Tracey Ward's Blog, page 8
January 8, 2014
FREE - In the End
In the End will be FREE on Amazon tomorrow and Friday. If you haven't picked it up yet, go get it! :)
http://www.amazon.com/In-End-Quaranti...
Until then, here's an excerpt:
We tread into the water. The coldness creeps up my pant leg, licking my skin and sending shivers through my body. This is going to be a long, exhausting ordeal. One made even longer by the fact that we all just ran two miles and will now be swimming those miles into the current of a freezing cold river, some of it underwater.
No one complains as we sink into the current. Nothing beyond the involuntary gasp at the sudden coldness. Then we’re moving. They follow my lead as I swim us upstream, trying to remain as perfectly centered in the water as I can. I don’t know how many infected are on the other bank, but I imagine quite a few. I can hear them now and then moaning in the trees but I haven’t seen any yet. Doesn’t mean they aren’t a threat.
“Ali,” I whisper, over my shoulder, “keep an eye on the west bank. Quietly and calmly let us know if you see anything.”
Silence is my answer.
“Al,” Syd breathes behind me.
“No, I heard you guys,” she whispers back, sounding annoyed.
“Then what’s with the silent treatment?” I ask quietly.
More silence. Just when I’m about to snap at her, she finally answers me.
“I’m all turned around,” she grumbles. “I was trying to figure out which bank is west.”
“On the right,” Syd and I say together.
“Shhh!”
I look over my shoulder at her incredulously. “Are you shushing us?”
She rolls her eyes. “If you would use normal directions like left and right, this wouldn’t be an issue. But you have to go all tactical Rambo. What’s next? Is there an infected at my 20?”
“Are you serious? What about ‘stage left’?” I whisper back sharply.
Alissa narrows her eyes at me. “It made perfect sense.”
“To who? The cast of Cats? Who uses that as a direction?”
“It worked didn’t it?”
“I have no idea. Did I turn the right way?”
“Did I put an arrow in your heart?”
“No,” I reply, feeling instantly annoyed that that was a possibility.
“Then yeah, you got it right.”
“I have an idea,” Syd whispers, drifting in the current between us.
“What?”
“Shut up.”
January 5, 2014
In the End - Added Epilogue
In the End is the finale to the Quarantined series, but it did leave a few really major questions unanswered. I realize this is annoying as hell for some readers. So, I've added an epilogue that I will share with you here now.
Epilogue – 9 Years Later
The cart that I’m hiding in is wheeled into another room farther down the hall. I can feel the wheels struggle and squeak over the uneven stone floor. My over-excited heart is in my throat as we turn a corner, heading into a room that I think, I hope, I know.
I clutch my baby close to me, caressing her hair gently to sooth her. If she makes a sound, we’re dead. They’ll know we’re here and all will be lost.
Light glares in through a small gap between the doors of the cart, hurting my eyes that had adjusted to the darkness. There’s supposed to be drawers and drawers, boxes and boxes of medical supplies stowed in here, but I cleared them to make room for baby and I. It was the only place to hide. It was our only choice.
For 6 years I’ve been trapped inside this prison. During that time I’ve never seen anything other than this island and the people on it. Never a foreigner. Never a Risen.
Today, I’m hoping to see both. I’m hoping to be liberated. I’m praying for freedom.
“We’ll just take some measurements on you,” Taylor’s familiar voice says. “Do a few tests, if you don’t mind.”
“And if we do?” a young man’s voice challenges.
“Then you can leave right now.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
Lies. If leaving were so easy, baby and I would have done it a long time ago.
“Do your tests,” a girl says defiantly. “We’re not infected. We have nothing to hide.”
“Not that you know of. But the infection rate isn’t what it used to be, not since The Cure,” he says sarcastically. “Thanks to that little beauty of a failure, the last we checked, incubation took over a week before a person fully turned, meaning you’ll be locked in here for more than two. Are you prepared for that?”
“We don’t want to move in,” the boy complained. “We just need to speak to someone. Someone who makes decisions for the group.”
“How do you know you’re not talking to him? How do you know I’m not the Grand Poobah? The king of the island?”
I giggle before I can stop myself. The word Poobah and the idea of Taylor with a crown on his head are too funny to me. He’d probably wear it backwards like his baseball caps.
My giggle must give me away because the doors to the cart are suddenly flung open. Light blazes in, burning my eyes. I blink rapidly out at the dark figures slowly taking shape in front of me. In the cages I can see two boys, one very tall with blond hair and nice eyes, the other a little shorter with dark hair and laughing brown eyes, and a pretty girl with long, red hair and sad eyes.
“Beth, what the hell?” Taylor asks, exasperated.
I frown at the scolding. “I’m sorry, Taylor.”
“What are you doing in there?”
“Playing hide and seek with daddy.”
He raises his eyebrows suspiciously. “Does he know he’s playing this game with you?”
“No,” I admit reluctantly.
“Cheater. Get out of here. You’re not supposed to be in here, you know that. It’s dangerous.”
I go to climb out of the cart, stumbling slightly. One of the guards in the room with Taylor reaches down to help me out until I’m standing, sullen and embarrassed in front of everyone.
“My mom lets me in here all the time.”
“Yeah, when it’s empty and it’s just you and her. Seriously, sweetie, scram. Your dad will kill—“
The door behind me swings open, my daddy standing in the entrance.
“Taylor, have you seen Beth?”
Taylor silently rats me out with one stern finger pointed at my face.
Daddy sighs in relief and annoyance. “Come on, let’s go.”
“But I was going to help Taylor with the prisoners.” I whine, trudging toward him.
“You’re 8 years old, baby. Let’s worry more about taking your bath and less about becoming a warden.”
“Hey, brat,” Taylor calls after me. I turn to find him holding up my baby doll, the one my mom sewed for me on my birthday this year. “Don’t forget Little Miss, Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong here.”
I giggle, running back to take the doll from him. “Why do you call her that?”
“You don’t know that song?”
I shake my head, hugging my doll close.
“Come on, man,” Taylor says to my daddy. “You aren’t even raising her right.”
“Blow me,” daddy tells him.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means don’t ever repeat it,” Taylor tells me. “It also means Music Education in the rec room in an hour, you hear me?”
I smile at him happily. “Yes!”
“Alright, beat it.”
I go to leave with my daddy, careful to get on his right side because he doesn’t have a hand there. He likes to have his left side, his Fighting Side, free to keep me safe. Before we pass through the door, I look over my shoulder longingly at the prisoners I’m leaving behind. At the adventures we could have had together in the outside world. The blond boy smiles and waves at me, but when I go to wave back, I stop. My eyes meet with the pretty girl with the red hair and I want to run up to hug her.
Her eyes are watching me, following me as I leave the room with my daddy and my doll. And she’s crying.
This is the end of the Quarantined series, but for more of this world, read its sister series, Survival.
Epilogue – 9 Years Later
The cart that I’m hiding in is wheeled into another room farther down the hall. I can feel the wheels struggle and squeak over the uneven stone floor. My over-excited heart is in my throat as we turn a corner, heading into a room that I think, I hope, I know.
I clutch my baby close to me, caressing her hair gently to sooth her. If she makes a sound, we’re dead. They’ll know we’re here and all will be lost.
Light glares in through a small gap between the doors of the cart, hurting my eyes that had adjusted to the darkness. There’s supposed to be drawers and drawers, boxes and boxes of medical supplies stowed in here, but I cleared them to make room for baby and I. It was the only place to hide. It was our only choice.
For 6 years I’ve been trapped inside this prison. During that time I’ve never seen anything other than this island and the people on it. Never a foreigner. Never a Risen.
Today, I’m hoping to see both. I’m hoping to be liberated. I’m praying for freedom.
“We’ll just take some measurements on you,” Taylor’s familiar voice says. “Do a few tests, if you don’t mind.”
“And if we do?” a young man’s voice challenges.
“Then you can leave right now.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
Lies. If leaving were so easy, baby and I would have done it a long time ago.
“Do your tests,” a girl says defiantly. “We’re not infected. We have nothing to hide.”
“Not that you know of. But the infection rate isn’t what it used to be, not since The Cure,” he says sarcastically. “Thanks to that little beauty of a failure, the last we checked, incubation took over a week before a person fully turned, meaning you’ll be locked in here for more than two. Are you prepared for that?”
“We don’t want to move in,” the boy complained. “We just need to speak to someone. Someone who makes decisions for the group.”
“How do you know you’re not talking to him? How do you know I’m not the Grand Poobah? The king of the island?”
I giggle before I can stop myself. The word Poobah and the idea of Taylor with a crown on his head are too funny to me. He’d probably wear it backwards like his baseball caps.
My giggle must give me away because the doors to the cart are suddenly flung open. Light blazes in, burning my eyes. I blink rapidly out at the dark figures slowly taking shape in front of me. In the cages I can see two boys, one very tall with blond hair and nice eyes, the other a little shorter with dark hair and laughing brown eyes, and a pretty girl with long, red hair and sad eyes.
“Beth, what the hell?” Taylor asks, exasperated.
I frown at the scolding. “I’m sorry, Taylor.”
“What are you doing in there?”
“Playing hide and seek with daddy.”
He raises his eyebrows suspiciously. “Does he know he’s playing this game with you?”
“No,” I admit reluctantly.
“Cheater. Get out of here. You’re not supposed to be in here, you know that. It’s dangerous.”
I go to climb out of the cart, stumbling slightly. One of the guards in the room with Taylor reaches down to help me out until I’m standing, sullen and embarrassed in front of everyone.
“My mom lets me in here all the time.”
“Yeah, when it’s empty and it’s just you and her. Seriously, sweetie, scram. Your dad will kill—“
The door behind me swings open, my daddy standing in the entrance.
“Taylor, have you seen Beth?”
Taylor silently rats me out with one stern finger pointed at my face.
Daddy sighs in relief and annoyance. “Come on, let’s go.”
“But I was going to help Taylor with the prisoners.” I whine, trudging toward him.
“You’re 8 years old, baby. Let’s worry more about taking your bath and less about becoming a warden.”
“Hey, brat,” Taylor calls after me. I turn to find him holding up my baby doll, the one my mom sewed for me on my birthday this year. “Don’t forget Little Miss, Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong here.”
I giggle, running back to take the doll from him. “Why do you call her that?”
“You don’t know that song?”
I shake my head, hugging my doll close.
“Come on, man,” Taylor says to my daddy. “You aren’t even raising her right.”
“Blow me,” daddy tells him.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means don’t ever repeat it,” Taylor tells me. “It also means Music Education in the rec room in an hour, you hear me?”
I smile at him happily. “Yes!”
“Alright, beat it.”
I go to leave with my daddy, careful to get on his right side because he doesn’t have a hand there. He likes to have his left side, his Fighting Side, free to keep me safe. Before we pass through the door, I look over my shoulder longingly at the prisoners I’m leaving behind. At the adventures we could have had together in the outside world. The blond boy smiles and waves at me, but when I go to wave back, I stop. My eyes meet with the pretty girl with the red hair and I want to run up to hug her.
Her eyes are watching me, following me as I leave the room with my daddy and my doll. And she’s crying.
This is the end of the Quarantined series, but for more of this world, read its sister series, Survival.
December 31, 2013
In the End - Out Tomorrow!
In the End, the final book in the Quarantined series, goes on sale for $0.99 starting tomorrow!
http://www.amazon.com/End-Quarantined...
Happy Reading and Happy New Year!
December 20, 2013
Fearless Cover Reveal!
I have finally created a webpage!
http://www.traceywardauthor.com/
I am now shamelessly baiting you all to come see it with the release of the Fearless cover. There's also a book bio for Fearless that starts a little something like this...
My name is Nick Carver and I have a superpower.
Be jealous. Be very, very jealous. I've only begun to touch the edges of the power lying coiled inside of me. No one knows what I'm capable of. Of how far I can go, least of all me. That should scare me but it doesn't because let's be honest, nothing does.
To read more and see the cover, maybe sign up for e-mails alerting you to future release dates (NO SPAM, I promise!) come take a look at my new page.
http://www.traceywardauthor.com/
I am now shamelessly baiting you all to come see it with the release of the Fearless cover. There's also a book bio for Fearless that starts a little something like this...
My name is Nick Carver and I have a superpower.
Be jealous. Be very, very jealous. I've only begun to touch the edges of the power lying coiled inside of me. No one knows what I'm capable of. Of how far I can go, least of all me. That should scare me but it doesn't because let's be honest, nothing does.
To read more and see the cover, maybe sign up for e-mails alerting you to future release dates (NO SPAM, I promise!) come take a look at my new page.
December 13, 2013
Zombie Happy Dance and In the End Excerpt
Until the End just recently received it's 100th rating here on Goodreads. I'm amazed by this. When I first put it up for sale, I told my husband I'd die happy if it reached 5 people.
So to see it now selling in it's six month and doing well, that's mindblowing to me. I wanted to stop and say a huge THANK YOU to everyone who has read it and especially to those who have loved it and told others about it. Every person who sends me a friend request, reads a blog post, follows my book reviews or clicks the link to become a fan seriously stuns me. You guys are awesome and I'm feeling very grateful.
I'm also feeling very Christmasy and in the spirit of giving, here is an excerpt from In the End. January 1st!!!
She’s dead. She’s rotted out. Her pale skin is turning gray before my eyes as it begins to hang from her bones loosely. Her lips fall useless around her yellowed teeth tinged with black around her sickly green gums. It’s her eyes that bother me most, though. Her once vibrant, warm eyes are Death staring me down. There’s a want there, a need to see me dead and destroyed beneath her gnarled fingertips. To see me just like her.
I want to give that to her. I want to die beside her, for her, by her hand. Whatever it will take to make her happy. To show her I love her. That I'm sorry. I want the wrong things and I know it but I still want them. The worst is, though, that I’m also still terrified of them. I’m as scared sitting here across from her in the nothingness of this dark room as I was in the dorms when it first began. When everyone was running and screaming and tearing each other apart with their teeth. I’m a coward. I let her die.
I should have died too.
I shouldn’t be alive.
Right now, I’m not so sure I am.
So to see it now selling in it's six month and doing well, that's mindblowing to me. I wanted to stop and say a huge THANK YOU to everyone who has read it and especially to those who have loved it and told others about it. Every person who sends me a friend request, reads a blog post, follows my book reviews or clicks the link to become a fan seriously stuns me. You guys are awesome and I'm feeling very grateful.
I'm also feeling very Christmasy and in the spirit of giving, here is an excerpt from In the End. January 1st!!!
She’s dead. She’s rotted out. Her pale skin is turning gray before my eyes as it begins to hang from her bones loosely. Her lips fall useless around her yellowed teeth tinged with black around her sickly green gums. It’s her eyes that bother me most, though. Her once vibrant, warm eyes are Death staring me down. There’s a want there, a need to see me dead and destroyed beneath her gnarled fingertips. To see me just like her.
I want to give that to her. I want to die beside her, for her, by her hand. Whatever it will take to make her happy. To show her I love her. That I'm sorry. I want the wrong things and I know it but I still want them. The worst is, though, that I’m also still terrified of them. I’m as scared sitting here across from her in the nothingness of this dark room as I was in the dorms when it first began. When everyone was running and screaming and tearing each other apart with their teeth. I’m a coward. I let her die.
I should have died too.
I shouldn’t be alive.
Right now, I’m not so sure I am.
December 6, 2013
Because people yelled at me (a lot) - Backs Against the Wall Excerpt
The cliffhanger ending of Writing on the Wall was frustrating. You know it, I know it, Joss knows it. Honestly though, it was either I stop there or with the murder inside the Colony. Personally, I wanted to make sure she got the hell up out of there.
But I'm working on the second book and for those looking for a little resolution of our heroine's fight for survival, here's a sneak peek:
I am a Tinkerbell.
However, I’m definitely Tink when she’s trapped in the lamp gasping for her last breath, begging the world to believe and clap their friggin’ hands. In essence, I cannot fly. I know it the second my foot leaves the ledge. I feel it when I go airborne. I’ve done this sort of jump enough to know my limits, to know when I’ll get hurt and when I’ll be fine, and I absolutely know it now.
It’s too far.
I tuck and roll the best I can but gravity is unkind. I’ve gathered momentum, too much to be useful, just enough to be hurtful, and I tumble head over shoulders over side over elbows onto knees. I’m pretty sure I did a cartwheel back there somewhere, something I wish my mom could have seen. She spent hours with me in the backyard one sunny summer day trying to teach me how to do them. I always managed to land on my head. She eventually called it, telling me to give it a rest before I hurt something important. It’s advice I wish I’d remembered back up on that higher roof. Now as the skin of my face is left somewhere 10 feet back, my right cheek having taken a hell of a blow on the rough tar rooftop, I also remember something else important.
I never liked Tinkerbell. She was a jealous jerk who deserved what she got and worse.
Finally I tumble to a stop on my back, smacking my head hard against the ground until I see stars.
“Ow.” I mumble weakly.
I’m not sure what I’m complaining about. There’s too much pain to inventory all at once. I’ll have to take stock of my body one limb, muscle and burning abrasion at a time. This will take a while. But the good news is I have nothing but time. The zombies are still out there, very nearby I might add, and I have no clear idea of how I’m getting off this roof now that I worked so hard to get here. If I go inside this building, I’m going in blind and defenseless. I don’t know what the situation is in there, if there even is one. Way my luck is going, there is. No doubt about it.
I move my legs. First the right, then the left. No breaks, good news. There’s a pulled muscle or two down there but nothing I can’t handle. My arms are next. Right one, good. Left one—
“Holy Mary Mother of God Almighty.” I grind out through gritted teeth as I roll back and forth on the ground trying to escape the pain. “Oh yeah, that’s broken. Soooo broken.”
My language goes far downhill from there. Jack and Jill tumbling down and breaking every bone along the merry way kind of downhill. I take a few deep breaths, vowing to never move my left arm again, and I test out the rest of me. Neck is good. That’s a relief. Head is sore along with the face but I haven’t begun vomiting, no dizziness, no blurred vision. Odds are I took a hard hit but no concussion. Ignoring the left arm (something I dare you to do someday. Go ahead, break it and pretend it never happened. Can’t be done!) I’m alright. I’m mobile. I’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell of surviving this. But I know I can’t do it alone. Not with a broken arm and limited defenses.
I reach for my trowel, ready to take another shot at signaling for help despite my I am Wonder Woman and need no man moment back there. Independence is great but real strength is being able to ask for help when you need it. And man oh man, do I need it right now. I won’t sit around wishing and hoping someone will save me, but I do understand I have to keep trying to get help. I’m going to expose myself to the biggest, baddest gang out there if all goes according to this terrible, suicidal plan, so announcing myself to any other gang out there is really no big deal. Unless it’s the cannibals. Screw those guys. I’d rather be zombie dinner than end up on their plate. At least the zombies can’t feel feelings any more, making them sort of blameless. What’s the cannibal’s excuse? Crazy, that’s what.
Unfortunately, my trowel is no longer with me. I sit up, hugging my arm to my chest, and give out a groan but otherwise the pain is being handled internally. I broke it somewhere near the elbow because all I can feel is white hot pain in that area. I refuse to look at it though. I know I’ll see bone and I can’t handle that now. It’s too real. If I see how truly awful, crazy, jacked up bad it is, I’ll give up. I’ll imagine it hurts worse than it already does and I’ll assume I’m dead meat. I need denial to make it out of this alive.
I scan the rooftop for the trowel but it’s MIA.
“Perfect.”
Alright, no more calls for help. I wanted to do it alone and it looks like that’s what I’ll do. I stand up slowly letting my skin stretch in new ways that tells me where more cuts and scrapes are. To be clear, by ‘scrapes’ I mean road burn. I mean sections of skin lost to the rooftop like it was trying to make a Joss suit it could wear. My thin Colony clothes are ripped wide open in several places making them nearly useless. I’m shivering again, something that’s working wonders for my arm, so I get moving to warm up. Also to seek shelter. I don’t know that I’m going home, though.
The way I see it I have two options. I’m in no condition to see The Hive today, they prey upon weakness and in my current state I am all weak sauce, so I can go to Crenshaw to have him bandage me up or go to Ryan. That’s it with that second option. No real benefits, no promise of help or healing. Just Ryan. One choice is smart, one is emotional and I hate, loathe and despise emotional. But can you imagine which option I’m considering the hardest?
Add Backs Against the Wall to your To Read list! I'm hoping to have it out in February.
But I'm working on the second book and for those looking for a little resolution of our heroine's fight for survival, here's a sneak peek:
I am a Tinkerbell.
However, I’m definitely Tink when she’s trapped in the lamp gasping for her last breath, begging the world to believe and clap their friggin’ hands. In essence, I cannot fly. I know it the second my foot leaves the ledge. I feel it when I go airborne. I’ve done this sort of jump enough to know my limits, to know when I’ll get hurt and when I’ll be fine, and I absolutely know it now.
It’s too far.
I tuck and roll the best I can but gravity is unkind. I’ve gathered momentum, too much to be useful, just enough to be hurtful, and I tumble head over shoulders over side over elbows onto knees. I’m pretty sure I did a cartwheel back there somewhere, something I wish my mom could have seen. She spent hours with me in the backyard one sunny summer day trying to teach me how to do them. I always managed to land on my head. She eventually called it, telling me to give it a rest before I hurt something important. It’s advice I wish I’d remembered back up on that higher roof. Now as the skin of my face is left somewhere 10 feet back, my right cheek having taken a hell of a blow on the rough tar rooftop, I also remember something else important.
I never liked Tinkerbell. She was a jealous jerk who deserved what she got and worse.
Finally I tumble to a stop on my back, smacking my head hard against the ground until I see stars.
“Ow.” I mumble weakly.
I’m not sure what I’m complaining about. There’s too much pain to inventory all at once. I’ll have to take stock of my body one limb, muscle and burning abrasion at a time. This will take a while. But the good news is I have nothing but time. The zombies are still out there, very nearby I might add, and I have no clear idea of how I’m getting off this roof now that I worked so hard to get here. If I go inside this building, I’m going in blind and defenseless. I don’t know what the situation is in there, if there even is one. Way my luck is going, there is. No doubt about it.
I move my legs. First the right, then the left. No breaks, good news. There’s a pulled muscle or two down there but nothing I can’t handle. My arms are next. Right one, good. Left one—
“Holy Mary Mother of God Almighty.” I grind out through gritted teeth as I roll back and forth on the ground trying to escape the pain. “Oh yeah, that’s broken. Soooo broken.”
My language goes far downhill from there. Jack and Jill tumbling down and breaking every bone along the merry way kind of downhill. I take a few deep breaths, vowing to never move my left arm again, and I test out the rest of me. Neck is good. That’s a relief. Head is sore along with the face but I haven’t begun vomiting, no dizziness, no blurred vision. Odds are I took a hard hit but no concussion. Ignoring the left arm (something I dare you to do someday. Go ahead, break it and pretend it never happened. Can’t be done!) I’m alright. I’m mobile. I’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell of surviving this. But I know I can’t do it alone. Not with a broken arm and limited defenses.
I reach for my trowel, ready to take another shot at signaling for help despite my I am Wonder Woman and need no man moment back there. Independence is great but real strength is being able to ask for help when you need it. And man oh man, do I need it right now. I won’t sit around wishing and hoping someone will save me, but I do understand I have to keep trying to get help. I’m going to expose myself to the biggest, baddest gang out there if all goes according to this terrible, suicidal plan, so announcing myself to any other gang out there is really no big deal. Unless it’s the cannibals. Screw those guys. I’d rather be zombie dinner than end up on their plate. At least the zombies can’t feel feelings any more, making them sort of blameless. What’s the cannibal’s excuse? Crazy, that’s what.
Unfortunately, my trowel is no longer with me. I sit up, hugging my arm to my chest, and give out a groan but otherwise the pain is being handled internally. I broke it somewhere near the elbow because all I can feel is white hot pain in that area. I refuse to look at it though. I know I’ll see bone and I can’t handle that now. It’s too real. If I see how truly awful, crazy, jacked up bad it is, I’ll give up. I’ll imagine it hurts worse than it already does and I’ll assume I’m dead meat. I need denial to make it out of this alive.
I scan the rooftop for the trowel but it’s MIA.
“Perfect.”
Alright, no more calls for help. I wanted to do it alone and it looks like that’s what I’ll do. I stand up slowly letting my skin stretch in new ways that tells me where more cuts and scrapes are. To be clear, by ‘scrapes’ I mean road burn. I mean sections of skin lost to the rooftop like it was trying to make a Joss suit it could wear. My thin Colony clothes are ripped wide open in several places making them nearly useless. I’m shivering again, something that’s working wonders for my arm, so I get moving to warm up. Also to seek shelter. I don’t know that I’m going home, though.
The way I see it I have two options. I’m in no condition to see The Hive today, they prey upon weakness and in my current state I am all weak sauce, so I can go to Crenshaw to have him bandage me up or go to Ryan. That’s it with that second option. No real benefits, no promise of help or healing. Just Ryan. One choice is smart, one is emotional and I hate, loathe and despise emotional. But can you imagine which option I’m considering the hardest?
Add Backs Against the Wall to your To Read list! I'm hoping to have it out in February.
November 27, 2013
In The End Excerpt - Thanksgiving Nookie Edition!
Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I'm working hard on In the End to get it ready for release in January. It's been awhile so I decided to share a little Thanksgiving referencing excerpt from the story. It's about as racy and naughty as my stories get (meaning not really at all!) but I think we can all agree that Jordan and Alissa deserve a little... recreation, we'll say :)
So here it is, I hope you enjoy it and the holiday!
“Jordan.”
“Jesus!” I whisper-shout. I know it’s Ali, I recognize her voice, but hearing anybody speak in the dark when you’re supposed to be alone, especially when you’re on zombie watch, will get anyone’s heart right up into their throat.
“Sorry.” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Then what would you do if you meant to scare me? Roll up dressed as a clown?”
“You’re scared of clowns?”
She comes to sit beside me, her side pressed against mine.
“I’m a rational human being. Yes, I’m scared of clowns.” I glance over my shoulder. “Among other things.”
“Other people you mean?”
“How do you know I’m not talking about zombies?”
“Because I know.” she says confidently. “I know you’re looking out for someone with a heartbeat right now.”
“Yeah,” I grumble, looking at her pointedly. “A heartbeat and a hair-trigger shotgun.”
“I’m surprised you know what a hair-trigger is.”
I frown at her, mildly offended. “Why?”
She shrugs. “You don’t hunt, you don’t like using guns.”
“I’m still a guy, Ali. I watch a lot of movies. I play a lot of video games.”
“I’m not saying that being scared of guns and clowns makes you any less of a man.”
I raise my eyebrows at her. “It’s beginning to sound like that’s exactly what you’re saying.”
She grins slyly as she turns toward me. I can feel her breasts press against my arm through both of our coats. I’m like the Princess and the Pea; I’m infinitely aware of them through countless barriers. I could feel them as I lay up here on the roof of the RV when she was inside, taunting me and denying me sleep. She brings her face in close, resting her chin on my shoulder.
“You could prove me wrong.” Her breath hits the skin on my neck hot and wet. Suddenly I’m aware of more than just her breasts.
I take a deep, steadying breath. This is hard (pun intended and earned). I’ve been on the road with her for so long now and she’s so damn beautiful it’s ridiculous. Every time she laughs I want her and every time she touches me I have to think about baseball and killing kittens to slow myself down. I’ve had a hard on for her since the day we woke up together in the boathouse and she was tangled around me like a stripper on a pole. I’m not even mad at myself for wanting her this way. I’d be mad at myself if I didn’t. And she’s made it obvious she wants me too, but really, who has the time? Between her dad and the dead, we don’t have a prayer.
“You’re being mean.” I grumble, my voice low and tortured.
“How am I being mean?”
Her hand slides up the sleeve of my jacket, across my chest to the collar of my fleece. Slowly she begins to unzip it.
“We can’t.” I remind her, making no move to stop her.
“Can’t what?” she asks innocently.
My jacket is open. Her hand slips inside the material and across my stomach. I clench it instinctively as though afraid she’ll tickle me. Instead, she begins to tug it up, bunching it in her hand until my stomach is exposed to the cold night air.
“Ali.” I groan.
“What, Jordan?” she whispers.
“Your dad.” I remind her, reaching for her hand to stop her.
I turn to face her, trying to look stern, trying to end this thing before it starts, goes till it hurts and then ends before it’s awesome. I’ve ridden the Blue Ball express before. I have no desire to ride it again.
“My dad,” she says shaking off my hand and turning to face me. She’s straddling my lap before I can even blink. “Is sound asleep.”
“But for how long?”
“With how much I gave him, a long time.”
“Gave him of what? Did you drug him?” I ask, shocked.
She shrugs. “A little. About one Thanksgiving Dinner’s worth.”
“What? How is that a measurement?”
“I gave him Tryptophan. It’s the stuff in turkeys that makes you sleepy on Thanksgiving.”
“I can’t believe you drugged him.” I mutter, then eye her hard. “Don’t ever drug me.”
She laughs but nods in agreement. “Don’t get in the way of what I want and I won’t.”
“And what is it you want?”
Her hair falls around her face as she leans toward me but I can still see her smile. Her eyes.
“I want you.” she whispers against my mouth. She presses a light kiss to my lips.
“You have me.” I whisper back, taking another kiss from her.
“Do I?”
Everything in me freezes. My muscles, my blood, my skin, my smile. It’s all stuck, immobile. Even my brain. Hell, especially my brain. The question grinds me to a halt and backs me against a wall. I’m about to push her away, to put the brakes on all of this because I can’t answer and I won’t lie to her. But then she’s shaking her head at me.
“Times up.” she says huskily and I worry my non-answer was answer enough.
She shocks the shit out of me when instead of getting off me she reaches for the hem of her shirt and pulls it up over her head. Suddenly I’m face to face with her bra and breasts and I wouldn’t be able to tell you what my name is let alone where this thing between us is going. And the good news is, she doesn’t ask me to.
“You’re going to get cold.” I say to her breasts.
She chuckles and leans into me, pressing her body hard against mine. “You’ll take care of me.”
I wrap my arms around her tightly. “I will. I always will. You’re sure we have time?”
“If previous Thanksgivings are any indication, we have until Snoopy shows up in the parade.”
“Your units of measurement, while festive, mean nothing to me. How long is that?”
“It’s plenty, Jordan. I promise you. It’s more likely we’ll be caught by zombies than by my dad right now.”
“It’s messed up that that’s comforting.”
That’s all she lets me say. After that she devours me, her mouth hungry on mine. There’s an abandon to this that we’ve never had before. A luxury we’ve never been awarded. It’s time. For once, we have time. And yeah, there are still zombies out there. And yeah, her dad is sleeping soundly in the RV beneath us. But here on the roof in the air under the sky it’s just us and the long stretch of night spanning out around us.
It’s stupid. Reckless. Careless. It’s terrifying on so many levels.
It’s also the best sex of my life.
So here it is, I hope you enjoy it and the holiday!
“Jordan.”
“Jesus!” I whisper-shout. I know it’s Ali, I recognize her voice, but hearing anybody speak in the dark when you’re supposed to be alone, especially when you’re on zombie watch, will get anyone’s heart right up into their throat.
“Sorry.” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Then what would you do if you meant to scare me? Roll up dressed as a clown?”
“You’re scared of clowns?”
She comes to sit beside me, her side pressed against mine.
“I’m a rational human being. Yes, I’m scared of clowns.” I glance over my shoulder. “Among other things.”
“Other people you mean?”
“How do you know I’m not talking about zombies?”
“Because I know.” she says confidently. “I know you’re looking out for someone with a heartbeat right now.”
“Yeah,” I grumble, looking at her pointedly. “A heartbeat and a hair-trigger shotgun.”
“I’m surprised you know what a hair-trigger is.”
I frown at her, mildly offended. “Why?”
She shrugs. “You don’t hunt, you don’t like using guns.”
“I’m still a guy, Ali. I watch a lot of movies. I play a lot of video games.”
“I’m not saying that being scared of guns and clowns makes you any less of a man.”
I raise my eyebrows at her. “It’s beginning to sound like that’s exactly what you’re saying.”
She grins slyly as she turns toward me. I can feel her breasts press against my arm through both of our coats. I’m like the Princess and the Pea; I’m infinitely aware of them through countless barriers. I could feel them as I lay up here on the roof of the RV when she was inside, taunting me and denying me sleep. She brings her face in close, resting her chin on my shoulder.
“You could prove me wrong.” Her breath hits the skin on my neck hot and wet. Suddenly I’m aware of more than just her breasts.
I take a deep, steadying breath. This is hard (pun intended and earned). I’ve been on the road with her for so long now and she’s so damn beautiful it’s ridiculous. Every time she laughs I want her and every time she touches me I have to think about baseball and killing kittens to slow myself down. I’ve had a hard on for her since the day we woke up together in the boathouse and she was tangled around me like a stripper on a pole. I’m not even mad at myself for wanting her this way. I’d be mad at myself if I didn’t. And she’s made it obvious she wants me too, but really, who has the time? Between her dad and the dead, we don’t have a prayer.
“You’re being mean.” I grumble, my voice low and tortured.
“How am I being mean?”
Her hand slides up the sleeve of my jacket, across my chest to the collar of my fleece. Slowly she begins to unzip it.
“We can’t.” I remind her, making no move to stop her.
“Can’t what?” she asks innocently.
My jacket is open. Her hand slips inside the material and across my stomach. I clench it instinctively as though afraid she’ll tickle me. Instead, she begins to tug it up, bunching it in her hand until my stomach is exposed to the cold night air.
“Ali.” I groan.
“What, Jordan?” she whispers.
“Your dad.” I remind her, reaching for her hand to stop her.
I turn to face her, trying to look stern, trying to end this thing before it starts, goes till it hurts and then ends before it’s awesome. I’ve ridden the Blue Ball express before. I have no desire to ride it again.
“My dad,” she says shaking off my hand and turning to face me. She’s straddling my lap before I can even blink. “Is sound asleep.”
“But for how long?”
“With how much I gave him, a long time.”
“Gave him of what? Did you drug him?” I ask, shocked.
She shrugs. “A little. About one Thanksgiving Dinner’s worth.”
“What? How is that a measurement?”
“I gave him Tryptophan. It’s the stuff in turkeys that makes you sleepy on Thanksgiving.”
“I can’t believe you drugged him.” I mutter, then eye her hard. “Don’t ever drug me.”
She laughs but nods in agreement. “Don’t get in the way of what I want and I won’t.”
“And what is it you want?”
Her hair falls around her face as she leans toward me but I can still see her smile. Her eyes.
“I want you.” she whispers against my mouth. She presses a light kiss to my lips.
“You have me.” I whisper back, taking another kiss from her.
“Do I?”
Everything in me freezes. My muscles, my blood, my skin, my smile. It’s all stuck, immobile. Even my brain. Hell, especially my brain. The question grinds me to a halt and backs me against a wall. I’m about to push her away, to put the brakes on all of this because I can’t answer and I won’t lie to her. But then she’s shaking her head at me.
“Times up.” she says huskily and I worry my non-answer was answer enough.
She shocks the shit out of me when instead of getting off me she reaches for the hem of her shirt and pulls it up over her head. Suddenly I’m face to face with her bra and breasts and I wouldn’t be able to tell you what my name is let alone where this thing between us is going. And the good news is, she doesn’t ask me to.
“You’re going to get cold.” I say to her breasts.
She chuckles and leans into me, pressing her body hard against mine. “You’ll take care of me.”
I wrap my arms around her tightly. “I will. I always will. You’re sure we have time?”
“If previous Thanksgivings are any indication, we have until Snoopy shows up in the parade.”
“Your units of measurement, while festive, mean nothing to me. How long is that?”
“It’s plenty, Jordan. I promise you. It’s more likely we’ll be caught by zombies than by my dad right now.”
“It’s messed up that that’s comforting.”
That’s all she lets me say. After that she devours me, her mouth hungry on mine. There’s an abandon to this that we’ve never had before. A luxury we’ve never been awarded. It’s time. For once, we have time. And yeah, there are still zombies out there. And yeah, her dad is sleeping soundly in the RV beneath us. But here on the roof in the air under the sky it’s just us and the long stretch of night spanning out around us.
It’s stupid. Reckless. Careless. It’s terrifying on so many levels.
It’s also the best sex of my life.
November 5, 2013
Writing on the Wall - Publishing Tomorrow!
Hey everybody!
I am finished with Writing on the Wall, the story of a girl living alone in the apocalypse dodging zombies, crazed Colonists, gang members and a boy who could change everything - if she'd let him.
While it has some romance to it (I don't seem to want to write anything without a little love) it is predominantly a survival tale and a coming of age story. With zombies. Zombies are kind of like bacon - they make everything better.
I'm going to be signing it up for some Read for Reviews but I also wanted to put it out there to anyone who reads my blog that I'm giving away free digital copies of the book to anyone willing to write an honest review for it.
So if you like zombies, you like love and you like girls kicking some serious ass, you should check it out on Amazon or PM me for a copy to review.
Happy reading, everyone!
I am finished with Writing on the Wall, the story of a girl living alone in the apocalypse dodging zombies, crazed Colonists, gang members and a boy who could change everything - if she'd let him.
While it has some romance to it (I don't seem to want to write anything without a little love) it is predominantly a survival tale and a coming of age story. With zombies. Zombies are kind of like bacon - they make everything better.
I'm going to be signing it up for some Read for Reviews but I also wanted to put it out there to anyone who reads my blog that I'm giving away free digital copies of the book to anyone willing to write an honest review for it.
So if you like zombies, you like love and you like girls kicking some serious ass, you should check it out on Amazon or PM me for a copy to review.
Happy reading, everyone!
October 8, 2013
Sneak Peek - Writing on the Wall
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You have no idea what you’re doing.” I whisper viciously. “You’re going to get us both killed because you’re an emotional idiot.”
“I didn’t ask you to help me. You didn’t have to be part of this.”
“No, but you needed help. And you made me part of this when you staged your Shakespearean drama at my front door.”
He glances at the building behind us again, frowning. “This is where you—“
“Run!”
I shove him in the shoulder and launch us both in the direction of the door. When we take off running, the wolves fall in step behind us and they are fast. I’m not even sure we’ll make it to the door before at least one gets ahold of us so I quickly dart in front of the guy, making sure if they get ahold of anything it’s his dumb ass.
We clear the entrance and are sprinting over the cracked marble floors, the skitter of claws following close behind, when I grab onto the door and begin to swing it closed behind me. And, no, I don’t check to make sure he’s going to make it. That’s his issue, not mine. He does though, he makes it. In fact, he jumps to the side just as a wolf is lunging to take a bite out of his back and leaves me wide open. Luckily I’m already shoving the door closed on the animals face and he rams into it, bouncing off harmlessly. But the door isn’t so much a door as it is a gate and he lunges again, getting ahold of my coat and wrenching me against the steel.
I cry out in surprise and pain as my arm is twisted and pinned at a strange angle. The guy reaches through the bars and actually punches the wolf in the face to get him to release me. When he does, I stumble back against the wall as the guy latches the door, barely snatching his fingers clear before they’re bitten off.
“That was close.” he says, breathing heavily.
I punch him in the face. I'm inspired by the way he just punched the wolf and the effect is gratifying. He falls back a step and rubs at his jaw.
“What the—what is your problem?!” he cries.
“With you? I don’t know where to begin. I’ve known you five minutes and you’ve almost gotten me killed twice!”
“How was this part my fault?” he demands, gesturing to the snarling wolves and metal. “You said there was a door! This is not a door.”
“It’s not solid, but it’s still a door. It’s keeping them out, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know, is it? Let’s ask your coat.”
He points to my sleeve and I look down to find the fleece ripped wide open.
“No, that’s okay.” I say sarcastically, glaring at him. “I have tons of clothes. I can afford to be missing a coat in the dead of winter.”
“Sorry, princess, didn’t mean to destroy your wardrobe.” he mutters, glancing around.
“You have no idea what you’re doing.” I whisper viciously. “You’re going to get us both killed because you’re an emotional idiot.”
“I didn’t ask you to help me. You didn’t have to be part of this.”
“No, but you needed help. And you made me part of this when you staged your Shakespearean drama at my front door.”
He glances at the building behind us again, frowning. “This is where you—“
“Run!”
I shove him in the shoulder and launch us both in the direction of the door. When we take off running, the wolves fall in step behind us and they are fast. I’m not even sure we’ll make it to the door before at least one gets ahold of us so I quickly dart in front of the guy, making sure if they get ahold of anything it’s his dumb ass.
We clear the entrance and are sprinting over the cracked marble floors, the skitter of claws following close behind, when I grab onto the door and begin to swing it closed behind me. And, no, I don’t check to make sure he’s going to make it. That’s his issue, not mine. He does though, he makes it. In fact, he jumps to the side just as a wolf is lunging to take a bite out of his back and leaves me wide open. Luckily I’m already shoving the door closed on the animals face and he rams into it, bouncing off harmlessly. But the door isn’t so much a door as it is a gate and he lunges again, getting ahold of my coat and wrenching me against the steel.
I cry out in surprise and pain as my arm is twisted and pinned at a strange angle. The guy reaches through the bars and actually punches the wolf in the face to get him to release me. When he does, I stumble back against the wall as the guy latches the door, barely snatching his fingers clear before they’re bitten off.
“That was close.” he says, breathing heavily.
I punch him in the face. I'm inspired by the way he just punched the wolf and the effect is gratifying. He falls back a step and rubs at his jaw.
“What the—what is your problem?!” he cries.
“With you? I don’t know where to begin. I’ve known you five minutes and you’ve almost gotten me killed twice!”
“How was this part my fault?” he demands, gesturing to the snarling wolves and metal. “You said there was a door! This is not a door.”
“It’s not solid, but it’s still a door. It’s keeping them out, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know, is it? Let’s ask your coat.”
He points to my sleeve and I look down to find the fleece ripped wide open.
“No, that’s okay.” I say sarcastically, glaring at him. “I have tons of clothes. I can afford to be missing a coat in the dead of winter.”
“Sorry, princess, didn’t mean to destroy your wardrobe.” he mutters, glancing around.
October 6, 2013
Zombie Kill Contest!
I'm working on a new zombie novel, Writing on the Wall.
It's about a teenage girl surviving the post-apocalyptic world in Seattle, WA. She might meet a guy. There might be a connection shared between them. Okay, there absolutely is, but there's also a lot of zombies, a lot of people posing threats to her survival and a little self-discovery.
But back to the zombies. I thought it would be fun to do a contest asking people for their favorite or ideal zombie kills. Send me a message with your pick and I will chose a winner by the end of October.
The winning kill will be used in Writing on the Wall and, if you want, I'll use your name as a side character in the story. Be prepared to have your character die, though. Possibly horribly. Or probably, probably horribly. You'll also win a free digital copy (EPUB, MOBI, or PDF) of In the End, the upcoming sequel and finale of The Quarantined series.
It's about a teenage girl surviving the post-apocalyptic world in Seattle, WA. She might meet a guy. There might be a connection shared between them. Okay, there absolutely is, but there's also a lot of zombies, a lot of people posing threats to her survival and a little self-discovery.
But back to the zombies. I thought it would be fun to do a contest asking people for their favorite or ideal zombie kills. Send me a message with your pick and I will chose a winner by the end of October.
The winning kill will be used in Writing on the Wall and, if you want, I'll use your name as a side character in the story. Be prepared to have your character die, though. Possibly horribly. Or probably, probably horribly. You'll also win a free digital copy (EPUB, MOBI, or PDF) of In the End, the upcoming sequel and finale of The Quarantined series.
