Lisa Burstein's Blog, page 8
March 13, 2013
GIVEAWAY! Pretending He’s Mine
Guys I am so excited to be hosting a giveaway for one of my fellow and favorite New Adult authors Lauren Blakely. I wrote about how much I love her for what she said about my New Adult Novella The Next Forever here- if you want proof.
Today and today only she has agreed to give away THREE copies of her new novella Pretending He’s Mine! All you have to do, is post in the comments which actor/actress you would want to “Pretend is Yours”. Include your email address so Lauren can contact you about your prize! This contest ends today, March 13 at 8pm PST.
To get you excited for your possible win- here’s a teaser from the book that Lauren picked out herself!
But all the actors she’d auditioned for It’s Raining Men were stripper types, beefcake and bravado. This was not a job that necessitated swagger. Sutton had never gone for those kind of guys. Truth be told, she’d always had a thing for hipsters. A little bit of stubble, a little bit of attitude, a tattoo on the arm, jeans that showed off a fine piece of ass.
She picked up the picture frame, as if the dog with his tan and brown face had all the answers. “Tell me who’d be perfect for this role,” she said to the dog’s image. Then she pressed the frame to her chest and closed her eyes. He had to be sexy, but he had to have a touch of innocence to him. Why was it that men didn’t ever want to project a little bit of innocence? Was that such a bad thing? But so few were willing to show that side, as if being vulnerable, being fresh, would somehow shred every last ounce of masculinity from a man? Her ideal man would need a bit of the wide-eyed wonder that a superhero has when he first learns he has special powers. She scrolled through her photographic memory of faces, mentally crossing off all the ones that just wouldn’t do. Then, like a jack-in-the box springing to life, she shouted a victorious “yes!”
She placed the frame gently on her desk and moused over to the file she kept on her desktop from every single audition she’d ever held, clicking until she found the man she had in mind. He was adorable, and yet, had that chased-with-danger look in his eyes. She’d never regretted calling him in for any audition. He was witty, clever, and frankly, irresistible.
March 10, 2013
CONTEST! Guess how many F*cks are in Dear Cassie
You know those jellybean jar games where you guess the amount of beans inside and win a prize? I’ve decided to do something similar with my new novel, Dear Cassie.
Cassie likes the word fuck. It’s her favorite and there are a lot of them in Dear Cassie, like a lot, a lot, but HOW MANY????
That’s where you come in. In the comments below give me your guesstimate, or estimate of how many times the word fuck appears in Dear Cassie (you also need to follow my blog if you aren’t already).
So no one gets confused I mean ALL the times fuck is used. So fucking, mother fucker, fucked, etc.
You will be entered to win a paperback copy of DEAR CASSIE signed by HER & a $25 Amazon GC! Contest ends 3/17!
No one else has a copy of the book signed by Cassie. No one else will. It will be rare, rare, rare. My guess is she’ll use some profanity when she signs it.
Here’s all the places you can find the book.
To give you an idea of how much Cassie likes the word fuck, here’s the first chapter of the book. Good luck guys!
Are you there, Smokey Bear? It’s me, Cassie.
I’m in a shitty shack in the woods with nothing to start the fires you are so desperate to keep people from igniting. I also have no cigarettes to light the stuff that starts fires. I’m seriously pretending to smoke this pencil. If I find some matches I may actually end up smoking it.
I’m at a sleep-away camp for criminals—a mosquito pit that’s supposed to pass as court-ordered rehab. I have no cell phone, none of my own clothes, and no jewelry. They took the dog-tags my brother gave me. They took the six silver hoops that I have worn in my ears since, like, forever. My holes will probably close up, but jewelry can be used as a weapon. The people forced to be here with me would actually consider using jewelry as a weapon.
I have been given a flashlight. Why that’s not considered a weapon I don’t know, but maybe it’s because it’s essential in a place where lights-out comes at lame-ass nine o’clock p.m. You wouldn’t want to hit someone on the head with it—even though you sort of want to—because then you would have to write this mandatory “Assessment Diary” in the dark.
If you didn’t see the skywriters, I was arrested with my best friends Lila and Amy on prom night with the shitload of pot we stole from the dickheads who stood us up for the dance. I was driving, Lila was being Mirror-addict Lila, and Amy was in the backseat shitting bricks. That’s the short story.
I guess this will be the long one.
I’m supposed to write about why I’m here. I’m glad I have a legal reason to blame, because there is no way in hell I am going to write about why I really think I’m here.
No matter what, I can never write about that.
Like I said, it started on prom night.
I was wearing a tight red dress that Lila had picked out. Something I would never usually wear. It made me feel sexy—and normally I don’t do sexy—but hell, I was already going to the prom, and honestly, that wasn’t something I would normally do, either. Lila was all into it because she had a boyfriend and Amy was all into it because Lila’s boyfriend was getting her a date, and, well, I guess I was all into it because it was either that or stay home with my parents. Which I didn’t want to do for all sorts of reasons, reasons that will probably be another entry I will be forced to write, so I’ll save it.
The night actually started out kind of fun. The three of us dressed up: Lila in light purple, Amy in light blue, and me in red—fucking Lila. We were laughing and getting along, but then we got to Lila’s boyfriend Brian’s house and it all went to shit. He wasn’t there. None of our dates was.
I had to give Lila some credit. She was so pissed off about us being stood up by our dates that she actually broke into his house and swiped his marijuana stash.
That’s about all I’ll give Lila credit for that night.
I’m supposed to leave the arrest behind me, but that doesn’t mean I can stop thinking about that red dress hanging in my closet, like a dead body in a freezer, and wondering if my mother has hocked it yet for beer money. Oh, crap, see? Now I’m writing about my family. Moving on . . .
When I landed at the Arcata, California, airport this afternoon, after the four-hour flight from New York, the arrest wasn’t even on my mind. It was occupied instead by an asshole in a tight white T-shirt and dark jeans, sitting on a metal bench in baggage claim, who kept staring at me like my hair was made of boobs.
I didn’t know what else to do when I got there except sit on that bench—so cold from the air-conditioning that I could feel it through my cargo pants and on the backs of my arms. I held the strap of my duffel bag tight. It made an angry red mark on my hand.
“Waiting for someone?” he asked. He didn’t turn to look at me, just talked like we were two old men sitting next to each other in the park. He had wavy brown hair, desperately in need of a cut.
“Not for you,” I said. We were both sitting there looking around—both obviously waiting for someone. Why did he care who I was waiting for?
“Who, then?” he asked, not at all understanding that I didn’t want to talk to him. Maybe he was that stupid, or maybe he was that much of an asshole.
“Get lost,” I said. Even without the cigarette I was dying to smoke, I needed to play it cool, at least until I saw the people in uniforms. Would they be dressed in, like, medical whites, or would it be more like policemen?
I put another stick of cinnamon gum in my mouth, but I didn’t offer him any. My brother, Tim, had bought me one of those Plen-T-packs. He gave it to me that morning when he dropped me off at the airport in my Civic, which he was going to take care of while I was gone. At least my car wasn’t being punished like I was for being there on prom night.
Tim had never been to rehab, but he’d been to war just like my dad, and he knew gum could be my new addiction, could be one small thing that might keep me sane. He was right. I needed all the gum I could get.
I swallowed a mouthful of cinnamon spit.
“Your mom,” the asshole sitting next to me said.
“What?” I turned to him. He had that perfect skin some guys have that looks like it belongs on a girl—dewy and glowy and rosy and not all that masculine.
“You waiting for your mom?” he asked.
Did I look that young? That lame? Sure, I was still seventeen. My lawyer had said that was what saved me—made it so I could be sent to rehab. I guess it was good my parents didn’t hold me back in kindergarten like my teacher had suggested. Of course, if they had, I wouldn’t have been going to the prom that night anyway.
I wouldn’t have even known Amy and Lila.
“No,” I growled. “Screw my mom,” I added, though I’m not sure why. I didn’t mean that, not really. I didn’t give two shits about my mom. I had enough to deal with without thinking about her. Screw him for bringing her up.
“Poor you,” he said.
Right, poor me; maybe it was true. I was here. Amy wasn’t—she got probation for ratting me out. And Lila wasn’t—she took off to God knows where. So that left me, Cassie, to deal with this bullshit all alone. Fuck them all anyway.
“What do you want?” I asked.
He shrugged, one of those infuriating shrugs that said he knew exactly what he wanted but wasn’t about to tell me. He started smacking the tops of his thighs in that way guys who play drums do.
Guys who want you to know they play drums.
I watched his hands, slapping like his legs were bongos. He was wearing a thumb ring. Um, yeah.
“Had to leave my set at home,” he said.
I rolled my eyes and sighed heavily, something I usually reserved for people I knew much better and had more time to hate. “I’m not interested,” I said. I looked at the automatic doors. How much longer could I sit here without pulverizing this guy into soup?
“In what?” he asked, still slapping his knees like there was a crowd watching, cheering him on.
I continued to stare at the automatic doors and tried to ignore him. Would the people in uniforms be holding a sign with my name, or would I hear it over the loudspeaker? Would there be more handcuffs? I touched my wrists.
“I’m Ben,” he said, stopping his concert to turn to me. His eyes were wide, like sunny-side-up eggs with brown yolks.
“Good for you,” I said, stuffing another piece of gum in my mouth.
He laughed and touched the back of his neck. “Not really.”
“Am I supposed to tell you my name now? Is that how it works? You tell me your name and I tell you mine and then we slobber all over each other?” I spoke fast, faster than I meant to. Mostly because he made me think about Aaron, because I was always thinking about Aaron, how I wished I had told him to fuck off the first day I met him, instead of slobbering all over him and having everything lead where it led.
Wishing I could take it all back. Hit rewind and erase.
“What are you talking about?” Ben asked, starting to laugh, a laugh I think was supposed to let me know he would never consider slobbering all over me.
I felt my face tighten, felt my hands go into fists. I squeezed them hard, so hard that I could feel my nails stabbing into my palms, forming red, angry crescent-moon welts.
“Calm down, Hulk,” Ben said, laughing harder, his mouth like a back-up singer going o-o-o. My breath went heavy, hot. I was going to destroy him.
I had lied to Amy. I had lied to everyone. I guess I could have told her that I had actually shared that Pepsi with Aaron when he came to see me at work at Pudgie’s Pizzeria instead of throwing it in his face for being one of the guys to stand us up on prom night. That I had shared other things, too. That he bit my neck with his crooked front tooth and licked the inside of my ear and made me whimper; that I had actually fallen for him.
That he had fooled me.
Never again.
I looked at Ben; he was still laughing. I was ready to hit him, but instead I touched my stomach just below my belly button and put another piece of gum in my mouth.
“Too much cinnamon can kill you,” Ben said.
“Good,” I gurgled, practically choking on the wad. It was getting too big to chew, but there was no way I was spitting my gum out because of this guy. I pictured it growing over my tongue, my teeth, red, globular like a reptile heart.
The automatic doors swished open and a guy walked in wearing a uniform the color of a paper bag. He had one of those square heads and a brown buzz-cut so short it looked like pieces of tobacco on his scalp. I recognized the cut, army issue.
Damn, I need a cigarette.
He was holding a sign—two signs. One read Cassie Wick; the other read Ben Claire.
“Looks like we were waiting for the same person.” Ben snickered, heaving his duffel bag over his shoulder and walking toward the door.
Fuck.
…
The white van we rode in smelled like puke, which didn’t help what was already happening in my stomach. I’d never been carsick before, but I was blaming my shaken-snow-globe insides on that.
Ben and I didn’t talk as the city roads turned to country roads, turned to woods on either side of us. Trees taller than electrical poles and bark the color of brick flew past. I opened the pop-out window next to me; the air smelled like cedar and recently dug-up graveyard soil. We were very far away from anyone and anything and only going farther.
I hated the woods. The bugs, the openness, the fact that anything can come at you from anywhere, that you can be lost and never find your way back. Hello? Blair Witch Project?
I felt anxious needles pinch the tips of my fingers—not a feeling I was used to and not a feeling I wanted to get used to. I gripped the seat in front of me and tried to breathe, but it was like someone was jumping up and down on my chest.
Where the hell are we going? What rehab joint is in the middle of nowhere?
The driver wasn’t talking, just clearing his throat every twenty seconds, like he needed to remind us he was there; like at this point either of us was going to do anything, anyway.
Finally, the van moved off the country road to a gravel one. Little rocks popped like popcorn under the tires as we pulled in at a sign that read: Turning Pines Wilderness Camp—Helping Teenagers, One Life at a Time.
Camp? Fucking camp? My parents shipped me all the way to California to sleep in dirt? I hadn’t gotten any details about where I was going before I left. Sure, I didn’t ask, but I just figured it would be rehab in a building, in a hospitalish building. Could they have known that this was where they were sending me? Would they have cared?
I watched the back of the square-headed guy’s square head. No explanation, no words, only his throat clearing. We passed one boarded-up shed, another, and another.
I pictured demonic kids singing, Turning pines no turning back. They were standing in a circle holding hands, repeating the words ring-around-the-Rosie-like, wearing dirty doll dresses and patched-up overalls.
Camp meant woods, meant bugs, everywhere, all around me, for the next twenty-nine days. I could already feel the disgusting tickle of spiders crawling on my arms—the gross daddy-long-leg ones that looked like the reflection of a regular spider in a fun-house mirror. Ticks would suction to my toes, mosquitoes would buzz as loud as helicopters in my ears.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Ben looked at me and cocked his head. I’m pretty sure my face was white and I was sweating like I was getting paid for it.
“First day is always the hardest,” he said, so quietly he almost didn’t say it. He thought I was having withdrawals, and I guess I was, but not from drugs—from civilization, from lack of bug spray. If I saw anything that had more legs than a dog I was going to lose it, and I couldn’t lose it. Not in front of Ben, or Square Head, or anyone else I was about to meet.
I didn’t do losing it.
The van stopped. “Wick, out,” Square Head commanded.
“Seriously, here?” I asked, but I knew I was stalling. I could live in this van for twenty-nine days. At least it had doors that locked, windows that closed, a radio.
“Now,” Square Head yelled, not even answering my question. And I realized whatever tactics I’d used to survive in the world outside this place were probably not going to cut it here. Ben turned to me and smiled, like he’d realized the same thing.
I climbed over him and reached for the door. “See you, Cassie,” he whispered. Then he winked at me. I was too freaked out to care, which was good because if I hadn’t been I might have kicked him in the groin.
A woman wearing the same brown uniform as Square Head was waiting for me in the middle of an open field. The uniform hung on her skeletal frame. She looked like a Brownie—like a very tall Brownie. The girl not the food. Her graying-black hair was in a braid and the skin on her face was so tight it was like she was in a wind tunnel.
“Welcome, Wick,” she said. I was noticing a pattern: last names were first names here. I also noticed she was wearing shiny black combat boots. Her nametag read: Rawe. With a name like that she must have had a horrible experience in high school. No wonder she was here trying to make other teenagers’ lives miserable.
I dropped my duffel bag on the ground and waited. It was dusk and I could already feel the mosquitoes starting to swarm, starting to jump on my arms like they were trampolines.
“You know why you’re here and you know what you’ve done. It’s my job to make sure you never do it again.” She was standing so straight I thought she might tip over.
I nodded. I had learned how to nod in court. Nodding was easier because I could be sure I wouldn’t say something I might regret.
I slapped at a bite on one arm then the other. A buzz got close, filling my ear, and I smacked the side of my head. This wasn’t rehab. Rehab was supposed to be like a spa where you woke up in your nurse-made bed each morning and pretended to give a shit. This was my nightmare.
“I’d pick up your duffel if you don’t want fleas,” Rawe said, looking down at it.
Fleas. I pictured them crawling like ants on a giant hot dog. I picked my bag up and smacked at it like it was on fire.
“This won’t be easy,” Rawe said, making the words heavy with meaning. “This program is part wilderness survival skills, part personal rehabilitation.”
All torture.
“We are the first group to be housed at this particular camp, so we get the unique privilege of rehabilitating it as well.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means you’ll be fixing up the grounds and structures for future participants.”
Slave labor.
“It will be hard work. A lot of times you’ll want to quit, but you know what will happen if you do, right?”
I nodded. It didn’t matter what they were going to put us through—I couldn’t quit. Quitting would send me right to the jail time I’d avoided. She didn’t need to remind me about that—it wasn’t so much that I was afraid of going to jail; I dreaded the way my brother would look at me the morning I went in.
“We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow and another long day after that and so on,” she said. “Any questions?” Her diamond-hard eyes looked me up and down, seemingly wondering whether I had what it took to make it through.
I was pretty sure the answer was no.
“Is it just the two of us?” I flashed forward, this straight-laced woman with boot-eyeholes up to her chin and me for twenty-nine more days. It would be enough to turn anyone back into an addict—not that I was an addict. I knew I’d been sent here for a very different reason.
They say Karma is a bitch. I guess mine was turning out to be a bitch with fleas and a bony slave driver.
“Nez and Troyer are in the cabin,” she said, walking toward what I thought was a storage shed.
I followed her. From behind, her hair kind of looked like a skunk tail.
The “cabin” looked like a shack built by a homicidal maniac—you know, the place he keeps his blood-splattered murder tools and rotting corpses. The door creaked as Rawe opened it—that a room you enter and may never leave creak. It was small, had three cots and an open door that led into a room at the back of the cabin, which I hoped was the bathroom. I hadn’t peed since I’d left Collinsville.
“Nez,” Rawe said, pointing to one cot. A dark-skinned girl, either Indian or Native American, was smacking out a sleeping bag. Her uniform fit her way better than Rawe’s did; it was clear she was the kind of girl that everything fit better. She had dark eyes that seemed to have no pupils and hair that fell down her back like spilled black paint.
“Troyer,” Rawe said, pointing to a girl sitting up on her cot with her eyes closed. She was all Barbie-doll blond bangs. Her skin was covered in goose-bump-sized acne. At least, I hoped it was acne.
Troyer was also wearing the same uniform that Rawe wore. I looked at the empty cot, where a folded brown uniform lay—probably already crawling with fleas.
“Wick,” Rawe said, pointing at me.
I guess those were our introductions. Rawe turned off the one dirty, naked light bulb that stuck out of the ceiling like a nose. Both Nez and Troyer clicked on their flashlights.
“I’d like you to diary for thirty minutes about why you are here,” Rawe said, “an introduction to your leaving that part of your life behind.” She handed me this notebook and a pencil, then walked to the small room at the back of the cabin and closed the door behind her. I guess it wasn’t the bathroom.
“Diary?” I said. I wanted to ask where the bathroom was, but considering what the place looked like, I was also afraid to.
“Assessment Diary,” Nez said. “Write whatever, they don’t read it. It’s for you.” She mooed the word, then lay on her stomach and started to write.
I looked at Troyer. She was still sitting upright in the middle of her cot with her eyes closed.
“She doesn’t talk,” Nez said, chewing on her pencil. “Do you?”
“Usually,” I said, sizing up Nez. If she was worse than me, I wanted to know it.
“Thank cheese and crackers,” she said, her legs scissoring behind her. “I was going crazy. Not that we’re allowed to talk, but it’s nice to know you’re not mute.”
“She’s mute?” I said, looking back at Troyer, still motionless on her cot. The way we were talking about her, I wondered if she was deaf, too.
“Hasn’t said a word in the last six hours, not even to Rawe,” Nez said.
“Diary and lights out in thirty,” Rawe bellowed from behind her closed door.
Nez stuck out her tongue and went back to writing. I guess she wasn’t worse than me, because that definitely wasn’t what I would have done.
This is going to be a very fucking long twenty-nine days.
March 5, 2013
DEAR CASSIE is AVAILABLE- Free Bookplates & Bookmarks
What if the last place you should fall in love is the first place that you
do?
You’d think getting sent to Turning Pines Wilderness Camp for a
month-long rehabilitation “retreat” and being forced to re-live it in this
journal would be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
You’d be wrong.
There’s the reason I was sent to Turning Pines in the first place:
I got arrested. On prom night. With my two best friends, who I haven’t talked to
since and probably never will again. And then there’s the real reason I was sent
here. The thing I can’t talk about with the guy I can’t even think
about.
What if the moment you’ve closed yourself off is the moment you
start to break open?
But there’s this guy here. Ben. And the more I
swear he won’t—he can’t—the deeper under my skin he’s getting. After the thing
that happened, I promised I’d never fall for another boy’s
lies.
And yet I can’t help but wonder…what if?
“Disturbing and Beautiful…Get ready to be more than entertained. Get ready to
be changed.”- Katie Kacvinsky, Author of First Comes Love
“Raw, uncompromising…Draws the reader in with taut storytelling and complex,
original characters.” – Holly Goldberg Sloan, Author of I’ll Be There
Hello Friends,
Just a short post to let you know that TODAY is Dear Cassie’s release day. YAY!
This book, I can’t even. It is beautiful, funny, heartbreaking and filled with the awesomeness that is Cassie. I can’t wait to share it with you all.
As a special treat this week, I will send a signed bookplate and Pretty Amy bookmark to anyone who emails me at prettyamystories@yahoo.com with their address. This includes international!
If you want to have me inscribe a digital copy of the book, please link to the Authorgraph site below:
http://www.authorgraph.com/authors/LisaBurstein
As a special treat my editor posted as to why she acquired DEAR CASSIE, um I cried 
Acquiring a second novel from an author is very different from acquiring his or her debut. Whereas a debut is a blank slate to be molded as it will, a sophomore novel brings with it the expectations of the first and the pressure to do even better. So in many ways, it’s harder to sell a second novel than it can be to sell a first.
It wasn’t hard for me to decide to acquire Lisa Burstein’s second novel, Dear Cassie, which both works as a sequel to her debut Pretty Amy and as a stand-alone novel. And not only because Lisa’s found a loyal and vocal fan base for her writing. On a surface level, the book felt more romantic and relationship-based than Amy did, with Cassie’s tense and beautiful relationship with Ben at the forefront—always a plus in today’s teen market—but it also dealt with a ubiquitous teen issue that many teens find fascinating, explored a character many readers had already expressed wanting to know more about, and was formatted as an epistolary diary set at a unique “summer camp.” The fact that I got to edit out approximately three hundred f-bombs was an added bonus.
But I think what’s been the most gratifying about working on what is actually my third book with Lisa, including Pretty Amy and her New Adult companion novella, The Next Forever, is that each book of Lisa’s isn’t just a story—it’s an experience. Whether readers relate to these characters or not, whether they find them fascinating, horrifying, humorous, over-the-top, or even too close to real life, her stories make readers feel—discomfort, anticipation, sorrow, sympathy, empathy, disgust, delight, and oh so much more—and they make them talk. Which, with teen readers, can truly be a gift.
Happy f*cking book birthday to you, Cassie, and to Lisa!
Cassie can’t wait to make you laugh & cry. Ben can’t wait to make you swoon 
. Enjoy!
February 26, 2013
WIN a Kindle/Nook or other great prizes in the Dear Cassie Launch Celebration
“Disturbing and Beautiful….Get ready to be more than entertained. Get ready to be changed” Katie Kacvinsky, Author of First Comes Love
What if the last place you should fall in love is the first place that you do?
You’d think getting sent to Turning Pines Wilderness Camp for a month-long rehabilitation “retreat” and being forced to re-live it in this journal would be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
You’d be wrong.
There’s the reason I was sent to Turning Pines in the first place: I got arrested. On prom night. With my two best friends, who I haven’t talked to since and probably never will again. And then there’s the real reason I was sent here. The thing I can’t talk about with the guy I can’t even think about.
What if the moment you’ve closed yourself off is the moment you start to break open?
But there’s this guy here. Ben. And the more I swear he won’t—he can’t—the deeper under my skin he’s getting. After the thing that happened, I promised I’d never fall for another boy’s lies.
And yet I can’t help but wonder…what if?
First Prize Kindle or Nook and “Diary-Like” Leather Case
Second Prize 
Third Prizes
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Get all the details here! http://www.lisaburstein.com/Contests.html
February 22, 2013
More Author Community Love
So I told a story a couple weeks back about how awesome I think the author community is. You can read it here: http://lisabursteinauthor.wordpress.com/2013/01/27/why-i-love-the-author-community/
Guess what? I have even more evidence.
If you haven’t heard of Lauren Blakely yet, trust me you will. Her debut novel Caught Up in Us, is a runaway success and a New York Times and USA Today Bestseller! And she is a really sweet person.
I was going through reviews on Goodreads- not what any author should do- but anyway I saw that a few weeks back she had read and given a 5-star review The Next Forever. I was SO excited because I had recently finished Caught Up In Us and LOVED it.
Obviously considering how successful it is, I’m not the only one. .
I sent her an email and asked if I could use her quote on my website and blog and she agreed! Also there’s a rumor she’ll be giving away copies of The Next Forever during the launch celebration for her new book Pretending He’s Mine- so be on the look out for that!
Isn’t she sweet?
Here is the quote:
“A really enjoyable and touching read that taps into heartfelt emotions about making choices between past and present.”
- Lauren Blakely, NY Times and USA Today Bestselling author of Caught Up In Us
Find more info on The Next Forever below!
Read the first chapter
February 19, 2013
HAPPY Dear Cassie NEWS!
“Disturbing and Beautiful…Get ready to be more than entertained. Get ready to be changed.”- Katie Kacvinsky, Author of First Comes Love
“Raw, uncompromising…Draws the reader in with taut storytelling and complex, original characters.” - Holly Goldberg Sloan, Author of I’ll Be There
I have some HAPPY Dear Cassie news!
For all of you waiting patiently for Dear Cassie, it looks like the wait is no more. Even though the book is “officially” out on March 5th it is IN STOCK on:
AND
The Kindle version is also available for Pre-Order.
*DANCES*
I LOVE Cassie’s story and can’t wait to share it with all of you! Or as Cassie would say, “Fucking Read it!”
February 13, 2013
The NEXT BIG THING Blog Hop
Thank you Amy Spalding author of The Reece Malcolm List for tagging me!
So I know we are supposed to be writing about our Works in Progress, but mine is a little too new to talk about yet, so I’m going to talk about Dear Cassie, which will be out March 5th.
What is the working title of your book/story/whatever?
Dear Cassie
Where did the idea come from for the book?
Cassie was the best friend of Amy from my first novel Pretty Amy. I always knew I wanted to write a book from her perspective, but the idea for the setting (a rehabilitation camp) actually came from some experiences of mine from high school. I was kind of a bad kid.
What genre does your book fall under?
Young Adult Contemporary.
Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
Lily Collins as Cassie and Liam Hemsworth as Ben.
What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?
If you’ve closed yourself off to love, is it possible to find it again?
What is the longer synopsis of your book?
What if the last place you should fall in love is the first place that you do?
You’d think getting sent to Turning Pines Wilderness Camp for a month-long rehabilitation “retreat” and being forced to re-live it in this journal would be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
You’d be wrong.
There’s the reason I was sent to Turning Pines in the first place: I got arrested. On prom night. With my two best friends, who I haven’t talked to since and probably never will again. And then there’s the real reason I was sent here. The thing I can’t talk about with the guy I can’t even think about.
What if the moment you’ve closed yourself off is the moment you start to break open?
But there’s this guy here. Ben. And the more I swear he won’t—he can’t—the deeper under my skin he’s getting. After the thing that happened, I promised I’d never fall for another boy’s lies.
And yet I can’t help but wonder…what if?
Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?
Published by Entangled Publishing.
How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
Four months.
What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
It has almost 500 swear words in it.
Next Wednesday check out Cindi Madsen, author of the adorable Falling for Her Fiance and find out her next big thing!
February 10, 2013
Embracing the UGLY
I recently read a blog post by Lindsey Leavitt that made me think http://lindseyleavitt.blogspot.com/2013/01/embracing-cute.html
It was all about her being unapologetic for the kind of books she wrote. In her case: cute. Which some readers love and some readers don’t. Her post was about her coming to terms with this fact and I loved it.
It made me think about the kind of books I wrote. They have been called in positive reviews: raw, honest, sharp, and real.
And, in negative reviews: depressing, angry, annoying, and too much.
I have been told my books have the ability to make you snot-laugh and snot-cry, but also have been told that some readers want to throw them across the room.
Basically for some reason thinking about it this way jogged something loose in my brain. I saw that what people LOVED and HATED about my books were the exact same thing. That they either saw it was something they responded to, or didn’t. That they either got, or didn’t.
This was a revelation. For some reason I had never seen it this black and white before and I have Lindsey Leavitt and her post to thank for that.
So from now on I am going to embrace the UGLY in my books. They are about real life and real problems and very real characters and for some people than can be: depressing, angry, annoying, and too much.
For some people that can be UGLY.
But for others, it can beautiful and exactly what they need.
I guess this post is just to say EMBRACE whatever it is people might think you are doing wrong in your writing, because to other people more than likely, you are doing it JUST RIGHT.
February 7, 2013
Entangled in Love Blog Hop!
Thanks for joining me in the Entangled in LOVE Blog Hop.
I have three books up for grabs and as a winner you have your choice of which one you would like.
An E-copy of
One night in college can change everything…
Away at college, Amy just wants one night alone without her high school sweetheart, Joe. So when he invites her to go to the library, she heads off on her own instead. How she ended up at a house party with the mysterious bad-boy Trevor is another story…
Joe so isn’t going to the library. He needs space from Amy, too, so he’s decided to rush a fraternity, to get back the swagger he had in high school. But it doesn’t take long for the brothers to invite him to the real rush—where the beer is flowing and one particular girl has set her eyes on Joe.
Over the course of one wild night, both Amy and Joe will have to decide if their futures belong with two new people, or whether the next forever will have their first loves in it.
A signed copy of DEAR CASSIE (this book doesn’t come out until March 4th so you would be getting it a month early)
What if the last place you should fall in love is the first place that you do?
You’d think getting sent to Turning Pines Wilderness Camp for a month-long rehabilitation “retreat” and being forced to re-live it in this journal would be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
You’d be wrong.
There’s the reason I was sent to Turning Pines in the first place: I got arrested. On prom night. With my two best friends, who I haven’t talked to since and probably never will again. And then there’s the real reason I was sent here. The thing I can’t talk about with the guy I can’t even think about.
What if the moment you’ve closed yourself off is the moment you start to break open?
But there’s this guy here. Ben. And the more I swear he won’t—he can’t—the deeper under my skin he’s getting. After the thing that happened, I promised I’d never fall for another boy’s lies.
And yet I can’t help but wonder…what if?
A signed copy of
Amy is fine living in the shadows of beautiful Lila and uber-cool Cassie, because at least she’s somewhat beautiful and uber-cool by association. But when their dates stand them up for prom, and the girls take matters into their own hands–earning them a night in jail outfitted in satin, stilettos, and Spanx–Amy discovers even a prom spent in handcuffs might be better than the humiliating”rehabilitation techniques” now filling up her summer. Worse, with Lila and Cassie parentally banned, Amy feels like she has nothing–like she is nothing.
Navigating unlikely alliances with her new coworker, two very different boys, and possibly even her parents, Amy struggles to decide if it’s worth being a best friend when it makes you a public enemy. Bringing readers along on an often hilarious and heartwarming journey, Amy finds that maybe getting a life only happens once you think your life is over.
To be entered ALL YOU HAVE TO DO is follow me on twitter @lisaburstein
(if you are already following me on twitter you are already entered)
You can also be entered by commenting below on which book you would want to win and why.
Click here to check out what the other authors are giving away during the Entangled In Love blog hop!
February 5, 2013
NA LIT CHAT with ME and NYRAE DAWN 2/7 @ 9PM EST
Hi Guys!
I am so exited to be hosting NA Lit Chat this week with the AMAZING Nyrae Dawn.
What is NA Lit Chat? A twitter chat devoted to ALL THINGS NEW ADULT! YAY!
This week Nyrae and I will be leading a discussion about crossing over from YA to NA as writers and readers AND giving away copies of our NA Books Charade & The Next Forever!
Check out this link below for a blog post I wrote on my thoughts about crossing over from YA to NA and for all the details!
Hope to see you there. Just use the #NALitChat to follow along.
http://nalitchat.blogspot.com/2013/02/crossing-over-ya-to-na-by-lisa-burstein.html
