Friday, September 28, 2018

Book Tour, Character Interview, & Giveaway: Water to Water by Karen A. Wyle



Water to Water
by Karen A. Wyle
Genre: Science Fiction

Two young Vushla questioned what everyone knew about death. What should they do with the answer?

When the time comes for Vushla to die, they go into the ocean and are dissolved away. Or so Terrill has always believed, and still believes after taking part in his father's final journey. But when he meets a young Vushlu who lives by the sea, Terrill must confront information that calls this fundamental belief into question. Will the two of them discover the truth? And what should they do with what they find?


Character Interview with Kititit the Weesah Peddler

Q. How did you become a peddler?

A. Well, now. That’s a ways to think back . . . . When I was a young sprout, we had a neighbor who was a peddler, wagon and all. I thought her wagon was about the prettiest thing I’d ever seen, all painted up as it was. And she used to let me help load the goods in the back – leastways, helping is what she called it. Getting in the way is what I’d call it, remembering. And when she’d been away and came home again, she always had stories to tell about the places she’d been. I’d never been anywhere, and I got to hankering after a life like she had.

Q. Your wagon – did it used to be your neighbor’s?

A. Right you are! Though by the time she figured she was ready to stay home and play with her grandchildren and take it easy, the wagon was what you might call used up – the canopy, anyway. My folks gave me a new one, and I picked what to paint on it.

Q. You have a mate and children, I hear. How have you managed to strike a balance between traveling and family life?

A. Well, I don’t have just any mate. I made sure to find a lady as liked to hear stories. I promised to always bring back plenty of stories. And she’s an independent sort – doesn’t need someone at her elbow all the time, telling her how to do things. A mate as hung around every day might get annoying for such as her. So we suit each other. And the longer I’m away, the longer I stay home and do my bit with the young ‘uns and the beasts and the garden and all. And now that some of our young ‘uns are grown, she has plenty of help when she needs it.

Q. You’re acquainted with Terrill and Honnu, I believe. How did that come about?

A. I’ve known Honnu a good piece of his life, I’d say. I visit a few different fisher villages, and he lives – or lived, I’m not sure which is right just now – in one of ‘em. I was the first Weesah he ever saw, I reckon, and how he would stare! Anyhow, he’s a curious fellow and always likes to hear my traveler’s tales.

Q. That brings up an interesting point. Aren’t you somewhat given to exaggeration in those tales of yours? Should Honnu believe everything you say?

A. (laughs) No, I can’t say as he should. But I reckon he knows that. Now, I wouldn’t say he knows just what to believe and what not to. But if he ever asked me, serious-like, I’d tell him.

Q. And Terrill? How did you meet him?

A. That was luck, if luck is something that happens, as to which I’ve no firm opinion. His da took ill, and Terrill was one of the funeral party as took him to the sea. I left Honnu’s village about the time they left to head home again, and we got to talking on the road. A nice young fellow. On the serious side, and tending to worry more than is comfortable for a youngster his age. I did my bit to cheer him up, when I could.

Q. And how did Terrill and Honnu meet each other?


A. (chuckles) Well, I’ll maybe let you ask one of them about that. I’d best be packing up and heading on, pretty soon. Any last questions? Or might you be wanting something from the wagon before I go? I’ve got some good knives I picked up a few towns back. Or if you’ve little ones at home, I have toys -- balls for juggling, and these dolls. See the bits of shell that make up the armor? And of course, I have fish. Always plenty of fish.
Karen A. Wyle was born a Connecticut Yankee, but eventually settled in Bloomington, Indiana, home of Indiana University. She now considers herself a Hoosier. Wyle's childhood ambition was to be the youngest ever published novelist. While writing her first novel at age 10, she was mortified to learn that some British upstart had beaten her to the goal at age 9. 






Follow the tour HERE for exclusive content and a giveaway!






Thursday, September 27, 2018

Promo Blitz: Thelema: Mystic Will by Marushia Dark




YA Fantasy
Date Published:  March 2018
Publisher: Thelemic Arts

 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png


What if you were born into a world where the gods once walked among men and women? Where you wake up every morning to find a mystical pendant around your neck and know, as everyone knows, that the gods had granted you this awesome gift, to house your will, allowing you to perform incredible feats. But what if that blessing was also a curse in that it tethered your soul to the world; and if you removed it, you would forfeit the will to live? What if your pendant was merely the missing half to someone else's pendant? Someone whom you've never met, and may never meet, for the gods were selfish and cruel in keeping you apart? Everytime you gaze down at your pendant, you feel the promise of great joy and despair simultaneously as every fiber of your being is drawn to your other half - your twin flame.

If only you could summon the will of a god yourself, perhaps you'd be united.

What if this same world was inhabited by legions of monsters known as juristic persons - living, breathing corporations with wills and minds of their own? What if such creatures had rights and powers that far exceeded those of humans?

Into such a world were born Dean Maynard and Jane Stewart - Justices of the Peace who use the Thelemic arts, along with their martial prowess and knowledge of the Law, to bring about order and justice in the land of Severa. When a routine trial by jury gets turned into a trial by combat, however, the balance of power between mankind and its creations shifts, leading some to question whether the course of history will be forever changed, and humanity’s future suddenly becomes uncertain.

As everyone tries to find peace and purpose in their lives, dark and sinister forces begin to emerge from the shadows thrusting the Department of Justice into a battle for the soul of Severa and the lives of its citizenry.

Journey now into that world in this fantastical tale of love, action, intrigue, and will.







Excerpt


Where could he be? Justice Jane Stewart adjusted her dorky black glasses

on her gentle face and brushed her bangs from her eyes as she reviewed

the file in her hand for a third time.

The seventeenth day of the month of the Lamb, near Samuel Forest, just

outside Fiber City, Belier. Sixth step of Rael. She looked around to see the sordid

remains of the heavily deforested region that had once been Samuel Forest. The

location was right. The presence of the adverse parties, as well as the jury,

confirmed it.

She looked at her watch. It was already half a step passed midday.

He’s late. Could he have gotten lost?

In high-profile cases such as this, a Justice of the Peace would sometimes

request the trial be held at the scene of the crime in order to help the jury

understand certain key factors about the case. Jane specifically chose this

location in order that they might see the devastation the defense’s actions had

wrought to the trees, the animals, and the land itself. She hoped they’d be moved

to side with her against the adverse party.

However, none of her careful tactics would work unless the judge arrived

soon to administer the proceedings.

And I can’t do it without you, Dean.

The advocates for the defense began whispering amongst themselves.

“Is everything set?” asked the one.

“Yes,” said the other, “It’s been arranged, just as we planned. All we have

to do is wait for the trial to finish before we make our move.”

“That may not be necessary,” said the first, in a sinister insinuation, “At

this rate, there might not even be a trial. The other judge isn’t even here yet.”

“It’s not like they need two Justices to try a case, right?”

“No, but that was the agreement and it’s at our discretion whether we

exercise our rights or not. We both know our clients are guilty as hell, so we’d

be fools not to press any advantage we can.”

“In that case, let’s hope he never shows. Then we won’t even have to get

our hands dirty. We can just stand on our right to a speedy trial, motion for

dismissal, and since he’s not here, we would enter into default judgment and

estoppel. If that happens, the Department of Justice won’t be able to try this case

again because of the provision against double jeopardy.”





“That would certainly be an embarrassment for one of Severa’s top

prosecutors.”

“Just think how disappointed she’ll be to see all her hard work wasted

because her partner couldn’t be bothered to show up on time.”

The two shady lawyers cackled and snickered amongst themselves.

“We’ll give him a few more minutes before we move to dismiss,” said the

one, “Just so we can say we were gracious and thereby avoid drawing any

suspicion to ourselves.”

Jane’s slender calloused hands began to shake with anxiety.

Come on, Dean. Where are you?

She gripped the curved hilt of the two-handed hunting saber at her side in

an effort to calm her nerves. Her heart pounded. She closed her doe brown eyes

and took a deep breath. Judge or no judge, she could not stand idly by any longer.

It was still possible to stall for time by going over preliminaries.

“I guess we’ll get started,” Jane declared, the tinge of an Ionian accent still

lingered in her voice from her days in finishing school as a child abroad.

She turned to her clerk and said, “Hanji, summon Adaiah.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hanji replied.

The young black-haired clerk grabbed the pendant around his neck with

his left hand and drew his quillon dagger from its sheath with his right. He held

the blade out in front of him with the tip pointed down, like an ice pick. This

position would allow him to draw energy out from the weapon and, in this case,

summon Adaiah.

“Arcesso!” he shouted.

Sparks of electricity and light surrounded his short, frail body as a surge

of unseen energy traveled from the dagger, up his right arm, through his stomach,

down his left arm, into his Thelema, through his heart, along his spine, and out

the top of his head, before finally discharging into the sky.

The energy body’s meridian path, through which one’s chi flowed.

A creature the size of the blade emerged from the disc at the hilt and floated

in midair just above it. She looked like a short, slender black bear with white

tufts of fur on her elbows, knees, paws, and ears. She had a long, thin prehensile

tail that ended in a white ball of fluff, as well as a pair of velvet-covered wings.

Her name was Adaiah and she was a Notary. Every Justice had one by operation

of law, though it usually fell to the Justice’s clerk to manage them.

The Notary’s sole job was to take in everything that transpired around

them and retain it with perfect memory for later use. The testimony of a Notary

was held as self-evident, legally treated as indisputable fact; and for this reason,

they made excellent record keepers.

“Adaiah,” Jane commanded, “Begin recording.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Adaiah replied in a high-pitched, squeaky voice. Her eyes

flashed white and a pale blue glow enveloped her. From that point onward, she

would remember everything that happened to Jane and Hanji until she exited the

trance.

Hanji returned his knife to its sheath. Beyond being the indenture that

bound Adaiah’s soul to the world, it could still serve as a weapon like any other.

“Clerk, call the roll,” Jane ordered.





“Yes, ma’am,” said Hanji. He cleared his throat and turned to the restless

crowd that had gathered in the clear-cut forest to watch the trial. “Are the

advocates for Bunyan Logging and Blue Ox Shipping here?”

“Here.” They said.

“Kindly step forward and present your indentures.”

They did as they were instructed. A man in a dark suit emerged from the

crowd and held up a small statue carved to look like a beaver wielding an axe

and wearing a flannel shirt with overalls and large boots. A lawyerly woman

also emerged from the crowd and held up a similar totem that looked like a

Minotaur with a ring piercing its nose and a yoke around its neck. These were

the indentures of the juristic persons of their respective companies.

Hanji squatted down in front of them. This time, he gripped his Thelema

with his right hand and placed his left hand on the ground in front of them.

“Infero!” he shouted.

The same light as before surrounded him. A surge of energy traveled from

the ground, up his legs, along his spine, through his heart, into his Thelema, along

his right arm, through his stomach, down his left arm, out his hand, and back into

the ground before discharging. A pair of glowing red seals, about the size of

Hanji’s hand, appeared. Each seal consisted of two squares offset by forty-five

degrees so as to form an eight-pointed star and inscribed in a circle, with a smaller

circle inscribed inside both of them. Centered within each of the triangles formed

by the overlapping squares was an elegant sigil depicting one of the eight

heavenly bodies.

Having completed the seals, Hanji withdrew his hand and stood up.

“Please place your indentures into the summoning circles,” he said.

The two advocates set their totems on the ground within the seals and then

stepped back. Hanji stretched out his arm towards them.

“Ligo!” he shouted.

The seals began to glow more intensely as a wall of light rose up to

surround the statues, binding them in place.

“All set,” said Hanji.

“Good,” Jane declared.

Such formal protocols as these aren’t strictly necessary, but they at least

help me buy time.

Jane grabbed her Thelema pendant with her right hand and held out her

left hand towards the two indentures. For anyone who was right-handed, this

position would have allowed them to emit energy from their left hand; but

because Jane was left-handed, the flow of chi through her meridians was

reversed, and so it would yield the opposite effect. Thus, she used it to draw

energy out of them the way Hanji had summoned Adaiah.

“All rise!” she commanded.

Her petite warrior body lit up in a bright aura much like Hanji’s did, only

more intensely. The seals around the statuettes erupted in a flash of electricity

and light. Two towering creatures slowly emerged from the indentures. Each

measured about eight to nine meters tall. Their appearance conformed to the

likenesses of their totems – an axe-wielding beaver and a burly, blue Minotaur.

These were the juristic persons of Bunyan Logging and Blue Ox Shipping in their

living, breathing forms.

They were also the principle defendants in this case.





Jane released her pendant, letting it fall against her chest.

Now we just need to wait for Dean to show up.

As if on cue, the rumbling of an engine crescendoed like rolling thunder

as Justice Dean Maynard came riding over the hill on his motorcycle. He parked

the vehicle under a tree away from the action and walked towards the group

without any sense of urgency at all. He marched with the confident poise of a

medieval knight having just dismounted from his trusted steed. His hooded black

cloak and the bastard sword hanging from his side only served to reinforce the

image. He wore his weapon with pride, like a badge of honor, for indeed a

Justice’s sword was a badge of their authority.

A modern rendition of the classic priestly robes, the uniform of a Justice

of the Peace consisted of a simple, yet elegant frock jacket and matching pants,

both black with elaborate gold trim around the edges. The jacket was designed

so that it could be worn over a judge’s regular shirt or blouse and provided a thin

layer of padded protection. A Justice’s duties to give chase and to engage in

combat were also taken into consideration, with most choosing to wear leather

boots of some kind as opposed to dress shoes.

Slight variations in the overall attire existed between male and female, and

also between members of the same sex, depending on season, climate, and the

need for mobility, with some parts being cut longer or shorter than others, but all

falling under the same general style. The idea, in the minds of the outfit’s

designers, was that anyone could look upon a Justice of the Peace and recognize

them instantly as such. This was not merely decorative, but practical as well in

that a Justice served as a symbol of authority among the people out in the real

world.

The uniform also came with a cloak, which had a variety of subtle features,



such as earbuds, a visor, and an inflatable pillow all sewn into the hood for long-

distance trips.



A Justice’s cloak was usually black with gold trim as well, though in more

recent times, some latitude was given to tailor its interior to the judge’s personal

preference and to help distinguish them from one another. The interior of Dean’s

cloak was a cobalt blue that matched his deep-set eyes, while Justice Stewart’s

was a deep red-violet that paired well with her long, chestnut brown hair.

Jane felt relieved to see Justice Maynard finally arrive. Her opponents

were less than thrilled.

“Sorry I’m late,” said Dean nonchalantly, “I’m afraid my clerk was

nowhere to be found this morning. We’ll just have to start without him.”

“We’ve already started, Your Honor,” Jane said curtly.

Dean sulked in disappointed. “Aw, man, really? Well, in that case ...”

He grabbed his Thelema with his right hand and knelt down on the ground,

touching the earth with his left hand.

“Saepio!” he shouted.

His body lit up even more intensely than Jane’s had. A thin wall of blue

light stretched out from behind him and carved a path in an enormous arc around

him. It continued outward, encircling Jane, Hanji, the jury, the juristic persons,

their agents, and the other officers and onlookers who were present for the trial, before eventually closing in on itself. All told, it formed a giant hemispherical dome, some fifty meters in diameter around them, isolating the group from the outside world. This was Dean’s Chambers. Its purpose was to prevent interference with the trial and all Justices were given discretion on when they could invoke such a power. Once erected, however, no one and nothing could enter or leave the area without the consent of its creator.

Dean slowly stood back up and released





About the Author

Marushia Dark is a mysterious figure whose real identity is unknown.  Only to a select trusted few are privileged enough to be invited to know their secret.  Marushia can often be found on social media, writing from the shadows of a blog called "The Darkness Files."  Marushia self-identifies as your favorite dark transhumanist and has created a number of campaigns to help bring human beings together in an otherwise divided world.  As for why they choose to remain anonymous, you can learn more at: http://www.darknessfiles.com/



Contact Links




Purchase Links


RABT Book Tours & PR

Tuesday, September 25, 2018

New Release: Kingdom of Glass and Ashes: A Limited Edition of Cinderella Retellings



A classic fairytale- but not how you remember it...
What if the stepmother wasn’t the only one who was wicked and Prince Charming wasn’t what he seemed? What if your favorite princess didn’t make it home by midnight?
Be transported to faraway lands where fantasy and magic come together, and pumpkins and princes are joined by shifters and stepsisters in this captivating collection of one of the greatest love stories ever told.
From the imagination of our authors, prepare to meet Cinderella as you've never read before. Kingdom of Glass and Ashes is a spellbinding collection of retellings, written by multiple USA Today and bestselling authors telling their own version of the beloved tale. Get ready for romance, excitement, enchantment and more than just a glass slipper.
One click now for your happily ever after.

Amazon:

Monday, September 24, 2018

Book Tour, Excerpt, & Giveaway: The Wizard's Gift by Michael Waller




 photo Cover1_zpsvyzz85qi.jpg
Fantasy
Date Published: 6/30/12

 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

The last of an ancient group of wizards leaves a gift to the newly arrived race of men. It is revered and cared for by a line of priests until it is stolen, and the high priest and his sovereign murdered by a king who believes himself destined to be a great wizard. But from ancient writings the high priest had discovered that the gift is not benevolent as was thought. This forces the son of the high priest, unexpectedly elevated to his father's position, and the young prince who is equally suddenly King, into a race to find the gift before it can be used as that may cause the destruction of the world. Accompanied by the retired captain of the palace guard they hope to speed their journey by crossing the Wasteland, a seeming desert, which is fabled to be populated by monsters, and from which no visitor has ever returned. In the course of their adventures they are hunted by dog faced men and captured by slavers, but the young prince truly becomes a king, and the priest discovers that he has a destiny that goes beyond the bounds of his world.


Excerpt
Hiding behind the trees they waited for the approach of the dogfaced men.  The defile was cut deeply into the hillside and was flanked by rocky crags that rose almost vertically to the top of the hill. Their pursuers would have no alternative but to follow them up the defile as the climb on either side of it would be almost impossible in the fury of the thunderstorm.
Carantor, crouching behind a tree was the nearest to the gap through which the dogfaced men would have to come in single file. His plan was to allow a small number of them through before he broke from cover to face the remainder as they tried to climb through the gap. Caran Tuith and Bataan stood a few yards back their swords drawn and ready to deal with those first few in the tight confines of the gully. In the flashes of lightning they could see down the rocky stairway with its steep sides, all the way to the bottom, and they were sure that in their present position they could not be caught unawares. Water ran over the slippery fragments of rock and between their feet before cascading over the tangle of exposed tree roots, much of it falling onto Carantor’s back. Oblivious to the cold water he waited, anxious and alert, for the arrival of the creatures that had pursued them for three days. He knew that there was no possibility of hearing their approach amid the noise of the storm, and although the lightning when it came illuminated the defile and its approach, the heavy rain and the pitch darkness between the flashes could hide their arrival until the very last moment.
All three strained their eyes and ears. Their fingers clenched and unclenched around the hilts of their swords. The rain had soaked them to the skin and though Caran Tuith and Bataan had been oblivious to how wet and cold they were during their flight, now, standing still and quiet, they began to shiver and feel the numbness growing in their toes.
Bataan thought that he saw something move to the right of the defile, a large figure silhouetted for a moment against the blinding white of the lightning. He turned to tell Caran Tuith that he thought the dogfaced men had succeeded in climbing the cliffs and were coming over the top of the hill when, in another flash of lightning, he saw in the young King’s face a sudden alertness as he moved away from Bataan as if readying himself for combat. Bataan did not need to ask what the lightning had revealed to his friend. He too readied himself, and turned his eyes back to the defile trying to discern any shape or movement in the darkness, the figure on the crest above forgotten.
For a moment the storm seemed to lessen a little, like a squall at sea that suddenly abates to give a moments quiet respite before returning with renewed force. In that lull they heard the sound of movement amongst the rocks as feet dislodged loose stones and sent them clattering downhill. As the wind and rain returned Bataan thought that he heard the sound of shouting voices. Then the whole sky flashed white with a tremendous sheet of lightning that lit the ground before them in stark black and white. In its glare the three stared in disbelief at the scene in the defile. The dogfaced men where there, but they were not climbing up to fight. They were struggling in the mesh of nets whose ends were held by large figures straining to keep their footing on the crest above. Once more all was plunged into darkness, and an immediate and deafening crash of thunder showed that the storm was directly overhead.
Although their faces were hidden in the dark, both Bataan and Caran Tuith’s wore the same bewildered expression. The strange tableau, cast into such stark relief by the lightning, was unexpected and confusing. Almost before they had time to have a second thought Carantor was with them.

“Run” he yelled over the noise of the storm.

About the Author


 photo Michael Waller The Wizards Gift_zpssmhkv7kz.jpg
Michael Waller is British and was born in the industrial north of Yorkshire. After being asked to leave school by his Headmaster he began a varied work career. This went from Chemist to Dog Catcher with stints as a Bingo Caller and door-to-door Insurance Salesman in between. For twenty years he worked in the oil and chemical industry which took him to the Middle East and finally the USA where he is now retired and living in upstate New York.



Purchase Link




RABT Book Tours & PR


Friday, September 21, 2018

Cover Reveal: Nessie and the Hourglass of Time by Angelique S. Anderson


In an alternate New York City, a place overrun by beasts called the Golems, spunky Nessie yearns to escape the underground bunker she lives in with her friend Calvin. Running out of time before they are discovered, their only hope is to escape New York and rid themselves of the Golem’s control forever. The problem is, the Golems senselessly slaughter anyone who does not follow the rules, and their human to stone form makes them nearly impossible to escape.
After running from them nearly her whole life, and seeing them kill and maim without reason, it’s certain that Nessie or Calvin could become their next victim. A chance encounter with a magical stranger, who makes Nessie question everything she believes, will guide her to what can stop the Golems forever. Excited to fulfill her destiny, a sudden loss almost stops her from facing the challenges to come and accepting the adventure that awaits.
In a tail of time-travel and magic, mermaids and beasts, will Nessie be able to fulfill her destiny in time?

Thursday, September 20, 2018

Book Review: The Mourning Rose by Morgan Smith


If you like the books of Mary Robinette Kowal or Emily Larkin, you'll love The Mourning Rose. It's a gothic historical with a bit of magic to enhance the romance.
Polly, or Polyantha, almost had a romance but her suitor died unexpectedly. Now she's invested in her cousin Eglantine's season. Eglantine is expected to make a brilliant match, and the leading contender is Lord Valremer. He's a confirmed bachelor who seems suspiciously (to Polly) interested in Eglantine.
Meanwhile, a disreputable smuggler named Mad Jack is overly interested in Polly and her cousin, much to Polly's dismay and delight.
The magic isn't a big part of the story. It consists mostly of the girls learning to serve tea magically or glamours of fireworks at a ball. Valremer uses darker magic which adds to the gothic element of the story. I really liked the romance of Polly and Mad Jack. They are both fun and interesting characters, a bit different from the usual members of the Ton. The other supporting characters enhance the story, especially the despicable Mrs. Anwing who is Valremer's confederate.
The writing flows at a fast pace which keeps the reader invested. I wanted to know what happens next at most every chapter. And I definitely would read further adventures of Polly and Jack.

Link to Amazon

Wednesday, September 19, 2018

Release Blitz: The Competition by Cecily Wolfe



 photo The Competition_zpsbiaws1hz.jpg
Young Adult
Date Published: September 18, 2018

 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

Publisher: Dangerous Hope Productions

 On sale for $.99 until September 20th. Regular Price $2.99



For Mary Sofia, The Penultimate writing competition is more than a chance at a free college education; she wants to show her younger siblings that they can all rise above their violent family history. For Raiden, the pressure to succeed comes from within, although he knows that family traditions play a part in his determination. For Camara, writing fiction is almost compulsive, but her own dark secret may be the best story she can ever tell. For Michael, swimming and writing fit his introverted personality perfectly, but meeting a smart and beautiful girl at The Penultimate makes stepping outside of his comfort zone easy. All four will compete against each other along with 96 other high school juniors for the chance of a lifetime: a full scholarship to a prestigious private college. Some students will do anything to win, but others may pay the price.


 photo The Competition print being read_zpspdsgewr2.jpg


 Excerpt


Matias had warned her to be careful what she wished for.

When Mary Sofia was a little girl, she wanted to ride a school bus. There were plenty that traveled up and down her street in the morning, and she saw them on the television she watched with the other children at the shelter while the older kids and parents readied themselves for school and work. They clattered and clunked over and through the potholes in the street, but she could see the red and blue hats of the passengers flopping around, the bright colors visible through the smudgy windows. Now, she shook her head at the memory of her earnest and innocent desire, just as she tried to stop herself from tipping sideways, holding onto the seat in front of her as the bus turned a corner sharply.

“How did these kids survive this torture all these years?”

The girl beside her had never actually been Mary Sofia’s friend, not in the twelve years they had spent together at the same small Catholic school, but the two of them were now bound by their allegiance to their school, as well as the feeling that they were vastly outnumbered, but not outsmarted. Jada had bullied Mary Sofia about her brother once, long ago, and after years of silence in response, the two began to speak when they found each other accepting an invitation to compete for a spot on the Penultimate team. Mary Sofia had acted as if she didn’t remember the long ago slight, but Jada apologized for it, and in such a small school, it was always better to have more options when it came to companions.

“I used to cry when I watched the neighbors step into their bus every morning, wishing I could go with them instead of walking to school with my mother.”

Mary Sofia shook her head as she spoke, her voice quiet and clear. Jada looked ahead, but Mary Sofia could tell that she was listening to her as she continued.

“Now I know what I was missing, it makes me even more grateful for the opportunity to stay at St. Cat’s.”

Jada wrinkled her nose.

“What in the world is that smell?”

A boy two seats ahead and across the aisle from them must have heard her, because he leaned over and barked out a laugh as his gaze drank the girls in. His seatmate, most likely his teammate as well, bumped shoulders with him but didn’t look at the girls. Jada rolled her eyes as she looked back at Mary Sofia.

“The next time Emma, Syd, or Livia complains about the lack of boys at school . . .”

St. Cat’s had a certain reputation, one that was not actually earned. It was said that because it was an all girls school, the students must be nymphomaniacs or lesbians, and while Mary Sofia knew of one classmate who had a girlfriend, the others were no more boy crazy than the girls at church or the neighborhood. Still, at least the three girls Jada mentioned would have been distracted by the sight of boys in class, or worried about what to wear or how to act in order to compete for their attention. As if school wasn’t difficult enough without all that romantic drama.

“Did they expect us to prepare during the ride, or rest, or something besides hold on for dear life?”

Jada’s hands gripped the space on the seat in front of them beside Mary Sofia’s and sighed. It wasn’t going to be too long of a drive, but it would certainly feel longer with the way the bus driver was speeding and perhaps the need for new shocks, not to mention the annoying boys they hadn’t officially met. At St. Cat’s, there were a few athletic teams, but of course they all played against girls’ teams from other schools, and the boys who came to audition for school plays or attend open dances were usually from other private schools. Not that it made them saints, or even anything close, but still, Mary Sofia hadn’t ever had one of them look at her the way that boy had just now.

Five schools in the public school district, St. Cat’s along with three of the public high schools and one other private school, Advance, had gone in together to use one bus to take them to the state tournament, which was in a small college town almost directly in the center of the state. A two-hour drive, an overnight spent in the campus dorm, then back home, one of them returning to his or her home and school with a guaranteed future. One hundred high school juniors, the top writers of their age in the state after district and regional tournaments, writing for a full-scholarship to the highest ranking small private college in the Midwest. For some of them, including Jada, it was a matter of prestige. Her father could afford to send her anywhere, but she was smart and would earn plenty of merit scholarships wherever she applied. For Mary Sofia, as well as, she imagined, many of the other competitors, this would make a huge difference in options, and not just for the winner. Making it to the state-level Penultimate tournament looked spectacular on any college or scholarship application, but Mary Sofia knew that each and every one of the one hundred that weekend wanted to win, because none of them would be there if they weren’t in it for the trophy. She didn’t like the attention any more than she liked attention for anything: her grades, her appearance, her family situation - but she had always stood out, had always been different, no matter how quiet or reserved she tried to be.

Tried to be?

“Don’t give him the satisfaction, Sofi,” Jada nudged her with her shoulder as Mary Sofia shrunk in on herself, just as she had her entire life. She fought her battles on paper, with the written word, and was generally successful. Time, patience, or at least the semblance of it, worked in her favor. Physical or verbal confrontation, though, was not in her skill set. She wasn’t sure if she wanted it to be, but a part of her knew that she needed to cultivate something, even just a more intimidating stare. The idea was laughable.

“When they say girls mature faster than boys, they aren’t kidding.”

Jada always had a smart comeback, but also knew when to keep her mouth shut. She was beautiful, and everyone assumed that whatever she had, it was because her father was an investment banker, and her mother, an English professor who left her husband and only child for a colleague when Mary Sofia and Jada were in seventh grade, gave it to her. Mary Sofia knew better, although, to be honest with herself, she did envy the ease with which Jada obtained anything she needed for school. While Mary Sofia used whatever leftovers the shelter had from previous girls or donations from the convent, whether it was notecards or pens, or the occasional foam trifold for a presentation, she knew that Jada ordered her materials online or in a pinch, drove herself in her SUV (seventeenth, not sixteenth birthday present) to the corner drugstore. It was those day to day, smaller things that Mary Sofia wished were just a little easier, a little less worrisome, although perhaps it was those that kept her focus, and emotions, far from her larger and more important problems, the ones she could do so little about.

“He’s probably one of kids who writes about his dying pet, or terminally ill sister.”

She felt bad saying it, because sometimes those stories were true. She had her own sad stories to tell, but she had never written anything so personal for competition. Their coach, Ms. Dacha, said that the judges could usually tell when it was a lie, but sometimes, if the writer was good enough, he or she could get away with it. Not only get away with it, but excel. Fiction was fiction, after all, but if the judges were carried away by their emotions and believed that the story was a reflection on reality regardless of how the writer presented it, those entries were successful. Dacha had smiled wryly.

“Those aren’t my favorites, to be honest. Call me jaded - sorry, Jada - but they feel so Nicholas Sparks sometimes that I assume they have to be lies, and I am sure they are true just as often.”

Their coach, a teacher at St. Cat’s who was known for reality checks on the girls’ romantic notions of life, love, and everything else that might matter, had sighed.

“Those stories aren’t the worst ones I’ve seen, or the hardest to judge. The loss of virginity ones are tricky, and usually not pretty.”

Mary Sofia had looked away, unsure how to respond, but Jada, the only other one on the team who was going to State with her, had nodded. What did that mean, Mary Sofia still wondered. Had Jada been with a boy, without everyone else at school knowing? The way gossip ran through the halls at St. Cat’s, with fewer than 200 girls in the building and eyes and ears open to anything scandalous, she wondered how Jada had managed it. If she had managed it.

“Yeah, but I bet plenty of judges eat that up. Still, you’re the best writer I know, Sof, and a boy like that, the way he acts, must feel like he has to be intimidating in some other way if he knows his writing doesn’t measure up.”

Mary Sofia looked at Jada then, their eyes meeting for a long moment before Mary Sofia looked away. She always looked away first, no matter who the other person was.

“And I don’t know anyplace else where we are required to go to a party, even if it is with a bunch of writing dorks.”

Mary Sofia smiled.

“A party with dorks like that.”

“Dorks like us.”

They laughed loudly, for the first time during the trip making as much noise as the others on the bus, but they didn’t notice the boy two seats ahead of the one who had sneered at Mary Sofia, who was noticing them for the first time that morning.



Michael had been awake long before his alarm went off, even though it was a hour earlier than usual. He had to get some practice in before leaving for the tournament, and the bus was scheduled to leave for that at six. Two hours there, three rounds of writing, and then, dinner, a dance party, and most likely, a late bedtime. There would be no practice for him tomorrow morning, although he asked, as soon as he found out that he had qualified for State, if he could use the college’s indoor pool while he was there. No, his writing coach had explained, as there was no lifeguard and really, he should just be resting after the eventful day before. His swim coach understood his need to practice, though, and was empathetic.

“One day isn’t going to put you off your times, but I know, believe me, I know, it would help offset the stress of the event. You could go for a run, maybe?”

Michael didn’t run as a habit, but sometimes he would just take off for a jog now and then, or if he needed to do something physical later in the day, long after swimming to clear his head. He was curious about the college, the campus, and the opportunities there, although winning The Penultimate was a long shot. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to take a look around, especially early in the morning when it should be more quiet. Maybe there were other students who would be interested in an early run. There had to be.

He was the only student in his school, on his large Penultimate team, to make it to State, and while the pressure was on, the school wasn’t that focused on the tournament. It was a small event in a larger pool of athletic and academic opportunities, most of which were of greater interest to the other students, faculty, and parents. Still, he had loved to write since he was in elementary school, and his English teacher had singled him out right away for the team. It had taken the teacher, also the team coach, a bit longer to choose other participants, all of whom were interested but not as focused, perhaps, as Michael was. He loved swimming as much as writing, and for now, at least, no one was pressuring him to choose one over the other. He hoped that he would never have to make such a decision.

The book on swimming anatomy that his father had given him yesterday sat open in his lap, but now his head was turned just enough to see the source of laughter that came from the back of the bus. He hadn’t heard any noise from that direction, although he had been focusing on the words on the pages against the conversations around him for over an hour now. The two girls were looking out the window as they laughed, and the one with long dark hair was pointing at something. She was, he thought, Latina, definitely, with delicate feminine features, and her friend, her shorter hair dark as well, looked like she might be Middle Eastern, with a wide smile that showed perfect white teeth. Both of them had light brown skin that shone in the morning sunlight, and he found himself smiling at the beautiful picture the two of them made. He wondered what they wrote about that earned them placement at State, and wondered even more if he would find the courage to ask them




About the Author

 photo The Competition Author Cecily Wolfe_zpspfpyytzt.jpg
Cecily Wolfe writes whatever her characters tell her to write, including YA, contemporary family drama and romance, and Christian historical romance. She was born and raised in Akron, Ohio. She graduated from Kent State University with degrees in English and library science, and enjoys her career as a librarian in Cleveland. She is the author of That Night, (longlisted for the 2018 In the Margins national book award), Reckless Treasure, A Harvest of Stars, and the Cliff Walk Courtships series.



Contact Links


Purchase Links

On sale for $.99 until September 20th. Regular Price $2.99

RABT Book Tours & PR