Morning Kindle-ites! You all know that I’ve never been one to jump on the conformity train, but I’ve decided to do a weekly post that was created by another blog (MizB from Should Be Reading -I’m not stealing it.. it’s there to share) called Teaser Tuesday. I think it is a fantastic way to get a sneak peak at book you may or may not have ever considered reading before PLUS… you get a chance to see what everyone else has to offer.

Anyways…it’s super simple & super fun! All you have to do is:

- Grab your current read
- Open to a random page
- Share (in the comments) 2 “teaser” sentences (or a paragraph…I’m not picky) from somewhere on that page (BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS! you don’t want to give too much away!)
- And then tell us where you got it! (Share the title and author, too, so that other TT participants can add the book to their TBR Lists if they like your teasers!)

My Teaser!

Page: 171

“They heard a faint rustling, flopping sound.  Something was trapped at the bottom of the empty spa pool making clumsy, spastic attempts to get out.  The slapping abruptly ceased.  The unseen thing had sensed Punch and Ghost standing in the doorway.  It listened to them breathe.”

Sunday Funday – Book Trailers

Hypothermia by Arnaldur Indridason

Inspector Erlunder has spent his entire career struggling to evade the ghosts of his past.  But ghosts are visiting him, both in the form of a séance attended by a dead woman and also in the reemerging puzzle of two young people who went missing 30 years ago. And there’s the ghost of the detective’s disastrous marriage, which, despite the pleas of his drug-addled daughter, he is unwilling to confront. In addition, he’s still obsessed with the disappearance of his brother, who vanished without a trace when they were boys.

He can only run from his ghosts for so long, and, when they finally catch up with him, Erlunder is forced to face the heart shattering truth of his past.

One of the most haunting crime novels readers are likely to encounter this year or any other, this is classic story that belongs on the shelf of every serious reader of suspense fiction. Hypothermia will chill you to the bone.

Book Trailer

Catch Me by Lisa Gardner

In four days, someone is going to kill me . . .

Detective D. D. Warren is hard to surprise. But a lone woman outside D.D.’s latest crime scene shocks her with a remarkable proposition: Charlene Rosalind Carter Grant believes she will be murdered in four days. And she wants Boston’s top detective to handle the death investigation.

It will be up close and personal. No evidence of forced entry, no sign of struggle.
Charlie tells a chilling story: Each year at 8:00 p.m. on January 21st, a woman has died. The victims have been childhood best friends from a small town in New Hampshire; the motive remains unknown. Now only one friend, Charlie, remains to count down her final hours.

But as D.D. quickly learns, Charlie Grant doesn’t plan on going down without a fight. By her own admission, the girl can outshoot, outfight, and outrun anyone in Boston. Which begs the question, is Charlie the next victim, or the perfect perpetrator? As D.D. tracks a vigilante gunman who is killing pedophiles in Boston, she must also delve into the murders of Charlie’s friends, racing to find answers before the next gruesome January 21 anniversary. Is Charlie truly in danger, or is she hiding a secret that may turn out to be the biggest threat of all?

In four days, someone is going to kill me. But the son of a bitch has gotta catch me first.

Book Trailer

The Storyteller by Antonia Michaelis

**I just (like 10 minutes ago) finished this book and it is freaking FANTASTIC!**

Anna and Abel couldn’t be more different. They are both seventeen and in their last year of school, but while Anna lives in a nice old town house and comes from a well-to-do family, Abel, the school drug dealer, lives in a big, prisonlike tower block at the edge of town. Anna is afraid of him until she realizes that he is caring for his six-year-old sister on his own. Fascinated, Anna follows the two and listens as Abel tells little Micha the story of a tiny queen assailed by dark forces. It’s a beautiful fairy tale that Anna comes to see has a basis in reality. Abel is in real danger of losing Micha to their abusive father and to his own inability to make ends meet. Anna gradually falls in love with Abel, but when his “enemies” begin to turn up dead, she fears she has fallen for a murderer. Has she?

Book Trailer

Click images to see them in all of their glory!

Cover Lust

Read It…

Arthur Kipps, a junior solicitor in London, is summoned to Crythin Gifford to attend the funeral of Mrs Alice Drablow, and to sort through her papers before returning to London. It is here that Kipps first sees the woman in black and begins to gain an impression of the mystery surrounding her. From the funeral he travels to Eel Marsh House and sees the woman again; he also hears the terrifying sounds on the marsh.

Despite Kipps’s experiences he resolves to spend the night at the house and fulfil his professional duty. It is this night at Eel Marsh House that contains the greatest horror for Kipps. Kipps later discovers the reasons behind the hauntings at Eel Marsh House. The book ends with the woman in black exacting a final, terrible revenge.

See It…

Who is Brian?

Dettmer is originally from Chicago. He currently resides in Atlanta, GA.

Brian Dettmer is known for his detailed and innovative sculptures with books and other forms of antiquated media. He is currently represented by Kinz + Tillou (New York), Packer Schopf (Chicago), MiTO (Barcelona), Toomey Tourell (San Francisco) and Saltworks (Atlanta). Dettmer’s work has been exhibited Internationally in several galleries, museums and art centers including the Museum of Arts and Design (NY), Museum of Contemporary Art (GA), the International Museum of Surgical Science (IL), Museum Rijswijh (Netherlands), Wellcome Collection (England) the Bellevue Arts Museum (WA), The Kohler Arts Center (WI), and the Illinois State Museums (IL). His work can be found in several public and private collections throughout the U.S, Latin America, Europe, Australia and Asia.

Dettmer’s work has gained International acclaim through internet bloggers, and traditional media. His work has been featured on the CBS Evening News, The New York Times (US), The Los Angeles Times (US), The Guardian (UK), The Telegraph (UK) Chicago Tribune (US), The Age (AU), Art News, Modern Painters, Wired, The Village Voice, Harper’s, Esquire and National Public Radio among others.

In recent years Dettmer has established himself as one of the leading International contemporary artists working with the book today. In 2011 his work was featured on the cover of Book Art (Gestalten Publishers, Berlin) and discussed in a historical context in Bookwork (Stewart, The University of Chicago Press). In 2012 he is scheduled to have solo shows in San Francisco with Toomey Tourell Fine Art and The Jewish Community Center; in Maribor, Slovenia as part of its celebration as the European Cultural Capital of 2012; in Lucca, Italy for Cartasia, a biennale of contemporary paper art; and in Atlanta, GA at the Museum of Contemporary Art of Georgia. His work is also scheduled to be in several group shows including “40 under 40” at the Renwick Gallery of the Smithsonian Institute.

The Art!

Click the images to see them full size

Want to win a Kindle Fire?

Authors Aiden James, Scott Nicholson, J. R. Rain, and H.T. Night are teaming up Jan. 11-13 to give away $1,000 in prizes, including four Kindle Fires, $200 in Amazon gift cards, and 45 free Kindle books!!

There are four ways to enter during Jan. 11-13

(all of which can be easily accomplished through the Rafflecopter links at the bottom, but her is the gist.)

• Share this blog link according to the blogger’s directions
• Share our free books and event from http://epickindlegiveaway.blogspot.com
• Spread the news about our contest on your favorite Internet hangouts and the Kindle Fairy is searching and putting names in her Magic Hat

But WAIT…. that’s not all! How about some free books????  Each author has decided to throw some loot up for grabs. *throws confettii*

If one of the four authors hits #1 on the Kindle Free list, they will give away another Kindle Fire. If at any time during the event, the four authors hold all the Top 10 slots on the Kindle Free list, they will give away a sixth kindle. Winners will be selected after the contest by the Watauga County (NC) Public Library using random.org.

Something For Everyone!

Click the links for additonal details & downloading info

(If you are a UK Kindle-ites.. don’t fret, these are free for you too… just go to the authors Amazon bio page to find a full listing.)

Scott Nicholson

J.R. Rain

Aiden James

H.T. Night

Get Registered to WIN!!!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

What Everyone is Saying!

“Dane’s YA is a great new tale about death, love and starting over. It’s an exciting mix that will remind readers of Bree Despain’s The Lost Saint and Rachel Vincent’s Soul Screamers. Paranormal fans will love this. A compelling page turner.” —RT Magazine in a YA Featured Review

“Jordan Dane is a fresh new voice in young adult paranormal fiction.”  —P C Cast, New York Times Bestseller of the House of Night Series

“With a new take on the paranormal, Jordan Dane is one of the most compelling and honest voices in young adult fiction. Deliciously dark!”  —Sophie Jordan, New York Times Bestseller of Firelight

The Book!

The choices I had made led to the moment when fate took over.
I would learn a lesson I wasn’t prepared for.
And Death would be my willing teacher.

Five years ago Abbey Chandler cheated Death. She survived a horrific car accident, but her lucky break came at the expense of her mother’s life and changed everything. After she crossed paths with Death–by taking the hand of an ethereal boy made of clouds and sky–she would never be normal again.

Now she’s the target of Death’s Ravens and an innocent boy’s life is on the line. When Nate Holden–Abbey’s secret crush–starts to climb Alaska’s Denali, the Angel of Death is with him because of her.

Abbey finds out the hard way that Death never forgets.

3 Questions With Jordan!

Q: “On a Dark Wing” is based in Alaska, right? How difficult was it to write a book based in an part of the country that has such extreme weather & living conditions. For example: In the prologue you bring up the 6 months of dark 6 months of light that Alaska is so known for.

 ”The sun had already gone down for the day. A steady chill settled into the night air. In Alaska, that’s how the dark side of the year happened. The days were short, making everyone crave sleep. The long summers made up for it, but in the dead of winter, it felt like life had been put on hold. If you didn’t get outside at lunch, you missed any hope of seeing daylight before darkness played the bully and took over.”

I used to live in Alaska. Ten years. I know about the long dark winters. HA! To get through that part of the year, I clocked time in the gym playing and coaching volleyball. I coached under the Midnight Sun Junior Olympics program and had 14 & under girls, but I also played on other teams. During the summer, I fished and camped, non-stop. I was charged by a mother moose with her baby once. She was close enough for me to feel her breath with only a narrow birch tree stood between us. I also was a check point operator on the Iditarod sled dog trail for the international Iditaski (a cross-country & snowshoe race). Alaska gets into your blood. I left my heart up there and still have good friends who live there. For the mountain climbing research, I had a good AK friend of mine help me, Niles Woods. He climbed Denali twice.

 Many of the Alaska experiences Abbey talks, I personally lived them. For example, when she falls into the snow by herself on a mountain to do a snow angel and thinks about being alone while looking up at the Northern lights, that happened to me while I was sledding onto a frozen lake with friends. I somehow found a spot alone and was overwhelmed by the beauty in the night sky—something you never forget. The intimacy of being alone in such a setting is breathtaking and absolutely perfect. It marks you for life.

Q:  One of the things I love most about your writing is your ability to project such beautiful imagery. (For example the dream states in “In The Arms of a Stone Angel”) Did you take creative writing classes when you were in school or do you just fly by the seat of your pants and what comes out is what goes down on paper?

Not sure classes can teach you these things. I like to think I am very empathetic and can imagine these things. It’s not easy. The dream sequences in Stone Angels are a good example, but in DARK WING, death became my challenge. I had to put my thoughts on the afterlife on paper, literally giving voice to them in the words of Death and Abbey. This month, I had a death in my family too. I was surprised how much DARK WING and the words of my dark angel helped me get through it.

Q:  And lastly…. cause I know you are on a deadline & wasting time with me is that last thing you need, you are a self-professed smart-ass   – “And I’m cynical by nature—and by choice—and frequently indulge my inner smart-ass.” – Do you  think this HELPS or HINDERS your ability to write such varying characters?

Being here with you is NEVER a waste of time, my friend. HA!! What a great question! Maybe in real life it can hinder, but on paper, it can breathe life into certain characters, like Tanner. To write dialogue, an author should be willing to risk digging deep into their own personal experiences to add depth. That can be gut-wrenching at times. Sometimes it feels like the characters are telling me their story and I’m only writing it down. I channel them and don’t always remember writing certain phrases because I am literally throwing everything on the page without censorship until I edit. My sisters, and sometimes astute readers, go back and find those strange phrases (usually laughing) and send me emails about them. That always cracks me up too.

 I’m on deadline with a new 2-book series I sold to Harlequin Teen – THE HUNTED. We’re still debating titles, so I can’t give you those yet, but I will have a cast of characters to spread the “smart a$$” wealth. Book #1 is estimated to be released in 2012.

 Thanks for the feature, Misty.  I appreciate all you do to encourage reading and promote literacy. Happy holidays and have a great 2012.

To learn more about Jordan and her wonderful books (of which she has many) you can visit her site by clicking on her beautiful picture above!

The Excerpt!

Prologue

Abbey Chandler

Palmer, Alaska

I had countless excuses for missing the bus that afternoon, five years ago. In the grand scheme of the universe, what was five minutes? I could have carved out five minutes from talking to my friends after school or taken five minutes off my stop at the 7-Eleven. Three hundred lousy seconds to grab a Pepsi and a bag of Cheetos. No big deal, right? When I saw the school bus pull away from the curb from across the street, I didn’t even run to catch it.

In the endless dreams I’ve had since then, I never run for that bus. Not once.

Even in my sleep, I couldn’t change what I did. It felt like my feet were stuck in cement. It had been way too easy to reach into my backpack and make a call on my cell phone—a call that changed my life forever. The choices I made that day, all of them led to that one moment when the school bus drove off and fate took over. I would learn a lesson I wasn’t prepared for.

Death would be my willing teacher.

All the strangest parts of my memory lingered to taunt me. Not the pieces I needed most. Guess that was my punishment. My memory had holes, a damaged and wounded thing. No amount of therapy or hypnosis or father daughter talks has ever shed light into those dark corners.

Dad says he doesn’t blame me, but I can’t see how that’s true. I blame me. I can’t even look at him without feeling my own guilt and shame. I’m stuck where I am, unable to move on. I sure as hell can’t go back and fix it. So I did the only thing I could.

I quit talking about it. I had to.

I should’ve been the one who died. It should have been me. I cheated Death and lived past my expiration date, but my lucky break would come at a price. I’d become obsessed with what happened the day I got my mother killed.

Guess you could say I was dying to know the truth.

***

Five Years Ago

“This is the third time this month that you missed the afternoon bus, Abbey.”

“But Mom, it wasn’t my fault.” I strapped the seat belt across my chest as my mother pulled our SUV from the curb and headed for the Parks Highway. “I was reading in the library and I lost track of time. I swear.”

The sun had already gone down for the day. A steady chill settled into the night air. In Alaska, that’s how the dark side of the year happened. The days were short, making everyone crave sleep. The long summers made up for it, but in the dead of winter, it felt like life had been put on hold. If you didn’t get outside at lunch, you missed any hope of seeing daylight before darkness played the bully and took over.

“Oh, yeah? You were reading, huh.” Mom gave me that look–the one that said she wasn’t buying it. “What were you reading, hot shot?”

When Mom turned onto the highway that headed home, I rattled off a book title that I knew she’d never read. I guess lying came naturally, like a rite of passage or something.

“How were the Cheetos?” she asked.

“What?”

“Your fingers are a dead giveaway, Abbey. You were at the 7-Eleven, weren’t you? Is that why you didn’t make the bus?”

I looked down at my hands. Even in the dim glow off the dash, I saw my fingertips were colored. Like, seriously neon orange. My mind raced with what I’d tell her, but I never got the chance. I looked up a split second before it happened.

I never even screamed.

On pure instinct, my body grew rigid. When I braced a hand against the dash, Mom looked at me. An eighteen-wheeler had crossed the center lane veering straight for us. I couldn’t even warn her. If Mom hadn’t turned her head in time, and yanked the steering wheel right, we would’ve hit that monster truck head on.

On impact, the high-pitched grind of tearing metal punished my ears. Our SUV flipped and rolled. As our windshield caved and shattered, shards of glass cut my face and hands. All I saw were flashes spiraling in front of me like I’d been strapped into a roller coaster barreling straight down a dark track, twisting and turning in agonizing jerks. My seat belt pinned me. When the dashboard crushed into my chest, everything else caved in, too. The crash happened so fast, yet went on forever. When the SUV finally came to a dead stop, an eerie quiet settled in.

My ears were ringing and when my eyes blinked open again, I saw the blur of the dash, fogged by wafting smoke. The headlights off the eighteen-wheeler caught smoldering debris and suspended it in the rig’s beams. I felt a sudden urge to move, but I couldn’t. When the warm taste of blood filled my mouth, something felt seriously wrong.

Momma. Please…help me.

I searched for her, but couldn’t move my head. I didn’t even sense her next to me. I felt alone, cocooned in pain and deepening shadows. How long I lay there shivering, I didn’t know, but eventually I sensed something that, to this day, I have never forgotten.

A strong presence filled the cab of the SUV.

Soothing heat replaced the numbing cold that had settled in my bones. It made me want to close my eyes and sleep, but a strange urgency wouldn’t let that happen. I strained to stay awake and searched the shadows, waiting for a glimpse of something…anything to explain the eerie feeling.

After an intense light stabbed my eyes and sent a shock of pain down my spine, I saw movement. Something eclipsed the truck’s headlights. It drifted toward me, inching closer until it hovered over my body. The brilliant glimmer swept over me and through me. Even though I could see through it, the light took shape and substance. The ghostly flicker turned into a body with arms and hands…and finally a face.

A boy’s face.

I was only ten, but he looked older, like a high school boy. He had the most intense eyes that I’d ever seen. Beautiful. They were deep blue and reminded me of the frigid depths of the ocean. His eyes were the only real color on his face, but that wasn’t the most incredible thing about him. White tufts undulated and billowed within the boundaries of his filmy body, beautiful and peaceful. He conjured memories of a perfect summer day with me lying on my back on a grassy hilltop, picturing animal shapes in the drifting white clouds.

When I shifted my gaze back to his eyes, I saw a long tunnel with a glimmering light at the end of it, a light eclipsed by the vague shapes of bodies undulating on a watery surface. Those wavering images calmed me. At that moment, I felt a part of them, as if I belonged. He comforted me in a way no one ever had.

The boy fascinated me. I must have had the same impact on him. He stared at me with such concentration that it looked as if he were memorizing my face. Who are you? I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t make my lips work.

When he reached out his hand, a strong impulse made me take it.

“A-Abbey?” But my mother’s choked whisper broke his spell over me.

I pulled from his grasp and shut my eyes as the haunting sound of her voice held me without even a touch. Oh, Momma. In the many nightmares that would follow, her voice would punch through the allusion of that strange boy and slap me with the harsh reality of what I’d done. That would be the last time I ever heard my mother’s voice.

She died that day because of me and I had a hollow ache deep inside that left me grieving over something I could never change.

Five minutes.

Five minutes would have meant everything.

© Jordan Dane

 

 

Anyway, a couple of things about this list. A. I didn’t write reviews for all of these books, in case you are wondering where the hell some of them came from, and B. Not all of these books were actually published in 2011, I just read them in 2011, so before you get all finger waggy with me, I warned you.

So.. without further adieu… here are the 15 books from 2011 that made me happy/sad/terrified/reflective and an appreciative reader! Happy Reading. See you in a few.

P.S. – These are in no particular order AND I don’t have links attached to them, but by clicking on the image it will enlarge and you can see the title and author.

My “You Should Totally Freaking Read These List!”

Morning Kindle-ites! Today’s author spotlight is the very lovely Ms. Chelsea Fine, who some of you may already know from her FAN-FREAKING-TASTIC novella “Sophie & Carter.” Anyways, she has a  new novel out called “Anew” and was gracious enough to answer a few questions AND give us a sneak peak of her work. So.. be sure to show her some love, and most of all – Happy Reading!

P.S. I freaking love Chelsea so I’m going to give 1 lucky winner a copy of “Anew!!” Details are below – Good Luck!

What Everyone is Saying!

 

“Chelsea Fine has just totally set my heart on fire with this amazingly fresh love triangle and storyline. She just has a way of bringing a story to life for me with tears, laughter, beautiful romance and a deep, strong storyline.”
-I Heart YA Books, Book Reviewer

“The ending was so good and the cliffhanger was one of the craziest of all the books I’ve read…I cannot wait for the sequel to this book! Bottom line: I loved the characters, I loved the plot, I loved Anew!”
-Cameron Dodd

“Entertaining, romantic, and filled with emotion, Anew is an excellent beginning to this series. The characters are lively and interesting, the plot is filled with secrets, and I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough!”
-Amarilys, Goodreads

About the Book!

Two years ago, Scarlet awoke in the forest alone, afraid, and without her memory. Lost and confused, her life was a mystery until she met a boy with a familiar voice named Gabriel Archer. Intrigued by his voice, Scarlet immerses herself in Gabriel’s life only to stumble upon a secret he’s kept hidden from her: His brother. Once Scarlet meets Tristan Archer her life becomes even more muddled. While she’s instinctively drawn to Gabriel, she’s impossibly drawn to Tristan–and confused out of her mind. Why does Gabriel seem so familiar? Why is she so attracted to Tristan? And why are both brothers convinced she’s been cursed to die? Scarlet doesn’t have the answers…but the Archer brothers do.

3 Questions with Chelsea!

Q.  Tell me a little about “Anew” Ok, that’s vague…I’ll be more specific.  Where did you come up with the names of your characters, particularly Tristan.  Did you transfer your love of other great works (aka Tristan & Isolde) to your own work… or did you do something slightly less significant like Google “If I were a hot boy, what would my name be?”

A:  Haha. First of all, I’m totally going to Google “If I were a hot boy, what would my name be?” I really, really hope Google responds with “Ernie” or “Bert”, haha.

My character names took me a year to come up with (eek!). Isn’t that ridiculous? Haha. *sigh* But here’s the thing: I think names are crucial. And my main characters had to be named appropriately according to where they’re from…    So, I had to do a little research.

Gabriel’s name was the easiest because it fit his origin (no, he’s not an angel) and it sounds attractive.

Scarlet’s name was originally Clare. But a few weeks before I sent in my manuscript, I had a conversation with a good friend of mine and she jokingly said, “You should have a character named Scarlet in your book,” and something just totally clicked for me. I, literally, grabbed my car keys and my purse and said, “Scarlet! That’s perfect. That’s what her name should be! Clare sucks,” and I left my friend’s house. Haha. I didn’t even say goodbye. I just left out the front door and headed home to go rewrite Clare’s character. It was crazy, though, because once “Clare” became “Scarlet” she actually took on a different personality. So, I had to completely rewrite the character. It was a great night! ( A long night, but a great night.)

And TRISTAN…well, Tristan was the most important name of all. He’s my dark and broken character–my mysterious and brooding bad boy. And he needed a fitting name. I did an internet search (pertaining to where my characters are from) and looked up all sorts of names. I read through about 400 male names before I came across Tristan. The name “Tristan” brought up a beautiful image in my head…a dark and handsome and romantically doomed guy…with good intentions and a broken destiny. It was just perfect. And when I looked up the historical usage of the name Tristan and the meaning, ahhh! Everything just fell into place. Tristan means Tumult: A violent uprising of mind or feelings   Haha…doesn’t it just sound doomed and distressed? PERFECT.

Q.  In “Anew” your characters are forced to battle ancient curses, tell the truth… did you have to study up on superstition and all it’s nuances or did you just wing it?

A:  Ah, geez! I had to study like crazy! Not so much for the first book, but BIG time for the second book. The “cure” for the curse in my story is a well-known legend and I had to research a bunch of stuff about the history and exploration of this legend. It was like doing a research paper in college–but without the stingy professor and obnoxious bell curve.   But I actually learned a LOT of really interesting facts about this legend that are now important elements in my series. So, yeah. Research paid off.

Q.  Most of you may not know this, but besides being a very talent author, Chelsea is also an amazing artist.

Check this out!!

So…here is my last question: Chelsea, when are you coming to my house to paint my daughters room? Just kidding. Art for me has always been an escape.  Like books, art (in general) allows my mind to wander to worlds only my quirky brain could think up, and from that comes stories.  Does art have the same effect on you, or is it adverse… clearing your mind completely,  preparing you for your next big challenge?

This is a rare opportunity to get a renowned author or literary agent’s feedback on your unpublished manuscript!

An Essay Contest, 6 Winners Get Manuscript Critiques:

Pick one of the following stories from Book Wish Foundation’s new book, What You Wish For, and write an essay of no more than 500 words about how the wishes in the story relate to the Darfuri refugees in eastern Chad. The stories were contributed for free by their authors so we could use the book’s proceeds to develop libraries in Darfuri refugee camps. Essays will be judged on style, creativity, understanding of the story, and understanding of the refugees. If you win, either the story’s author or the author’s literary agent (as indicated below) will provide a one-page critique of the first 50 pages of a middle grade or young adult manuscript of your choosing. You will have six months to submit your manuscript, and the agent or author will have six months from submission to provide the critique. Stories you may write about:

• “The Protectionist,” by Meg Cabot. Manuscript critique by Laura Langlie, literary agent for Meg Cabot.
• “Pearl’s Fateful Wish,” by Jeanne DuPrau. Manuscript critique by Nancy Gallt, literary agent for Jeanne DuPrau.
• “Nell,” by Karen Hesse. Manuscript critique by Brenda Bowen, literary agent and editor of Karen Hesse’s Newbery Medal winner Out of the Dust.
• “The Lost Art of Letter Writing,” by Ann M. Martin. Manuscript critique by Ann M. Martin, winner of the Newbery Honor for A Corner of the Universe.
• “The Rules for Wishing,” by Francisco X. Stork. Manuscript critique by Francisco X. Stork, winner of the Amelia Elizabeth Walden Award for The Last Summer of the Death Warriors.
• “The Stepsister,” by Cynthia Voigt. Manuscript critique by Cynthia Voigt, winner of the Newbery Medal for Dicey’s Song and the Newbery Honor for A Solitary Blue.

You may submit essays about more than one story for a chance to win more than one critique. Essays and winners’ manuscripts must be written in English.

To Enter:

Essays must be emailed to contest@bookwish.org no later than February 1, 2012, either pasted into the body of the email or attached as a Microsoft Word, OpenOffice, or PDF file. Essays must include the name and email address of the entrant. Book Wish Foundation staff will judge the initial round of the contest and recommend finalists to the agents or authors, who will select the winners. Winners will be notified by email and announced on bookwish.org on or about March 1, 2012. Winners’ manuscripts must be received by September 1, 2012. Manuscript critiques will be sent to winners within six months of receipt.

Essays may be published on bookwish.org. By submitting an essay, you grant to Book Wish Foundation the right to edit, publish, copy, display, and otherwise use your essay, and to further use your name, likeness, and biographical information in advertising and promotional materials, without further compensation or permission, except where prohibited by law. The preceding applies to the contest essays, not winners’ manuscripts. Winners retain all rights to the manuscripts they submit for critique.

Learning About Darfur:

To prepare for your essay, we recommend reading the Editor’s Note at the end of What You Wish For and Mia Farrow’s Foreword at the beginning, exploring the online resources listed at the end of the book, and watching the following video recorded at United Nations Headquarters during a launch event for What You Wish For. The first hour of the video features Udo Janz and Grainne O’Hara from the UN Refugee Agency (UNHCR), John Prendergast from the Enough Project, and Darfuri refugee Mohamed Yahya from the Damanga Coalition for Freedom and Democracy; the second hour is a panel discussion with nine of the authors who contributed to What You Wish For, including four whose stories are part of this essay contest (Meg Cabot, Jeanne DuPrau, Karen Hesse, and Ann M. Martin). Book Wish Foundation will donate 100% of our proceeds from What You Wish For to UNHCR to develop the refugee camp libraries.

You might also want to follow us on Twitter or Facebook, or subscribe to our email mailing list, where we often post about Darfur and our work to bring libraries to the refugees.

Eligibility:

This contest is open to residents of the United States who are at least 13 years old. Excluded from entering are the employees, officers, directors, agents, and representatives of Book Wish Foundation, Penguin Group (USA), Inc., the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, the authors of What You Wish For, and the authors’ literary agencies, as well as the immediate families (spouses, parents, children, siblings, and their respective spouses) and residents of the same households of all of the preceding. Void where prohibited.

Waiver of Liability:

By submitting an essay, you agree to release and hold harmless Book Wish Foundation; the participating authors, literary agents, and literary agencies; any promotional partners; each of their parent, subsidiary, affiliate, and related companies; and each of their respective officers, directors, employees, and agents from and against any losses, damages, rights, claim, or cause of action of any kind arising, in whole or in part, directly or indirectly, out of participation in the contest or resulting directly or indirectly, from acceptance, possession, use, or misuse of any prize awarded in connection with the contest, as well as claims based on publicity rights, defamation, and/or invasion of privacy.

Winners will be required to sign an affidavit of eligibility and release of liability in order to receive a manuscript critique. The affidavit must be returned within fourteen (14) days of notification or another winner will be selected. If a winner is under 18 years of age, his/her parent/legal guardian will also be required to sign the affidavit.

Winners List:

For a copy of the winners list, check bookwish.org after March 1, 2012 or send a self-addressed, stamped envelope by December 1, 2012 to Book Wish Foundation, 11606 Brandon Hill Way, Reston, VA 20194-1215, Attention: What You Wish For Essay Contest.

Frequently Asked Questions:

 What is it all about?

War has ravaged the world. Cities lie crumbled. Forests smolder. The crows feast.

In the ruins, Requiem’s last dragons lick their wounds and mourn a death among them. But they will not have long to grieve. From the ashes, a new enemy arises, one more horrible than any before.

His soldiers dead, the tyrant Dies Irae collects severed limbs, heads, and torsos. He sews them into rotting, maggoty mimics of life. With dark magic, he animates his creations… and sends them hunting.

The mimics live to kill. They do not sleep. They feel no pain. They never stop hunting. Worst of all, they undo all magic around them. When mimics are near, Requiem’s survivors cannot become dragons… and must fight as humans.

Without their greatest gift, how can Requiem’s children survive?

The Excerpt!

The three boys swaggered down the streets, arms pumping, eyes daring beggars, urchins, and other survivors to stare back. The dragons had left this city; so had the nightshades. In the ruins after the war, new lords arose. The Rot Gang ruled now.

“Slim pickings today,” said Arms. The wiry, toothless boy was seventeen. He crossed the arms he was named for—arms long and hairy as an ape’s.  “We’ve been searching this cesspool all morning. These streets are clean.”

Teeth glowered at him. “Shut your mouth, Arms,” he said. With a long, loud noise like a saw, he hawked and spat. The glob landed at Arms’s feet and bubbled.

Arms glowered back, spat too, and muttered.

The third Rot Gang boy—a gangly youth named Legs—watched and smirked. Drool dripped from his heavy lips. He towered seven feet tall, most of his height in his stilt-like legs. He was dumb, even dumber than Arms, and useless in a fight. Teeth kept him around because, well, Legs made him look normal. So what if my teeth are pointed like an animal’s? Around Legs, nobody notices.

“You like that, freak?” Teeth asked him.  “You like me yelling at old Arms here?”

Legs guffawed, drooled, and scratched his head. He had a proper name, though Teeth didn’t know it. He didn’t care. Freaks didn’t deserve proper names.

“Yeah I like Arms angry, I do,” said Legs. “Makes me laugh, his little eyes, all buggy like so.” He brayed laughter.

Arms turned red. His eyes did bulge when angry. He trundled toward Legs and punched his face.  The lanky boy screamed. Tears welled up in his eyes. He swiped at Arms, but the wiry youth dodged the blow.

Teeth spat again. “Useless in a fight, you freak,” he said to Legs. “I don’t know why I keep you around. Come on, break it up! You want to eat tonight? Let’s keep looking. You too, Arms. There are bodies left in this city. We’ll find them. And if we can’t, we’ll make our own.”

Legs was crying and Arms muttering. Teeth snarled, pushed them forward, and the Rot Gang kept moving down the street. Blood dripped from Legs’s nose, leaving a trail of red dots.

Confutatis lay in ruins. Fallen bricks, shattered statues, and broken arrows covered the city. The nightshades had done their work well; the dragons had finished it.  You could go days without seeing a soldier, priest, or guard, but you always saw urchins. They huddled behind smashed statues, inside makeshift hovels, or simply under tattered blankets. When they saw the Rot Gang, they cowered and hid. Teeth smirked as he swaggered by the poor souls. On the first week after the dragons, when survivors were claiming their pockets of ruin, many children had challenged him, adults too. His sharpened teeth had bitten, severing fingers, ears, noses. One boy, he remembered, had tried to steal a chicken from him; Teeth had bashed his head with a rock, again and again, until he saw brains spill. The memory boiled his blood and stirred his loins. He missed killing.

Legs guffawed and pointed. “Hey boss, look here, you see them, little ones, hey.”  He snickered and wiped his nose, smearing blood and mucus across his face.

Teeth stared.  He saw them.  A gaggle of urchins—little girls, eight or nine years old by the look of them. They hid behind a fallen statue of Dies Irae. One cradled a dog in her arms. When they saw the Rot Gang, the girls froze. Then they began to flee.

“Catch them,” Teeth commanded.

Arms and Legs took off, the former lumbering like an ape, the latter quick as a horse. Teeth stood and watched. Three girls disappeared into a maze of fallen columns.  Arms hit one girl with a rock, knocking her down. Legs grabbed the girl with the dog.

“Bring her here,” Teeth said.

The girl was kicking and screaming, but Legs held her tight. Arms approached with his own catch. He held his girl in his arms; she was unconscious, maybe dead.

“Let go, help, help!” The girl in Legs’s grasp was panting, face red. Her dog shivered in her grasp.

Teeth stepped forward. He snatched the dog from the girl. He clutched it by the neck, squeezed, and held it out.

“You want your dog back, you little whore?” he said. His blood boiled. A smile twisted his lips. The mutt was squirming and squealing, but powerless to escape.

The girl nodded. “Give him back. Let go!”

Teeth slammed the dog against the ground. It whimpered. Teeth kicked it hard, and it flew toward Arms. The apelike boy laughed, and kicked it back, and blood splattered the cobblestones.

“Kick dog!” Legs said. “Kick dog, I want to play it.”

The girl screamed and wept as they played. Finally Teeth grew bored. The dog was no longer squealing, and the game was no longer fun.

“Enough,” he said. “We’ve come seeking bodies, not whiny little whores. Legs, let her go.”

The gangly boy dropped the girl. Her knees hit the cobblestones, and her skin tore, but she seemed not to notice. She raced forward, lifted her dead dog, and cradled it.

Teeth laughed.  “You idiot. The damn thing’s dead. What kind of freak wants a dead dog for a pet?” He scratched his chin. “I wonder if Irae would pay for a dead dog.”

Arms shook his head. “Nah. No way. You know Blood Wolves?”

Teeth glared at him. “You know I do. You know I hate Blood Wolves. You calling me an idiot, Arms? If that’s what you’re doing, I’ll play some Kick Arms, and have a nice body to sell.”

Legs laughed, spraying saliva. “Kick Arms, Kick Arms, I like to play it.”

Arms picked his nose. “I ain’t calling you nothing. Cool it, Teeth. But Blood Wolves, you see, they’ve been bringing dead dogs, and horses, and what not. I hear the soldiers speak of it. Even brought a whole dead griffin, they did, Sun God knows how they dragged it. Worth coppers at best, the dogs. A griffin might fetch gold, maybe, but not dogs and horses and all that rubbish. He needs limbs most, human limbs. Heads too. Men, you know. With brains and what not. That’s how you make mimics, not dogs.” He snatched the dead dog from the girl and tossed it. It flew over a pile of bricks, and the girl ran weeping to find it.

Teeth knew that Arms was right. Sometimes he saw mimics with animal parts—a horse’s hoof here, a dog’s head there—but they were rare. Human bodies were what the Rot Gang specialized in, but pickings were slim lately, other gangs were growing, and their pockets were light. Teeth knew it was a matter of time before they’d have to stop hunting bodies… and start making bodies.

But who could he kill? The urchins were too small, mere children with frail limbs; Dies Irae wouldn’t pay much for them. And it seemed everybody else in this city had joined larger gangs, arming themselves with daggers, clubs, even swords. And I only have one knife, an apelike oaf, and a skinny giant who’d piss himself in a fight sooner than kill a man.

“All right, let’s go, north quarter today. Lots of ruins there. Bodies underneath them, rotting maybe, but they’ll still fetch some coin, good bronze too.”

They continued through the winding streets, passing by fallen forts, crushed hovels, and cracked statues of Dies Irae. Old blood stained the cobblestones. The ash of nightshades, and the fire of dragons, had blackened the ruins. Teeth remembered the battle, not a moon ago. The five dragons had swooped upon the city, blowing fire. Benedictus the Black had led them, and he led griffins too. Nightshades had fought them, and Teeth had never seen so much fire and blood; it rained from the sky. The next day, as men lay rotting in the streets, Teeth had begun to collect.

Finally they reached the smaller, northern quarters, where there were barely streets anymore, merely piles of bricks and wood.

“Dig,” Teeth barked at the other boys.

They climbed onto the piles of debris and began rummaging. Wind moaned around them, smelling of rot. Teeth cursed as he worked. If there were no bodies left in the city, there was no money either. He’d have to escape into the countryside like so many others.

I could become an outlaw… live in the forests, hunt travellers, grab plump peasant girls when I can find them.  That didn’t sound too bad, but Teeth knew little about the forest; he had spent his life on these streets.

I could join the Earthen too, if they’re real, he thought. Folks whispered about the Earthen sometimes—wild Earth God followers who lived in caves. Some said they were building weapons, preparing for a strike against Dies Irae, the man who had toppled their temples and banned their faith. But Teeth didn’t care much for gods or holy wars, no more than he cared for the wilderness. This city is a cesspool, but it’s all I know.

The smell of decay hit his nostrils with a burst, so strong he nearly fell over. Teeth spat, dizzy. He pulled aside two bricks and saw a rotting head. He pulled it up by the hair; it came loose from its body. The head was pulsing with maggots, so bloated it looked like a leather sack. Teeth tossed it aside in disgust, and it burst.

“Bah!  These bodies are useless now.” He clenched his fists. “They’re too old, too swollen, no good for anyone anymore. How would Irae sew these together? You just look at them, and they fall apart. Nothing left of them but rot.”

Behind him, Arms brayed a laugh. “I tolds you, Teeth. I tolds you. We need to bring animals, dogs and what not, and those little girls maybe, they have teeth that can bite.”

Teeth growled.  He marched across the pile of bricks and grabbed Arms’s collar. “Dogs?  Little girls? I want silver, Arms. Gold if we can get it. Not copper pennies. I’m not a beggar like the Blood Wolves.”

Arms stared, eyes burning. “I should join the Blood Wolves, I should. Look at you.  This is your gang? A group of freaks. You with your dog teeth, and Legs with those stilts of his. It’s pathetic, it is.”

Legs guffawed and drooled. “Dog teeth, dog teeth! I like to see them.”

Teeth growled, drew a knife from his belt, and held it at Arms’s throat. Arms stiffened, and his eyes shot daggers.

“You don’t like it here?” Teeth hissed. His stomach churned, and rage nearly blinded him. His hands shook, and his heart pounded. “You want to join the Blood Wolves?”

Arms snarled, the knife at his neck.

“Yes,” he hissed.

Teeth swiped the knife across his throat. Blood spurted. For an instant, Arms seemed not to notice. He merely stared, eyes narrowed. Then he grabbed his throat, trying in vain to stop the blood. He fell to his knees, and suddenly he was weeping, and trying to speak, trying to breathe, but he could do neither.

Teeth stared down at him. “There’s your blood, Arms. Blood’s what you wanted.  Blood’s what you got. And I got my body. A body with nice long arms.”

He could have given Arms a better death. He could have finished the job—stabbed him in the heart, or bashed in his head. But Teeth wanted to watch. He stood over the thrashing boy, until Arms merely twitched, stared up with pleading eyes, then gurgled and lay limp. For several moments he merely whimpered and his eyelids fluttered. And then Teeth had his body for the day.

The wind moaned as Teeth and Legs carried the body through the rubble. It cut through Teeth’s clothes and pierced his skin. The blood was sticky on his fingers. The sun was setting when they saw Flammis Palace ahead. Two of its towers had collapsed, and several walls had crumbled. It wasn’t much better off than the rest of the city, but Dies Irae still ruled there. His banners, white and gold, thudded atop the remaining towers. His guards covered the standing walls, bows in hands.

Teeth and Legs approached the front gates. The bricks were blackened from fire, and the doors were charred. The dragons had breathed most of their fire here when storming the palace. Guards stood at the gateway, clad in plate armor, swords in hands. Their skin looked sallow, and sacks hung beneath their bloodshot eyes. There wasn’t much food in Confutatis anymore, and folk whispered that some of the guards had taken to eating the bodies. The stench of rot hung heavy here.

“New body for the Commander,” Teeth told the guards. “Fresh, this one.”

Legs nodded, holding Arms’s other end. “Fresh, fresh! We like them that way.  Yes sir we do.”

The guards grunted. “All right, boys. Looks better than your last catch. In you go.”

Teeth tugged the body, moving past the broken doors. Legs followed. They stepped into a hallway, its northern wall fallen. Bloodstains covered the floor and ash coated the ceiling. One column was smashed and stained red. Teeth knew the way. Hoisting the body, he turned left into a stairwell. The stairs wound into shadows. Torches lined the walls, but most were unlit. Teeth and Legs delved into the dungeons of Flammis Palace, the stairway leading them down and down into the cold and darkness. The palace was twice as deep as it was tall, and Teeth climbed down to its deepest chambers.

Screams, creaks, and squeals echoed through the tunnels. A man laughed. A saw grinded. Screeches rose and fell.

Teeth and Legs walked down a hallway, its floor sticky with blood, and entered a towering chamber. Torches lined the walls, flickering against rows of tables. Body parts covered the tabletops. Rows of legs covered one table, arms another, heads a third. A pile of torsos rotted in the corner. Uncarved bodies hung on walls and filled wheelbarrows.

Dies Irae stood at the back of the room.

Teeth froze. On previous visits, he had met underlings, not the Commander himself.  He had not expected to meet Dies Irae here. Once emperor of a mighty realm, Dies Irae now ruled a wasteland of desolation, death, and disease. His skin was grey. Blood stained his clothes. He stood by a table, hunching over a rotten torso. Sleeves rolled back, he was gutting it.

Teeth cleared his throat, blinked, and tried to quell the shake that found his knees.

“Commander,” he said. “We brought you a body. A fresh one, my lord.”

Legs brayed. “Fresh, fresh, that’s how we like them, yes sir we do.”

Dies Irae looked up from his work. His one eye blazed blue. A patch covered his other eye. Teeth knew the story. Benedictus the weredragon had taken that eye from him, as he had taken Dies Irae’s left arm; a steel arm grew there now, its fist a spiked mace head.

“A fresh one?” Dies Irae asked. His voice was hoarse. Wrinkles creased his brow. “Yes. Yes, very fresh.”

Teeth and Legs placed the body on a table. Teeth stifled a cough, struggling not to gag from the chamber’s stench. Maggots were crawling on some of the bodies.  Worms filled others.

“A fresh body, and look at its arms,” Teeth said. “Look at how long they are, my lord. Long and strong, like an ape’s. This one’s worth two silver coins, one per arm at least, my lord. A good body. Strong and fresh.”

Dies Irae examined the dead body, furrowed his brow, and touched those long arms.  He smiled, his lips twisting like worms. “Yes. Yes, strong.  Fresh.”

Teeth didn’t like this. He wanted to leave. On previous visits, underlings would examine his finds, mutter, and pay. But Dies Irae seemed… too quiet, lost in his own worlds. Teeth noticed that specks of blood covered the man’s lips. He shivered. Had Dies Irae been eating the bodies?

“My lord?” he said. There were bite marks on the body, he saw. Now Teeth definitely wanted to flee. “My lord, two silvers would be our price, if it please you. We’ll find you more bodies. We’re the Rot Gang.”

Dies Irae walked around the table and approached him. He was tall, Teeth saw. Not as tall as Legs, maybe, but heavier, all muscle and grit. Dies Irae stared at him with his good eye.

“Those are good teeth you have there,” he said. He licked his lips, smearing blood across them. “Sharp. I bet they can just… bite into somebody.” He snapped his own teeth, as if to demonstrate. “I could use teeth like that.”

Beside them, Legs guffawed. “Dog teeth, dog teeth, I like to see them. Yes sir I do.”

Dies Irae turned to face him, as if seeing Legs for the first time. “Well, young man, aren’t you a tall one. Look at those legs you’ve got there. I bet they could just….” Dies Irae stamped his feet. “Run! Run like the wind, I bet they can.”

Legs brayed. “They run, Legs they call me, yes sir they do.”

This was all wrong. Teeth found that he no longer cared about the coins.

“My lord, if you’ll excuse us, we’ll be on our way,” he said. He turned to face the doorway.

A mimic stood there. Not a dead body, but an animated thing, patched together, sewn from the strongest parts. A creature with worms for hair, claws on its fingers, and death in its eyes. It blocked the doorway, grinning. Insects bustled in its mouth, and its eyes blazed red.

“They are strong,” Dies Irae said. “They are made from the best. The best parts. I build them myself.”

He swung his mace at Legs.

It hit the boy’s head, crushing it.

As Legs collapsed, Teeth ran to the wall and grabbed a torch. He held it before him as a weapon.

“Don’t touch me, old man!” he warned, waving the torch.

Dies Irae’s lips curled back; Teeth couldn’t decide if it was a snarl or a grin.

“But I will touch you,” he said. “I will make you stronger. I will give you the right parts.”

Teeth lashed his torch.

Dies Irae sidestepped.

The mace swung.

Pain exploded against Teeth’s chest. The mace swung and again hit his chest. His ribs snapped. He couldn’t breathe. Blood filled his mouth.

He fell to his knees. The last thing he saw was Dies Irae grinning, and the mace swung again.

Light exploded. Blood and pain flowed across him… and faded. He knew nothing more.

Who is Daniel?

Born in 1980, Daniel Arenson is an author of fantasy fiction, from epic to dark and surreal.

He began his career writing short stories. He sold his first story, “Worms Believe in God”, in 1998. Since then, dozens of his stories and poems have appeared in various magazines, among them Flesh & Blood, Chizine, and Orson Scott Card’s Strong Verse.

Five Star Publishing, an imprint of Gale, published Arenson’s fantasy novel Firefly Island in 2007. Since then, he’s written the fantasy novels The Gods of Dream, Flaming Dove, Eye of the Wizard, and Blood of Requiem.

Click Daniel’s shiny mug to visit his website!

Click the link to read my previous reviews of Daniel’s work. “Eye of the Wizard” “Flaming Dove” “Firefly Island”

Still Not Sure?

If you still need more convincing here you go… more excerpts!

The Gods of Dream

Flaming Dove

Firefly Island

Blood of Requiem (Book 1)

Tears of Requiem (Book 2)

(You can see her entire gallery at her website HERE)

Book Sculptures by Su Blackwell

click images to see full size

What does this mean?

Well first…. Click on the “Book Club” tab at the top of the screen for more details.  Second, find a book you want to read and make a suggestion on the club page.

We will be starting a new book in a few weeks, (after we vote of course) and then we are off. (Reading that is.)  I will post questions, (as I read) and of course…encourage you to do the same.  So get your tushies moving and lets find something to gripe about!

–Misty–

So…I was reading an article the other day that was talking about the “new-age artist” (I’ll try to find the article again and post it…) Basically it said that as a whole, our society doesn’t appreciate art they way it used to. (#1. I think that is bullshit, I could spend HOURS in the MET and not bat an eye.) Anyways, Mr. McNegativity then went on to criticize what he thought was a horrible trend in modern day art.

Book Covers.

Long story short he said that artists that could really “make” something out of themselves are wasting their time designing emotionless slub for the masses instead of putting their ideas down on a canvas where it should be.

Dear Sir… You are an idiot.

I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could spend hours doing nothing but looking at book covers, AND as a person who has designed book covers, I love having my work out their for a WIDE audience…not just they 100 or so tourist that decide to visit a SOHO hot-spot.

So…to the man who very clearly has his head stuck up his (((censored))) I pose this question:

How in the HELL can these not be considered art?

 Click images to get a better look

How about you…

Do you think book covers are art?

I will have a review up later, but I thought I would share some really cool pictures with you first.  This morning I was updating my bucket list (don’t judge me) and found several kick-ass bookstores that I now want to live in.  Since I thought they were awe-worthy I thought you might as well. So enjoy the view and happy reading!

- Misty

The Photos are in order by ROW. For example: Row 1 (across) is El Ateneo. Click any of the images for a larger view!

 3 Bookstores To Die For!

1.  El Ateneo in Buenos Aires

Bueno Aires’s Librería El Ateneo Grand Splendid used to be a beautiful movie palace. Saved from the wrecker’s ball, it is now one of the most majestic bookstores in the world.

El Ateneo Grand Splendid in downtown Buenos Aires is a spectacular bookstore that retains all the glamour of its former life as a 1920s movie palace, with a original balconies, painted ceiling, ornate carvings and crimson stage curtains.

2.  The Lello Bookstore in Porto, Portugal

 Opened in 1906 and often described as the most beautiful bookstore in the world, this is somewhere not to be missed. Designed by Xavier Esteves in turn of the century Art Nouveau style, the façade creates an immediate impression with its two painted figures representing Art and Science and its neo gothic design. Inside, the curved red staircase, the magnificent stained-glass skylight, with Lello’s motto ‘vecus in labore’, the bronze Portuguese literary figures on the columns and the beautifully decorated walls and ceilings, all create a stunning effect. The small café on the second floor is an unexpected delight.

3.  The Selexyz Bookstore in Maastricht, Holland

This bookstore is actually inside of an old Dominican church!

The ground floor gives room to several different book displays, information desks, magazine-stands and cash registers, all made of standard sheet materials in different colours and surfaces. The former altar now houses the ‘Coffee lovers’ café with a large central reading table shaped as a cross.

GOOD MORNING KINDLE-ITES!!!!

Today is a very exciting day for me (and hopefully you too) because KindleObsessed officially turns 2 (*throws confetti in the air*) Now, last year I went on and on about all of KO’s accomplishments, but this year I think I’m going to pass on the logistics and get right down to business. I mean… you don’t really care how many countries read KO right? (*cough* 147) Or that I’m practically a damn superstar in Uzbekistan. I didn’t think so. So I’m just gonna skip all that mumbo jumbo and get to the goodies!!!

One of the best things about KO is getting to find new (sometimes wonderful, sometimes crappy) books and share them with y’all. So I’ve decided, (for my 2 year Blogiversary,) to be a little more literal in my sharing. (AKA I’m going to start giving shit away.) *cues applause*

Here is what you need to do. Below (which I’m sure you have already seen) are the prize packs. All of these books are for Kindle and all of them are up for grabs. Just leave a comment below telling me #1 Why you love to read. #2 Which 2 prize packs you would love to get your hands on and #3 A way to get a hold of you (twitter handle, Facebook handle, email address.. I don’t care. But leave me SOMETHING)

I will announce the winners NEXT Sunday (28th)

I think that pretty much covers it, Happy perusing!

Much Love, – Misty

A Piece of the King Prize Pack!

Prize Pack Includes Everything (fiction) King as written under his “real” name (Lets just say it’s an ass load of books)

Stephen Edwin King is an American author of contemporary horror, suspense, science fiction and fantasy fiction. His books have sold more than 350 million copies, which have been adapted into a number of feature films, television movies and comic books. As of 2011, King has written and published 49 novels, including seven under the pen name Richard Bachman, five non-fiction books, and nine collections of short stories. Many of his stories are set in his home state of Maine.

King has received Bram Stoker Awards, World Fantasy Awards, British Fantasy Society Awards, his novella The Way Station was a Nebula Award novelette nominee, and in 2003, the National Book Foundation awarded him the Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters.

Going Rogue Prize Pack!

Prize Pack Includes Books 1-26

Rogue Angel is a paper back series of novels published bi-monthly since July 2006 by Harlequin Publishing’s Gold Eagle division and written under the house name of Alex Archer. (Actual authors are credited with small notes inside the books) The main character is Annja Creed. Each novel offers an adventure based on history or mythology, with a heavy fantasy slant

Although these books can be read individually in any order as discrete adventures, it is actually better to read them in order as there is some continuity within the character development and sub-plots.

Usually Annja’s adventures revolve around an artifact that falls into her hands temporarily before being taken by the villains or a third party that might or might not prove to be evil. Or she might take up the trail of an artifact that was lost in history or only thought of as a legend.

The trail progresses quickly as Annja risks more and more to reach her prize. Along the way she learns more about historical periods and the people who lived in them. She also becomes more knowledgeable about the sword and it’s bond to her as time progress.

I Need More Drama in My Life Prize Pack!

Prize Pack Inludes: No Country for Old Men, All The Pretty Horses, Blood Meredian, The Road and The Crossing.

Cormac McCarthy  is an American novelist and playwright. He has written ten novels, spanning the Southern Gothic, Western, and modernist genres. He has also written plays and screenplays. He received the Pulitzer Prize and the James Tait Black Memorial Prize for Fiction for The Road. His 2005 novel No Country for Old Men was adapted as a 2007 film of the same name, which won four Academy Awards, including Best Picture. He received a National Book Award and National Book Critics Circle Award for his 1992 novel, All the Pretty Horses.

 Walking Through Wardrobes Prize Pack!

Pack includes ALL 7 books in the series!! 

The Chronicles of Narnia, by C.S. Lewis, is one of the very few sets of books that should be read three times: in childhood, early adulthood, and late in life. In brief, four children travel repeatedly to a world in which they are far more than mere children and everything is far more than it seems. Richly told, populated with fascinating characters, perfectly realized in detail of world and pacing of plot, the story is infused throughout with the timeless issues of good and evil, faith and hope. This edition includes all seven volumes

The Science Geeks Prize Pack!

Prize Pack Includes:  Boneshaker, Ganymede, and Dreadnought

Priest’s published writing style thus far falls into the Southern Gothic genre as well as the Horror genre. She has also written a number of short stories, most of which can be categorized as Horror or Science fiction. Priest has expanded her style to include the burgeoning genre of Steampunk which can be best described as a fantastical alternate history or Neo-Victorian often involving modern technology powered by nineteenth century means. Priest has developed a large fan following

This is Going to be EPIC Prize Pack! 

 Prize Pack Includes ALL 3 books in the Broze Horeseman Trilogy

The Bronze Horseman is the first book in the Bronze Horseman Trilogy by Paullina Simons.

The book begins on the 22 June 1941, the day Russia enters the Second World War after Operation Barbarossa. Tatiana Metanova, young and innocent has no idea that from this day on, her life will never be the same. Not only will the war change her path, but also meeting the handsome and mysterious Red army officer Alexander Belov.^[1] The relationship between Tatiana and Alexander develops against the backdrop of the Siege of Leningrad and in the face of many difficulties.

The Human Slurpie Prize Pack!

Schizophrenic Hodgepodge Prize Pack!

Fall by David Scott Hay (Contemporary Fantasy) Click Here to Enjoy

Dead Locked by Amy Saunders (Mystery) Click Here to Enjoy

All For One by Ryne Douglas Pearson (Psychological Thriller) Click Here to Enjoy

One Wild Night by Amelia James (Romance) Click Here to Enjoy

The Vision by S.K. Epperson (Gothic Horror) Click Here to Enjoy

Setting Boundaries by Valerie Douglas (Fantasy/Mystery) Click Here to Enjoy

Red Carpet Dreams by Danielle Benson (Contemporary Fiction) Click Here to Enjoy

In Search of Lucy by Lia Fairchild (Family/Relationship Drama) Click Here to Enjoy

A Secret Desire by C.J Archer (Historical Romance) Click Here to Enjoy

Absolute Liability by J.W. Becton (Thriller) Click Here to Enjoy

The King of Terrors by Brendan Carroll (Templar Fiction) Click Here to Enjoy

The Perfect Plan by Ty Hutchinson (Thriller) Click Here to Enjoy

Shero by Jack Wallen (Contemporary Fantasy) Click Here to Enjoy

Midnight Eyes by Sidney Williams (Thriller) Click Here to Enjoy

The Dream by Maria Savva (Paranormal/Time Travel) Click Here to Enjoy

A Dose of Reality by Heidi Hall (Romantic Suspense) Click Here to Enjoy

Return of The Golden Age by Marilyn Peake (Children’s Fantasy) Click Here to Enjoy

Rumpel by Eileen Cruz Coleman (Re-Worked Classics/Horror) Click Here to Enjoy

Keeping The Pace by Dee Carney (Contemporary Fiction) Click Here to Enjoy

Perfect Fudge by Hazel Larson (YA) Click Here to Enjoy

Will Competition from iPad and Tablet PC’s Drive Kindle to Go Free?

Certainly we are on the verge of a tablet PC revolution, and it’s already threatening the bustling Kindle market. New screen technologies that bridge the gap between E-paper and LCD displays, along with the inherent multi-functionality of these devices threaten to dethrone the Kindle as current king of e-readers. Amazon’s recent announcement of a discounted Kindle model, although with advertisements splashing the home page, is a direct response to the tablet PC market. We’ve seen this kind of trend before, both in conventional publications and on the internet, so is this a good move on Amazon’s part, or evidence of a dying market?

Ad revenues drive a lot of the publishing world, both online and in print. A major difference between an embedded device like Kindle and these other markets is that people are used to seeing advertisements on web pages and in magazines. They are not however, used to seeing advertisements in books. I can already see the shocked looks on peoples’ faces as they are presented with Viagra ads while reading a romance novel. Well, it’ll probably never get that out of hand, but still, you’re already paying for the book, whose really going to want advertisements to come with it? Of course they aren’t taking it quite that far yet, but the small amount of advertising they are doing also reflects in the price savings, a mere $25.

Considering the hard sell of advertisements, we might see Kindle take another route, the loss leader. Like printers and video game consoles we might see reductions in price in the Kindle hardware to the point where they’re actually losing money selling it, and then make up for it with a rise in the price of the e-books. There is a flaw in this strategy as well, Amazon currently dominates the e-book market, but that might not be the case for long if they increase the cost of their e-books.

More likely than not Amazon will utilize a combination of these two strategies, since going overboard with either one will likely hurt their business. Another mistake a lot of people seem to be making is underestimating why people by a Kindle to begin with. E-books are hardly a new concept, and there are plenty of public domain books you can even download to your computer for free, so why are people willing to dish out money for these? Because they’re simple to use and convenient.

They’re meant to cater to a relatively less technical crowd that doesn’t want the hassle of dealing with a laptop or other multifunction system. Reading through criticisms of Kindle, I constantly run across people denouncing it for its lack of features, such as availability of apps, multiple fonts, etc. I doubt we’ll see Amazon take this direction in Kindle’s development for 2 reasons, because adding complexity to the device will distance it from its core demographic, and second because they want to make it cheaper, not more expensive.

So is Amazon ready to start handing out these babies for free? I don’t think so. They might hand them out for free to certain customers, but I don’t see it happening en masse. More likely what we’ll see are incremental reductions in price along with more advertisements and higher prices on e-books. Likely, most of the back catalogue of e-books will remain unchanged, with the newest best sellers coming up just a tad. Although the iPads will take away some of Kindle’s business, it will be the technologically savvy early adaptation crowd that they grab, and not the people solely interested in convenience and ease of use. I think the Kindle has a lot of life left in it, and not only will it continue to dominate the e-reader market, but it won’t go for free either.

Alexis Bonari is a freelance writer and researcher for College Scholarships, where recently she’s been researching graphics design scholarships as well as gymnastic scholarships. Whenever she gets some free time, she enjoys watching a funny movie or curling up with a good book.

Streams Of Words

     The color was always the same, crimson red, but that was not what mattered. The feeling that the little splash of red produced was what mattered. Relief. Like a bottle of soda that has been sitting in the sun for too long and is aching to be opened before it explodes. She didn’t care that she was making a mess; streaking her clothes and the already dirty tile floor with blood, those were just details; issues that could be dealt with when the time came, but for now…the only task at hand was to release the words that were trapped inside of her veins… pumping steady strings of negativity and pain towards her brain.

     “You are worthless! Why do I even bother.”

     When she was little her mother had very diligently taught her that “sticks and stones could break her bones, but words could never hurt her.” Unfortunately that wasn’t how life worked. In reality words were much more damaging than a damn bruise would ever be. Words had a way of weaving their way inside of you, festering until you could actually smell the stink of them radiating off of your skin. A broken arm or a bruised jaw? Surfaces grazes…things that could be easily tended to by a doctor.

     The first time she panicked she had been 14, a child. Susanna Beecham, of the “we-have-more-money-than-God” Beecham’s, decided to point out just how pathetic she actually was.

     “You are ugly… did you know that? I mean… not average ugly, that could be tolerated, YOU are ogre worthy, and…” because obviously that wasn’t enough, “You smell like my dog pissed on you. Do us a favor and quit taking showers in your toilet.”

     Yep, that was all it took. The next thing she knew she was huddled in the AV closet running a broken slide reel back and forth across her forearm. She had absolutely zero idea what she was doing, all she knew was that it felt better. At first, the pain gave her something else to focus on, but then it morphed into something else entirely. The answer.

     For years she had been forced to hold all of her emotional baggage inside, but this… this habit she instinctively knew was sick and wrong, allowed her to let go of it. She could actually see the words as they flowed out of her, each drip adding something new to the pile of misery that was puddling on the floor.

     “Loser”… Drip.
     “Waste”… Drip.
     “Hideous”… Drip.

     The beauty of it all was that no one seemed to notice. Not that they seemed to notice her anyways, but one long sleeved shirt and poof, the evidence was gone.

     “Um… hello?”

     Joey jumped.

     When had someone else come in the room? God… she had always been so careful, letting her guard down was a no-no. She looked around desperately for the lime green hoodie she had drug into the corner with her.

     “Joey… Are you in here?”

     Maybe if she was really quiet he would just go away. She knew exactly who it was. That scrawny audio visual kid… Paul.. Saul… whatever, his name was not the issue. This was a disaster. Under no circumstance would her current position look normal. She was holding a razor blade for fuck sake, that alone would be a cause for concern, not adding in the stark red blotches of human life that surrounded her like mine fields.

     She heard her name called one more time before she saw his face, freckle covered and pale from lack of sun, peek around the corner.

     “Joey…”

     He looked down.

     Immediately she rose, hoping that the movement would distract him from the scene he was witnessing, but the surprise, and then disgust, that registered in his eyes was unmistakable.

     “What are you doing?” he asked, his mouth agape, clearly shocked from what he was seeing.
     “Nothing… go away.”
     “What do you mean nothing… it looks like a damn massacre in here.” He looked down, moving his foot slightly to the left to avoid getting blood on the bottom of his shoe.
     “I… I was just looking for something, shit… quit staring at me.” She grabbed her bag, that had somehow mysteriously made it’s way to the middle of the room, and started to walk off. All she needed was time. If she could get away, clean herself up and then avoid Paul/Saul for a few days this whole “thing” would just disappear. Lose shape and then drift off into a string of never-ending tomorrows.

     “Wait, where are you going?” he asked, taking a timid stepping closer to her, and then gently retrieving her bag from her shoulder, only to immediately turn around and chunk it a good 10 feet from where they were currently standing. “You are hurt, let me help you.”
     “I’m fine,” she said, though her mind was setting off sirens even a deaf person couldn’t help but hear.
     ”You are very clearly, not fine, sit down.”

     Like one of those saps in the movies her mother loved to watch so much, he moved beside her and pulled out one of the rooms excruciatingly uncomfortable plastic chairs. Sensing that a battle would be eminent if she refused she did as she was told. Reluctant, but attentive to the directions she was being supplied.

     “Ok, I’m sitting. Now what.”

     The boy she vaguely knew only stared.

     “No.. seriously…what are you going to do… fix me?” Her words, though delivered with a heavy helping of sarcasm, were laced with the truth. The only truth to have passed her lips for years, on purpose or by pure accident she was unclear.

     For a second she saw recognition flash across his face, and then it was gone; replaced by a sadness that seemed to make the air in the room become thick and stale.

     “Yes” he said, reaching a hand across the table to push a piece of her matted black hair behind her ear.

     Joey’s head shot up, her eyes locking on the figure in front of her, and for the first time seeing the tiny lines of a boy who had seen too much.

     “I’m going to help you clean up your words, and then… I’m going to teach you some new ones.”