S. J. Henderson Books
Follow S. J.!
  • Home
  • About
  • Blog
  • Formatting
  • Books
    • Young Adult >
      • Hope Creek Series >
        • Single >
          • HC: Single Playlist
        • Double
        • Triple >
          • HC: Triple Playlist
      • In the Middle
    • Middle Grade
    • Children's Books
    • Anthologies
  • Kid Authors
  • Contact
  • Appearances
  • Press
  • Store

First Glimpse of Frozen Hearts

9/25/2014

2 Comments

 
I'm super-excited to share with you today!  I've invited one of my buddies, Topaz, from my Sky Writers critique group, to reveal the cover of her upcoming Young Adult novel.  It's called FROZEN HEARTS, and it's going to be an ahhhh-mazing must-read.  


For the record, I think Topaz is one of the most talented writers (and all-around person) I know. And--get this!--she's a teenager. I'm pretty sure she's tired of people pointing that out, but it gives me hope for when my teenager puts off his homework in favor of everything else under the sun. Some kids write and have goals. It could happen to him, too.  Heehee.


Okay, on to FROZEN HEARTS. Feast on its loveliness, won't you?

Frozen Hearts

Picture
Do you want to build a snowman?
“Rose, don’t try to tell me what’s real or not real. I live and breathe impossibilities.”

Rosalyn Lawrence is not the type of girl who strays from the norm. She’s not the type of girl who goes on whirlwind adventures or travels across the world and beyond or fights fire-breathing dragons to the death. After all, fairytales exist only in books, and Rosalyn is happy to keep it that way.

But when her beloved little brother Benjamin disappears, Rosalyn’s entire world comes crashing down. Then a boy with a wand climbs through her window and she learns that the grieving queen of a shockingly desolate enchanted land has abducted Benjamin. If she chooses to be sucked into the magic of this land, its power – and the power of an enemy she isn’t quite sure even exists – could destroy her.

 A world of frozen fantasy is waiting for Rosalyn – and if she will succeed in bringing Benjamin home, she must learn how to trust herself, use her wits, and perhaps discover an inner magic she never knew she had.

Excerpt

Rosalyn woke in the middle of the night.

Her head was clouded, cobwebs of sleep still lingering, a fog drifting over her senses. The surface she was lying on was soft. As she sat up she saw a figure, not quite near enough to touch, motionless on the floor. She couldn’t seem to recall his name.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she realised that his shirt was off and his back was to her, bare in the soft moonlight. She looked out the window. The stars seemed to glisten, impossibly dense confetti scattered over the blanket of night. The moon hung suspended as if from a child’s mobile.

She stood, moving closer to the figure on the floor. The rise and fall of his chest was almost imperceptible. His face was still just out of her line of sight, his name still just out of the grasp of her slumber-clouded memory.

In the moonlight she caught a glimpse of something on his back. Her fingers glided down to it and she traced it, feather light, afraid for reasons she could not fathom of waking him. The scar joined another and another, until all at once she realised that she was connecting a veritable constellation of pain across the canvas of his back.

She gazed down at them. They were old, she could tell, but they still looked painful. The skin was gnarled, as if some heavenly hand had reached down, ripped it off of his back, and then bunched it up and pasted it haphazardly back on – and she knew she should be horrified at the sight, knew she should be pitying him or turning away in revulsion, yet she could not bring herself to. All she felt was the inherent need to know: how had he gotten them? Did they still hurt?

Was Chase all right?

And there was his name, pulled from the graveyard of her memory: Chase. A boy with a crooked smile and a secret she’d never been meant to discover.

Somewhere in the back of her mind a deep voice with a cold accent surfaced, murmuring something about his father. What had he told her? She struggled to remember, and finally it hit her. “Let’s just say he wasn’t the best role model,” the voice had said.

The gashes were long healed, yet so deep, so thick and ragged that she almost didn’t want to think about who might have put them there – his father? she wondered, and then wished the thought had never crossed her mind.

She couldn’t bear to look at them for a moment longer. Turning away from his pockmarked body, she glanced up at the stars once more before climbing back into the small cot and letting sleep overtake her – an uneasy sleep, riddled with nightmares of long, thin sticks of ice, dark men and evil laughter, unbearable pain lacing through her back. This time the stars did not look like confetti, but teardrops.

In the morning, she would have no memory of her nighttime awakening.

And the boy lying across from her would never tell her that his eyes had been open the whole time. 

About Topaz Winters

Picture
Topaz Winters is a songbird, word hoarder, and cheesecake connoisseur. Sometimes she composes music. Other times she writes books. If she knows you, she’s probably written about you. Topaz’s debut novel, Frozen Hearts, drops this year, and her first album in 2015. She enjoys strong coffee, ugly cats, and the taste of words. 

Topaz rambles about writing, music, and the meaning of life over at her website.
2 Comments

It's Not World Peace, But...

7/8/2014

0 Comments

 
Being an author is hard.  Whether you're going it alone as an indie author, or you've snagged an agent and a publishing house, it doesn't matter.  It's hard.


I'll stop you before you accuse me of whining.  I'm not.  For me (and many of my wordgeek friends), writing stories is probably the single-most-amazing thing one can do with a keyboard.  Unless you're one of those people who knows how to recreate the Mona Lisa using only binary code or something.  Then, yeah, you win.  


Anyhow, I love writing.  I love thinking of crazy stuff and actually putting it into words, sharing it, then having someone tell me that my words made them laugh.  Or that they listened to their children giggling together while reading one of my stories.  Writing isn't world peace, and it sure isn't the answer to world hunger, but all of that has to start somewhere.  A smile.  A laugh.  Sharing.  


Sharing.


As a writer, there are a few different ways to share.  This book publishing thing is new to me, so I'm experimenting with ALLLLLLLLL of the ways there are to share, just to see what happens while I'm sharing and afterwards.    


A couple of weeks ago, I ran a free promotion on Amazon for my Children's/Middle Grade book, Daniel the Draw-er.  Earlier in the month, I also offered "Daniel" for free.  Over the span of the month of June, 1,000 people downloaded my book.  For free.


To the average person, this doesn't make much business sense.  I gave away 1,000 copies of a book, or x amount of royalties from actual purchases.  The money I didn't earn in those "lost" royalties could have paid my house payment or a car note, or, heck, bought me a new pony if I so desired (I don't.  I know, I don't believe it, either).  But, between you and me, those 1,000 people aren't buying my book.  Those 1,000 people don't know who I am from the other millions of authors currently published on Amazon.  I don't have a PR firm paving the way for my success.  The only way those people will hear of me is from me.  And you, oh fantastical reader.  Did I lose sales from someone who likely would have eventually bought my book?  Absolutely.  It's okay, though.  Because something important happened.  A small percentage of those 1,000 people who actually opened my eBook and read my words now know that I mean business.  They might have smiled and laughed with their kids at bedtime, or from a hospital bed, or on that long plane flight or car trip.  They might even look for my name next time they go to buy another book.  And maybe, just maybe, they might even trust me.  


Authors share with other authors, too.  


I'm not known for my speedy reading unless it's one of those rare un-put-downable books.  Most of my friends on GoodReads know that I've been trying to read "The Book Thief" for over seven months, and that I keep starting and putting aside Lauren Oliver's Delerium.  Committing to read a book is a really big thing for me, but the writing world is a community, just like any other.  Authors, especially indie authors, rely on networking with other writers.  If we don't support each other, few will.  There is absolutely zero benefit in holing yourself up in your house with only a cellar full of booze to keep you company (although, admit it, we've all dreamed about that at least once).  Cutting down another writer, even someone you see as your competition, does NOTHING.  It just makes you look like a big, prententious jerkface.  A jerkface in a bathrobe with lotsa liquor, but a jerkface, nonetheless.

So, guess what?  In order to make my community of writers successful, I'm on a mission to not be a gigantic jerkface.  My game plan: 

  • I'm reading (True Colors by Krysten Lindsay Hager; Worth the Effort by Kai Strand; Turning Home by Stephanie Nelson; Madness Behind the Throne, by J. R. Simmons; currently I'm working on Into the Realm:  The Chronicles of Carter Blake, Book I by R. W. Foster).  I've downloaded a few more to work on soon (Past the Fields, Where All Is Golden by Ann T. Bugg; Curdled Dream by Rasheed Rambler).
  • I'm writing reviews.  They're short reviews, but if I've learned anything during my short publishing/marketing stint, it's that reviews are gold.  They can make or break a book, a reputation, a day.  Friends, if you never remember another thing I say, remember this:  Take five seconds to write a review for a book you enjoy, especially for writers who don't have the good fortune of calling themselves J. K. Rowling, Stephen King, or James Patterson.  Love it?  Review it. Pleaseandthankyou.
  • I've written a book blurb (recommendation which will be featured on its cover) for a book I've read, which will be featured on their book covers (Madness Behind the Throne, Book Five of the Gates of Atlantis series.  Each book features a different author--this one was written by J. R. Simmons). That's kind of cool because my name will be on J. R. Simmons' book, so without even trying, J. R. will be helping me out, too.  That's the funny and beautiful thing about helping each other.  When you do, you usually find yourself on the receiving end of some kind of blessing, too.  



If people, not just those of us in the writing and publishing world, would take the time to ask how we can help instead of focusing on "Me! Me! Me!", things could be better.  Still not world peace, but, gosh, wouldn't it be a great first step?


What about you?  Is there a need you have that someone in this community can help you with? 
Picture
This made me smile.
0 Comments

The Court

4/22/2014

0 Comments

 
This was the other half of the writing challenge for my group.  I'm not on this team, but I decided to give it a half-hearted shot.  For this prompt, we were to write describing setting only.

Picture
Photo credit to whoever took this picture. You know who you are.
The voice of the breeze carries above all others, hushing the chatter of birds and humming of the insects.  They rush among the crowd and tap each one on the shoulder announcing the presence of the king. Throngs of green bow in reverence to the victorious fingers of the mountains.  The rocks thrust themselves into the blue sky, challenging the threatening clouds.  

The only ones brave enough to stand against the hills are the Juniper trees.  Few they be, they stand straight as warriors.  Wielding their prickles and thorns in gnarled fists, their scarred bodies defy the wind.  They grit their teeth and squint against the rain.  

***

How would you describe this picture?
0 Comments

Lines

4/21/2014

0 Comments

 
In one of my writing groups, we were given a few pictures to choose from and the task to write a story either based on the character or setting to see which stories were more appealing to the readers.  We were asked to keep the story under 1000 words, and told that it didn't need to be a complete story, a scene was okay.
With that being said, here's the picture I selected followed by my vision of this man.
Picture
Photo credits to whoever took this picture. You know who you are.
Lines – Character/Plot
S.J. Henderson

Lines. Ain’t that the story of my life? Always been standing in one line or the other, my whole blasted life.

Today I’m stuck in the soup line behind the old lady with rollers sticking out of her hair like pussywillows and tufts of cat hair clinging to her pink housecoat. Always bumped into by the guy waving his hands like he’s conducting at Carnegie Hall while talking three octaves too loudly about politician so-and-so to his buddy. Who cares about the crooks in office? I sure don’t. All those suits ever done is send innocent people to their death while they’re busy signing ridiculous bills and screwing some floozy on the side.

It was a handful of them crooks who gave me the lines above my right eye--my sightin’ eye. The one that saw every last second. I’d poke the cursed thing out if I thought I had the balls to do it. But I lost those as soon as I let that kid die.

He couldn’t have been more than 11 or 12, the age of my little cousin, Ben. They’d sent a kid into the stinking paddy with a rifle bigger than he was. And now the kid was a murderer. His big black eyes grew wide as he watched my buddy crumple, dead before he even hit the mud. Ray--that was my buddy’s name. Had a girl he planned to marry if we ever made it back home, and four younger brothers and sisters to help care for after his Dad passed.

The Vietnamese boy, the enemy, turned his rifle from Ray to me. The spot where my heart should have been. Truth be told, my heart stopped beating a long time ago, when I took my first step on this blood-soaked ground.

“Do it,” I said, opening my arms to expose my chest. “I don’t want to live another day in this hellhole.”

The boy blinked. His finger shook on the trigger. I may as well have been recitin’ the ever-loving Constitution, for all the English he knew.

I pointed at my heart, my fingers in an L-shape. A gun. “Bang!”

The tiniest bump at his throat bobbed as he gulped. He doesn’t want to kill me or he’d have done it already. I wish he’d make up his mind already, or at least run off before something worse happened. But he didn’t.

Another soldier, a guy named Lou, came around the corner and his boots slide in the muck. When he spied poor Ray on the ground, and me and the boy in our stand-off, his rifle locked on the boy with a click.

“Wait!” I don’t know who I was talking to, the kid or Lou. All I know was that I didn’t want to see another river of blood or another broken body.

Lou grunted then fired a round. The boy was too slow. His round eyes focused on mine as he fell to his knees, and then facedown into the muck. I didn’t cry for him, or for dead Ray who wouldn’t get to marry his sweetheart or provide for his family.


Instead, I stand in lines. Lines for food. Lines for shelter. Lines for everything because I’m not free to be me.
Well-dressed women with their manicured nails and little yappy dogs shrink to the other side of sidewalk when I scuffle by. Men in business suits with cell phones attached to their ears tell me to get a job as they plink pennies at my feet. Problem is, no one wants to hire a ghost of a man who jumps every time a hammer strikes a nail or hits the dirt when someone drops a load of wood.
The lines will take me, though. I blend in here among the outcasts, the forgotten, the spooks.
0 Comments

    S. J.

    The random things that cross my mind go here...

    Enter your email address to receive notification when new blogs are posted:

    Delivered by FeedBurner

    Archives

    November 2019
    December 2018
    July 2017
    March 2017
    January 2017
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    March 2016
    January 2016
    September 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015
    June 2015
    May 2015
    April 2015
    March 2015
    February 2015
    January 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014
    July 2014
    June 2014
    May 2014
    April 2014
    March 2014
    December 2013
    November 2013
    October 2013
    August 2013
    July 2013
    June 2013
    May 2013
    April 2013
    March 2013
    February 2013
    January 2013
    December 2012
    November 2012
    October 2012
    September 2012
    July 2012
    June 2012
    May 2012

    Categories

    All
    10 Questions
    A Dance
    Adventure Quest Books
    Agents
    & A Little White Dress
    Alora: The Portal
    Amazon
    Anaiah Press
    Anthology
    Audiobook
    Audrey Kane
    Babies
    Being West Is Best
    Beta Readers
    Birth
    B L Hoffman
    Blog
    Blog Hop
    Blog Tour
    Book Blast
    Camp NaNoWriMo
    Censorship
    Characters
    Cheryl Carpinello
    Chick Lit
    Children's Book
    Childrens Book Week
    Chris Baty
    Christian
    Collected Works
    Community
    Contests
    Countdown Deal
    Cover Reveal
    Critics
    Cynthia Port
    Damnation
    Daniel 2
    Daniel The Camp Er
    Daniel The Camp-er
    Daniel The Draw Er
    Daniel The Draw-er
    Deborah McClatchey
    Dedication
    Editing
    Facebook
    Fan Art
    Fansi
    Fantasy
    Feedback
    Field Trip
    Fiona Ingram
    Free
    Free Speech
    Frozen Hearts
    GEORGE KNOWS
    Ginnie West
    Giveaway
    Goals
    Goodbye Tchaikovsky
    Goodreads
    Hearing Loss
    Holiday Adventure Book Blast
    Hope Creek
    Hope Creek Double
    Hope Creek Single
    Hope Creek Triple
    Horror
    Horses
    How To
    Inspiration
    Interview
    In The Middle
    In The Rearview
    Introduction
    Jeff Goins
    Jo Noelle
    Karma
    Kasian Publishing
    Kathleen S. Allen
    Kathryn Trattner
    Kibble Talk
    Kid Authors Project
    Kidlit
    Kids
    Kindle
    Kristin D. Van Risseghem
    Krysten Hager
    Landry In Like
    Laura Brown
    Legends Of The Timekeepers
    Library
    Liebster Award
    Lila's Choice
    Limitless Publishing
    Love
    Lucy
    Macaroni
    Maria Ann Green
    Mary DeWeber
    Max's Arabian Adventure
    Memes
    Memories
    MG
    Mglit
    Michael Thal
    Middle Grade
    Mindy Mymudes
    Mitte
    Moe
    Monique Bucheger
    Mosaic
    Mourning
    Music
    Mystery
    NA
    Names Changed To Protect The Innocent
    NaNoWriMo
    New Adult
    Newbie
    New Release
    Next Door To A Star
    No Plot No Problem
    Novel
    Novella
    Poetry
    Prime Day
    Promotion
    Publishing
    Pure Awesome
    Querying
    Quotes
    Rafflecopter
    Rebecca Lamoreaux
    Reviews
    Rita Monette
    Romance
    Sale
    Scam
    School
    Share
    Sharon Ledwith
    Short Stories
    Silliness
    Sky Writers
    Smashwords
    Sneak Peek
    Sonia Poynter
    Sons Of The Sphinx
    Soundtrack
    Spencer Kane
    Spencer Kane Adventures
    Stef Gonzaga
    Stephenie Meyer
    Story Cartel
    Support
    Tamie Dearen
    The Guardian A Sword & Stilettos
    The Incidental Inheritance
    Their Tangled Hearts
    The Last Stored
    The Legend Of Ghost Dog Island
    The Passage
    The Purple Girl
    The Search For The Stone Of Excalibur
    The Secret In Mossy Swamp
    The Work Of Others
    Thunderclap
    Time Warp
    Tommy
    Topaz Winters
    Treasure Hunt
    True Colors
    Tumblr
    Tutankhamen Speaks
    Twitter
    Ultimate Reading Quest
    Virtual Book Fair
    Welcome
    Wendy Leighton-Porter
    What I'm Working On
    When The Circus Came To Town
    Whiskers
    Winner
    Write Or Die
    Writer
    Writer Problems
    Writer's Block
    #writewemay
    Writing
    Writing Prompt
    Wyvern Lit
    YA
    Yalit
    YANA Sisterhood
    Young Adult

    RSS Feed

All Rights Reserved, S. J. Henderson 2014