Friday Reveal The Tick Tock Man



Today R.M. Clark and Month9Books are
revealing the cover and first chapter for THE TICK TOCK MAN which releases May
2, 2017! Check out the gorgeous cover and enter to be one of the first readers
to receive a eGalley!!


A quick note from the author:

 

 

The Tick Tock Man is my
first foray into the world of speculative fiction. Here in New England, we are
fortunate to have many wonderful clocks around. We have clocks in church
steeples, parks, above banks and other locations. My idea for this story came from
a simple “what if”. What if there were a community of “clock
people” who kept all these great clocks running? Furthermore, what could
go wrong? Then I made something go wrong and the story “clicked.” The
Tick Tock Man takes place primarily in this fictional clock world, but the
issues, conflicts and resolutions are not unlike those in the real world.

 

 
Title: THE
TICK TOCK MAN
Author: R.M. Clark
Pub. Date: May 2, 2017
Publisher: TantrumBooks
Format: Paperback, eBook
Pages: 237
Find it: Goodreads
|
Amazon | B&N | TBD
When the clocks in town stop,
thirteen-year-old CJ discovers an unusual “clock world” where most of
the citizens are clock parts, tasked with keeping the big clocks running. But
soon the seemingly peaceful world is divided between warring factions with CJ instructed
to find the only person who can help: the elusive Tick Tock Man.

With the aid of Fuzee, a partly-human
girl, he battles gear-headed extremists and razor-sharp pendulums in order to
restore order before this world of chimes, springs, and clock people dissolves
into a massive time warp, taking CJ’s quiet New England town with it.

 

Excerpt


Chapter OneSomething wasn’t right.

I’d planned on sleeping in Thanksgiving morning because, hey, it was Thanksgiving, and that meant no school and no stupid alarm to wake me up. Well, that was the plan.

At precisely eight a.m., the clock sitting a mere two feet from my head wailed.

Thunka thunka thunka thunka.

Stupid clock. That wasn’t even a real alarm sound. It was just an invented strange noise to annoy me. I checked the buttons on top. No alarm set and no radio. Maybe it was a dream? Just to be sure, I gave the clock a good whack.

All was well. Back to sleep.

Bonka bonka bonka bonka.

Now it was nine o’clock. I sat up and grabbed the clock with every intention of tossing it against the back wall. What a pleasure it would have been to see it smash into a million pieces. I win!

But, this clock was a birthday present from Uncle Artie. He’d said it was “a special clock for a special kid.” I didn’t like being called “special” because that had a different meaning at school. But it was a cool clock.

Until now. I mean, what kind of noise was that? Certainly not the alarm sound I was used to.

I tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn’t help but wonder what crazy not-real-clock noise Uncle Artie’s “special” clock would make next. So I got out of bed.

Since it was Thanksgiving, I was not at all surprised to see my mom up and in the kitchen. The turkey was on the counter in a large pan. Her arm was halfway up the turkey’s you-know-what. Not what I wanted to see this early in the morning, thank you very much.

“Good morning,” Mom said. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” I wanted to mention the special-but-stupid clock that made strange noises at weird times, but she had grabbed another handful of stuffing and stuffed it “up there.”

“We’ll need a few guest chairs from the basement when you get a chance. Nana and Papa are coming over, of course. Plus Grandma and Grandpa Boyce. And Uncle Artie too.”

“Sure thing, Mom.” I was barely awake and she was already asking me to do math. Nobody was coming over for quite a while, so I wouldn’t need the, let’s see, two-plus-two-plus-one chairs for several hours. I had tons of time.

What better way to spend it than on the couch watching TV? It would probably be the most fun I would have all day, with both sets of grandparents coming over. It was annoying enough that they had different titles: “Nana and Papa” on the Barnes side, “Grandma and Grandpa” on the Boyce side.

Then there was Uncle Artie. He wasn’t really an uncle but that’s what we always called him. I’ve also heard him called a “distant cousin,” whatever that means. He said his job as an “importer” took him around the world to some pretty exotic places such as Vienna and Timbuktu and South America. No matter what faraway land he went to, he almost always brought us back a clock. We had wooden clocks, metal clocks, cuckoo clocks, and some that were just too odd to describe. Mom would open a package from him and say, “Hey, look. It’s a clock. Imagine that.”

Each clock came with a wonderful story, so my parents loved to get them for just that reason. Unfortunately, both of them hated having all those clocks, with their constant ticking and chiming, so we kept them stashed away in the spare room upstairs until Uncle Artie came to visit. And since he was on his way, I sat up, knowing what was coming next. In three … two … one.

“CJ! Your Uncle Artie’s coming over, so you’ll need to set the clocks out.” Mom could sure belt it out when she needed to.

I knew the drill. I went to the spare room, pulled the special box out of the closet, and lugged it down the stairs. The crescent moon clock went in the living room, replacing a family portrait, which was fine with me since I looked like a dork in that picture, anyway. There was a special cuckoo clock for the bathroom that was pretty cool. The doors on the upper level opened at the top of the hour, revealing either a boy dancer or girl dancer. I set the correct time and adjusted the weights at the end of a long chain to keep the gears going. Six clocks later, I had completed the task, finishing it off in Dad’s basement shop with a clock made from a circular saw blade.

Uncle Artie’s favorite saying was, “You can never have too many clocks.” On this Thanksgiving Day, it was certainly true, even though I was sure my parents would disagree. Not me. Although I never paid a lot of attention to the clocks, I felt something strange as I took each one from the box and hung it in its rightful spot. The crescent moon clock had two huge eyes, one on the crescent side and the other on the orange side that completed the circle. The eyes were painted on but I swear they followed me as I moved around the room.

I double-checked the time on the cuckoo clock in the bathroom and admired the details in it. The entire clock was a house from a German village, with people dressed in lederhosen on the lower level. Lucky for me it was the top of the hour and the clock chimed, revealing the bird from a door at the top and children dancing in the two small doors just below it. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? What awesome detail!

I completed the clock replacement task, storing the non-clock items in the same box and returning it to the spare bedroom. That practically wore me out, so it was back to the couch. The smell from the great stuff Mom was cooking drifted into the room, reminding me I hadn’t eaten yet.

“I made you some scrambled eggs.” Mom smiled as I entered the kitchen.

“Thanks. I’m starving.”

She held out a plate then pulled it back, still smiling. “Just as soon as you bring up the chairs from the basement.”

This wasn’t fair, but it was the second time she’d asked. The third time would not be as charmed. On my way to the basement, I realized my early morning math was wrong. There were four chairs already in the dining room, so I only needed four more. I could easily get them all in one trip.

I passed Dad’s shop right at 10:30 and the heard the blade clock begin to make noise. I turned on the shop light to get a good look and, sure enough, the blade was slowly turning. Clockwise, not surprisingly. Even stranger was that the numbers never moved as the blade turned. A few seconds later, it stopped and went back to normal. Another clock I had never paid much attention to was suddenly freaking out. I hurried back upstairs with two chairs on each arm.

I got my scrambled eggs, finally.

***

At 11:00, things got even weirder. Dad was up by now, sitting in front of his computer, but that wasn’t the weird part. When the hour struck, the crescent moon clock made a strange clicking noise, and those crazy eyes began to wink at me. The painted-on lips between the four and eight went from a Mona Lisa smile to a full-blown grin. I wanted to say something to Mom or Dad, but who would believe me? I went into the bathroom, and the boy and girl dancers in the German village twirled next to each other while the bird stayed home. This was quickly moving into “bizarre” territory. It didn’t help when my watch—another gift from Uncle Artie—started chiming a sound I had never heard before. I took it off and stuffed it in my pocket. Problem solved.

***

I played video games in the back room, trying my best not to look at or listen to any of the suddenly crazy clocks in the house. It was working too, as I finished off another level of Mortal Warfare IV.

“CJ,” my mom called. “Please set the table.”

“Okay. Just one more level.” I sat up as the battle intensified.

“Now would be better. They’ll be here in less than an hour to watch the football game.”

“I’m on it.” I made it past the gatekeeper to complete the level, which allowed me to save my spot in the game.

I grabbed plates and set them out on the table. I took one plate and placed it on the TV tray next to the window. That’s where I would sit. The rule was: adults at the big table and kids somewhere else. Sometimes it was a card table when my cousins showed up. Since I was the only kid this year, I would have to settle for a TV tray.

My mom’s cell phone rang, and she talked with the phone squeezed against her shoulder as she mixed something in a large bowl. She stopped mid-mix and put the bowl down. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Her voice was all serious. She walked out of the room before I could hear any more of it.

I returned to my table-setting duties, grabbing forks, knives, and napkins. The smell of turkey and all the fixings hit me hard as I placed the silverware around the table. Maybe all this work would be worth it. I took another whiff. Maybe.

Mom returned to the kitchen, put the phone down, and stopped stirring.

“Mom, you okay?”

She looked up at me with moist eyes. “Uncle Artie is in the hospital and can’t make it for Thanksgiving. He hasn’t missed one since your dad and I have been married.” She dabbed her eyes with her apron. “Fortunately, it’s nothing serious and my parents are heading there right now, so they can’t make it until the weekend. I’d better go tell your father. Looks like we’ll only need five plates at the table.”

No Nana and Papa Barnes? No Uncle Artie? I truly hoped Uncle Artie was okay, but this was my big chance to sit at the head of the table, something I’ve always wanted to do. The head chair was bigger and had arms, and it felt like a throne. Uncle Artie always got the honors while I was stuck with the TV tray under the window.

I followed Mom out to the garage where Dad was cleaning out the van, getting it ready for our traditional late-afternoon drive. Dad didn’t seem too bummed to hear the news about Uncle Artie or his in-laws. He barely looked up as he polished the dashboard. “Yeah, well, sorry to hear about Uncle Artie. He’s never down for very long.”

The time was right to pounce. “Mom? Dad?”

Dad turned toward me and nearly bumped his head on the visor. “Yes?”

“I wish Uncle Artie was coming today, I really do.” I tried my best to act like I was crying. It must have worked because I felt my throat tightening. “His are some tough shoes to fill, but I bet he’d want me to sit in his spot at the head of table. After all, he gave me this watch for my birthday last year.” I pulled it out of my pocket to show them. “And we have the same middle name and everything.” I, Carlton James Boyce, was merely guessing at his middle name, hoping neither of my parents knew the truth. “Please? I think I’ve earned it.”

Neither of them thought about it for too long. “It’s all yours, kid,” Dad said as he leaned on the roof of the van.

“Remember your manners at the table,” Mom said. “Uncle Artie would want it that way.”

Manners? Oh, please. Uncle Artie smoked a lot, drank a lot, and sometimes swore a lot. In spite of all that, he was my favorite relative. Over the years, besides the watches and clocks, he had given me several toy cars, baseball cards, stuffed animals, and even a five-dollar bill. These gifts were always “our little secret.” Plus, he told the greatest stories.

Grandma and Grandpa Boyce arrived a little later, and each gave me a quick hug. It’s a terrible thing to say, and I know I’m supposed to love my grandparents without question, but Mom’s parents—the “good ones” who actually liked me—weren’t coming. If Mom and Dad ever found out I felt that way, I’d be grounded for a month—Dad’s typical punishment.

Dad and Grandpa went to the living room to watch the game while the women got the food prepared. I tried to help, but I mostly got in the way.

Everything was ready just before two o’clock, and I grabbed the spot at the head of the table, with Grandma and Grandpa to my right and Mom and Dad to my left. Everyone sat down except Grandpa. He placed his hands on the table and leaned toward my dad.

“I guess this doesn’t rate as a special occasion, eh, George?”

“How’s that, Pop?” Dad said.

“The Hoffhalder. It’s a Thanksgiving tradition, isn’t it?”

“You bet it is.”

The Hoffhalder was a large mantle clock that sat in the corner of the dining room on what mom called the buffet. The Hoffhalder had been in the family for decades, and Dad would only wind it on special occasions. Uncle Artie always had the honors when he came over.

“I’ll do it, Dad,” I said.

“Can he handle it?” asked Grandpa. “He’s just a child.”

I’m right here! I thought. And I’m not a child anymore. I’m thirteen.

“Sure he can,” Grandma said. “Now, make Uncle Artie proud.” She gave me her patented don’t-screw-it-up look.

“CJ, just be careful, okay?” Dad said.

“Sure thing.” I had seen it wound a thousand times. I took the key from the drawer of the small desk nearby, carefully opened the glass in front, and put the key in the keyhole near the number four. There was another near the number eight. I knew it wound clockwise on the right and counterclockwise on the left.

“Whatever you do, don’t overwind it,” Grandpa said. He gave anyone who ever got near the clock got the same warning.

I started winding. One turn. Two turns. Then it started to get tight, so I stopped. I placed the key in the left hole and began to turn in the other direction with my left hand. One turn. Two turns. It wasn’t getting any tighter. Three turns. That was odd; it usually tightened up by now, but I figured it had just been a while. Four turns and still not tight. I switched to my right hand to finish it up. Five turns. Surely it would start to get tight. Then I heard a faint click, and the key wouldn’t move anymore. Uh-oh.

“Everything all right?” Dad asked.

I pulled the key out and put it back in the drawer. “Everything’s great.” I looked at my watch, and then spun the Hoffhalder’s minute hand around until the time was five minutes until two. After closing the glass, I gently moved the large pendulum at the bottom, and the Hoffhalder began to tick. Whew! All was well.

When the Hoffhalder chimed, it made a beautiful sound. In fact, it seemed to be the only clock sound my family liked. It was a perfect combination of bells and gears and springs working in harmony. We now had three minutes until it would chime on the hour, and everyone at the table waited patiently for the moment to arrive. As the last thirty seconds ticked off, Grandpa nudged Grandma. “Here it comes,” he said in a low voice.

The Hoffhalder struck two and began to chime. Once. Then another.

But the second chime lingered way too long and the pendulum began to swing wildly, knocking into the side walls. The chime sound turned into a grinding noise, and the pendulum stopped.

“CJ!” Dad yelled. “What have you done to my clock?”

“He overwound it,” Grandpa said while making a turning motion with hand.

“Clearly,” said Grandma. “And I’ll bet Uncle Artie is rolling over in his grave as we speak.”

“Artie’s not dead,” Mom said. “Just in the hospital.”

“I’m sorry, everyone,” I said. “I didn’t mean to. Honest. It was an accident.”

“You’re grounded,” Dad said.

“For how long?” I asked.

“A month.”

“A month? Mom?”

“Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?” she said.

I looked around the table, and three sets of eyes were on me. Mom reached out and touched my hand. At least someone was on my side.

“That clock’s been in the family for four generations,” Grandpa said. “Built by the finest clockmaker in Germany.”

“And smuggled out on a steamer ship during World War I,” Grandma added. “Truly one of a kind. Irreplaceable.”

I knew the details by heart, and it just made matters worse. “I’ll get it fixed, okay? I have some money saved up.”

“Sounds like you snapped the mainspring,” Grandpa said, adding a “break in half” motion with his hands.

Grandma leaned over and got as close to me as she could. “It’ll never be the same.”

“A month,” Dad said. He put a finger in my face to make his point. “For breaking my clock.”

He continued to glare at me as Mom began to serve the turkey. We ate in near silence.

I had ruined Thanksgiving.

 

 
R. M. Clark is a computer scientist for
the Dept. of Navy by day and children’s book writer by night. He lives in
Massachusetts with his wife and two sons.

Website
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3 winners will receive an eGalley of THE
TICK TOCK MAN. International.

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Cover Reveal The Gryphon Series Coloring Book Author: Stacey Rourke

Title: The Gryphon Series Coloring Book
Author: Stacey Rourke
Genre: Teen Fantasy
Cover Designer: Broken Arrow Designs
Illustrators: Crystal Ord and Robert Immings
Expected Release Date: Feb. 2nd, 2017
Blurb:
Journey into the fantastical world of The Gryphon Series, written by Stacey Rourke, with original artwork that brings to life pivotal moments from the beloved Young Adult series!

RONE Award Winner for Best YA Paranormal Work of 2012 for Embrace, a Gryphon Series Novel
Young Adult and Teen Reader voted Author of the Year 2012
Turning Pages Magazine Winner for Best YA book of 2013 & Best Teen Book of 2013 
Stacey Rourke is the author of the award winning YA Gryphon Series, the chillingly suspenseful Legends Saga, and the romantic comedy Adapted for Film. She lives in Michigan with her husband, two beautiful daughters, and two giant dogs. She loves to travel, has an unhealthy shoe addiction, and considers herself blessed to make a career out of talking to the imaginary people that live in her head. 
Visit her at www.staceyrourke.com
or on Twitter or instagram at Rourkewrites.
Buy Links to the Series:
#Free with #KindleUnlimited
Conduit (FREE): http://amzn.to/2acPikz
Descent (Novella): http://amzn.to/2eYdx6V
The Gryphon Series Coloring Book: Coming Soon

Cover Reveal Camilla (Fleur de Lis Brides, Book Three) Author: Linda Joyce

Title: Camilla (Fleur de Lis Brides, Book Three)
Author: Linda Joyce
Genre: Women’s Fiction with strong romantic elements
Cover Designer: Diana Carlile
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR
Blurb:
Reformed party-girl Camilla Lind accepts Jared Richardson’s ring, but she won’t be pressured into setting a wedding date at Fleur de Lis. When Steven Sterling, the bane of her old life, shows up to convince her of his undying love, he’s using blackmail to get her back. Camilla fears Jared will believe Steven’s lies because of her shameful past.

Jared has no time to return to his family ranch in Wyoming. Historical restoration contractors are in demand after the devastating hurricane, and work takes him away from Camilla for longer stretches of time. He’s worried—an anonymous someone is sending her flowers. When Steven threatens Jared, he fights back. But he won’t marry Camilla if the only reason she sets a date is to avoid Steven. 

Together they learn their love is as steadfast as the Wyoming sky is blue, and Mardi Gras is the perfect time for a wedding.

Linda Joyce is an Amazon Best Selling author and 4-time RONE Award Finalist who writes about assertive females and the men who can’t resist them. She has three series: Fleur de Lis, Fleur de Lis Brides, and the Sunflower series. She’s penned two novellas, Behind the Mask and Christmas Bells, which will be released in December.

Linda’s a big fan of jazz and blues. She attributes her love of those musical genres to her southern roots, which run deep in Louisiana. If you walk-through several New Orleans cemeteries you’ll find many of her people buried there. She’s lived coast to coast curtesy of her father’s Air Force career. She penned her first manuscript while living in Japan, the country where her mother was born and raised. Now she lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband and General Beauregard, their four-legged boy.

Buy Link:
Branna: http://amzn.to/2iyO36z
Biloxi:
http://amzn.to/2j1r4jo
Camilla (Pre-Order): http://amzn.to/2jtUhV0
Once the groceries were stored in their rightful places, Camilla handed him napkins and silverware. “Will you put them on the table? Then grab the salads from the fridge.”

As instructed, he moved to the dining room. “Nice flowers on the table. Who sent them?” 
Jared called out.

“Let’s share a bottle of red wine tonight,” she hollered from the kitchen. “Pick your favorite from the rack. And you know where to find the glasses.”

Obviously, she hadn’t heard him.

“Wine is open,” he called out a few minutes later.

When she appeared in the doorway to the dining room, he poured dark liquid into both glasses and offered her one. They clinked their glasses together.

She sipped. “Hmmm, that’s nice. Dry and fruity.”

Taking the glass from her, he deposited it on the table. “About these flowers,” he said. 

“There’s a card here.”

“Are you fishing for a compliment? You know who sent them.”

“Know?” Jared asked. She wanted to play a guessing game?

“Okay, I understand.” She stopped and made a slight bow. “Thank you, darlin’, for the flowers. I should’ve said that the minute I saw you, but you…sort of distracted me. They’re lovely, and I adore you.” After blowing a kiss in his direction, she went to the stove where she placed sliced bread on a plate with a small dish of butter. “Take this, please. I’ll ladle up the gumbo.”

“Honey, I love you bunches, but I didn’t send the flowers. I bought you a gift, but it’s still in my truck.”

 Camilla froze.


Release Blitz Blackwell by Alexandrea Weis with Lucas Astor

Title: Blackwell
Author: Alexandrea Weis with Lucas Astor
Genre: Paranormal thriller
Publisher: Vesuvian Books
Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR

Blurb: Hell has a new master
In the late 1800s, handsome, wealthy New Englander, Magnus Blackwell, is the envy of all.
When Magnus meets Jacob O’Conner—a Harvard student from the working class—an unlikely friendship is forged. But their close bond is soon challenged by a captivating woman; a woman Magnus wants, but Jacob gets.
Devastated, Magnus seeks solace in a trip to New Orleans. After a chance meeting with Oscar Wilde, he becomes immersed in a world of depravity and brutality, inevitably becoming the inspiration for Dorian Gray. Armed with the forbidden magic of voodoo, he sets his sights on winning back the woman Jacob stole from him.
Amid the trappings of Victorian society, two men, bent on revenge, will lay the foundation for a curse that will forever alter their destinies.
From New Orleans, Alexandrea Weis was raised in the motion picture industry and began writing stories at the age of eight. In college she studied nursing and went on to teach at a local university. After several years in the medical field, she decided to pick up the pen once again and began her first novel, To My Senses. Since that time she has published many novels. Infusing the rich tapestry of her hometown into her award-winning books, she believes that creating vivid characters makes a story memorable.
Alexandrea Weis is also a certified/permitted wildlife rehabber with the La. Wildlife and Fisheries. When she is not writing, she rescues orphaned and injured wildlife. She is married; they live in New Orleans.
Author Links:
Buy Links: Amazon: http://amzn.to/2iyNipp
Leaving the firelight, he headed toward the water, eager to learn more about the woman. Beyond the glare of the bonfire, his eyes were better able to take in her figure. Her nightdress was torn in places and had dark splotches on it in others. She stood at the water’s edge, her feet hidden below the surface of the bayou. As he drew closer, Magnus got a better view of her exquisite face. Her pale, snowy skin glowed in the darkness, and her features were perfect except for a scar above her right lip. He ached to help her, to guide her from the water and back to the warmth of the fire. 
“Are you all right?”
She titled her head to the side as she examined him. Then without saying anything, she held out her hand to him.
Magnus could hear a woman’s voice saying, Magnus, come with me, in his head, but her lips never moved. He was entranced, drawn to her, and just as he was raising his hand to take hers, another hand clamped down on his wrist.
“Magnus, no, don’t touch her,” Madam Simone called out.
The spell was broken, and the woman in the water faded away.
Magnus gawked at the water. “What?”
“I told you to stay close to the fire,” she admonished.
He pointed to the water. “You saw her? Who was that?”
Madam Simone let go of his arm. “You mean what was that, don’t you?”
“I don’t understand.”
She waved her long stick out over the water. “That was a spirit called by the ceremony. She often appears when we perform our rituals on the bayou.”
“You know her?” The shock was evident in his voice.
“She’s the spirit of one who sacrificed herself for love many years ago. She was the quadroon mistress of a wealthy white man who spurned her and her unborn child.”
Magnus removed his hat and wiped his hand over his brow, feeling shaky. “So you are telling me I just saw a ghost?”
Madam Simone chuckled at his reaction. “The world is not everything you see, Magnus. Ghosts are as real as you or I. They are the impression left behind by a life ended in misery, pain, or confusion. The spirits trapped or bound to earth are the ones who haunt. The ones who have found peace are the ones who leave.”
“Where do they go?”
She gave him a sad smile. “That all depends on what you believe. Heaven, hell, paradise—take your pick. We have more names for the world that comes after than we do for the one we currently inhabit. I think that speaks volumes about our capacity for hope.”
Magnus took an unsteady breath as his eyes returned to the water. “What about her? The girl in the water? Will she ever find peace and move on?”
“No.” Madam Simone shook her head and, gathering up her skirt, took a step away from the shore. “She has chosen to remain here.”
“Chosen?” he shouted. “Are you telling me she had a choice?”
“We all choose in life and in death, Magnus.” She glanced back at him. “That is why we have souls—to make that choice.”
Magnus could still hear the voice of the spirit calling to him in his head. “I think she spoke to me. She knew my name.”
“Spirits often bring messages from the dead. Do you know anyone who has recently died?”
He shook his head. “No, no one.”
Madam Simone motioned ahead to the bonfire. “Let’s get back to the fire.”
Returning his hat to his head, Magnus followed her up the bank. “I’m not sure what I witnessed, Madam Simone, but I no longer think I’m a skeptic.”
She grinned as they walked along. “Good. Then the ceremony served its purpose.”
“What purpose?”
Madam Simone kept her eyes focused on the firelight. “To prepare your soul for what is to come.”


 


Release Day Celebration Damaged Goods by Jennifer Bardsley

 

I am so
excited that DAMAGED GOODS by Jennifer
Bardsley releases today and that I get to share the news!
 
If you
haven’t yet heard about this wonderful book by Author Jennifer Bardsley, be
sure to check out all the details below.
 
This blitz
also includes a giveaway for a Perfectly Posh, Posh To Meet You Set ($20 value), US Only
courtesy of Month9Books. So if you’d like a chance to win, enter in the
Rafflecopter at the bottom of this post.

 

About The Book:
 
Title: DAMAGED
GOODS (Blank Slate #2)
Author: Jennifer
Bardsley
Pub.
Date:
January 17, 2017
Publisher:
Month9Books
Format: Hardcover,
Paperback, eBook
Pages: 300
Find it: Goodreads | Amazon | B&N | TBD
Blanca has everything she ever wanted, a hot boyfriend named Seth and the
loving support of her foster father, Cal. She’s finally escaped the abusive
control of her birth father, Barbelo Nemo, and her tortured childhood at Tabula
Rasa School.
But the scars of Blanca’s Vestal upbringing run deep, especially when the
FBI start asking questions. Blanca feels abandoned by Seth who is hunting for
Lilith, Blanca’s only blood relative. The Defectos, a support group of
Vestal-Rejects, offer Blanca comfort instead.
While the Vestal order crumbles, Chinese rivals called the Guardians rise
to power and wrest control of important Tabula Rasa contacts. Now Blanca’s life
is in peril once more, and this time, Blanca struggles to recognize friend from
foe.
 
 
Title: GENESIS
GIRL (Blank Slate #1)
Author: Jennifer
Bardsley
Pub.
Date:
June 14, 2016
Publisher:
Month9Books
Format: Hardcover,
Paperback, eBook
Pages: 280
Eighteen-year-old Blanca has lived a sheltered life. Her entire childhood
has been spent at Tabula Rasa School where she’s been protected from the
Internet. 

Blanca has never been online and doesn’t even know how to text. Her lack of a
virtual footprint makes her extremely valuable, and upon graduation, Blanca and
those like her are sold to the highest bidders.

Blanca is purchased by Cal McNeal, who uses her to achieve personal gain. But
the McNeals are soon horrified by just how obedient and non-defiant Blanca is.
All those mind-numbing years locked away from society have made her mind almost
impenetrable. 

By the time Blanca is ready to think for herself, she is trapped. Her only
chance of escape is to go online. 




Excerpt
 
I look to where he points, and the flash of thumb-cameras blinds me. Vestals
must never have their pictures taken by random people. That privilege belongs
to the companies that purchase them and market a Vestal’s privacy one
advertisement at a time. I reach my arms out by instinct, to protect my face
from the public. “I’m fine with it,” I lie, pulling my hands down. “But we
better leave now or we’ll be late to the restaurant.”
 
“My dad can wait a few minutes.” Seth scoops me in his arms.
 
“Blanca!” one of the spectators calls. “And Veritas Rex! Is that really
you?”
 
Seth holds up his hand and wiggles his finger-chips. “The one and only!”
Then he dips me back for a kiss.
 
I stiffen like cardboard. “Stop it,” I mumble, trying not to squirm. All
I can think about is the cameras, my face flashed worldwide and weirdoes
slobbering over my private moment with Seth. 
 
“We’ve got to go or we’ll be late.”
 
Seth kisses my nose. “I didn’t know you were so punctual.”
 
“Yes.” I pull myself out of his grasp. “Cal’s waiting.” The sooner I put
my helmet on and get back on my motorcycle, the better.
 
“Blanca,” a man calls as we ride away. “I love you! I’ve watched you all
year!”

 

 

 
Underneath my jacket, I shiver. The fame that surrounds me is chilling.
 
About Jennifer: 
Jennifer Bardsley writes the parenting column “I Brake for Moms” for the
Sunday edition of The Everett Daily HeraldShe
also blogs at Teaching My Baby to Read with
the mission of sparking a national debate on the important roll parents play in
education. Jennifer is a graduate of Stanford University and a member of SCBWI.
She lives with her husband and two children in Edmonds, WA.
GENESIS GIRL will release in 2016 and is about an 18 year-old girl whose
lack of a virtual footprint makes her so valuable that she is auctioned off to
the highest bidder, the sequel  will come out in 2017. Jennifer is
represented by Liza Fleissig of the Liza Royce Literary AgencyLLC.
 
Follow the Jennifer on FacebookTwitterInstagram,
and Goodreads.

 
 
 
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