouncing to the rhythm. It was the beginning of their song, Sin City, which they always played second to last. Straightening my shoulders, I made my way, by pushing and shoving, through the pulsating crowd toward the right side of the stage.

When I reached my destination, there were three bimbos standing in front of me giggling and jiggling at the two beefy security guys. It just about made me want to barf. I actually had to put my hand to my mouth just in case I did.

“Excuse me,” I yelled over top one of the girl’s bleached blond head. “Can I get a couple of passes?”
The blond whipped around to glare at me. She had one of those hoops in her nose that made her look like a bull. I wondered if I waved a red flap if she’d charge at me. She looked scary enough to do just that.

One of the security guys looked me up and down. “Sorry. I just ran out.”

I noticed the passes dangling from the all three of the girls’ hands. “They got some.”

“Those were my last three.” He shrugged and went back to ogling one of the three girls who was wearing a black fishnet top and nothing underneath. I think her nipples were even pierced. I managed to spy a glint of sliver when she turned to glare at me too.

Blondie continued to glare at me. “Why don’t you run along little girl? Go play with your Goth Barbie.”

I hated when people assumed I was so young. I was seventeen but short—five feet one—and I got mistaken for fourteen all. The. Time. It didn’t help that I was small too—a whopping size one—with petite delicate features courtesy of my mom who looked like a punk pixie most days with her short spiky black hair and colorful tattoos covering a lot of her tight compact body.

So it didn’t surprise me when my hands began to shake from the anger welling up. I despised confrontation but right now I hated not having a back stage pass even more. I glanced up at the stage and watched as Thane moved around with his long sinuous limbs and silky black hair falling in his perfect pale face making my stomach clench. I had to get backstage no matter what.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” I finally said.

She arched her pierced eyebrow and set one hand on her ample hip. “Excuse me? Who do you think you’re talking to?”

I took in her appearance, noticing she wore cheap purple hair extensions, I could plainly see one of the clips in her hairline at her temple, and her face was adorned with several piercings. She looked like she’d been put together with pins.

I smirked. “Skankenstein?”

The two security guys laughed at that, as did one of her friends but not the one with her nipples poking out.

“You bitch!” she shrieked.

I didn’t expect her to hit me. But she did. Hard. An open hand slap right across my left cheek. It stung like hell. I’d never been slapped before and didn’t realize how badly it could hurt. I think my lip was cut as well because I could taste blood in my mouth. I glanced down at her hand and noticed the solid silver rings on her hand. The bitch had turned them in.

“Hey,” one of the security guards shouted, “If you’re going to fight take it outside.”

A little crowd started to form around us. The scent of blood always got teenagers’ attentions. We were like animals in that regard. I don’t know how many times I’d been in one of those crowds watching as two or three or more people beat the crap out of each other for pathetic and irrelevant reasons.

I could read the lips of the guys standing closest to us as they passed the word on about the bitch fight about to happen. What was it with guys wanting to watch two girls fight? I really hated to be in the middle of one, all eyes watching, ready for the scratching and hair pulling that usually entailed in a girl fight and hoping for blood.

Usually a loner, I didn’t like a lot of attention. Preferring to stick to my three or four good friends, I didn’t much like being in a crowd, except at a gig. But then when I came to a Malice concert, it was always just between me and the band. The crowds never bothered me. I just came to hear the music and watch the sexy guys on the stage—I came for the rock fantasy.

So standing in front of a fuming blond bimbo out for blood in a fighting circle surrounded by twenty or thirty people wasn’t making me feel all that good. Again, I felt like I was going to barf. I didn’t want to fight. I wasn’t big on violence; I didn’t even play fighting games on my DS. But I was not the type of person to back down either. My mom had always taught me to stick up for myself. Although I’m sure she didn’t mean that I should punch the shit out of this girl. Even if I wanted to.

Rubbing my cheek, I tried to appeal to the girl’s reasonable side, assuming she possessed one. “I think for that you should give me your backstage pass. We’ll call it even.”

She laughed. “Not likely.” Then she shoved me hard. I stumbled backwards into the murmuring crowd. Two sets of hands pushed me back into the circle. Hey, thanks guys!

It was obvious I wasn’t going to walk away from this easily. Or at all by the murdering look in the blond’s eyes. But no one ever said being a groupie was easy.

Not sure what to do, I glanced up and locked gazes with Thane. He was standing near the side of the stage looking down at me; the microphone stand gripped tightly, his dark eyes piercing me. Heat blossomed inside of me. I’d never been looked at like that by a guy before. As if he wanted to devour me from the toes up. I put a hand to my stomach where butterflies started to flip flop around like beached fish.

A rush of something I couldn’t name shot through my body. Adrenaline or lust, I didn’t know which, but whatever it was made me feel really good. Powerful even. Sexy. Like one of the female members of the X-Men. Storm maybe, or Rogue, maybe even Dark Phoenix before she went insane and killed everyone.

Whatever it was, I liked it.

Putting my attention back on my blond nemesis, I decided I needed to act if I was going to get out of the situation. Faster than I knew I could move, I reached up and snatched the bull ring from her nose.

She screamed and grabbed her nose with both hands. Blood seeped between her fingers to drip on the floor.

The sound of her skin and cartilage ripping made me shiver. Even above the music I had heard it ring in my ears. I felt bad for liking the sound, but she had it coming.

Her two friends gathered her in the safety of their arms but they both stared at me with a mixture of venom and apprehension. I suspected no one saw that coming. I certainly hadn’t.

In a daze, I looked around me, and noticed that she’d dropped her backstage pass onto the floor. Leaning down I snatched it up and smiled. I finally got my backstage pass.

As I hung it around my neck, my gaze met Thane’s once again. He was singing the last lines of their last song but he was watching me. And he smiled.

I smiled in return.

 

“You’re going to love Static — a deep, dark and sexy ride. This is a creepy and unique addition to the YA paranormal genre that goes a little bit further and gives a little bit more.” – Janet Gurtler, author of I’m Not Her and If I Tell, Sourcebooks Fire.

”STATIC is an edgy, dark, and delicious read! Tawny Stokes is a tasty new voice in YA fiction.” –Michelle Rowen, national bestselling author of Demon Princess series

“Static is an edgy, unique, whirlwind paranormal story with great action and amazing storytelling. This one leads you down a path you won’t forget. Don’t miss it!” – Denise A. Agnew award-winning author of Dark, Deadly Love

 

Awake a year-long coma, where he literally spent in hell, Caden Butcher, 17, developed a special power.  He can speak to demons in their own language.  This new trick helps him take over the family exorcism business, from his broken alcoholic father.  Having to take care of the finances, Caden makes a decent income getting rid of demons.  He’s known as the young whiz-kid exorcist to the stars, obtaining most of his work in Hollywood.  But what others don't know is the exorcisms are all staged with the help of his best buddy, a demon he met in hell named Dantalion (Dan).

When an exorcism goes wrong, Caden discovers the demon inside a teen girl is not the run of the mill malicious entity but an adversary from down under who is hell bent on Caden’s destruction.  The International Order of Exorcists, an organization that tolerates Caden at best because of his respected father, starts their own investigation because of his screw up.

Now with the help of his demon buddy, and Caden’s girlfriend Aspen Spencer, a skilled necromancer, Caden must track down the rogue demon before he can expose Caden as a fraud and destroy everything that matters to him in his life, ending his reign as the one and only Demon Whisperer.

Excerpt

 

Chapter 1

The skin on Alan Bigby’s pock-marked face rippled as if something was alive underneath it. Something big and bad and nasty wanted out to rip something apart. Unnatural black veins popped out on his forehead and temples as he bucked and writhed against the iron shackles chaining him to the chair. The fat rolls of his enormous ass hung over the sides and jiggled with each spasm. If it had been under different circumstance I would’ve laughed at that.

“I’m going to rip out your innards, Butcher, and eat them raw,” he spat at me.

Then he really did spit. Viscous green phlegm spewed from between his thin cracked lips and landed on the toe of my black Doc Marten. Disgusted, I shook it off, and then dug into the beat-up, brown leather bag I had slung over my shoulder and across my chest for the holy water. It was time to get busy. No more messing around. I had to exorcise this guy and be done with it. The money from this one would pay the rent for the condo my dad and I had. Groceries too for a few months.

“Not today, you’re not,” I said as I unscrewed the sliver cap on the bottle of holy water.

I glanced over at Eleanor Bigby standing in the corner wide-eyed, wringing her hands as she watched in horror as her husband twisted and pulled at the restraints I had put on him. He was bound to a metal chair in the middle of a pentagram that I’d inscribed in blessed chalk on the blond hardwood floor of their big expensive house overlooking the Hollywood Hills. I could see the white sign out the front bay windows.

She probably had no idea that when she called the Butchers to exorcize the demon possessing her husband that it would look like this. She probably thought watching her fat husband crab-walk across the ceiling of their bedroom was disturbing enough.

“Dude, is he going to hurt himself?”

I glanced over my shoulder at the guy holding the camera trained on Alan Bigby. He had shaggy blond hair and a freshly clipped soul patch that I nearly envied. Except I didn’t like him much. He was a dick with too much time and money on his hands.

“For the last time, dude, shut up. I’m the only one supposed to be talking,” I answered, forgetting that the exorcism was being televised.

Trey Summers was an up-and-coming film maker, touted to be the next Tarantino, but I thought he was a hack. He’d directed one lousy music video for some useless pop star and voila he was an insta-star. I thought he was a talentless hack with delusions of grandeur and of getting a lot of ass. Although he did appear to be getting quite a bit by the looks of the two chicks he’d come to the house with.

The red-head smiled at me around the little white straw she had in her mouth. She was enjoying that drink just a bit too much.

I didn’t smile back. It kind of made my stomach churn that she’d come to an exorcism for a good time. The fact that the house was full of people, watching, waiting, while drinking and enjoying finger food passed out by waiters in tuxes, made me down right nauseous. Why in hell did I hang out with these people? Why did I ever agree to this being put on TV? Ten thousand, that was why.

Seven in my pocket, well me and my dad’s pockets, and three to the International Order of Exorcists. Because they were going to be some pissed that I agreed to the recording. It was against the order’s mandates to involve the media in what we did. The world knew we, meaning exorcists, existed but it was in keeping the peace to keep our business on the down low. But since I’d been crowned the exorcist to the stars, I figured it was good publicity for everyone involved. I was hoping the three grand would appease the more militant members of the I.O. into letting me off with a warning.

I returned my attention to Alan, who was still struggling against his restraints and mumbling under his breath. He was speaking Latin. I recognized the dialect but not the particular words. As far as I knew, it was probably a bunch of gibberish. A bunch of scary sounding Latin words strung together nonsensically to sound menacing and ominous. It was par for the course. Every exorcism was the same. Demons were so predictable.

I took off my black wool cap, shoved it into my bag, and then ran a hand through my short mess of brown hair. I was starting to sweat a little. It wasn’t the exorcism that had me sweating it was the scrutiny from the masses of people watching. I had to be careful with this one. More cautious than I usually was in situations like these.

I took a step toward the pentagram, making the sign of the cross with the bottle of holy water. It splattered everywhere. Drops landed on Alan Bigby. Smoke curled up from blackened spots on the back of his hands, and two pinpoints on his cheek. I winced as the demon inside writhed from the pain. Holy water was like acid to them.

“Dues, et Pater Domini nostril jesu Christi…”

I started the exorcism, incanting the Rituale Romanum, in the original Latin. I’d done the ritual so many times before it was like reciting Jingle Bells at Christmas time. Cake, man. Cake. Although this time, like all the other times, I changed a few words. The last thing I wanted to do was send the demon back to hell. It just had to look like I did.

If I did accidentally send him back, Dan would be so pissed at me. And I really didn’t want him mad. He was a bastard when he was angry. I knew that well. I still had the scar on my chin from his last temper tantrum.

As I continued to say the verse, I recapped the holy water and slid it back into my bag. I figured I’d inflicted enough pain for the crowd’s enjoyment. I didn’t want to damage Alan Bigby anymore than he already had been. His wrists looked pretty raw from rubbing against the iron handcuffs. But he’d heal. Besides, Alan Bigby was a dick. He screwed around on his wife and he bilked two of his business partners for millions. I’d done my research on the guy. My marks always had certain traits—they were rich, influential and total assholes. People who had it coming to them in all kinds of ways.

Karma was definitely a bitch.

Exorcisms were never all that easy on the possessed. Some demons really messed around with their hosts. Inflicting all kinds of horrors on their bodies and minds. I’d seen one demon tear the fingernails off an eight year old girl just for fun. That image still made my gut roil. Luckily, Dan was cool. He’d never do that. Deep down he was a decent shit for a demon. Besides, that was part of our deal. No permanent physical or emotional damage.

For show, I thrust my hand out toward Alan and said the words even louder, letting the pitch of my voice rise higher and higher over the din of the murmuring crowd. They were leaning in, eager for more. I glanced around me and took in all the awestruck faces. They were mesmerized, enchanted by the scene. By my power.

Man, did I have an enormous ego. My dad was right. It was going to get me into trouble one of these days. Hopefully not today.

As I neared the end of the ritual, Alan twitched and convulsed, his eyes rolling back in his sockets. That got a gasp or two from the crowd. The demon was really putting on a show now. Undulating like rippling water beneath Alan’s pale skin. At one point, it looked like it he was going to punch a hole through Alan’s midsection. Mrs. Bigby cried out, putting a shaky hand to her mouth. I hated doing this to her, she was a decent lady, she just managed to marry a dickwad, but hell, a guy had to make a living.

“Qui cum Patre et eodem spiritu sancto vivit et eregnat Deus…”

I could feel Trey pressing in behind me with his camera, like a media happy vulture. I wanted to whip around and knock the guy once or twice in the face. He had no manners. And he had no understanding about personal space. Because he was definitely invading mine.

But I didn’t need to do anything, because the demon inside Alan took that moment to focus on Trey.

“Trey Summers, you lecherous son-of-a-bitch.”

It was funny hearing those words with Alan’s voice. Especially since the two men were business partners. Alan was funding Trey’s first movie. Which after tonight, I imagined was going to be in the dumper. I mean, who would want their exorcism broadcasted to millions on YouTube. Alan really wasn’t looking his best right now. No one looked good with a demon inside them.

I glanced behind me and saw Trey’s face pale. I had to bite down on my tongue to stifle the laugh that wanted to burst out. Not that I enjoyed wallowing in other people’s misery, it’s just that his misery was fair game.

“Have I ever told you how much of a loser I think you are, Trey? You suck.”

Trey looked around, his cheeks reddening. “That’s just the demon talking, right?” He looked at me, pleading in his gaze. “Right?”

I let him suffer for a few more moments while I finished the incantation. “Amen.” I signed the cross in the air.
Alan’s body made one more desperate back breaking spasm, and then slumped down into the chair, his head hanging slack, his mouth open, drool dribbling down his double chins.

“Yeah, Trey, it was the demon talking.” I could hear his sigh of relief. I crossed the lines of the pentagram to unlock Alan’s wrists. “But guess where he gets his material from.” I tapped my finger against Alan’s forehead.

That roused Alan from his stupor and he blinked up at me, spittle coating his chin. Wide-eyed, he looked around, taking in the spectacle that was his exorcism. He would’ve had no idea what was going on. The last thing he likely remembered was whatever he’d been doing twenty four hours ago before he’d become possessed. Everything else would be a blank. Although some demons allowed their hosts to be aware of what was going on. It was the biggest mindfuck of all to watch yourself do horrible unimaginable things and be unable to stop.

I knew Dan kept his hosts dumb. It was also part of our bargain.

I unlocked the cuffs and helped Alan to his feet. He stared at me, his dark bushy eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Who the hell are you?”

“Caden Butcher, sir.”

“The exorcist?”

I nodded.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Saving your soul, sir.”

Mrs. Bigby took that moment to rush to her husband’s aid. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his doughy cheek. “Oh Alan, I was so scared.”

He didn’t immediately respond to his wife, but continued to gape around the room as more people started to crush in on him, wanting to welcome him back, or take pictures. I saw flashes out of the corner of my eye.

“Who are these people?” Alan sputtered. “Someone tell me what the hell is happening here?”

I put my hand on his big shoulder, preparing him for my big speech. I one I’d practiced like a hundred times before in front of a mirror. Doing exorcisms in Hollywood was very much like acting. “Alan Bigby, you were possessed by a level one demon and I performed an exorcism on you to banish the demon back to hell.”

He looked to his wife for confirmation. She nodded vigorously, as she continued to cling to him and kiss his cheeks. “I was so scared, Alan. You were actually crawling up the walls in the bedroom.”

He looked back at me. “You’re serious?”

“Completely.”

Shaking his head, his gaze settled on Trey who was still holding the camera on his shoulder. His face darkened. “Are you taping this?”

Trey licked his lips nervously. “Ah, yeah, I am, Alan, but it’ll be really-,”

Alan shrugged off his wife’s hands and rushed toward Trey. “Turn that fucking thing off you asshole!”

Smiling, I got the hell out of the way. Good thing I got my fee upfront. There was no way in hell Alan Bigby, up-and-coming producer, was going to pay me for making him look like an ass on TV.

Interview

 

How would you describe Demon Whisperer and Static?

 

Dark, dangerous, original thrill rides that you won't be able to put down.

 

Which of your characters do you feel you relate to the most and why?

 

Probably Salem from Static, because of her love of music and her stubborn pigheadedness to do things on her own.

 

Were you a reader in your teen years and if so, who was your favorite author?

 

Big time reader.  Stephen King was my main source of literature.  Probably explains a thing a two about me.

 

What one 2012 release are you most looking forward to reading next year?

 

Fear: A Gone Novel by Michael Grant, I LOVE this dystopian series.  So good.

Are you currently in the process of writing a sequel or newer book?

 

I am writing the next Caden Butcher book, and working on something completely new, something really high-concept and exciting. Can't wait to talk about it.

 

 

Tawny Stokes has always been a writer. From an early age, she’d spin tales of serial killers in love, vampires taking over the world, and sometimes about fluffy bunnies turned bunnicidal maniacs. An honour student in high school, with a penchant for math and English, you’d never know it by the foot high blue Mohawk and Doc Martens, which often got her into trouble. No longer a Mohawk wearer, Tawny still enjoys old school punk rock, trance, zombie movies, teen horror films, and fluffy bunnies. She lives in Canada with her fantastical daughter, two cats, and spends most of her time creating new stories for teens.

Tawny also writes adult paranormal/urban fantasy fiction under the name Vivi Anna, and is an aspiring screenwriter.

Website | Facebook | Twitter

 

 

Happy Reading!

Ashley Suzanne

Demonsoul {Excerpt & Guest Post}

The people I call family (and I use that term loosely by the way) aren’t the Walton’s by any means. For starters the whole lot of them are demons. Myself included. Who knew right? It’s so bizarre I don’t even believe it. Or want to believe it. Except, I don’t have a choice. And I haven’t since the day I was plucked from my mother’s loins. I remember everything as if it was yesterday, and I wish I didn’t. Let’s call it a gift of sorts, my memory, because it’s the only that has kept me alive all this time. Why you ask?

I have a soul.

That’s right, yours truly, Daria Pigwidgeon (a name I gave myself at an early age from a show on MTV my brothers used to watch. And it’s much preferred over scum, which was used often by my parents. Scum Pigwidgeon, not very catchy) is a proud member of her very own soul. And with that came many years of taking care of myself.

Unlike the filthy bottom feeders that are my family, I’m the first one born with a clean viable human soul. The first in generations really. You’d think it’d be a good thing, something to treasure even. Only it’s something that has left me cursed.
And very far from treasured.

The first book in a young adult urban paranormal fantasy trilogy begins when Daria decides to flee her home in Bakersfield, California. With no clear plan she picks a random place, and heads for the cooler climate of upstate New York. Feeling like she finally has a fresh start she takes her life into her own hands, free of threats. Her first adventure, is in high school, as the new girl.

Making friends and vying for normalcy while staying true to herself to NOT use her demon gifted abilities, life is harder than ever. Just when she thinks she might be finding an unexpected love in the boy next door, new comers arrive in town. Her family. The ones she ran away from in the first place. Now she must face what it means to be what she is. A demon with a soul. Except, she's not the only one keeping secrets. And it'll shock her to her core when she finds out who and why.

Book Trailer

Get the book at Amazon, Smashwords, Barnes and Noble

 

Excerpt

 

It’s cold, hard, and damp this slab I lay on that somehow passes itself off as a mattress. Not that I’m complaining, after all this is much better than the floor I’m normally accustomed too. You’d think I’d be pleased to finally have something of my own to rest on at night, but for reasons that constantly give me the chills, I don’t trust it.

Not unlike the witch feeding Hansel and Gretel before she plans to eat them. I just know my mother has her own reasons for finally gracing me with a mattress. Granted, it’s barely an inch off the ground and is so worn I can still feel the concrete below me, but still. Something is not right. Which is why, as the rest of my family lay sleeping a deep slumber courtesy of one sleeping draft cleverly planted by yours truly in this evening’s soup, I’m planning my escape.

I’m sure you’re wondering why a girl would drug her family members and plan on creeping out like a bad dream in the middle of the night. Well, let me tell you. The people I call family (and I use that term loosely by the way) aren’t the Walton’s by any means. For starters the all of them are demons.

Myself included.

Who knew right? It’s so bizarre I don’t even believe it. Or want to believe it. I don’t have a choice. And I haven’t since the day I was plucked from my mother’s loins. I remember everything as if it was yesterday, and I wish I didn’t. Let’s call it a gift of sorts, my memory, because it’s the only that has kept me alive all this time. Why you ask?

I have a soul.

That’s right, yours truly, Daria Pigwidgeon (a name I gave myself at an early age from a show on MTV my brothers used to watch. And it’s much preferred over scum, which was used often by my parents. Scum Pigwidgeon, not very catchy) is a proud member of her very own soul. And with that came many years of taking care of myself. Unlike the filthy bottom feeders that are my family, I’m the first one born with a clean viable human soul, the first in generations. You’d think it’d be a good thing, something to treasure even. Only it’s something that has left me cursed.

And very far from treasured.

It’s a good thing my family is gifted with their demon heritage though. Each one possesses their very own unique ability, myself included. Coincidentally, it’s also the thing that has kept me alive all these years. Before the very first time opening my eyes, I’ve been more than conscious of my surroundings. Alert, if you will. So much so, that I could feel the distain in my mother’s body as she took me in her arms. It was the only time she held me.

Not that I mind, because really, she’s rather frost bitten. I don’t just mean a cold person. I mean she can suck the heat out of the room at will. I’ve suffered my fair share of summer nights feeling like I might actually get frost bite. That was the first time she ever really threatened my life. Not the last unfortunately, but it was the last time I let anyone get close enough to try.

Besides being the smartest toddler, I had a knack of making people forget about me. And not from my winning attitude either. I’m not sure of the exact name for such a thing, mostly because my family never shared personal information. But I’ve been calling it a memory block for some time now. In short, I can cause a person (or demon) to forget they just saw me at will. Which is pretty dang handy, what with my own mother trying to off me.

And that isn’t even the best part. What’s more you ask? Well, courtesy of my beautiful soul ( I think anyways, again I can’t really ask about these things) if I’m threatened in any way I send of a sort of electrical surge. I guess you can say if someone touches me without permission, I zap them. Only if my memory block doesn’t work that is. Which isn’t very often, not that I’m boasting, I’m just that confidant.

Although, lately I’ve noticed that it’s getting harder to use my gift on my family. Maybe they are getting a resistance to it since I use it on them all the time, kind of like people who pop Tylenol all the time for a headache and it stops working eventually.

Just one more reason for me to get the heck out of dodge.

Finally pulling myself up into a sitting position, I gaze around the place that has been an impromptu bedroom the last sixteen years of my life. Technically, my mother was hoping for it to be more of a dungeon when she tossed my down the basement stairs. I’m sure she hoped to locked me in and throw away the key, but then I made her forget. See what I mean, my gift (curse) totally rocks.

As basements go, this one isn’t so bad. A little moldy and damp sure, but it’s better than sleeping outside. Plus, I’ve kept it relatively clean and looked after. I spy the magazine cutouts that grace the walls, and pride myself that I managed to swipe my sister’s teen mags. Not that she would remember me taking them, but still. For such a simple thing, I’m glad I made the best of my room. In a strange way, I know I’ll kind of miss this. Not the having to hide and praying no one remembers where I dwell, but a space that is mine.

See, I do have a soul, it makes me attached.

Praying that I’ll have that wherever I go, I stop myself from feeling guilt over leaving. Getting to my feet, I don’t bother stretching my back to work out the kinks from lying on the mattress on the floor for so long. I got over that years ago, thick skinned that is me. Not wanting to wait longer than I already have, I quickly pull up my waste length pitch black hair and knot it into a bun. After jerking it tight enough to bring tears to my eyes, I’m satisfied it won’t fall out. Then with a sense of urgency I rush out from behind the stairs, which are on the other side of my little cubby. I reach for my backpack that carries the essentials, that rests at the base as I move not bothering to stop.

Tossing it over one shoulder, I can’t resist the need to hunch over as I creep up the stairs. Taking this route more often than not, I know every creak and wobble. I take care with them now. I ease upward like its second nature, only stopping when I finally reach the door. Knowing everyone is out like a light, doesn’t make me rush out the door without another thought. If anything, it makes me overly cautious. A habit, that has kept me alive.

Grasping the brass handle, I make sure I hold it tight enough so it doesn’t rattle. Then I brace myself as I slowly turn it to the left. I can feel the jerks as the knob shifts itself to release the door and I hold my breath the entire time. When the door finally bounces free in my grasp, I let out my breath, grateful that I know the doors habits to keep it quiet. Easing the door outward, I keep my eyes alert for any movement and sound around me.

The hallway is still and silent.

Rather than feeling relieved, I force myself to be more alert as I slowly step out of the door. Clinging the backpack to my side as I do. Once I’m safely out in the open space of the hall, I turn back to the door and again grasp the handle tight enough to keep it quiet as I turn it to the right. Easing it back, I push it closed and start the agonizing process of spinning the knob back into place. I have to remember to keep the door pulled outward to me, otherwise the knob with snap in place and alert anyone. So I spin the knob more than I should, and give it a couple yanks before releasing it.

Stepping back, I eye the door like it’s about to give me away at any moment. When it doesn’t, I shift my pack so that it’s over my other shoulder and nestled against my back and not my side. Straitening, I turn to the left and gaze down the hallway to the bright hope that’s at the end of it.

The front door.

Wanting nothing more than to dash for it and yank it open so I can run through the barrier and never stop, I allow myself a quick pace as I move towards it. The house that has been my home, is dark and silent of the wee hours of early morning (or maybe late night, not quite sure) and I’m afraid if I listen close enough I can hear my family sleeping on the floor above me. It doesn’t make me pause to change my mind though. If anything, it makes me walk into a fast tip toeing jog to the door.

Reaching the end of the hall, I come to a stop and like I’m at a four way road stop, I look both ways before crossing. In the open space between the hall and door, I feel too vulnerable. Now I allow myself to dash for the door, and I can’t stop the way my legs jerk at the conflicting movement. Knowing there aren’t any particulars to this door, I don’t pause in testing the knob before I pull it open with a yank. I salivate in the hot rush of air that rushes at me, even though I’m covered in an instant sweat, it still feels like freedom to me.

Not looking back, I step over the threshold.

I’m free.

 

 

Guest Post

 

Hi Ashley, thank you for hosting me today! While writing Demonsoul, I couldn’t help thinking about who I’d cast as the roles for the characters if (This is a big IF, but I’m still hopeful) it were to ever become a movie. Here is who I see for the leads:

Daria Pigwidgeon – Nina Dobrev: I love the character she plays on The Vampire Diaries, and I can definitely see her as Daria. She easily comes across as someone that is vulnerable but yet also very strong.

Chance Harris – Adam Gregory: When I was visualizing Chance during the outline for Demonsoul, I automatically saw him. His character from the 90210 remake is a memorable one indeed, and I just knew he’d be perfect. He comes across as someone that can be the funny guy with not a care at all, but also serious when it’s needed.

Ashley Harris – Dianna Agron: Her character came easy to see as well. Just like her role in Glee, my character for Ashley is also a lighthearted girl who would do anything for her friends. Plus she is just so adorable!

Toby Reed – Craig Horner: In Demonsoul, Toby is described as someone who could be a cross between Harry Potter and the Hulk. It took me a while to find someone that fit to those criteria, but his role in Legend of the Seeker sold me. I can definitely see him as Toby, with glasses anyway.

Riana – Emmanuelle chriqui: In Demonsoul, Riana is described as a copy of Daria but a little older. Emmanuelle definitely looks like Nina, and I can really see them as sisters. There is also that Emmanuelle has that air about her. She could pull off being a bit of a mystery.

Logan & Landon – Jake Abel: Ah the twins! It took me forever to find someone that fits to them, but I think Jake would work. He really looks like someone that would not be so easily understood, and that is the twins through and through. And he looks like he is so full of himself and with good reason!

So what do you think readers? Do you see anyone in particular when you’re reading or do you like to create the visual on your own? Thanks again Ashley!

{I definitely agree with the male roles – sexy! :]}

 

About the Author…

Amy Lunderman is a stay at home mom, with a passion to write paranormal romantic thriller's whether they be adult or young adult. She lives in Rhode Island with her fiancé and their beautiful daughter. She enjoys writing, reading, being a mom, watching movies and television, having dance party, youtube, and status updates on facebook.

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Ashley Suzanne

Watching Over Me {Excerpt}

Ann-Marie King is a freelance writer and the author of The Haunted Heart Trilogy (Watching Over Me, Protecting Me, and Guiding Me).

Book One of The Haunted Heart Trilogy

 

“In the ghost town of Beckford, what you don’t know can haunt you…”

Jayden Morgan has no memory of her haunted past. All she wants is a normal life. But when she goes to stay by her estranged grandmother in the small spirit-town of Beckford, strange things begin to happen:

1. She meets and falls irrevocably in love with Trey, a gorgeous stranger, unaware that he’s a ghost;

2. She learns the mystery of the town’s haunted high school may have a deadly connection to her missing memory; and

3. Trey tells her he’d been sent to watch over her…but can she really trust him?

 

 

Excerpt

 

 

Sunday, September 13

11:43 a.m.

His restless spirit roamed the old abandoned schoolhouse on 143 North Chancery Lane. Anger swept through the once promising student like a deadly tornado, his ghostly energies directed towards the girl. Tormented, the bodiless soul swooned through the empty hall flicking the light switches. Raging. Furious. Feeling lost. His fury shuddered every corner of the structure. There would be no calm inside the old schoolhouse or in the town of Beckford until he reached her. Only then would his soul rest in peace.

11:43 a.m.

Jayden Morgan stumbled as she got out of the cab on North Beckly Street. Panic like she’d never known before welled inside her throat. What she felt was indescribable. She had some nerve coming back to the town of Beckford–a place so tiny it barely existed on the map. She knew she made the right decision to flee from her stepdad, however, sadly leaving her mother behind. Something bad happened. She didn’t remember what it was, but she had to disappear for a while before it was too late.

“You okay, missy?” the white bearded cab driver croaked, disturbing her thoughts, as he called out to her from the window after she’d closed the passenger side door. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Um…yeah, I’m good. Thanks,” she lied quietly, slinging her leather backpack over her shoulder. A flicker of apprehension coursed through her veins as she proceeded to the curb. She stopped and stared blankly at the number on the door in front of her. Number 242. Yep, that’s the house. But for some reason it looked different than she’d remembered. Then again, she had difficult remembering a lot during the past week.

The old Victorian-built house with the peeling yellow paint and oddly decorated green porch belonged to Mrs. Rae Morgan, her estranged grandmother on her father’s side. The only black relative she knew.

Jayden had called her out of the blue last night and told her tearfully, she had no place else to go. They weren’t that close, thus she only remembered staying there once a long time ago. Not sure when. Everything was a blur since Jayden’s…incident. She’d stayed in Beckford once with her mom, when they were evicted from their home in Buffalo. That was another story. But that’s all she remembered. She couldn’t recall what year she’d stayed in Beckford.

She had developed selective amnesia. A silent curse.

Jayden looked around her. The quiet street appeared darkened by the overcast, grey sky.

This place looks like a ghost town.

Half of the homes were boarded up and looked abandoned. Debris littered the other side of the street. There were no cars parked on the curbs. She sucked in a deep breath and zipped up her black and pink hoodie to shield her chest from the autumn chill in the air.

What am I doing here? How could I have forgotten how creepy this town was?

“Sure you got the right place?” the cab driver yelled out to her—as if offering her a last call to get back in the cab and drive to some place more—alive.

“Nobody in his right mind asked to be taken to the ghost town of Beckford,” he had joked to her earlier on their ride from the St. Catharines' bus depot. “It’s a town full of ghosts acting like they’re alive and a bunch of quack seers who can’t tell the living from the dead—imagine that! Can’t believe people still live in that town.” He shook his head at the recollection.

“This ol’ town had a booming railroad industry back in the day. It was settled by loyalists in the 1800s—now it’s all rubble and dust. They’re trying to build it back up and construct homes and developments and entice people to buy cheap new homes here 'cause it’s close to the border,” he had tsked. “Anything for money.” He also gave her a little rundown of the town’s history to Jayden’s surprise. This part of Ontario was a haven for escaped African American slaves also in the 1800s. The famous underground railway had a stop right in St. Catharines, half hour from Beckford. The town had tons of old pulled up tracks and abandoned train stations and buildings. Jayden guessed he was bored and wanted to keep himself awake after a long shift on the job.

“Why can’t you just go up to the ghost and tell ‘em they're dead and to go away?” Jayden had asked him while they drove through the countryside to town.

“You crazy?” he had called out to her, eyeing her through the rearview mirror as if she lost her head. “You can never tell somebody they’re dead if they don’t already know it. Remember that! Or that’ll be the last thing you do.”

Happy Reading!

Ashley Suzanne

Book Tour : Simple Secrets

Simple Secrets (The Harmony Series, #1) by Nancy Mehl
320 pages

Can graphic designer Gracie Temple have it all: the big city life and a job at a successful advertising firm? Just when she feels life coming together she receives an unknown uncle’s inheritance in a quiet Kansas Mennonite community. The house comes with dark legacy and a cast of interesting neighbors, including farmer Sam Goodrich. Can Gracie shake off the dust of this town or will its secret charms pull her in to stay?

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Book Tour : One Bloody Thing After Another

One Bloody Thing After Another by Joey Comedu
160 pages

Jackie has a map of the city on the wall of her bedroom, with a green pin for each of her trees. She has a first-kiss tree and a broken-arm tree. She ...more Jackie has a map of the city on the wall of her bedroom, with a green pin for each of her trees. She has a first-kiss tree and a broken-arm tree. She has a car-accident tree. There is a tree at the hospital where Jackie’s mother passed away into the long good night. When one of them gets cut down, Jackie doesn't know what to do but she doesn't let that stop her. She picks up the biggest rock she can carry and puts it through the window of a car. Smash. She intends to leave before the police arrive, but they're early.

Ann is Jackie’s best friend, but she’s got problems of her own. Her mother is chained up in the basement. How do you bring that up in casual conversation? "Oh, sorry I've been so distant, Jackie. My mother has more teeth than she’s supposed to, and she won't eat anything that’s already dead." Ann and her sister Margaret don't have much of a choice here. Their mother needs to be fed. It isn't easy but this is family. It’s not supposed to be easy. It'll be okay as long as Margaret and Ann still have each other.

Add in a cantankerous old man, his powerfully stupid dog, a headless ghost, a lesbian crush and a few unsettling visits from Jackie’s own dead mother, and you'll find that One Bloody Thing After Another is a different sort of horror novel from the ones you're used to. It’s as sad and funny as it is frightening, and it is as much about the way families rely on each other as it is about blood being drooled on the carpet. Though, to be honest, there is a lot of blood being drooled on the carpet

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Book Tour : Pieces of Happily Ever After

Pieces of Happily Ever After by Irene Zutell
296 pages

What happens after “happily ever after”? Alice Hirsh is about to find out…


Alice, a former New Yorker who thought she’d never feel ...more What happens after “happily ever after”? Alice Hirsh is about to find out…

Alice, a former New Yorker who thought she’d never feel at home in the bizarre world of the San Fernando Valley, was adapting, raising her 5-year-old daughter while trying to keep her job and make her new house a home. When her attorney husband lands a trophy client – box-office queen Rose Maris – things begin to look up. Then Alex starts working late – a lot. He crunches his paunch into a six-pack and trades his Gap ensembles for Armani everything.


Soon, Rose and Alex’s affair blazes in the tabloids and Alice is plunged into trash-gossip hell. Her life crumbles around her as she navigates her newly single self through suburban LA --a place rife with porn stars, psycho soccer moms and nutty neighbors.


Is there a chance to wrest Alex from the Sexiest Woman Alive? And if so... would Alice want him back? And what about George--her college sweatheart? Or Johnny, a walking charm-bomb paparazzo? As Alice inventories the rubble of her life, she desperately searches for her bearings and is forced to ask herself what she really wants from life, love and herself.

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