Writing Wednesday | Prompt 63

For The Love of Ash | Teaser Four

It's a snow day over here in Connecticut! I'm so happy because I get to catch up on my writing, do some research for another one of my books, and edit For The Love of Ash. So, yes, I am relishing in the freebie day. And since I've been neglecting the blog-i-verse, I owe you all a teaser! Here ya go!
This teaser is from Luke's POV after a big blowup with his father at the dinner table... I chose this part to give you all a little look at Luke's family life, his background and what kind of guy he is. Remember, this hasn't been professional edited yet and is subject to change.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Lindsay asked me. I nodded and sat up. I rubbed Lilly’s back before I left. Linds led me out into the hallway, and across the way to her childhood bedroom. She shut the door behind us and leaned against it, blocking anyone who might come in. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked her, immediately picking up on her nervousness.

“You have to go.”

“What?”

“He’s going to beat the shit out of you. Here are the keys to my apartment. I’ll stay heer. You gotta go until he leaves again.”

“I’m fucking twenty-three, Lindsay. He can’t beat me up anymore.”

“Luke, please. I’m offering you an out.” She grabbed onto my forearm, her wide blue eyes twinkling up at me. 

“This has got to be some fucking joke. What about Liam, or you? What if he takes it out on you guys?”

“He won’t.”

“This is bullshit, Linds.” I turned so she couldn’t see my face and ran my hand through my hair, pulling at the ends. I didn’t know what to do to make this better. But I knew Lindsay was right. I couldn’t stay. I just didn’t want to leave them to deal with the pieces.

“I know, but you don’t have a choice. You have to work tomorrow. You don’t have time to go to the emergency room. Please. Just go to my place.”

“Come with me.” I spun around and grabbed her biceps. She could come and we’d both be safe. He didn’t hit the other kids so if we left, he’d have to calm down alone. That would work.

“I have to watch the others. Father will be gone in a week, probably earlier. I’m fine. I’m your older sister. So listen to me.” She glared, quirking her brows up. “For once in your life, listen.”

“Love you,” I said as I plucked the keys from her pointer finger.

For The Love of Ash | Teaser Three

It's official! I've finished For The Love of Ash. The book is one hundred percent done. Now onto the editing. If you follow this blog at all, you know that I hate editing. But, it must be done. I LOVE and I seriously mean LOVE with all of my entire being, this story. It's passionate and heartbreaking but don't worry, it is happy. Promise, this time. 
Just wanted to make a quick announcement for those of you who are writers. I've been posting a ton of work on Sribophile. In fact, three full episodes (30,000 words) of The Last Legacy are up and are being critted. So, if you're a member.... ADD ME and I can help you crit your things.

Onto the teaser.... 

Writing Wednesday | Prompt 62

For The Love of Ash | Main Characters

For The Love of Ash is wrapping up and you know what that means, TEASERS GALORE. I absolutely love the way this novel has shaped up. I am in love with the characters and I'm actually a little sad that I have to let it go soon. But let's get to some characters. Maggie Larken
She's a twenty-two year old girl who never had a chance at happiness. Her parents expected nothing of her, ignoring her to frequent their favorite country clubs and golf courses. She used her body to get what she wanted and sought attention through rebelling. When that didn't work she fled to college in hopes of getting away, but when her parents died in a car crash, she's brought back home to take care of her younger brother, Asher.  Maggie is anxious by nature, using vices like smoking cigarettes to get by day to day without having a panic attack. But her number one priority always is Asher. She promises to do right by him, giving him an adult he can trust unlike their parents who were never there. She ditches her party ways to pay for ice hockey camp, her apartment, and school lunches. Inspiration: Evangeline Lilly

 

Luke Wilson
Everyone perceived Luke to have a perfect life of riches in New Canaan, CT, but behind the curtains it was anything but. He took the brunt of abuse from his father to protect his siblings and played the part of perfect son to pacify his father while he was living in his house. When he went to college, he could finally be himself. He partied, got tattoos and changed majors.  Luke's dream was to travel the world teaching English to children who needed his guidance.  Coming from a family of eight he had to make a compromise and put his hopes on hold: teaching gym at Woodbury Elementary. He's still close to his four sisters, and brother, but doing something he loves, yet he searches for something other meaning to life. Inspiration: Andre Hamann

Asher Larken

Asher's one passion is ice hockey. He lives and breathes the sport and when he's not on the ice, he's practice his stick handling or shots. He doesn't really fit in in school because he doesn't like going up to people and making friends. He prefers to stick to himself and do this own thing.

The main word to describe Asher is passionate. His parents didn't give him the attention or recognition he desired but with Maggie taking over his guardianship, he hopes to live a normal life. He loves Maggie and takes a liking to Luke as his gym teacher. Slowly, they pull him out of his shell.

 

2 Year Blog-iversary!

GUYS! It's my blogs birthday and I'm so excited to celebrate with you all today. Last year, this place was small and kind of lonely. But big things have been happening and I'm so glad I've been able to meet you all. 
We've surpassed 200,000 views! This is a huge accomplishment and it is all of you who are reading right this very second that have made this milestone happen. So thank you.
There are over 300 comments on all of my posts, most of which were posted this year. You're listening to me, you really are. And I love it. There's no greater feeling than sparking up on conversation because of one of my posts. Keep on commenting.
Most of you guys are from the USA, but a lot of viewers are from Canada, the UK and France. FRANCE?! Where are the French at? Please stand up and bow. I have to admit, I studied french throughout high school and I used to be fluent. When I traveled to Spain, we drove through France and it was the only time I've ever used it. FUN FACT :)
Over 1,000 people have me in their google+ circles. I love google, beteween the communities and obviously the blog, it rocks. Check me out now. Oh, and 47 people follow this blog.  

The most viewed blog post from 2014 was Writing Wednesday | Prompt 55! I did this prompt in my creative writing class. I hated doing it, I have to be honest. But it helped me shaped The Last Legacy, so I'm glad the post did so well. Coming up short was, Writing Wednesday | Manuscript Writing Technique and Adults SHOULD Read Whatever They Want. From looking at the numbers, it's pretty clear the writing Wednesday posts are your favorite, so I promise to continue on. 
BOOKS I PUBLISHED IN 2014
The Curse of Betrayal A Reliant Love The Broken Curse
BOOKS TO COME IN 2015
For The Love of Ash Finding Sam The Last Legacy Boundless Fallout

Now, I have some giveaways! If you haven't had a chance to read my novels, here's the perfect opportunity. I'm giving away the entire Curse Books series and also A Reliant Love... FOR FREE. What are you waiting for? Go enter!
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Enjoy a sneak peak from my upcoming serial, The Last Legacy...

It started eight days ago. There was some sort of disaster that created a domino effect. The bombings came first, which knocked out power and water and just about everything else. People fled in mass hysteria while I tried to wait it out. I didn’t hear much before the TV was gone — chemical disaster, and something about gas masks, and locking yourself inside.

It had been seven days since I left my home—one full week of solitary confinement. Although I guess I could have left if I wanted to. I just had no reason to walk out into what I suspected was a warzone and risk my life. This house was all that I had to my name. I had nowhere to go.

Luckily, according to Jean from next door, my lack of family or any meaningful relationship allowed me to stay hidden in my home. She’d left two days ago to find her parents who lived on the Eastern side of Rhode Island. She was worried about having to travel through Hartford to get there. I had a sinking feeling I would never see her again.

But what was worse than the destruction outside my window was the screaming and moaning and crying. People wandered the streets with empty eyes. Three days ago, I saw a man meandering down the road with tattered clothing. He was missing an arm—it looked like it was torn from the socket, no clean break and rounded skin. Just crimson emptiness. I emptied my stomach at the horrific sight of that broken man, but made no attempt to go help him.

Instead, I hid from the images. I now found myself spending most of my time in my bedroom since it was facing the woods and had only one window. I boarded the window with my kitchen table to block the noises. I hated the cries—hated the torture. I didn’t want to know what was going on, but I had to face it sometime.

A cacophony of explosions rocketed me backwards into the maple bookshelf in the dusty corner of my bedroom. My head erupted in a searing pain. I cradled my head as waves of hurt tore through me and pulled my knees into my chest. I lay there in a ball as the world around me was destroyed—again

            It sounded like a shot gun shot off a round near my front door, too close to be near the road, and then the world around me quieted. It was too silent. I was paranoid by this point. I almost came out of my ball in the corner of the room, but then sirens wailed in the distance. Cop cars, ambulances and whatever other emergency vehicles zoomed through the streets, sounding louder but then fading, like they went right past my home.

            I could smell burning human flesh nearby, a bitter, vile smell like fat on a grill that I wished I could forget, but I couldn’t react. I squeezed my eyes shut harder and tried to count to one hundred without the sounds of screaming forcing me to stop.

            As I hit the lucky number one hundred, I peeked open my eyes. My house was only a one story—an old ranch with a rickety front porch and a screened door that bangs with the wind. I lived just outside of Hartford, in a neighborhood that is painfully white trash.

Jean’s place had a metal fence that squared off her small plot of land. It was rusted from not being taken care of. She had this annoying yippy dog that would bark at every passersby, which was a lot since most people couldn’t afford cars.

Before the destruction, I’d spend more nights than not listening to dubstep through the walls from the house next door on the other side. There was a group of five guys who lived in the house and they never stopped partying despite being in their mid-forties. They’d get out their white lawn chairs and park them right on the front lawn. They’d sit with their beer bellies popped out, crack open their blue cooler and drink until the sun came out. I was constantly going to work singing lyrics to Skrillex that refused to stop haunting me and nursing my exhaustion hangover.

            I wished that I could go back to my biggest worry being my noisy neighbors. Hell, I’d take moving back into my last foster house over whatever is going on outside my door. That says a lot since there were ten of us under the age of sixteen living in a two bedroom trailer with a guy who couldn’t lay off the bong for more than an hour.

Another loud gunfire shot back to me, shaking my small home and my head back to reality. I tried to convince myself it was just the old wood creaking. I tried to convince myself that it was just the screen door opening an inch or two by the wind and then shutting. But what I knew were footsteps got closer and closer to my bedroom.

            I scooted on the wood floor of my bedroom against the wall until I felt the familiar paneling of the closet. Creak—another footstep, this time just outside of the bedroom door. I rolled backwards into the closet and pushed myself until my back was flush against the back wall, clothes hanging and whipping me in the face.

            I covered my mouth with my hands, worried my ragged breaths would be too loud A warm tear trickled down my face, stopping at the dam my pointer finger made below my nose. I didn’t wipe it away.

            “Make sure you clear it.” The door to my bedroom slammed open against the wall. Crumbles from the wall landed on the hard wood, clicking like rainbow sprinkles. I squeezed my eyes shut harder and if I could have stopped my heart from beating, I would have.

            The same deep, gruff voice mumbled something and then stomped through my bedroom. His steps sounded as if he was wearing combat boots, each move a mini explosion rumbling. He huffed under his breath; even his exhale sounded angry. I heard a knee crack. He became oddly quiet and I fought the urge to look out from the veil of my closet.

            “I swear I have to do everything myself.” My bed creaked and a foot shuffled. I faintly smelled something sour and bitter, like sweat and vodka, but it was too close to be the man near the bed. I struggled to hold back a sob. His boots got closer. The clothes above me swayed, a soft wind trickling over my face. I couldn’t move.

            “You didn’t think we’d leave you?” Arms wrapped around my shoulders and two more hands got my legs. “We’ve got a live one!” the man yelled, and two more sets of feet came towards me, heavy and strong, pounding—thum thum, thum thum, thum thum.

            “She sure is pretty.” The new voice was nasally and wicked. Goose bumps prickled down my arms and up my spine. I screamed as he lifted me up. I quickly tried to memorize the man’s face, but before I knew it, a calloused hand covered my eyes. I only got blue eyes and a sad frown.

Hands smelling like raw sewage slide a silky blindfold over my eyes. The hands were calloused and hard, needy with each touch against me like he’d never had human contact before.

I didn’t fear for my life anymore. I feared what they would do if they let me live. I couldn’t see them so I listened for a female voice as they probed and inspected me. One man’s fingers were digging into my upper arms, pinching my skin under my armpits. I felt hands trail down the curve of my back and reach around my pants, searching. Fingers dug into my pockets, lifted up my shirt, and felt around every crevice. I never once felt like I had a chance of escape, their arms strong and firm.

A man hauled me over his back, my face hitting his muscle covered back and my ass in the air. I just wanted to pull my shirt down to cover my midriff. I wanted to fix my pants that had slipped to show my butt. Before I had the chance, my arms were zip tied together and my ankles as well.

The man carrying me walked through my hallway. He acted as if he knew my home. He pushed through my rickety old screen door. It crashed shut behind us and I heard another man’s feet catch and a bang from behind me.

“Fuck, Jim. You shut the damn door in my face.”

“Oh, screw off. Hold your own damn door.”

Suddenly, my captor, Jim stumbled and my head slammed against his back. His arms tightened around my waist and I wished he’d just drop me to put me out of my misery. But without working arms and legs, I wouldn’t get far.

“Where do you want her?” Jim asked.

“Just put her in the middle of the back seat and I’ll sit next to her.” A finger traced the outline of my hip and trailed up to my face, pausing along the way at my breasts. He felt the side curve of me. He squeezed my nipple through my shirt and I screamed. His other hand got lost in my hair and tugged my head backwards. I screamed again as loud as I could. Someone slapped me hard—not Jim, since he couldn’t reach. My cheek ignited, a sharp fire where his palm connected.

“Let me go!” I struggled in Jim’s arms, yelling and kicking since I knew that no matter what happened I wouldn’t be free. I bucked my hips up and thrust my shoulders forward, hoping to flip over and at least stand alone. Jim pulled me down off his back and held me roughly in his arms. My right ear was pressed against his chest, his heart thumping steadily. His arm was behind my head, holding my shoulders a little too tight, and his other arm was under my knees.

“Just get in the car before you get yourself hurt,” Jim said, his voice hush hush. His knee cracked as his arms released me into a low-to-the-ground seat, I ran my hands along the seat and felt a cold firm fabric, like leather.  I heard the car rumble to life as one of the doors shut from the front. I wished someone would just take the blindfold off of me. The edges bit into my temples, a headache already beginning in the back of my skull.

I tried to sit up, but it was impossible without my arms. A loud bang against the car jolted me and I quieted, trying to listen to what was going on. Nobody else had gotten into the car and it didn’t feel like we were moving.

“Get in the other car and meet us there.” It was Jim who spoke first.

“I want to play with the lil’ lady.” The nasally voiced man was farther away than Jim. He was probably standing near the door to my house, or just past the front stoop. Jim’s heavy booted foot stepped towards me.

“Get in the other car.” Another bang against the car, like a body being shoved against metal. I could only imagine the dents in the side of it. Jim’s voice was getting angrier by the second, the gruffness returning.  

“What the fuck is your problem? This is what we do now. New world order and all that shit. You’re the jackass in charge.” The nasal voice was painfully close to me now. It sounded like his head was just outside of the car.

“Guys, just relax,” another guy said, his voice completely foreign.

“I’m pretty sure if I was you, I’d listen to the jackass in charge then.” Jim exhaled through his nose and I pictured him about to charge with fists raised. “Now get in the other car and get the fuck out of here.”

For a moment, there was just silence. And then another hit. And then the heavy boots retreated. The man in the driver’s seat mumbled under his breath, something about hurrying this along, I gathered. And then I felt someone beside me, and I honestly wasn’t sure if it was Jim, or the other guy.

“Drive to the house.” It was Jim. For some reason, I felt relieved that it was Jim and not the other guy. I’m not sure if it was the mere fact that I knew Jim’s name or what, but I was thankful he was beside me.

“Got it.” The driver’s tone was clipped, like he knew the drill and didn’t need to be reminded where to go. His voice was quiet, soft, not menacing or evil like most of the others. It didn’t mean I trusted him.

Jim’s hands touched my shoulders and I flinched backwards. I used my knees to kick against the seat and I pushed myself until I was pressed against the side door, my head tilting in an awkward angle. I felt the indent of his weight in the seat as he hovered above me. His breath was on my face, and oddly enough, it was minty and not unpleasant like the others.

“I won’t hurt you.” He sounded sincere, but I didn’t believe him. “What’s your name?”

I almost didn’t answer. But I figured if he knew my name, maybe he’d be less inclined to kill me or hurt me. “Lana.” 

For The Love of Ash | Cover Reveal

I couldn't wait much longer! I have to be honest, I revealed the cover to my blog subscribers first. Then yesterday, I posted it on my author Facebook page. I just couldn't wait to share the awesome cover to my next book! 
I'm almost done with writing it, and then mid-January it heads off to my editor, Danielle. So here come the teasers! I really, really, really have fallen in love with the characters in this book and I can't wait to share them. 
Maggie, Asher and Luke are an awesome bunch. (I swear no love triangles).