The Scribble Mates

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Want a Taste?

Since The Fly House was inspired by my attendance at UtopYA Con 2013, I'm running a contest for TWO FREE TICKETS** to UTOPYA Con 2014 in Nashville, TN!  UtopYA is an amazing opportunity for writers, readers and bloggers to connect, learn, and network.  You'll learn tricks of the trade, gather incredible swag, have a shot at daily prize drawings, a chance to network with your favorite authors, an opportunity to purchase your fave titles and have them signed and much, much more.
When I reach 75 honest Amazon reviews of Fly House, one lucky reviewer out of the 75 will win the tickets.  To enter, all you need to do is read and review on Amazon.  

Okay, now on to the teaser!  
STRONGER will be coming at you this spring, but I know some of you have been curious and asking for excerpts.  You know I can never say no to you guys.  Hope you like.

Excerpt #1

“The thing is,” I shout at Fizzy Punch, after he tells me that my hair is sticking to the counter of the bar, “I just don’t care.”
The music is pounding, and his mouth tastes like the booze he just sucked out of my belly button.  I kiss him again, even though there is a blond chick, a natural one, itching to take my reclined position on the top of the bar.  She’s trying to shove my drunk ass out of the way, but I scoot her off with one flick of my foot.  My bleach-blond dreds drape off the edge of the bar, but some are lightly Velcro’ed to the sticky counter, because people keep leaning on it.  Like now.  A creepy guy has his big ol’ hammy palm right on it as he suckles his beer and watches me kiss the guy that tastes like fizzy tropical punch.
“I’m Shane.  What’s your name?” Fizzy Punch Guy shouts, gazing down at me.  The creepy guy leans in to hear, pulling the hair that he has trapped under his bear-paw.  I roll my eyes up toward Creepy Guy.
“Can you get off my hair?” I ask him.  He frowns, but removes his beefy hand.  Fizzy Punch helps me sit up, and the moment I do, the other blond chick scrambles onto the counter.  Fizzy Punch lifts me off, and the blond throws herself down in my place, yanking her shirt up over her belly button.  Creepy Guy moves in for the navel dive. 
I turn back, so Fizzy Punch and I are eye-to-bloodshot-eye.
“What is your name?” he asks again.  I just smile at his lips.  He probably won’t remember my name if I tell him anyway.  It makes sense, since I can’t remember his name now either.  All I remember is that his lips are soft and wet and candy-coated with tropical fruit liquor.  What else matters?

**The winning tickets are for the three day conference only- travel, hotel, food and other expenses are not included.  This prize has no other cash value, aside from admittance for two to the most incredible conference on Earth.   The author claims no responsibility for events occurring on the way to, from, or during the conference attendance.  What you win are two awesome tickets of admission to an amazing conference, nothing more, nothing less.


  1. Ok, I know I'm probably biased because I'm your self-appointed BIGGEST FAN EVER but this is good - like REALLY good. I can't wait to read more.

    I love your tough, not-quite-perfect heroines.

    I love how you describe things.

    I love how you start at the beginning without starting at the beginning.

    That is all.

  2. Also, will you sign my Maeve boots at UtopYA?