Archive for October, 2015

An Interview with Iryna K. Combs

Hi, Iryna! Thanks for joining us today!

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Tell us a bit about yourself and what you are currently working on or promoting.

While being a new author and exploring this new path life is taking me through I am also a mother of a three year old handsome boy and a jewelry maker. I have a bachelor degree in finance (economics and enterprises). I am also self-taught in psychology and body language. On top of that I am an ex-model and LOVE cooking! I am currently working on my next book while promoting my debut novel Black Wings.

 

If you could have a conversation with one person living or dead who would it be?

God

 

If you could be any character in literature, who would you choose to be?

I like to be myself.

 

Pirates or ninjas, and why?

Ninjas – just feel more secure.

 

Have you had to make sacrifices for your writing, and if so, what are they?

Just a while back I had to decline a contract offer from one big-time publisher because they wanted me to change the way my book ended. I felt so bad letting that deal go, but my book has a happy end and I would like to keep it the way it is for now. Knowing so many people love the story and how it ends, it would hurt me even more to see my readers get upset if I changed it. That is what I call “little bird in hands better than a big one in skies.”

 

When did you first consider yourself a writer?

When I wrote my first novel Black Wings and knew it was something I just had to share with people. Once the publisher accepted my manuscript, I felt very good about it.

 

If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?

Do not have any…not yet.

 

Do you have anything specific you want to say to your readers?

“What does not kill us makes us stronger.” Remember this when you think you are not strong enough. People often underestimate what they can handle. But it can always be worse. So just keep on going and keep repeating that nothing will break you down. You get as big as you present yourself. While on your journey, always respect others. Be kind to people and their opinions. If people want to upset you and be ugly, do not fall to their level and always remember that no one can satisfy everybody!

 

Would you rather have one giant bestseller or a long string of moderate sellers?

One giant bestseller. But either way would make me happy.

 

Would you rather read a book that is poorly written but has an excellent story, or read one with weak content, but is well written?

I would pick an excellent story. Mistakes can be fixed; the poor story line can’t.

 

Do you think a writer should write every day?

No. Whenever the inspiration strikes and whenever the time allows.

 

What five words would you use to describe yourself?

I had to refer this question to my husband since he is my other half, so this is his answer: Driven, intelligent, stubborn, caring and strong.

 

Tell us something about yourself that few people know.

I rarely cry. Even when I really want to cry out – I just can’t. Some think it is because I am strong. Not sure myself why it happens.

 

Do you have any talismans, charms, superstitions, or music that helps you write? If so, what is the story behind them?

I only believe in God, other than that, I find it hard to believe in anything unexplainable.

 

Give us one piece of sage advice on writing, relationships, or life in general.

Write what you feel and always remember you can’t please everybody. No matter how great you think you can write or create – there is always going to be somebody who will not like your work for one reason or another. Do not beat yourself up over it. It is not worth it. Enjoy positive feedback and listen to what people have to say. Respect good and bad. I will be honest – I do not know ANYBODY living or dead who have never been criticized!

Always think well before you say something – words hurt and we all know it too well. Sometimes it is best to say nothing. Care for those who really want and need your love.

When I was little girl I thought happy people are those who have a lots of money and do what they want. Now I know one thing – it is not what you have – it is how you accept things and how you feel about yourself, your life and your happiness. It does not matter where you live or how rich or poor you are – it is all about to be happy with what you have got. Appreciate small and big – and remember there is always chance for it to get worse.

 

Poetry that rhymes or poetry that doesn’t—which do you prefer?

Rhymes

 

Author Bio:

Originally from the Ukraine, I am still considered a new face to America. Speaking three languages including English, that became just as natural to me as my native Russian.

I grew up in a town on the south of Ukraine doing the same things that other kids my age did. Dreaming, hoping and wishing. Growing up, I spoke absolutely no English and never even saw myself somewhere abroad. Nevertheless writing a novel in another language!

I went to the local school that brought mostly negative experience in my life. But it shaped me throughout the years. My college life was much better. I was known to study well and to go out partying as much as it was possible.

In my first year of college I began to work in the marriage agency and met my future husband. We dated and traveled to most of the Europe along with Egypt.

When I finally got my fiancée visa, we both moved to the states, where soon after, got married. In the first few years I did some modeling and acting. Photo-shoots, run-way and photo in the magazine fulfilled my childhood’s dream.

A few years later I became a mother of a wonderful and most handsome little boy. Along with learning and experiencing motherhood, I began to make hand-made jewelry and organic soaps. This hobby turned into my small business and became bigger than I thought it would.

In the last year I discovered: an author lives inside me. Never did I think that I would write an English book and that I would love doing it. But I did! And I loved it!

 

Here is where you can find me:

Website: http://ireneangel333.wix.com/blackwings

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Iryna-K-Combs/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/IrynaKCombs

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/IrynaKCombs

 

Buy links: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/26841513-black-wings

http://www.roanepublishing.com/black-wings.html 

Video trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kLrusxcQ1Kw

 

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Blurb:

A new time. A new planet. A new world. New technologies. Two new humanoid species. A new war.

The two species separate, but in the removal, some of the best are left behind among the worst. Captured and held as slaves, they are treated cruelly for entertainment. Torture. Pain.

Annabel, endures a year of such cruelty, kept alive only by way of syringes which, while healing, cause a greater agony. She discovers a secret held by their leader, and decides to help her own kind by escaping–even if it means a final death, preferable to the life she has endured.

Her escape succeeds, and she joins her own kind at the other end of the planet. Among her new friends she meets many who help her adjust to their happier life. Will Annabel find romance? Or will another war break her down?

 

Excerpt:

Annabel stopped at the end of the pier, and covered her face with her hands as tears rolled down her cheeks. That emotional moment had triggered memories from the Old Land and the Varkins. She remembered Kate, and how she had promised her freedom but was not able to keep that promise. She remembered her family she had lost, and her boyfriend who’d betrayed her. She wished the Big Change had never happened and she was still a human, with her family and friends. She thought she missed the Old Land, even the Varkins. She would never have thought she would think again about that dark place. Annabel stood at the pier and cried as the wind was blowing her tears away. She heard footsteps approaching her from behind.

“Excuse me?” One of the fishermen was talking to her, a crying stranger. “Something happened? Do you need help?”

“No…Nothing,” Annabel replied and turned away.

“I know we don’t know each other,” he continued, “but I have never seen an Anlight with black wings crying on the pier, so I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Annabel couldn’t say anything to him as she knew she was not okay.

“My name’s Robin,” he introduced himself. “I come here sometimes when I feel sad too. I very well know this…”

“Why would you feel sad?” Annabel whispered, not looking at him. “Isn’t this a paradise here?”

“It is what you make it to be,” he replied. “But I have my sad days too…I lost my son before we Anlights came to the New Land and I didn’t know what happened to him. He just disappeared right before we had to leave the Old Land.”

Annabel opened her eyes and her heart jumped as she turned to look at the Anlight who was talking to her. He was tall, wearing dark pants and a brown shirt, holding his fishing pole in his right hand. Annabel looked at him for a moment and her eyes widened when the moon appeared from behind scudding clouds and she saw his face in its light. He looked so familiar she was…she knew the reason for his son’s disappearance. She turned away from him hiding her emotions.

“What was his name?” she asked quietly, predicting the answer.

“Markus!” he said. “I called him Mark. He looked a lot like me.”

Annabel closed her eyes and took a deep breath, knowing exactly what had happened to him. She bit her bottom lip, trying to hold tears from washing out of her eyes.

“He was about your age…” the fisherman continued, happily talking about his son, “Very brave young Anlight. Sometimes even too brave for his own good.”

Annabel stood quietly, trying to calm down. She took another deep breath. She knew his son was that brave Anlight who had been doing most of the talking when they were first captured by Varkins.

“I know what happened to him,” she whispered, wondering if she should even tell him the truth. Her voice began to shake.

“Oh, you do?” The fisherman sounded curious—after all, how she could possibly know?

“I was there too…I was with him…and others…” Annabel spoke while catching her breath, trying her best to talk normally without giving in to her emotions. “Nobody lived…” she finished as more tears quietly ran down her face.

“Nobody?” he questioned, needing to be sure.

“Only me…” She finally could not take it anymore and burst into tears, sniffing and catching her breath.

The fisherman sighed and put his head down, in sadness for his son—even though he had already accepted his disappearance and possible death. He came close to Annabel.

“I knew one day I would know the truth.” He spoke calmly, and with sorrow. “Thank you for coming here tonight.”

“I am sorry about your loss,” Annabel sobbed harder with every word said. “He and others were in a lot of pain…and those who died…were the lucky ones. They are in peace now and will not feel any pain again.”

The fisherman took a step closer and put his hand on her shoulder. He smiled slightly.

“Sometimes it’s hard to accept what happens to us. Sometimes the reality seems too much for us to take. But we would not appreciate the good if we did not know the bad. We are writers of our own lives, and we decide when to close a chapter, and when to start the new one.”

Annabel wiped cold tears from her cheeks as she looked at him.

“Cheer up,” he continued. “You’re the lucky one! You can continue writing your life.” He paused for a moment. “And I need to get back to my wife…fish for dinner!” He laughed, picking up a small bucket full of fresh catch. He walked slowly back along the empty pier, disappearing in the darkness.

Annabel stood on the pier for a while longer, thinking about what he had said. She calmed down, as the wind picked up and she began to get cold. She returned to the car and drove back to her house. When she pulled up, nobody seemed to be there. She looked around as she walked to the porch door, hoping nobody was waiting for her. Annabel entered her house and locked the door behind her. She was just going to call her cousin about her visit when, again, someone knocked on the porch door. Annabel recalled what had happened before, and was not in the mood to continue talking about her own or Dexter’s relations. She crossed to the door and moved the blinds to see who was knocking. However, as soon as she saw it was Dexter outside, she slid the door open.

 

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Posted by Matthew Peters - October 27, 2015 at 7:55 am

Categories: Author Interviews   Tags: ,

An Interview with YA Paranormal Romance Author Kat Stiles

Hi, Kat! Thank you so much for joining us today!

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Tell us a bit about yourself and what you are currently working on or promoting.

Let’s see, I’m an English major working in IT (so I can pay my bills)… I’m originally from Jersey, now living in sunny Texas… I love B horror movies, frogs, and furry friends, of which I have 6. I wrote a fun YA Paranormal Romance called Connected, about three teens who discover they have super powers and must work together to stop a telepathic serial killer.

 

If you could have a conversation with one person living or dead who would it be?

Freddie Mercury. He seemed like he really knew how to have fun. I think I’d just like to bask in his energy for awhile.

 

Is there a theme/message underlying your work that you hope comes across?

Yes, it’s to relax and be yourself, you’re perfect just as you are.

 

If you could be any character in literature, who would you choose to be?

Wow, most of the characters in the books I read have more problems than I do! Maybe one of the characters from my book, I think it would be cool to have super powers. Tommy’s power would be the most convenient in every day life, so I guess him. 🙂

 

Have you had to make sacrifices for your writing, and if so, what are they?

Doesn’t everybody? It’s taken a good chunk from my family life, the writing and marketing and editing. Editing’s probably the worst, I get a little crazy when I can’t word something right.

 

What is your number one pet peeve when it comes to writing/reading books?

Probably POV violations. Because it takes so much more effort to keep it to one person’s point of view, when a writer just jumps from one character’s mind to the other, I know he didn’t put the kind of time in that he should’ve. Multiple POV is one hard act to pull off, it’s usually just annoying.

 

When did you first consider yourself a writer?

Maybe when I held Connected in my hands the first time. 🙂

 

Do you have anything specific you want to say to your readers?

I’d love to hear your thoughts about Connected, good or bad, hit me up on Twitter or Facebook, or even drop me a line on my blog.

 

Would you rather have one giant bestseller or a long string of moderate sellers?

A long string of moderate sellers, I’m planning at least two more books in the Connected series, and I’d love to have a readership that’s into the world and characters I create.

 

Would you rather read a book that is poorly written but has an excellent story, or read one with weak content, but is well written?

I guess it depends on how poorly it’s written, but the story is what draws you in and makes you want to read. I know in the past I’ve turned a blind eye to minor grammar problems and awkward sentence constructs or dialog when the story was great.

 

Do you think a writer should write every day?

In a perfect world, yes. Life often gets in the way, though, and I find I’m either reading voraciously or writing page after page, but never both at the same time.

 

What five words would you use to describe yourself?

Positive, genuine, happy, easy-going, dreamer

 

Tell us something about yourself that few people know.

My favorite book is still Catch-22. Not in the normal genres of YA or horror that I gravitate towards, but I just loved the humor and ridiculousness of that story. And the complexity of Yossarian, I wish I could write a character like that – so flawed, yet you still root for him.

 

Do you have any talismans, charms, superstitions, or music that helps you write? If so, what is the story behind them?

Oh man I wish I had a magic charm to help me write! That would be cool. When I wrote Connected, I listened to Foo Fighters and Killers primarily, but there were a bunch of songs I drew inspiration from. Music just makes me happy.

 

Give us one piece of sage advice on writing, relationships, or life in general.

Same as in my book, just breathe and be yourself. It’s always good enough. 🙂

 

Please share your social media links with us, including where the book(s) may be purchased:

Blog: http://katstiles.com

Twitter: http://twitter.com/katstilesauthor

Facebook: http://facebook.com/katstilesauthor

Google+: https://plus.google.com/+Katstiles

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Connected-Kat-Stiles-ebook/dp/B00X4YEC9Y

Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/connected-kat-stiles/1122051774?ean=2940151651974

iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/connected/id991976828?ls=1&mt=11

Trailer: Trailer for Connected on YouTube

 

Thanks, Kat! Please keep us posted on your latest developments!

 

ConnectedBk

 

Summary

High school is hard enough, Em knows. Her freshman year introduced her to all the cliques, annoying teachers, and tough homework assignments. But discovering you have super powers and not knowing how to control them is a whole new level of complicated.

Thankfully, Em isn’t alone. Her best friend Roz starts having unusual dreams that come true, and Tommy, Em’s secret crush, can hear the softest whispers in class.

A romance blossoms with Tommy. But just as things are looking up, people start dropping like flies. A telepathic serial killer is on the loose and only Em and her friends have a hope of stopping him.

Or do they? If they don’t figure out the killer’s identity soon, one of them could be next.​

 

Excerpt

Somehow I thought I would know when my life was in mortal danger. I’m not talking spidey sense or anything, just some kind of clue something bad is about to happen. I guess I got the idea from the movies. Real life, I found, is very different.

Here’s the thing: my hometown of Cannondale is as far from interesting as it comes. The picture of central Texas surburbia, it’s a quiet little city where nothing happens, apart from an occasional trampling at the outlet mall when the Coach store has a clearance sale. The kind of place that feels safe to walk around at night, especially in the cookie cutter middle-class subdivision that was my neighborhood. My walk went undisturbed until I heard the sound of a thump, thump, thump, followed by a long buzz… It took me a second to figure out the noise was rap music, trying to escape out a car window. Another joyride, I thought.

Then the tires screeched. I whipped my head around out of instinct, but all I could see were two headlights headed straight for me. Frozen to the spot, my eyes snapped shut. As if that would in some way stop it. And in the three seconds before the car rammed into me, my only thought was whether or not it would hit me hard enough to get me out of school tomorrow.

A sick crunching noise sounded when my feet left the ground, and I caught some air before falling back down with a thud. The strange thing was the absence of any pain. What did register was the pounding of my heart, more from surprise than the impact of the car. As I lay on the ground, motionless, I heard a car door slam, followed by footsteps.

“I think you killed her. Dude, you are so screwed…”

I couldn’t get my eyes to open. God, am I really hurt?

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Posted by Matthew Peters - October 13, 2015 at 5:13 am

Categories: Author Interviews   Tags: ,

An Interview with C.S. Kendall

Hi, C.S.! Thank you so much for joining us today!

Pastor 2014-104

Tell us a bit about yourself and what you’re currently working on or promoting.

By day I work as a mental health therapist in a private practice setting and I absolutely love my job. I am married and have a six-year-old and four-year-old, which blows my mind since it feels like they were both born yesterday. I live in SW Michigan and hate the winters that come along with it but the summers are the best. My debut novel, The Killing Cure: Drink just released and we’re leading up to the launch on October 8th. I am actively working hard to promote it as the first in the series!

 

If you could have a conversation with one person living or dead who would it be?

I’d love to chat with Thomas Edison to get inside of his genius mind a bit. I’d also love a chance to meet and talk to Susan B Anthony. What a legacy those two left behind and what trails they blazed!

 

Is there a theme/message underlying your work that you hope comes across?  

I think my book illustrates the way one decision can alter the course of a person’s life and that sometimes people have to embrace the things they run from, even when they’re ugly, to avoid an even uglier outcome.

 

If you could be any character in literature, who would you choose to be?

Little Women is one of my favorite books, and I love Jo’s character. She’s spirited, strong-willed, a true individual, and beautifully flawed. There’s much to admire there. 🙂

 

Pirates or ninjas, and why?

This is a tough one. I love the ocean, so that lends me toward pirates but ninjas have super sweet skills. I guess I didn’t answer that question, did I? 🙂 Okay, if have to pick one I’ll go with ninjas. Because of their sweet skills and their stealth.

 

Have you had to make sacrifices for your writing, and if so, what are they?

Time is the big one. Figuring out how to manage it, giving up on leisure activity and sometimes having to separate myself from my loved ones to work on projects. The other big one is putting myself out there. I don’t know if that qualifies as a sacrifice, but it’s something that doesn’t come naturally to me and makes me somewhat uncomfortable. But it’s a part of the package and I love writing enough to embrace that part of it too.

 

What is your number one pet peeve when it comes to writing/reading books?

Writing: when I just can’t quite get my head around what I’m trying to accomplish. It’s usually a little detail that holds up arriving at point B from point A, but with enough noodling I usually get there. The other, which applies to both writing and reading, is how uninterruptable it makes me. I have a very hard time drowning out background noise and distraction in general so the time for me has to be very focused.

 

When did you first consider yourself a writer?

I guess I’m still in the process of that. But I warmed significantly to the idea when I announced I would be having a book published. Even now, though, I have moments of feeling somewhat like a poser.

 

Do you have anything specific you want to say to your readers?

I’m still so floored anyone would want to read what I write, let alone enjoy it. The feedback I’ve received from my ARC readers has been overwhelmingly positive, and it’s such an honor. I want readers to know how much I appreciate the time they dedicate to reading what I write and that I love to hear what people think and connect with those who enjoy what I write.

 

Would you rather have one giant bestseller or a long string of moderate sellers?

That’s a tough one, but I’d have to go with option B. I just have too many ideas to settle on being a one hit wonder. And having a long string of moderate sellers affords me an actual writing career, which is what I’m after.

 

Would you rather read a book that is poorly written but has an excellent story, or read one with weak content, but is well written?

Another tough one, but I’d have to go with option A on this one. At the end of the day, it’s story that draws us in and keeps us there. I can excuse some of the “rules” being broken or ignored if I’m hooked on a story with relatable characters I care about.  

 

Do you think a writer should write every day?

I’m a big proponent of what works for me doesn’t necessarily work for you. I think a writer should write consistently and continually work to grow and hone his or her craft. But writing daily or setting aside huge chunks of time doesn’t work for everyone. I think each writer has to find his or her own formula and commit to making it work for him or her.

 

What five words would you use to describe yourself?

Kind, empathetic, creative, impatient, and outgoing.

 

Tell us something about yourself that few people know.

My first name is Greek and it means “grace.”

 

Give us one piece of sage advice on writing, relationships, or life in general.

Every one of us looks at our situations through our own lens and experience. I think it’s important to remember that each person comes from his/her own context and that impacts the way they respond to you. We tend to think that how people respond to us (especially when it’s a negative response) is a reflection of ourselves, but in reality, it’s a reflection of that person. If we can remember that, I think we can have a lot more compassion toward others, even if we feel mistreated by them.

 

Poetry that rhymes or poetry that doesn’t—which do you prefer?

I’m not sure I have a strong preference, but maybe poetry that doesn’t rhyme.

 

Please share your social media links with us, including where the book(s) may be purchased:

Twitter: https://twitter.com/CSKendallwrites

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cskendallbooks

Website: www.cskendall.net

Purchase links:

http://www.amazon.com/Killing-Cure-Drink/dp/1513704583/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1443907078&sr=8-1&keywords=the+killing+cure

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/reviews/the-killing-cure-cs-kendall/1122713215?ean=2940151186162#reviews-header

 

Thanks, C.S. Please keep us posted on your latest developments!

 

TKC front cover

 

Summary:

Childhood friendship turns to love in this dark reimagining of the fountain of youth. In 1919, Charlie returns from WWI and gives his heart to Julia. As their love story begins, tragedy strikes when Julia contracts a deadly illness. On her deathbed, dreams of a future together shatter, but Charlie refuses to give up, convincing Julia to drink from a vial of “healing waters” his war buddy swore would bring spontaneous healing.

Julia’s miraculous recovery brings hope, but the water’s murderous side effects snuff out the couple’s short-lived joy. Can Charlie help Julia fight the water’s call to kill? All their efforts may be in vain when Julia has to choose between running from the curse or embracing it in order to save Charlie.

Journey with Julia and Charlie through a love story that spans a hundred years and an age-old curse that spans more and worse, puts Charlie’s life and Julia’s soul at risk.

 

Excerpt:

I stood with the rest of them, shivering in the wind, and held my breath with a tentative optimism. The Midwest sky at dusk was painted in an array of pinks and blues. I marveled at the beauty, wide open and spread out, like a large tapestry with random strokes painted across the surface. The view helped to distract me from the nerves running rampant through my body. I didn’t even know for certain if he was going to be here.

One by one they filed off the train, home at last. Some of them were gone a year or more, others a few months. The crowd began to part as people recognized their loved ones and ran to them. They embraced, kissed, cried. But I was still. Of course, if he had answered any of my letters, I might have had a better indication. I didn’t realize how much I would miss him until he was already gone, and his silence only compounded his absence. I tried to talk him out of it. It’s a death wish, I’d said, but my pleas were no use, and now, five months later, I waited to see if I was right.

I needed to distract myself, steer my mind away from those nervous thoughts, so I looked around. The platform was crowded with the soldiers unboarding the train, their family members almost knocking them off their feet before they were planted back on the soil of their hometown. Across from this scene, our little Main Street sat quiet as ever, with a smattering of shops. Doc Johnson’s office, the General Store, Confections, where Charlie and I got our sweets. Charlie was especially fond of the lemon drops, and each time we went into Confections, he bought a giant scoopful from the glass jar that held them. He always kept a small, brown paper bag of them in his pocket. Sure, he loved them himself, but the bigger reason was to ensure they were on hand whenever he encountered one of our town’s kids. He’d become known as “candy man.” He was happy with that title and even happier with how lemon drops made the kids smile.

Next door to Confections was Mother’s quilt shop, the only store on the street owned by a woman. I was proud of this fact, but Mother failed to recognize how progressive she was.

An autumn breeze kicked up, blowing dust from our unpaved Main Street into the air. I rubbed my arms, combating the goose pimples as they ran a path down the rest of my body. Standing on tiptoes, I craned my neck to see over the crowd. The line from the train slowed almost to a stop, but Charlie was nowhere to be seen. My feet were glued to the patch of dirt I was standing on. My gaze fell to the ground, and I choked back tears as his absence confirmed my worst fears. Exhaling a shaky breath I looked up one more time, a smile curving the corners of my lips. Charlie didn’t see me, but I saw him staggering off the train with a cane. His parents rushed to him and threw their arms around him. He smiled, but it looked different. There was a weariness in his eyes, and his face had changed, aged, despite the fact he’d been away only five months. It wasn’t until little Billy Jones ran up to him, throwing his arms around Charlie’s good leg, that I truly recognized him. This gesture brought light back to his eyes, chasing away the dark shadows there only a moment ago. He looked down at Billy with warmth while struggling to keep his balance. Charlie put his finger up and said something to the little boy. Billy backed away with an eager expression on his face while Charlie began rooting around inside of his pocket. He pulled out a small brown bag, and he poured two lemon drops into the palm of his hand. An excited Billy jumped up and down, gladly accepting Charlie’s gift.

That was it. He was home, and I didn’t care about his silence right then. I wanted to see him up close, throw my arms around him, and tell him how happy I was to have him back alive and well. I willed my feet to move in his direction when Caroline Davis emerged out of nowhere from the crowd with obnoxious flare. Her blonde curls bounced as she ran, and her dress hugged her perfect figure, accentuating every curve.

“Oh, Charlie, you’re home!” she yelled for all to hear. When she reached him, she kissed him all over his face, leaving red imprints of her lips and almost knocking his mother down in the process. Mrs. Harris threw Mr. Harris a disgusted look, filling me with a sense of satisfaction. Still, Charlie wasn’t fighting off Caroline with any real effort. Irritation replaced the relief I was feeling moments before. Had he gone and fallen in love with Caroline Davis? Had he forgotten all about his best friend in those five short months? Maybe a love tryst accounted for his silence all that time. Well, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of throwing his new love in my face without having the decency to tell me himself. I turned on my heel in a huff and ran home.

Back home in my room, I pulled out the last letter I wrote him. I never sent it—it was pointless anyway. I read the last words I’d written him and then fell back on my bed as a hot tear escaped my eye without permission.

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3 comments - What do you think?
Posted by Matthew Peters - October 6, 2015 at 5:38 am

Categories: Author Interviews   Tags: ,

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