A.I. Martin's Blog

The FIVE genres of author branding: What's your brand genre?

Building an author brand can feel like a monumental task when all you really want to do is write books.While writing more books is the most important piece of building a successful author career, I often see authors get lost in the little details of running a business and before they know it their time is eaten away by updates and posts and emails and finances and budgets and promotion graphics.This constant scramble to keep up puts authors in burnout territory teetering on the border of desperation and exhaustion. It’s a vicious cycle with late night trips to Google to search how to market your failing books while weeping into your bucket of Haagen Daz...ahem, not that that’s ever happened to me or anything...The problem is, very few articles on marketing actually make sense to someone who doesn’t have a certain level of business savvy and tech speak.What about the rest of us?I’ve got you covered on that front!My mission is to help writers understand branding, design, and marketing in terms that are hyper specific to fiction authors. Meaning, I’m going to do all the hard work of understanding author marketing and then translate it into fiction terms so we can all enjoy the benefits of having a well thought out brand strategy that can fade into the background like an annoying but unavoidable coworker so we have more time and energy to write.LET'S START AT THE BEGINNING...YOUR GENRE.One of the first big decisions we have to make is where our writing belongs. Stories change and evolve but the first concrete choice we make is our genre. How we make that choice is by analyzing the qualities of our stories to see where it best fits in the current book market.When it comes to brand strategy there are five ‘genres’ we can use to build our author identity.Take a look at yourself, how you think, how you interact, what you already have set up. What are your natural tendencies? Where are you happiest? What makes you miserable? What kinds of things are you drawn to/already doing? What skills do you have besides writing?You will see patterns in your behaviors and aesthetic choices that will place you into one of the following ‘genres’ of author brand.Note: You can be a blend. You don’t need to cram all of you into one box. You are allowed to have a sub genre as well, similar to Sci Fi Romance or Steampunk fantasy, but there is always one that is dominant.CLASSICClassic branding is best for: prolific authors, business minded authors, multi-tiered authorsA classic brand is the most similar to what a ‘regular’ brand would be in the corporate world. The classic brand best fits with authors who have a base understanding of business or authors who work in other capacities within publishing—editors, designers, speakers, teachers, etc who also write books.ORGANICOrganic branding is best for: artists, activists, multi-passionate authors, singularly focused authorsAn organic brand is the trickiest because you either are or you aren’t. There’s a certain level of organic-ness needed to every brand in the sense that they must be honest, transparent, and genuine to be authentic. But an organic brand in this context is an author who more or less stumbles on a very concise brand. These authors tend to have a very strong value or moral compass that they carry through all aspects of their lives. Or they have a certain unique visual aspect to their lives that unifies their entire platform. Organics love to create, inform, and educate. They often would have no idea what their brand was if you asked them to pinpoint it—they’re too busy being themselves to think about it.SUPERHEROSuperhero branding is best for: introverts, privacy valuing authors, multi-genre authorsSuperhero authors value their privacy and are often introverts, unsure of how to ‘be themselves’ in their brand. A true superhero author isn’t fake, either. They are just amplifying specific aspects of their personality that they are comfortable building a brand around and hiding the rest—similar to how Clark Kent takes off a pair of glasses and becomes Superman. They play to their strengths and keep the rest of their personality private. Superheros love to talk about their books and have one to three things about themselves that they are very open about, but aren’t comfortable connecting on a deeply personal level for a plethora of reasons.REBELRebel branding is best for: disruptors, anti-conformists, fringe writers, rule-breakers, trail blazersA rebel brand is pretty straight-forward in theory. Rebel authors don’t like to follow rules and tend to forge their own paths through life. They also tend to live in the fringes of publishing with content that is either hard to place or controversial in nature. Rebel’s love to be different and wear it as a badge of honor. They take conventions and openly stand in opposition of them.CELEBRITYCelebrity branding is best for: extroverts, over-sharers, multi-passionate authors, lifestyle writersA celebrity brand isn’t about being fancy or glamourous. It simply means someone who is comfortable documenting all (or most) aspects of their lives—and enjoys it. Celebrity brands focus on many different facets of an author’s life and it’s often heavily visual. Celebrities love to share their thoughts on the world and tend to be lifelong learners and passion followers.Still having trouble figuring out what genre you fit into? Or maybe you know where you fit but have no clue what to do next…I’ve got you covered here too!JOIN ME ON THE NEXT STEP IN THIS AUTHOR BRANDING JOURNEY FOR THE BEFORE THE BRAND FIVE DAY CHALLENGE.The challenge is completely free and over five days (April 16 - 20) we will work together to write your brand story in a way that will make sense to you as an author—by outlining your brand like you would outline a novel.FIND OUT MORE ABOUT THE CHALLENGE HEREThe challenge is set up to be inclusive to all fiction and all kinds of writers. Plotters, pantsers, or plotty-pantsers will easily be able to complete the exercises in the challenge. Traditional, Indie, and hybrid authors will be united by the one thing that all authors are in control of no matter their publishing path—their platform.I hope you’ll join me on the journey to discovering your author story in the BEFORE THE BRAND five day challenge.Sign up below or if you want more information about the Challenge go here!Allison Martin

Even on the Darkest Night Sample Chapters

She believes that love is a lie. He makes her a bet that he can change her mind...but he only has one night to do it. After her heart condition diagnosis, Evan's family fell apart, leaving her faith in love shattered. She uses music and the science of the stars to distance herself from her feelings and make sense of her own mortality.After having his heart broken again by the same girl, Jordan's belief in the power of love is finally cracking. He uses poetry to untangle the complexities of his emotions and make sense of his circumstances.When Evan and Jordan's lives collide at a concert, they can't deny all the ways they parallel each other. But each carries a secret that threatens their night of perfect distraction and when the truth comes out, the lies they find themselves confronting are their own.Can Evan and Jordan redefine the word love in a single night?Read the first four chapters here!And then preorder the book on your favorite site

Year of Giving, Cover Reveal, and First Chapters

This year is my FIFTH year in publishing, having released Tight KnitJanuary 1st, 2013, and to celebrate I've decided that throughout the entire 2018 year I'll be donating half of my profits to various charities.I'll be releasing two (possibly more) books this year and each book has a designated charity.The first book had its cover reveal yesterday (gorgeous cover by Okay Creations) and it's a book almost five years in the making. It's a book that has been through countless name changes, hours/weeks/months of revisions, years of research, beautifully encouraging rejections from its brief wander into the submission trenches, and a long patient rest until I decided what to do with it.But it's time. This book wants to be out in the world and who I am to stand it its way.She believes that love is a lie. He makes her a bet that he can change her mind...but he only has one night to do it.After her heart condition diagnosis, Evan's family fell apart, leaving her faith in love shattered. She uses music and the science of the stars to distance herself from her feelings and make sense of her own mortality. After having his heart broken again by the same girl, Jordan's belief in the power of love is finally cracking. He uses poetry to untangle the complexities of his emotions and make sense of his circumstances. When Evan and Jordan's lives collide at a concert, they can't deny all the ways they parallel each other. But each carries a secret that threatens their night of perfect distraction and when the truth comes out, the lies they find themselves confronting are their own. Can Evan and Jordan redefine the word love in a single night?You can pre-order EVEN ON THE DARKEST NIGHT for iBooks, Nook, or Kobo and here's why I think you should...For the entire year of 2018 I'll be donating 50% of the profits of this book to the organization that helped me SO much while writing it. I reached out to multiple organizations in my research to make sure that I treated Evan's heart condition—Cardiomyopathy—with respect and sensitivity and the CHILDREN'S CARDIOMYOPATHY FOUNDATION responded with support and enthusiasm, taking time out of their day to direct me to true studies and reliable research on the condition. The foundation works on both sides of the fence so I was able to ask questions about the medical implications as well as the emotional stress it can put on a family—two important aspects of the book.I watched a LOT of videos on kids with Cardiomyopathy and I shed a LOT of tears in the process of writing this book.To say thank you to Gina and the rest of the Foundation, half of every dollar I make on this book will go to them! They are extremely passionate about what they do and I want to give back.Disclaimer: While the CCF helped me extensively with my research they did not read the finished book, nor do they endorse the book in any way. This is simply me wanting to give back for the time they spent answering my questions and guiding my research. Any comments/concerns/questions about the book should be directed at ME.Not sure if you're ready for the pre-order? Read the first TWO chapters below (unedited and subject to change slightly).EVEN ON THE DARKEST NIGHTFriday, April 19 • 2:36 PMEvan Vibrant light glitters behind my closed eyelids like a meteor shower as I run my fingers from the old scar on my breastbone to the fresh incision under my collarbone. My t-shirt snags the gauze tape, and I wince in pain. A soft clucking sound pulls my focus to my mother, sitting in the corner of the small sterile room at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. Her thin lips are pressed together in sternness, but I see through her concerned stare. I always see the same insincerity swimming through the deep brown. She doesn’t want to be here. Not alone. Not with me. Mom catches my gaze and taps her collarbone. “Evan, darling.” Mom’s eyes flick back down to her magazine, and I drop my hand from the t-shirt emblazoned with the logo of my favorite band. “Stop touching it.”It is the four-inch long incision along my collarbone where my Implanted Cardioverter Defibrillator was implanted two days ago—or ICD if you don’t want to waste twenty minutes saying the whole thing. The device makes sure I don’t die immediately if I have another heart attack, but there’s also a pacemaker built in for a more everyday sort of reminder for my heart that it’s supposed to beat, like my old track coach clapping his hands every time I run by (Com’on, Com’on, Com’on, Jordans, we don’t have all day here. Get that blood moving). I don’t have time to remind Mom she really didn’t need to fly in from Iowa just to cluck her tongue at me when the door opens and a young male nurse pushes his way in backward. “Hey, Evan,” the nurse says, pulling gloves out of a plastic box on the wall and sliding them onto his hands. “I’m Lane. We’re just going to check a few things before the doctor will release you, ‘kay?” He has a typical nurse voice—the tone that says he’s used to talking to kids but trying not to talk down to me because I'm seventeen. But as my eyes do a pass over of his blue scrubs and tall lean frame, he does not look like a typical nurse, and the more I stare at him the more my cheeks flush. “I need you to breathe in deep for me, Evan. Nice and slow and steady,” my nurse says as he slides his hand up the back of my too-loose Lemming Garden t-shirt, pressing the cold stethoscope just under my shoulder blade. An odd ripple of goosebumps travels out from the cold metal. “That band is playing at The Aftershock tonight,” he says, nodding to my shirt, and I grin, sucking in a long breath. “I know,” I say with a small shrug. In truth, I know everything about Lemming Garden. They are my reason for being. I plan to be at that concert. Lane leans closer and shifts the stethoscope higher, his fingers right above the clasp of my bra, and my breathing shallows. I forget about the band as his lips count my heartbeats, and I try to swallow the foreign jump in my stomach. Little stars explode through my vision, like every time my blood tries to move too fast, and I let out a slow calculated breath. “Whoa.” He chuckles, and my cheeks heat up further. “Slow and steady. Emphasis on the steady.” My mom, who has been patiently reading her garbage magazine about “fat” celebrities and the men who cheat on them, springs out of her chair. She’s sitting by my side before I let out my next long breath. “Is she okay?” Mom’s expensive foundation does a great job of masking her frown lines as her eyebrows come together. The expression is one I’m familiar with—half worried, half stoic, making her look like she’s preparing for me to drop dead. This is totally possible given my condition, but I don’t think she’s worried about that as much as she doesn’t want me to die while she’s around. I’ve heard my parents fight about my uncertain future more than once (I’m sure half the neighborhood heard it by the little round mouthed pity shrugs I got from random people). I used to be tormented by my mortality, but the brain is an amazing thing, and at some undefinable point in my life I couldn’t think about it for one second more. Like a shooting star, it just poof… disappeared. “What’s wrong, Evan? Are you dizzy? Should I call your father?” Mom glances over her shoulder a thousand times. Her gaze flicks around, and her thumb taps blindly on her cell phone. I wonder what possessed my dad to leave her here with me, even if it was for ten minutes to go get coffee. I roll my eyes and catch Lane watching me, a little knowing smile on his lips. Please, Sweet Jesus, don’t say anything to my mother. The last time Mom and I talked about boys, it was just after my twelfth birthday and my first period. Mom wrung her hands in her lap. That’s really all I remember because I couldn’t stop staring at them. Eventually, I just stood up and walked away without ever saying a word. She never brought it up again. Granted, soon after that I went into cardiac arrest, so we had bigger family issues than what I was going to do with my virginity. “It takes a little while for the ICD’s wires to implant properly in her heart. You should start seeing a steady improvement in her arrhythmia in a few weeks. The doctor mentioned all this in the post op, right?" Lane smiles at Mom. Mom tucks waves of hair behind diamond-studded ears and shakes her head. Her eyes are glazed, making it clear she doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Not only did the doctor explain in excruciating detail how the ICD pacemaker will work to regulate my slow heart rate and buy me some time in a crisis, he also made sure I understood (complete with the tilted head stare down popular among adults of authority) that this device tucked beneath my skin is not a fix. It is merely a tool to help me monitor and extend the life of this heart before I will inevitably have to get a new one. Mom missed that part, too. She always misses that part. “I wasn’t here for the procedure. I flew in late, I mean, I had—” Mom stutters and I can't look at her. “Her father usually handles these things.” “The recovery on this procedure is usually fast, and she’s been monitored closely for the last forty-eight hours with no complications. A couple days of rest and she’ll be back to her regular life. Your daughter is a strong woman, Mrs. Jordans,” Lane adds with a charming smile. Both Mom and I tense up at the fact that he called her Mrs. Mom hasn’t been a Mrs. anything in years. Not since I was diagnosed. Not since she walked out on us for a guy ten years younger than her named Robbie who “understood what she was going through.” “Yes, but your father said the nurses let you sleep in this morning. You’re supposed to take your medication at seven-thirty. Why he didn’t wake you himself is just…” Mom’s squeaky, flustered voice falls out in a jumble of words, and I reach out my open palm toward her. “Mom. I’m fine.” I mean it to sound comforting, but it’s laced with the exasperation I so often feel whenever she’s around. She insists on coming to all of my appointments but refuses to learn the specifics of my condition. She can’t bail on our family because she doesn’t want to deal with the hard parts, and then blame Dad when something goes wrong. The door opens, and like he’s my psychic savior, Dad enters to rescue me with two huge paper cups of steaming tea. Following Dad is my ever-present best friend, Nat, who immediately blows my cover by zeroing in on the nurse. Her thick, dark eyebrows shoot straight up as her wide mouth opens in a gawking, gap-toothed grin. She mumbles a few words in Spanish that are wholly inappropriate given the fact that my dad is standing right next to her. She’s lucky I love her more than I love my own flesh and blood sister. “Hey Jordans, why is your face so red?” Nat laughs as the nurse looks over his shoulder briefly before tilting my head to the left to check my Carotid artery. His expression stays solid and unreadable, but he’s a cute male-nurse in a children’s hospital; I guarantee he’s used to this—seventeen-year-old virgins with chronic heart conditions looking at him and wondering what it would be like. It’s not like I obsess about it, but every once-in-awhile in the natural course of my life, the thought comes up. Mostly because Nat talks about it all.the.time. Even without her boy-crazy chatter, it’s difficult not to wonder...to not be a slave to my biology. “Why are you still here?” I mutter to my best friend as she flops in the chair, fluffing her messy bun of dark curls and picking up Mom's magazine. The nurse laughs to himself as he fits the blood pressure cuff over my arm. “Because you love me,” she says digging through her huge fake leather purse, slowly pulling out an envelope that makes my chest tighten. “And because you need me. You wouldn’t know what you’d ever do without me.”Her grin grows even wider, and I’m sure my blood pressure is spiking. She found tickets to the Lemming Garden concert. Just like she promised she would. My face is stretched in this crazy smile, and I forget everything. I forget the ICD. I forget my hot nurse. I forget that my parents hate each other and my life sucks. I tune out everything except my best friend in the whole world as she slyly pulls out two shiny tickets. We may not agree on the importance of boyfriends, but we both definitely believe that music is life, and our favorite band is playing tonight. Nat didn’t think it was a good idea at first, but it was pretty easy to convince her I felt good enough. When people hear the word Cardiomyopathy (and actually know what it means) their first thought is one step from death in a hospital bed. Sure that happens, but there are people who live their whole lives with it and only take a few pills and don’t do any crazy sports. It’s not like I’m made of glass; it’s more like I’m on a timer and no one is sure how much time is left before shit goes south. I am a supernova. A star on the path to implosion. Nat rubs the tickets together like they’re money. I laugh out loud, and in the excitement I’m hit with a wave of dizziness, my body wobbling. “Easy, Evan,” Lane says, steadying me with a hand on my back. Natalie’s dark eyes widen, and she shoves the tickets back into her bag, mouthing, “Sorry.” “I’m okay,” I assure Lane and my now hovering father. I forgot Dad was even in the room.“You shouldn’t have let her sleep in this morning, Chris.” Mom’s tone startles us all, but Dad’s shoulders are instantly tense. The staff let me sleep in, not Dad. Mom knows that, but she has that look in her eye she gets when she wants to fight. Dad’s attention is no longer on me, and mine no longer on those concert tickets. I shoot Natalie a desperate look. A look I give her a lot. A look that says save me, you are the only sane person in my life (which is saying a lot because Natalie is far from sane). “She was seeing spots earlier, too.” Mom puts her hands on her hips. “The nurse was checking her lungs, her eyes went all weird like they do, and she said she took her meds late this morning. You can’t leave me alone here if you aren’t taking care of her.” Of course this is about her. “She’s fine, Mr. J.” Nat shifts in her chair, her loud voice, while bored sounding, takes over the entire room. She’s going to save me. “Evan just thinks her nurse is hot. It’s no big deal.” "Oh. My. God," I say, flopping back onto the hospital bed with the blood pressure cuff still around my arm. When I get home, I’m finding a new best friend. My head hangs upside down, a little off the edge of the thin mattress, and immediately I see spots. I try to cover my face with my forearm, forgetting the incision just under my collarbone. Pain explodes out from the stitched skin, but I suck the hurt back into my chest before it escapes my lips. "Shit," I mutter when the pain won't go away. The edge of my vision turns to shadows. "Shit, shit, shit." I try to roll over, to breathe slower, but instead of slowing the air, I hold it. My heart slams as my body gives off adrenaline to deal with the pain. My vision blurs further, and the dizziness takes over, shadowing my world in a thick hazy blackness. Like a starless night.2:57 PM When I fade back in, Dad is sitting next to me, rubbing my back. Lane helps Dad shift me in the hospital bed so I'm comfortable, and he begins to check all my signs and signals again. He only looks slightly irritated that he has to repeat his checklist. “I’m fine,” I try to say, but my throat is dry. Sometimes when I pass out I make these noises that Nat says sounds like a cross between a pig snort and a muskrat with its foot caught in a trap. I have no idea what that sounds like (and I’d guess that she doesn’t either). All I know is that my body isn’t getting enough oxygen, and when I come to, it feels like I inhaled a sandbox. Dad hands me the hot tea he brought, and I take a sip, letting the warmth spread through my chest and wet my pasty mouth. He squeezes the fingers of my free hand, glancing over at Mom. She’s retreated to the back of the room, looking a lot paler than she should. Fainting is not a new thing for me. Even when I was little I had, what is politely called, a delicate stomach. “Maybe I should cancel my appointments. Then I could fly home with you tomorrow instead,” Dad says with that wobble of doubt that burns through me like a meteor. It’s the voice that says, ‘I don’t want to do it, but you give me no choice, Evan’ and I can’t stand that voice. When my mom makes me feel like I’ve ruined her life, I get mad, but when Dad does it, I can’t handle the look on his face. I feel like maybe I did it on purpose, even though that makes zero sense. You can’t just tell your heart to break. “No, Dad. I’m fine. I should know better than to move like that. I’m just getting used to this thing.” I pat my collarbone lightly and wince at the pain where the doctor cut open my skin and stuck in the machine that monitors my heart. I have no idea if I’m coming across as calm and confident, but I hope so. Dad cannot stay in the city with us tonight. It will ruin everything we’ve planned. He has to believe I’m definitely well on the way to recovery.3:12 PM Dad stands awkwardly in front of the hotel, talking to Mom and trying to sound civil. The air isn’t cold, but it may as well be eternally winter when those two are in the same place. I can hear the ice in Dad’s voice when he speaks. He still hates her for leaving, for leaving him with me. He blames her. She blames him. “They’ll be fine, Chris.” Mom’s hands on her thin hips tighten with every word. “It’s one night. The doctor said she can’t travel until tomorrow. He said—” “I know what he said, Janine. I was there.” Dad puts his hand between them and then pinches his nose with his fingers. Ouch. Even I can see that was a dig. “Well, stop treating me like I have no clue what I’m doing.” Mom’s voice is high pitched, like it usually is when she talks to Dad. His eyes snap up to hers in a flash of anger, but he doesn’t say anything. He never says anything. We stand in limbo for a long time, the cars rushing by on the street making me more and more tense with every passing whoosh. I just want to be inside now, my parents on opposite sides of a very thick wall and not staring each other down. Nat loops her arm through mine and smiles big. “We’ll be totally fine, Mr. J.” Nat’s voice floats over the artificial sounds of the city, and my parents look over as if they suddenly remembered I’m standing right here. “My mom gave me her laptop and her Netflix password, and there are, like, twelve seasons of Supernatural to watch.” I bump her hip with mine while forcing a smile. “We’ll be sweatpants-and-glasses perfect, Dad.” Dad’s face softens, but he rubs his tired eyes, squinting into the sun. I let go of Nat to wrap my arms around his waist and inhale his Dad smell—comfort and safety. He places his hand on the back of my head in his signature one-armed hug, kissing the top of my head. “I know. I just wish I didn’t have to fly back today. It’d be nice to just get to spend time with you. Hang out or whatever it is you do.” “It’s okay, Dad. You can’t keep cancelling on your patients. I totally get it.” I put the most genuine smile on my face but have no clue how it comes off. I hope he doesn’t see through me. But saying I don't want you to stay because I’m sneaking out to go to a concert and you're too good of a parent for me to get away with it probably won’t get me far either. “Okay, but listen to your mother, and no hot tubbing. Keep an eye on your heart rate. Make sure you set your phone. I’ll call in the morning to remind you to take your medication. Do you have your pill box?” Dad talks as I lightly push his chest, as if I were pushing a truck out of a snowbank. “Dad…” I push more and laugh. “Go. Seriously.” Dad opens the cab door, getting in. “Evan?” he calls after me, and my eyebrows go up. “Yeah?” “I love you,” he says in a way that brings me closer to snapping than anything else ever does. Dad says he loves me like it’s the last time he’ll ever say it. I feel the words float from him in a protective force field, wrapping me up and squeezing tighter and tighter. I can’t stand to hear him say it like that, and I still can’t say it back. If I say it, it might come true, so I always answer the same way. “It’s my glue,” I say with a smile. I told him once under a heavy dose of morphine that his love was like the glue that held my heart together, and as long as he loved me, I'd be okay. It's dumb, but it stuck (no pun intended). Nat pulls on my elbow. Dad lets go of my hand, forcing a wrinkled, worried smile. He glances at Mom, and I see him changing his mind, forcing me to close the cab door on him, smacking the window. I mouth, “I’m fine” before he drives away, but my stomach rolls around as I watch him go. “Hey space cadet, you coming?” Mom tries to be funny, but like her parenting skills, she’s just not a natural. Nat and I follow her into the stuccoed franchise hotel that screams middle class trying to pass off as rich. She checks us in and hands me my small wheeled suitcase. “You’ll meet us for dinner,” she says, and I shake my head. I don’t want to hang out with her and her beef-cake boyfriend. “It wasn’t a question, Evan. We’ll be having dinner in the restaurant at five. After that we’ll be going to a ballet at the Philadelphia Conservatory of Dance. I trust the two of you will be fine. A relaxing night in the hotel with that nature show...” “Supernatural, Mom.” My heart beats a little faster now that we’re talking about tonight. “And yeah, just a lazy night.” A sinister smile cracks Nat’s face as she quickly glances up at the fancy faux-chandelier above us, and my mind is flooded with images of our night in Philly. Of those tickets that I’m sure Nat had to threaten people to get a hold of. I’m glad Mom has the worst Mom instincts in the history of Moms. I elbow Nat and clear my throat. “Totally lazy,” she adds. Mom looks between us, her expertly sculpted eyebrows not betraying the thoughts that play behind her eyes. For a second, I think she’s onto us, but she settles into a satisfied smile. “Good. We’ll meet at five then, and don’t be late, we need to leave for the ballet at about six. I’m going to go get a massage; it's been a long day.” She spins and clacks away on her high heels, wheeling her designer suitcase along behind her as if she were the most important person in the universe. Nat laughs nervously next to me. “I love your Mom, EJ, but man is she dense. I thought we were busted.” I look over to my friend, her large eyes are swimming with mischief. Mom totally should have picked up on her guilty expression. Mom’s not dumb; she’s selfish. There’s a big difference, but both can make you equally oblivious. “Me too.” We make our way to the elevator at the end of the hall. “You think she’ll catch on at dinner?” Nat leans forward and presses the up button, her eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Nat, this is my mom we’re talking about…Just start talking about her, and you’ll be fine.” The elevator dings, and I press my palm to my chest. My other hand grips tighter to the handle of my suitcase. “I can’t believe we’re sneaking out,” I say as the doors slide open, and I feel like freedom pours through me with thoughts of a parentless night in the city. Nat groans, shifting her suitcase from hand to hand. “I can’t believe we have to wait three more whole hours to ditch this place! Lemming Garden, EJ. Lemming-frickin-garden.” I laugh as we enter the elevator and immediately reach out my hands. I’m almost frenzied now that we’re alone. “Let me see them.” Nat reaches into her bag and pulls out the two long tickets stamped with a logo that says, The Aftershock. She wiggles her eyebrows, and I feel like I could kiss her. I have so many expectations that are tied to these tickets, yet at the same time I have no idea. Anything could happen. This must be what freedom feels like—high hopes and deep mysteries. In this second, I don’t care about anything else that’s ever happened to me as I run my fingers over the smooth, shiny black letters that say Admit One.Friday, April 19 • 3:25 PMJordan “I got these tickets for you.” I fan the two tickets in Annie's face, while her arms fold in front of her chest. I fight to stay calm, to act as if this familiar situation isn’t hammering my heart into hamburger. These tickets, like so many other things in our relationship, are a bribe. A please don’t leave me again type bribe. “I can’t take the tickets. I wouldn’t feel right taking someone else.” Her dark eyes shift to the door of my apartment, and I know who that someone else is. My heart is a moth on a windowsill, banging into the glass over and over, oblivious to the barrier between it and the outside world. All I want is freedom, to get to the light. Annie is that light. I push a small box into her arms before rubbing my hand up and down my face as if I could get rid of the sting behind my eyes with a little friction. “Is he here? You brought him with you to get your stuff?” I try to catch the words, but they slide out, pouring over my tongue and through my teeth like a waterfall of hate. She shifts the box of things on her hip, and I watch it. Pictures, books, toothpaste, necklaces… all things that will end up back here as if they were on a bungie. They’ll end up right back where they were along with her tear-streaked eyes and desperate 'I’m sorrys'. “Jordan, don’t be like that. You knew we were over. We’ve been fighting for months.” Annie tightens her arms around the box. Thump, thump, thump. The poor moth in my chest, willing to bash in its own skull to get to her. “You were fighting. Nothing changed with me. Nothing. I’m still the same guy I always was.” I throw out my hands, wishing with everything that she would smile at me again, melt for me again. I hope that she remembers how perfectly she fits inside my outstretched arms and steps inside. “That’s the problem, Jordan,” she suddenly yells, and it makes my arms drop. The moth bashes his head for the last time, falling dead to rot on the sun-baked ledge of my soul. “You haven’t changed! You live in this crappy apartment with your brother. You have no plans. No future. You didn't even apply for school. We graduate in a month. Where the hell is poetry going to get you in life? Wake up.” “Don’t.” She should know better than anyone why I’m here. That my brother was my legal guardian until last week. Until I turned eighteen. “Someday you’ll have to talk about it, about why you’re so damn scared to grow up, but I’m not waiting for you anymore. We do this over and over. I’m not happy. I don’t love you. I leave you, and you win me back with your words. I get out, and you suck me back in. I can’t do it anymore." Tears fill her eyes, and she quickly wipes at them with the back of her hand. I reach for her, running my thumb over her wet knuckles, and she sighs. "Everyone we know is pumped for high school to be over, to move on, to get the hell out of here and start life. But you still write on bathroom walls, wasting your potential, only using it when I’ve had it and you need me back. You refuse to grow up.” “You can’t leave me,” I mumble, and she yanks her hand away. “I love you.” “You say you love me in a hundred thousand ways, Jordie, but I don’t feel it. I’ve never felt it. I never feel you really mean it.” She slams her hand against my chest, and I grab her wrist. “What does that even mean?” Now I’m yelling, pressing her palm to my chest. “How do you not feel that?” My heart hits her hand with sharp jabs, and I hope it saysI. love. you.I. love. you,but the longer she stands in front of me with tears rolling down her cheeks, jumping to their death from her chin, the louder I can hear what it’s really saying. Don't. leave. me. I. am. scared. to. be. a. lone. “The only thing you’ve ever loved is the words you use. Not the people you use them on.” Annie pulls her hand back, grabbing something from her back pocket. She places a lined piece of paper into my hand before walking out with my heart in hers. Again. That's always our trade.4:23 PM I crack my second beer, trying to fill the void that is Annie with anything other than emptiness, when my best friend Rick buzzes up. I hit the button to let him in and unlock the door before flopping back down on my brother’s vintage couch. Every time I shift, a fresh reel of memories plays behind my eyes. Sleeping on this couch after Dad went away...The first time I got any play from a girl was on this couch...Laying on top of Annie, feeling her warmth beneath me as I recited my poetry against her skin...Movies, video games, wrestling, sex, coldness, sex, space, fighting, sex. Fighting, fighting, fighting. “You look pathetic,” Rick says as soon as he walks in the door, moving to the fridge to grab a beer. “You look like an asshole.” I slam my notebook shut and toss it across the room, the pages fluttering like the wings of a bird that can’t yet fly—frantic and unpracticed. Rick laughs as the fridge door slams. The bottle cap hisses, and he sinks down next to me, hitting the neck of his bottle against mine. “Sorry to hear, man.” Rick’s deep dark features sink into his even deeper, darker skin. His face almost disappears into his scrunched up concern, which means I really do look pathetic. But after the third time Annie left me he stopped being genuinely interested even though she's his cousin. I can see it on his face that he thinks this is stupid. That I’m being stupid. I probably am, but I can’t stop it. She’s my girl. I need her. “How’d you hear?” My head falls back against the amber fabric of the sofa. I try to count the pieces of glitter embedded in the stucco ceiling, but I get stuck at the large crack that splits our apartment in two. “Ran into Annie. She seemed pretty torn up…” I shoot up, back straight. “She doesn’t get to be torn up. Not when I walked in on her screwing that guy. Again.” Rick’s face pulls further in, his eyes the only in the world that see me for what I am. Except for maybe my brother. “That really sucks. She neglected that part of the story.” She always neglects that part of the story. I relax back into the couch and lift the green glass bottle to my lips. Using booze to fill the great disparity between my head and heart isn’t working. Though I shouldn’t be surprised; I rarely drink. The silence ticks by between my friend and me. The physical space is mere inches, but we may as well be in parallel universes. Disparity. Such a great word. Totally shit meaning. “What did you do with those tickets?” he finally asks. “I thought about burning them.” Rick laughs. “You’re so emo bro. Writing poetry and burning your ex’s shit. Taking her back time after time after—” “I get it, man,” I say holding my hand between us. “I don’t wanna go. Lemming Garden sucks now, anyway.” That’s a lie. They really don't. They may have sold out, but their stuff is still sort of decent. I guess. “No they don’t. You’re just pissed.” “I’m not pissed.” I’m a capacious void of anger. “Well then, let’s go to the concert if you’re not mad.” Rick downs the rest of his beer in a couple gulps. “I don’t want to go to the concert.” Rick sets his empty beer on the coffee table and stands, holding out one of his huge basketball-sized hands. “Then give me the tickets. I’ll take Trooper. He’s always down for some concert action. Those fangirls are crazy, dude.” I look up to the tower that is my friend and then to the tickets laying on the coffee table. “I’m not paying for you to go pick up some woman from a concert.” “Then…” He lets his voice trail off, but I know what he’s saying. Get off your ass. I mumble to hide the tiny smile that forms at the corner of my mouth and stalk off to the bathroom to jump in the shower. If I’m going to hang out with crazy fangirls, I may as well smell half decent.Read the rest of EVEN ON THE DARKEST NIGHT March 5th, 2018. Make sure to pre-order for iBooks, Kobo, and Nook.

The Process of Discovery

If any one knows me, you'll know that live a double life as a Graphic Designer and an Author. If you know me well, you'll know that I just pivoted my design business to be more of a brand strategy and coaching service, instead of just covers.I decided to test out my own design process and become my first client! This new site, and blog is the fruits of that labour, and man am I ever a hard ass...Figuring out who I am as an author was tough. I've always known sort of who I am and who I want to reach with my stories but this time I really dug deep. And then I made myself go even deeper to the root of it ALL. Not just my books but where I want to be, how I want to get there, and what I'm going to do to achieve my goals.Not even a little bit of it was easy, but now that I'm looking at my brand new site and shiny new outlook on my career, it was definitely worth it.

Young Adult Science Fiction gets a makeover!

Same book, new title and cover!Her touch is electric. Her heart is at war. Her existence is no longer her own.On the military space station, Athena, everyone must contribute or risk being exiled to the barbaric planet, Kronos. A placement in Weapons Engineering is the only hope of becoming a recognized citizen of The Network for a genetically modified human like Helia Langdon. When she’s forced into training as a soldier, it becomes clear that she will always be as much a prisoner as the day she arrived.But Athena isn’t the only one interested in Helia’s electrokinetic abilities.Her best friend is trying to contain her powers. The boy who betrayed her is trying to shield them. An arrogant new Recruit has plans to use them.An entire army wants to unleash them.To uncover the truth about her past and the plans for her future, Helia must do the hardest thing she’s ever done.Trust the enemy.AVAILABLE NOW ON AMAZON

Electrokinetic has been unleashed!

This book.This book has been four years, six rewrites, three plot overhauls, two editors, five readers and many, many hours with these characters living and growing inside my brain.The idea for a female fighter imprisoned on a war station orbiting a fictional earth-like planet came prepackaged. Through all the changes this book has been through Helia has always remained in tact. Her circumstances and motivations changed but the base of who she is and what she can do has not.Like every female character I have ever written, Helia is hard to like. She's naive, stubborn, and defensive, which is a frustrating combination. Loyalty is very important to her and throughout the book is tested to it's breaking point.The soundtrack to this book is all Coheed and Cambria. They are my favourite musicians and their sci fi concept albums are what inspired this book to be a science fiction and not a fantasy (which is where I feel most at home).These two songs played on repeat for a good portion of the last rewrite (the version published):I've put more of my heart and soul into this book than any other I've written. It's been hard to let it go. It was impossible to ignore. It's fused itself to me and demanded I finish it which makes it even harder to put it out into the world.I've been trying to do more things that scare me, and there's nothing more terrifying than opening the door to my heart and letting strangers inside.Electrokineticis on sale until midnight tonight for $1.99!Her touch is electric. Her heart is at war. Her existence is no longer her own.On the military space station, Athena, everyone must contribute or risk being exiled to the barbaric planet, Kronos. A placement in Weapons Engineering is the only hope of becoming a recognized citizen of The Network for a genetically modified human like Helia Langdon. When she’s forced into training as a soldier, it becomes clear that she will always be as much a prisoner as the day she arrived.But Athena isn’t the only one interested in Helia’s electrokinetic abilities.Her best friend is trying to contain her powers. The boy who betrayed her is trying to shield them. An arrogant new Recruit has plans to use them.An entire army wants to unleash them.To uncover the truth about her past and the plans for her future, Helia must do the hardest thing she’s ever done.Trust the enemy.READ IT NOW!

Quirky Q's with Wendy Higgins!

Wendy Higgin's New Adult Science FictionUNKNOWNis part of Q&C'sOut of This World Giveaway. Book Two UNREST coming soon(not fast enough for those of us who've already read the first!!).What is your quirkiest hobby or personality trait?~ I like to smack my friends and family members on the bottom. Ha!What was one of your most memorable coming of age lessons?~ The life lesson of my youth that stands out is that marriage takes work, and love is a daily choice. My parents divorced when I was 12 and it changed my fairytale outlook on relationships.What is your quirkiest/weirdest writing ritual or superstition?~ I'm ADD, so I need complete silence and aloneness to write. No music. No coffee houses. I'm sooooo easily distracted - all it takes is one interruption to throw me off my writing game for the day. I don't really have any rituals or superstitions.What is your favorite book trope?(either to read or write)~ I love when the guy and girl don't quite get along at first. When there's that angry sexual tension that builds up because there's some major obstacle they have to get over before they can fall for each other.What is the strangest part of being a writer?(waking up at 2am and compulsive-zombie-writing ideas?Folding your husbands underwear as you find out you're a NYT bestseller? Calling your children by your character's name? Etc)~ My son's name is Cayden. My most well-known character's name is Kaidan (pronounced Ky-den). To me, they are completely different names - spelled differently and pronounced differently. It never dawned on my that people would pronounced Kaidan like my son's name. So when I go to signings and people say, "Oh my Gawd, I love Kayden; he is so hot!!"  My first reaction is, "What? Ew! He's seven!" LOL!°°°Wendy Higgins is the USA Today and NYT bestselling author of the Sweet Evil series from HarperTeen, the high fantasy duology The Great Hunt, and her independently published Irish fantasy, See Me. She is a former high school English teacher who now writes full time, and lives on the Eastern Shore of Virginia with her veterinarian husband, daughter, son, and doggie Rue.Wendy earned a bachelor's in Creative Writing from George Mason University and a master's in Curriculum and Instruction from Radford University.°°°Don't forget to enter for a FIVE bookgiveaway!

Just Write.

Balance is a word I use often and freely. It's a word that I aspire to. To be in balance with myself, with nature, with the people around me.But balance isn't easy. The very definition of the word implies this. The loss of balance also has negative implications that are easy to explain away but hurt none the less.We live in a world of all or nothing. Of excess and obsession. Of impatience and instant gratification.Get skinny NOW!Get rich NOW!Find true love NOW!Become happy NOW!The thing is you can't have any of these things. You can't own them. Life is not a video game that can be unlocked, and then you advance to the next level.Health, happiness, wealth, success, and love are intangible things that flow through you at varying levels. They are subjective constructs that cannot be granted indefinitely. They are impermanent.Sometimes P Charm and I sit up late into the night and discuss. We discuss anything and everything. We argue, and debate, and lament, and excitingly agree on many topics.The most recent being creativity and the illusion of permanence. We spoke of books and music and movies and art. We discussed the evolution of art and debated the definitions and intent of high brow vs. low brow. We worked through the value of entertainment as well as how certain tropes and story lines can harm us as a society. We talked about the nature of being offended and the consequences of being afraid to speak truth in art. We talked about internet mobs and how fast a career can be ruined because a few people had their feelings hurt and wanted someone to answer for it immediately.We talked a lot about my fear. We talked a lot about my creativity and the desperate way I've been clinging to the idea that I must be creating. That I NEED it because it's who I am.I AM a writer.This is a lie. I'm not a writer. I'm a person who writes. Sometimes. Sometimes I'm a person who tries to write. Other times I am a person who hates writing. But the truth is, like all inspiration and creativity, I don't own it. It can't be held in my hand or sealed in a jar to use when I need it.I know these things, but why is it so hard to internalize?Why do I keep saying things like "When I do this..." or "When I release this..." or "Once I have..."?One of the things I respect most about the man I chose to love is his inability to sugar coat anything. He says things the way he means them and it's not too often I'm left guessing the intention behind his words. He listened to me for a long time and then said."I don't think you have any idea what you want to do with your writing yet."My first instinct was to make excuses...Life changes, the industry, the right book...I've been publishing for four years, so obviously I know what I'm doing, right?Nope.As much as I hate to admit it, he's right (don't tell him I said that). I don't. I don't have a clue what I'mreallytrying to say.The problem for me is that I like a lot of things. I'm interested in almost everything. I like to experiment.I've been experimenting for four years and because of tech advances I've been able to experiment publicly.I'm still just trying things. Essentially, throwing shit at a wall to see what sticks. I'm working on finding that sweet spot in the center of craft and creativity where I feel the most balanced. But what P Charm so charmingly pointed out to me is that my focus is misdirected and my search for balance has become an obsession. I spend too much time worrying about things I can't control."You love to write, right?" P Charm says to me in the middle of my rambling paragraph of plans and excuses and I nod."So then write. Fuck all that other shit. Who cares what people think you should do. Just write."For 2017 that's going to be my mantra, my motto, my motivation.My answer to all life's problems.Just write.

New Adult Urban Fantasy release: Cupid, demons, and an epic forbidden romance

AMAZONUntil you discover the truth in love you will only be half. Until you find the one who makes you whole.Cassius, the god of love, is stripped of his status and left as a demi-god with a quiver full of arrows and a riddle he’s no closer to solving. When he fell in love with a mortal, he thought he'd broken the curse. But when he chose godhood over the woman he loved, Cassius ended up in servitude to the Sisters of Fate, tormented by his mistakes.Zarah copes with her abusive past by painting a world that feels more familiar than the one she lives in. Her mind often wanders to a handsome stranger that would sit with her in the dark and relive his deepest heartbreak to ease her own. She paints him again and again, but when her paintings come to life around her, Zarah's grip on reality begins to slip.Zarah and Cassius are more deeply intertwined than either of them could have imagined, but it’s not Fate’s plan that threatens their future. With the safety of their loved ones at stake, they might have to sacrifice the one thing they want most…each other.FATED is a modern mash-up and re-imagining of Cupid--arrows and all.EXCERPTZarah“Paint for me.” His eyes are soft and pleading. They swirl with golden curiosity, but I feel like he just saidget naked for me. “You’re somehow in my head, and I need more clues.”His hand no longer holds mine. I want the feel of his skin against mine. The comfort he brought me when my world was swirling in a high.“I can’t.” I let out a shaky breath. “The last time I painted...I don’t want to paint that again.”“You won’t.” He picks up a brush and runs the clean bristles over his fingers. “Please?”I shake my head.“Please, Zarah. I need you to.” He holds out the brush.An invitation for me to pay him back for all he’s done for me. This is what I do. Painting should be simple.I pull in a long breath—one that makes me not care if he’s real or not because him being here feels good. I latch onto that feeling as my breathing slows.Instead of mulling over all the reasons that letting myself fall into another project could be a bad idea, I reach for a clean canvas.CassiusThere’s still pieces of fear in her eyes, but she begins mixing paint. There’s a pile of thick reddish grey mixed on the palette and she snatches up a thick wide brush. Carefully she dips the bristles into a can of water and then it’s like something snaps. She shifts from careful, calculated movements to wide gestures and fast strokes. She scoops paint and slams it to the canvas, her motion erratic. Her limbs a blur as she goes back and forth from the water to the paint to the canvas and back again.I’m awed by her as her hair flies out around her shoulders, her lips press together in a firm line of pure concentration and her eyes are narrowed in.She moves like this until the canvas is a mess of color, the background roughed in and ready to work on the details of the subject, which is a figure with something on either side of it. She stops suddenly and steps backward into me, so close that I can smell the faint scent of her shampoo. She sucks in a slow breath and I find myself copying her, still unable to take my gaze off her. Unable to step away. She sets down her brush, lowers her chin toward her chest and reaches for her hair.She runs her fingertips across the back of her neck, gathering the stray strands of hair, and I notice that tiny spot under her ear pulsing with each beat of her heart. There’s a tiny splash of red paint along her jaw. I can’t stop my gaze from running along her skin like her fingertips did a moment ago. The soft scent of cinnamon draws me to her and I want my lips on her neck to see if I can taste it. My fingers on her hips.A sudden need for her slams into me so fast and so hard I have to make a noticeable effort to stay still. To not step forward and kiss the hollow spot by her collar bone. To not run my own fingers through her hair to feel the warmth of her skin against mine.FATED is $0.99 until Christmas!Get your copyhere!AJ Brooks is the collaborative efforts of authors Allison Martin (A.I. Martin) andJolene Perry.They bonded fast over hair color and complex, bad-a heroines vowing someday to write a book together...they've now written three. Their debutFATED, out now.Together they are two sides of a coin. World and character. Magic and reality. Adventure and romance. Light and dark. Good and evil.We'll leave you to figure out which is which.You can find them talking about their love of strange things and speculative fiction in their Facebook groupREALITY TWISTED.

Cover reveal and first chapter!

This book has been over four years in the making. Two NaNo writes, six plot overhauls, four different endings, and endless hours of neglect for my poor, loving, supportive family.Now it's finally time to reveal the story to you. I hope you love it as much as I do!Trailer and Cover byMAKEREADY DESIGNS(Me!)Photography byMarsha Keeney PhotographyModel: Rhiannon JohansonHer touch is electric. Her heart is at war. Her existence is no longer her own.On the military space station, Athena, everyone must contribute or risk being exiled to the barbaric planet, Kronos. A placement in Weapons Engineering is the only hope of becoming a recognized citizen of The Network for a genetically modified human like Helia Langdon. When she’s forced into training as a soldier, it becomes clear that she will always be as much a prisoner as the day she arrived.But Athena isn’t the only one interested in Helia’s electrokinetic abilities.Her best friend is trying to contain her powers. The boy who betrayed her is trying to shield them. An arrogant new Recruit has plans to use them.An entire army wants to unleash them.To uncover the truth about her past and the plans for her future, Helia must do the hardest thing she’s ever done.Trust the enemy.°°°CHAPTER ONEThe soldiers can’t touch me.And they know it.Their hands hover tensely above their weapon belts—proof they don’t believe I’m as innocent as my large blue eyes make me seem. The curved metal of the long hallway bears down on me, and I can sense every molecule of space between myself and the thick-shouldered men walking on either side. Three more march a few paces behind. I tug on the dark gloves that cover my thin fingers, knowing the discomfort is mutual.The soldier’s hand twitches over his Tase gun every time I make the slightest movement. It’s not like that weapon would do anything; I could crush the metal and his throat before he pulled the trigger.If I took off my gloves, that is.The soldier and I make eye contact for one second through the long, loose waves of my pastel violet hair, and my limbs hum with irritation. I hardly need a brigade of full-fledged soldiers to find my way to the Council office. But I guess after eight years the administration still trusts me about as much as I trust them.The silence of my guards drags through me, pulling little pinches of fear from the edges of my mind. My reflection flashes in a small porthole as we pass, the blackness of space highlighting my long face and dotting my pale skin with the stars I long to return to. The hazy curve of Kronos is barely visible as we make our orbit, and I feel trapped—stuck in a way I’ll never get used to.The only thing that could make this situation worse is if Council decides to send me to Kronos. All my muscles pull in to try and crush the thought, but I haven’t been able to so much as dent it since I was summoned from my workshop.I’m going to be sent away. There’s no other explanation for why I have to stand before the Council three days before my birthday.I’ll be nineteen, officially an adult, and instead of giving me a placement, they may finally boot me out.Endless panels of smooth metal line hallways I travel every day, suddenly seeming smaller, more ominous as I force my feet forward. The lights hum in a hypnotizing rhythm overhead, mixing with the thud of our steps. We finally come to a door with a large red bar that reads RESTRICTED ACCESS in thick bold letters. The warning mixes with my nerves, and I fail all over again at trying to stamp out the flame of fear in my gut.The soldier on my left places a hand on the panel embedded into the wall. It flashes, beeps, and the door slides, forcing my mind open at the same time.Crackling memories pop behind my eyes, like a screen stuck between two video feeds, fighting for domination. Screaming fills my ears like static. I’m unable to take another step forward, and my thick-soled, knee-high boots skid on the grated floor. Electric current forces its way between my skin and uniform, crawling up my neck and into my hair.Both soldiers take out their Tase guns, widening their stances in case I lose it, which has happened before. Sometimes I can’t stop the images of my eleven-year-old-self being dragged through these same doors as electricity exploded along my struggling limbs. I push deep, shuddering breaths through my lungs as I try to gather up all this erratic energy, gesturing to the soldiers that I'm fine. The older I get, the less often I need to be subdued. I tip my chin to my chest, breathing slow like my trainer taught me.“They're waiting for you,” a soldier says, his voice strained but calm. Glancing at him again, his wary eyes center me. I can’t show fear in front of them.Setting my thin shoulders and lifting my sharp chin, I force down my feelings, swallowing them up and burying them in the darkest parts of me.We continue into the much cleaner halls of Administration, where the government officials of the Network and the military leaders of Athena run the powerful military base.Everything is bigger, brighter, and more spacious beyond the thick metal doors. My boots barely make a sound on the solid floor, the panels bolted in tight, unlike the loose plates of the regular halls with hissing pipes exposed underneath. Here, everything is neatly tucked away under a polished shine, like secret struggles kept in locked boxes, giving the illusion of an easy life. It makes me nervous.Two more sets of similar doors bring us to the Council office and everything in me wants to spin on my heel and book it back to my workshop. Too bad I’m surrounded.The soldiers stop at the threshold where metal turns to intricate tile, unable to follow me inside and unwilling to meet my eye.This can’t be good.My eyelids flutter as I enter the blindingly white domed room. Metal and glass touch every feature, like most of Athena, but not a single imperfection. No rust. No underlying staleness of recirculated air. Living in space makes any kind of resources precious, and the expensive or luxurious is only for the elite.“Helia,” the General of the Athenian Army addresses me. “So wonderful to see you.”Sitting at the center of a long curved glass table, a reflection of blue lights dance along his dark skin as the surface turns to a computer screen.“Hello, sir.” The crackling nerves under my skin are soothed by the warmth of his smile and the familiar wrinkles around his aging eyes. The General isn’t on the Council, but he’s the father of my best friend Eion. My shoulders unwind a little bit, knowing he’s here to advocate for me. I bet Eion forced him to. She’s the only person who can push him around.The rest of the Council sits four people on either side of the General. Five men and three women—elected from each of the fourteen stations in the Network’s fleet. I know most of the aging members by face but not name. The Council—along with high ranking officials—doesn’t mix with the staff, soldiers, and training recruits who fill the halls I’m allowed in.Because I was originally brought to Athena as a prisoner, I’ve been the center of a few of these meetings. Often they end in me vibrating with white hot hatred, gazing at the stars and wishing I was back home with my father, while they all argue about what to do with me.“Helia Langdon.” The woman next to the General speaks in a low bored tone, the pile of white hair swaying high on her head. “You’ve been called on today to discuss your future here on Athena.”I clasp my hands behind my back and swallow the vortex of nerves that swirl up my throat like bile.“I put in my application for the engineering department months ago.” I launch straight into my argument, knowing I only have a few minutes before they forget I'm here or that maybe I have some ideas about how I want to live my life. “I know I only put one department on my preferences, but I assumed with my particular… modifications… it was the only place for me.” Clearing my throat pushes down the terrified part of me that expects this is where they tell me I’m out; they’re sending me away now that I’m all grown up.“Why do you wish to work in engineering when you could train as a recruit? To speak of assumptions, we on the Council were under the impression you’d want to train.”“I’m sorry, Madame Councilwoman. I didn’t think with my past—” The words get stuck at the back of my throat, and the councilwoman waves her hand dismissively.“Do you not spend most of your time in the training quad fighting in the Cage?”She gestures to a computer screen at her fingertips. Files and photographs of me waver through the air, and my eyebrows pinch together. A looping video goes blurry and then in focus as the camera zooms. In it, I'm wearing a special gear-suit—headgear, gloves, and shoes—and engaged fully in the virtual simulation. It's weird to see myself from the outside like this, and I struggle to remember my argument.“I spend most of my time in my workshop, Madame. Building things. I do love to fight, but I can’t become a recruit. I’m a Mod. I would be a terrible soldier.”Why this wasn’t clear to them made my head fuzzy. Years of spinning memories played behind my eyes—all obvious indications that I could never be an Athenian Soldier—but the biggest and most glaring was my skin. It’s not the fact that I’m a genetically modified human; it’s that my touch can be lethal. Even getting clearance to fight virtually was a struggle, and now they want me to be a recruit?“I would think that becoming a soldier would be beneficial.” A black-haired man at the opposite end of the table speaks slowly, and it's painful to listen to, the words interjecting through my light-speed thoughts.“I’m not sure what you mean…” Mostly, I'm wondering how switching to a recruit is the reason I’m here when I’d been mentally preparing to make my case for not being thrown out into space to suffocate and die. Or worse, get sent to Kronos.“It’s clear, Helia, that you would be an asset—”The General stands abruptly, leaning over the desk like he does in his station addresses, stealing the attention of everyone in the room.“It’s clear, Glenand, that the girl isn’t interested in being a soldier. I’ve spoken at great length with her mentor, and we both advise the Council place her in Weapons, under the direct supervision of my daughter. It’s the safest place for everyone, and you know it. We’ve seen how the recruits treat her.”With each word, the General’s shoulders widen, and I’ve spent enough time around him to know there’s more to what’s happening than I understand. Exactly like I thought—I’m brought in to talk, and then no one lets me say anything. Sparks crackle under my uniform, and I stare at the wall to calm myself.“We’ve taken your recommendation into account General, and we believe this is a mistake.” Folding her hands on the glass table, Glenand purses her lips and challenges the General with a condescending glare.“She will not become a recruit,” the General says, his voice tilting into the commanding tone of the most powerful person on the entire station, maybe in all of the Network, next to the president, of course. The force of his tone sets me back a couple steps, and I want nothing more than to be in my workshop with the airlocks sealed, buried in a mountain of metal and grease. “It’s a ridiculous use of Council time to hold a full meeting to discuss the placement of one girl.”“We only wanted to interview her, General, as we often do with those we feel are better suited to a different department.”“I have never witnessed one of these interviews.”“You are never so personally invested in the future of any of our Recruits…” Glenand’s voice trails off with accusations, and the General’s features tilt into a dangerous glare.Frustration locks onto all my joints, and I open my mouth to interject, but the General’s voice booms over my thoughts.“I am personally invested in every citizen and soldier who resides on this station. Are you implying I’m exercising favoritism to—”“Excuse me?” I blurt out loudly, current fighting under my uniform. Everyone turns to me, and I silently chastise myself for being unable to keep my mouth closed. Especially when I’m angry. Especially when I could be out on my talisa with nothing. I have their attention now, I may as well argue. “What about what I want? I don’t want to be a soldier. I want to build. I want to fight, but for fun. For exercise. That’s all, Madame Councilwoman. I know I’m not technically a citizen, and I want to contribute, I do. But not as a soldier.”With a flip of his palm, the General gestures to me like he’s won the argument, and I’m glad I didn’t have to fight this one on my own. With fists I can fight. With words, not so much. Eight years of near solitude will do that to a person.“Unfortunately, Miss Langdon, the Council must sign off on all placements, no matter how you or the General feel about it. However, we did discuss this particular outcome and are willing to offer you a compromise. A split placement.”I don’t understand what a split placement means but a visceral protest starts in my knees and ends with a shaking head.“You work under Eion in the Weapons department and you attend Advanced Seminar with the new recruits. We understand your personal limitations, which is why you will train academically until further notice.”I turn over my hands, gloved and protected. “I can’t.”“This is non-negotiable, Recruit. I’m afraid you’re going to have to find a way.” Glenand taps at her desk, and the screens shut down. Scraping chair legs vibrate through my body as Council members stand and exit the round room through an alternate door. My mind scrambles, trying to find a way out of this.The best excuse I have is something I’ve never allowed myself to say—the real reason I ended up a prisoner on a military base. Speaking of it would not only cause a world of trouble for me, but also for those my father bribed to keep our secret, the General being one of them. His hard stare is on me now like I better not open my mouth. I know protecting his position is more important than protecting me, but it doesn't stop the small swell of abandonment that boils in the base of my stomach.“I’m sorry, Helia. I tried.” As he backs from the room, my hands clench into fists, forcing the hurt to anger.The same soldiers who brought me here are back at my sides, and the urge to hit one of them makes my fingers twitch.Thankfully I’m scheduled to fight today. At least I get to hitsomeone, even if it’s only virtual.Sign Up for the Quirks and Commas November newsletter to read CHAPTER TWO AND THREE!