Tuesday, 22 October 2013

Henly and Renner (SNEAK PEEK)

So as a way to stir up some 'hype' for my book my girl, Abby Stanford, helped me recreate one of mine, and a few others favorite scenes (Anna and Lindsey). It was a fun day! I had a blast being able to portray Henly, but Abby made sure to take the pictures so that my face was blurred, and hidden because I wanted to make sure that you, the reader, will still have your own idea of what she looks like because that's how it should be (And I in NO way look like her, or vice versa). Anyways, thanks to her sweet skills I got some photo's that could match up to this amazing scene between Henly and Renner!

I'll post more as the weeks count down with more excerpts...


We watch as the convoy drives off the compound, weaving through the empty streets. Almost instantly images of what could happen to him flash before my eyes and I have to force myself to stay planted. Behind us the group has started a new game, and I suddenly feel drained as if I haven’t slept in years. I decide that it’d be best if I went inside to rest.

            I turn around when I hear Renner, “What are you doing tonight?” He shifts his weight as he uncrosses his arms.

          “What?” I ask, wondering if he’s testing to see if I am going to go after them. “Sleep mostly.”
            He exhales and rubs his palms together nervously, “Will you—” His exhale is deep, “Will you go on a date with me? Tonight?”
            I follow his gaze to my boots. I look up, and around to whom he’s talking to. I mean sure, we kissed a few times, but back in school it was a common occurrence to kiss and it not mean anything. Plus, I kind of ended it with him earlier so I doubt he’d be talking about me. So of course I don’t think it through when I respond.
           “Who me?” I say pointing at myself.
            “Who else?” The corners of his lips twitch into a smile.
             “You want to take me on a date?” I ask, looking around confused.
            His confidence wavers with his shaky laugh, “Yes.”
            I raise an eyebrow in curiosity by his unusual bashfulness and decide to have a little fun with it, “Why?”
            His exhale is shaky when he answers, “Because in any other world this is how I’d do it, how it’d all start. We’d go to dinner, then bowling, a movie, drive around or play a game,” he laughs in between, “I don’t know, anything. We’d talk about things that didn’t revolve around the virus, Deviations, or death.” He licks his lips as his nerves take control, “Then I’d drop you off late, worried about your dad killing me because we lost track of time.” He pauses as if regaining his credence, “And even if the world’s gone to Hell, I don’t want to lose that.”
            I stand completely still, overwhelmed by this version of him that I hadn’t seen before. And it enters my mind—maybe chivalry isn’t dead.
            “Okay,” I respond calmly. “I’ll see you at eight.”
            He smiles, “See you at eight.”

The knock is a few minutes early and I feel my stomach twitch, tumbling into itself. I open the door and see him standing awkwardly clean. His faded unbuttoned shirt is opened to a plain white tee. He’s dressed down in dark denim and his outdated Vans pull his California-casual look together. I laugh at the weeds gathered in his hands.
“This is all I could find.” He laughs presenting them to me.
“Thanks.” I smile and set them on the small side table by the door.
“You look nice.”
Thanks to Alba, who loaned me one of her dresses—a burnt orange color covered with white lace. My hair falls in loose waves down my shoulders. I feel goose bumps under the thick straps as the breeze seeps in through the doorThe tan flats aren’t something I’d wear, but Alba insisted that it pulled the outfit together. She also insisted that she help get me ready. Earlier, I caught a glimpse of what Alba did with my face. I was amazed at how she made small specks of gold appear around the irises of my eyes, making my green eyes more vibrant—more appealing. I pat at the dress to keep it from swaying in the breeze and instantly wish I had worn jeans because standing in front of Renner I suddenly feel overdressed.
“Thanks. You too.” I say eyeing his opulent hair.
“Ready?” He extends his hand out.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“It’s a surprise.” He smiles.

Sunday, 20 October 2013

INDIE Publishing.

So I'm pretty excited to announce that I am going to self-publish.

This was a hard decision because I had dreamed about traditional publishing, but after several hours of research and looking into the pro's and con's I have decided that this is the path that I want to take!

So that means my book will be published in about 6-8 weeks. No set date yet, but it'll be a lot sooner this way then going through traditional publishing, and I can honestly say that I am over the moon about it because I want to get my book out to as many readers as possible!

This is exciting, and I can say that I am so glad that I have so many people on my side that are willing to help me out!

SO... As soon as I set a release date I'll let everyone know!

Here I go!

Sunday, 13 October 2013


Alright it's late and here I am. Sick. And unable to sleep. Again. Which leads me to this... So I'm sure this happens to several of you--the midnight brain marathons. The ones where you stare at the clock as it ticks away the minutes that leads into the hours of early morning sleeplessness. 
That's me. Tonight--right now.
Oh I'm replaying every woulda-coulda-shoulda scenario and thus far I've concluded that my midnight brain marathons seem to be a mixture of a Mexican soaps on crack. Now you may be asking how this is possible. I'll tell you. It's no easy task to combine the two, but I make it work. Well I can't come to a clear conclusion to that because everyone I live with is asleep and luckily, can't read my mind. But back to the soap opera on crack. It's every detail from the memories I want to change except the colors are more vibrant the faces more exotic and the locations are full of color and richness. And in these beautiful little moments of drama I shout my feelings, and expect some outlandish return of love. I guess I am a writer...as I crawl back to bed, the sky loses it's night time pigment, and I am reminded why I love to write so much. Because in those sentences I can be free. I can write down some random thought, or feeling and be free of them.  And in so many ways a lot of the stories I write I leave some part of myself behind for others to see. And though they're my stories I hope that someone will read them and think wow I can relate. So much so, that they can't help but feel that what I've written directly includes them. When this moment happens I'll know that I've done my job as a writer. That I've helped someone escape--lose themselves, or even find a sanctuary in the off white pages.