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YOU’VE FOUND A TEAM BLUE AUTHOR!
***MEET K. BIRD LINCOLN, AUTHOR OF DREAM EATER ***
K. Bird Lincoln is an ESL professional and writer living on the windswept Minnesota Prairie with family and a huge addiction to frou-frou coffee. Also dark chocolate– without which, the world is a howling void. Originally from Cleveland, she has spent more years living on the edges of the Pacific Ocean than in the Midwest. Her speculative short stories are published in various online & paper publications such as Strange Horizons. Her first novel, Tiger Lily, a medieval Japanese fantasy, is available from Amazon. Her debut Urban Fantasy, Dream Eater, was published in April 2017 by World Weaver Press. She also writes tasty speculative and YA fiction reviews on Goodreads, ponders breast cancer, chocolate, and fantasy on her What I Should Have Said blog and hangs out on Facebook.
Find K. Bird Lincoln on Social Media:
“With a keen sense of place and a richly textured plot based in Japanese folklore, the first book in the Portland Hafu series shows enormous potential.” –RT Book Reviews “DREAM EATER brings much-needed freshness to the urban fantasy genre with its inspired use of Japanese culture and mythology and its fully-realized setting of Portland, Oregon. I’m eager to follow Koi on more adventures!” —Beth Cato, author of The Clockwork Dagger and Breath of Earth Koi Pierce dreams other peoples’ dreams. Her whole life she’s avoided other people. Any skin-to-skin contact—a hug from her sister, the hand of a barista at Stumptown coffee—transfers flashes of that person’s most intense dreams. It’s enough to make anyone a hermit. But Koi’s getting her act together. No matter what, this time she’s going to finish her degree at Portland Community College and get a real life. Of course it’s not going to be that easy. Her father, increasingly disturbed from Alzheimer’s disease, a dream fragment of a dead girl from the casual brush of a creepy PCC professor’s hand, and a mysterious stranger who speaks the same rare Northern Japanese dialect as Koi’s father will force Koi to learn to trust in the help of others, as well as face the truth about herself
“Take Dad for two weeks.”
“What? No, I mean, I can’t. What about school?” I sucked in air, floundering. First the memory care monster, and now this? I’d been sucker punched.
My sister Marlin waved a hand at the mess of tissues and the box of Sudafed. “Koi, I’ve been managing Dad all winter. My clients are booked solid through April and May.”
“You managed before.”
“Ha,” she said, “Managed.” The word turned into a dripping sarcasm ball. “Just two weeks, Koi, that’s all I’m asking.”
“I can’t do it.”
Marlin looked down at her manicured thumbnail, picking at an appliquéd flower. Loose hair fell forward, covering her face in a glossy curtain. “He doesn’t need me,” she said quietly.
A bigger monster entered the room. Mom’s reasons for leaving Dad, tangled up with the very careful way our family never, ever talked about the biggest thing I had inherited from him.
This was the closest we’d come to naming it since Mom died. A thin wisp of connection hovering in the air between us. I could reach out right now and take Marlin’s bare hand, let all those unspoken things spill out of me. A yearning to share this burden, to explain somehow, flickered for an instant. But talking about it with Marlin would ignite her caretaker instincts, and I couldn’t let her fix things for me anymore. I had to figure out my life on my own.
The moment dissipated. Marlin snuck a sideways peek at me through her hair. I reached out and stroked soft strands, careful not to brush the edge of her ear.
“And we’ll try to work out some more permanent solution in the meantime,” said Marlin, back to bossy little sister voice.
Permanent solution? “I was supposed to have spring off for my classes,” I said. She just stared back at me, waiting, sick, concerned, and stubborn as Mom.
I flexed my fingers, trying to calm the little bursts of unease running up and down my arms. I couldn’t fight this Marlin. She was deadly serious. “Okay. You can bring him by tonight.”
“Can you just pick him up at Salvation Army at the end of his day program?”
“I’ve got classes.” Even Marlin could push me only so far.
“Fine. I’ll bring him. Now, I’ve got some serious binging to do with Leverage on my DVR. If you want to stay and play ‘spot the downtown landmarks’, that’s fine. If not, you’re dismissed.” She fiddled with the remote. “And thanks for the Sudafed.”
She kept her eyes on the TV, but I blew an air kiss to her as I left anyway. She drove me crazy, but she was one of the only people in the world since Mom died that I could call mine.
My smothering, meddling bridge to humanity.
I let myself out the door, ran down her rickety staircase and whipped around the overgrown pink-budded rhododendrons back towards the sidewalk.
And barreled headlong into somebody.
Somebody with a hard midsection covered by an OHSU sweatshirt.
I looked up, flushing for a third time that morning. “Sorry,” I mumbled.
It was the guy from Rite-Aid. I hadn’t had a good look at him before, but now there was no convenient escape-path. He had very dark brown eyes, almost black. Under the lack of a pronounced eyelid, his eyes tilted up at the corners. Asian, or possibly, part-Asian. Medium-length dark hair, moussed up into tousled spikes at the top of his head.
He wore the sweatshirt like someone who didn’t care what they put on because they had the body to pull off any look.
I glanced at his hands. The box of condoms was no longer in sight.
“This is becoming a habit,” he said.
I bristled, but his mouth was curved into a relaxed grin, and he held one eyebrow arched up high in a way I’d wished I could emulate ever since I’d watched Spock on old Star Trek reruns.
“Sorry,” I repeated with great emphasis. I stepped off the path to go around him, but he held out a hand to stop me.
“I was hoping to talk to you,” he said.
“What?” I backed away, checking quickly to see if anyone else was nearby. The parking lot mothers had all gone inside. Not a soul was around. Unease prickled.
I’d touched him. Usually I only got fragments that lasted long enough to turn into dreams from people feeling strong emotion—like the clerk’s sadness. This guy didn’t have a drama aura, and I’d felt nothing at Rite-Aid but all of a sudden I wasn’t so sure he hadn’t given me a fragment. Were crazy stalker dreams going to haunt me tonight?
“I’m new to town,” he said, with a curious emphasis.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated. Was that all I could say today? Just placate him, and then slip away. I was good at slipping away. “Do you need directions somewhere?”
“Directions?” he looked puzzled. “Nihongo wakarimasu ka?”
I shook my head, screwing up my face into a puzzled look. Crazy stalker who spoke Japanese? Why the hell did he ask me if I spoke Japanese, anyway?
It wasn’t like Dad’s heritage was stamped all over my face. There was only a slight lift around the corner of my eyes. Even my nose was the sharp monstrosity inherited from the Pierce side.
“Ah, dame ka,” he muttered. Those perfectly formed eyebrows fell, and his face changed. Not just the expression, but I swear his eyelashes got thicker and his mouth got wider, the lips more generous and the cheeks rounder. I blinked and looked again.
It was the same guy, but his expression now fairly screamed “attractive and amiable.” As if he were the ultimate life insurance salesman.
“Ah, I have to go…ah meet someone for coffee.” I gestured vaguely at the apartment complex. “I’m pretty sure all the apartments are labeled with names. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding anything.”
“Actually, I was going to ask you for directions to the nearest café,” he said, his smile was genuine, but a hint of a smirk crinkled beneath his eyes.
Seriously? I rubbed my hands on the sides of my sweats. This guy was weird, but he hadn’t given off scary vibes when I bumped into him those two times. If only Marlin were here to give me a clue about how to handle this. Was it more normal to blow my rape whistle or walk with him to Stumptown?
He was patiently waiting, smiling in that way that made me feel included in a secret joke.
Okay, Stumptown it was. Once we got there I’d order first and then slip out while he was waiting for his.
“Follow me,” I said, moving forward so he had to fall into step beside me. My head barely reached the bottom of his chin. Walking side by side meant I didn’t have to meet his gaze.
“Do you live in one of these condos?” he said.
I stumbled a bit over a non-existent sidewalk crack
He coughed. “Ah, that’s not a comfortable question, is it? Let me try again. Okay, how about, do you know a cheap but nice apartment complex around here?”
I considered my scant knowledge of the neighborhood where I’d been living for most of my post-high school life. Nope. Not a clue.
Best cold buckwheat noodles in Portland? Grocery stores that delivered? Back stairwells on PCC’s campus? Navigating databases and academic search engines? I was your girl. Knowledge of the real world? Not so much.
“Can’t help you. But there’s some great apartment-finder websites for Portland. There might even be some of those real estate booklets at Stumptown.”
We stopped at the intersection and I waited, looking at him expectantly. He grinned back, but made no move to push the crosswalk button even though he was closer. Sighing, I reached past him to hit the button with an open palm. Instead of backing away when I invaded his personal space, the guy leaned in, flaring his nostrils like he was…smelling.
I pulled back abruptly.
His brows knit together in puzzlement. “You…you aren’t only human. Why don’t you-“
The light turned red, and I strode away from him across the intersection.
Okay. Line officially crossed into whacko-ness. Only human? What? Even Marlin wouldn’t tell me I needed to be polite to Mr. Sniffer-Stalker now.
Stumptown and relative safety was at the end of the street, the bright yellow rooster-bedecked sign visible from here. He could find his own damn way.
My back prickled again, but I refused to turn around and look. No acknowledgement, no encouragement was the best policy. I reached Stumptown and stepped around a bicycle trailer, banging my knee against the protruding handle of a kiddie scooter. Stupid inanimate objects, always getting in my way in a social crisis.
Inside the calm, blonde wood interior, I stood sideways in line to make other customers less likely to crowd up behind me. And to keep one eye out for Mr. Sniffer-Stalker.
“You’re next,” said the lady in line behind me. I looked up to see the puzzled faces of Greg-ever-chipper and Sai-can’t-be-bothered peering at me from behind the glass case of pastries.
“What can I get started for you?” said Greg, in a forced version of his chipper voice that indicated he was repeating something for an embarrassing-teenth time.
“Large latte,” I said. I whipped out my debit card to hand to Sai.
Ever since I passed her in a PCC hallway three weeks ago, I’d been working my way up to chit chat with Sai. I needed to say something normal. Something interesting and witty.
“How are classes?”
“You know, pretty easy so far,” said Sai. Her smile seemed genuine. I glanced around the displays, looking for something to ask about.
My eyes came to rest on a man at one of the little tables. He was familiar in a way I couldn’t place. A professor, for sure, decked out in a plaid jacket with suede elbows and an armful of coffee-stained papers in loose folders. Probably I knew him from walking the halls at PCC. A little shiver ran down my spine.
Why did the sight of him make me uneasy? Nothing in the way his gray-speckled hair curled over his collar told me anything.
I walked to the corner to wait for Greg to finish my latte.
“Ah yeah, I guess your classes must be okay, too then,” Sai called after me. A thin undercurrent of sarcasm laced her voice. Oops, preoccupied with studying the back of the professor’s head, I must have missed Sai’s continuance of our chit chat .
Not even a quick flash of the patented chipper grin as Greg put my latte on the bar. Maybe they’d chalk up my spaciness to caffeine deficiency. I could always hope.
When my hand touched the warm cardboard of the latte, the aroma of cinnamon suddenly intensified. The strange, horrible fragment that had been giving me nightmares bubbled up from the depths of my mind. I froze.
The bright red of the espresso machine bled into the brown walls and counters, streaks of watery smudge blurring everything.
Oat bran and molasses on my tongue. A hint of exotic spice…cardamom? Brown and red seeped into the brown-on-black shadows of a darkened hallway. My hand gripped the cold metal handle of a giant jagged-edged knife, like the kind in old Rambo movies. Blood dripped from the blade onto the pale, motionless body of a woman with long, black hair and a prominent, hooked nose.
Scalding milk spilled down my arm and I yelped. The lid of my latte had popped off. Someone pressed a towel to my arm. I murmured apologies and closed my eyes hard until the dead woman’s glassy eyes faded into black ink.
Ki, yama, tsuki; the firm strokes of my old Saturday school teacher’s ink-tipped calligraphy brush painted kanji on the fuzzy light leaking behind my eyelids. That horrible fragment was haunting my waking moments now? How had I gotten such a strong one without realizing? This had never happened before. A whole week’s dreaming hadn’t lessened any of the visceral details.
Breathe. Paint a black line. Defining spaces of white contained within black helped banish the hallway, the scent, the terrible pale skin.
After a moment, I opened my eyes. Greg stared at me, dripping towel in one hand.
“Should we call Ben?” he whispered sideways to Sai.
Any progress I’d made in the past month at Stumptown was just completely obliterated. Time to beat a strategic retreat. Give people time to forget the weirdness.
I spun around clutching my half-full, soggy latte.
The professor guy was also staring at me, and I suddenly knew where I’d seen him before.
He did teach at PCC. I’d bumped into him outside my Japanese lit professor’s office last week. He’d just barreled through the door, flustered and flushed. Before I could dodge, he’d patted my bare arm in apology. For once, the mishap hadn’t been my fault.
I’d first tasted that disturbing fragment in my dream that week, the molasses-oat, and the jarring figure of the dead woman.
It was his fragment, this professor with the suede elbows. But it had to be a nightmare, right? Not a memory-flavored dream like Marlin and Taizo Kovach on prom night. I mean, PCC professors didn’t actually murder people.
The professor stood up, gathering his things. He was handsome in an older-guy, tousled curls kind of way. I imagined rows of blonde undergrads staring up at him, drinking in his every word. The image was replaced by those same undergrads sprawled across a blood-streaked floor.
Morbidness issues much lately?
To cover my confusion, I brought the latte to my lips.
Yuck. It was tepid, and the cup’s rim was so saturated with milk it threatened to break off in pieces on my tongue.
If there was any kind of fairness in the world, I could retreat back to the safe haven of my apartment, but I had a class. Time to find some of that strength Mom talked about when she gave me this sweatshirt, now streaked with latte.
I navigated the towers of burlap-sacked beans without brushing against any waiting customers. Almost home free, I thought, just as I noticed the front glass windows reflecting a shadow right behind me. A strange tingly sensation, like I’d had with Mr. Sniffer-Stalker, swept me from shoulder blades to scalp. The professor, following me?
I stepped out the door. There had been ample time for the professor to leave already. Why would he be waiting around?
Not only was I morbid, but paranoid too. There should be a new entry on Wikipedia for me. “Morbanoid.”
I turned a corner. The strange tinglies get stronger. Was someone actually behind me? I slowed down, slipping my sopping drink sleeve off so I could fumble it into the garbage can and allow whoever it was behind me to pass.
The person halted in front of the garbage can.
“Don’t I know you from campus?” the professor said. I recoiled and stepped back, my messenger bag thumping me in the thigh. He turned up the wattage on his smile, extending his hand. “You were in Kaneko-sensei’s office, right?”
He meant to be friendly, but the idea that this man remembered me, noticed me in a chance encounter gave me the willies. I left his hand hanging in midair. No way was I touching him.
“Ah, yes, um…” I said, searching for some way to “I…uh…”
“Ah, there you are!” said a voice behind me. I turned around to see Mr. Sniffer-Stalker giving me a dazzling grin. “Time to go.”
He gave a little wave to the professor. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve come to whisk her away.” He cupped my clothed elbow with his palm and warmth spread from his touch up my arm to my rapidly beating heart.
The professor frowned slightly. A whiff of cardamom. That pale, too-still body. Mr. Sniffer-Stalker was whacko, but he felt infinitely safer than the professor.
“Yes, I have to go,” I mumbled. The professor tensed, as if to protest. Instead, he flashed me a polite smile, and gave Mr. Sniffer-Stalker a curiously formal nod before turning back to the parking lot.
Panic receded. An escape…but from what? From an awkward conversation with Kaneko-sensei’s colleague? When fragments impacted the waking world this much, that’s when I knew I had to force myself into some kind of interaction other than Marlin or emailing Todd, my Java freelance job headhunter.
Stick with reality. Ignore the fuzzy-edged stuff.
I shook my head, wishing I could cast all this off of me like Mom’s black lab, Sukey, shaking water after a dip in the Willamette. This wasn’t my normal morbanoid self. Other people’s fragments didn’t do this to me—it was something particular to the professor.
A hand squeezed my shoulder and pulled me back onto the sidewalk. I went with Mr. Sniffer-Stalker, trying not to slosh more latte foam.
His hand was on me. Bare skin touching bare skin where my sweatshirt gaped open.
Where was the panic? The instinctual recoil? Only Dad could touch me like this and not force feed me fragments. But Mr. Sniffer’s hand didn’t feel awkward. It felt heavy. Warm. No tingles. No scents. No fuzzy static swimming across my vision.
“Why did you do that?” I blurted.
He blinked at me. “You didn’t want to talk to that man.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes!” I jerked my arm away.
This guy was just so…coolly rumpled looking. Like Marlin’s lacrosse-playing boyfriends. Those dark-on-dark eyes pulling me in, making me feel guilty for being so abrupt.
Why should I feel guilty? He was the weird stalker, not me. But the truth was, I wasn’t afraid.
Thanks for the sneak peek, K.! Don’t forget to write down the lucky number 13 for your chance to win ALL of Team Blue’s awesome New Adult books!
Thanks for reading everything so far! I hope you liked reading about Koi meeting the trickster Ken above. I just came back from our yearly trip to Tokyo to visit hubby’s parents and brought back these super-cute sushi tabi socks and excellent Mintia Mints. I would love to give them away to one of our New Adult Scavenger Hunt participants. Check out the Rafflecopter Giveaway below, and it might be you!
***CONTINUE THE HUNT***
To continue on the hunt, check out Sarah Fischer’s site HERE! If you’re lost in the hunt and need to find a way out, click on the New Adult Scavenger Hunt banner at the top of the page, it will take you to the NewASH site.
Once again, I am honored to be a part of this amazing charity auction. The RAINN organization is one that is near and dear to my heart. For the 2017 Writers for Hope Auction, I am offering the two items listed below. To bid on these items, just click on the links.
To bid on other generous writing related items, visit: www.writersforhope.com.
For more information on the Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network click below:
Thank you for your support of RAINN!
Today’s the day! Ren and Cayden are officially out in the world! I loved spending time with Ren and Cayden. Long Road Home is a beautiful story of healing, overcoming adversity, finding strength to carry on, leaning on someone else, and giving your heart to someone, even though that might be the scariest notion of all.
I’m grateful for many things-my work, my apartment, my amazing friends. But after that night years ago, I’m left with an aching weight I can’t escape. And it’s keeping me from living and loving the way I desperately want. So when a ruggedly handsome cop pulls me over, I’m shocked by what just the sight of him does to me-stirring up feelings I didn’t think were possible again.
Cayden Sinclair is undoubtedly one of the good guys. A former Marine who’s so sexy I can’t seem to keep my hands to myself. But there are things I’m not ready to share, things that could change everything between us. Cayden deserves to have the life he’s always wanted-which means walking away from him. But I don’t know if I’ll ever find the strength to let him go . . .
What kind of book birthday would it be without presents? How would you like the chance to win a $25.00 Amazon gift card and a Kindle edition of Long Road Home? For a chance to win, enter the Rafflecopter giveaway below!
Contest runs from 3/7-3/14
Thanks for celebrating the release of Long Road Home! If you’ve read Long Road Home, consider leaving a short review on Amazon, Goodreads, Barnes and Noble, or any other review site. Please know that reviews of all kinds are greatly appreciated!
Let me know what you think of Long Road Home here, too! Comments are always welcome! 🙂
I am so excited to be participating in Pitch Wars again, this time as a mentor! In 2013, I decided to throw my finished manuscript into the PW fray and hold my breath, not expecting much to happen. Lo and behold, my manuscript was chosen. Whoa! Seriously, life changing! I worked hard, listened to what my amazing mentor (Lady Lioness) had to teach me, and I entered the agent round with a polished, beautiful story that caught the eye of Louise Fury, who is now my agent!
That is my hope for you! If you choose me as your mentor, I will take the publishing knowledge I’ve gained in the last three years and pass it along to you. Pitch Wars (and publishing in general) isn’t for the faint of heart. If your desire is to be a published author, to share your stories with others, then be prepared to work hard, make sacrifices, be open minded and ready to learn. I want to help you take the files on your computer and hopefully start them on the path toward a bookstore shelf!
All of the Pitch Wars mentors are FANTASTIC, but I hope this mini bio will lead you to choose ME!!!
As you read above, I’m a Pitch Wars alum. I’ve been where you are. I know what you’re feeling right now: excited, nervous, scared, OMG-what-am-I-getting-myself-into. No worries, I’ve got your back, we’ll get through this together!
Besides my Pitch Wars experience, I’ve published three new adult contemporary romance novels with Grand Central Publishing’s Forever Yours imprint and have two more in the works. I’m familiar with the extensive editing process that is required to prepare a manuscript for publication.
Along with my writing career, I am a middle school science and Spanish teacher, and have a degree in teaching language arts and music. This fall, I will begin my sixteenth year of teaching (Holy cow, where did the time go?!). I enjoy teaching, I love the kids! I love reading out loud to my students, sharing great stories, and fostering a lifelong passion for books!
Outside of school and publishing, I’m a wife and mother. I have two beautiful daughters (thirteen and nine years old). Teen Darling is a gold medal winning Special Olympics gymnast and Lil Darling is a fierce middle defender on her select soccer team. My family keeps me hopping! In my free time (Yeah, right! What’s that?), I love to read, play my piano to destress, have an incurable addiction to Starbucks and chocolate, catch Pokémon when they swoop into my house, binge-watch Outlander, Arrow, and The Walking Dead, and occasionally, I may sleep…but not often!
So, that’s me, in a nutshell. If you have other questions, you can find me on social media, or leave a comment on this post.
My grabby hands will be all over CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE. It’s my favorite genre! I want a love story that makes my heart skip a beat, gives me that wonderful pinchy feeling in my chest, and extra points if you bring me to tears.
Bring on the sexual tension, well developed characters and plots, and sex (although, I’ll pass on erotica and BDSM)!
Some of my favorite CRs are:
YA: Anna and the French Kiss by Stephanie Perkins, If I Stay by Gayle Forman, Peaches by Jodi Lynn Anderson, Just One Day by Gayle Forman, Ten Things We Did (and Probably Shouldn’t Have) by Sarah Mlynowski, Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight by Jennifer E. Smith
NA: Maybe Someday by Colleen Hoover, Faking It by Cora Carmack, Written on My Heart by Cole Gibsen, Rule by Jay Crownover, Ten Tiny Breaths by K.A. Tucker
FANTASY. I love a good fantasy! Whisk me away to your well developed world, send me on an epic quest, mix it all up with a heart-thumping romance, and I’m yours! Although, I will pass on high fantasy manuscripts, think Tolkien or George R.R. Martin.
My fav YA fantasies:
Graceling by Kristin Cashore, Fire by Kristin Cashore, Bitterblue by Kristin Cashore, An Ember in the Ashes by Sabaa Tahir, The Infernal Devices series by Cassandra Clare, Cinder by Marissa Meyer
Above all else, I’m looking for a manuscript that gives me ALL THE FEELS! Contemporary, fantasy, historical, paranormal, magical realism, they’re all great. Make me fall in love with your characters and your world!
The only genres that will get a hard pass from me are sci-fi and horror. There are so many fantastic sci-fi and horror mentors, but I am not one.
Do you have a manuscript that will give me all the feels? I WANT IT!!! What are you waiting for? Sub to me, now!
My mentee MUST be prepared to kill darlings, flip scenes, and rewrite. Basically, you will need to take an ax to your work and chip away at the rock in order to reveal the diamond inside. Be prepared for constructive criticism, it’s the only way your story will improve. If you aren’t comfortable with constructive criticism, then this contest isn’t for you. Be sure the manuscript you’re subbing is complete and polished to the best of your ability. Remember, I’m a teacher, there are differences between their, there, and they’re. 😉
Having been through Pitch Wars, I know how grueling the process can be, but it’s so rewarding! I will help you with big-picture issues, typos and grammar problems, we’ll make sure your dialogue flows, your voice is strong, characters are believable, and your story is well paced. We’re a team and we’ll get your story whipped into shape for the agent round, Oliver Queen style!
Well, that about sums everything up. I’m the mentor for you, right?! I’m so excited to see what kinds of awesome flood my inbox on August 3rd! Good luck, Pitch Wars Hopefuls, and don’t forget to jot down the scavenger hunt letter below (I think you can figure out my special letter *wink wink*)!
YOU’VE FOUND A TEAM PURPLE AUTHOR!
***MEET AMANDA GIASSON AND JULIE B. CAMPBELL, AUTHORS OF
LOVE AT FIRST PLIGHT***
After having met by chance in the lineup at their university bookstore on their first day of classes, Amanda and Julie became fast friends. They credit their survival of many of their 3-hour long lectures to their ability to escape to the world of Qarradune.
The truth is that Megan and Irys were born of note-passing in the form of creative writing. While neither author condones this behavior in-class, as it likely does nothing for a student’s grades, it did happen to work out, in their case. It also helped to define the unique writing style shared by the authors in the creation of the story.
The two authors have been steadily working on the Perspective book series, ever since.
Find Amanda, Julie, and Perspective Books on Social Media:
There is more than one perspective to every story. On Qarradune, it takes two points of view to make sense of the world. What you know depends on whose story you are following.
Megan: My life went from ordinary to extraordinary in the blink of an eye. I didn’t know where I was or how I got there. I didn’t know if I would ever see my home or the people that I loved, again. All I did know was that I had to save her.
Irys: Beaten, unwashed, and starving, I was alone, imprisoned, and enslaved. I didn’t want to die, but I was ready. At least, I thought I was. A new friend entered my life and tipped the world over. My beautiful bubble had burst, but the reality that came next was astounding.
Love at First Plight is the debut novel of Amanda Giasson and Julie B. Campbell, and is also the first volume in the Perspective book series.
Amanda and Julie are sharing an exclusive video for LOVE AT FIRST PLIGHT!
Thanks for sharing that awesome video, ladies! Don’t forget to write down the lucky number 7 for your chance to win ALL of Team Purple’s awesome New Adult books!
Add up all the favorite numbers of the authors on Team Purple and you’ll have the secret code to enter for the grand prize!
***CONTINUE THE HUNT***
To continue on the hunt, check out Stacey Kade’s site HERE!
If you’re lost in the hunt and need to find a way out, click on the New Adult Scavenger Hunt banner at the top of the page, it will take you to the NewASH site.
For Annie London, a month in a Central American rainforest means handing out mosquito nets, giving medical aid, and teaching children about the birds and the bees. With any luck, it will also land her application in the “accepted” pile at a top tier medical school. But as soon as she steps off the plane, Annie realizes her bug spray, feeble Spanish, and medical supplies won’t help her deal with her new feelings for Felipe—her best friend’s older brother, who’s much hotter than she remembers, and who also happens to be the doctor in charge of the trip.
Gawking “volun-tourists” may keep his family’s medical clinic afloat, but Dr. Felipe Gutierrez doesn’t have to like them. Or the way they make snap judgments about his practice and the people he cares for. But when his old crush, Annie, shows up to volunteer, her killer curves and kind smile fan the embers of a flame Felipe didn’t realize he’d been carrying. A flame that makes him question all his preconceived notions.
As ideas and cultures clash, Annie and Felipe must decide how far outside their comfort zones they are willing to go—both for their work and for one another.
I caught up with Amanda in Las Vegas at the RT Booklovers Convention! You know the saying, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas…well, everything except the answers to the interview I conducted with Amanda while we had a late dinner at the Shake Shack at the New York New York Hotel. 🙂 From Zac Efron’s abs to the butts of the world, click the link below to see the interview!
My Five-Star Review of WITHOUT BORDERS:
WITHOUT BORDERS was on my Most Anticipated Books of 2016 list and let me tell you, it did not disappoint! Amanda Heger’s debut is a gift to readers: a unique voice, compelling story, and a budding romance set against the backdrop of the Central American jungle.
Annie London is a smart, flawed young woman, trying her best to get into a good med school, despite some poor MCAT scores. In an attempt to pad her med school resume, she embarks on a month long medical brigade traveling through Nicaragua.
During the trip, Annie is tasked with passing out mosquito nets and teaching a sex ed course. Armed with a giant plantain and a condom, Annie tries to overcome the language barrier and teach the villages she travels through how to practice safe sex. But, for Annie, that’s easier said than done, considering she completely threw herself at the doctor in charge of leading the brigade. Strike one against getting that med school recommendation. Can anything else go wrong for Annie? Yes! Poor girl!
Enter Doctor Felipe. He’s hot. He’s brooding. And he’s great with kids–oh my ovaries! With each page, Ms. Heger ratchets up the sexual tension between Annie and Felipe and it’s steamier than the Nicaraguan jungle! Stolen kisses and quiet touches lead to the perfect “Awwww!” ending!
Amanda Heger is an incredibly talented writer. In Annie and Felipe, she’s created characters that are alive and real; their character arcs are fabulous. I loved watching both of them grow and learn, and build a relationship with each other. WITHOUT BORDERS is unique, unlike so many New Adult romances on the market. I highly recommend Amanda Heger’s debut, WITHOUT BORDERS. Get lost in the jungles of Nicaragua with Annie and Felipe, and they’ll leave you with a serious case of Wanderlove!
Amanda Heger is a writer, attorney, and bookworm. She lives in the Midwest with three unruly rescue dogs and a husband who encourages her delusions of grandeur.
Her debut romance, Without Borders, is forthcoming from Diversion Books. The story was inspired by the summer Amanda spent in rural Nicaragua, eating gallo pinto, speaking mangled Spanish, and showing high school students how to slide condoms onto over-sized plantains.
Her stories are represented by Jessica Watterson of the Dijkstra Literary Agency.
RAFFLECOPTER GIVEAWAY!!! Want to win an ebook copy of WITHOUT BORDERS? To enter, click here: Win an ebook of WITHOUT BORDERS!
I am honored to be a part of the Writers for Hope auction again this year! I thank Kelly Johnson for putting together this fabulous event to help raise money for the Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network (RAINN).
Don’t wait too long to bid! The auction is only open for 24 hours, so get your bids in today, and help raise money for a great cause!
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Every week, Coach Melanie helps my daughter realize her dreams! Coach Melanie is my daughter’s Special Olympics gymnastic coach. Teen Darling has competed in the Illinois State Special Olympics Gymnastics meet for three years and her success is due in part to the love, guidance, and patience of her fabulous coaches, Coach Melanie being one of them.
Because of Coach Melanie, Teen Darling is fearless on the uneven bars, vaults like a pro, gains confidence each time she performs her floor routine, and tackles the balance beam with grace and elegance. Gymnastics has given my daughter confidence!
But now, Coach Melanie needs our help to realize her dream–performing on a Broadway stage! Please take a few moments and vote for Melanie Kozak, so she can make it to Broadway!
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