Thursday, July 9, 2015

Blog Tour:YOU AND ME AND HIM by Kris Dinnison (Author Interview)


Hiya everyone!  It's been a rainy week here in the Philippines and what's the best way to do when you're lock up at your house? Well, of course reading and a cup of coffee! I am starting to read the Psy-changeling series by Nalini Singh and guys it was so good and SEXAAY *wink* though I am reading I still multitask and search for my next read and one of the books that caught my attention is You and Me and Him by Kris Dinnison. I got lucky to be a part of the blog tour for the book and had a chance to interview Kris, read the author interview below and join the giveaway guys!


Congratulations on your book! Can you tell us a bit about yourself?

Thanks! I used to be a teacher and librarian, but I always wanted to be a writer. I love books and stories almost as much as my family. I have a husband, a daughter, a geriatric cat named Moonie, and I just got a new kitten named Raymond. I love raspberries. I hate licorice. My favorite color is green. I speak French, but poorly.

What can readers expect from YOU and ME and HIM?

Well, I think they can expect a story of friendship, and what happens when we screw up a friendship over something less important. The tagline of the book “What if getting the guy means losing your soulmate?’ really brings that home. A soulmate is somebody, not necessarily a romantic somebody, who gets you at the most basic level. In the story, Maggie risks losing that person, her friend Nash, over a guy they’re both interested in. Readers can also expect some humor, some great music, and some good fights.

If you don't mind, would you like to share with us the one event that turned your world upside down?

There have been a lot of significant moments in my life of course. A lot of them joyful, thankfully only a few of them sad. One that really changed my life and my understanding of myself was moving from Eastern Washington to The Bay Area when I was 16. I was halfway through my junior year in High School, and the culture shock was stunning. Plus I was moving from the people I’d gone to school with since third grade. They would all graduate together and I would be alone. I was not happy, and I was not optimistic. But I did my best to get involved and meet people and it wasn’t so bad. In fact I was actually grateful afterward that I’d had that experience. It taught me to be more independent and more confident about who I was, especially in new situations. It felt huge at the time, and in retrospect it was, but not in a bad way.

When and how did you decide to become a YA writer?

I don’t know if I actually decided as much as fell into it. I’ve read YA for awhile because I was a High School teacher and a school librarian and because there are just some amazing YA  books out there. Anyway, when I left teaching, I wanted to write, and I tried a few things, but nothing felt quite right. And I was scared because I didn’t really know what I was doing. Then I read a piece of writing advice from Neil Gaiman. He said “Finish something.” So I decided I would write a complete first draft of this novel about a girl who works in a record store. That became You and Me and Him. It was still really rough when my agent saw it at a conference. I wasn’t really looking for an agent yet. I thought I was a long way from that. But she loved it and was willing to help me get it into shape and try to sell it. It took awhile, but when it did sell, it was to an amazing editor, the perfect editor for this book.  Now I realize that the book worked because I have a lot to say, and maybe a lot of my own stuff to work out, about that moment between childhood and full adulthood. So I’m excited to write more stories about that time in life.

Could you describe the mundane details of writing: How many hours a day to you devote to writing? Do you write a draft on paper or at a keyboard?

This is always a shifting landscape for me because we own two retail businesses, Atticus Coffee and Boo Radley’s Gifts, so I have been working there while trying to write and fit in all the other stuff life throws at you. But recently I’m working at our stores less often, so my writing days have a more predictable structure. I write in the morning, usually for anywhere from three to five hours depending on how much other stuff I have to do that day. I have a writing room that I use, but if I’m doing research or need the internet I have to work somewhere else because the internet is terrible in that room. I take a lot of notes in a writing notebook, but I draft on a keyboard.

So far, what has been the most surprising part of the publishing and writing industry for you?

I think the most wonderful surprise has been what an incredibly supportive community the YA writing and publishing community is. I feel so supported by other writers, and other agents and editors have also been really kind and helpful to me. And of course there are all the amazing book bloggers who love YA as much as I do. It’s great to see how everyone is a fan of everyone else. And every time I’ve reached out with a question or needed help with something, someone comes through. It’s been amazing.

We here at Teen Readers' Diary are huge YA Contemporary readers. What sets this story apart from the other books in the genre?

There are two things that set the book apart in my mind. The first is the unconventional love triangle. The two best friends who like the same guy isn’t new. The fact that one of those best friends is a gay guy gives it an unusual twist. The other thing is that Maggie, my main character, is overweight. But she doesn’t spend the book trying to change that. It causes her some problems, and she sometimes wishes she was thinner, but the book is about her discovering that she’s more than just her weight, that she has a lot to offer no matter what size she is.

What is the best piece of advice you've ever received? the worst?

The best piece of advice I ever received was that quote from Eleanor Roosevelt, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” Whatever relationship I’m in, whether in my family, or with friends, or a work relationship, or even now with relationships in publishing, I try to remember that if I’m feeling bad about myself, or feeling less than, that’s about me, not about that other person. And I’m the only one who can change it.

The worst piece of advice I ever got was probably from a teacher’s assistant who told me I was a decent writer but I didn’t really have any original ideas, so maybe I shouldn’t try to write stories. I was in second grade. I wasted thirty years because I took that advice. That was thirty years I could have been writing stories. Now I know it’s rubbish.

Are you working on something right now?

Of course! I’m working on the first draft of another novel, and I have one done that still needs some revision. And I have another one I’m dying to start. When you stuff your creativity in a dark hole for too long, it comes gushing out. All I want to do is write these days!



YOU AND ME AND HIM
Author: Kris Dinnison
Pub. Date: July 7, 2015
Publisher: HMH Books for Young Readers
Pages: 288
Formats: Hardcover, eBook
Blurb:
“Do not ignore a call from me when you know I am feeling neurotic about a boy. That is Best Friend 101.” —Nash

Maggie and Nash are outsiders. 

She’s overweight. 
He’s out of the closet. 

The best of friends, they have seen each other through thick and thin, but when Tom moves to town at the start of the school year, they have something unexpected in common: feelings for the same guy. This warm, witty novel—with a clear, true voice and a clever soundtrack of musical references—sings a song of love and forgiveness.


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Kris Dinnison learned to read when she was five years old. She grew up reading books nobody else had read and listening to music nobody else had heard of and thinking she was weird, which she kind of was. She spent nearly two decades as a teacher and librarian working with students from kindergarten to graduate school. The bulk of that time she spent teaching High School English while dreaming of becoming a writer. Nowadays, when she’s not writing, she helps run her family’s retail and cafĂ© businesses.  She lives and writes in Spokane, Washington.


Where you can fine Kris:
3 winners will receive a finished copy of YOU AND ME AND HIM. US Only.

Tour Schedule:
Week One:
6/29/2015- Paperback Princess- Interview
6/30/2015- StuckInBooks- Review
7/1/2015- Novel Novice- Guest Post
7/2/2015- Book Briefs- Review
7/3/2015- Fictitious Delicious- Interview

Week Two:
7/6/2015- YA Book Madness- Review
7/7/2015- Me, My Shelf and I- Guest Post
7/8/2015- Swoony Boys Podcast- Review
7/9/2015- Teen Readers' Diary- Interview
7/10/2015- Downright Dystopian- Review



Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Blog Tour: Ruthless by Carolyn Lee Adams+Giveaway(INT)



Ruthless
Publisher: Simon Pulse
Release Date: July 14th 2015
Genre: Young Adult, Thriller, Contemporary, Mystery
Blurb:
A spine-tingling debut about the ultimate game of cat-and-mouse in reverse as a teen struggles to retain hope—and her sanity—while on the run from a cunning and determined killer.

Ruth Carver has always competed like her life depends on it. Ambitious. Tough. Maybe even mean. It’s no wonder people call her Ruthless.

When she wakes up with a concussion in the bed of a moving pickup trick, she realizes she has been entered into a contest she can’t afford to lose.

At a remote, rotting cabin deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains, Ruth’s blindfold comes off and she comes face-to-face with her captor. A man who believes his mission is to punish bad girls like Ruth. A man who has done this six times before.

The other girls were never heard from again, but Ruth won’t go down easy. She escapes into the wilderness, but her hunter is close at her heels. That’s when the real battle begins. That’s when Ruth must decides just how far she’ll go in order to survive.

Back home, they called her Ruthless. They had no idea just how right they were.



Ruthless 

CHAPTER ONE
I CAN’T SEE. I DON’T know why I can't see.


I do know I was just dreaming. Running in a white dress through a field of wildflowers, no less. It was like a commercial for laundry detergent or tampons or a prescription medication that has death listed as a possible side effect. The dream is embarrassing, but it’s better than the here and now. I try to crawl back into the dream, but it won’t have me. Reality rushes in, faster and faster, chasing the dream away, replacing it with complete and utter darkness.

I need to open my eyes. I don’t know anything else, but I know that. I try to open them.

Nothing happens. Just blackness.

Don’t panic.

Think.

Thinking is hard and I know why. Concussion. My fourth one. First two came courtesy of falling off horses. The third was the result of a PE flag-football game gone awry. I forgot about the flags, tackled a guy three times my size. His heel cracked against my forehead, but he didn’t get the touchdown.

Focus.

Did I fall off Tucker? Somehow that seems wrong, seems impossible. I look for the memory, knowing it has to be around here somewhere. Tucker has an abscess in his right front hoof. He’s on stall rest. Did I fall off another horse? That doesn’t seem right either.

But it seems the most likely. So what next? And why can’t I see?

Check if anything is broken.

I start with my toes. They wiggle. I can feel them. This is good. It seems they’re inside boots, so maybe I did fall off a horse. My legs are oddly stiff, like they’re too heavy to move. I try to bend a knee, but it isn’t happening. My right arm is a no go. There’s pain there. A lot of pain. It’s dulled by the concussion, but that arm is a sleeping bear I don’t want to prod. Luckily, I’m left-handed.

The left arm isn’t hurt, but it also doesn’t want to move. Not as bad as the legs, though, or the injured right arm. I think this left arm can get me somewhere.

Time to summon the will to move it.

Take a deep breath. . . .

Dirt falls into my mouth. Not dirt. Manure and shavings, something spiky. It’s hay. Hay and shavings and manure.

I feel it now, pressing up against my neck and jaw, against my body and legs. It’s dangerously close to my nose, and it’s why I can’t move. It’s pressing down on me, pinning me in place.

Adrenaline hits my bloodstream. I fight my left arm free, dig the muck away from my mouth, and take a swallow of clean air.

Slow your breathing. Slow it down. Do it.

Nothing but air. It’s all I think about for several minutes. I calm down, and the adrenaline ebbs away. I want to fall back to sleep. Sleep is soothing. Quiet. Peaceful. There’s a field of wildflowers on the other side of sleep.

No.

I have to fight the concussion. I need to open my eyes. Maybe the dirt was pressed against my eyes. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t see. Hope gives me new energy. I try again, and get nowhere.

Maybe I don’t have eyes anymore.

True fear now. For the first time. My thinking is clear enough for real, raw, primal fear to sink in. Time to be courageous. Time to check. But I don’t want to know.

Be brave.

I take my left hand and reach for my eyes. There’s something weird there, but I don’t know what it is. It’s almost rough. But there’s definitely blood. Lots and lots of it. Sticky, heavy blood.

I jerk my hand away and strike metal. There’s something metal above my face.

The fear broadens into something deeper. I am in trouble. Dear God, I am in trouble. I don’t know what kind of trouble, but I know it’s bad. Do my parents know? Am I alone?

I try to listen. Dirt muffles my hearing. My ears are halfway encased in the filth, but it seems like there isn’t anything to hear. Except a hum. A deep, resonating hum that overwhelms everything.

Concussion. I know you well, old friend. Now kindly get the hell away from me. You may leave my hearing on your way out.

A wave of nausea crashes over me. I don’t know where I am, but my best guess is somewhere on the ranch. Possibly under the manure pile. Was I in a tractor accident? Tractor chores are not my favorite. I lack skills, to put it mildly. But I won’t let that damn tractor win, so I drag the arena, push the manure pile back, and do all the things the hired hands do.

Did I flip the tractor?

Should I call for help?

No.

No?

No. Don’t call for help.

Why not call for help?

No. Feels risky somehow.

All right, no. Listen to your gut, my mom always says. And I do. It usually steers me right.

Okay, now what? How do I figure out where I am? Time for my left hand to do some exploring. Weird how I’m thinking about my left hand like it is a separate person from me, a friend I can rely on.

I reach out to touch the metal I felt before. It is a solid sheet, not far above my head. I trace a diamond-plate pattern with my fingertips. The farm has two tractors; both are smooth steel all over, except for the dirty roughness of the bucket. My tractor-­accident theory is looking less likely.

A few inches later and the metal makes a right-angle turn away from me—and my hand hits the dirty shavings. Only my head is underneath this thing. Whatever it is, it protected me from being smothered to death.

Time to search my left side. Shavings. Manure. Hay. But then, close beside me, a pole of well-worn wood. I can feel the barely there ridges of grain in the oak. Pitchfork handle. This definitely feels like a pitchfork handle. I must be at the ranch. Where is there diamond-plate metal on the farm? I can’t remember.

My left hand keeps going. The tips of my fingers touch more metal. This is something different, though. It’s rough and flaky with rust. I slide my hand along the old steel. It has a soft curve. Like a bowl. But it’s weird. Like the bowl is sort of shaking. It makes no sense.

I reach out as far as I can, but lose contact with the metal. Searching higher, my fingers touch metal again. A little hook. Odd. Then a straightaway of more metal. Then another metal hook. Another straightaway. Another hook.

I run out of arm. I am small and don’t have much length of arm to work with. So I trace the hooks and the straightaways back to the thing that’s like a bowl.

This all feels familiar. Those metal hooks remind me of my dad tying down a tarp in the bed of his truck.

A truck.

I am in the bed of a truck!

Why am I in the bed of a truck?

I reach out again for the metal hooks. Something tickles my hand.

Wind.

Stretching as far as I can go, I feel it in earnest now—the wind buffeting the skin of my hand. The wind, hard and fast.

This truck is moving.

How can that be? How can I be in a moving truck?

I reach out again, to check if I’m hallucinating. No. It’s there; that biting, slapping wind is there. This truck is going fast. Then I feel the hum through my body. The hum in my ears isn’t just concussion. It’s a combination of engine and vibration. It’s metal movement.

The diamond-plated thing above me must be a truck-bed toolbox. My head is in the empty space beneath it, protecting me from the shavings, keeping me alive.

I know where I am now.

I’m in the bed of a fast-moving truck, covered in blood, buried in filth. My right arm might be broken. I can’t see.

Realization dawns, and I pull my hand in like I touched fire.

Fear slides into my belly as I wait.

Was I seen? Did someone see my hand?

The truck shift gears. It’s slowing down. Quickly.



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Carolyn Lee Adams is originally from the Seattle area, breeding ground of serial killers and those who write about them. She attended USC Film School and graduated with a BFA in screenwriting. RUTHLESS (Simon Pulse, Summer 2015) is her first novel. When she isn't exploring the dark side of human nature in her writing, you'll find her on stage as a stand-up comedian. Because those things go together.







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