Category: Sneak Peek

Daniel the Camp-er: Exclusive Excerpt on Arachnid Extermination

3/3/2015

Yup. If you haven't already figured it out from the title, today we're talking about spider squishing.

As I promised yesterday, I'm going to share a little bit from my new book, DANIEL THE CAMP-ER. You won't see this excerpt shared anywhere else, guaranteed, because I know what excerpts everyone else has. Muahaha!

In this part of the story, our hero, Daniel, has located his camp counselor, Marq-with-a-Q, and is trying to convince him to help with an eight-legged problem.

Enjoy!

The Spider Menace, a.k.a Great-Great-Great Grandpa Milton

I clear my throat and blurt, “Could you please come back to the cabin with me? The spider needs to be stopped before it can crawl up somebody’s nose and . . . You just need to squish it!”

Marq-with-a-Q’s eyes grow big. “No, no, no! Why would I do that?”

“Because it’s a blood-sucking spider.” Duh.

“I’m sorry, Daniel, but I can’t be involved in the killing of a species on the brink of extinction.”

I blink. “Huh?”

“You haven’t heard about that? It’s huge, huge news,” he says. “I’m not surprised you haven’t learned about this in school. They don’t want you to know that, at this rate, spiders will be extinct by the year 2025.”

I sigh and tap my foot. “Yeah, well, could they at least hurry that up a little bit? I’d take extinction over a spider making himself at home in my brain while I’m sleeping.”

Marq-with-a-Q makes an unhappy tut-tut noise. “Daniel, Daniel, Daniel. Think about what you’re saying. If we didn’t have spiders, our entire ecosystem would be thrown out of whack.”

“Who’s killing spiders?” Rain Stevens pops out of nowhere and touches my elbow with his cold hand. I scream, shrill and loud.

“Girls, quiet down!” Camp Director Corto calls out without even looking up from his packet of veggies roasting over the flames.

“Don’t do that,” I gasp, but I’m not sure anyone can hear me over the pounding of my heart.

“My great-great-great grandfather Milton came back as a spider. A wolf spider.” Rain’s lower lip wobbles. “Please don’t kill spiders.”

“Well, your great-great-great grandfather Milton is creepy,” I say. I don’t even know what Rain’s talking about, but I don’t plan to find out.

To read more, pick up your copy of DANIEL THE CAMP-ER, available now on Amazon!

And don't forget to enter my giveaway (for US residents only)!

2 Comments

Meet My Character

10/11/2014

2 Comments

I was tagged by my friend, author Laura Brown in the Writerly Meme. I'm sure that most of you reading this have no idea what this is about, so here it is: I've been given a list of questions to answer about the main character from my latest novel. Even though it's not my latest novel, I'm going to go ahead and switch gears from my Middle Grade books to my upcoming Young Adult release, IN THE MIDDLE. I'm currently on the third round of edits for this book, and hope to have it out by Christmas.

Tina Fey.... love.

1. What is the name of your character? Is he/she fictional or a historic person?
Lucy (never Lucille!), and she's definitely fictional.

Thanks to TheStyleUnderground.Wattpad.com

2. When and where is the story set?
This is definitely contemporary. Mainly, the story takes place in a small, one stoplight kind of town called Mitte. To the eye, Mitte looks quaint and homey, but something sinister lingers in the shadows.

3. What should we know about him/her?
Lucy lost her parents in an accident, and also struggles with a handful of leftover aches and pains herself. She doesn't have much to call her own, and she doesn't belong anywhere else. Lucy's only in Mitte because her one remaining relative lives there.

4. What is the main conflict? What messes up his/her life?
The main conflict, I'd say, is that Lucy really struggles with the circumstances surrounding her family's accident... and she doesn't know why she's in this awful little town and why people keep disappearing.

I wouldn't say that he messes up her life, necessarily, but her friendship with a guy named Oliver changes a lot of things for Lucy.

5. What is the personal goal of the character?
I've already said as much, but her goal is to figure out how to get out of Mitte.

6. Is there a working title for this novel, and can we read more about it?
Currently, the title is IN THE MIDDLE. I haven't written much about it on my website, but there are a few blog posts smattered here and there. That's all I have to share right now, but stay tuned!

7. When can we expect the book to be published?
Fingers crossed, by December of this year. The story needs a little bit more work, but really the biggest obstacle, now, is designing a book cover. The book is the easy part, but the cover... YIKES!

I don't have anyone to tag for you right now, but I will update this post if I do!

2 Comments

Make the Right Choice - Pick Up LILA'S CHOICE!

8/12/2014

2 Comments

For one week, my friend Laura Brown's eBook, LILA'S CHOICE, will be on sale for 99¢! Romance fans won't want to miss this one!

If a red-hot sale price wasn't enough, Laura's also hosting a giveaway, too. Make sure you scroll to the bottom of this post to enter. No purchase necessary... although, c'mon, purchases do make us writer folks pretty darn excited..

Never let your friends get involved in your personal life.

Lila and Nate learn this the hard way. They are the star-crossed lovers of Glendale High. For three years the students have waited for the two to get together. They begged Nate to put his past relationship behind him, and cringed when Lila started dating Bryce. Just your typical teenage romance, except they’re the teachers.

Lila, a guidance counselor with a sweet demeanor, has an answer for every problem, every problem but her own. A visit from childhood friend Bryce thrusts her calm world into turmoil, as emotions buried deep inside are dragged to the surface. He soon realizes what only a friend can notice and a lover regret, that Lila, unbeknownst to herself, is in love with Nate.

Nate has seen better days. He is a history teacher stuck living in the past. Depression has kept his love for Lila unspoken, his ego frail after being cheated on.

Now Lila and Nate’s coworkers must unleash a scheme and uncover Lila’s true feelings. In a school this nosey what better way to get fast results than to involve the student population? The students are all too eager to get involved.

If everything goes as planned Lila will have to choose between two men. If her friends fail they might destroy these three and ruin their friendship. No wonder the scheme is called Project Torture.

Sounds good, right? Keep reading on for more word love--an excerpt from Lila's Choice!

Lila Erickson watched with sluggish eyes while her margarita glass was refilled. Again. By her math this was her fifth cup. Maybe her sixth with the way the tan carpet rolled in shallow waves at her feet. She put a hand on the wooden coffee table. It kept floating, bringing her arm along for the ride. She placed her other hand on her head. The rolling stopped. Drats, it was her, not the apartment.

Her good friend and roommate, Ette, hummed as she filled two glasses. She ignored Lila’s hand plastered to her head and pushed the drink closer. “So…” she took a sip of her own margarita. “Bryce is coming for a visit?”

Lila groaned and pushed the cup away. This wasn’t a Saturday night drinking binge. This wasn’t helping Ette get over her latest fling. This was “get the counselor drunk so she’d spill her guts.” Lila wasn’t biting. Yet.

Desperate for a distraction, she became lost in the scene outside their apartment window. The yellow light of the parking lot illuminated a lone tree. The autumn leaves swayed in the light breeze—waves of green, yellow, and red, the latter reminiscent of Bryce’s hair. Her heart skipped a beat. She darted her eyes to the floor, choking on newfound desire. Like all things uncomfortable, she wanted to keep the meaning hidden deep inside. Thanks to Ette, the alcohol had already called her bluff. A shiver raced down her spine as she eyed her friend. Ette grinned over her glass.

Lila grabbed a pillow and thrust her head in. Bryce was her childhood friend, nothing more. They had been friends since kindergarten and stayed in touch after he moved away when they were ten.

“The cute redhead in the flesh, this should be good,” Ette drooled, already planning on her next conquest.

Lila dug her nails into the pillow.

Ette sensed Lila’s capitulation. “Why is this bad? I thought he was one of your best friends?”

“Oh, he is. But he was always just that—a friend. Now the door that leads to ‘other’ has opened and I can’t find the key.” Clutching onto the pillow, Lila’s nails dug into the fabric, threatening to poke holes.

“Sounds like someone has a crush on their childhood friend.”

“Yes.” Lila clasped a hand over her mouth, disbelieving her voice. “And that’s wrong.”

“Oh for God sakes. What’s so wrong about it? So you’ll flirt a little as you talk about days long past. Maybe he’ll flirt too?” Ette leaned forward in anticipation of the chase.

“I thought we were supposed to be helping you?”

Ette rolled over and ran a hand through her long blond hair. “It’s the same-old, same-old. Dating a week and the temperature ran cold. I’m out the door. I’ll drink,” she eyed her empty glass, “which it looks like I’m already up to. From here I’ll sulk in my room for a few days and then get all dolled up and go flirt shamelessly with some unsuspecting stranger.” She licked her lips in anticipation of yet another anonymous sexual encounter.

“Sounds like you’re going to be fine.”

Ette placed an arm around Lila. “Look, you love Bryce, he’s one in a million, and a friend of twenty years is hard to come by. You also know each other quite well. If the feelings are mutual, you can discover where this new path will take you. If not, you’ll still enjoy his weekly e-mails.”

Lila’s eyes drifted away from Ette. She couldn’t put twenty years on the line. She couldn’t risk ruining a friendship, no matter how good looking the pudgy boy had become.

Ette swirled the liquid around, watching her friend. “Do me a favor. Don’t turn into Nate on me.”

Lila stopped cold. She turned sharply to her friend. “What does that mean?”

“Seek out the opportunity in Bryce, don’t hide behind some shadow like Nate.”

“Nate isn’t hiding behind a shadow.” Lila blinked as Nate’s blue eyes came to mind. She shook her head. Great, now she was hallucinating eye colors. “He’s been hurt by a loved one.”

Ette stood up. “Here we go, defending Nate when I was proving a point.”

Lila sat dumbfounded, unable to wrap her head around what had happened.

Connect With Laura

Amazon
Nook
Blog
Twitter
Facebook
Lila’s Choice on Goodreads

CLICK HERE To Enter the LILA'S CHOICE Rafflecopter Giveaway

2 Comments

Daniel the Draw-er 2 Sneak Peek!

7/11/2014

2 Comments

In May I started working on the second Daniel book, DANIEL THE DRAW-ER 2 [working title]. It's turning out to be quite an adventure, because there are a ton of great scenes and stories that want to be told. My goal was to hit 14,000 words (the approximate length of DANIEL THE DRAW-ER), but I'm just shy of 12,000 words tonight and there's so much left to be written. We'll see what happens when it comes time to edit.

In the meantime, here's a silly little peek to see what Daniel's been up to this summer:

A girl with a short red braid sits down in the grass next to me, and stares at the picture as I work. She's wearing a bright pink Glitter Ponies shirt. Glitter Ponies is a girl cartoon, and it’s nowhere near as cool as Bionic Aardvarks of Underworld Z. I can't believe she can wear that shirt without being embarrassed.

“What's your name?" She twirls the end of her braid between her fingers.

I stop drawing, not sure who she’s talking to. "Wh-what?"

"What's your name?" She repeats.

Wait. Is she talking to me? I look over my shoulder, but no one else is around.

“What. Is. Your. Name?” She asks again. I’m trying to ignore her, but she’s looking at me and blinking a lot. Yeah, like that’ll magically make me pay attention to her.

“I asked you a question." She touches me on the arm, and I pull away from her as fast as I can. It’s a proven fact that girls are the number one carrier of cooties, and no one likes cooties. I’ve never seen a real-live cootie up close before, so I don’t know what they look like, but I’m not about to find out at Camp Bigfoot, when I’m so far away from Mom and her special cootie shampoo. Besides, if anyone’s gonna have them crawling around on their clothes or hiding in their ears, it’s this girl.

Who's ready to read more? Comment below and say hi! I'd love to hear from you!

2 Comments

A Doll For Daphne

11/26/2013

1 Comment

I press my lips together and follow him as he leads the way toward the nuns in the back. He’s so focused he doesn’t realize a soft doll slips from one of the bags under his arm and falls to the ground.
“Liam!” I call out. “You--”

A girl with brown ringlets framing her round cheeks runs toward the doll before I catch Liam’s attention. She looks both ways to be sure no one sees her, then snatches it up and into her arms. The doll fits perfectly in the crook of her arm and a smile brightens her face.

“Hey! Little girl!” I say.

She freezes and clutches the doll tightly to her body. Her fearful blue eyes dart to me and back to the doll as I step toward her.

“Hey!” I repeat, coming closer. From a few yards away I can see the tremble in her shoulders. The little girl drops the doll and runs from me.

I stoop down and pick the doll up from where she’s landed in a heap. There’s a smudge of dirt on its plastic cheek and I wipe it away with my thumb. Liam’s over talking with the nuns, and he glances my way.

“That girl--who is she?” I ask when I reach them. I don’t wait for introductions. One of the nuns, the younger one with round spectacles and a pointy chin, looks like she really wants to give me a quick lesson in manners.

“I’m sorry, dear?” The older nun says, wrinkling her forehead beneath her habit.

“There was a girl, maybe four years old. Curly brown hair, blue eyes--or at least, I think they were blue.” I scan the yard as I describe the little one.

The older woman smiles, bouncing the child on her hip. “Ah. You must mean Daphne.”

Do I mean Daphne? I have no idea.

“She ran from me. Do you know where she might have gone?”

The thin, bookish nun nods towards a strand of trees near the rear of the property. The trees are short and sparse, obviously very young, and don’t offer much shelter. A little form huddles at the base of the one in the middle, facing away from us.

I peel back the corner of the foil around the cookies and grab a couple, then hand the tray to the young nun. When I reach Daphne’s hiding spot, I find her with her knees tucked into her chest. Tears streak her face, which she presses to her knees.

“Can I join you?” I ask. I don’t expect an answer, and she doesn’t disappoint. I sink to the grass, leaving several feet between us. “My name is Claire. They told me your name is Daphne.”

She remains quiet except for a soft shudder.

“Daphne’s such a pretty name,” I continue. “A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

The little girl raises her head to glare at me. Blossoms of crimson burn at her cheeks. “Go away.” She hides her face again.

I place the doll next to her gently, so gently I’m not sure she knows I’ve done it. “That’s a nice doll you have there.”

Daphne brings her head up again and starts to say something angry. Our eyes connect and I glance down at the doll laying next to her. She looks down, too, and then back at me.

“It’s okay, pick her up.” I say. “I brought her for you. I knew you would take very good care of her.”

The girl scoops the doll into her arms again and snuggles her little cheek against its plastic face. Her eyes squeeze shut in joy. When she opens them again, I smile. “Would you like a cookie?”

She nods and tentatively takes the cookie from my outstretched hand. Daphne reminds me a lot of Taran--flighty, suspicious, and upset. Like Taran, I don’t push her. I eat my cookie as she eats hers. When it's gone I stand up and slip away. She doesn’t follow behind me like the horse does, but that’s okay.

1 Comment

The Problem

11/6/2013

0 Comments

Liam

When I finally felt steady enough to rejoin Alfie, he'd moved on to replacing a broken fence board in one of the paddocks. He didn't say a word about my breakdown, and I’m thankful for it. I helped him in silence, holding the plank steady as he secured it to the fence post with a hammer and several nails. Alfie was getting on in years, he shouldn’t be doing this work on his own.

He took a breather after the next board was up, and stared off towards the few horses still living here.

“Tell me about the horses, Alf. It’s nice to see you, but they’re why I’m here.”

Alfie swiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand then gave a short nod. “I hated to bring you back, y’know, but with Rowan out of the picture, I didn’t know who to ask. Besides, you always were better with the horses than him. He’s got a wicked temper, that one.”

“That he does.” I agreed.

We walked down the fence row until we stood in front of one of the few occupied enclosures. “We’ve got six horses still here, but no one with any horse sense at all wants to help with them, especially the one mare in particular.” I turned my head in the direction he's looking, toward the rear of the paddock to our right. When she noticed us watching, the dark horse inside snapped her body into alert, her head high, eyes wide, and ears pricked. Minus her sun-bleached coat from living outdoors, she was a nice-looking horse and would make someone a fine jumper. The bone structure was all there, I could see it, but so was the fear. The longer we stared, the more her terror echoed back. Without taking her eyes or ears from us, she shrank back against the fence.

“That’s Tarantella.”

I scrunched up my face. “Tarantula? Like the spider?”

“No, no. Tarantella. It’s a dance--Spanish, you know?” Alfie hummed a tune and snapped his fingers as he crossed and uncrossed his arms a couple of times and shuffled his feet. It looked like no dance I’d ever seen or probably would ever see again, thank heavens.

With a shake of my head, I said, "You'd better stick to horses, Alf."

He chuckled and stopped dancing, "Anyway, Tarantella... she was going by the name ‘Taran’, but some of the kids started on with calling her ‘Spider’, so you’re not so far off.”

Spider wasn't a friendly kind of nickname. I wasn't sure what to think about that.

I unlatched the gate to her paddock and walked inside. Taran pinned herself up against the boards of the fence in response, but otherwise regarded me with curiosity. “She looks all right,” I said, fastening the gate closed behind me. “So, then, what’s the problem?”

It happened then, quite literally, with the blink of an eye. The dark horse studied me for all of three seconds before blinking her eye and charging after me. There was no time to fumble with the gate--she’d be on me before I could have made it that far, anyway. My only option was to climb the fence, and with any luck I would be faster than her. With thundering hooves at my back, I launched myself at the fence and scrambled over. Taran clamped her teeth around the heel of my boot before I could swing it over. The old man was doubled over laughing at me dangling in a rather unpleasant position, with one leg in safety, the other in a wild horse’s mouth, and my crotch somewhere in the middle.

“That,” He sighed, wiping the tears from his eyes, “is our problem.”

0 Comments

I Don't Want To Fight

10/27/2013

0 Comments

The young couple doesn't see it coming, their convertible top down and wrapped up in the warmth of the day. My family and I see it, though.

We're waiting in a line of cars at a stoplight when half a dozen guys pile out of a car ahead of us, and it's clear they're up to no good. Some of the men have wrapped their knuckles with thick chains, and others clutch empty beer bottles by their necks. They're stalking towards the cute couple who haven't noticed them yet, and my stomach twists with realization.

My son-in-law, Bert, jumps out of the car before we can stop him. My daughter claws at his shirt and tries to scream some sense in to his brain, but it's no use. Bert's always had a strong sense of justice. Either that or he doesn't put much value on his own life.

The light changes and the convertible speeds off before the thugs reach them, but their group is still looking for a target and they set their sights on the most likely target: Bert. It happens in slow motion, but it still happens. One of the guys smashes his bottle over Bert's head and blood trickles in his face.

I don't want to fight. There's three times as many of them as there are of us. I'm not much of a gambler, but those odds aren't good, even with a firecracker like Bert on your side. Like it or not, though, I can't leave him out there alone. They'll kill him. With a backward glance at my wife, daughter, and young son, I bolt from the car and into the battle. I still don't want to fight.

Two-to-one. If we survive this, I might kill Bert myself.

I don't see the guy until he's clocked me in the side of the head and I'm sprawled on the ground. He brings the pointed toes of his boots to my face and kicks me over and over, sending spikes of pain through my jaw and behind my eyelids. It's not enough to him that I am on the ground, that I didn't want this fight. It's obvious that he won't stop until he's made his point clear. As far as I'm concerned, the point of his shoe has done quite enough talking.

Elise flies from the car and launches herself on the back of my attacker. On her way out of the car, she grabbed the closest thing in reach, a can of oil, which she now uses to hammer away at his thick skull. She stuns him long enough to give me a chance to stagger to my feet, but I can't stop him from wrenching her free and kicking her in the face with those horrible, awful boots.

I didn't want to fight.

We drive ourselves, licking our wounds, to General Hospital. Bert needs stitches, and I'm not sure what Elise and I need. A uniformed officer comes to arrest us for beating up a group of men, but his mouth and the charges drop when he surveys our assortment of injuries.

A couple days later our friend Benny takes in Elise's cuts and bruises and asks us to name names. "You'll never hear from those guys again," he vows. I don't doubt Benny one bit, and I appreciate the gesture, but I don't tell him anything.

Our bruises haven't healed up before one of the smaller thugs struts into the store. He's alone and looking for another fight. The tips of Bert's ears flame as he orders him off the property. I keep an eye on the man as he slinks away toward the restaurant next door. A wave of rage courses through me and I think how easy it would be to get my revenge on just one man, the runt of the bunch. With a shake of my head, I turn away from the window where I have a clear view of him glaring over at us.

I don't want to fight.

0 Comments

The Creek

8/5/2013

0 Comments

I couldn't tell you what it is about the forest that calms me. Maybe it isn't the forest, at all, but the murmur of the river against the time-worn pebbles. Or maybe the melody of the birds flitting from branch to bank, the cicadas joining in with their staccato rhythm. Perhaps, even, the aroma of pine sap, damp earth, and moss drew me here--especially on days like today. Mostly, I liked the quiet. No one offered me advice or asked for my help out here. No one spoke at all unless you counted the babble of the water, and I didn't.

Tally snorted and took a tentative step from the shore and into the edge of the creek. I patted her shoulder as she took another swishing step, thankful for the distraction. I'd fought so hard to keep him from leaving, but, in the end, none of it mattered.

0 Comments

Camp, Day 1

7/1/2013

0 Comments

Here is a snippet from the novel I began earlier this year. I'd hoped to finish it up in April, but April was a trainwreck. Camp NaNoWriMo began today, and my goal is to add an additional 26k words to this novel to bring it to 50k and, hopefully, completion. For those of you following along, here's my progress today. Meet Lucy, the main character of "In the Middle".

~~~

Being slow as a turtle—even slower than that, it seemed—wasn’t my norm.  My body was aerodynamic, thin and sleek.  My legs used to reach outward with the grace of the gazelle, bounding me forward with ease.  They said I would go places, that I’d have my pick of colleges.  Coach lined up college recruiters for our biggest meets, all I had to do was show up and let go.  My heart would do the rest.

I missed the wind in my face and the teardrops that collected in the corners of my eyes as the world blurred behind me.  I missed the crunch of pebbles beneath my shoes.  I missed the tickle of my ponytail grazing the back of my neck with each swaying step.  I missed pushing through the burn in my lungs and deep within my legs.  Faster, faster, faster.  I missed every single shin splint and weeping blister.  I missed running so hard the world spun behind my eyes, struggling to catch up.  Heck, I even missed throwing up in the grass because I’d pushed myself to my limits.  Even the worst day on the track paled in comparison to what my life looked like now.  This was not life at all.

They said I would go places.  Somehow I doubted this is what they meant.

I bit my lip to keep from sobbing as I continued forward at my numbingly slow pace.  The forest around me fell silent except for the low crunch of the pine needles under my feet. The sulfuric air grew thicker and so heavy that it pressed on my chest and I had to stop to draw in a really good breath.  My throat burned with the effort, and I coughed.   The fire was close, and so was my rescue.

The pines crowded close together ahead with branches intertwined in protest.  Even the forest wanted to keep me stranded in this pit.  I knew following the trees until I could find a large enough opening to squeeze through would mean going to my right or left instead of forward.  Sideways was frustrating to me.  Sideways wouldn’t get me away from Oliver or Mitte, two things I wanted more than anything.  It was not one of my brightest ideas, but I gritted my teeth and pushed forward into the arms of the pines.  The needles welcomed me, sliding across my skin like feathers.  The tang of pine tar overtook the smell of soot and destruction.   Maybe this wasn’t so bad, after all.  Spreading the branches of the tangle before me, I smiled.  Yes, this plan would work.  Adios, Oliver!

Almost as soon as I’d thought it, the needles turned against me.  Pins made contact with my face, pricking my lips and drawing tiny beads of blood.

“Ouch!”  I yelped, trying to bring my arm up to shield my face, which only made me more of a human pincushion.  No one came to help me, even though it was pretty obvious that I was stuck.

Oliver left.  He left.

He didn’t owe me anything, and I figure most of the messes I’d found myself in since fate dumped me in Mitte had been his fault.  Not even two minutes ago I wanted as far away from that boy as humanly possible.  Finally, something had gone my way.  From where I cowered, shrouded in flesh-eating vegetation, I couldn’t bring myself to feel happy he’d gotten around to taking a hint.

If Dad was here he’d have torn himself in two to protect me.  There was no way he’d let me wander off alone into the wilderness, no matter how much I kicked and screamed. Dad would have kicked and screamed right back at me, and then, when he’d had enough, thrown me over his shoulder and carried me back to safety.  I would have hated him every step of the way, as much as I loved him.  He knew never to give up on me, but it didn’t matter anymore.  Even Dad had abandoned me as the dragon drew near.

A flood of anger surged through me, and its intensity vibrated wildly across my skin like a bolt of lightning.  Feeling sorry for myself wouldn’t do a single thing except kill me faster.  I was no damsel in distress, and this was the furthest thing from a fairy tale.  Death would track me to this forest, one way or another.  A man couldn’t stop the inevitable.  I felt it as sure as the pulse pounding in my veins.  Wiping the blood from my mouth, I forced myself further into the green.  Goosebumps sprung on the back of my neck and rippled down my arms.  What in the--? The frantic rhythm slamming through my body crushed the breath from my lungs.

My grandpa suffered his first heart attack right in front of me as I blew out the candles on my birthday cake on my tenth birthday.   I’ll never forget--his eyes bugged out of his head like he was a fish out of water, gulping for air and finding none.  Yeah, my life sucked.

0 Comments

For My Husband

6/28/2013

0 Comments

"Wrong lead, Gina!" I called out over my shoulder to the rider on the bay. He used to be a nice horse. Heck, they'd all been nice horses.

"I know!" She huffed in return, waiting until they had landed after the oxer and lurched into a trot. "We can't do it any other way. Charlie's about to drop a leg."

There was that feeling in my stomach again, the mixture of pity and sadness each time we lost one. I'd had that feeling a lot lately as, one by one, The Change claimed its next victim.

0 Comments

<<Previous

Daniel the Camp-er: Exclusive Excerpt on Arachnid Extermination

The Spider Menace, a.k.a Great-Great-Great Grandpa Milton

Meet My Character

Make the Right Choice - Pick Up LILA'S CHOICE!

Connect With Laura

Daniel the Draw-er 2 Sneak Peek!

A Doll For Daphne

The Problem

I Don't Want To Fight

The Creek

Camp, Day 1

For My Husband

S. J.

Archives

Categories