excerpt – Mom Read It

Blog Tour and Giveaway: The Spell Thief

Posted on December 4, 2016November 27, 2016 by Rosemary Kiladitis

The Spell Thief
By Tom Percival
December 6, 2016; Hardcover, ISBN: 9781492646648

Book Info:
Title: The Spell Thief
Author: Tom Percival
Release Date: December 6, 2016
Publisher: Sourcebooks Jabberwocky

Summary:

Join Red, Jack, Rapunzel, and Anansi in this fun fairy tale mash-up chapter book series!

Jack (of the beanstalk fame) and his magical talking chicken, Betsy, have always been great at making new friends, like their BFFs Red and Rapunzel. But when Jack spots Anansi, the new kid in town, talking to a troll in the Deep Dark Woods, he immediately becomes suspicious. Everyone knows that trolls mean trouble, and Jack will do anything to prove to the rest of his friends that Anansi is a troll spy. Even if that means using stolen magic!

Goodreads Link: http://ow.ly/rDgP3065Ww6

Buy Links:

Amazon: http://ow.ly/ud3O3065WD0

Barnes & Noble: http://ow.ly/o76x3065WMa

IndieBound: http://ow.ly/9sfN3065WPn

About the Author:
Tom Percival studied graphic design in South Wales and has illustrated several picture books. He lives with his family in Bristol, England.

Social Media Links:
Author Website: http://tom-percival.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AllAboutTomPercival
Twitter: https://twitter.com/TomPercivalsays
Pinterest: https://uk.pinterest.com/tomp/

1
A Ship Comes In

Jack walked through the Deep Dark Woods with his pet hen Betsy tucked under one arm. He took a deep breath of the woodland air. It smelled fresh and exciting. Today was going to be a good day—he could just tell.

He walked toward a small, wooden cottage surrounded by a well-kept wooden fence. There was a fountain in the garden, also made of wood, but instead of water, it was blowing sawdust high into the air.

squawked Betsy.

“Don’t worry, Betsy. It’s only sawdust,” replied Jack. He wasn’t surprised that his hen had just spoken to him. After all, Betsy was a magical hen. Sadly, “What?” was the only thing she could say, which made most of their conversations rather one-sided.

Jack wiped his feet on the wooden doormat and knocked on the door. He heard booming footsteps from inside. The door swung open with a creak and a very woody smell.

A large man stood in the doorway, covered in wood shavings and holding a lopsided wooden cup.
“Well, look who it is!” he exclaimed with a smile, “Come on through, Jack! Red and the others are all out back.”

He ushered Jack inside, where every surface, and in fact everything, seemed to be made from wood…including the carpet and the curtains.

“So, how have you been, Jack?” asked Red’s dad.

“Good, thanks,” replied Jack politely. “How about you?”

“Oh, good, Jack, very good!” exclaimed Red’s dad. “In fact, I’ve just made a breakthrough!”

“A breakthrough?” asked Jack.

“With the wooden socks!” replied Red’s dad.

“Don’t you mean woolen?” countered Jack.

“Woolen socks?” repeated Red’s father, as if it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard, “I’m a wood-cutter, Jack, not a wool cutter!”

“Er, right…” said Jack.

“Do you want to try them on?” asked Red’s father, holding out two very solid, very wooden–looking socks.

“Um, not right now,” replied Jack. “I’d better go and catch up with Red. But thanks for the offer.”

Jack raced through the house and into the garden. The tree house towered up in front of him. Red’s dad had carved it out of one giant tree.

Jack’s friends were all sitting in the main room when he climbed in.

“Morning, all!” he called out.

Red grinned, Rapunzel did her very best curtsy, and the twins waved enthusiastically.

“Hey,” started Hansel.

“Jack!” finished Gretel.

Hansel and Gretel often finished each other’s sentences. Sometimes it could be confusing.

“Hey, Jack!” called Red. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

“The good news?” asked Jack hesitantly.

“The good news,” said Rapunzel, leaving a long pause, “is that there’s a ship coming into town from Far Far Away!”

squawked Betsy.

Jack gasped. A boat from Far Far Away! His dad might have sent him a letter…

“Yep!” added Red. “It should be arriving any minute! We’re going to have a race up to Lookout Point to watch it come in—last one there is a smelly troll!”

“So what’s the bad news?” asked Jack.

“The bad news is that Hansel’s just tied your shoelaces together!” said Rapunzel, as she and everyone else scrambled excitedly from the tree house.

Enter a Rafflecopter giveaway for a chance at one of 2 Copies of The Spell Thief!
Runs December 4-December 16 (US & Canada only)

Animal Fiction, Fiction, Fiction, Intermediate, Middle Grade

Blog Tour: Puppy Pals – MURPHY!

Posted on November 16, 2016November 16, 2016 by Rosemary Kiladitis

Murphy, by Susan Hughes
November 1, 2016; Trade Paper, ISBN 9781492634003

Book Info:
Title: Murphy
Author: Susan Hughes
Release Date: November 1, 2016
Publisher: Sourcebooks Jabberwocky

Summary:
The newest adventure in the pawsitively adorable Puppy Pals series!

Kat and her BFF Maya love playing with the puppies at her Aunt Jenn’s grooming business, Tails Up!, and the girls are always there to help a puppy in need.

So when a shy Shetland puppy named Murphy arrives, Kat and Maya can’t wait to play with him. But Kat invites new-girl Grace along, and Maya is less than pleased. Then they find a lost cocker spaniel named Tawny, and the girls can’t seem to agree on what’s best for her. Will Tawny find her way back home? And can Kat be friends with both Maya and Grace? Maybe Murphy can help them sort it all out!

Goodreads Link: http://ow.ly/LtfM305R2HW

Buy Links:
Amazon: http://ow.ly/fRpS305R2Nh
Barnes & Noble: http://ow.ly/8Rmm305R2VH
IndieBound: http://ow.ly/czVP305R33u

About the Author:
Susan Hughes is a writer and editor, and has been writing children’s books and articles for nearly twenty years. She has received numerous nominations for Canadian children’s writing awards. She lives with her family in Toronto. Visit Susan at www.susanhughes.ca.

Social Media Links:

Author Website: http://www.susanhughes.ca/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/childbkauthor

Enjoy an excerpt from Murphy right here!

Chapter One

Puppies were scampering across the grass. There must have been over twenty of them!

Some puppies were brown, some were black, and some were brown with white spots. Some puppies had perky ears, and some had floppy ears. Some had big, wide paws; some had little, dainty paws. All the puppies had sparkling eyes and wagging tails.

Kat was in her classroom, sitting at her desk.

Her eyes were closed. She was having her favorite puppy daydream.

Her mother and father smile at her.

“Of course you can have a puppy, Kat,” her mother says.

Her father sweeps out his arm. “Have any one you want!”

Kat smiles too. She looks at all the puppies, and she tries to choose. The little red Irish setter puppy gazing up at her with the dark-brown eyes? The black-and-white dalmatian puppy tumbling across the grass? The adorable wheaten terrier pup with the brown face and the black muzzle?

Suddenly the bell rang. School was over for the day, and the dream ended. But that was okay. Kat had puppy plans this afternoon.

“Let’s go!” Kat said to Grace, who was at the desk next to hers. The girls jumped out of their seats, grabbed their things, and made a beeline for the classroom door. But before they reached it, they heard their teacher’s voice.

“Katherine, Grace, where are you off to in such a hurry?” Ms. Mitchell stood at the front of the classroom. She was smiling.

Kat liked her fourth-grade teacher a lot. For one thing, Ms. Mitchell knew how much Kat loved puppies—and her teacher liked puppies too.

“You won’t believe it, Ms. Mitchell!” said Kat. “Remember how I told you my aunt opened up a dog-grooming salon? We get to help her with a puppy today!”

Ms. Mitchell smiled. “How wonderful!”

“Her business is doing really well,” explained Kat. “She thought it would take some time to get going, but she was swamped with customers all last week. So she asked Maya and me to help out after school. Did you know that Grace loves puppies, just like me?”

“I had an idea that she might,” Ms. Mitchell confessed, her brown eyes sparkling.

Grace chimed in, “When Kat found out, she asked me to help out at Tails Up! too!”

Grace was new to the town of Orchard Valley. She was slim with brown eyes. Grace often wore her long red hair in braids. She reminded Kat of Anne of Green Gables.

It had taken a few days, but Kat and Grace had become friends. Not best friends, like Kat and Maya—they did almost everything together. Maya liked to tease Kat and make her laugh. She said, “You love puppies, but your name is Kat? That’s crazy!” In return, Kat helped Maya with school projects and told her silly jokes. They had been in the same class since kindergarten, but not this year.

But now Kat had a new friend: Grace. And Maya had agreed to try to be friends with Grace too, even though the girls didn’t know each other at all and they didn’t seem to have much in common. Grace was quiet. Maya wasn’t. Grace had trouble saying how she felt about things. Maya did not.

Kat was keeping her fingers crossed that her two friends—her best friend and her new friend—would get along. This was the first time they were going to hang out together. They were going to Tails Up! together, and Kat had invited both girls to come over for dinner after. Maya had been to Kat’s house at least a million times, but it would be Grace’s very first time.

“Well, how lovely!” Ms. Mitchell looked pleased. “Any puppy would be very lucky to have you three looking after him. Have fun, girls!”

Kat and Grace hurried out of the school and across the playground. They stopped to look for Maya. They were all walking to Tails Up! together.

“Sorry I’m late.” Maya ran up, trying to catch her breath. “Okay, let’s go. But just tell me one thing: did I miss the answer to the joke?”

“Oh, right, the joke!” Grace said, grinning. She rolled her eyes. Every morning, Kat told a joke. Today it was, “Why are dalmatians not good at hide-and-seek?” As usual, she made her friends wait forever before she told them the answer.

“So tell us, Kat-Nip,” Maya demanded. “Answer.”

“Are you sure?” Kat teased. “You don’t want to guess again?”

“Oh, please. Put us out of our misery,” Maya said. “Right, Grace?”

“Right!” Grace chimed in.

“Here goes: dalmatians aren’t good at hide-and-seek because they’re always spotted!” Kat said.

“Agh!” moaned Grace and Maya.

“Worst joke ever!” Maya complained happily, as they all rushed toward Tails Up!

Don’t miss your chance to win your own copy of Murphy! Enter the a Rafflecopter giveaway today! (Runs until November 18, so enter now!)

Fiction, Fiction, Humor, Middle Grade, Middle School, Realistic Fiction, Tween Reads

Blog Tour: Scenes from the Epic Life of a Total Genius

Posted on November 12, 2016 by Rosemary Kiladitis

Scenes from the Epic Life of a Total Genius
By Stacey Matson
November 1, 2016; Hardcover, ISBN 9781492638025

Book Info:
Title: Scenes from the Epic Life of a Total Genius
Author: Stacey Matson
Release Date: November 1, 2016
Publisher: Sourcebooks Jabberwocky

Summary:
Lights. Camera. Action! Arthur Bean is back and headed for the big screen.
Arthur and Robbie have called a truce now that the writing contest and school play are over, but plans go astray when Arthur’s new girlfriend, Anila, gets jealous of his friendship with cool-girl Kennedy. And then there’s that little problem of the movie camera Arthur and Robbie borrowed to film their upcoming blockbuster movie…
As Arthur’s life goes off the rails all over again, laughs for the reader are right on track. Emails, doodles, texts, newspaper articles, and AV Club rules (which Arthur and Robbie usually break) give the story the same engaging look as A Year in the Life of a Total and Complete Genius.

Read an excerpt from Scenes from the Epic Life of a Total Genius right here!

Goodreads Link: http://ow.ly/7uP4305QZjm

Buy Links:
Amazon: http://ow.ly/2aE0305QZq5
Barnes & Noble: http://ow.ly/Ytjl305QZy0
IndieBound: http://ow.ly/XtcS305QZEc

About the Author:
Stacey Matson has worked in a theater program on Parliament Hill and written theater pieces for the Glenbow Museum and for the All-Nations Theatre in Calgary. She earned her master of arts in children’s literature at the University of British Columbia. Stacey lives in Vancouver, British Columbia. Visit Stacey at staceymatson.com.

Social Media Links:
Author Website: http://www.staceymatson.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/staxie

Enter a Rafflecopter giveaway for your chance at a copy of Scenes from the Epic Life of a Total Genius! Runs November 6-November 18 (US & Canada only)
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Fantasy, Fiction, Teen, Young Adult/New Adult

Blog Tour: Poet Anderson …Of Nightmares Excerpt

Posted on November 8, 2015November 8, 2015 by Rosemary Kiladitis

The publicity team for Poet Anderson …Of Nightmares was kind enough to give me a sizable excerpt to feature, so you can get sucked in like I did. Read, enjoy, and don’t forget to enter the Rafflecopter giveaway for a chance to win your own copy of the book, plus some nice swag!

Excerpt from Chapter 10, Poet Anderson …Of Nightmares, by Tom DeLonge and Suzanne Young

Jarabec splashed some water on his face, clearing off the dust and grime. “I was like you, Poet,” he said, using the bottom of his shirt to wipe his eyes. “A Lucid Dreamer—a bit of a lost soul. The man who owned this garden taught me through my dreams. He too, was a Poet. I learned how to garden, at first. Dreams can be useful that way. An indestructible training ground. I could kill the plants and bring them back without ever damaging a single stem. Eventually, the man’s lessons extended into other skills: how to fight, how to be strong, how to survive. And long after he was gone and this place had been razed, I recreated it—every detail near perfection.” Jarabec glanced around, and for a split second, Poet saw a touch of melancholy cross his features.

“It’s beautiful,” Poet said. Jarabec smiled, and crossed the yard to his monocycle, squatting in front of it to adjust a piston near the tire. “So this means I can enter your memories?” Poet asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted that sort of invasive power.

“No,” Jarabec said. “You can’t enter a memory. What you’ve done is enter my dream.” Jarabec stood, wiping his palms along the thighs of his pants. “You see,” he continued, “most people start their dreams in the Waking World— at their jobs, their homes, their memories. Their personal dream world is only slightly different. A few, like you or me, can get deeper, find a place like Genesis.

“Occasionally, a lost soul will end up in the Dream World. That’s where you come in,” Jarabec said. “You can guide them out; bring them home. You return them to the safety of their dreams with your tunnels. Someone like you can gain access to anywhere, I suppose. We don’t know the limits yet.”

Poet walked over to sit on a bench, facing Jarabec. There was so much he wanted to know that he wasn’t sure where to start. He ran his palm roughly over his face and looked at the Dream Walker. “So you can enter my dreams, too?” Poet asked.

“No,” Jarabec replied. “That is a Poet’s talent. When I found you on the subway, you’d already left your dreams on your way to Genesis. And this time, you found me.”

Poet thought about that, nodding his head. “My brother and I would share dreams, though,” Poet said. “Does that mean Alan—?”

Jarabec shook his head. “No, your brother is not a Poet. All that time, you were in his dream. You tunneled in and lived it with him. Perhaps neither of you realized.”

“Okay,” Poet said. “Well, then what was up with that thing, the Night Terror—it almost killed me.” He could still picture the creature’s glowing red eyes, the way it was ready to devour him.

Jarabec nodded, and crossed to a vertical garden planter with shelves and picked up a pair of garden shears, examining the blade. “You’re right,” Jarabec said, running his thumb along the sharp edge. “But it didn’t. And it won’t. You’ll find a way to kill the Night Terror when you need to.” Jarabec walked over to a row of rose bushes, trimming off the buds that were wilted.

Old habit, Poet thought. Jarabec’s movements were deliberate and practiced, as if the dream was pulling him into his old role.

“Why didn’t you just kill the monster in the subway?” Poet asked him. Surely the Dream Walker was better equipped to handle murderous monsters than he was. Jarabec clipped a dead rose and let it fall to the ground.

“Because it’s not my Night Terror.”

“Fair enough,” Poet said, holding up his hands. “Explain things, then. Are there rules to this? Because, honestly, I have no fucking clue what’s happening.”

Jarabec turned to him and looked him over. “I can’t tell you how to beat your Night Terror. You have to find the answer in yourself. He’s the manifestation of your fear.”

Poet scoffed. “You can’t give me a hint?”

“No.” Jarabec touched his chest, and the armor opened, his Halo rising up above his shoulder.

Although Poet had seen it before, in this calm moment, he was struck by the beauty of the Halo. The sphere was gold and majestic. He narrowed his eyes as the Halo began to revolve around them, and noticed its scrapes and scars. Scorch marks.

“So that’s your soul?” Poet asked quietly. He’d seen Jarabec use it to protect them, but he hadn’t thought about how it would be affected. “It’s…damaged.”

“It is,” Jarabec said, watching the Halo circle. “And I feel every wound.” He touched his chest. “A constant ache in the Waking World. Some Dream Walkers have little left of their Halos—their souls harden like a weapon. Let’s just say their waking selves can become a bit unfeeling because of it.”

“So it changes who you are in the other reality,” Poet asked.

“Oh, yes. But it was a choice we made,” Jarabec said. “In the dreamscape, your soul is your life. And the souls of Dream Walkers are especially bright—so strong they can exist outside of our bodies. They protect us, but at great cost. It’s not a decision to be made lightly.”

“But…how?” Poet asked. “How did you release your soul?”

Jarabec stiffened and glanced at the bamboo fencing, as if waiting. Poet listened a moment, but heard nothing. Still, the Dream Walker’s change in demeanor piqued his concern. “That’s a story for another time,” Jarabec said. “Right now we need to figure out how we can develop your talents. Get you ready.”

“Talents?” Poet said. “Well, I can break into your dreams, apparently. Create giant holes that I can pull people through. I used to be able to make stuff, but not always. And not when I was in the city.”

“No, you won’t be able to,” Jarabec said. “In your dreams, you control your surroundings, so long as you can focus your mind. But in Genesis—the Dream World—you’re just a Poet: a guide for the lost souls.” The Dream Walker began to pace, his Halo widening its circle to follow as he walked the rows of flowers, rubbing his chin. “And it is exceedingly rare to meet a Poet. Most know better than to be found.”

Poet leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “And why’s that?”

“Your bright souls make you targets,” Jarabec said. “If REM were to get his hands on one of you, you can’t imagine the havoc he could inflict on the Waking World. The power of your soul would allow him passage to destroy and terrorize. To cause nightmares. And nightmares give him strength, power. He won’t be content until the entire world dreams of destruction and misery. And even then, that probably won’t be enough.”

Fiction, Intermediate, Middle School, Realistic Fiction, Tween Reads

Spotlight On: Dream On, Amber by Emma Shevah

Posted on October 12, 2015September 14, 2015 by Rosemary Kiladitis

I reviewed Dream On, Amber by Emma Shevah a couple of weeks ago and really enjoyed it. Now, enjoy a publisher spotlight on the book, including an excerpt and a Rafflecopter giveaway where you have a chance to get your own copy of Dream On, Amber!

Dream On, Amber
By Emma Shevah
October 6, 2015
Hardcover ISBN 9781492622505

Book Info:
Title: Dream On, Amber
Author: Emma Shevah
Release Date: October 6, 2015
Publishers: Sourcebooks Jabberwocky

Praise for Dream On, Amber:
“By turns playful and poignant, in both style and substance, this coming-of-age novel will hook readers from the first page to the last.”—School Library Journal, STARRED review
“Amber’s effervescent and opinionated narration captivates from the start, making it easy to root for her as she strives to conquer the “beast” of her worries and thrive at home and at school.”—Publishers Weekly, STARRED review
“Shevah tenderly captures the void of growing up without a father yet manages to create a feisty, funny heroine… A gutsy girl in a laugh-out-loud book that navigates tough issues with finesse.” –Kirkus, STARRED review
“[This] novel is a charmer…While its humor and illustrations lend it Wimpy Kid appeal, its emotional depth makes it stand out from the pack. Molto bene!”- Booklist, STARRED review

Summary:
My name is Ambra Alessandra Leola Kimiko Miyamoto. But call me Amber. I have no idea why my parents gave me all those hideous names but they must have wanted to ruin my life, and you know what? They did an amazing job.
As a half-Japanese, half-Italian girl with a ridiculous name, Amber’s not feeling molto bene (very good) about making friends at her new school.

But the hardest thing about being Amber is that a part of her is missing. Her dad. He left when she was little and he isn’t coming back. Not for her first day of middle school and not for her little sister’s birthday. So Amber will have to dream up a way for the Miyamoto sisters to make it on their own.

Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25965546-dream-on-amber?ac=1
Buy Links:
Amazon- http://ow.ly/RX7L9
Barnes&Noble- http://ow.ly/RX7VK
Books A Million- http://ow.ly/RX9Ra
iBooks- http://ow.ly/S3wH6
!ndigo- http://ow.ly/S3wQz
Indiebound- http://ow.ly/S3wYp

About the Author:
Emma Shevah is half-Irish and half-Thai, born and raised in London. She has lived in Australia, Japan, India (her first child was born in the Himalayas), and Jerusalem before moving back to the UK. Emma has busked as a fire-juggler, been a restaurant manager, a copy writer, an English teacher, and is now a blogger and author.

Social Networking Links:
Website: http://emmashevah.com/
Twitter: @emmashevah

Excerpt from Dream On, Amber:
Bella came in wearing her matching pink nightdress, pink dressing gown, and pink slippers with Hello Kitty all over them. I just don’t get why people like Hello Kitty. I know it’s Japanese and supposed to be kawaii (cute) and everything, so maybe I should like it, but it’s just a picture of a cartoon cat’s head. I mean, seriously, what’s the big deal?
Bella’s hands were behind her back like she was hiding something. She looked much happier than she did when we got home from the party. She moved her arms to the front and handed me a sealed envelope.

“What’s this?” I asked, putting my sharpener down.

“Can you mail it for me tomorrow?”

I looked at the front of the envelope. There was nothing written on it.

“But it’s blank, Bella.”

“Yuuup.”

“Who’s it for?”

“None of your beeswax, Mrs. Nosy Pants.”

“Um…okay. So you…you want me to put it in the mailbox?”

“Yes, Amber. Duuuh. That’s what mailing means.”

“But how is the mailman going to know who to give it to if it has no name on it?”

“Oh,” she said, frowning.

She lay down on her belly on the floor and with her red crayon from the dollar store (well, she wasn’t borrowing any of mine), she wrote on the front of the envelope: “TO MY DAD.”

I looked at her.

“Bella—”

“Shush,” she said. “Just mail it for me.”

“But there’s no address on it—”

“The mailman will know where he lives. He knows where everyone lives.”

“He won’t know where Dad lives. Nobody knows where Dad lives. Not even Mum.”

“Didn’t I say ‘shush’? I’m sure I said ‘shush.’ Just mail it for me. Pleeease, Amber.”

I sighed. What was I supposed to tell her? She was too little. She didn’t get it. So I took it and put it on my desk, just to make her happy.

I know I shouldn’t have done it and it’s probably against the law and everything but when she went out of my room, I opened it.

It said:

Dier Dad,
My nam is Bella and Im your dorta. My bithday party is on Sunday 16 Speptmbr and I rely want you too come. And I neid you to play with me in the park and posh me on the swing. Please come home
love, Bella
P.S. Please buy me a perpel Swatch wach and Sparkle Girl Julerry Makar for my bithday.

I didn’t know what to do. Obviously, I wasn’t going to mail it without an address on it. So instead, I put it in my secret place. If you pull the bottom drawer of my dresser all the way out, there’s a space under it on the floor where I put my most sacred things. I had a coin that I found in Hyde Park that I’m sure is Roman or Viking and one day I’m going to sell it and get mega rich. I had a few other cool things in there too. Some of them are embarrassing, like key-rings I made out of lanyard strings when I was, like, seven and valentine cards my mum sent me. Stuff you can’t exactly throw out but really don’t want anyone to see. The letter wasn’t one of my sacred things but where else was I going to put it?
I also had a picture of my dad holding me when I was a baby that I sneaked out of Nonna’s album. Obviously, we have a whole bunch of photos of him in that album, but I wanted one for myself. One of him with me. Just to prove to myself that he did actually exist and hold me once, and he even looked proud. I don’t look at that photo much because it makes me angry. I know it doesn’t make sense to keep it, but there you go. Not everything makes sense. If it did, he would never have left in the first place.

There was another knock on my door, so I quickly closed the drawer.

“Hang on… Okay, you can come in now.”

Bella stuck her head in.

“When do you think he’ll get it?” she asked.

“Well, they have to find him first. It’s not easy, you know. It takes teams of detectives months to find missing people.”

She walked in to my room and said, “Oh,” and did that thing where she points her toes inward and puts one foot over the other, like her toes are hugging.

“Do you think he’ll get it before my birthday?”

“I don’t know, Bella. I don’t think so. But if by some weird miracle he did get it before then, I’m sure he’d come to your party.”

Bella unhugged her toes and put her hands on her hips. “Amber?”

“Mmm?”

“How do you know I want Dad to come to my party?”

Oops.

“Well, it’s kind of obvious, Bella. You did ask if he’d get it before your birthday.”

“Oh,” she said, frowning. “Hmm. Well, okay.” And she skipped back to her room.

The letter wasn’t my biggest problem at that point. I was so worried about starting my new school in the morning that I couldn’t get to sleep for ages. When you can’t sleep, your mind starts going a bit doolally. Well, mine does anyway. I start thinking all kinds of crazy things. And eventually the problem with Bella and her letter worked its way into my churning brain.

It was kind of mean and everything but there were times I really wished Bella wasn’t my sister. But knowing there was a huge hole where our dad was supposed to be wasn’t much fun either. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that maybe, just maybe, I could do something about it. I could save Bella from years of torture with one quick solution.

It seemed straightforward enough.

I decided to pretend to be my dad and write back to her, you know, to make her feel better.

And that was it.

Paff!

The most ingenious idea I’ve ever had lit up my mind like a firework.

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Teen, Tween Reads

Sourcebooks Fire Spotlight on Allan Stratton’s The Dogs!

Posted on September 1, 2015August 6, 2015 by Rosemary Kiladitis

The Dogs
By Allan Stratton
September 1, 2015; ISBN 9781492609384
Book Info:
Title: The Dogs
Author: Allan Stratton
Release Date: September 1, 2015
Publisher: Sourcebooks Fire

Praise for The Dogs:

“Stratton masterfully constructs a creepy gothic setting…A monstrous, stalking father, unhinging nightmares, a ghostly boy, wild dogs, and a moldy basement add creepy deliciousness to a murder mystery and tale of a boy who, in trying to solve a mystery, may just discover what a loving family might be. An engrossing blend of murder mystery and family story.” –Kirkus STARRED Review
“There’s fear aplenty in Allan Stratton’s The Dogs and a tantalizingly uncertain element of the supernatural… refreshingly like an old-fashioned mystery, but the passion and terror underlying (our hero’s) own family give it emotional complexity and suspense.” – Toronto Star

“A real page-turner… [The Dogs] stayed with me for days, author Allan Stratton having created an unsettled aura the likes of which Alfred Hitchcock and Stephen King routinely built into their work, too… Stratton’s depiction of setting and characters is masterful, and his ability to create tension and keep readers on edge is equally strong.” – Montreal Gazette

“A chilling tale of a mother and son on the run, from the author of the award-winning Chanda’s Secrets…Written in accessible prose, The Dogs manages to thrill while exploring the mindset of the victim in ways that are both insightful and affecting, artfully portraying permanent state of dread and a creeping self-doubt. This is an accomplished, gripping and thoughtful story, whose dramatic ending delivers on every level.” –The Guardian

“Brilliant, page-turning, and eerie. Had me guessing to the very end.” –Joseph Delaney, author of The Last Apprentice series.

“An Agatha Christie mystery novel on cocaine” –SLJ Teen Newsletter

Summary:
Constantly on the run from a dangerous father, Cameron’s used to pushing away the trauma of his past. But when his mother moves them to an old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, he discovers that there are some things you can’t escape.

His new schoolmates taunt him about the bloodthirsty dogs that supposedly haunt the farm, and Cameron soon stumbles upon a child’s drawings in the cellar that depict a violent history. The line between reality and nightmare begins to blur as the house’s horrifying secrets mix with fragments of Cameron’s own memories—some best left forgotten.

Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25496559-the-dogs

Buy Links:
Amazon- http://ow.ly/Psemx
Barnes&Noble- http://ow.ly/PseQv
Books A Million- http://ow.ly/Psf07
iBooks- http://ow.ly/Psn2L
!ndigo- http://ow.ly/Psn9l
Indiebound- http://ow.ly/PsnfJ

About the Author:
Allan Stratton is an internationally published playwright and author. His awards include a Michael L. Printz Honor Award, multiple ALA picks and the Independent Publisher Book Award. Check out his website at http://www.allanstratton.com/.

Excerpt from The Dogs:
I go up to my bedroom. It’s at the top of the living-¬room stairs, next to a small bathroom and near the big room over the kitchen. That’s the room Mom thought I’d pick, and I would have, except for the trapdoor in the ceiling. It’s sealed up with nails and paint. When I saw it, I asked Mom what she thought was up there.

“An attic.”

“Yeah, but what’s in it?” I pictured a dried-up body, half eaten by mice. I mean, who seals up an empty attic? Anyway, that’s why I didn’t choose the big room. If I don’t see the hatch, it’s easier not to think about what’s on the other side.

The bedroom I picked came with an oak desk, a wooden chair, a night table with a lamp, and a metal-frame bed. The mattress is new, unlike the wallpaper, which is stained and peeling along the seams near the window. Under the peels are layers of older wallpaper, one with little orange canaries on it.

The window over my desk is the one good thing about my room. Looking out, I can see the barn with the fields all around and the woods in the distance. At night, the stars and the glow of the porch-¬lamp light up bits of the barn and the first row of cornstalks.

I start to do my homework. Pretty soon, though, I’m looking out the window, watching the stars come out and trying to forget my life. I wonder who all are staring up at the moon right now. Are they wondering the same thing?

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch something moving by the barn. When I look, it disappears. Wait. There it is again at the cornfield. Some movement, some thing.

I count to twenty. Nothing. I relax. Then—¬did that stalk move? I turn off my light so whatever’s out there can’t see in.

It’s probably just a breeze.

Or Mr. Sinclair. Or Cody and his gang.

Don’t be nuts. If it’s anything, it’s an animal. A coyote or a dog.

The dogs. I close my curtains. If I don’t look out, whatever’s there will go away. But I can’t not look. I sneak a peek. Nothing. Wait. By the barn. Is that a boy?

I blink. The boy is gone.

My eyes scan the barn. There’s a missing board up in the loft area. The more I stare, the more I think I see the boy staring back at me from the shadows behind the hole. He’s maybe ten, very pale, and he’s wearing one of those old Davy Crockett hats with the raccoon tail hanging from the back. Are those freckles on his cheeks?

Don’t be crazy. The barn’s too far away to see stuff like that.

The face disappears. I stare till I see double. The face swims back into view.

This is too weird. I close my eyes and try to clear my head by thinking about the bus and the Cheerios between Benjie’s teeth. When I open my eyes, everything’s normal. There’s no face.

Nothing. Just the night.

And that’s how it stays.

I close my curtains, get ready for bed, and crawl under the covers. I hate the way I scare myself. It’s always the same and it’s always stupid. And the scared-¬er I get, the more I talk to myself, which is even stupider.

Besides, even if there was a boy in the barn, what’s scary about that? Maybe he just likes exploring places like I do. Still, it’s weird he’s on our property, especially so late. I wonder where he lives.

Who says he lives anywhere? Who says he’s real? What parents let a kid that young wander around at night?

Mom knocks on my door. “Cameron?”

“Yeah?”

“May I come in?”

“Sure.”

I know she wants to give me a good-night hug, but I told her to stop it when I was twelve, so she just stands in the doorway. “I know you didn’t mean anything. You’ve had a hard day. I’m sorry I overreacted.”

I hate it when she’s all understanding. It makes me feel like an even bigger jerk. “That’s okay. Mom, I really am sorry.”

“I know.” She pauses. “’Night, then. I love you.”

I want to say the l-word back, but I feel dumb, so I just say, “You too.”

Mom closes the door. I go to turn off my lamp and get flashes of Mr. Sinclair and the dogs and the kid I maybe saw in the barn. What’s out there in the dark, circling the house when we’re asleep? What could be out there?

I leave the light on.

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Horror, Teen, Young Adult/New Adult

Spotlight Tour: Rin Chupeco’s The Suffering!

Posted on August 19, 2015July 23, 2015 by Rosemary Kiladitis

I just finished reading Rin Chupeco’s The Suffering – the sequel to last year’s The Girl from the Well – and you are in for a treat. Well, you’re in for an even bigger treat, because Sourcebooks Fire has a Rafflecopter giveaway for you, along with an excerpt from The Suffering!

The Suffering
By Rin Chupeco
September 1, 2015; Hardcover ISBN 9781492629832; Trade Paper ISBN 9781492629849
Publisher: Sourcebooks Fire

Praise for the Suffering:

“Rin Chupeco’s The Suffering is a horror lover’s dream: murders, possessed dolls, and desiccated corpses. I cringed. I grimaced. You won’t soon forget this exorcist and his vengeful water ghost.”
–Kendare Blake, author of Anna Dressed in Blood

“Chupeco deftly combines ancient mysticism with contemporary dilemmas that teens face, immersing readers in horrors both supernatural and manmade. The Suffering is a chilling swim through the murky waters of morality.”
–Carly Anne West, author of The Bargaining and The Murmuring

Summary:

Breathtaking and haunting, Rin Chupeco’s second novel is a chilling companion to her debut, The Girl from the Well.

The darkness will find you.

Seventeen-year-old Tark knows what it is to be powerless. But Okiku changed that. A restless spirit who ended life as a victim and started death as an avenger, she’s groomed Tark to destroy the wicked. But when darkness pulls them deep into Aokigahara, known as Japan’s suicide forest, Okiku’s justice becomes blurred, and Tark is the one who will pay the price…

Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24789796-the-suffering?from_search=true&search_version=service_impr

Buy Links:
Amazon- http://ow.ly/PrKxL

Barnes&Noble- http://ow.ly/PrKLh

Books A Million- http://ow.ly/PrL7j

iBooks- http://ow.ly/PrLCI

!ndigo- http://ow.ly/PrLOZ

Indiebound- http://ow.ly/PrLXu

About the Author:
Despite uncanny resemblances to Japanese revenants, Rin Chupeco has always maintained her sense of humor. Raised in Manila, Philippines, she keeps four pets: a dog, two birds, and a husband. She’s been a technical writer and travel blogger, but now makes things up for a living. Connect with Rin at www.rinchupeco.com.

Social Networking Links:
Website: http://www.rinchupeco.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/RinChupeco

Excerpt from The Suffering:
It’s still early morning when our group is given clearance to enter. Aokigahara is a deceptive forest. It has all the hallmarks of a popular tourist destination: narrow but well-maintained hiking trails with a surprising amount of litter, not to mention strips of tape and ribbon wrapped around tree trunks. The leader explains that hikers use them as markers to maintain their bearings. Later on, one of the other volunteers whispers to us that some of the tapes were left by those who came here to kill themselves, in case they decided to change their minds. The revelation horrifies Callie.

A few miles into our hike, anything resembling civilization disappears. Roots crawl across the hard forest floor, and it’s easy to trip if you’re not constantly looking down. We’re outside, but the trees make it feel claustrophobic. They reach hungrily toward the sun, fighting each other for drops of light, and this selfishness grows with the darkness as we move deeper into the woods.

It’s quiet. The silence is broken by the scuffling of feet or snapping of dry twigs as we walk. Every so often, volunteers call back and forth to each other, and rescue dogs exploring the same vicinity that we are will bark. But there are no bird calls, no sounds of scampering squirrels. We’re told that there is very little wildlife in Jukai. Nothing seems to flourish here but trees.

This deep into the woods, any roads and cleared paths are gone. At times, we’re forced to climb to a higher ledge or slide down steep slopes to proceed, and there’s always some root or rock hiding to twist an ankle.

And yet-the forest is beautiful. I like myself too much to seriously think about suicide, even during my old bouts of depression, but I can understand why people would choose to die here. There is something noble and enduring and magnificent about the forest.

That sense of wonder disappears though, the instant I see them. There are spirits here. And the ghosts mar the peacefulness for me. They hang from branches and loiter at the base of tree trunks. Their eyes are open and their skin is gray, and they watch me as I pass. I don’t know what kind of people they were in life, but they seem faded and insignificant in death.

Okiku watches them but takes no action. These are not the people she hunts. They don’t attack us because they’re not that kind of ghosts. Most of them, I intuit, aren’t violent. The only lives they had ever been capable of taking were their own.

I’m not afraid, despite their bloated faces, contorted from the ropes they use to hang themselves or the overdose of sleeping pills they’ve taken. If anything, I feel lingering sadness. I can sympathize with their helpless anguish. These people took their own lives, hoping to find some meaning in death when they couldn’t find it in life. But there’s nothing here but regret and longing.

And there’s that tickle again, so light it is nearly imperceptible. Something in this forest attracts these deaths. It lures its unhappy victims with its strange siren’s call and then, having taken what it needs, leaves their spirits to rot. A Venus flytrap for human souls.

Something is wrong here, and suddenly, the forest no longer looks as enticing or majestic as when we arrived.

New in Paperback from this Author: The Girl From The Well

Praise for The Girl From The Well:

“[A] Stephen King-like horror story.” -Kirkus Reviews

“Told in a marvelously disjointed fashion.” -Publishers Weekly STARRED Review

“This gorgeously written story reads like poetry.” -Brazos Bookstore

“Darkly mesmerizing.” -The Boston Globe

“A superior creep factor that is pervasive in every lyrical word.” -Booklist

Summary:
The Ring meets The Exorcist in this haunting and lyrical reimagining of the Japanese fable.

Okiku has wandered the world for hundreds of years, setting free the spirits of murdered children. Wherever there’s a monster hurting a child, her spirit is there to deliver punishment. Such is her existence, until the day she discovers a troubled American teenager named Tark and the dangerous demon that writhes beneath his skin, trapped by a series of intricate tattoos. Tark needs to be freed, but there is one problem-if the demon dies, so does its host.

With the vigilante spirit Okiku as his guide, Tark is drawn deep into a dark world of sinister doll rituals and Shinto exorcisms that will take him far from American suburbia to the remote valleys and shrines of Japan. Can Okiku protect him from the demon within or will her presence bring more harm? The answer lies in the depths of a long-forgotten well.

Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25263927-the-girl-from-the-well

Buy Links:

Amazon- http://ow.ly/PrQwE

Barnes&Noble- http://ow.ly/PrQFa

Books A Million- http://ow.ly/PrQQU

iBooks- http://ow.ly/PrR6c

!ndigo- http://ow.ly/PrRlE

Indiebound- http://ow.ly/PrQp2

Click here for a Rafflecopter giveaway!

Fantasy, Science Fiction, Teen, Young Adult/New Adult

An excerpt from The Temple of Doubt

Posted on July 30, 2015July 28, 2015 by Rosemary Kiladitis

I recently reviewed Anne Boles Levy’s sci-fi/fantasy YA novel, The Temple of Doubt. The book is about to hit shelves, and I’m able to bring you an excerpt… you know, to whet those appetites. Here you go:

“Brown snakes as thick as a man’s arm slid from branches on either side of our punt and into the water, where they writhed across the murky surface. The boat paused to avoid them and then skirted the narrow, spiked waterwood roots that poke above the water line. A pole wedged between several roots the puntsman couldn’t see, and he twisted it free.

I shared the narrow craft with Mami and S’ami and two guards to prod us along. It was a tight fit, and knees would knock at any unexpected turn of the craft. I wasn’t going to make good on my days-ago wish of throttling S’ami with my head scarf, but it did take effort not to wince whenever he looked my way. He was the only Azwan with us. The other Azwan and half the guards had remained behind in the expectation S’ami would die.

I’d forced myself to keep my head straight and not glance around, feverishly looking for Valeo. I hadn’t made up my mind whether I wanted him there nor not. I didn’t want anyone I knew, even slightly, to be out in the wilds with us. But I also didn’t want to die alone here without a single ally among the hulking Temple Guards. Who else besides Valeo would care even a little whether Mami and I made it back?”

You can buy The Temple of Doubt on August 4th. Check out the Sky Pony website to order your copy; while you’re at it, follow them on social media. They’ve got some great books coming out!

The Spell Thief By Tom Percival December 6, 2016; Hardcover, ISBN: 9781492646648

1 A Ship Comes In

The Spell Thief
By Tom Percival
December 6, 2016; Hardcover, ISBN: 9781492646648

1
A Ship Comes In