tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40919862654579262492024-03-13T03:02:35.831-07:00Twilight ReaderThis blog is for reviewing books I read from my shelves, the mail or my local library.Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.comBlogger651125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-59578717660951944822023-06-26T12:36:00.001-07:002023-06-26T12:36:40.003-07:00Orchid Child Paperback by Victoria Costello DEBUT!<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white; color: #08a4ab; font-family: "Sorts Mill Goudy"; margin: 20px 0px 0px; position: relative;">Orchid Child Paperback by Victoria Costello DEBUT!</h3><div class="post-header" style="background-color: white; color: #08a4ab; font-family: "Sorts Mill Goudy"; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.6; margin: 0px 0px 1em;"><div class="post-header-line-1"></div></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-6856656659384970399" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: white; color: #08a4ab; font-family: "Sorts Mill Goudy"; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 700px;"><blockquote class="" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;" type="cite"><div class=""><div class="" dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: georgia, serif;"><span class="" id="m_-6404926085320956447m_-5423541387492033314m_-251673494116145414m_-3905147175777805892gmail-docs-internal-guid-2f7f909c-7fff-a327-5ca2-b53c7e020526"><div class="" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="" style="border: none; clear: left; display: inline-block; float: left; height: 294px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; overflow: hidden; width: 196px;"><img class="" height="294" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/A-1UTP7gIDh4hMbb_ibKz9vDpRGliO6LLeKX996mtY3BleixWeOCkLW8PWizN2JrRgfHzk5NsmoWStw_l8uqPgUdUWjBWBrkhXJlYRQBWR_8B5Axq8TTVBj8iTfUTRoaMUSrwM_E3OFK58jFTPXdrRPU5jhM6ATaHutEt04m9dQa-e0kM6VLyCeURrj9uQ" style="margin-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px;" width="196" /></span><span class="" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the wake of a scandalous affair, Kate’s budding career in neuroscience crashes. Suddenly, she's transported into a life that her grandmother predicted for her—raising her schizoaffective nephew and embracing an unknown destiny to save their family. </span> </div></span></div></div></div></blockquote><blockquote class="" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;" type="cite"><div class=""><div class="" dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: georgia, serif;"><span class="" id="m_-6404926085320956447m_-5423541387492033314m_-251673494116145414m_-3905147175777805892gmail-docs-internal-guid-2f7f909c-7fff-a327-5ca2-b53c7e020526"><div class="" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Refusing to accept that this fate is "unfortunate," Kate takes a job studying a neurodiversity phenomenon in their family’s homeland in West Ireland. The plan: get Kate’s career back on track and give Teague a chance at a normal life. However, this only becomes more complicated when a local Druid chief notices Teague's gift of second sight when the voices of his ancestors start speaking to him. Will Kate be able to accept the limits of science and the power of their ancestral ties, or will she let modern practices interfere with their family’s ancient magic and doom them both?</span></div><br class="" /><div class="" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span class="" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></div><br class="" /><div class="" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Victoria Costello’s debut novel is a riveting story of healing f</span><span class="" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">amilial</span><span class="" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> pain, mythical secrets, and destiny. Costello has previously authored and coauthored six popular nonfiction books for Penguin, Hazelden, and Adams Media. Using her work in </span><span class="" style="color: #0f1111; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">psychology and mental wellness to inspire her past titles, her writing is elegant, compelling, and profound. </span></div></span></div></div></div></blockquote></div>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-9440420633324794722023-06-26T12:11:00.002-07:002023-06-26T12:11:44.777-07:00Kindergarten at 60 by Dian Seidel PUBLISH DATE!<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="margin: 20px 0px 0px; position: relative;">Kindergarten at 60 by Dian Seidel PUBLISH DATE!</h3><div class="post-header" style="line-height: 1.6; margin: 0px 0px 1em;"><div class="post-header-line-1"></div></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-6388014722393425091" itemprop="description articleBody" style="line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 700px;"><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiGL3T2-fqaz374u7TI-3Oj9mE5ecml2N8iid3LwnEK5-EZfIhxD6GC96wn-mO3qVdvif_dpAJJ2YaXHrOv5iA2pxJ7uMrqun4c0hL2N8KZnm1Bbe97R_sKoqClEjXEYk5l8ZoGPsAU07yU-kotqRGKQ3ul7XWhgKXtvAeN23B67luvyZ8q7LxzdR07FA" style="clear: left; color: #00edf7; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="415" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiGL3T2-fqaz374u7TI-3Oj9mE5ecml2N8iid3LwnEK5-EZfIhxD6GC96wn-mO3qVdvif_dpAJJ2YaXHrOv5iA2pxJ7uMrqun4c0hL2N8KZnm1Bbe97R_sKoqClEjXEYk5l8ZoGPsAU07yU-kotqRGKQ3ul7XWhgKXtvAeN23B67luvyZ8q7LxzdR07FA" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="156" /></a></div><span style="text-align: left;">Teaching kindergarten in Thailand wasn't the job Dian Seidel had in mind when, at age sixty and craving adventure, she convinced her husband that they should try working abroad. But coping with rambunctious children, sweltering heat, and Covid-19 turned out to be the challenge she needed. Struggling to understand Thai culture, their school, and their marriage, could she learn Thailand's essential lesson: mai pen rai, don't worry, keep cool?</span></div><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Part travel memoir and part second act story, KINDERGARTEN AT <span style="text-align: justify;">60 is a retirement tale like none other. With gentle humor and </span>polished prose, Seidel explores universal themes via the adventures of everyday life. Job-hunting retirees confront age restrictions. A couple navigates 24/7 togetherness for the first time in their lives.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></div><p class="p2" style="color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 49px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Kindergarten a</p><p class="p2" style="color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 49px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">t 6</p><div><br /></div><br /><p class="p3" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 11px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiCVbZ-2wSjQjfgdFUjVz4jx_PskD8DxYBSo-NywrAf2Hc3P8B3LdhLiZG8eWNJAgnqKS7iaHKFR3Bd3iRPHhrDR9v8OS5icwMVSQeTdOvCHn4c2wwR8ZGJn6PF3hw8vtcBtfhIh-0Y8JjJbnd-DCS5bLZPy9CZHxPQ3sgzk1iuLRrddBR-4De01RuxCw" style="clear: left; color: #00edf7; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img alt="" data-original-height="845" data-original-width="676" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiCVbZ-2wSjQjfgdFUjVz4jx_PskD8DxYBSo-NywrAf2Hc3P8B3LdhLiZG8eWNJAgnqKS7iaHKFR3Bd3iRPHhrDR9v8OS5icwMVSQeTdOvCHn4c2wwR8ZGJn6PF3hw8vtcBtfhIh-0Y8JjJbnd-DCS5bLZPy9CZHxPQ3sgzk1iuLRrddBR-4De01RuxCw" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="192" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Before her unexpected "second act" teaching kindergarten in Thailand, Dian Seidel was a climate scientist at NOAA. Her research contributed to the 2007 Nobel Peace Prizewinning Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. Originally from Massachusetts, she now lives in the Washington, DC, area, where she teaches English as a second language and Iyengar yoga.</span></div><p></p><p class="p3" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Her writing has appeared in Passager, Anak Sastra, Lucky Jefferson, Pen in Hand, The New</span></p><p class="p3" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">York Times, and Bethesda Magazine. She loves crossword puzzles, book clubs, open ocean swimming, and the heart of a ripe watermelon on an August afternoon.</span></p><p class="p4" style="color: white; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Dian Seidel</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Professionals accustomed to working with adults are overwhelmed, and charmed, by a passel of two-, three-, and four-year-olds. An introvert struggles to forge cross-cultural and cross-generational friendships. Americans face the challenges of the five-tone Thai language and five-alarm Thai chilies.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Seidel's heartwarming story offers a unique perspective on contemporary Thailand and introduces readers to an unforgettable cast of characters at Pathum Thani Prep. Join the journey, meet the kids, and experience</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">KINDERGARTEN AT 60.</p><p class="p5" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">Author: Dian Seidel ○ Publisher: Apprentice House Press ○ Release date: June 20, 2023 ○ Format: Hardcover,</p><p class="p5" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">Paperback, eBook ○ ISBN: 978-1-62720-446-0 Paperback, 978-1-62720-447-7 Ebook ○ Price: $18.99</p><p class="p5" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">paperback, $6.49 eBook ○ Pages: 285 ○ Distribution: Ingram ○ Genre: Memoir</p><p class="p5" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">Publicity Contact: Emily Keough, emily@mindbuckmedia.com</p><p class="p6" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">Credit Photographer Derek Parks</p><p class="p6" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="p7" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: left;">Praise For </span><span style="text-align: left;">Kindergarten at 60</span></span></p><p class="p7" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 21px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: xx-large; text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">"This delightful and inspiring work recounts an important and forever altering time in the</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">author's life."</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">—The BookLife Prize</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">"Dian Seidel turned the page on an eminent career in climate science to embark on a completely</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">different pursuit: teaching English to children in Thailand. There is a wisdom and warmth here in</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">discovering adventure at an age when that word has departed most people’s vocabularies. They</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">say learning a language stretches the mind. What happens when that is combined with</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">immersion in a completely different culture on the other side of the world? Seidel presents her</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">adventure in a series of vignettes, seeing big picture issues through the lens of a kindergarten</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">classroom. She emerges from her trial with strength and grace and gentleness."</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">—David Goodrich, author of A Hole in the Wind:</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">A Climate Scientist's Bicycle Journey Across the United States</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">"Former climate scientist Dian Seidel chronicles her revelations as she and her husband Steve</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">teach kindergarten in Thailand. While realizing that life past 60 is full of adventures, they try to</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">embrace the Thai philosophy of mai pen rai, or relax and enjoy what life brings. This well-written</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">travelogue will appeal particularly to people looking forward to the next chapter of their lives."</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">—Blythe Grossberg, Psy.D., author of I Left My Homework in the Hamptons</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">"Kindergarten at 60 is a beautifully written memoir with the perfect touch of humor. It is a joy to</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">join Dian Seidel on her five-month assignment teaching children in Pathum Thani, a place far</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">from home. Simultaneously teacher and student, she learns valuable lessons about herself from</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">her young Thai students. The heart of Kindergarten at 60 is an endearing love story of a retired</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">couple enjoying the adventure together. Thank you, Teacher Dian for taking us on this journey.</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Khop khun kha."</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">—Michelle Paris, author of New Normal</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p8" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: xx-large;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">"Dian Seidel gives us a delightful glimpse into Thailand and its culture, reminding us that we can</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">find adventure in post-retirement years. Her memoir brings to life the commonalities of children</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">around the world and the struggles of teachers everywhere."</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">—Sarah Birnbach, author of A Daughter's Kaddish:</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">My Year of Grief, Devotion, and Healing</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">"When it’s time to retire from a structured life, what do you do? In Dian Seidel’s book,</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Kindergarten at 60, she invites you to join her and her husband in their voyage into the unknown</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">language, culture, history and social values of Thailand. Kindergarten at 60 is an interesting mix of</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">the challenges and adventure they find along with the heartwarming discovery of the children</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">and fellow international teachers they bond with during their stay."</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">—Tom Crowley, author Mercy’s Heroes and Bangkok Gamble</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">"A heartwarming, informative and inspiring memoir about our ability to learn at any age through</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">our willingness to serve and open our hearts to the new and unexpected."</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">—Nina Wise, performance artist</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">"A charming tale of a second act and self-discovery in a far-off tropical clime. Dian Seidel did</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">what the rest of us only talk about."</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">—John Burgess, author of Angkor’s Temples in the Modern Era:</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">War, Pride, and Tourist Dollars</p><p class="p8" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 43px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #08a4ab;" /></p></div>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-14775530637249003512020-11-06T23:30:00.035-08:002020-11-06T23:30:05.357-08:00THE FORGOTTEN SISTER by Nicola Cornick Blog Tour and EXCERPT! <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ITnpEzQA9o0/X4oOFPdXnMI/AAAAAAAAToA/ECr2mYmMakwYYyG5tmpMa8kRoEJo4kzQACLcBGAsYHQ/s649/60-03-HTP-FALL-Reads-Blog-Tour---HISTORICAL-FICTION-2020---640x247.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="247" data-original-width="649" height="221" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ITnpEzQA9o0/X4oOFPdXnMI/AAAAAAAAToA/ECr2mYmMakwYYyG5tmpMa8kRoEJo4kzQACLcBGAsYHQ/w578-h221/60-03-HTP-FALL-Reads-Blog-Tour---HISTORICAL-FICTION-2020---640x247.jpg" width="578" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X_hDnTdQYyQ/X4oORkO5P0I/AAAAAAAAToI/lPT4qY7O3CIpDm9ZJOgQvbv_k9Z1718qACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/9781525809958_TS_PRD%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1360" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X_hDnTdQYyQ/X4oORkO5P0I/AAAAAAAAToI/lPT4qY7O3CIpDm9ZJOgQvbv_k9Z1718qACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/9781525809958_TS_PRD%2B%25281%2529.jpg" /></a></div><div>PROLOGUE </div><div>Amy Robsart, Cumnor Village </div><div>They came for me one night in the winter of 1752 when the ice was on the pond and the trees bowed under the weight of the hoar frost. There were nine priests out of Oxford, garbed all in white with tapers in hand. Some looked fearful, others burned with a righteous fervour because they thought they were doing the Lord’s work. All of them looked cold, huddled within their cassocks, the one out ahead gripping the golden crucifix as though it were all that stood between him and the devil himself. </div><div><br /></div><div>The villagers came out to watch for a while, standing around in uneasy groups, their breath like smoke on the night air, then the lure of the warm alehouse called them back and they went eagerly, talking of uneasy ghosts and the folly of the holy men in thinking they could trap my spirit. </div><div><br /></div><div>The hunt was long. I ran through the lost passageways of Cumnor Hall with the priests snapping at my heels and in the end, exhausted and vanquished, my ghost sank into the dark pool. They said their prayers over me and returned to their cloisters and believed the haunting to be at an end. </div><div><br /></div><div>Yet an unquiet ghost is not so easily laid to rest. They had trapped my wandering spirit but I was not at peace. When the truth is concealed the pattern will repeat. The first victim was Amyas Latimer, the poor boy who fell to his death from the tower of the church where my body was buried. Then there was the little serving girl, Amethyst Green, who tumbled from the roof of Oakhangar Hall. Soon there will be another. If no one prevents it, I know there will be a fourth death and a fifth, and on into an endless future, the same pattern, yet different each time, a shifting magic lantern projecting the horror of that day centuries ago. </div><div><br /></div><div>There is only one hope. </div><div><br /></div><div>I sense her presence beside me through the dark. Each time it happens she is there too, in a different guise, like me. She is my nemesis, the arch-enemy. Yet she is the only one who can free me and break this curse. In the end it all depends on her and in freeing my spirit I sense she will also free her own. </div><div><br /></div><div>Elizabeth. </div><div><br /></div><div>I met her only a handful of times in my life. She was little but she was fierce, always, fierce enough to survive against the odds, a fighter, clever, ruthless, destined always to be alone. We could never have been friends yet we are locked together in this endless dance through time.</div><div><br /></div><div> I possessed the one thing she wanted and could not have and in my dying I denied it to her forever. For a little while I thought that would be enough to satisfy me. Yet revenge sours and diminishes through the years. All I wish now is to be released from my pain and to ensure this can never happen again. </div><div>Elizabeth, my enemy, you are the only one who can help me now but to do that you must change, you must see that the truth needs to be told. Open your eyes. Find the light.</div><div><br /></div><div>Excerpted from The Forgotten Sister by Nicola Cornick Copyright © Nicola Cornick. Published by Graydon House Books.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TB8dfWtu1sg/X4oPHy_EFLI/AAAAAAAATok/_UFiOhj6jTINEx3iiO_7BubbOxRAINSNACLcBGAsYHQ/s1802/73856_2020-03-18_1786.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1802" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TB8dfWtu1sg/X4oPHy_EFLI/AAAAAAAATok/_UFiOhj6jTINEx3iiO_7BubbOxRAINSNACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/73856_2020-03-18_1786.JPG" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-JkrvpawQUxg/X4oO-CaeFUI/AAAAAAAATog/tIAdo1VmoiwRiNoOtQUrZOnmAC0FwR7QwCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="625" data-original-width="468" height="781" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-JkrvpawQUxg/X4oO-CaeFUI/AAAAAAAATog/tIAdo1VmoiwRiNoOtQUrZOnmAC0FwR7QwCLcBGAsYHQ/w586-h781/image.png" width="586" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><p></p>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-78800858082708909312020-11-05T13:16:00.008-08:002020-11-05T13:18:26.441-08:00HIS DISINCLINED BRIDE by Jennie Goutet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><h2 style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-large wp-image-52034" height="152" src="http://www.inkslingerpr.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/HisDisinclinedBride_blogtour-1024x390.jpg" width="400" /></h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">HIS DISINCLINED BRIDE by Jennie Goutet is out now! Be sure to order your copy of this sweet Regency romance today!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Title: His Disinclined Bride</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Author: Jennie Goutet </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Genre: Regency Romance </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">About His Disinclined Bride: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Theirs is not a love match. She’ll make sure of it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Kitty Stokes never imagined she’d be so weak as to sacrifice herself on the altar of family obligations, but when the only alternative to marriage with Lord Hayworth is to play nursemaid to her brother’s children, Kitty reluctantly agrees. On her wedding day, she’s certain she has made a grave error, but it’s too late to back out.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Phineas Hayworth refrained from setting eyes on his new bride before their wedding day—the price he forced himself to pay for being so mercenary as to wed the sister of a wealthy merchant in a bid to save his estate from ruins. Her beauty, therefore, comes as a shock, as does her icy treatment, which he feels he deserves. He swears an oath he will not approach her for an heir unless the invitation comes from her.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">As Phineas sets out to put his estate in order and present his new wife to Society, he finds her more enchanting than he could have hoped for, even in a love match. Kitty continues to hold him at arm’s length, although he suspects her feelings for him run just as deep. As Phineas’s love and desire for his wife grows, the oath he swore her begins to suffocate. It soon becomes clear that while he’d once been prepared to settle for a loveless marriage, he will not abide an unrequited love. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div></div><p></p><h2><b><i>HIS DISINCLINED BRIDE</i></b><b> by Jennie Goutet is out now! Be sure to order your copy of this sweet Regency romance today!</b></h2><h2><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-51936" height="855" src="http://www.inkslingerpr.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/Smaller-cover.jpg" width="570" /></h2><h2></h2><h2> </h2><h1 style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Disinclined-Bride-Seasons-Change-Book-ebook/dp/B086RVTN5H/ref=sr_1_2?crid=1KPQLVBGFRRQS&dchild=1&keywords=his+disinclined+bride&qid=1602788151&sprefix=his+disin%2Caps%2C197&sr=8-2"><b>Order Your Copy Today!</b></a></h1><p><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-large wp-image-52036" height="400" src="http://www.inkslingerpr.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/Depositphotos_222784598_s-2019-1-1024x1024.jpg" width="400" /> </p><h2><b>About Jennie Goutet:</b></h2><p><span>Jennie Goutet is an American-born Anglophile, who lives with her French husband and their three children in a small town outside Paris. Her imagination resides in Regency England, where her historical romances are set. Jennie </span><span>is also author of the award-winning memoir, </span><i>Stars Upside Down,</i><span> and the modern romances, </span><i>A Sweetheart in Paris</i><span> and </span><i>A Noble Affair.</i> <span>A Christian, a cook, and an inveterate klutz, Jennie writes about faith, food, and life</span><span>—</span><span>even the clumsy moments</span><span>—</span><span>on her</span> <span>blog, </span><a href="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Faladyinfrance.com%2F&h=ATMZcIVbyZseDG3wFwegIEPLnu5EBlAverD4HtKQWxmxq8ktV2e94Vre43bv8zbIGPbRpyEnM1ibHAHaaxbbDkMzmK2Bn14QYhPfpYzzv3sr0NS9vW-Z-qA"><span>aladyinfrance.com.</span></a><span> You can learn more about Jennie and her books on her author website, </span><a href="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fjenniegoutet.com%2F&h=ATPQpIiXK70X5lJPgZVWJ7nqBH2WMMMhD8wtwlhni_bMfDf1cUFZkPGBbYPohbUUc9cYRjhaKUVuMg8kxxPQKjXUAkpgo_TAlMFwn_8QEPPdQsmQ1aZZt9A"><span>jenniegoutet.com</span></a><span>.</span> </p><h2 style="text-align: center;"><b>Connect with Jennie:</b></h2><h2 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: 400;"></span><a href="https://www.pinterest.fr/aladyinfrance/"><span style="font-weight: 400;">Pinterest</span></a><span style="font-weight: 400;"> | </span><a href="https://twitter.com/aladyinfrance"><span style="font-weight: 400;">Twitter</span></a><span style="font-weight: 400;"> | </span><a href="https://www.instagram.com/aladyinfrance/"><span style="font-weight: 400;">Instagram</span></a><span style="font-weight: 400;"> | </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/aladyinfrance/"><span style="font-weight: 400;">Facebook</span></a><span style="font-weight: 400;"> | </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/aladyinfrance/"><span style="font-weight: 400;">Jennie’s Blog</span></a><span style="font-weight: 400;"> | </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/810168949360162/"><span style="font-weight: 400;">Reader Group</span></a><span style="font-weight: 400;"> | </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/sweetregencyromance/"><span style="font-weight: 400;">Sweet Regency Romance Fans</span></a><b></b></h2><p> </p>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-85221903270667891192020-10-24T23:30:00.026-07:002020-10-24T23:30:06.530-07:00THE WRONG KIND OF WOMAN by Sarah McCraw Blog tour! And excerpt! <p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ybf9LznTUzs/X4oS2FgFZxI/AAAAAAAATpE/mzvLnpB7-oUkj28XuFnEqmv9_QmcsM5XQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Final%2BCover_WRONG%2BKIND%2BOF%2BWOMAN%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1347" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ybf9LznTUzs/X4oS2FgFZxI/AAAAAAAATpE/mzvLnpB7-oUkj28XuFnEqmv9_QmcsM5XQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Final%2BCover_WRONG%2BKIND%2BOF%2BWOMAN%2B%25281%2529.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> Chapter One</p><p>November 1970 Westfield, New Hampshire</p><p>OLIVER DIED THE SUNDAY after Thanksgiving, the air heavy with snow that hadn’t fallen yet. His last words to Virginia were “Tacks, Ginny? Do we have any tacks?”</p><p>That morning at breakfast, their daughter, Rebecca, had complained about her eggs—runny and gross, she said. Also, the whole neighborhood already had their Christmas lights up, and why didn’t they ever have outside lights? Virginia tuned her out; at thirteen, Rebecca had reached the age of comparison, noticing where her classmates’ families went on vacation, what kinds of cars they drove. But Oliver agreed about the lights, and after eating his own breakfast and Rebecca’s rejected eggs, he drove off to the hardware store to buy heavy-duty Christmas lights.</p><p>Back at home, Oliver called Virginia out onto the front porch, where he and Rebecca had looped strings of colored lights around the handrails on either side of the steps. Virginia waved at their neighbor Gerda across the street— on her own front porch, Gerda knelt next to a pile of balsam branches, arranging them into two planters—as Rebecca and Oliver described their lighting scheme. Rebecca’s cheeks had gone ruddy in the New Hampshire cold, as Oliver’s had; Rebecca had his red-gold hair too.</p><p>“Up one side and down the other,” Rebecca said. “Like they do at Molly’s house—”</p><p>“Tacks, Ginny? Do we have any tacks?” Oliver interrupted. In no time, he’d lost patience with this project, judging by the familiar set of his jaw, the frown lines corrugating his forehead.</p><p>A few minutes later, box of nails and hammer in hand, Virginia saw Oliver’s booted feet splayed out on the walk, those old work boots he’d bought on their honeymoon in Germany a lifetime ago. “Do you have to lie down like that to—” she began, while Rebecca squeezed out from between the porch and the overgrown rhododendron.</p><p>“Dad?” Rebecca’s voice pitched upward. “Daddy!”</p><p>Virginia slowly took in that Oliver was lying half on the lawn, half on the brick walk, one hand clutching the end of a light string. Had he fallen? It made no sense, him just lying there on the ground like that, and she hurtled down the porch steps. Oliver’s eyes had rolled back so only the whites showed. But he’d just asked for tacks, and she hadn’t had time to ask if nails would work instead. She crouched, put her mouth to his and tried to breathe for him. Something was happening, yes, maybe now he would turn out to be just resting, and in a minute he’d sit up and laugh with disbelief.</p><p>Next to her, Rebecca shook Oliver’s shoulder, pounded on it. “Dad! You fainted! Wake up—”</p><p>“Go call the operator,” Virginia said. “Tell them we need an ambulance, tell them it’s an emergency, a heart attack, Becca! Run!” Rebecca ran.</p><p>Virginia put her ear to Oliver’s chest, listening. A flurry of movement: Gerda was suddenly at her side, kneeling, and Eileen from next door, then Rebecca, gasping or maybe sobbing. Virginia felt herself being pulled out of the way as the ambulance backed into the driveway and the two para- medics bent close. They too breathed for Oliver, pressed on his chest while counting, then lifted him gently onto the backboard and up into the ambulance.</p><p>She didn’t notice that she was holding Rebecca’s hand on her one side and Eileen’s hand on the other, and that Gerda had slung a protective arm around Rebecca. She barely noticed when Eileen bundled her and Rebecca into the car without a coat or purse. She didn’t notice the snow that had started to fall, first snow of the season. Later, that absence of snow came back to her, when the image of Oliver lying on the bare ground, uncushioned even by snow, wouldn’t leave her.</p><p><br /></p><p>Aneurysm. A ruptured aneurysm, a balloon that had burst, sending a wave of blood into Oliver’s brain. A subarachnoid hemorrhage. She said all those new words about a thousand times, along with more familiar words: bleed and blood and brain. Rips and tears. One in a million. Sitting at the kitchen table, Rebecca next to her and the coiled phone cord stretched taut around both of them, Virginia called one disbelieving person after another, repeated all those words to her mother, her sister Marnie, Oliver’s brother, Oliver’s department chair, the people in her address book, the people in his.</p><p>At President Weissman’s house five days later, Virginia kept hold of Rebecca. Rebecca had stayed close, sleeping in the middle of Virginia and Oliver’s bed as if she were little and sleepwalking again, her shruggy new adolescent self forgotten. They’d turned into a sudden team of two, each one circling, like moons, around the other.</p><p>Oliver’s department chair had talked Virginia into a reception at President Weissman’s house, a campus funeral. In the house’s central hall, Virginia’s mother clutched at her arm, murmuring about the lovely Christmas decorations, those balsam garlands and that enormous twinkling tree, and how they never got the fragrant balsam trees in Norfolk, did they, only the Fraser firs—</p><p>“Let’s go look at the Christmas tree, Grandmomma.” Rebecca took her grandmother’s hand as they moved away. What a grown-up thing to do, Virginia thought, glad for the release from Momma and her chatter.</p><p>“Wine?” Virginia’s sister Marnie said, folding her hand around a glass. Virginia nodded and took a sip. Marnie stayed next to her as one person and another came close to say something complimentary about Oliver, what a wonderful teacher he’d been and a great young historian, an influential member of the Clarendon community. And his clarinet, what would they do without Oliver’s tremendous clarinet playing? The church service had been lovely, hadn’t it? He sure would have loved that jazz trio.</p><p>She heard herself answering normally, as if this one small thing had gone wrong, except now she found herself in a tunnel, everyone else echoing and far away. Out of a clutch of Clarendon boys, identical in their khakis and blue blazers, their too-long hair curling behind their ears, one stepped forward. Sam, a student in her tiny fall seminar, the Italian Baroque.</p><p>“I—I just wanted to say…” Sam faltered. “But he was a great teacher, and even more in the band—” The student- faculty jazz band, he meant.</p><p>“Thank you, Sam,” she said. “I appreciate that.” She watched him retreat to his group. Someone had arranged for Sam and a couple of other Clarendon boys to play during the reception, and she hadn’t noticed until now.</p><p>“How ’bout we sit, hon.” Marnie steered her to a couch. “I’m going to check on Becca and Momma and June—” the oldest of Virginia’s two sisters “—and then I’ll be right back.”</p><p>“Right.” Virginia half listened to the conversation around her, people in little clumps with their sherries and whiskeys. Mainframe, new era, she heard. Then well, but Nixon, and a few problems with the vets on campus. She picked up President Weissman’s voice, reminiscing about the vets on campus after the war thirty years ago. “Changed the place for the better, I think,” President Weissman said. “A seriousness of purpose.” And she could hear Louise Walsh arguing with someone about the teach-in that should have happened last spring.</p><p>Maybe Oliver would appreciate being treated like a dignitary. Maybe he’d be pleased at the turnout, all the faculty and students who’d shown up at the Congregational Church at lunchtime on a Friday. Probably he wished he could put Louise in her place about the teach-in. Virginia needed to find Rebecca, and she needed to make sure Momma hadn’t collapsed out of holiday party–funeral confusion. But now Louise Walsh loomed over her in a shape- less black suit, and she stood up again to shake Louise’s hand. “I just want to say how sorry I am,” Louise said. “I truly admired his teaching and—everything else. We’re all going to miss him.”</p><p>“Thank you, Louise.” Virginia considered returning the compliment, to say that Oliver had admired Louise too. Louise had tenure, the only woman in the history department, the only woman at Clarendon, to be tenured. Lou- ise had been a thorn in Oliver’s side, the person Oliver had complained about the most. Louise was one of the four women on faculty at Clarendon; the Gang of Four, Oliver and the others had called them.</p><p>Outside the long windows, a handful of college boys tossed a football on a fraternity lawn across the street, one skidding in the snow as he caught the ball. Someone had spray-painted wobbly blue peace signs on the frat’s white clapboard wall, probably after Kent State. But the Clarendon boys were rarely political; they were athletic: in their baggy wool trousers, they ran, skied, hiked, went gliding off the college’s ski jump, human rockets on long skis. They built a tremendous bonfire on the Clarendon green in the fall, enormous snow sculptures in the winter. They stumbled home drunk, singing. Their limbs seemed loosely attached to their bodies. Oliver had once been one of those boys.</p><p>“Come on, pay attention,” Marnie said, and she propelled Virginia toward President Weissman, who took Virginia’s hands.</p><p>“I cannot begin to express all my sympathy and sad- ness.” President Weissman’s eyes were magnified behind his glasses. “Our firmament has lost a star.” He kissed her on the cheek, pulling a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, so she could wipe her eyes and nose again.</p><p><br /></p><p>At the reception, Aunt June kept asking Rebecca if she was doing okay, and did she need anything, and Aunt Marnie kept telling Aunt June to quit bothering Rebecca. Mom looked nothing like her sisters: Aunt Marnie was bulky with short pale hair, Aunt June was petite, her hair almost black, and Mom was in between. Rebecca used to love her aunts’ Tidewater accents, and the way Mom’s old accent would return around her sisters, her vowels stretching out and her voice going up and down the way Aunt June’s and Aunt Marnie’s voices did. Rebecca and Dad liked to tease Mom about her accent, and Mom would say I don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t sound anything like June. Or Marnie. But especially not June.</p><p>Nothing Rebecca thought made any sense. She couldn’t think about something that she and Dad liked, or didn’t like, or laughed about, because there was no more Dad. Aunt Marnie had helped her finish the Christmas lights, sort of, not the design she and Dad had shared, but just wrapped around the porch bannisters. It looked a little crazy, actually. Mom hadn’t noticed.</p><p>“Here’s some cider, honey,” Aunt June said. “How about some cheese and crackers? You need to eat.”</p><p>“I’m okay,” Rebecca said. “Thanks,” she remembered to add.</p><p>“Have you ever tried surfing?” Aunt June asked. “The boys—” Rebecca’s cousins “—love to surf. They’ll teach you.” “Okay.” Rebecca wanted to say that it was December and there was snow on the ground, so there was no rea- son to talk about surfing. Instead she said that she’d bodysurfed with her cousins at Virginia Beach plenty of times, but she’d never gotten on a surfboard. As far as she could tell, only boys ever went surfing, and the waves at Virginia Beach were never like the waves on Hawaii Five-0. Mostly the boys just sat on their surfboards gazing out at the hazy- white horizon, and at the coal ships and aircraft carriers chugging toward Norfolk.</p><p>“You’ll get your chance this summer—I’ll bet you’ll be a natural,” Aunt June said.</p><p>Things would keep happening. Winter would happen. There would be more snow, and skiing at the Ski Bowl. The town pond would open for skating and hockey. The snow would melt and it would be spring and summer again. They’d go to Norfolk for a couple of weeks after school let out and Mom would complain about everything down there, and get into a fight with Aunt June, and they’d all go to the beach, and Dad would get the most sunburned, his ears and the tops of his feet burned pink and peely…</p><p>“Let’s just step outside into the fresh air for a minute, sweetheart,” Aunt June said, and Rebecca stood up and followed her aunt to the room with all the coats, one hand over her mouth to hold in the latest sob, even after she and Mom had agreed they were all cried out and others would be crying today, but the two of them were all done with crying. She knew that the fresh air wouldn’t help anything.</p><p>Excerpted from The Wrong Kind of Woman by Sarah McCraw Crow © 2020 by Sarah McCraw Crow, used with permission by MIRA Books/HarperCollins.</p><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e1X5udfJd6w/X4oTOsD5XYI/AAAAAAAATpU/il9ka7t4CFQk15-og-8bVIOEdqFAVX8FACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Sarah%2BMcCraw%2BCrow%2BPhoto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1342" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e1X5udfJd6w/X4oTOsD5XYI/AAAAAAAATpU/il9ka7t4CFQk15-og-8bVIOEdqFAVX8FACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Sarah%2BMcCraw%2BCrow%2BPhoto.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><div>THE WRONG KIND OF WOMAN</div><div>By Sarah McCraw Crow</div><div>On Sale: October 6, 2020 </div><div>MIRA Books</div><div>Literary Fiction; Coming of age fiction; Mothers & family</div><div>978-0778310075; 0778310078</div><div>$27.99 USD</div><div>320 pages</div><div><br /></div><div>About the Book</div><div><br /></div><div>A powerful exploration of what a woman can be when what she should be is no longer an option</div><div><br /></div><div>In late 1970, Oliver Desmarais drops dead in his front yard while hanging Christmas lights. In the year that follows, his widow, Virginia, struggles to find her place on the campus of the elite New Hampshire men’s college where Oliver was a professor. While Virginia had always shared her husband’s prejudices against the four outspoken, never-married women on the faculty—dubbed the Gang of Four by their male counterparts—she now finds herself depending on them, even joining their work to bring the women’s movement to Clarendon College.</div><div><br /></div><div>Soon, though, reports of violent protests across the country reach this sleepy New England town, stirring tensions between the fraternal establishment of Clarendon and those calling for change. As authorities attempt to tamp down “radical elements,” Virginia must decide whether she’s willing to put herself and her family at risk for a cause that had never felt like her own.</div><div><br /></div><div>Told through alternating perspectives, The Wrong Kind of Woman is an engrossing story about finding the strength to forge new paths, beautifully woven against the rapid changes of the early ‘70s.</div><div><br /></div><div>About the author</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah McCraw Crow grew up in Virginia but has lived most of her adult life in New Hampshire. Her short fiction has run in Calyx, Crab Orchard Review, Good Housekeeping, So to Speak, Waccamaw, and Stanford Alumni Magazine. She is a graduate of Dartmouth College and Stanford University, and is finishing an MFA degree at Vermont College of Fine Arts. When she's not reading or writing, she's probably gardening or snowshoeing (depending on the weather).</div><div><br /></div><div>Social Links:</div><div><br /></div><div>Author website: https://sarahmccrawcrow.com/ </div><div>Twitter: https://twitter.com/sarahmcrow?lang=en </div><div>Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/sarahmccrawcrow/ </div><div>Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15502401.Sarah_McCraw_Crow</div><div><br /></div><div>Buy Links:</div><div>Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Wrong-Kind-Woman-Novel/dp/0778310078 </div><div>Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-wrong-kind-of-woman-sarah-mccraw-crow/1134767509?ean=9780778310075 </div><div>IndieBound: https://www.indiebound.org/book/9780778310075 </div><div>Books-A-Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/p/Wrong-Kind-Woman/Sarah-McCraw-Crow/9780778310075?id=7941582454467 </div><div>Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Sarah_McCraw_Crow_The_Wrong_Kind_of_Woman?id=pbe8DwAAQBAJ </div><div>PRAISE</div><div>“In her entrancing debut, McCraw Crow traces the impact of second-wave feminism and the antiwar movement in the early 1970s on a New Hampshire college campus. . . . The choice to present the characters’ desperate actions in shades of gray makes for engrossing reading.” —Publishers Weekly</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>“Sarah McCraw Crow's writing is layered with so much insight and compassion. A glorious debut filled with characters grasping to find a place to belong in a world on the edge of change.” —Carol Rifka Brunt, New York Times bestselling author of Tell the Wolves I’m Home</div><div><br /></div><div>“The Wrong Kind of Woman is the right kind of book. A beautifully written exploration of loss, the novel captures its characters at the cusp of personal and social change. Sarah McCraw Crow deftly navigates the campus and national politics of the ’70s in a way that remains timely and pressing today. A powerful, thought-provoking debut.” —Amy Meyerson, Nationally bestselling author of The Bookshop of Yesterdays</div><div><br /></div><div>“McCraw Crow brings to life the early days of the women's movement. The Wrong Kind of Woman is the story we need now: one which examines systemic sexism through not only a historical filter but via rich and authentic characters. Virginia's struggle echoes the struggle of so many women, throughout history.” —T. Greenwood, bestselling author of Keeping Lucy</div><div><br /></div><div>“How could I not devour a book set in my favorite era? About family, marriage, love and grief and a country in the turbulent flux of change, The Wrong Kind of Woman limns the lives of a stunned widow, her daughter and a student as they all struggle to come to terms with death—and life—against the backdrop of the Vietnam war, Kent State, the drug culture, and the first heady rise of the women’s movement. Absolutely fabulous.” —Caroline Leavitt, New York Times bestselling author of Pictures of You and Cruel Beautiful World</div><div><br /></div><div>“A professor’s death wrenches his wife and daughter into a new world as they join women fighting for equality in the early seventies, a time when elite education is cracking open by those knocking down single-gender barriers. The Wrong Kind of Woman explores the strength women found to stop papering over the glaring flaws in the world and live with eyes wide open with grace and honesty.” —Randy Susan Meyers, author of Waisted</div><div><br /></div><div>“With equal parts shrewdness, wisdom, and warmth, Sarah McCraw Crow’s debut novel brings a canny eye to a forever lively moment in U.S. history. Like Marilyn French and Erica Jong before her, Crow lets her cast of characters speak to and for its readers about their mom’s, their dad’s, and their own enactment of the 1970's wave of what once was, still is, and will surely again be called The Women’s Movement. Graceful, solid, and beautifully rendered, The Wrong Kind of Woman is exactly the right kind of book for all of us.” —Abby Frucht, author of Maids</div></div><div><br /></div>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-73185923330847853792020-10-22T23:30:00.046-07:002020-10-22T23:30:04.052-07:00MIRROR MAN by Jane Gilmartin BLOG TOUR! Excerpt<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EiGWAmGiS-U/X3TCP05h7jI/AAAAAAAATlA/e1I4-Wxy-kcAFfY3plCceEgMaZnA1KrxQCLcBGAsYHQ/s900/66-02-THE-MIRROR-MAN-Blog-Tour-Banner-900x337.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="337" data-original-width="900" height="192" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EiGWAmGiS-U/X3TCP05h7jI/AAAAAAAATlA/e1I4-Wxy-kcAFfY3plCceEgMaZnA1KrxQCLcBGAsYHQ/w513-h192/66-02-THE-MIRROR-MAN-Blog-Tour-Banner-900x337.jpg" width="513" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1347" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-coN91eZzXqQ/X3TCpsXTqWI/AAAAAAAATlM/1AdqRIZQ2MMu3YoePKgRIPCdfe3v_qldQCLcBGAsYHQ/w263-h400/The%2BMirror%2BMan%2Bcover%2B-%2BFINAL.jpg" width="263" /></p><p><br /></p><p>Charles Scott glared down at him with a glint in his green eyes that felt like a warning, and Jeremiah replayed in his head the man’s ambiguous threat during their first meeting several weeks before.</p><p>“You now know as much about this project as anyone else involved,” he’d said. “It wouldn’t do to have too many people walking around with this kind of information. Our investors have a tendency to get nervous.”</p><p>Although Scott had quickly followed that remark with the matter of Jeremiah’s substantial compensation, there was no mistaking the implication: the moment he’d been told about the cloning project Jeremiah was already in. That first meet¬ing hadn’t been an invitation so much as an orientation, and the contract he’d later signed had been a formality, at best. And the entire thing had done nothing but gain momentum from that moment on.</p><p>Dr. Pike continued to affix the wires to Jeremiah’s head. Jer¬emiah focused on the man’s gleaming black hair and the deep brown of his sure, professional hands, and he struggled to remember the allure of the $10 million payout he’d get at the end of the whole thing. That kind of money could fix a lot of prob¬lems. It would change things. The prospect of that fortune had been enough to make him turn away from principles he thought were unshakable. Every man has his price, he supposed.</p><p>Somewhere in the back of his mind he also acknowledged the real temptation of a twelve-month sabbatical from his own life. It had seduced him every bit as much as the money had. Maybe more. Between a job that had already begun to make him question his own morals, and a marriage that felt increas¬ingly more like a lie, stress was eating him alive. And into his lap fell a chance to just walk away from all of it—without con¬sequence and without blame. A free pass. He could simply walk away without anyone even knowing he was gone. There isn’t a man alive, he told himself, who would have refused. Despite the ethical question, despite that human cloning was illegal the world over, it would have tempted anyone.</p><p>Dr. Pike injected the clone with Meld and then turned word¬lessly to Jeremiah with the second syringe poised above his left shoulder.</p><p>Jeremiah closed his eyes and rolled up his sleeve.</p><p>After the initial stab of the needle, he felt nothing. Which is not to say he didn’t feel anything; he literally felt nothing. Sec¬onds after the injection, he became aware of a total emptiness, like a towering black wave that threatened to sink him into an immeasurable void. The experience was unlike anything he’d ever known. He imagined an astronaut suddenly untethered from his ship, floating helplessly into unending darkness. With¬out thinking, he immediately felt his body recoil. His mind screamed against it.</p><p>I’m dying!</p><p>From impossibly far away, he heard Dr. Pike say something about a heart rate and felt the slight pressure of a hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t see anything of the hospital room any¬more. He was drowning in the blackness. His chest felt suddenly constricted. He fought just to find his breath.</p><p>“This is all perfectly normal, Mr. Adams. You have nothing to worry about. Concentrate on the sound of my voice. Nod if you can hear me.”</p><p>With considerable effort, Jeremiah managed what he hoped was a nod of his head. He was suddenly gripped by the alarm¬ing certainty that if he couldn’t communicate somehow, he’d be lost—swept away forever.</p><p>“Good. Good. Listen to my voice. It will keep you grounded.” Pike still sounded far away, but Jeremiah nodded again and strug¬gled to focus. “What you are experiencing is to be expected. Do you remember when you took the Meld with Dr. Young? Do you remember the way you could feel her thoughts for the first few minutes?”</p><p>He nodded. It had been an unnerving thing to perceive her consciousness mixing with his like that. Flashes from her mind—odd, alien things like the feel of a blister on the back of her right heel, the familiar gleam in the eye of an old man he’d never seen—had swirled into the very structure of his own mind and fought for a place to settle. He had railed against that, too, and she had grounded him by flashing a penlight in his face, mak-ing him focus on that while the Meld took effect. Afterward, once he had sunk in, it had been easier.</p><p>“This is no different than what you experienced then,” Pike said. “This time, though, you are connected to an empty mind. There’s nothing there. But the more you resist, the longer this will take. You need to relax, Mr. Adams. Give in to it.”</p><p>Jeremiah nodded again and then shook his head with as much grit as he could muster. How does one give in to this? He didn’t think he could do it.</p><p>“Once your thoughts begin transferring into the mind of the clone it will be easier for you,” Pike urged. “Focus on a memory, as I suggested. Something vivid. It will help to fill that void you’re experiencing now. It will give you something to hang on to.”</p><p>Without the benefit of his full faculties, Jeremiah had little choice but to grab the last thing he’d been thinking about—his initial conversation with Charles Scott, the day all of this began.</p><p>He’d been surprised when he’d received an invitation to lunch from ViMed’s head of Engineering. The man was an icon in the science world, and although he’d quoted him a hundred times for the company, Jeremiah had never actually met him. He’d been intrigued enough to accept the invitation, especially when Scott had told him it involved a “proposition that could make him a very wealthy man.”</p><p>Flashes of that encounter and snatches of conversation now flitted through his mind like so many fireflies. He fought to catch them.</p><p>“We’ve been watching you, Mr. Adams.”</p><p>“All we ask is one year of your life. Isn’t that worth $10 million?”</p><p>“We can do this. The science exists. And with Meld, the clone will even share your thought patterns… Your own mother won’t know the difference.”</p><p>“This is sanctioned by powerful people—we have millions in secret federal backing. There are billions more in eventual funding… There’s no need to be so suspicious, Mr. Adams.”</p><p>From somewhere far away, Jeremiah heard Dr. Pike repeating his name. He had been so engulfed in his efforts to hold on to the memory that he’d almost forgotten where he was. As soon as he realized it, the void loomed again in his mind.</p><p>“Mr. Adams,” Pike said, “you’ve got to listen to me. The clone cannot pick up on any memory of the experiment. What you’re thinking about is not going to help. You need to think about something else, some memory that won’t be filtered. His mind is still empty.”</p><p>Jeremiah panicked. He couldn’t think. And now that he wasn’t focused on anything, the blackness began to take over again, creeping closer and threatening to swallow him. He fought for breath.</p><p>“Relax, Mr. Adams,” Pike said. “Think about your job here at ViMed. Remember something the clone can actually use. Something he’ll need to know.”</p><p>He felt a dull jab at his shoulder.</p><p>“This should help. I’ve given you a mild sedative. Take a few deep breaths. Concentrate on your breathing.”</p><p>With everything in him, Jeremiah tried to turn his mind away from the void that seemed to be all around him. He inhaled deeply and tried to focus on the rise of his own chest. Exhaled, and he felt his chest fall.</p><p>“Very good, Mr. Adams. Very good. Pulse is returning to normal. Deep breaths. Now, think about a typical day at work. Something ordinary and mundane.”</p><p>Inhale. Exhale. After a moment, Jeremiah began to relax and, as the sedative took hold, he found he could let his mind wan¬der without the frantic thought that he’d never get it back. An oddly comforting fog seemed to expand in front of him, push¬ing the blackness away slightly, and Jeremiah retreated into it.</p><p>He began to think about the morning of the Meld fiasco—the day the New Jersey housewife had killed herself. The press had been circling. He’d arrived at his office with a terse man¬date from his superiors to “get these fuckers off our back” and no idea how to accomplish that. It hadn’t been lost on him that not a single soul seemed bothered enough to stop and feel sorry about it, and he’d taken a quick moment behind his office door to offer silent condolences. It wasn’t thirty seconds before some¬one had come knocking, pushing him to get something done.</p><p>Weeks before, he’d heard talk of Meld being used to detect brain activity in a sixteen-year-old football player who had been comatose for nearly six months. Time to cash in. He tracked down the doctor somewhere in Delaware and the man started gushing about Meld, calling it “magical,” “a godsend” and “the most important medical advance of a generation.”</p><p>“After so many weeks,” he said, “the parents were hopeless.”</p><p>Meld was a last resort before pulling the plug, and it gave them the first clear signs of neural activity in the boy.</p><p>“Not only was he aware and awake in there, but he was cog¬nizant of everything that was going on around him—including the fact that his parents were losing hope. He even heard them talking about funeral arrangements at one point. The kid was scared, terrified. He was begging for his life in there. That’s what I saw when I took the Meld with him. Meld absolutely saved his life. There is no doubt in my mind.”</p><p>Jeremiah had almost smiled. It was pure gold. A few hours later, the story was in the hands of every major news outlet, and that doctor was spending his fifteen minutes of fame touting Meld as “a medical miracle.”</p><p>Jeremiah focused on that now. Maybe Meld did have some silver lining, after all, he thought. Maybe it was miraculous.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-1yQusEhR9sE/X3TDnSdsM4I/AAAAAAAATlk/Rr7tCTKj7zwn14TosFjKW2xlfNInqc-zQCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="653" data-original-width="468" height="799" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-1yQusEhR9sE/X3TDnSdsM4I/AAAAAAAATlk/Rr7tCTKj7zwn14TosFjKW2xlfNInqc-zQCLcBGAsYHQ/w573-h799/image.png" width="573" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x6nQsp9nsUw/X3TC73GJSoI/AAAAAAAATlY/CwYSAS1vnxsJXusAuMbCfBSsjaQJVSSZwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Jane%2BGilmartin%2Bcredit%2BKerry%2BBrett.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1274" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x6nQsp9nsUw/X3TC73GJSoI/AAAAAAAATlY/CwYSAS1vnxsJXusAuMbCfBSsjaQJVSSZwCLcBGAsYHQ/w249-h400/Jane%2BGilmartin%2Bcredit%2BKerry%2BBrett.jpg" width="249" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-73478630651607982722020-10-18T23:30:00.001-07:002020-10-18T23:30:04.436-07:007 Scary Books to Read in October<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://media.istockphoto.com/photos/old-books-against-the-background-of-fallen-yellow-leaves-in-the-picture-id1173181492?b=1&k=6&m=1173181492&s=170667a&w=0&h=L8Zen9FI7tNQZGh9NIfwH1NZPkTrlMLFwXFYRp9HebE=" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="329" data-original-width="527" src="https://media.istockphoto.com/photos/old-books-against-the-background-of-fallen-yellow-leaves-in-the-picture-id1173181492?b=1&k=6&m=1173181492&s=170667a&w=0&h=L8Zen9FI7tNQZGh9NIfwH1NZPkTrlMLFwXFYRp9HebE=" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Hello again! How is your scaring season going? </span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Small disclaimer: I haven't read all of these books so I'm not sure of the content. Read at your own discreation.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Do you need more creepy books to read? </span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Try these:</span></b></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1398637405l/9378297.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="460" data-original-width="318" height="235" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1398637405l/9378297.jpg" width="162" /></a></div><b>ANNA DRESSED IN BLOOD by Kendare Blake</b><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br />Cas Lowood has inherited an unusual vocation: He kills the dead.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">So did his father before him, until he was gruesomely murdered by a ghost he sought to kill. Now, armed with his father's mysterious and deadly athame, Cas travels the country with his kitchen-witch mother and their spirit-sniffing cat. They follow legends and local lore, destroy the murderous dead, and keep pesky things like the future and friends at bay.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Searching for a ghost the locals call Anna Dressed in Blood, Cas expects the usual: track, hunt, kill. What he finds instead is a girl entangled in curses and rage, a ghost like he's never faced before. She still wears the dress she wore on the day of her brutal murder in 1958: once white, now stained red and dripping with blood. Since her death, Anna has killed any and every person who has dared to step into the deserted Victorian she used to call home.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Yet she spares Cas's life.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1334416842l/830502.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="290" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1334416842l/830502.jpg" width="149" /></a></div><b>IT by Stephen King</b><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br />It’s a small city, a place as hauntingly familiar as your own hometown. Only in Derry the haunting is real ...</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">They were seven teenagers when they first stumbled upon the horror. Now they are grown-up men and women who have gone out into the big world to gain success and happiness. But none of them can withstand the force that has drawn them back to Derry to face the nightmare without an end, and the evil without a name.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">I</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1464206558l/15863832.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="293" data-original-width="195" height="234" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1464206558l/15863832.jpg" width="156" /></a></div><b>ANGELFALL by Susan Ee</b><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br />t's been six weeks since angels of the apocalypse descended to demolish the modern world. Street gangs rule the day while fear and superstition rule the night. When warrior angels fly away with a helpless little girl, her seventeen-year-old sister Penryn will do anything to get her back.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Anything, including making a deal with an enemy angel.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Raffe is a warrior who lies broken and wingless on the street. After eons of fighting his own battles, he finds himself being rescued from a desperate situation by a half-starved teenage girl.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span id="freeText9015011756857197620" style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1502061057l/27405351._SY475_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="314" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1502061057l/27405351._SY475_.jpg" width="161" /></a></div><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>HOW TO HANG A WITCH by Adriana Mather</b></span></p><br />Salem, Massachusetts is the site of the infamous witch trials and the new home of Samantha Mather. Recently transplanted from New York City, Sam and her stepmother are not exactly welcomed with open arms. Sam is the descendant of Cotton Mather, one of the men responsible for those trials and almost immediately, she becomes the enemy of a group of girls who call themselves The Descendants. And guess who their ancestors were?<br /><br />If dealing with that weren't enough, Sam also comes face to face with a real live (well technically dead) ghost. A handsome, angry ghost who wants Sam to stop touching his stuff. But soon Sam discovers she is at the center of a centuries old curse affecting anyone with ties to the trials. Sam must come to terms with the ghost and find a way to work with The Descendants to stop a deadly cycle that has been going on since the first accused witch was hanged. If any town should have learned its lesson, it's Salem. But history may be about to repeat itself.<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1499455535l/35297394._SX318_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="305" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1499455535l/35297394._SX318_.jpg" width="156" /></a></div><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>THE WICKED DEEP by Shea Ernshaw</b></span></p><i>Welcome to the cursed town of Sparrow…</i><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Where, two centuries ago, three sisters were sentenced to death for witchery. Stones were tied to their ankles and they were drowned in the deep waters surrounding the town.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Now, for a brief time each summer, the sisters return, stealing the bodies of three weak-hearted girls so that they may seek their revenge, luring boys into the harbor and pulling them under.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Like many locals, seventeen-year-old Penny Talbot has accepted the fate of the town. But this year, on the eve of the sisters’ return, a boy named Bo Carter arrives; unaware of the danger he has just stumbled into.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Mistrust and lies spread quickly through the salty, rain-soaked streets. The townspeople turn against one another. Penny and Bo suspect each other of hiding secrets. And death comes swiftly to those who cannot resist the call of the sisters.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">But only Penny sees what others cannot. And she will be forced to choose: save Bo, or save herself.</span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1489519290l/34596370._SY475_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="316" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1489519290l/34596370._SY475_.jpg" width="162" /></a></div><b><br />THE HOUSE NEXT DOOR by Darcy Coates </b><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">I live next to a haunted house.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">I began to suspect something was wrong with the gothic building when its family fled in the middle of the night, the children screaming, the mother crying. They never came back to pack up their furniture.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">No family stays long. Animals avoid the place. Once, I thought I saw a woman's silhouette pacing through the upstairs room... but that seems impossible; no one was living there at the time.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">A new occupant, Anna, has just moved in. I paid her a visit to warn her about the building. I didn't expect us to become friends, but we did. And now that Marwick House is waking up, she's asked me to stay with her.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">I never intended to become involved with the building or its vengeful, dead inhabitant. But now I have to save Anna... before it's too late for the both of us.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1546546692l/36524503._SY475_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="317" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1546546692l/36524503._SY475_.jpg" width="162" /></a></div><b>THE BONE HOUSES by Emily Lloyd Jones</b><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br />Sevente</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">en-year-old Aderyn ("Ryn") only cares about two things: her family, and her family's graveyard. And right now, both are in dire straits. Since the death of their parents, Ryn and her siblings have been scraping together a meager existence as gravediggers in the remote village of Colbren, which sits at the foot of a harsh and deadly mountain range that was once home to the fae. The problem with being a gravedigger in Colbren, though, is that the dead don't always </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">stay</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"> dead.</span></p><p><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">The risen corpses are known as "bone houses," and legend says that they're the result of a decades-old curse. When Ellis, an apprentice mapmaker with a mysterious past, arrives in town, the bone houses attack with new ferocity. What is it that draws them near? And more importantly, how can they be stopped for good?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Together, Ellis and Ryn embark on a journey that will take them deep into the heart of the mountains, where they will have to face both the curse and the long-hidden truths about themselves.<br /></span></p>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-32759077000774361072020-10-12T23:30:00.039-07:002020-10-12T23:30:04.479-07:00KINGDOM OF SEA AND STONE by Mara Ruthford BLOG TOUR and REVIEW!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JxMxrcPLSf0/X2KYsSiqGcI/AAAAAAAAThM/5cBS9iORZYIm-esIdu-YQHBX5P7wAPkmACLcBGAsYHQ/s649/60-04-HTP-FALL-Reads-Blog-Tour---YA-%2526-Inkyard-Press-2020---640x247%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="247" data-original-width="649" height="244" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JxMxrcPLSf0/X2KYsSiqGcI/AAAAAAAAThM/5cBS9iORZYIm-esIdu-YQHBX5P7wAPkmACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h244/60-04-HTP-FALL-Reads-Blog-Tour---YA-%2526-Inkyard-Press-2020---640x247%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jO0Xs_a2lKc/X2KY4nFBUSI/AAAAAAAAThQ/s1fdiQwLr18M2PlN1O3A8xJY89iuiZRyQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/9781335146519_SHC_prd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ijh7ihCF2eE/X2KZD6n5nlI/AAAAAAAAThY/v9cZLwi7APMJ_XEIctosTEx62VMHxB70wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/9781335146519_SHC_prd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1346" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ijh7ihCF2eE/X2KZD6n5nlI/AAAAAAAAThY/v9cZLwi7APMJ_XEIctosTEx62VMHxB70wCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/9781335146519_SHC_prd.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-blVTZ8ZeAvY/X2KZQNxI9qI/AAAAAAAAThg/WoAiDbL3e7ENgMcFjNNEkRLpoDwvOS2lACLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="623" data-original-width="468" height="951" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-blVTZ8ZeAvY/X2KZQNxI9qI/AAAAAAAAThg/WoAiDbL3e7ENgMcFjNNEkRLpoDwvOS2lACLcBGAsYHQ/w714-h951/image.png" width="714" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lmidOG9fEbg/X2KZtkU6NvI/AAAAAAAAThs/J3glnpSJLi81MDMgysJy9AMGMz6nplNOgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/MaraRutherford_credit_HollyTtaris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1348" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lmidOG9fEbg/X2KZtkU6NvI/AAAAAAAAThs/J3glnpSJLi81MDMgysJy9AMGMz6nplNOgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/MaraRutherford_credit_HollyTtaris.jpg" /></a></div><br />Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-12059393986182654972020-10-10T23:30:00.012-07:002020-10-10T23:30:03.738-07:00Halloween Diffuser Blends<p> Here are some ideas to pep up your home with the merry smells of Halloween!</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://dpiw4yg3ny-flywheel.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/10/halloween-diffuser-blends-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="797" height="544" src="https://dpiw4yg3ny-flywheel.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/10/halloween-diffuser-blends-1.jpg" width="542" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">From <b><a href="https://mymerrymessylife.com/10-halloween-diffuser-blends/">My Merry Messy Life</a></b></div><br /><p><br /></p>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-58222802620132315992020-10-06T23:30:00.025-07:002020-10-06T23:30:00.381-07:00THE CODE FOR LOVE AND HEARTBREAK by Jillian Cantor BLOG TOUR!! <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9sqdwvGr1zE/X2Kj21BiFeI/AAAAAAAATik/7uZ-yEvJ-LwEyUUd-jS58s9i-geHejWRwCLcBGAsYHQ/s649/60-04-HTP-FALL-Reads-Blog-Tour---YA-%2526-Inkyard-Press-2020---640x247%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="247" data-original-width="649" height="209" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9sqdwvGr1zE/X2Kj21BiFeI/AAAAAAAATik/7uZ-yEvJ-LwEyUUd-jS58s9i-geHejWRwCLcBGAsYHQ/w548-h209/60-04-HTP-FALL-Reads-Blog-Tour---YA-%2526-Inkyard-Press-2020---640x247%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="548" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hrFNFyya_N4/X2KkAKnZiKI/AAAAAAAATio/-1DPydLBUNo6TBgyvHVV9czK3rrZZ69aQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/9781335090591_SHC_prd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hrFNFyya_N4/X2KkAKnZiKI/AAAAAAAATio/-1DPydLBUNo6TBgyvHVV9czK3rrZZ69aQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/9781335090591_SHC_prd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1346" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hrFNFyya_N4/X2KkAKnZiKI/AAAAAAAATio/-1DPydLBUNo6TBgyvHVV9czK3rrZZ69aQCLcBGAsYHQ/w263-h400/9781335090591_SHC_prd.jpg" width="263" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">PROLOGUE</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> I’ve always loved numbers a whole lot more than I love people. For one thing, I can make numbers behave any way I want them to. No arguments, no questions. I write a line of code, and my computer performs a specific and very regulated task. Numbers don’t play games or hide behind some nuance I’ve missed. I write an equation, then formulate a definitive and absolutely correct answer. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And maybe most importantly, numbers never leave me. I tell this to Izzy as she’s sitting on her suitcase, trying to force it closed, having just packed the last of her closet before leaving for her freshman year at UCLA, which is exactly 2,764 miles from our house in Highbury, New Jersey. A number which seems insurmountable, and which makes me think that after this day, Izzy’s last one at home until Christmas break, we’ll be more like two strangers floating across a continent from one another than sisters.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> “Numbers,” I say to Izzy now, “are much better than people.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> “You’re such a nerd, Em,” Izzy says, but she stops what she’s doing and squeezes my arm affectionately, before finally getting the suitcase to zip. She’s a nerd, too, but not for numbers like me—for books. Izzy is running 2,764 miles away from New Jersey to read, to major in English at UCLA. Which is ridiculous, given she could’ve done the same at Rutgers, or the College of New Jersey, or almost any one of the other sixty-two colleges in our state, any of which would’ve been within driving distance so we could’ve seen each other on weekends. Izzy says she’s going to California for the sunshine, but Dad and I both know the real reason is that her boyfriend, John, decided to go to UCLA to study film. Izzy chose John over me, and that part stings the most. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I can’t believe you’re actually going,” I say, and not for the first time. I’ve been saying this to Izzy all summer, hoping she might change her mind. But now that her suitcase is zipped, it feels like she’s really leaving, and my eyes start to well up. I do love numbers more than people. Most people.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> Izzy and I are only seventeen months apart, and our mom died when we were both toddlers. Dad works a lot, and Izzy and I have barely been apart for more than a night in as long as I can remember, much less months.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> She stops messing with her suitcase now, walks over to where I’m sitting on her bed and puts her arm around me. I lean my head on her shoulder, and breathe in the comforting scent of her strawberry shampoo, one last time. “I’m going to miss you, too, Em,” she says. “But you’re going to have a great senior year.” She says it emphatically, her voice filled with enthusiasm that I don’t believe or even understand. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“You really could stay,” I say. “You got into two colleges in New Jersey.” This has been my argument to her all summer. I keep thinking if I say it enough she really will change her mind. But even as I say it, I know it’s probably too late for her to change anything for fall semester now, no matter how much I might want her to. And she just looks back at me with worry all over her face. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Em, you know I can’t.” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Can’t or won’t?” I wipe my nose with the back of my hand, pulling away from her. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She leaves me on her bed, and goes back to her suitcase. She shifts it around, props it upright and then looks back at me. “You know what you need?” she says, breathing hard from managing the weight of her entire life, crammed inside this giant suitcase. “To get out there this year. Be more social. Get some friends. Maybe even a boyfriend.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> “A boyfriend?” I half laugh, half sniffle at the ridiculousness of it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“If you keep busy, you won’t even notice I’m gone.” She speaks quickly, excitedly. There’s nothing Izzy likes more than a good plan, but this sounds terrible to me. “Christmas will be here before you know it—” she’s still talking “—then next year, you’ll be off to college, too.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> Maybe that would be true for her, if I were the one leaving, and if she were staying here. If I were the older one, leaving for California first, Izzy would stay here, spend the year with John and barely even notice my absence. Which is what I guess she’s about to do at UCLA. But I’ve always needed Izzy much more than she’s needed me. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I hate being social. And I don’t want a boyfriend,” I say. “And anyway, you know what the boys are like at our high school. No thanks.” Mostly, they’re intimidated by me and my penchant for math, and I find their intimidation so annoying that I can barely even stand to have a conversation with them, much less a date. And the few that aren’t? Well, the one that isn’t—George—is my equal and co-president of coding club. He also happens to be John’s younger brother. We’re something like friends, George and I. Or maybe not, because we don’t really hang out outside of family stuff, school or coding club, and I guess in a way we’re supposed to be rivals. One of us will for certain be valedictorian of our class this year. The other will be salutatorian. And knowing George, he’s going to be more than a little bit annoyed when he’s staring at my back during graduation. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“You love numbers so much and you’re so good at coding,” Izzy says now with a flip of her blond curls over her shoulder. She wheels the suitcase toward her bedroom door and stops and looks back at me. “You could always code yourself a boyfriend.” She shrugs, then laughs a little, trying to make this moment lighter. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I don’t even crack a smile. “That’s a really ridiculous thing to say,” I tell her. “Thank God you’re going to be an English major.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> But later, after it all fell apart, I would blame her. I’d say that it was all Izzy’s fault, that she started the unraveling of everything with her one stupid offhand comment on the morning that she left me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Excerpted from The Code For Love and Heartbreak by Jillian Cantor Copyright © Jillian Cantor. Published by Inkyard Press.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FStLibCHZz8/X2KkoO0NZZI/AAAAAAAATi0/TA3wXv86zTcf2vueQTSOtn4QAEGRPV9YQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/79607_2020-05-07_1807.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1347" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FStLibCHZz8/X2KkoO0NZZI/AAAAAAAATi0/TA3wXv86zTcf2vueQTSOtn4QAEGRPV9YQCLcBGAsYHQ/w263-h400/79607_2020-05-07_1807.jpg" width="263" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">THE CODE FOR LOVE AND HEARTBREAK</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Author: Jillian Cantor </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">ISBN: 9781335090591</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Publication Date: October 6, 2020</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Publisher: Inkyard Press</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">BIO: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Jillian Cantor is the author of award-winning and bestselling novels for adults and teens, including In Another Time, The Hours Count, Margot, and The Lost Letter, which was a USA Today bestseller. She has a BA in English from Penn State University and an MFA from the University of Arizona. Cantor lives in Arizona with her husband and two sons.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">BOOK SUMMARY: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">In this contemporary romcom retelling of Jane Austen’s Emma by USA TODAY bestselling author Jillian Cantor, there’s nothing more complex—or unpredictable—than love.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">When math genius Emma and her coding club co-president, George, are tasked with brainstorming a new project, The Code for Love is born.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">George disapproves of Emma’s idea of creating a matchmaking app, accusing her of meddling in people’s lives. But all the happy new couples at school are proof that the app works. At least at first.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Emma’s code is flawless. So why is it that perfectly matched couples start breaking up, the wrong people keep falling for each other, and Emma’s own feelings defy any algorithm?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">SOCIAL:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Author Website: https://www.jilliancantor.com/</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">TWITTER: @JillianCantor</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Facebook: @AuthorJillianCantor</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Insta: @JillianCantor</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1651861.Jillian_Cantor </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">BUY LINKS:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Harlequin </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Indiebound</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Amazon</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Barnes & Noble </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Books-A-Million</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Walmart</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Google</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">iBooks</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Kobo</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-18941496396638081492020-10-04T23:30:00.095-07:002020-10-04T23:30:04.377-07:0013 Scary Books to read in October <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://media.istockphoto.com/photos/old-books-against-the-background-of-fallen-yellow-leaves-in-the-picture-id1173181492?b=1&k=6&m=1173181492&s=170667a&w=0&h=L8Zen9FI7tNQZGh9NIfwH1NZPkTrlMLFwXFYRp9HebE=" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="329" data-original-width="527" src="https://media.istockphoto.com/photos/old-books-against-the-background-of-fallen-yellow-leaves-in-the-picture-id1173181492?b=1&k=6&m=1173181492&s=170667a&w=0&h=L8Zen9FI7tNQZGh9NIfwH1NZPkTrlMLFwXFYRp9HebE=" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">There are sooooo many fun, uh, scary books to read in October! </span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Small disclaimer: I haven't read all of these books...yet, so I'm not sure on content. Read at your own risk.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">I've put together a SHORT list of really creepy/scary/crazy reads for you here:</span></b></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1332152297l/11958033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="314" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1332152297l/11958033.jpg" width="161" /></a></div><b>TEN by Gretchen McNeil</b><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br />It was supposed to be the weekend of their lives—an exclusive house party on Henry Island. Best friends Meg and Minnie are looking forward to two days of boys, booze, and fun-filled luxury. But what starts out as fun turns twisted after the discovery of a DVD with a sinister message: </span><em style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Vengeance is mine. </em><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">And things only get worse from there.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">With a storm raging outside, the teens are cut off from the outside world . . . so when a mysterious killer begins picking them off one by one, there’s no escape. As the deaths become more violent and the teens turn on one another, can Meg find the killer before more people die? Or is the killer closer to her than she could ever imagine?</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1531295292l/2213661.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="306" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1531295292l/2213661.jpg" width="157" /></a></div><b>THE GRAVEYARD BOOK by Neil Gaiman</b><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br />Nobody Owens, known to his friends as Bod, is a perfectly normal boy. Well, he would be perfectly normal if he didn't live in a graveyard, being raised and educated by ghosts, with a solitary guardian who belongs to neither the world of the living nor the world of the dead.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">There are dangers and adventures for Bod in the graveyard: the strange and terrible menace of the Sleer; a gravestone entrance to a desert that leads to the city of ghouls; friendship with a witch, and so much more.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">But it is in the land of the living that real danger lurks, for it is there that the man Jack lives and he has already killed Bod's family.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1487957066l/31020402._SY475_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="315" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1487957066l/31020402._SY475_.jpg" width="162" /></a></div><b>BLOOD ROSE REBELLION by Rosalyn Eves</b><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br />In a world where social prestige derives from a trifecta of blood, money, and magic, one girl has the ability to break the spell that holds the social order in place.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Sixteen-year-old Anna Arden is barred from society by a defect of blood. Though her family is part of the Luminate, powerful users of magic, she is Barren, unable to perform the simplest spells. Anna would do anything to belong. But her fate takes another course when, after inadvertently breaking her sister’s debutante spell—an important chance for a highborn young woman to show her prowess with magic—Anna finds herself exiled to her family’s once powerful but now crumbling native Hungary.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Her life might well be over.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1421339850l/24396858.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="317" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1421339850l/24396858.jpg" width="162" /></a></div><br /><b>THE DEAD HOUSE by Dawn Kurtagich</b><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Two decades have passed since an inferno swept through Elmbridge High, claiming the lives of three teenagers and causing one student, Carly Johnson, to disappear. The main suspect: Kaitlyn, "the girl of nowhere."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Kaitlyn's diary, discovered in the ruins of Elmbridge High, reveals the thoughts of a disturbed mind. Its charred pages tell a sinister version of events that took place that tragic night, and the girl of nowhere is caught in the center of it all. But many claim Kaitlyn doesn't exist, and in a way, she doesn't - because she is the alter ego of Carly Johnson.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Carly gets the day. Kaitlyn has the night. It's during the night that a mystery surrounding the Dead House unravels and a dark, twisted magic ruins the lives of each student that dares touch it.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1544204706l/42505366.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="317" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1544204706l/42505366.jpg" width="162" /></a></div><b>WILDER GIRLS by Rory Power</b><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">It's been eighteen months since the Raxter School for Girls was put under quarantine. Since the Tox hit and pulled Hetty's life out from under her.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">It started slow. First the teachers died one by one. Then it began to infect the students, turning their bodies strange and foreign. Now, cut off from the rest of the world and left to fend for themselves on their island home, the girls don't dare wander outside the school's fence, where the Tox has made the woods wild and dangerous. They wait for the cure they were promised as the Tox seeps into everything.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">But when Byatt goes missing, Hetty will do anything to find her, even if it means breaking quarantine and braving the horrors that lie beyond the fence. And when she does, Hetty learns that there's more to their story, to their life at Raxter, than she could have ever thought true.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span id="freeText15686720993298334962" style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1333578339l/13275209.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="318" height="232" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1333578339l/13275209.jpg" width="162" /></a></div><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>BEYOND by Graham McNamee</b></span></p><br />Jane is not your typical teen. She and her best friend Lexi call themselves the Creep Sisters. Only Lexi knows why Jane is different from anyone else: Her own shadow seems to pull her into near-fatal accidents. Jane is determined to find out why these terrifying things happen, and to overcome her shadow enemy. Her sleuthing with Lexi connects her own horrors to the secret history of a serial killer.<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1456595105l/28818313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="317" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1456595105l/28818313.jpg" width="162" /></a></div><b>IRON CAST by Destiny Soria </b><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br />In 1919, Ada Navarra—the intrepid daughter of immigrants—and Corinne Wells—a spunky, devil-may-care heiress—make an unlikely pair. But at the Cast Iron nightclub in Boston, anything and everything is possible. At night, on stage together, the two best friends, whose “afflicted” blood gives them the ability to create illusions through art, weave magic under the employ of Johnny Dervish, the club’s owner and a notorious gangster. By day, Ada and Corinne use these same skills to con the city’s elite in an attempt to keep the club afloat.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">When a “job” goes awry and Ada is imprisoned, she realizes they’re on the precipice of danger. Only Corinne—her partner in crime—can break her out of Haversham Asylum. But once Ada is out, they face betrayal at every turn.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1442065592l/7617119._SY475_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="316" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1442065592l/7617119._SY475_.jpg" width="162" /></a></div>I<b> AM NOT A SERIAL KILLER by Dan Wells</b><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br />John Wayne Cleaver is dangerous, and he knows it.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">He's spent his life doing his best not to live up to his potential.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">He's obsessed with serial killers, but really doesn't want to become one. So for his own sake, and the safety of those around him, he lives by rigid rules he's written for himself, practicing normal life as if it were a private religion that could save him from damnation.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Dead bodies are normal to John. He likes them, actually. They don't demand or expect the empathy he's unable to offer. Perhaps that's what gives him the objectivity to recognize that there's something different about the body the police have just found behind the Wash-n-Dry Laundromat---and to appreciate what that difference means.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Now, for the first time, John has to confront a danger outside himself, a threat he can't control, a menace to everything and everyone he would love, if only he could.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1358266631l/6261522.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="463" data-original-width="300" height="237" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1358266631l/6261522.jpg" width="154" /></a></div><br /><b>THE BODY FINDER by Kimberly Derting</b><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Violet Ambrose is grappling with two major issues: Jay Heaton and her morbid secret ability. While the sixteen-year-old is confused by her new feelings for her best friend since childhood, she is more disturbed by her "power" to sense dead bodies—or at least those that have been murdered. Since she was a little girl, she has felt the echoes that the dead leave behind in the world... </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">and</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"> the imprints that attach to their killers.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Violet has never considered her strange talent to be a gift; it mostly just led her to find the dead birds her cat left for her. But now that a serial killer is terrorizing her small town, and the echoes of the local girls he's claimed haunt her daily, she realizes she might be the only person who can stop him.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Despite his fierce protectiveness over her, Jay reluctantly agrees to help Violet on her quest to find the murderer—and Violet is unnerved by her hope that Jay's intentions are </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">much</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"> more than friendly. But even as she's falling intensely in love, Violet is getting closer and closer to discovering a killer... and becoming his prey herself.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1531316524l/38225791._SY475_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="314" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1531316524l/38225791._SY475_.jpg" width="161" /></a></div><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">TWO CAN KEEP A SECRET by Karen M.McManus</span></p><br />Echo Ridge is small-town America. Ellery's never been there, but she's heard all about it. Her aunt went missing there at age seventeen. And only five years ago, a homecoming queen put the town on the map when she was killed. Now Ellery has to move there to live with a grandmother she barely knows.<br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">The town is picture-perfect, but it's hiding secrets. And before school even begins for Ellery, someone's declared open season on homecoming, promising to make it as dangerous as it was five years ago. Then, almost as if to prove it, another girl goes missing.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Ellery knows all about secrets. Her mother has them; her grandmother does too. And the longer she's in Echo Ridge, the clearer it becomes that everyone there is hiding something. The thing is, secrets are dangerous--and most people aren't good at keeping them. Which is why in Echo Ridge, it's safest to keep your secrets to yourself.</span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1410170969l/20312462.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="317" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1410170969l/20312462.jpg" width="162" /></a></div><br /><b>JACKABY by William Ritter</b><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Newly arrived in New Fiddleham, New England, 1892, and in need of a job, Abigail Rook meets R. F. Jackaby, an investigator of the unexplained with a keen eye for the extraordinary--including the ability to see supernatural beings. Abigail has a gift for noticing ordinary but important details, which makes her perfect for the position of Jackaby’s assistant. On her first day, Abigail finds herself in the midst of a thrilling case: A serial killer is on the loose. The police are convinced it’s an ordinary villain, but Jackaby is certain it’s a nonhuman creature, whose existence the police--with the exception of a handsome young detective named Charlie Cane--deny.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1530823449l/40727470._SY475_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="294" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1530823449l/40727470._SY475_.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>STALKING JACK THE RIPPER by Kerri Manscalco</b></span></p><br />Seventeen-year-old Audrey Rose Wadsworth was born a lord's daughter, with a life of wealth and privilege stretched out before her. But between the social teas and silk dress fittings, she leads a forbidden secret life.<br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Against her stern father's wishes and society's expectations, Audrey often slips away to her uncle's laboratory to study the gruesome practice of forensic medicine. When her work on a string of savagely killed corpses drags Audrey into the investigation of a serial murderer, her search for answers brings her close to her own sheltered world.</span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1338652359l/13595639.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="317" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1338652359l/13595639.jpg" width="162" /></a></div><br />THE NAME OF THE STAR by Maureen Johnson<p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Louisiana teenager Rory Deveaux arrives in London to start a new life at boarding school just as a series of brutal murders mimicking the horrific Jack the Ripper killing spree of more than a century ago has broken out across the city. The police are left with few leads and no witnesses. Except one. Rory spotted the man believed to be the prime suspect. But she is the only one who saw him - the only one who </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">can</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"> see him. And now Rory has become his next target...unless she can tap her previously unknown abilities to turn the tables.</span></p>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-48509336129304462652020-10-02T23:30:00.001-07:002020-10-02T23:30:02.442-07:00The ULTIMATE October Movie List! <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/47/6a/b5/476ab5bec877b05222612bee3116df5a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="450" src="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/47/6a/b5/476ab5bec877b05222612bee3116df5a.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">From <a href="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/47/6a/b5/476ab5bec877b05222612bee3116df5a.jpg">HERE</a></div><br /> <p></p>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-90830401569641613422020-09-30T23:30:00.003-07:002020-09-30T23:30:04.987-07:0031 Day Halloween Bucket List<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://twintestedpinapproved.files.wordpress.com/2014/10/piccollage1.jpg?w=764" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="764" data-original-width="764" height="611" src="https://twintestedpinapproved.files.wordpress.com/2014/10/piccollage1.jpg?w=764" width="611" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">From this <a href="https://twintestedpinapproved.wordpress.com/2014/10/04/halloween-bucket-list-31-things-to-do-in-october-2014/">BLOG</a></div><br /> <p></p>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-32316226924728122852020-09-30T23:30:00.001-07:002020-09-30T23:30:00.140-07:00Welcome October!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.cleanandscentsible.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/Free-Fall-Printables-Octobers-resized-8x10-768x864.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="711" height="691" src="https://www.cleanandscentsible.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/Free-Fall-Printables-Octobers-resized-8x10-768x864.jpg" width="614" /></a></div><br /><p></p><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
From this blog <b><a href="https://www.cleanandscentsible.com/free-thanksgiving-fall-printables/">Clean & Scentsible</a></b></div>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-62280203891149370872020-09-29T23:30:00.028-07:002020-09-29T23:30:03.873-07:00CONFESSIONS ON THE 7:45 by Lisa Unger BLOG TOUR! <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="247" data-original-width="649" height="220" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hBhvqcWGSgo/X2Kbgr2-rJI/AAAAAAAATh4/U2dnl6KxTlgScjUFzCuVlFWZj8qFD8j9wCLcBGAsYHQ/w575-h220/60-02-HTP-FALL-Reads-Blog-Tour---MYSTERY-%2526-THRILLER-2020---640x247%2B%25281%2529.jpg" style="text-align: left;" width="575" /></div> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B5xL8K25e5I/X2KbmXCTdgI/AAAAAAAATiA/Hcq2xltvw2InsmVTuUN9aDuQoRAQGTWEQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/FINAL%2BCover%2BArt_CONFESSIONS%2BON%2BTHE%2B745%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1347" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B5xL8K25e5I/X2KbmXCTdgI/AAAAAAAATiA/Hcq2xltvw2InsmVTuUN9aDuQoRAQGTWEQCLcBGAsYHQ/w263-h400/FINAL%2BCover%2BArt_CONFESSIONS%2BON%2BTHE%2B745%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="263" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Chapter Two</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Anne</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">It had been a mistake from the beginning and Anne certainly knew that. You don’t sleep with your boss. It’s really one of the things mothers should teach their daughters. Chew your food carefully. Look both ways before you cross the street. Don’t fuck your direct supervisor no matter how hot, rich, or charming he may happen to be. Not that Anne’s mother had taught her a single useful thing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Anyway, here she was. Again. Taking it from behind, over the couch in her boss’s corner office with those expansive city views. The world was a field of lights spread wide around them. She tried to enjoy it. But, as was often the case, she just kind of floated above herself. She made all the right noises, though. She knew how to fake it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Oh my god, Anne. You’re so hot.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">He pressed himself in deep, moaning.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">When he’d first come on to her, she thought he was kidding – or not thinking clearly. They’d flown together to DC to take an important client who was considering leaving the investment firm out to dinner. In the cab on the way back to the hotel -- while Hugh was on the phone with his wife, he put his hand on Anne’s leg. He wasn’t even looking at Anne when he did it, so for a moment she wondered if it was just absent-mindedness. He was like that sometimes, a little loopy. Overly affectionate, familiar. Forgetful.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">His hand moved up her thigh. Anne sat very still. Like a prey animal. Hugh ended the call and she expected him to jerk his hand back. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Oh! I’m so sorry, Anne, she thought he’d say, aghast at his careless behavior.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">But no. His hand moved higher.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> “Am I misreading signals?” he said, voice low. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Stop. What most people would be thinking: Poor Anne! Afraid for her job, she submits to this predator.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">What Anne was thinking: How can I use this to my advantage? She really had been just trying to do her job well, sort of. But it seemed that Pop was right, as he had been about so many things. If you weren’t running a game, someone was running one on you.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Had she subconsciously been putting out signals? Possibly. Yes. Maybe Pop was right about that, too. You don’t get to stop being what you are, even when you try.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">They made out like prom dates in the cab, comported themselves appropriately as they walked through the lobby of the Ritz. He pressed against her at the door to her hotel room. She was glad she was wearing sexy underwear, had shaved her legs. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She’d given Hugh – with his salt and pepper hair, sinewy muscles, flat abs -- the ride of his life that night. And many nights since. He liked her on top. He was a considerate lover, always asking: Is this good? Are you okay? Confessional: Kate and I – we’ve been married a long time. We both have – appetites. She couldn’t care less about his marriage.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Anne didn’t actually believe in the things other people seemed to value so highly. Fidelity – really? Were you supposed to just want one person your whole life? Marriage. Was there ever anything more set up to fail, to disappoint, to erode? Come on. They were animals. Every last one of them rutting, feral beasts. Men. Women. All of society was held together by gossamer thin, totally arbitrary laws and mores that were always shifting and changing no matter how people clung. They were all just barely in line.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Anne neither expected nor encouraged Hugh to fall in love. In fact, she spoke very little. She listened, made all the right affirming noises. If he noticed that she had told him almost nothing about herself, it didn’t come up. But fall in love with Anne he did. And things were getting complicated.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Now, finished and holding her around the waist, Hugh was crying a little. His body weight was pinning her down. He often got emotional after they made love. She didn’t mind him most of the time. But the whole crying thing -- it was such a turn off. She pushed against him and he let her up. She tugged down her skirt, and he pulled her into an embrace. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She held him for a while, then wiped his eyes, kissed his tears away. Because she knew that’s what he wanted. She had a special gift for that, knowing what people wanted -- really wanted deep down – and giving them that thing for a while. And that was why Hugh – why anyone – fell in love. Because he loved getting the thing he wanted, even if he didn’t know what that was.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">When he moved away finally, she stared at her ghostly reflection in the dark window, wiped at her smeared lipstick.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I’m going to leave her,” Hugh said. He flung himself on one of the plush sofas. He was long and elegant; his clothes impeccable, bespoke, made from the finest fabrics. Tonight, his silk tie was loose, pressed cotton shirt was wilted, black wool suit pants still looking crisp. Garments, all garments – even just his tennis whites -- hung beautifully on his fit body.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She smiled, moved to sit beside him. He kissed her, salty and sweet. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“It’s time. I can’t do this anymore,” he went on.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">This wasn’t the first time he’d said this. Last time, when she’d tried to discourage him, he’d held her wrists too hard when she tried to leave. There had been something bright and hard in his eyes – desperation. She didn’t want him to get clingy tonight. Emotional.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Okay,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. “Yeah.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Because that’s what he wanted to hear, needed to hear. If you didn’t give people what they wanted, they became angry. Or they pulled away. And then the game was harder or lost altogether.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“We’ll go away,” he said, tracing a finger along her jaw. Because of course they’d both lose their jobs. Hugh’s wife Kate owned and ran the investment firm, had inherited the company from her legendary father. Her brothers were on the board. They’d never liked Hugh (this was one of his favorite pillow talk tirades, how Kate’s brothers didn’t respect him). “We’ll take a long trip abroad and figure out what comes next. Clean slate for both of us. Would you like that?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Of course,” she said. “That would be wonderful.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Anne liked her job; when she’d applied and interviewed, she honestly wanted to work at the firm. Numbers made a kind of sense to her, investment a kind of union of logic and magic. Client work was a bit of a game, wasn’t it – convincing people to part with their cash on the promise that you could make them more? She also respected and admired her boss – her lover’s wife -- Kate. A powerful, intelligent woman. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Maybe Anne should have thought about all of that before she submitted to Hugh’s advances. He wasn’t the power player; she’d miscalculated, or not run the numbers at all. She made mistakes like that sometimes, let the game run her. Pop thought it was a form of self-sabotage. Sometimes, sweetie, I think your heart’s not quite in it. Maybe he was right.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Ugh,” said Hugh, pulling away, glancing at his watch. “I’m late. I have to change and meet Kate at the fundraiser.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She rose and walked the expanse of his office, got his tux from the closet, and lay it across the back of the couch. Another stunning item, heavy and silken. She ran her fingers lovingly along the lapel. He rose, and she helped him dress, hanging his other clothes, putting them back in the closet. She did his tie. In his heart, he was a little boy. He wanted to be attended to, cared for. Maybe everyone wanted that.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“You look wonderful,” she said, kissing him. “Have fun tonight.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">He looked at her long, eyes filling again.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Soon,” he said. “This charade can end.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She put a gentle hand to his cheek, smiled as sweetly as she could muster and started to move from the room.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Anne,” he said, grabbing for her hand. “I love you.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She’d never said it back. She’d said things like “me, too” or she’d send him the heart- eyed emoji in response to a text, sometimes she just blew him a kiss. He hadn’t seemed to notice, or his pride was too enormous to ask her why she never said it, or if she loved him. But mainly, she thought it was because Hugh only saw and heard what he wanted to.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She unlaced her fingers and blew him a kiss. “Goodnight, Hugh.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">His phone rang, and he watched her as he answered. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I’m coming, darling,” he said, averting his eyes, moving away. “Just had to finish up with a client.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She left him, his voice following her down the hall.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">In her office, she gathered her things, a strange knot in the pit of her stomach. She sensed that her luck was about to run out here. She couldn’t say why. Just a feeling that things were unsustainable – that it wasn’t going to be as easy to leave Kate as he thought, that on some level he didn’t really want to, that once things reached critical mass, she’d be out of a job. Of course, it wouldn’t be a total loss. She’d make sure of that. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">There was a loneliness, a hollow feeling that took hold at the end. She wished she could call Pop, that he could talk her through. Instead her phone pinged. The message there annoyed her.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">This is wrong, it said. I don’t want to do this anymore.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Just stay the course, she wrote back. It’s too late to back out now.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Funny how that worked. At the critical moment, she had to give the advice she needed herself. The student becomes the teacher. No doubt, Pop would be pleased.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Anne glanced at the phone. The little dots pulsed, then disappeared. The girl, younger, greener, would do what she was told. She always had. So far.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Anne looked at her watch, imbued with a bit of energy. If she hustled, she could just make it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Excerpted from Confessions on the 7:45 by Lisa Unger, Copyright © 2020 by Lisa Unger. Published by Park Row Books.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iFTPGdjEM7g/X2KcfGMh7-I/AAAAAAAATiY/ATjnBE6-r6Y3PmIQcIqqAkbXnpB8pyzIgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Lisa%2BUnger%2BAuthor%2BPhoto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1437" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iFTPGdjEM7g/X2KcfGMh7-I/AAAAAAAATiY/ATjnBE6-r6Y3PmIQcIqqAkbXnpB8pyzIgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Lisa%2BUnger%2BAuthor%2BPhoto.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">CONFESSIONS ON THE 7:45</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Author: Lisa Unger</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">ISBN: 9780778310150 </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Publication Date: October 6, 2020</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Publisher: Park Row Books</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">BIO: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Lisa Unger is the New York Times and internationally bestselling author of eighteen novels, including CONFESSIONS ON THE 7:45 (Oct. 2020). With millions of readers worldwide and books published in twenty-six languages, Unger is widely regarded as a master of suspense. Her critically acclaimed books have been voted "Best of the Year" or top picks by the Today show, Good Morning America, Entertainment Weekly, Amazon, IndieBound and others. Her essays have appeared in The New York Times, Wall Street Journal, NPR, and Travel+Leisure. She lives on the west coast of Florida with her family.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">BOOK SUMMARY: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Bestselling and award-winning author Lisa Unger returns with her best novel yet. Reminiscent of the classic Strangers on a Train, Confessions on the 7:45 is a riveting psychological thriller that begins with a chance encounter on a commuter train and shows why you should never, ever make conversation with strangers.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Be careful who you tell your darkest secrets...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Selena Murphy is commuting home from her job in the city when the train stalls out on the tracks. She strikes up a conversation with a beautiful stranger in the next seat, and their connection is fast and easy. The woman introduces herself as Martha and confesses that she's been stuck in an affair with her boss. Selena, in turn, confesses that she suspects her husband is sleeping with the nanny. When the train arrives at Selena's station, the two women part ways, presumably never to meet again.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">But days later, Selena's nanny disappears.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Soon Selena finds her once-perfect life upended. As she is pulled into the mystery of the missing nanny, and as the fractures in her marriage grow deeper, Selena begins to wonder, who was Martha really? But she is hardly prepared for what she'll discover.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Expertly plotted and reminiscent of the timeless classic Strangers on a Train, Confessions on the 7:45 is a stunning web of lies and deceit, and a gripping thriller about the delicate facades we create around our lives.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">SOCIAL:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Author Website: https://lisaunger.com/ </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">TWITTER: @lisaunger</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">FB: @authorlisaunger </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Insta: @launger</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18445.Lisa_Unger </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">BUY LINKS:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Harlequin </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Indiebound</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Amazon</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Barnes & Noble </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Books-A-Million</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Target</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Walmart</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Google</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">iBooks</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Kobo</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-19667284637258713152020-09-24T23:30:00.017-07:002020-09-24T23:30:01.436-07:00SMASH IT! by Francina Simone BLOG TOUR!!! <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2-u1GQ5F1jY/X2Klc3lagGI/AAAAAAAATjA/Lhk_WmcgP4w0RWp48PEvAyCfEmDUz_DlACLcBGAsYHQ/s649/60-04-HTP-FALL-Reads-Blog-Tour---YA-%2526-Inkyard-Press-2020---640x247%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="247" data-original-width="649" height="207" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2-u1GQ5F1jY/X2Klc3lagGI/AAAAAAAATjA/Lhk_WmcgP4w0RWp48PEvAyCfEmDUz_DlACLcBGAsYHQ/w544-h207/60-04-HTP-FALL-Reads-Blog-Tour---YA-%2526-Inkyard-Press-2020---640x247%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="544" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-58iFr-csAyU/X2Klw4NzOnI/AAAAAAAATjI/AVg101wox-E4NiAceB-Mm0l9j0DitUzpgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/9781488069390.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1354" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-58iFr-csAyU/X2Klw4NzOnI/AAAAAAAATjI/AVg101wox-E4NiAceB-Mm0l9j0DitUzpgCLcBGAsYHQ/w265-h400/9781488069390.jpg" width="265" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>SMASH IT!</p><p>By Francina Simone</p><p>On Sale: September 22, 2020 </p><p>INKYARD PRESS</p><p>Teen & Young Adult Theater Fiction</p><p>978-1335146502; 1335146504</p><p>$18.99 USD</p><p>368 pages</p><p><br /></p><p>About the Book</p><p><br /></p><p>Olivia “Liv” James is done with letting her insecurities get the best of her. So she does what any self-respecting hot mess of a girl who wants to SMASH junior year does…</p><p><br /></p><p>After Liv shows up to a Halloween party in khaki shorts—why, God, why?—she decides to set aside her wack AF ways. She makes a list—a F*ck-It list.</p><p><br /></p><p>1. Be bold—do the thing that scares me.</p><p><br /></p><p>2. Learn to take a compliment.</p><p><br /></p><p>3. Stand out instead of back.</p><p><br /></p><p>She kicks it off by trying out for the school musical, saying yes to a date and making new friends. Life is great when you stop punking yourself! However, with change comes a lot of missteps, and being bold means following her heart. So what happens when Liv’s heart is interested in three different guys—and two of them are her best friends? What is she supposed to do when she gets dumped by a guy she’s not even dating? How does one Smash It! after the humiliation of being friend-zoned?</p><p><br /></p><p>In Liv’s own words, “F*ck it. What’s the worst that can happen?”</p><p><br /></p><p>A lot, apparently.</p><p><br /></p><p>#SMASHIT</p><p><br /></p><p>About the author</p><p><br /></p><p>Francina Simone believes in one thing: authenticity. She writes YA stories full of humor and hard life lessons with sprinkles of truth that make us all feel understood. Her craft focuses on stories about girls throwing caution to the wind to discover exactly who they are and what it means to love. Francina is also known for her BookTube channel, where she discusses controversial topics in books.</p><p><br /></p><p>Social Links:</p><p><br /></p><p>Author website: http://www.francinasimone.com/</p><p>Twitter: https://twitter.com/francinasimone</p><p>Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/francinasimone </p><p>Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/44648676-smash-it</p><p>Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCcUVLS6cM_JiEHHXsmsqwrA?view_as=subscriber</p><p><br /></p><p>Buy Links:</p><p>Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Smash-Francina-Simone/dp/1335146504</p><p>Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/smash-it-francina-simone/1134580654</p><p>IndieBound: https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781335146502</p><p>Books-A-Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/p/Smash/Francina-Simone/9781335146502</p><p>AppleBooks: https://books.apple.com/us/book/smash-it/id1485872174?uo=8&at=</p><p>Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/audiobooks/details/Francina_Simone_Smash_It?id=AQAAAEDsER9R4M</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EZ5H0drgrik/X2KmHulLmiI/AAAAAAAATjQ/GLTVFZn2KQMG7NVElm3ExlsLUUrn-Q2TQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/FrancinaSimoneauthorphoto_credit_FrancinaSimone.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1650" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EZ5H0drgrik/X2KmHulLmiI/AAAAAAAATjQ/GLTVFZn2KQMG7NVElm3ExlsLUUrn-Q2TQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/FrancinaSimoneauthorphoto_credit_FrancinaSimone.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><p>Q&A with Francina Simone</p><p>Q: Please give the elevator pitch for Smash It!.</p><p>A: Olivia James, is done with letting her insecurities get the best of her, does what any self-respecting hot-mess-of-a-girl who wants to SMASH junior year does—she makes a F*ck It list. </p><p><br /></p><p>Q: Of all of Shakespear’s tragedies, to do a comedic retelling of Othello is an ingenious idea for a story, especially with all the drama of high school. Why did you choose Othello?</p><p>A: If I’m honest, I think Othello chose me. A long time ago when SMASH IT was more like my lie than a book idea, I read the play and fell in love with the villain Iago. I thought of Iago more as Othello’s Ego getting the best of him. He was a secure man until Iago used his insecurities against him. Fast forward years later, I had this story idea of this girl and these two boys in my head and I saw this climactic scene happening between them and it reminded me a lot of the themes in Othello: Jealousy, illusions, perception, womanhood, sexuality. How it all unravels in Smash It was just clandestine.</p><p><br /></p><p>Q: Which came first: the characters or the plot line? </p><p>A: They came at the same time, a moment between the three characters that I’ll never forget. I won’t mention it here because it’s very spoilery. But one day it just played in my mind on loop, and I needed to know how this thing that happened between them had gotten that far and how they could go on from there. The event is really one of those world ending things that you just don’t know how people are going to come back from. From there it was about listening to the story as Olivia told it. </p><p><br /></p><p>Q: Liv is a bright, authentic, relatable character. She slowly comes into her own in all the best and worst possible ways. She is a refreshing main character joining the YA space. What advice do you think Liv would give others going through a similar situation(s) as hers?</p><p>A: You’re going to mess up. You’re going to be problematic. You’re going to speak up when you should be quiet. You’re going to be quiet when you should speak up. You’re going to do all the wrong things even if you think you know you won’t. It’s human. The question is, can you get up and try again? Because, the world doesn’t end just because you fucked up. So go fix it.</p><p><br /></p><p>Q: Why do you love Liv and why should readers root for her?</p><p>A: Liv is unapologetically herself. She’s not a cookie cutter you can copy and paste yourself into. She’s a person who can teach us all empathy and how to see the world from another perspective. She shows us how you can be aware and still not know right from wrong simply because life is skewed in as many ways as there are people breathing. Root or her because in doing so you’re rooting for yourself.</p><p><br /></p><p>Q: Who or what made you decide to become a writer? What inspires your writing? </p><p>A: I like to think I’m a storyteller because when the stories come whispering I take the time to listen. Being a storyteller takes courage, belief in yourself, so I guess what inspires my writing is ignoring all the fears so I can write and discover the story just as the reader does. There is something exhilarating about experiencing a story for the first time and I get to do that with every book I write.</p><p><br /></p><p>Q: I relate to Liv so much I thought we could be twins. For me, Smash It! is one of those books that you wish had been around when you were younger. What made you decide to write Smash It!? What impact has this story had on you?</p><p>A: I decided it was okay for me to be Black and write what it’s like being a Black girl in a world where all the other books just want me to be Black struggle and strife. You for sure can’t “paint” Liv white and the story be the same. She’s Black American and her perspective is so different and really eye opening into a sliver of Black culture. We live, we love, we laugh, we get to Eat Pray and Love, but we do it in a very different way. We do it while Black and that is the most beautiful and glorious part to me, because that me.</p><p><br /></p><p>Q: I have to ask this next question because it’s one of my favorite things I love about Liv: If any, what are some of your favorite musicals?</p><p>A: the only musical I’ve seen live is Aida and I loved it. I mean, it was problematic as hell (the casting and such) but I loved the music and it woke me up inside. Phantom of the Opera has music that just delivers me. Hamilton of course! Wicked. Rent—I know I”m forgetting a few but honestly Rent was one that really made me want to be an actor! </p><p><br /></p><p>Q: You write stories that are “full of humor and hard life lessons with sprinkles of truth that make us all feel understood.” What conversation(s) do you hope readers will have after reading Smash It! (nerdy talks or otherwise)?</p><p>A: I just humor to help us get through tough conversations like: being a Black girl sometimes means we internalize racism and that can mean thinking the guy you like that probably likes you too, doesn’t because you’re not a white girl and can’t live up to that beauty standard. I want people to talk about intersectional casual racism and feminism. There are ways that PoC in America mingle that are very different than how we mingle with Whtie people. We talk different between groups in positive and negative ways. I want people to talk about how dark skin black girls have to wear armor and fight for every thought and opinion they have because they’re used to being less than second rate. I want to talk about sexuality and how girls don’t owe their sexual experience to anyone except who they want to have it with, boys too. I want readers to talk about how boys aren’t given the same space to be emotionally vulnerable. I want readers to talk about different family dynamics; that family life can be loving and toxic and how that shit doesn’t just go away because you joined a musical and sang a song. </p><p>That’s the biggest thing. I want readers to talk about how life isn’t fixed just because you got to the end of the book. That life goes on. It always goes on and the little problems will too. </p><p><br /></p><p>Q: What was your last 5-star read? </p><p>A: I’m very much into graphic novels these days and the Awkward, Brave, Crush series by Svetlana Chmakova is a FAVORITE. I love the stories of everyday contemporary life, the emotional punches, the art, and the diversity. Honestly, her art is so moving I wish I could spend a day in her sketchbooks.</p><p><br /></p><p>Q: What is one thing about publishing you wish someone would have told you?What inspired you to write this story? </p><p>A: Truth be told, I’m a curious person and researched via the internet, my author friends, agent, anyone who could give me an answer about all things publishing. I think a piece of advice I would give though is, know who you’re writing your story for, and stand in that proudly. If you know, then you’ll never make compromises unless it serves the story. That’s important. </p><p><br /></p><p>Q: Describe your main character in 3 words.</p><p>A: awkward, brave, beautiful</p><p><br /></p><p>Q: What was the most challenging part to write in this book?</p><p>A: The most challenging part to write is always the end. I hate saying goodbye. I almost always cry. </p><p><br /></p><p>Q: What's a typical writing day for you?</p><p>A: HAHAHAHA. I laugh. I don't’ have writing days. I live my life and then when it’s time to write I type out a book anywhere from in a week to a month (depending on the length of the book). I’m not saying that’s my routine necessarily. It just is what it is right now. It’s been that way for years. I’m a very creative person I like to storytell in many ways, painting, illustration, music, etc. so If I were to write everyday it would be like milking a cow with no milk….sometimes you have to do other things on the farm to make sure the whole farm is working and happy, not just milk the cow all day.</p><p><br /></p><p>Q: Where do you like writing and why? Favorite snacks and/or beverages?</p><p>A: I can write anywhere. I usually use music as a way to transport me into my mindspace so I’m not bothered by my physical space. With two small kids—it’s hard to be in two places at once but so far it’s working...kind of. I tend not to eat while I work though I do enjoy a cherry soda and licorice. I think when I’m really working I tend to eat high sugar foods because I write anywhere from early morning to early morning. I just—don’t sleep much. Once the story starts it’s like being in a movie theatre with the volume on high. I can’t focus on anything else until it’s done.</p><p><br /></p><p>Q: What author or story inspired you growing up or inspired you in some ways?</p><p>A: I think everything I read inspired me. I mean, we talk about very specific stories or people all the time and not enough about how everything we consume is part of our making. That includes negative things (which can slow you on your way to inspiration) I think my family and friends inspired me once I realized how special they were. My friends read SMASH IT and the first thing they ask is “Am I so and so or so and so because I feel like both.” </p><p>Authors inspired me in that I dared to dream. I dared to do what they’d done. Stories inspired me in way that I wanted to replicate feelings or word pairings or in some cases I just wanted to prove that I could do something better than the garbage in front of me. Honestly. Movies and TV inspired me more than books. I’m very visual and my Kdramas know how to tell a rollercoaster of a story!</p><p><br /></p><p>Q: Is there anything you can tell us about the book that is not a spoiler and not on the blurb? Something you'd like to share with us?</p><p>A: I will say, this story, while funny and light-hearted on the surface usually is making a statement about something serious in almost every scene. If you feel something positive or negative, you’re supposed to feel something. These characters aren’t role models or people you’re supposed to agree with just because you like them. You’re supposed to sometimes not agree and hopefully that will give you the courage to disagree with people in your life that like you like who do and say things that aren’t quite okay. Also, hopefully it helps you to see that just because they have a perspective you disagree with, itt doesn’t mean they are the root of all evil. </p><p>Ignorance, funny enough, is something we see in others because we too have it. So be careful putting people on pedestals, and be careful knocking them off too.</p><p><br /></p><p>Q: How did you choose the title?</p><p>A: haha it was a wild ride. I wanted a title that summed up the book and SMASH IT means so many things from “You got this!” to “Sex” so I thought, it was the perfect way to say all of it in one phrase. The more you read the more you see the many layers of the title unravel.</p><p><br /></p><p>Q: What scene, in the book, are you most proud of?</p><p>A: I can’t say there is any one scene. Instead I’m very proud of the way the scenes unfold. They seemingly don’t relate any more than “Liv living day to day” but once you get about a third of the way through the book everything starts tumbling and catching speed and everything from the beginning to that moment just comes crashing into a perfect cacophony of chaos.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-90749093548792961652020-09-19T23:30:00.005-07:002020-09-19T23:30:12.197-07:00FALL Movie Marathon<p> Here is a fun list of movies to watch! I haven't watched all of them, but most are fantastic! </p><p>Which ones do you love?</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://kellehampton.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/09/fall-movies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="618" height="721" src="https://kellehampton.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/09/fall-movies.jpg" width="557" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>THANKS <b><a href="https://kellehampton.com/2018/09/the-best-fall-movies/">Kelli Hampton!</a></b></p>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-61136288521507008152020-09-14T11:04:00.061-07:002020-09-14T11:04:00.403-07:005 more books set in the FALL <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2017/12/17/21/44/coffee-3025022__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="508" src="https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2017/12/17/21/44/coffee-3025022__340.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Are you ready for more book ideas? </span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;">I have FIVE more books set in the fall for you! </p><p style="text-align: center;">Enjoy!</p><p><br /></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1519579137l/36670752._SY475_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="317" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1519579137l/36670752._SY475_.jpg" width="162" /></a></div><br /><b>MARILLA OF GREEN GABLES by Sarah McCoy</b><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">A bold, heartfelt tale of life at Green Gables . . . before Anne: A marvelously entertaining and moving historical novel, set in rural Prince Edward Island in the nineteenth century, that imagines the young life of spinster Marilla Cuthbert, and the choices that will open her life to the possibility of heartbreak—and unimaginable greatness.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 18px 0px; padding: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1320434602l/4722840.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="292" height="230" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1320434602l/4722840.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><br /><b>JANE EYRE by Charlotte Bronte</b><p></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 18px 0px; padding: 0px;">Charlotte Brontë's most beloved novel describes the passionate love between the courageous orphan Jane Eyre and the brilliant, brooding, and domineering Rochester. The loneliness and cruelty of Jane's childhood strengthens her natural independence and spirit, which prove invaluable when she takes a position as a governess at Thornfield Hall. But after she falls in love with her sardonic employer, her discovery of his terrible secret forces her to make a heart-wrenching choice. </p><p style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 18px 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 18px 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 18px 0px; padding: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1507936746l/36301023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="315" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1507936746l/36301023.jpg" width="162" /></b></a></div><b>MY PLAIN JANE by Cynthia Hand, Brodi Ashton, Jodi Meadows</b><p></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 18px 0px; padding: 0px;">You may think you know the story. After a miserable childhood, penniless orphan Jane Eyre embarks on a new life as a governess at Thornfield Hall. There, she meets one dark, brooding Mr. Rochester. Despite their significant age gap (!) and his uneven temper (!!), they fall in love—and, Reader, she marries him. (!!!)<br />Or does she?<br />Prepare for an adventure of Gothic proportions, in which all is not as it seems, a certain gentleman is hiding more than skeletons in his closets, and one orphan Jane Eyre, aspiring author Charlotte Brontë, and supernatural investigator Alexander Blackwood are about to be drawn together on the most epic ghost hunt this side of Wuthering Heights.</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 18px 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 18px 0px; padding: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1429284657l/24331491.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="315" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1429284657l/24331491.jpg" width="162" /></a></div><br /><b>THE SPARROW SISTERS by Ellen Herrick</b><p></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 18px 0px; padding: 0px;">The Sparrow sisters are as tightly woven into the seaside New England town of Granite Point as the wild sweet peas that climb the stone walls along the harbor. Sorrel, Nettie and Patience are as colorful as the beach plums on the dunes and as mysterious as the fog that rolls into town at dusk.</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 18px 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 18px 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 18px 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 18px 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 18px 0px; padding: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1347661342l/11429998.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="263" height="205" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1347661342l/11429998.jpg" width="134" /></a></div><br /><b>AN AUTUMN CRUSH by Milly Johnson</b><p></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 18px 0px; padding: 0px;">Four friends, two crushes, and a secret that will turn everything upside-down. 'An Autumn Crush' is the new novel from the best-selling author of 'A Summer Fling'.</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 18px 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 18px 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></p>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-16114152816854154382020-09-12T23:30:00.002-07:002020-09-12T23:30:02.937-07:00Diffuser Blends for FALL<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.familyfoodgarden.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Diffuser-Blends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" height="882" src="https://www.familyfoodgarden.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Diffuser-Blends.jpg" width="588" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>From <b><a href="https://www.familyfoodgarden.com/doterra-diffuser-blends-essential-oils/">Family, Food and Garden</a></b></p>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-28207909314729190622020-09-08T23:30:00.000-07:002020-09-16T16:06:52.216-07:003 Books set in OCTOBER<p> OCTOBER!! You're finally here! </p><p><br /></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1428338423l/23346358.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="310" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1428338423l/23346358.jpg" width="158" /></a></div><b>THE ACCIDENT SEASON by Moira Fowley-Doyle</b><div><br />It's the accident season, the same time every year. Bones break, skin tears, bruises bloom.<br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">The accident season has been part of seventeen-year-old Cara's life for as long as she can remember. Towards the end of October, foreshadowed by the deaths of many relatives before them, Cara's family becomes inexplicably accident-prone. They banish knives to locked drawers, cover sharp table edges with padding, switch off electrical items - but injuries follow wherever they go, and the accident season becomes an ever-growing obsession and fear.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">But why are they so cursed? And how can they break free?</span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1406214651l/21874813.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="317" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1406214651l/21874813.jpg" width="162" /></a></div><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>AS CHIMNEY SWEEPERS COME TO DUSY by Alan Bradley</b></span></p><br /><i>Banished!</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"> is how twelve-year-old Flavia de Luce laments her predicament, when her father and Aunt Felicity ship her off to Miss Bodycote’s Female Academy, the boarding school that her mother, Harriet, once attended across the sea in Canada. The sun has not yet risen on Flavia’s first day in captivity when a gift lands at her feet. Flavia being Flavia, a budding chemist and sleuth, that gift is a charred and mummified body, which tumbles out of a bedroom chimney. Now, while attending classes, making friends (and enemies), and assessing the school’s stern headmistress and faculty (one of whom is an acquitted murderess), Flavia is on the hunt for the victim’s identity and time of death, as well as suspects, motives, and means. Rumors swirl that Miss Bodycote’s is haunted, and that several girls have disappeared without a trace. When it comes to solving multiple mysteries, Flavia is up to the task—but her true destiny has yet to be revealed.</span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1490794116l/34728925.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="314" height="304" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1490794116l/34728925.jpg" width="201" /></a></div><b>THE STRANGE CASE OF THE ALCHEMIST'S DAUGHTER by Theodora Goss</b><br /><br /><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Mary Jekyll, alone and penniless following her parents’ death, is curious about the secrets of her father’s mysterious past. One clue in particular hints that Edward Hyde, her father’s former friend and a murderer, may be nearby, and there is a reward for information leading to his capture…a reward that would solve all of her immediate financial woes.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">But her hunt leads her to Hyde’s daughter, Diana, a feral child left to be raised by nuns. With the assistance of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, Mary continues her search for the elusive Hyde, and soon befriends more women, all of whom have been created through terrifying experimentation: Beatrice Rappaccini, Catherin Moreau, and Justine Frankenstein.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><br /></div>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-69462487851672148822020-09-06T23:30:00.076-07:002020-09-06T23:30:02.734-07:005 Books Set in the FALL<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2017/12/17/21/44/coffee-3025022__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="508" src="https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2017/12/17/21/44/coffee-3025022__340.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><b>BOOKS! AUTUMN! SWEATER WEATHER!</b></p><p style="text-align: center;">Are you ready to welcome fall even more into your home and heart? </p><p style="text-align: center;">How about a few books set in the best season for pumpkin bread and sweaters?</p><p><br /></p><p><span id="freeText13753318078580394888" style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1461209661l/10626594.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="311" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1461209661l/10626594.jpg" width="159" /></a></div><b>THE SCORPIO RACES by Maggie Stiefvater</b><div><br />It happens at the start of every November: the Scorpio Races. Riders attempt to keep hold of their water horses long enough to make it to the finish line. Some riders live. Others die.<br /><br />At age nineteen, Sean Kendrick is the returning champion. He is a young man of few words, and if he has any fears, he keeps them buried deep, where no one else can see them.<br /><br />Puck Connolly is different. She never meant to ride in the Scorpio Races. But fate hasn’t given her much of a chance. So she enters the competition — the first girl ever to do so. She is in no way prepared for what is going to happen.<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1346267826l/40440.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="471" data-original-width="318" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1346267826l/40440.jpg" width="163" /></a></div><div><b>THE THIRTEENTH TALE by Diane Setterfield</b></div><div><br /></div>All children mythologize their birth...So begins the prologue of reclusive author Vida Winter's collection of stories, which are as famous for the mystery of the missing thirteenth tale as they are for the delight and enchantment of the twelve that do exist.<p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">The enigmatic Winter has spent six decades creating various outlandish life histories for herself -- all of them inventions that have brought her fame and fortune but have kept her violent and tragic past a secret. Now old and ailing, she at last wants to tell the truth about her extraordinary life. She summons biographer Margaret Lea, a young woman for whom the secret of her own birth, hidden by those who loved her most, remains an ever-present pain. Struck by a curious parallel between Miss Winter's story and her own, Margaret takes on the commission.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1387124618l/9361589.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="313" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1387124618l/9361589.jpg" width="160" /></a></div><div><b>THE NIGHT CIRCUS by Erin Morgenstern</b></div><div><br /></div>The circus arrives without warning. No announcements precede it. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not. Within the black-and-white striped canvas tents is an utterly unique experience full of breathtaking amazements. It is called Le Cirque des Rêves, and it is only open at night.<br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: merriweather, georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: merriweather, georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">But behind the scenes, a fierce competition is underway—a duel between two young magicians, Celia and Marco, who have been trained since childhood expressly for this purpose by their mercurial instructors. Unbeknownst to them, this is a game in which only one can be left standing, and the circus is but the stage for a remarkable battle of imagination and will. Despite themselves, however, Celia and Marco tumble headfirst into love—a deep, magical love that makes the lights flicker and the room grow warm whenever they so much as brush hands.</span><p></p><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1491121119l/30753645._SY475_.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="305" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1491121119l/30753645._SY475_.jpg" width="156" /></a></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>THE SIMPLICITY OF CIDER by Amy E. Reichert</b></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div>Focused and unassuming fifth generation cider-maker Sanna Lund has one desire: to live a simple, quiet life on her family’s apple orchard in Door County, Wisconsin. Although her business is struggling, Sanna remains fiercely devoted to the orchard, despite her brother’s attempts to convince their aging father to sell the land.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: merriweather, georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: merriweather, georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Single dad Isaac Banks has spent years trying to shield his son Sebastian from his troubled mother. Fleeing heartbreak at home, Isaac packed up their lives and the two headed out on an adventure, driving across the country. Chance—or fate—led them straight to Sanna’s orchard.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: merriweather, georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: merriweather, georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Isaac’s helping hands are much appreciated at the apple farm, even more when Sanna’s father is injured in an accident. As Sanna’s formerly simple life becomes increasingly complicated, she finds solace in unexpected places—friendship with young Sebastian and something more deliciously complex with Isaac—until an outside threat infiltrates the farm.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1302026634l/9223699.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="300" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1302026634l/9223699.jpg" width="154" /></a></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>HARVEST MOON by Robyn Carr</b></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div>Rising sous-chef Kelly Matlock's sudden collapse at work is a wake-up call. Disillusioned and burned out, she's retreated to her sister Jillian's house in Virgin River to rest and reevaluate.</span><p style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: merriweather, georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 18px 0px; padding: 0px;">Puttering in Jill's garden and cooking with her heirloom vegetables is wonderful, but Virgin River is a far cry from San Francisco. Kelly's starting to feel a little <i>too</i> unmotivated…until she meets Lief Holbrook. The handsome widower looks more like a lumberjack than a sophisticated screenwriter—a combination Kelly finds irresistible. But less appealing is Lief's rebellious stepdaughter, Courtney. She's the reason they moved from L.A., but Courtney's finding plenty of trouble even in Virgin River.</p></div></div>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-23088033488012008402020-09-05T09:56:00.008-07:002020-09-05T09:58:25.702-07:006 Books of my favorite books I read this summer<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2015/12/04/09/13/leaves-1076307__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="509" src="https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2015/12/04/09/13/leaves-1076307__340.jpg" /></a></b></div><b><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">How was your summer?</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">(I hate that summer is over).</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">Mine? CRAZY BUSY! </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">I had a daughter return home after living in California for 18 Months; my oldest daughter got married; my husband opened his own business. ALL within a month. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">Yup. Crazy. Busy. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">Somehow, I still found the time to read. This year, I took a break from reviewing books to just read what I wanted to read.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"> I met my goal of reading 5 nonfiction books as well. One of them made this list. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;">This list is the books I truly enjoyed and would recommend to anyone. If you'd like to chat about any of them, message me! I love a good book chat! 🧡</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1595003807l/54568742._SY475_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="299" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1595003807l/54568742._SY475_.jpg" width="153" /></a></div><b>FIRST: GET CAUGHT: A STALKER'S GUIDE TO LOVE by Crystal Liechty (Pruitt Prep Book 1)</b><br /><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;">Let's start off with a fun young adult read. Set in a private school, the author takes us through the angst of teenhood and watching, or in this case, drawing your crush from afar and what happens with said crush finds the drawings. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;">I can't wait for the second book set at this school!</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1398178888l/21972945.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="317" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1398178888l/21972945.jpg" width="162" /></a></div><br /><b>SUMMER IN NEW YORK COLLECTION (A Timeless Anthology Book)</b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;">What is better to read in the summer than FIVE stories set in summer in New York? Janette Rallison, Heather B. Moore, Sarah Eden, Luisa Perkins and Lisa Mangum all contributed to this anthology and their stories are perfect for reading at the beach or in a hammock. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1507856218l/36347490.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="306" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1507856218l/36347490.jpg" width="157" /></a></div><br /><b>THE BEST OF INTENTIONS (Canadian Crossings #1) by Susan Anne Mason</b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;">This is a sweet story of love and family. Grace sails from England to Canada to help her sister and new baby. But when she arrives, she learns her sister passed away from the Spanish Flu and the baby is in the home the very family who rejected her sister. I love the author's writing style. I'll read more of her books.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1582080506l/51253514.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="232" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1582080506l/51253514.jpg" width="155" /></a></div><br /><b>THE PAPER DAUGHTERS OF CHINATOWN by Heather B. Moore</b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;">This is an amazing historical fiction set in San Francisco in the late nineteenth century, the story is based on the life of Donaldina Cameron and how she saved thousands of Chinese women who are sold to brothels and used as sex slaves. It's an amazing story of one woman's courage, hope and strength as she fights for social justice. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><div><br /></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1493814273l/34412073._SY475_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="297" height="243" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1493814273l/34412073._SY475_.jpg" width="152" /></a></div><br /><b>THE INDIGO GIRL by Natasha Boyd</b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;">Another book based on actual events. Eliza Lucas is sixteen when her father leaves her in charge of three plantations in South Carolina. While her father is gone, the plantations start to suffer financially and Eliza tries to figure out how to save her home. She learns that indigo dye is a precious commodity and is determined to grow it. I had to keep reminding myself that she was a TEEN! </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1418767178l/22318578.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="279" height="205" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1418767178l/22318578.jpg" width="142" /></a></div><br />THE LIFE CHANGING MAGIC OF TIDYING UP: THE JAPANESE ART OF DECLUTTERING AND ORGANIZATION by Marie Kondo<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;">I confess, I 'Kondo-ed' my home this summer. AND IT WAS AMAZING. I'm serious.The way she explains the process and how to stay clutter free works...so far. hahaha </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;">Basically, you keep what you love. That is so positive and better than 'get rid of what you don't use.'</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;">I'm amazed at the clothes, cleaning products, decor, etc that I had out of sight that I love and am now using. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">There you go! Six of my favorite books for summer 2020. How about you? Did you have any favorite reads this year?</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><br /></p>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-85084001834494272962020-09-03T23:30:00.003-07:002020-09-05T09:59:03.040-07:00FALL Bucket List Ideas<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.chelseasmessyapron.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/09/Fall-resized.jpg.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://www.chelseasmessyapron.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/09/Fall-resized.jpg.webp" width="512" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>From <b><a href="https://www.chelseasmessyapron.com/fall-bucket-list/">Chelseys Messy Apron</a></b></div>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-83939227269909258992020-09-01T13:09:00.009-07:002020-09-01T13:09:00.241-07:00It's Fall Y'all! Best. Pumpkin Bread. EVER<p> Even though we are still in the upper 90's, I swear autumn is ready to greet us! The nights are cooling off enough that we can open the windows at night for a nice, cool breeze. Kids are back to school. The smell of freshly sharpened pencils is in the air (name that movie!). </p><p>To start off September. I'm posting my very favorite pumpkin bread recipe EVER! I hope you enjoy it!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.meals.com/imagesrecipes/28205lrg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" src="https://www.meals.com/imagesrecipes/28205lrg.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="grid__item recipe-detail__ingredients" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; float: left; font-family: "Archer A", "Archer B", Archer; padding-left: 20px; vertical-align: top; width: 401.688px;"><ul class="border-dotted--bottom border--gray bold" data-min-font-size="16px" style="border-bottom: 2px dotted rgb(127, 127, 127); border-left-color: rgb(127, 127, 127); border-right-color: rgb(127, 127, 127); border-top-color: rgb(127, 127, 127); box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 1.125em; list-style: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><li itemprop="ingredients" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 800; padding-bottom: 1em;">3 cups <span class="name" style="box-sizing: border-box;">all-purpose flour</span></li><li itemprop="ingredients" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 800; padding-bottom: 1em;">1 tablespoon plus 2 teaspoons <span class="name" style="box-sizing: border-box;">pumpkin pie spice</span></li><li itemprop="ingredients" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 800; padding-bottom: 1em;">2 teaspoons <span class="name" style="box-sizing: border-box;">baking soda</span></li><li itemprop="ingredients" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 800; padding-bottom: 1em;">1 1/2 teaspoons <span class="name" style="box-sizing: border-box;">salt</span></li><li itemprop="ingredients" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 800; padding-bottom: 1em;">3 cups <span class="name" style="box-sizing: border-box;">granulated sugar</span></li><li itemprop="ingredients" style="box-sizing: border-box; padding-bottom: 1em;"><b>1 can (15 ounces) pure pumpkin </b></li><li itemprop="ingredients" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 800; padding-bottom: 1em;">4 <span class="name" style="box-sizing: border-box;">large eggs</span></li><li itemprop="ingredients" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 800; padding-bottom: 1em;">1 cup <span class="name" style="box-sizing: border-box;">vegetable oil</span></li><li itemprop="ingredients" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 800; padding-bottom: 1em;">1/2 cup <span class="name" style="box-sizing: border-box;">orange juice or water</span></li><li itemprop="ingredients" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 800; padding-bottom: 1em;">1 cup <span class="name" style="box-sizing: border-box;">sweetened dried, fresh or frozen cranberries</span></li><li itemprop="ingredients" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 800; padding-bottom: 1em;"><span class="name" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><br /></span></li><li itemprop="ingredients" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 800; padding-bottom: 1em;"><b>INSTRUCTIONS:</b></li></ul><div><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #ff9b2e; font-size: 1.125em; font-weight: 700;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #ff9b2e; font-size: 1.125em; font-weight: 700;">PREHEAT</span><span style="font-size: 1.125em;"> </span><span style="font-size: 1.125em;">oven to 350° F. Grease and flour two 9 x 5-inch loaf pans.</span></div></div><div class="grid__item recipe-detail__instructions recipe-instructions" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; float: left; font-family: "Archer A", "Archer B", Archer; font-size: 16px; padding-left: 20px; vertical-align: top; width: 798.297px;"><div class="recipe-instructions__content" data-min-font-size="16px" itemprop="recipeInstructions" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 1.125em; line-height: 1.33333; padding-right: 30px;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #ff9b2e; font-weight: 700;">COMBINE</span> flour, pumpkin pie spice, baking soda and salt in large bowl. Combine sugar, pumpkin, eggs, oil and juice in large mixer bowl; beat until just blended. Add pumpkin mixture to flour mixture; stir just until moistened. Fold in cranberries. Spoon batter into prepared loaf pans.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #ff9b2e; font-weight: 700;">BAKE</span> for 60 to 65 minutes or until wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool in pans on wire racks for 10 minutes; remove to wire racks to cool completely.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Recipe makes two loaves.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #ff9b2e; font-weight: 700;">FOR THREE 8 x 4-INCH LOAF PANS:<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />PREPARE</span> as above. Bake for 55 to 60 minutes.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #ff9b2e; font-weight: 700;">FOR FIVE OR SIX 5 x 3-INCH MINI-LOAF PANS:<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />PREPARE</span> as above. Bake for 50 to 55 minutes.</div></div>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4091986265457926249.post-33436857660499138112020-08-30T23:30:00.052-07:002020-08-30T23:30:02.724-07:00ROAD OUT OF WINTER by Alison Stine EXCERPT on blog tour!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3x260Es5e7U/Xyrv84hxBXI/AAAAAAAATcI/Q1TGyaZ3-uYMLRnpig9DRC2ZneVG71yvQCLcBGAsYHQ/s600/Road%2BOut%2Bof%2BWinter%2BBanner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: block; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="186" data-original-width="500" height="233" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gaunI8b0mGE/Xyrv8vmE0DI/AAAAAAAATcE/QJU-GL8-Um4DsxhLwJVTf3zM1mIrL0cwwCLcBGAsYHQ/w625-h233/Road%2BOut%2Bof%2BWinter%2BInsta%2B2.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o6j-4luh-Y4/Xyrv91f6h8I/AAAAAAAATcM/ymyUze_gLTAlwlLRy8bnUo9z2Ko-xgdTQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Road%2BOut%2Bof%2BWinter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><br /></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o6j-4luh-Y4/Xyrv91f6h8I/AAAAAAAATcM/ymyUze_gLTAlwlLRy8bnUo9z2Ko-xgdTQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Road%2BOut%2Bof%2BWinter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1360" height="410" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o6j-4luh-Y4/Xyrv91f6h8I/AAAAAAAATcM/ymyUze_gLTAlwlLRy8bnUo9z2Ko-xgdTQCLcBGAsYHQ/w272-h410/Road%2BOut%2Bof%2BWinter.jpg" width="272" /></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o6j-4luh-Y4/Xyrv91f6h8I/AAAAAAAATcM/ymyUze_gLTAlwlLRy8bnUo9z2Ko-xgdTQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Road%2BOut%2Bof%2BWinter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><b style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: center;"><u><span lang="EN"><br /></span></u></b></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o6j-4luh-Y4/Xyrv91f6h8I/AAAAAAAATcM/ymyUze_gLTAlwlLRy8bnUo9z2Ko-xgdTQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Road%2BOut%2Bof%2BWinter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><b style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: center;"><u><span lang="EN">Chapter One</span></u></b></a><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-align: center;"><b><u><span lang="EN"> </span></u></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN">I used to have dreams that Lobo would be arrested. The sheriff and his deputies would roll up the drive, bouncing on the gravel, but coming fast, too fast to be stopped, too fast for Lobo to get away through the fields. Or maybe Lobo would be asleep, and they would surprise him, his eyes red, slit like taillights. My mama and I would weep with joy as they led him off. The deputies would wrap us in blankets, swept in their blue lights. We were innocent, weren’t we? Just at the wrong place at the wrong time, all the time, involved with the wrong man—and we didn’t know, my mama didn’t know, the extent.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN">But that wasn’t true, not even close.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN">I sold the weed at a gas station called Crossroads to a boy who delivered meals for shut-ins. Brown paper bags filled the back of his station wagon, the tops rolled over like his mama made him lunch. I supposed he could keep the bags straight. That was the arrangement Lobo had made years ago, that was the arrangement I kept. I left things uncomplicated. I didn’t know where the drugs went after the boy with the station wagon, where the boy sold them or for how much. I took the money he gave me and buried most of it in the yard.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN">After his station wagon bumped back onto the rural route, I went inside the store. There was a counter in the back, a row of cracked plastic tables and chairs that smelled like ketchup: a full menu, breakfast through dinner. They sold a lot of egg sandwiches at Crossroads to frackers, men on their way out to work sites. It was a good place to meet; Lisbeth would come this far. I ordered three cheeseburgers and fries, and sat down.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN">She was on time. She wore gray sweatpants under her long denim skirt, and not just because of the cold. “You reek, Wil,” she said, sliding onto the chair across from me.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> “Lobo says that’s the smell of money,” I said.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> “My mama says money smells like dirty hands.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> The food arrived, delivered by a waitress I didn’t know. Crinkling red and white paper in baskets. I slid two of the burgers over to Lisbeth. The Church forbade pants on women, and short hair, and alcohol. But meat was okay. Lisbeth hunched over a burger, eating with both hands, her braid slipping over her shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> “Heard from them at all?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> “Not lately.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> “You think he would let her write you? Call?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> “She doesn’t have her own phone,” I said.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> Lisbeth licked ketchup off her thumb. The fries were already getting cold. How about somethin’ home made? read the chalkboard below the menu. I watched the waitress write the dinner specials in handwriting small and careful as my mama’s.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> “Hot chocolate?” I read to Lisbeth. “It’s June.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> “It’s freezing,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN">And it was, still. Steam webbed the windows. There was no sign of spring in the lung-colored fields, bordered by trees as spindly as men in a bread line. We were past forsythia time, past when the squirrels should have been rooting around in the trees for sap.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> “What time is it now?” Lisbeth asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> I showed her my phone, and she swallowed the last of her burger.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> “I’ve got to go.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> “Already?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> “Choir rehearsal.” She took a gulp of Coke. Caffeine was frowned upon by The Church, though not, I thought, exclusively forbidden. “I gave all the seniors solos, and they’re terrified. They need help. Don’t forget. Noon tomorrow.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> The Church was strange—strange enough to whisper about. But The Church had a great choir; she had learned so much. They had helped her get her job at the high school, directing the chorus, not easy for a woman without a degree. Also, her folks loved The Church. She couldn’t leave, she said.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> “What’s at noon?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> She paused long enough to tilt her head at me. “Wylodine, really? Graduation, remember? The kids are singing?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> “I don’t want to go back there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> “You promised. Take a shower if you been working so my folks don’t lose their<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN">minds.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> “If they haven’t figured it out by now, they’re never going to know,” I said, but Lisbeth<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN">was already shrugging on her coat. Then she was gone, through the jangling door, long braid and layers flapping. In the parking lot, a truck refused to start, balking in the cold. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> I ordered hot chocolate. I was careful to take small bills from my wallet when I went up to the counter. Most of the roll of cash from the paper bag boy was stuffed in a Pepsi can back on the floor of the truck. Lobo, who owned the truck, had never been neat, and drink cans, leaves, and empty Copenhagen tins littered the cab. Though the mud on the floor mats had hardened and caked like makeup, though Lobo and Mama had been gone a year now, I hadn’t bothered cleaning out the truck. Not yet.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> The top of the Pepsi can was ripped partially off, and it was dry inside: plenty of room for a wad of cash. I had pushed down the top to hide the money, avoiding the razor-sharp edge. Lobo had taught me well.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN">I took the hot chocolate to go.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN">In the morning, I rose early and alone, got the stove going, pulled on my boots to hike up the hill to the big house. I swept the basement room. I checked the supplies. I checked the cistern for clogs. The creek rode up the sides of the driveway. Ice floated in the water, brown as tea.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN">No green leaves had appeared on the trees. No buds. My breath hung in the air, a web I walked through. My boots didn’t sink in the mud back to my own house in the lower field; my footprints were still frozen from a year ago. Last year’s walking had made ridges as stiff as craters on the moon. At the door to my tiny house, I knocked the frost from my boots, and yanked them off, but kept my warm coveralls on. I lit the small stove, listening to the whoosh of the flame. The water for coffee ticked in the pot.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN">I checked the time on the clock above the sink, a freebie from Radiator Palace.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 16.1px;">Excerpted from Road Out of Winter by Alison Stine, Copyright </span><span lang="EN" style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.4px;">©</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 16.1px;"> 2020 by Alison Stine.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 16.1px;">Published by MIRA Books</span><span lang="EN"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 16.1px;"><br /></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 16.1px;"><br /></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 16.1px;"><br /></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 16.1px;"><br /></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 16.1px;"><br /></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 16.1px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span lang="EN">ROAD OUT OF WINTER<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span lang="EN">Author: Alison Stine<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span lang="EN">ISBN: 9780778309925<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span lang="EN">Publication Date: September 1, 2020<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span lang="EN">Publisher: MIRA Books<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span lang="EN"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span lang="EN">Buy Links:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN"><a href="https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9780778309925_road-out-of-winter.html"><span style="color: #1155cc;">Harlequin</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN"><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/road-out-of-winter-alison-stine/1136014335?ean=9780778309925"><span style="color: #1155cc;">Barnes & Noble</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Road-Out-Winter-Alison-Stine/dp/0778309924/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=road+out+of+winter&qid=1595366656&sr=8-1"><span style="color: #1155cc;">Amazon</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN"><a href="https://www.booksamillion.com/p/Road-Out-Winter/Alison-Stine/9780778309925?id=7670068459528"><span style="color: #1155cc;">Books-A-Million</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN"><a href="https://www.powells.com/book/road-out-of-winter-9780778309925"><span style="color: #1155cc;">Powell’s</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span lang="EN">Social Links:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN"><a href="https://www.alisonstine.com/"><span style="color: #1155cc;">Author Website</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN">Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/AlisonStine"><span style="background: white; color: #1155cc;">@AlisonStine</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN">Instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/alistinewrites/"><span style="background: white; color: #1155cc;">@AliStineWrites</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/683318.Alison_Stine?from_search=true&from_srp=true"><span style="color: #1155cc;">Goodreads</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span lang="EN">Author Bio:</span></b><span lang="EN"><b><o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 12pt 0in 0.0001pt;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2009" height="262" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U8YiLwJW8jw/Xyrwz4SQBrI/AAAAAAAATcg/sE5sY9NGTlQDeP6jitKdyHqieJG__N7ggCLcBGAsYHQ/w258-h262/AlisonStineAuthorPhoto.jpg" width="258" /><b><span lang="EN">ALISON STINE</span></b><span lang="EN"> lives in the rural Appalachian foothills. A recipient of an Individual Artist Fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA), she was a Stegner Fellow at Stanford University. She has written for <i>The Atlantic, The Nation, The Guardian</i>, and many others. She is a contributing editor with the Economic Hardship Reporting Project.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span lang="EN"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span lang="EN"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span lang="EN">Book Summary:</span></b><span lang="EN"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in -14pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><span lang="EN"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in -14pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><span lang="EN">Surrounded by poverty and paranoia her entire life, Wil has been left behind in her small Appalachian town by her mother and her best friend. Not only is she tending her stepfather’s illegal marijuana farm alone, but she’s left to watch the world fall further into chaos in the face of a climate crisis brought on by another year of unending winter. So opens Alison Stine’s moving and lyrical cli-fi novel, ROAD OUT OF WINTER (MIRA Trade; September 1, 2020; $17.99).<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in -14pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><span lang="EN"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in -14pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><span lang="EN">With her now priceless grow lights stashed in her truck and a pouch of precious seeds, Wil upends her life to pursue her mother in California, collecting an eclectic crew of fellow refugees along the way. She’s determined to start over and use her skills to grow badly needed food in impossible farming conditions, but the icy roads and desperate strangers are treacherous to Wil and her gang. Her green thumb becomes the target of a violent cult and their volatile leader, and Wil must use all her cunning and resources to protect her newfound family and the hope they have found within each other.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in -14pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><span lang="EN"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"></p></div>Taffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11796711977284429278noreply@blogger.com0