So I am beyond tickled (and thanking Rafflecopter!) that I was lucky enough to win a ticket to enter The Writer’s Voice. Thanks so much, Krista, Brenda, Mónica, Elizabeth, Nikki, and Kimberly for all your hard work with this!
Love me, love me. Say you do.
Love is the first risk seventeen-year-old Emily has ever been willing to take. But after a fateful first kiss with her best friend Javier, Emily’s lungs fill with brackish water and she sees her dead mother beckoning from the bottom of the lake where she killed herself. Now the closer Emily moves to Javier, the stronger the ghost grows until Emily fears that one more kiss could drown her for real.
Let me fly away with you.
Then a mysterious letter guides Emily to a Chicago psychic, who she discovers is her estranged grandmother. Now Emily’s helping to de-hoard her grandmother’s tarot parlor in exchange for her professional assistance in banishing the ghost. Though her search for answers takes Emily through Slavic mythology and gypsy folklore, she finds her her biggest clues when she realizes her love of order and Gran’s need for clutter bury the same seeping wound of grief. But to keep the only boy worth the price of love, Emily must dive even deeper, straight to the dark bottom of her own heart to discover: Is she haunted? Or is she the ghost?
With your kiss my life begins.
At 65,000 words, Wild is the Wind is a YA literary ghost story that explores how the connections of love transcend the boundaries of distance, fear, and death. The novel will appeal to fans of Imaginary Girls and The Strange and Beautiful Sorrows of Ava Lavender. I was a Pitch Wars 2014 participant, and my publication credits include Moondance, SunOasis, The Rose & Thorn, and Rambles.
Thank you for your time and attention.
Starry summer nights. Fireworks and a first kiss. The sweetest of all things in life.
I was on my way to Javier’s, plotting a safe path through the thicket of our sexual tension, when that scent pulled me like a siren’s beckoning finger. I stopped, keys in hand, in front of the mailbox, searching for the source. Bills. Bills. Two glossy brochures from colleges I’d already refused to consider.
The anxiety ants twitched in my palms.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and did my breathing exercise, which I hated but they worked in a pinch. Goddamn Aunt Lise. After our last argument, she promised to leave it alone. I was tempted to serve her dinner on a bird’s nest of shredded admissions literature, but I refused to waste a beautiful mole sauce or hand her an opportunity to reopen the discussion of out-of-state colleges. Everyone knew that I’d never leave Prairie Glen.
This junk was going straight to the recycling center. I shoved the mail in my bag, and my fingertips grazed a thick envelope, the ridges of an embossed foil seal. The scent of flowers filled the air, a breathy sigh, something rich and seductive I couldn’t place. I inhaled, snuggling into the fragrance. Yes, yes. That was it. Images exploded in my mind. Snow cones at the beach. Sunset and sunrise shaking hands at dusk and dawn.
The envelope looked handmade, little filaments of pink and blue, small flower petals entombed in the fibers…