Amber & Dusk First Line + Giveaway

I had to share this on my blog as well. I was very lucky to beta this book and if you haven’t pre-ordered your copy yet, you should. But here’s your chance to win a signed hardback and some swag! Get to clicking!

Spellbound Scribes

I can hardly believe it, but we’re only one month out from the release of my debut novel, Amber & Dusk! I’m so incredibly thrilled to be sharing this book with the world and I can’t wait for you all to read it.

(If you’re only here for the giveaway, scroll down to the bottom of the page. I promise I won’t be too mad.)

I’ve talked a lot about my publishing journey both here at Spellbound Scribes and elsewhere. I’ve talked a little about the inspiration for writing Amber & Dusk, and likely will write up a nice long post about all the research and media that inspired the book next month. But today, I want to talk about that one magical sentence on the first page of the first chapter. You got it–The First Line!

I think first lines are magical. I have a running list on my…

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Family Myths and Facts–The Value of Research

If you’re not following my sister blog, Spellbound Scribes, I didn’t want you to miss this post.

Spellbound Scribes

When I was growing up and I’d ask my mom where we were from, what were we, she’d always answer, “We’re Heinz 57; a little bit of everything.” I love my mom and I know she was trying to be funny, but I always hated that answer. All I took away from it was that our history was lost and we didn’t know where we were from. Mostly, she assumed, we were some combo of Great Britain and Western European. So, you know, very specific and unique.

But she did know two ingredients for sure. She knew my birth father was Irish, and thought he was probably wholly Irish, so that would make me half, and she knew she had a Cherokee grandmother or possibly great grandmother.

Here’s the thing about Cherokee grandmothers: everyone in the South has one. That’s not something I knew growing up but it is a…

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Anxiety Does Not Age Like Wine

When I was a kid, I was pretty fearless when it came to things that could actually kill me. I wasn’t afraid to climb things or jump off things or slide down things. If it looked like fun, I did it.

I was that monkey child that climbed up doorjambs to the top. I’d get on top of the monkey bars and just hang out. I flipped over and over on the flip bars–tho I guess they were pull-up bars? But what seven-year-old is doing pull-ups on a playground? I climbed rocks and boulders in Red Rock Canyon when my dad took me hiking. I road roller-coasters with abandon–the more upside-down loops the better! I leaned over the railing on top of the Eiffel Tower to look at the river below at age sixteen. These things didn’t scare me.

Then I got older.

I was never afraid of heights but I was always a little bit afraid of falling. But that didn’t stop me from doing things where, had I fallen, dire consequences awaited me at the bottom. When I was fifteen my boyfriend and I went to Magic Mountain and he super wanted to go on the flyer thing. It wasn’t a roller coaster. It was this sort of potato sack thing that was attached to a crane that hauled you up and up and up maybe a hundred feet in the air? Maybe more? Much, much more? Then, at the top, you hit a button that released a catch and you just… Dropped.

You’d fly over the crowd and swoop up and then back, a human pendulum.

I totally did it. But I fucking hated it. My boyfriend loved it. He laughed and pointed out how high we were getting and still going somehow. How tiny people were getting the higher we went. How high are we? Must be three hundred feet?! At twenty feet up I knew I’d made a terrible mistake. I was nearly in tears at the top. When they called out for Bravo Tower to go my boyfriend hit that button with so much glee and I just screamed.

Yes, I was fine and once we were swinging and not dead on the ground, I enjoyed it. But I knew then I’d never bungee jump, like, ever. That boyfriend went on to skydive for his eighteenth birthday.

But I was fine and I could still go on roller coasters and the top of the Eiffel Tower for years to come.

But with each year my fear of falling got a little worse and a little more worse. Until in the last six to eight years it’s really grabbed a hold of me.

That feeling when you fall? That drop in your gut. That weird tingling, horrible sensation at the small of your back? That. That’s what I get now. Not to mention the shortness of breath, the heart palpitations, the need to just close my eyes and wait until it’s over.

If we drive over a very high bridge that arcs, you know what I mean? I have to close my eyes. I feel that sensation in my back and I can see the car just sliiiding off the bridge. I went to the top of the Stratosphere in Vegas once and at the top they’ve designed the floors and windows so you kind of lean to look down. Couldn’t do it. I legit felt like someone was pushing me and I would just go through the window to the sidewalk far, far below. Those videos of people doing stupid shit on the edges of cliffs? Fuck no. Can’t watch. When we hang lights for the holidays and my husband leans over the edge of the roof to reach for something I have to hold on to him and lean back because otherwise I start screaming at him not to fall.

What’s weird though is I can be high up in a building, just don’t angle the windows so it looks like you’ll fall. I can fly in a plane and look out the window and marvel and not have even a tingle. I can stand on the top of our roof, just don’t lean over the edge. Phobias have no logic.

And I never know what’s going to set it off or not until I’m in the middle of something.

This past week our county fair was in town. I’m not a huge fan of it. I mean, I always think I want to go and then I do and I remember how insanely crowded it is and crazy expensive everything is and I hate it. But we got free tickets this year and I kinda wanted to go.

I wanted to see the fireworks and eat some bad food and I wanted to ride the Ferris wheel with my husband and look out at the ocean and hold hands.

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So we went. And we ate some incredible Mexican-style corn and the sun started to set and I said we should go to the Ferris wheel before it got dark so we bought tickets and got in line. I took pictures and bounced on the balls of my feet, so excited. I hadn’t been on the Ferris Wheel since I was a teenager.

I hadn’t been on the Ferris Wheel since I was a teenager.

As we got closer to the front of the line I was even more excited because I wasn’t freaking out. No anxiety attacks, no drop in my gut, no tingling in my back, no heart palpitations. I was fine! This was gong to be so much fun! I was going to see the fair from the tippy-top and look out over the ocean and hold hands with my husband and it was all going to be so romantic!

Then it was our turn. The mom and dad and their two children obviously under the age of ten got out of the carriage and we climbed in after them and I sat down next to my hubs and the thing swayed, as it’s wont to do. My back started to tingle. My breath caught.

Oh no.

The wheel started to turn and because they were letting people on we stopped. And went. And stopped again.

Oh no.

I had to close my eyes. I wasn’t holding my husband’s hand, I was gripping his arm with both of my hands, clutching him as the sensation in my back became overwhelming and I felt like I was falling.

“I hope they don’t stop us at the top.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“I don’t know. I thought I was. I’m sorry.”

When someone has an anxiety or panic attack, they often apologize because we know, we know we’re ruining this for other people, not just us. This was my idea and now I was freaking the fuck out.

They were done loading people and we just started turning. Up and down. Then I realized we were cresting over the top a lot faster and smoother than I thought we would and I was able to loosen my grip on his arm.

“I think I’m okay. I think it might actually be passing.”

After the second smooth revolution, my gut unclenched and I wasn’t panting to catch my breath. On the third revolution, my back relaxed and that anticipation that I was about to fall slowly passed until I could actually, really relax and just enjoy the second half of the ride.

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I couldn’t believe it. The anxiety attack passed before the ride was over. I laughed. I almost cried. I’ve learned to just ride out these attacks and get through the activity but this was the first time that I got through it in time to enjoy the activity that brought on the attack.

It was amazing.

When we got off the ride I actually jumped up and down and said, “I did it! I got through it!” Even my husband, who has no idea what anxiety like this feels like, knew this was a big deal and he was so happy for me.

Now, I’m not sharing this to tell you to face your fears and you’ll get over them. Like I said, phobias know no logic. I’m just sharing this because it was awesome and such a big deal for me that I wanted to share.

Of course I don’t know when I’ll try something like that again and even if I do, I have no way of knowing if it’ll pass again. But it passed this time and that was fucking amazing.

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How to be Creative in the Chaos that is Now

Today is my day on the Spellbound Scribes Blog. Come check it out!

Spellbound Scribes

First, let me say that I am proud of Liv and Lyra sharing their posts the last two weeks. As authors and public figures it’s difficult to know whether or not to speak up about politics, always afraid of hurting our livelihoods for offending people. But I think we all know that things are just different now and we need to speak up and not fear reprisal. If you didn’t get a chance to check them out last month, please go have a quick read.

I do want to get back to talking about writerly things, but we cannot ignore the fact that the current climate has really had a hard, hard impact on writers. The constant chaotic news loop we’re stuck in takes so much out of us. Every day, sometimes multiple times a day, there is some new horror or frustration or just plain bullshit that has us…

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Summer Solstice and How I Lost a Year of My Life

Yesterday was the Summer Solstice. Now, I don’t get around to as much witchery as I’d like, but hubs and I are pretty good and dedicated to observing the two solstices and equinoxes. So, even after a pretty crummy week out of a pretty crummy month, we promised we would have a fire and a toast to the turning of the wheel.

If you follow me on Insta, you probably saw that we got a new fire table recently. The thing is so big that we needed to get rid of the picnic table we had. The table was old and rarely used, though our schoodle, Merlin, did enjoy sunbathing on it from time to time.

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And if you follow on Insta, you know that rather than just throwing the table out, we re-purposed it into a pretty cool bench.

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It was even Merlin-approved. The dude knows the table is gone and didn’t seem to care, as you can see.

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Now. Last night was not the first time we’ve all sat outside together around the new fire table. We’ve done it quite a few times in the last couple of months because we quite like it. We bring out two dog beds for both puppies, putting the tiny bed between the two chairs because, otherwise, Merlin has no chill.

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He knows the routine.

So, last night, we lit the fire, we raised a glass, and settled in. Merlin was standing opposite us on the other side of the table, staring at us. So I snapped my fingers and waved my hand and told him to come around the table to me — a command combo both he and his big brother understand.

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Merlin walked closer to the table. The obviously on fire table.

“No, Merlin. Around,” I said in my dog-command-voice and made the hand motion again.

Merlin peered over the edge of the table.

I set my glass down and leaned forward, starting to push out of the Adirondack chair. “Merlin, no.”

Then he jumped. ON THE TABLE THAT IS ON FUCKING FIRE.

“NO!” I screamed and I think hubs did too. And Merlin spun and kicked off the table, sending sparks into the air, like a cat fleeing water.

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The table is a glass fire table, which means no sparks. Nothing to catch fire. Except maybe fur. And, being that it is glass that is ON FIRE, means that glass is really fucking hot. But we both saw sparks burst in the air.

I dove to the puppy on the concrete and scooped him up and hugged him to my chest, hoping to smother anything that might be burning.

Reader: he was fine.

One paw smelled of singed hair, but there was no evidenced of burned fur or paw pad. But let me tell you, that dog is not a fan of being crushed in a bear-hug, so the fact that he didn’t wriggle and fight says a lot.

If you look closely, you can see the streaks in the dust where his paws were.

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Here, you can see a little divot in the glass where his paw hit (you might see the larger, amber colored glass under the more square, smokey quartz glass).

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So yeah. That’s how we rang in the turning of the wheel and how I’ll know, on  my deathbed that I probably still had a year to go if it wasn’t for this furball.

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(Picture taken this morning, pup obviously okay)

 

Behind the Scenes of Self Publishing–Paperback Edition

Today is my day on the Spellbound Scribes’ blog. Ever wonder what goes into self publishing a paperback book? Come check it out!

Spellbound Scribes

As you know, if you’ve been following along with my posts, I have a new release coming out on June 1st–less than a month away, EEEEEP!

Being self-published that means a few different things than it does for a traditionally published writer–including being able to try out a Friday release instead of the traditional Tuesday. And, as we’re all writers here, offering insight into the whole writing process, I thought I’d share a little bit of that with you guys.

The beginning is exactly the same. We all start with a spark of inspiration, then develop that into a story, then kill ourselves over the next 4 to 156 weeks trying to write the damn thing.

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Then we put the book away (or at least, we should). For me, I’ll set a book aside for between 1 to 6 weeks depending on how difficult the book was to write…

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Pre-Order Announcement!

It’s my day on the Spellbound Scribes’ blog and I have an announcement!

Spellbound Scribes

A little while back I shared the cover reveal of my upcoming young adult novel, Blackbird. Well, I’m very happy to announce the publication day and the pre-order links (if you’re so inclined)!

BlackbirdWhat if YouTube warned of the end of the world? Would we even take it seriously? Or just assume it was some lame, internet hoax?

Maggie has her first college finals to prepare for; she doesn’t have time for pranks and conspiracy theories. But a super flu has broken out on campus and her dorm mate keeps coughing, threatening to get her sick before she can get through the tests and get home for Christmas.

More and more people are coming down with the super flu and the vaccines aren’t working for everyone and when one of her professors is dragged out of the classroom by cops and doctors, Maggie realizes she’s waited too long to leave…

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