#AuthorToolboxBlogHop: Plotter Shmotter, Pantser Plantser

If you’ve been in the writing community for any length of time, you’ve probably heard of plotters and pantsers — people who plot their stories before they write them, and people who write by the seat of their pants.

Thing is, from talking to a lot of writers, it seems like everyone does a mix of things. This pantser outlines a little in advance as they go, or has a short list of major plot points when they start writing. A plotter may use a super loose outline, or knows that nearly everything on it will change by the end. So though most people pick sides like some odd writing sports team, it almost seems like they’re nonexistent.

What I have noticed, though, is that a lot of people who identify as pantsers end up spending a lot of time revising, and tend to enjoy it. And a lot of outliners take their time to create highly polished first drafts and avoid tedious revision they dislike. So, instead of pantsers vs. plotters struggling in an age-old writerly battle, I think something more accurate might be drafters and revisers.

How about you? Do you think you’re a drafter or a reviser? Or do you think I’m totally wrong, and you’re a pantser or a plotter?

Also, be sure to check out more writing advice the rest of the #AuthorToolboxBlogHop!

Bacon, out.

#AuthorToolboxBlogHop: The Mythical Existence of Writer’s Block

Writer’s block debates seem to come in waves. Lots of arguing about the existence of this apparently mythical psychological state that always ends up bringing out this statement: It doesn’t exist, only weak writers give in to writer’s block!

That one makes me want to scream.

Whether or not you call it writer’s block, I claim it does exist. And I’d go so far to say this mythical beast comes in different breeds:

  • Inadequacy – This is the kind of writer’s block you push through. “But my words suck, but no one cares, but, but, but!” No buts. Or butts, please. Only words. (If your words include butts, they count.) This beast may look big and scary, but is the easiest to conquer—you just have to face it first. This article has a a lot of good advice for knocking this one out.
  • Stuck – This is a toss-up. For me, personally, I need to write through it, because I normally find where I need to go by forcing the absolute worst thing to happen (setting people on fire is a favorite). Some people need to stop, sit, and plot, though. For others, this means they need to go back and edit. Learn how you work, and don’t let this one stop you—even if you aren’t writing words, keep moving forward. This beast is a little grisly, but may end up being an ally in the end. Maggie Stiefvater just posted a great graphic (and another version) of navigating the twists and turns of this battle.
  • Emotional Constipation – Oh, this writer’s block. This is the one that knocks you off your feet when your personal life explodes, or the publishing industry destroys you. It would be so nice if writing could only be a work of love, some magical process that’s entirely rainbows and unicorn poop and catharsis. But, if you’re like me, the greatest reward to writing is having others reading your work. Which adds that lovely, stifling expectation to every word you write. And of course any additional stressors in your life love to add on to it. For this one, I have no answer on how to get right through it. This is the one I feel is the most mythical, evil being of them all, gross and rotting and dripping and oozing with doubt and insecurities. You can try stabbing and punching and screaming at this one, but sometimes it refuses to move off your words, hoarding them just out of reach. And that’s okay. You’re a human (I assume). Sometimes you need to take a break and re-focus, re-charge. Then come back and stab that sucker through the eye socket.

What about you guys? Do you believe in the fabled create called writer’s block? Do you think my list needs to be longer? Wanna share your battle scars?

Also, be sure to check out more writing advice the rest of the #AuthorToolboxBlogHop!

Bacon, out.

I Have a Book in the World!

Long time, no post!

Like the title says, as of last Friday, I have a book in the world!!! Well, a graphic novel/illustrated urban fantasy for adults, but it still exists and is buyable. It’s a project that I’ve been working on with my wonderful editor Villipede Press for about three and a half years of uncertainty and progress, and it’s insane to think that after all that time people can hold this book I wrote in their hands—it’s insane that anything of mine ever got published! Anyhow, if you’d like to check it out, it’s up on Goodreads and Amazon, and here’s some more info:

Sacrifices of Shadow is a graphic novel in the vein of dark urban fantasy, written by K. Kazul Wolf and illustrated by Matt Edginton. Anya is on her way to visit her mother when she comes upon a strange man lying in the road. It’s the middle of the night, pouring rain, and through the headlights it looks like something has just tried to tear this guy to pieces. He asks if she has a weapon on her, and before she can scoff or run back to the safety of her truck, something large begins to growl behind her…

Anya finds herself drawn into an eldritch world where hellish hounds stalk the between-worlds, magic-infused firearms are bought and traded, and shadowy entities in human guise appear to be eerily common.

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I also have plans for blog-ish stuff in the future, but for now I’m just going to bask in the internal screaming that is this book existing. :D

Bacon, out.

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An Interview of Sorts with Hayley Stone

Today I have Hayley Stone (author of MACHINATIONS and its sequel, COUNTERPART) on the blog, delving into the dragon’s den to answer some questions that may or may not be a little random and/or crazy.

Let’s get into the guts of it, shall we?

What’s the weirdest place you’ve written about?

In a trunked zombie YA novel, I wrote about a hedonistic club for the infected (those who would transform into zombies shortly) where entry required showing your bite mark. Inside, there were also zombies in dancer cages suspended from the ceiling and a lot of nasty stuff going on.

It sounds bizarre, but it was supposed to be based off of the crazy parties European nobility had during the black death, their one last huzzah before the end. In hindsight, I’m not even sure that actually happened, historically speaking. I think I was confusing history with an Edgar Allen Poe story, but anyway. It was pretty weird.

What’s your favorite word?

This is going to sound weird, but I really like the word blood. There is something visceral about it that I think calls back to its very definition, as being something intrinsic to the human body. It’s also amenable to metaphor, and always stands out in a sentence. Kind of like the word sex. (I bet your eyes sprang to it just now, right?)

Favorite writing snack?

Honestly, I don’t typically snack and write at the same time. I’m more likely to be drinking something—water, chai tea, or Coke.

If you could have lunch with one of your characters, which one, where would you go, and what would you order?

Oh, I’d definitely have lunch with Rhona. Probably somewhere casual with burgers, because it’s been years since she’s had fast food and would probably appreciate that. I think I’d also like to take her somewhere bustling with people—a reminder of the world she’s fighting to return to in her universe.

If you got sucked into a wormhole through time and space, what time/place would you HOPE to end up on the other side?

As tempting as it would be to go into the past, the idea of being stranded there is not appealing in the slightest. I’d hope the wormhole would deposit me in a bright, exciting future where mankind has colonized

What (artificially intelligent) kitchen appliance would you most want as your sidekick during a robot apocalypse?

My instinct was to say a KitchenAid, because you could probably fit all sorts of weapon attachments onto it, and it could also bludgeon someone to death. But I’m not sure how it would get around its lack of mobility—the thing is so heavy!

So maybe a hand mixer instead? A hand mixer of death!!!

If you were a dragon, what would you collect and guard in your hoard?

Books. Oh, wait… *glances at huge TBR collection*

Leaving aside all forms of literature, I’d probably collect Funko Pops. Those things are adorable.

What kind of apocalypse would you MOST want to see/experience end the world?

Zombie apocalypse, no question. First, I think The Walking Dead’s portrayal is entirely too cynical; I believe people would band together fairly quickly, reestablishing society to protect themselves. Second, I already judge buildings for their ability to withstand a zombie horde, so I think I’d do all right.

This may come as a surprise, but robot apocalypse actually comes in third on my list, right after alien invasion. Because ALIENS.

What kind of apocalypse would you LEAST want to see/experience end the world?

A global epidemic of some kind. I hate being sick—plus I’m a slight hypochondriac—so even if I wasn’t infected, I would probably worry about it 24/7 and complain that I’m dying at least once a day.

 

HAYLEY STONE

hayley-stone_author-photo_1-resizeHayley Stone has lived her entire life in sunny California, where the weather is usually perfect and nothing as exciting as a robot apocalypse ever happens. When not reading or writing, she freelances as a graphic designer, falls in love with videogame characters, and analyzes buildings for velociraptor entry points. She holds a bachelor’s degree in history and a minor in German from California State University, Sacramento. Counterpart is her second novel, and a choice for Amazon’s Best Sci-fi and Fantasy Books of the Month for October.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Tumblr | Pinterest

 

COUNTERPART

counterpart_stoneThe high-intensity sci-fi thriller series that began with Machinations continues as reincarnated insurgent Rhona Long faces off against the one enemy she can’t outwit: her own clone.

The machines believed their extermination of the human race would be over as quickly as it began. They were wrong. As the war against extinction intensifies, people are beginning to gain the upper hand.

Commander Rhona Long understands survival better than most. Killed in combat, she was brought back to life using her DNA, and she’s forged a new, even more powerful identity. Now the leader of the resistance, she’s determined to ensure the machines are shut down for good.

But victory is elusive. The machines have a new technology designed to overcome humanity’s most advanced weaponry. Despite Rhona’s peacekeeping efforts, former nations are feuding over resources as old power struggles resurface. Worse, someone inside the resistance is sabotaging the human cause—someone who, from all appearances, seems to be Rhona . . . or her exact replica.

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo

 

There you have it! Awesome words from an awesome author. Now go check out her impossibly more awesome books.

Bacon, out.

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Agent? Agented???

So! I have news. Agent news. :D

And of course I’ll post stats and stuff because I know writers must indulge their stalker tendencies. But I also know how many of my friends and followers are fighting the same battle, and how every success story you read about can feel like a hit against your own journey.

It’s like you’re in this field, playing this sport, and there is a stadium of people watching. They’re your writing friends, maybe your family, maybe even an amazing CP or two. These people who all are rooting and invested in you watch you strike out. And strike out again. And again. And again. And you tune in to watch other games and you see people building badass teams and getting home runs, or even more impressive when they get them on their own. And you stand there alone, rookie clothes hanging awkward, dirty, sweaty, gross, and worn on your shoulders. You have friends on your side, but a friend can’t come up to bat for you A friend can’t step up and relieve you of any of the stress and strain. They watch. And they cheer. But after hundreds of games, you don’t hear that cheering anymore. You’re the underdog who’s never touched the ball, never played in a big league game while you watch everyone flying by you. So I know stats and the like aren’t going to help. You’ve just gotta keep playing ball. Unless you need to take a break. I’ve definitely had some huge mental injuries that’ve taken me off the field. And if you ever need to talk, I have ears and I get it and I’d love to listen.

Anyways, I haven’t been at it as long as some. I haven’t written as much as other people. A few people know the special hell the past two years have dragged me through. And I still have a whole heck of a lot ahead of me before the prospect of being published is a real thing. But here’s the numbers behind where I am now:

Seven(ish) years and six(ish) books that were never queried. Then:

Summer Thunder (AKA Poop Dragon/Pitch Wars ’14 MS (Note that this novel was previously represented, and this doesn’t include the stats from before then)):

  • Queries Sent: 136
  • Partials Requested: 10
  • Fulls Requested: 8
  • Rejections: 135
  • R&Rs: 1
  • Offers: 1

Essence/The Magic of Memories (AKA Sassy Stove/ Pitch Wars ’15 novel/a novel that prooobably wasn’t ready to be queried):

  • Queries Sent: 77
  • Partials Requested: 5
  • Fulls Requested: 3
  • Rejections: 77
  • R&Rs: 0
  • Offers: 0

So, yeah! After sending a #MSWL query, then getting and completing a R&R that made my book about a million times better, I signed with Samantha Wekstein of Writers House. You can see my stats weren’t really great. Everybody who wasn’t an agent sung the praises of Poop Dragon,  but I had given up hope. I’m not being dramatic. The query I sent to her was going to be the last one I sent out and then I was just going to shut everything down.

For me, I kinda hate when people say it only takes one because that completely erases the hard work and garbage that comes with getting to that one. I think, it comes down to timing and relentlessness. Because way back when I first starting querying this MS, my now-agent wasn’t taking clients. If I had given up the day before than she posted that tweet, I wouldn’t be here writing this post.

And now I will have the moment I’ve been waiting for:

I HAVE AN AGENT OHMYGOSH I HAVE A FREAKING AWESOME AGENT, EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

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*ehem*

Bacon, out.

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I Made a Thing!

LOOK AT IT.

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It’s really blurry, I overall suck at taking pictures, BUT YEAH. I ripped apart a book (please don’t kill me, it hurt a lot to do it), mod podged it all onto this ugly cabinet, finished it off with a sealer, and many hours and two days later it is miiiiiine.

What book, you ask?

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(I kept my favorite bits to keep on the front.)

So WIP shots because why the hell not (I swear, these shots do not do justice to how ugly-butt green this thing was and still is in the inside because I’ve still got work to do (also, enjoy my neighbor’s puppy)):
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Now I’m gonna go keel over and eat chocolate or something.

Bacon, out.

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On Why You Should Keep Writing

Alright, so I haven’t been updating my short story project lately. It isn’t because I don’t enjoy them, they’re fun to write. It’s not because I don’t have anything to post, I have like three stories in the file that just need to be edited. It’s because….

*DRUM ROLL*

(You’re never gonna guess.)

My crippling self-doubt, yaaaay!

“Really, Bacon?” you say. “Didn’t you already write a post or two about this?”

Well, I probably did, but I have some new thoughts. So let me get to my point by way of a round-about story.

Anyone who knows me personally knows that my writing life has been hell for about two years now. I am Murphy’s Law. If it can blow up in my face and cripple me emotionally, you better believe it will and then laugh as I try to crawl back up. Sorry, no gory details because those wounds still sting. Sometimes it does get better, sometimes you can use that anger to beat everything back and move forward. But sometimes you keep getting beaten down and beaten down and beaten down, and that anger dies and becomes a ghost that haunts you with its creation.

You think about it before you go to sleep. You think about it every time you open a document. You think about it every time you hit send on a query. You think about it in the shower, while driving, at work, while eating, while reading, while you’re on the freaking toilet.

It gets to the point where you look for help, you ask anyone you can to help drag you out of the pit and you get the same, meaningless advice. And it’s equally awful to get, “You’ll get there!” as, “Why don’t you just quit?” Because you want permission to stop but you also want to find a reason to keep going and it’s this awful limbo.

So I’m a part of this Twitter DM group, and I I expressed my despair awhile back. It felt like they said (note that I’m emotionally constipated and what they said and what I heard could easily be two different things), “But you’ve gotten into Pitch Wars (a fairly large competition) twice! And you got into those other contests! And you made it into that writing retreat where they only accepted so many applicants! How can you feel this way?”

Which made me angry. And depressed. So I kinda slunk out the back door and ate too much chocolate and had a lot of good crying and played too many video games. (Because I’m a child, apparently.) They just didn’t get it. Sure, I got into these things, but I’ve never made it any farther no matter how hard I try. No one actually cares about the words I’ve written. I’ve gotten to the point I wonder if any of my critique partners give a damn.

And that brings me to today. I’m still at a low point. It’s hard to think about writing. Hope is a dangerous drug I’d like to ignore, please and thank you. But this morning I saw there were new messages I will probably ignore in the Twitter group, and then in the next second I saw Victoria Schwab’s post on being an “overnight success.” And I naturally I got a couple paragraphs in and huffed and puffed when I saw that she got an agent on her first book (I’ve written six or seven books in at least in as many years of taking this business seriously, with one agent that didn’t stay for very long), and then it hit me. I’m feeling the same way that Twitter group felt when they saw me despairing. I’d hit the level of “success” they’d dreamed of. And there I was whining and complaining I hadn’t gone far enough.

Does that make my struggle any less real? No. But it brought what I’ve been able to accomplish back into focus. I have done some things to be a little proud of and to be thankful for. And maybe if there’s someone actually reading this word vomit, maybe you’re thinking, “Well whoop-dee-do, you’ve done more than me and you’re just realizing it. What a special snowflake you are.”

Some day you might be in my shoes. You might be in my shoes right now, observing my spoiled-bratty-ness. I’m sure you’ve done something worth being proud of. Maybe you’ve gotten a request for a full manuscript. Maybe you’ve found a critique partner that loves your words. And above that, maybe you’ve written. I know that fact becomes static when you’re surrounded by writers oozing out of every corner of the internet, but take this from a writer who hasn’t made it anywhere near the top: go walk down a crowded street and remind yourself that you may be the only one there who can call themselves a writer. That’s something.

If you don’t learn how to be proud of what you’ve done right now, you’re going to be miserable. Because life sucks. Writing sucks even more. And if you don’t believe what you’ve done matters, no one else is going to do that for you.

It really made me understand what those authors mean when they say that having a book deal or an agent changes nothing. Because on a subconscious level, I still think it has to change something.

But it doesn’t change enough to matter. There’s nothing that will magically make you “enough.” You do that.

So maybe think about this for awhile. Maybe don’t. It’s up to you. If you’ve stalked me long enough, you know that I write in an attempt to bring a little itty bitty piece of magic into the world, and I’m still not sure my writing does that so I don’t know where I stand. But maybe me rambling out my feelings will help somebody else.

We’ll see.

Bacon, out.

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A Few Things

  1. I’M MOVING NEXT WEEKEND. ISH. So I don’t know when I’ll have internet. Which means that I may not be posting shorts for a time. Which brings me to…
  2. The short story project I never explained! I’m in a fun writing limbo, but if I don’t write I can’t sleep. So I’m re-doing a short story project I did ages ago and posting it to hold myself accountable. I’m going to aim to post every Saturday, Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday, with the exception of the moving weekend/week.
  3. I swear I actually am on a social media hiatus (mostly Twitter and FB). From now until probably November is going to be super painful for me as it’s Pitch Wars season. It’s a huge dream of mine to be a mentor, but I’ve realized that’s more than likely never going to happen and it’s a constant reminder of how bad I am at this whole thing. (I still love the contest — a bunch of my friends are mentors and I’m encouraging two CPs to get their butts in gear for it this year!) I was hanging around a bit lately because of a thing, and I will check stuff those days I post stories, but otherwise I will not be online.

I think that’s it? WELP. If not we’ll know soon enough.

Bacon, out.

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Madcap Madness

Alright, everyone and their cat wants to know how the freaking fantabulous Madcap’s Aspiring Writer Retreat was. Now I won’t (and can’t, because I’m famous for my crap memory) share all the presentations and writerly cheat codes they shared, but I can ramble about how cool it was and what it meant to me. Yay?

Well, first off, a list of the amazing published authors that were there: Maggie Stiefvater, Renée Ahdieh, Dhonielle Clayton, Tessa Gratton, Sarah Henning, Justina Ireland, Myra McEntire, Julie Morphy, Natalie C. Parker, Carrie Ryan, Victoria Schwab, Courtney C. Stevens, and Brenna Yovanoff.

Every single one was amazing and had super freaking awesome things to say. From ideas,  plotting, revising, critiquing, characters, and world-building — you name the writing process, we probably talked about it.

It’s always fascinating to see how authors do things differently, no matter how many times I’ve read about revision or listened to podcasts about world building. There’s no one right way to do something. And as writing seems to be a constantly shifting puzzle of trying to find a right path to do the thing, seeing and learning so much from so many people was absolutely priceless even if I did know a lot of the concepts they covered. Because I don’t care how many years you’ve been writing, every good writer I know gets obsessed with a piece of the whole picture from time to time. Which is great for a while, but you need to remember what the core of writing is:

Being a creator, and telling that story.

Which was what this thing was all about, and what I totally needed.

You see, the next post on my blog was going to be a very ugly “I’m quitting writing” post. My finger’s been hovering over the “publish” button on that for a long time. It’s not that I’ve wanted to quit writing, it’s that I saw no other option with the hellish writing year I’ve had. I’m not going into details (you got lucky this time, non-existent audience), but I thought it was going to take a miracle to get me writing, and if I could’ve gotten a full refund for the retreat, I wouldn’t have gone.

Now, no miracles happened. I mean, Maggie’s cool and magical and all, but I think she was using all her innate powers keeping together that Nissan she bought while she was there (nope, not kidding). But the coolest thing about a retreat like this, even though there were forty-something odd people there, was that I got a lot of personal time talking to the authors and getting their opinions on things. Specifically the ugly little varmints running around my mind lately. And just like how everyone has a different way of writing things, everyone had different advice for me. Weirdly, it was all on point.

I’ve got a lot of thinking and work to do, but I’m going to try some things out. I’m not giving up yet because I love it too much to let it go. And I’ve inherited being as stubborn as a rock from my mom (thanks, mom).

So yep. The food was fabulous, the sessions were amazing, the location was beautiful, and the writers were the freaking best. Then when it was over we set boxes on fire and we took some of the ash home to perform writing rituals and it was great.

If you can, I totally recommend going to one of these things. I would be all over the next thing Madcap does (they don’t have it on their site yet, but you can sign up for the newsletter for when they do) except for, you know, being dead broke after this one. I mean, come on. Who doesn’t want to play a game of giant (Court) Jenga?

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Bacon, out.

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Cover Reveal: My Perfect Mistake by Kelly Siskind!

I’m so excited to be sharing the cover of Kelly Siskind’s MY PERFECT MISTAKE today! Kelly’s a freaking fantastic author, which you can see for yourself with the excerpt below (and a giveaway, too)!

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About MY PERFECT MISTAKE

What happens in Aspen is definitely not staying in Aspen . . .

A girls’ trip to Aspen was exactly what Shay needed to forget about her toxic ex-boyfriend. She’s got her girls, pristine slopes for skiing, and hot guys everywhere. Of course, her epic self-rediscovery goes completely to hell when a wild (and deliciously hot) skier knocks Shay on her ass . . . and war is declared.

Kolton doesn’t know what it is about Shay that makes him lose it. Not just his cool—although she does have an unholy gift for that—but his restraint. When anger gives way to explosive chemistry, they’re both shaken with the intensity of it. But somewhere between lust and hate, Kolton and Shay realize they could have something real . . . if they don’t kill each other first.

MY PERFECT MISTAKE releases April 5, 2016 – add it to your Goodreads list here!

Preorder MY PERFECT MISTAKE now: Amazon | Barnes and Noble | iBooks | Kobo

Excerpt

He tosses me my anti-sexy helmet. “We should take another run before we head down.”

I catch it and shake my head, unsure I heard him right. “Sorry, we? Shouldn’t you be skiing with your buddies? It’s bad enough you hijacked my lunch and I have to sit at a table with you again tonight. Now you want to ski together? Thanks but no thanks.”

He lifts his arms over his head and stretches from side to side. A sliver of skin peeks out below his jacket. “The guys called it quits early. Worried you can’t keep up?”

As fucking if. The dude’s obviously egging me on, but he snaps my self-control. Everything between us is action, reaction. Spark and flame. What’s his deal, anyway? Why sit with me and ski with me when we’re worse than cats and dogs? If he thinks firing me up means he’s getting a replay of last night, he’s mistaken. Still, I need to beat his ass on the slopes. “Fine. I’ll take that run. It’s about time I put you in your place. But let’s be clear. We can have lunch and ski together, but there will be no sex.” A teen walking by stops midstride and doubles over in a fit of giggles.

“I didn’t catch that.” Kolton leans forward and cups a hand around his helmeted ear. “Do you mind speaking up?”

What a total douche.

“Everyone is wise until he speaks,” I mumble, recalling my granddad’s words.

Kolton straightens, a question passing across his face. “Are you Irish? My granddad used to say that all the time. Along with, ‘Shut your mouth and eat your dinner.’”

I laugh, abrupt and maniacal, the sharp sound catching me off guard. The energy shifts between us, like the first time I understood my Spanish teacher—the foreign becoming familiar. I frown, unsure I want Kolton to feel familiar. “Yeah, I am. The first curse I learned was feckin’ arse, and I’d kind of like to use it now.”

He smiles to himself, as though we’re friends who would sit and talk and laugh about our shared upbringing. Ruffled, I cram my helmet on, get geared up, and try to stomp out of the lodge all look out, buddy, but with the boots and Martian head, it’s a fail.

Skis on and goggles down, we race to the lift. He arrives first, making like he’s been waiting forever with a dramatic yawn. I roll my eyes and push past him. The lift line is empty, so it’s just him and me on the four-person chair.

“Mind not doing that?” he says partway up as I swing my skis.

The chair sways in response, and I rock my legs harder. “This?”

His olive skin grays. “Yeah. That.” He leans his elbows on the safety bar and closes his eyes.

If he pukes, I’ll likely toss my cookies, too. When my brother got food poisoning from China House’s all-you-can-eat buffet, it wasn’t pretty. I hadn’t eaten a thing there, but the second he threw up, I proceeded to reenact that pie eating scene from Stand by Me: projectile vomit, solid stream, fire hydrant force.

I still my skis and stop bouncing.

We pass one supporting tower, then another, before he opens his eyes.

“You regretting that lunch?” I ask, smirking.

He flexes his hands, and the poles dangling from his wrists knock around. “No. I’m regretting getting on this chair with you.”

Such a charmer.

Giveaway

Want to win a digital ARC of MY PERFECT MISTAKE? You can enter to win on the Rafflecopter below!

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About Kelly Siskind

A small-town girl at heart, Kelly moved from the city to open a cheese shop with her husband in Northern Ontario. When she’s not neck deep in cheese or out hiking, you can find her, notepad in hand, scribbling down one of the many plot bunnies bouncing around in her head.

She laughs at her own jokes and has been known to eat her feelings—Gummy Bears heal all. She’s also an incurable romantic, devouring romance novels into the wee hours of the morning.

She is represented by Stacey Donaghy of the Donaghy Literary Group.

2015 Golden Heart® Finalist

Connect with Kelly Siskind

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Pinterest

Bacon, out.

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