Uh-Oh #Indielicious

Well, this week kicks off the first ever Indie-Licious Teaser Blog hop. Today I'm sharing more from Shattered Secrets with you. I'm allowed a little more than six sentences, so hang on!

If you remember from two weeks ago, Abby ran away from her kidnapper, into the cornfield, but she's not much of an athlete. After a few falls, she stops to catch her breath and figure out a few things.

Enjoy!

~My lungs burned, and my pulse raced in my ears, thrumming to a beat I'd never heard my blood thrum before. I needed to figure out what direction I was heading. I needed to listen for the highway, for any clue to help me out of here.

"You shouldn't have run," someone behind me said, but it wasn't my captor. This voice sounded deeper, ominous, and very close to my ear.

Warm, humid breath greeted my skin, raising the hairs on my neck.

Shaking rocked my core, and cold prickles of fear raced to my fingers and toes. Turning around wasn't an option. Running wasn't either. He stood too close. If he was armed . . . Oh, God, I really am going to die.

"We were paid to deliver you alive, but no one ever said we couldn't hurt you."~

EEP! This does not sound good for poor Abigail! Make sure you check out the entries from other Indie-Licious authors!

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Young Adult Hop

I've decided to take part in one of I Am A Reader, Not A Writer's giveaway blog hops.

So, if you'd like an opportunity to win a signed copy of Wilde's Fire, enter the rafflecopter below.

Good luck!

Wilde's Fire Blurb:

"There is no pain in this death, only peace, knowing I am going to die with the one I love the most." - Katriona Wilde.

Katriona Wilde has never wondered what it would feel like to have everything she's ever known and loved ripped away, but she is about to find out. When she inadvertently leads her sister and best friend through a portal into a world she's dreamed of for six years, she finds herself faced with more than just the frightening creatures in front of her. Kate's forced to accept a new truth: her entire life has been a lie, and those closest to her have betrayed her. What's worse, she has no control over her new future, and it's full of magic and horrors from which nightmares are made. Will Kate discover and learn to control who she really is in time to save the ones she loves, or will all be lost?


a Rafflecopter giveaway

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The Re-Introduce Myself Blogfest

Thanks to Susie Levine for spotting Wilde's Fire on Stephen Tremp's blog (thanks to you, too, Stephen!), I'm now participating in this amazing blogfest.

I'm supposed to tell you a bit about myself. I don't like talking about myself, really, but here goes:

I'm 28 (4 times over), am married, have three amazing children, and own a whole herd of pets. My real name is not Krystal Wade. I may as well tell you all that it's Krystal Dehaba. Wooo. Big secret. Honestly, my biggest regret in my writing career has been to take on a pen name. Mostly because I feel like I lost me when I took it on. Now that we have THAT out of the way . . .

I am a political account jack-of-all-trades by day and mother, wife, and writer by night. Meaning no insult to my day job, I prefer the mother/wife/writer. I'd love that to be full time, but alas, it has yet to pay . . . well. I live in the culturally and historically rich state of Virginia and have been here since 1997. Before, I lived in a place that shall-not-be-named. Long-time readers of my blog can probably figure that out.

Speaking of the blog, I quite honestly don't know what mine is about anymore. I started it to share pieces of me with the world. I wrote a lot of short stories about my childhood, a lot of current stories from my every day life, and a bunch of flash fiction. Then I did a shameful amount of self-promotion. Then I did a lot of nothing. Then I shared the promotional love. Now, I mostly just post about my kids or things I've done with my family over the weekend.

I miss my flash fiction. People seemed to like it. Maybe I'll do some more of that in 2013. Or maybe I'll try to write more books.

By the way, I've written three (SELF-PROMO!!). But this year I'm really struggling to write. I've always enjoyed allowing my creative side to roam into blue fields of tan butterflies (???), but there is a story I need to write that's making me question what kind of writer I really want to be. Do I want to continue with fiction? Or do I write the very real, very painful story of my teenager years as a piece of fiction for the world to see? What do I want the world to learn from Krystal Wade--err, Dehaba?!

What does the world want from me?

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18 Things #newrelease #ya #fantasy

Well, it's that time again. One of my favorite people's book releases today. I met Jamie Ayres last year during a contest I judged. By the end of her first chapter, I broke down into tears. Not many authors can claim they had ME crying that soon. Actually, I don't think any can--except Jamie. She captured the emotions of grief beautifully.

So of course Jamie won this contest--along with a few others--and she was offered a contract for publication. Honestly, I didn't think she was going to take it. When she did, I hemmed and hawed over whether I wanted to edit her work. I may have even assigned it to someone else and then stolen it back from that person.

Well, I should stop rambling and allow you to read what part of Jamie is in her main character Olga.

Take it away, Jamie!

What part of me is in Olga?

Hmm, this was a fun question for me and one that truthfully, I never really gave much thought!

Obviously, anyone who knows us would say we both drink an insane amount of coffee. The Keurig machine hubs bought me for Christmas may just be the death of me . . . which leads me to the fact that just like Olga, I don’t sleep much. On average, I’d say I get 4.5 hours a night. And nooo, I don’t take naps (I just make more coffee when I get home)!

On a more serious note, I’d also say love doesn’t come easy to us. I always had a steady stream of boyfriends from sixth grade on, always looking for what love really was and finding disappointment instead. On August 17, 1997, I finally met the man who showed me what love is . . . Jesus!

This is another way we’re alike. We’re Christians, and vulnerability, discipline (okay, not where the coffee is concerned . . . or the cupcakes) and peacemaking come with the territory. That doesn’t mean we’re overly religious, or that every doctrine mentioned in the book is true. That’s why 18 Things will be shelved in the fiction section! We’re not trying to preach to anybody, but we do hope the novel will inspire teens (and anyone else reading it) to live the life they were created for.

Lastly, to conclude my five paragraph essay (heeheehee—sorry, it’s the teacher in me), we’re geeks. I don’t know if I was necessarily a geek in high school, but my husband converted me. You can thank him for all the Star Wars references in my book.

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About the Author: Jamie Ayres writes young adult paranormal love stories by night and teaches very young adults as a public school teacher by day. When not at home on her laptop or at school, she can often be found at a local book store grabbing random children and reading to them. So far, she has not been arrested for this. She lives in southwest Florida with her prince charming, two children (sometimes three based on how Mr. Ayres is acting), and a basset hound. She spent her youthful summers in Grand Haven, Michigan and this setting provided the inspiration for her debut novel, 18 Things. She really does have grandmothers named Olga and Gay but unlike her heroine, she's thankfully not named after either one of them. She loves lazy pajama days, the first page of a good book, stupid funny movies, and sharing stories with fantastic people like you. Visit her website at www.jamieayres.com.

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You Can Run, But Not Hide #sixsunday

It's Sunday already? Wow. This week flew by. For those who read my post about Arizona, I really appreciate your e-mails, comments, and such. My poor puppy has a liver infection and is on meds, but he's doing much better.

Since I made a mid-week post about Shattered Secrets, I'm going to pick up this week's Six Sunday from there . . . or shortly after.

Click here to read that teaser!

Now that she's out of the car and her kidnapper is urging her toward his shack in the woods, Abigail is ready to put up a fight. Wouldn't you be?

Enjoy!

~Going in wasn't an option. I couldn't. He was deranged. He claimed I had a true family and that he'd been looking for me for a long time. I shook my head, took one more look at the house, then turned and ran for the cornfield.

"You won't make it far, and I don't plan to hurt you," he shouted.~

Hmm. What do you think "Boredas" meant by that? I would certainly run my ass off, and probably not make it far because I'm old and slow, but I'd try to get away!

As always, I love your comments and thank you for stopping in. Make sure to visit other Six Sundayers!

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Wilde's Fire            -           Wilde's Army              -            Wilde's Meadow

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January Black #fantasy #newrelease

I love when my friends release books! Helping with promotions is always so exciting! Wendy Russo and I met via Twitter? Facebook? Blogging? Six Sunday? I honestly don't remember. But we hit it off.

While she was reading Wilde's Fire, I was biting my nails waiting to hear what she thought. She liked it--good thing, too, because that would have been awkward--and now I can't wait to read and LOVE her book.

Let me tell you a bit about it! Or I'll let her.

Sixteen-year-old genius Matty Ducayn has never fit in on The Hill, an ordered place seriously lacking a sense of humor. After his school’s headmaster expels him for a small act of mischief, Matty’s future looks grim until King Hadrian comes to his rescue with a challenge: answer a question for a master’s diploma.

More than a second chance, this means freedom. Masters can choose where they work, a rarity among Regents, and the question is simple.

What was January Black?

It’s a ship. Everyone knows that. Hadrian rejects that answer, though, and Matty becomes compelled by curiosity and pride to solve the puzzle. When his search for an answer turns up long-buried state secrets, Matty’s journey becomes a collision course with a deadly royal decree. He's been set up to fail, which forces him to choose. Run for his life with the challenge lost...or call the king’s bluff.

Because Wendy is so awesome, she's even shared an excerpt with us today. Enjoy! (Keep your eyes open for a hidden link to a second excerpt. When you find it, the password is "matty".)

While walking south on Main Street, Matty and Iris traded shopping bags. She cocked her head sideways while looking at the cover of the book he bought her.

“Black Sheep,” she read aloud thoughtfully. “Alice Glass. Why do I know that name?”

“She wrote the novel that ‘Marker’ is based on,” he replied, referring to a SteerNet serial about to be cancelled in its first season.

“Ugh,” she said, dropping her hand. The book slapped her leg. “That show is horrible.”

“Agreed, but never mind that. ‘Black Sheep’ is by far her best work.”

“I’ll give it a try,” Iris said. “Take a look in yours.”

He pulled the small paperback out his. Peter Oldham was his mother’s favorite historical fiction author. Matty recognized “Drops in August” as soon as the corner of the cover cleared the paper sleeve. He bit his tongue to keep from groaning.

“Oh, God,” she said, likely in reaction to the cringe he failed to hold back. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

Thinking of his mother, and her repeated suggestions that he read the book, Matty’s initial disappointment dissipated. “No, this is good,” he told Iris.

“That’s not what your face says.” She reached for the book.

“Oh, no!” He shook his head and moved his hand out of her reach. “This will do very nicely.”

“Nicely? For what?” She crossed in front of him and walked backward, reaching for the book as he whipped his hand up and behind his head.

“For a joke on my parents.”

She stopped cold in her tracks. He planted his feet so that he wouldn’t run into her, but his momentum carried him forward anyway. She put her hands forward to stop him from falling, but when he hit them, she lost her footing and stumbled backwards. He lunged forward and caught her in his arms.

When he regained his balance and stopped her fall, she was shocked, breathless, and completely supported in his arms at a sharp angle to the ground. People around them on the sidewalk applauded.

One man who passed them said, “Nice catch, kid!”

Matty stepped back and brought her to her feet. She seemed to be searching his eyes for something.

Finally, she asked, “Are you a brat, Matty?”

“Depends.” He felt as if he would shake apart if he let her go. “Do you like brats?” As her lips pulled into a smile from ear to ear, she touched her forehead to his collarbone. A few moments later, she looked back up at him and squirmed just slightly. He let her shrug him off, and when her arms were free, she slapped his cheek playfully before skipping south on the sidewalk. All of his internal organs melted into his legs. About ten steps later, she turned around.

“Are you coming?” she yelled.

Matty shook off his daze and ran to catch up with her.

~ I want to read the book. How about you?

Wendy S. Russo got her start writing in the sixth grade. That story involved a talisman with crystals that had to be found and assembled before bad things happened, and dialogue that read like classroom roll call. Since then, she’s majored in journalism (for one semester), published poetry, taken a course on short novels, and watched most everything ever filmed by Quentin Tarantino. A Wyoming native transplanted in Baton Rouge, Wendy works for Louisiana State University as an IT analyst. She’s a wife, a mom, a Tiger, a Who Dat, and she falls asleep on her couch at 8:30 on weeknights.

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Don't Worry. Be Happy.

I returned to my desk, ready to grab my stuff and run out the door, and found four missed calls from home.

Ethan. What could be so important he needed to call four times?

I tapped the screen, picked up my purse, then headed for the door.

"Hello."

"What's up, buddy?"

"Oh, Arizona peed in his crate. I think he's sick or something."

Crap. Not a good sign. Maybe the cancer is spreading. Maybe he's mad at us. Maybe Ethan just didn't leave him out long enough this morning because it was raining. All these thoughts ran through my head, a heavy weight pressing my chest. I tend to think the worst, and my kids aren't ready to lose their dog. Not yet. Not so soon after Zoe passed away.

"Well, just put him outside and clean it up."

"I can't put him outside. It's raining."

"Leave him in the dog room so he doesn't get the house soaked and dirty. I'll clean him up when I get home." I sighed. "Thank you, buddy."

***

I walked into the house, on the verge of tears. Maybe I'm not ready for Arizona to die. Maybe I'm not capable of hearing the vet say his cancer is worse. "How's Zona?"

Ethan paled. "I'll go check on him."

My husband was cooking dinner, busying himself with things. Arizona is his dog, his baby, and seeing him sick this soon after the extensive surgeries over the summer . . . .

"I'm going to change." I darted up the stairs, stripped off my clothes, put on some comfy-domfies—as the girls and I like to call them—then made my way back to the family room.

Ethan returned from the basement. "He peed again."

My husband turned around, the fear of what this indicated clearly written in his expression, eyes wide and intense, mouth slightly open. "Are you sure it's pee? It is raining a lot. Or maybe he dumped his water. Did he dump his water?"

"I'll go check." I made my way to the basement and cleaned up the urine. The dog and I had a conversation. He looked kind of nervous as he paced around the room, head down, claws clicking on the cold concrete. "Don't be sick. Okay?"

***

Ethan sat on the couch, reading a book about different dog breeds. Every few minutes, he'd point to a picture of one and say something about how that could make a great next dog. He already assumes Arizona is going to die.

Our beautiful husky, still missing fur on his back from the tumor removal in July, paced about the room. Something he usually does, but not as long. Most days he'll just walk around the kitchen table, through the family room, in front of the smaller sofa, spin in a couple circles, then curl into a ball on the carpet. Last night, he paced through the entire kitchen, through the family room, around the table, in front of the sofas, through the kitchen again . . . he never stopped.

"Do you need to go outside?" I asked.

His ears perked, and he headed toward the gate. Ethan got up and let him out, then a few minutes later back in—still raining.

The pacing didn't stop. We made a routine of this—pacing, go outside; pacing, go outside—until we thought we were too stressed and so was he.

"Why don't you put him in his crate?" my husband asked of Ethan.

Five minutes later, Ethan stormed upstairs, his eyes narrowed, his fists clenched. "I can't get him to go in his crate. He bit me."

"He bit you?" My husband jumped to his feet. "Where?"

"Well, not hard, but he snapped at me."

Exaggeration is not acceptable right now, thank you.

TJ returned upstairs with the dog. Apparently neither of them could get him in his crate. Which is odd, because that dog loves his crate. Loves it.

The pacing continued, as did the potty breaks, until I decided to get up and attempt to get him in his crate—after many failed attempts to get him to lie down . . . and stay.

"Ethan," I called up the stairs, "grab some treats!"

I pulled at Zona's collar, pushed his behind, tried picking him up, but he fought me. Ethan arrived with the treats, and together we convinced the dog to get inside. Arizona slept down there all night long, no whining, no more accidents—thank God—and this morning, he was seemingly happy.

Maybe he had gas? Maybe a UTI?

I'm not sure. But on my way to work, while thinking about how much his vet appointment is going to cost—and whether this is a signal that our time with him is nearly up—a song that I don't normally hear on Pandora came on. Actually, it's a song that shouldn't come on my station because I don't have much else like it on there: Don't Worry, Be Happy.

I turned up the volume and laughed, then sang along. You may not believe in God, and maybe you don't believe in fate either, but the timing of this song was perfect, like a divine intervention. Rather than worry about the bills and the cancer and the accidents, I just need to do what needs to be done and be happy.

He's a good dog. He's had a good life. And he's still here.

We need to enjoy him.

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