4 Aug 2020

I Am Here Now by Barbara Bottner


I Am Here Now
Barbara Bottner
Published by: Macmillan
Publication date: August 4th 2020
Genres: Coming of Age, Young Adult

Set in the 1960s, Barbara Bottner’s I Am Here Now is a beautiful novel in verse about one artist’s coming of age. It’s a heartbreaking, powerful and inspiring depiction of what it’s like to shatter your life—and piece it all back together.

You can’t trust Life to give you decent parents, or beautiful eyes, a fine French accent or an outstanding flair for fashion. No, Life does what it wants. It’s sneaky as a thief.

Maisie’s first day of High school should be exciting, but all she wants is to escape.

Her world is lonely and chaotic, with an abusive mother and a father who’s rarely there to help.

So when Maisie, who finds refuge in her art, meets the spirited Rachel and her mother, a painter, she catches a glimpse of a very different world—one full of life, creativity, and love—and latches on.

But as she discovers her strengths through Rachel’s family, Maisie, increasingly desperate, finds herself risking new friendships, and the very future she’s searching for.

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EXCERPT:

THE CITY

The tiny fire escape is our private spot.

My dad says he’s sorry he’s gone so often.

Do I remember when I was six

and he took me into the city?

I wore a red coat, red shoes,

and perfect white leather gloves

embroidered with tiny blue buds.

I recall watching the road into New York:

billboards, telephone lines, bridges,

muddy sky.

The parking garage man said,

“So you’re the boss man’s little lady

I’ve heard so much about?”

The elevator man, Jimmy,

knew my name!

My dad’s corner office had the most windows,

the biggest desk, too.

My father bragged, “Your daddy runs this joint!”

From his window, as it got dark,

we could see Manhattan laid out in front of us

like a glittering tablecloth.

How could I not remember?

It was a perfect day,

until he turned the key in our front door.

Mother was waiting.

We were in for it.

A breeze pushes the fumes against my face.

He snuffs out a butt, then lights another,

says, “Look, kid, smoking’s a dirty habit.

I’m going to quit soon.”

“Teach me to smoke!” I say.

His eyebrows meet above his nose,

and as the tip of the cigarette burns,

it sends smoke into the clear night

like a signal.

Maybe, across the Harlem River

someone will see it,

realize we are signaling: Help!

“Let me try it, please? I want to be like you!”

“No, you don’t! Not now, not ever.”

“But, Dad, at least I should know

what I’ll be missing for the rest of my life.”

He smiles so wide, I can see his molars.

“Well, you’ll never know about the future,”

he says, ominously.

I grab his arm.

“Tell me the truth.

Are you thinking of leaving?”

“Leaving what?”

“Dad!”

“What?”

“Us! Please! Please don’t leave!

You can’t. I mean it!

She hates me.”

“Calm down, Maisie,” he says.

My voice crackles.

“I’m just telling you, if you go,

she’ll put me in the ground.”

He ruffles my hair

as if I am being amusing.

I want to scream.

“You think I’m a rotten kid, too?”

“You’re a great kid, Maisie.”

“I’m trying to reform, Dad.”

“Maisie, honey,

I like you exactly the way you are:

spirited, smart, your own person.”

“Being my own person

is treacherous,” I say.

He turns to me.

“Are you working me over?” he asks.

I know not to answer.

“Okay, you poor kid, one puff.

I’ll give you one shot at it

but you have to do exactly what I say.

You have to learn how to inhale, okay?”

I do have to learn how to inhale.

How to breathe,

as if I belong here on the earth.

I look at his face,

think how I’m glad that he breaks the rules.

He says we’re alike.

That must be why I’m the way I am,

as my grandma likes to say,

always flirting with disaster,

as if disaster were my middle name.

“When you smoke,

you take in the deepest breath

as if you have to last underwater

without air.

Then, you keep it in

as long as you possibly can.”

“But you don’t do that, Dad.”

“I’ve been smoking a long time, kid.

Ready?” he says, and lights a fresh one.

I sit up tall under the stars,

put my feet on the bench,

straighten my back

so I can always remember

this moment, me and my dad,

on the same wavelength.

Me, trying to figure out

if he wants to protect me

while he’s teaching me to smoke.

How about telling me about school?”

He sighs, offers the cigarette.

“It has its moments,” I say,

and close my lips around the tobacco,

inhale really, really deeply.

I am about to show him the bruises

I still have on my arm,

but then the smoke curls in my chest,

which immediately wants to explode.

“Hold it in,” he commands.

“Don’t let it out.”

Finally my mouth opens

because I’m coughing and gasping.

It feels like some kind of torture.

The taste is nasty.

“It’s awful!” I cough.

“It tastes horrible, feels horrible.”

I’m practically crying.

“So disgusting! How could you?!”

My dad laughs.

“Well, now you never have to do it again!”

I dash inside, refuse to speak to him

for the rest of the night.

“I’m done with you, Dad!”

He laughs!

Later he knocks on my door,

takes my hand.

“Between you and me,

if anything ever happened—

not that it will—in the leaving department,

wherever I’d go,

you’d be coming with me, kid.

I promise.”

I throw my arms around him.

Later I will drift off wondering

how much warning he’d give me.

And what about my brother?

Author Bio:

Barbara Bottner has written about 50 books for children of all ages. In May, her first YA novel in free verse, I Am Here Now is coming out from Macmillan (Imprint) She's written a NY Times Bestseller, as well as staffed prime time sit-com, sold screenplays, published essays and short stories in both national and literary magazines and reviewed children's books for both the NY and LA Sunday Book Review. Many of her works have been multiply translated and animated, and adapted for short plays. When she was an animator, she won "Best Film For TV" from the Annecy International Animation Festival. When very young, she briefly appeared on stage and in Europe with La Mama Plexus and in television movies. She teaches writing for children privately but won The Distinguished University Teaching Award from The New School For Social Research. Her papers are collected in the Arne Nixon Center for Children's Literature at Fresno State.

Former students include: Lane Smith, Robin Preiss Glaser, Peggy Rathmann, Bruce Degen, Barney Saltsburg and Antoinette Portis.

She feels blessed to have a passion that seems to stick with her no matter how the larger world goes out of control.

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3 Aug 2020

August Fog by A.L Goulden


August Fog
A.L. Goulden
(August Fog, #1)
Publication date: August 1st 2020
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Women’s Fiction

Monica Waters has 31 days to choose between the love of her life or her soulmate. Juggling an unglamorous Hollywood career and a clumsy injury with an endless cocktail of antidepressants and dull daily routines, Monica moves through her thirties in a fog, avoiding the pain of her damaged marriage, broken body, and fragile mind.

Until he comes along.

When emerging artist Quinn Matthews moves next door, just coping with the downward spiral of life is no longer feasible. Their powerful connection ignites a relationship that will tip the boundaries of their perfectly balanced lives, sparking a mutual obsession and life-altering affair.

Monica tosses her prescriptions, striving to be free of their control, but with each passing summer day, dangerous secrets seep into their quiet suburban life, inching toward disaster. Sometimes the truth is hidden for a reason.

“This is a contemporary tale of a woman’s struggle to navigate love and mental illness, while defining where and how she will land on her own feet.” –Independent Reader

“A raw and honest look at the ugly secrets behind a flawed marriage and the stigmas of depression.”

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

They meet

Fusion can happen when two objects reach an extreme heat. When the blood boils, the same can be said of hearts. The connection can excite and ache and torment, yet the demise of will goes unnoticed when the thrill renders an addictive high. Monica Waters once loved getting high, both literally and figuratively, but outgrew the juvenile practice of artistic inspiration. She had responsibilities now, like a mortgage and an admirable career… and a husband.

Antidepressants helped too.

When Los Angeles soared past eighty-five degrees in April the unsettling promise of perpetual summer ignited tension across freeways. Monica shielded anxiety with music and a fun car. Bob Marley had eased an hour-long commute, also known as Thursday, delivering her to the sanctuary of home until she slammed the brakes.

A yellow Nissan blocked the driveway with no owner in sight. Her best friend owned the same vehicle but not with New York plates so she glared next door. Sharing a driveway with Rebecca’s bohemian flophouse had reached its limit.

Monica wedged her BMW into an ivy-covered carport at an awkward angle and pried herself out, trying not to scratch her paint against the fence. She mumbled a few obscenities when she couldn’t get leverage to slam the door but squeezed past the filthy SUV, smoothing her long chestnut hair. The tall Japanese-style gate that led to her bonsai garden greeted with Zen and wafts of jasmine.

That’s when she saw him.

On the wooden staircase that wound up to Rebecca’s converted attic was a man that shifted everything into slow motion. A man, that for a second at least, she would follow anywhere. Her reaction defied rational explanation. The guy wearing jeans and t-shirt carried a box but even his muscular build was common in this town. Still, he had a gentle force of gravity tugging like a current.

The back of his shaved head lacked noticeable character, but his climb was hypnotic. She stopped breathing while her heart pounded at an alarming speed. A beautiful tattoo engulfed his entire right arm with gnarled branches and scattered leaves of an old tree. It rooted around the box and swayed like a breeze as he moved.

When the gate slipped from her fingers, the slam jolted her from the daze and he turned. She inspected her purse and fumbled with her keys even when he paused near the top of the stairs, waiting for attention. She rushed to her back door but couldn’t resist the draw of his stare.

His eyes were crystal blue and pensive under a low-slung heavy brow. He stood confident like carved hardwood left unpolished with ample lips, a strong jaw, and a rugged nose, but didn’t come off as arrogant or boring. Her stomach twisted at his asymmetrical smile.

He was beautiful.

Flushed, she returned a tight grin and nod before barreling into her laundry room. “Who’s the guy next door?” she asked, dropping her stuff on the counter next to the deep sink.

Alex, still sweaty from work, gave her a quick kiss, which was followed by the smacks of a powerful dog tail to her thigh. Her husband’s own shaved head and brawny build still resembled an action hero but his gray eyes lacked the dangerous edge that once made him magnetic.

“You mean the Kelly Slater look-alike?” He laughed. “Rebecca’s renting out the upstairs to some artist. She says he’s bi-coastal… whatever that means. Pretty sure he’s gay.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Did you see what he drives?”

She cocked her head. “So.”

“So? That’s what Robin drives.” He flashed his hands.

“That might be the dumbest thing ever said. Did he look at you too long or something?” “Hey, I’ve got no problem if he’s gay. He can look all he wants. I’m just saying.” Alex flexed his arms and inspected himself.

“Just because Rebecca’s a lesbian doesn’t mean everyone she’s around is gay.” Monica reached to pet their rambunctious Lab Pointer mix, Lacey. “I just hate that she and Julie split. I miss her.”

“Me too. I wish she won the house but Rebecca could afford it.”

“Then why’s she renting out rooms?” Her words had that petulant tone she hated with an unwarranted volume.

“I don’t know,” he said, flicking the counter. “It’s not like we have control over our neighbors.” He shuffled towards the bathroom, stripping for his shower along the way. She watched, remembering when that used to send her running after him, but now he hopped around in his socks and underwear looking more child-like than sexy.

In her ballerina flats, Monica was two inches shy of six feet and two years shy of forty. Her curvy size fourteen worked in Hollywood, the land of size zeros. Sometimes she resented being a giant next to tiny, beautiful people because it equated invisibility, but she faked smiles in the back of every crew photo despite the obscurity of an editing career.

She bent to give Lacey attention and propped the back door open while Mr. Bi-coastal moved from his vehicle to the yard. The redwood fence obscured his face but a childhood crush on Yul Brynner embedded an allure to a nice shaved head. Staring like a lech though erased dignity, so she mustered the nerve to make an introduction.

She stepped outside but an eruption of vicious barking made her yelp. Two enormous Rottweilers flanked the middle landing on the staircase, flinging drool over the fence. Lacey ducked behind Monica in fear.

“No. No barking!” Mr. Bi-coastal bounded up the stairs. “I’m so sorry,” he said, setting another box down. “I promise I’ll keep them quiet. They’re friendly, I swear.” He drew an X over his heart like a seven-year-old but his intense expression was all grown-ass-man.

“It’s alright.” She swallowed hard. “My husband had lovable Rotts growing up.” Spitting out her marital status made her fidget but his shoulders relaxed. “My name’s Monica.”

“I’m Quinn.” He leaned against the railing that hovered above as if to shake her hand. “Did you guys just drive across the country?”
“Yeah.” He squatted to pet them and she noticed his left arm didn’t have visible tattoos.

“This is Sadie and Max. Once they know you, they’ll stop barking.”
She moved closer, pretending to care about this new pet relationship despite growls with

each step. “They’re just protective of you.” “Lucky me.”

She tried not to stare at the unicorn but artists wore gangly and pale with pride, escaping food and sun for months. This man nurtured his body.

“Beautiful dogs.”

Alex stood behind her, wet from the shower in just basketball shorts, but the lack of a Q-tip or something equally inappropriate was boggling.

Quinn straightened. “I was just telling your wife they’re friendly.”

Alex climbed the fence to engage their slobbery faces up-close and flaunt an arm tattoo of a Rott named Bosco. Monica was new to living with dogs but presumed they couldn’t recognize the image of devotion in permanent ink. This king-of-the-castle act was for Quinn.

“Nice tat,” he said, squatting for a closer look.

An immediate tit-for-tat and subtle competition developed between them but Monica found herself comparing odd qualities while they bonded over dogs. The pitch of their voices aligned and laughter became punctuation. Their attributes mimicked one another but Alex’s head was larger while Quinn ate leaner and worked out. They could pass as brothers but something about Quinn upset her.

He was too close.

The two historical homes sat less than seven feet apart, thanks to the lack of building restrictions in the 1920s. That proximity, which had sparked numerous noise complaints, didn’t seem to bother Alex now, tickling those beefy dog faces.

“Rebecca said you’re only here part-time.” Alex stepped off the fence and crossed his arms.

“I’m just starting to show my work here.” He hesitated as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to share more. “My agent thought it was wise, so I’ll be back and forth a lot.”

She hated the two adorable little creases that formed next to his eyes when he smiled. They were marks of experience. Marks of a life lived.

“We should let you get settled,” Alex said, motioning towards the box still sitting on the landing.

Quinn nodded. “It was nice meeting you guys.”

“Absolutely.” She cringed at her valley-girl tone and bizarre wave given to dogs with inherently sad eyes. She beelined for their bedroom hoping to erase that weird encounter from memory.

Author Bio:

Author of the “most realistic, often hilarious, and wonderfully romantic” (Rosie Malezer, international best- selling author) Chasing Swells returns with another emotionally charged and complicated love story about a Hollywood editor struggling with depression who meets her soulmate while she's married to her high-school sweetheart. This unique trilogy takes you through one woman's mid-life crisis as she stumbles and falls apart before realizing she's the only one who can put her pieces back together.

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1 Aug 2020

The Pain they Feel by Lynda Throsby


The Pain they Feel
Lynda Throsby
(The Pain Series, #1)
Publication date: August 12th 2020
Genres: Adult, Psychological, Romance, Thriller

Blaine has never stopped thinking about her. All those years ago when he saved her life, they had a connection. He didn’t know as a ten-year-old what that was, but those blue eyes of hers have helped him throughout his life, coming to mind during his darkest moments. He only hoped he would one day see her again.

He knew he wasn’t normal, whatever normal was. Though he didn’t physically feel pain, he suffered years of abuse with his mama telling him he was a freak. This made him think about pain to the point of obsession.

Needing to understand the pain they feel.

Primrose has never stopped thinking about the boy with the greenest eyes and the messiest black hair. Her knight in shining armor, the boy who saved her life when she was young.

She’d suffered two major losses in her life before she was eight years old. Living with a sister who hated her and made her life hell, the only solace she found was when she was sketching and painting the boy with the greenest eyes.

She knew they had a connection but didn’t understand it. She hoped she would one day see him again.

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Author Bio:

Lynda lives in Cheshire in the UK. She runs a successful financial business with her husband.
As a young teenager Lynda used to read horror books with a love for everything Stephen King and James Herbert. She has always wanted to write and even wrote horror stories at age 13/14. A little later she started reading Jackie Collins and Jilly Cooper and has always had a love of books. This then exploded with Twilight and Fifty Shades as it did with most people, oh, and the introduction of E-Readers.
In her spare time, she has a season ticket for Manchester City Football Club and goes to all the home games. Loves going to concerts and the theatre. She goes to the cinema at least once a week. Then when the weather is nice you can see her gliding down the road on her Harley Davidson 1200T motorbike.
Travelling is also high on the agenda and her dream is to visit every state in the USA.
She would love to hear from you.

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Trust by Aphra Wilson Book Blitz


Trust
Aphra Wilson
Publication date: August 1st 2020
Genres: Crime, Young Adult

Anna spends her life longing to escape her home town.
After her latest plan goes wrong, she’s forced to navigate a world of danger, drugs and violence alone.
She must make enough money to pay a debt and get her ticket out of there.
She has a week to do it. No big deal, right?
Her simple plan becomes complicated as she quickly accumulates trouble. A violent drug dealer, a Police Detective with a hunch, and an unwelcome admirer with something to offer are among the many hurdles Anna encounters.
As she faces up to her own past and the growing danger she’s in, she learns what the people around her are capable of.

Everyone wants something, but how far will they go to get it?

A story of friendship and sacrifice in the face of adversity.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Smashwords / Google Play

EXCERPT:

As the car slowed at the bottom of Clarie’s street, Anna reached for the door handle before it stopped. Shaun spotted her motion and popped the locks down from his side.

“Woah now. What’s the hurry?” The car stopped, and he turned to face her.

“Thanks for the lift, much appreciated. I better go though.” She flashed a fake smile to cover the fear taking over her face. He reached over to her knee and squeezed her with his huge hand.

“You could try and show me your appreciation.” His hand moved a little further up onto her thigh. Anna’s heart rate doubled, a bead of sweat collected on her top lip. How the hell did she end up in this position?

“Sorry, thanks a lot, I mean. I’m just in a hurry now, that’s all.”

He leaned further over. His mouth was closing in on her face, his hand sliding further up her inner thigh. She pulled back, her face turned away from his. His breath whistled through his nose. A scream was bubbling up inside her, but it couldn’t escape. Her breath was held, she closed her eyes tightly as if the darkness could save her. Her jaws clamped shut, and her lips sealed painfully tight. Her fists clenched around the seat belt as if it offered any safety. His hand moved, off her leg, it brushed over her breasts. Anna braced every muscle anticipating his next move.

Then click. He pulled the lock up from the door beside her shoulder. The heat and weight of his presence lifted as she opened her eyes, and he reclined into the driving position.

He was smiling, more than smiling, he was smoldering. He was drunk on her fear, his cheeks were burgundy, and he breathed through open lips. Still tense, she remained in the same position, her eyes wide now, taking in this horrible scene. He dragged his hand across his chest and down over his huge round gut.

“Any time you want a lift, you know where I am.”

Anna took a sharp breath to bring herself back into her body, she grabbed the door handle and scrambled out onto the pavement. She slammed the door, swung her bag onto her shoulder and walked away without looking back. The car started, engine revving, calling for attention, but she wouldn’t turn around. It was moving slowly, just behind her, then sped up to the corner, he turned at the end of the road, back towards her, she was almost at Clarie’s, he slowed to a funeral pace. His window open, his shapeless arm resting on the frame as he passed, shouting;

“Remember, I’ve enough money to solve all your problems, just waiting for you to say the word.”

Author Bio:

Aphra Wilson is a mother of three, a tattoo artist by day and a writer in the middle of the night.

She lives in Scotland with her husband and children, and enjoys reading and writing women's fiction. Her work is influenced by her passion for strong female characters, finding strength in adversity and finding comedy in hard situations.

You can get in touch with her here, www.aphrawilson.com

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