The Next Forever is .99 THIS WEEKEND!

This month marks my debut novel, PRETTY AMY being out for a YEAR! As a special celebration my publisher is offering Amy’s companion novella The Next Forever for .99 this weekend only at ALL BOOKSELLERS!

The Next Forever follows high school sweethearts Amy and Joe from Pretty Amy together in college for one sexy, heartfelt night. Celebrate AMY’s 1 year Anniversary by taking a peek into Amy and Joe’s world!

One night in college can change everything…

Away at college, Amy just wants one night alone without her high school sweetheart, Joe. So when he invites her to go to the library, she heads off on her own instead. How she ended up at a house party with the mysterious bad-boy Trevor is another story…

Joe so isn’t going to the library. He needs space from Amy, too, so he’s decided to rush a fraternity, to get back the swagger he had in high school. But it doesn’t take long for the brothers to invite him to the real rush–where the beer is flowing and one particular girl has set her eyes on Joe.

Over the course of one wild night, both Amy and Joe will have to decide if their futures belong with two new people, or whether the next forever will have their first loves in it.

**Recommended for ages 17+ due to sexual content and language, mature subject matter**

“An honest, raw, sexy night of self discovery. I loved Joe and Amy’s story!”- Nyrae Dawn, Bestselling author of Charade

“Sharp, heartfelt and sexy with characters so well-developed and nuanced that they feel completely real.” – Daisy Whitney, author of The Mockingbirds and When You Were Here

“A Really enjoyable and touching read that taps into heartfelt emotions about making choices between past and present.”- Lauren Blakely, NY Times and USA Today Bestselling author of Caught Up In Us

AMAZON

B & N

KOBO

I BOOKS

Thoughts of a Debut Author w/ Jennifer Iacopelli

Jennifer Iacopelli is the author of the new New Adult novel Game. Set. Match.  We are twitter buddies and she even is listed in the acknowledgements of Dear Cassie for helping me plot one VERY IMPORTANT scene at the end of the book.  I am so excited to have her here today to talk about what life is like as a Debut Author.

Enjoy!

How long did it take you to write and publish Game Set Match?

I got the idea for Game Set Match in August of 2011! I plotted and outlined for a few weeks and then started writing in late October. I put the final touches on my last revision on March 31, 2012  and then started querying agents.

I was SO lucky. My agent search was only a couple of months long. I signed with Michelle Wolfson in the middle of June, 2012 and my offer from my publisher, Coliloquy came very soon after that, but more on them later!

How do you feel now that your book is out?

Relieved, terrified and excited. Relieved because it was so much work and to have it be “done” is just fantastic. Terrified because OH MY GOD people are going to actually READ it. And excited, because well, it’s my first book, of course I’m excited!

What is the best part about being published?

Just the sense of accomplishment. No matter what happens, I will be a published author for the rest of my life.

What is the worst part?

Now I have to do it again and hopefully live up to the awesome things readers have been saying about Game. Set. Match.

What advice do you have for aspiring authors?

Just keep at it and don’t stress about the path you’re taking. I know it’s easy for me to say from this side of the looking glass, but every author’s journey is different. Just because it’s not happening RIGHT NOW doesn’t mean it won’t ever happen.

With the success of self-published new adult novels, why did you decide you work with a publisher?

First of all, I loved Coliloquy’s vision for my novel. They had ideas that went WELL beyond simply getting my novel onto Amazon and BN.com. Some of those ideas will be rolling out over the next few weeks and I’m super excited about them.

What are you working on now?

Right now I’m working on the next Outer Banks Tennis Academy book, which will hopefully release later this year and another New Adult book I’m calling my SuperSekritProject that I work on whenever I can find a spare minute.

 

Nestled along the North Carolina coast, the Outer Banks Tennis Academy is the world’s most elite training facility. In this pressure-cooker environment, futures are forged in blood and sweat, and dreams are shattered in an instant.

Penny Harrison, a rising female star, is determined to win the French Open and beat her archrival, Zina Lutrova. But when her coach imports British bad boy Alex Russell as her new training partner, will Penny be able to keep her laser-like focus?

Tennis is all Jasmine Randazzo has ever known. The daughter of two Grand Slam champions, she’s hell-bent on extending her family’s legacy and writing her own happily-ever-after…until her chosen Prince Charming gives her the just-friends speech right before the biggest junior tournament of the year, the Outer Banks Classic.

With a powerful serve and killer forehand, newcomer Indiana Gaffney is turning heads. She’s thrilled by all of the attention, especially from Jack Harrison, Penny’s agent and hot older brother, except he keeps backing off every time things start heating up.

With so much at stake, dreams—and hearts—are bound to break. Welcome to OBX: Where LOVE is a four-letter word, on and off the court.

COME TWEET WITH ME! 4/30 6PM PST #TLTCASSIE

HEY ALL!

Come join me for a twitter chat devoted to our favorite fucking bad girl CASSIE! It will be hosted by Teen Librarian Toolbox 4/30 at 9:00PM EST!

 

Keeping ‘The Faith’ in your Work

I was also considering titling this post- “Your Book Might be Awesome and Nobody Will Care”, because in my almost year of being an author that is a truth I have absolutely learned.

I think my books are awesome. I thought they were awesome five years ago when they were getting rejected all over the place. I *still* think they are awesome- but as rejections, bad reviews and sales numbers roll in I wonder if they are awesome enough.

I wonder if I am.

As writers we put ourselves “out there” in a way few artists do. When people don’t like or ignore our work it hurts in our hearts. It has the ability to break us.

Some days I will admit, I do feel broken. Some days all I want to do is eat chocolate and cry.

Some days I don’t, but even now the nagging this is good but not good enough feeling hasn’t left me.

There are simple things you want as a writer:  We want other people to read our work. We want other people to want it. We want to feel like we aren’t just screaming into an empty canyon that doesn’t even have the decency to echo back.

So what happens when you get to a place where you feel like these things aren’t happening?

How do you keep writing day after day? Submitting? Putting yourself out there, when what you’re getting back is “I love you, but I’m not IN LOVE with you.” Or worse, “I think we should just be friends.”

Where do you get the strength to keep going?

No seriously, I want to know.

I’d love to be able to tell you where you get the strength to face the laptop, the email box and Goodreads day after day after day, but to be honest I don’t know.

There may be a day where I can’t anymore. There may be a day where you can’t. That scares me more than anything, but for now, I am keeping the faith. For now, I believe I have something people want to hear.

For now, the way I feel when I’m writing and it is flowing is what will keep me coming back to the blank page.

For now, I will remind myself I am awesome until I believe it and you should too.

What’s become of LILA

Hi Everyone!

The question readers ask most after reading PRETTY AMY or DEAR CASSIE or both is, “What happened to LILA?”

I shared a snippet of Lila’s life now in the YA Scavenger Hunt recently and if you missed it I thought I would also share it here.

Enjoy!

If you’ve read Pretty Amy & Dear Cassie you know there’s another best friend whose story has yet to be told. Here is what Lila has been up to since the prom night arrest….

I didn’t leave a note. I bet that’s what everyone is saying, or asking—she didn’t bother to leave a note— but it’s not like I killed myself or something.

Even though my mother and step-father might be wishing I had, now. At least if I was dead they wouldn’t have the police up their asses about it. Not that I know exactly what they are dealing with since I left, but Brian has told me more than once that I can’t call home because the place is crawling with cops. Fat cops, thin cops, big cops, small cops—they are slurping coffee in my kitchen and combing through my room for clues as to where I’ve gone.

I can say gone because I’m eighteen. So, as far as the law is concerned, I didn’t run away. I guess there’s that at least.

That doesn’t mean people aren’t looking for me. Even without Brian worrying about that on an hourly basis, I’m aware of the fact that people are looking for me, for us.

See, I was arrested and we left before my court date and from my new habit of excessive TV viewing I know this is a very big deal.

Not that I have a choice.

There isn’t much else to do but watch basic cable when you’re holed up in every hole of a motel room along the New York interstate. It’s either that, or examining the ice from the ice machine as it melts in the sad, plastic bucket they give you that looks more like a bed pan.

Watching Judge Judy, COPS and Law and Order have taught me that missing my court date has set the following wheels in motion:

1. A judge has issued a warrant for my arrest.
2. I am now considered a fugitive.
3. Since I’m not out on bail, my mother and step-father are probably being charged in

my absence.

These are all bad things. And reasons people look for you.

I wasn’t thinking about any of that the night I left with Brian. I was thinking about

whether I could go through with it; whether I could really leave everything except for him and the backpack on my shoulder behind.

“So, we’re doing this?” I asked, standing next to his running Ford pickup, burgundy, the color of an old-lady’s lipstick. I’d needed some convincing. The kind I usually needed when it came to Brian. I liked to think of myself as uber-confident and was able to convince most girls of that, but when I was with a guy that confidence melted.

Just like the ice in a motel ice-bucket.

When I was with a guy, I liked him to tell me what to do for a change—as long as I agreed with it.

“Do you want to go to jail?” Brian asked, his arm hanging out the open window. He was wearing a black short sleeves shirt, so his bicep hugged the door of the car. “Do you want me to go to jail?”

“No,” I paused, of course I didn’t. I hadn’t wanted any of this. All I wanted was to go to my stupid senior prom, but when he and his friends didn’t show up I broke into his house and swiped the huge bag of Marijuana he had because he dealt to the kids at his high school.

You can probably figure out the rest since I got arrested.

You can also probably figure out why Brian wanted to leave.

“Get in before someone sees you,” he said, looking behind him.

“There has to be another way,” I said, even though I knew there wasn’t.

“Lila,” he paused, “There isn’t,” he added, because he knew, too.

There was nothing else to say, so I got into his truck. It had newly-switched out plates thanks to some guy he knew. That was what being a drug dealer got you, the pleasure of knowing a guy who could switch out your plates and make fake ID’s for you and your fugitive girlfriend.

We pulled away from my quiet, dark house and down my street. I watched my rusty, old mailbox get smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. I watched it as we turned off Macadamia and onto Main Street and like that, we were gone.

The first night was fun.

The second night was still fun.

The third night was less fun.

The fourth night was even less fun than that.

By the fifth night, I think we might have both been asking, what the fuck are we doing?

We were staying at a motel outside of Syracuse. Almost a week on the road and we hadn’t even left New York State. I guess it would have made sense to drive and drive and drive—get as far as we possibly could—but any time we saw a sign signaling a state-line we turned back. Brian said we shouldn’t bring our crimes beyond New York. It would make them federal crimes.

I knew from my excessive TV viewing that our crimes were already bad, and that federal crimes were worse.

So far staying in New York had been okay, but it made me wonder how long we would keep driving in an outline, turning back each time we hit a new state. Over and over again, like a child learning to trace.

I wondered how long we could wiggle the cookie-cut-out of New York State.

“They’ve probably just forgotten about us,” I said, looking in the mirror that lined the wall across from the bed I was laying on. Mirror checking was a habit of mine, as long as I looked good, everything was good. So far I still looked good, but we were running out of money so I wasn’t sure how much longer that would last. How much longer I would have a mirror besides the one in Brian’s truck to even stare into.

“They might not be looking for you, but they are definitely looking for me,” Brian said, standing at the window. It was hard to tell when Brian said that, if it was ego or paranoia talking. Spending so much time with him, I’d learned he had a capacity for both.

Not that he didn’t deserve to. He had one of those chiseled faces with cheeks so sharp they could cut vegetables and curly brown hair that a girl would kill for, but that he wore tousled and messy because he was a guy. All that would have been enough, but then there were his eyes, seemingly filled with light, like someone had put one miniscule drop of soy sauce into vat of water.

I used to think I could look into those eyes forever. I had no idea when I first thought that how many miles forever might mean.

“There haven’t been any news reports about it,” I said, angling my head so I could see my chin. My features were more delicate than Brian’s but no less deserving of an ego.

When I wasn’t watching TV shows, or looking in the mirror, I had been scanning for news reports. Not that I wanted to be on the news—for a whole lot of obvious reasons—but if I was going to be I definitely wanted to know which picture they would use. Knowing my mother she gave them the crappy one from my sophomore year when the picture-guy snapped just as both my eyes were closed.

I had to agree to go out with Jim Hutchens to keep it out of the yearbook. To do stuff with him when we did go out—not sex—but other stuff.  Enough stuff that he’d swapped it for another photo. I kept it in the top drawer of my desk so I would remember the lengths I’d taken to make sure no one ever saw me in a way I didn’t want them to.

I guess that didn’t really matter now, considering what people probably thought of me anyway.

“They’re not going to put us on the news, Lila,” Brian said, pacing the floor. The brown carpet was worn. It looked like it had been paced before. “We haven’t murdered anyone, but I bet our photos are floating around post offices and city halls.”

“Wow, we’re famous,” I joked.

“We better hope we never get famous,” Brian said, furrowing his brow. He didn’t think that was funny. Our time on the road had turned him serious, jumpy.

“But I’ve always wanted to be famous,” I continued to joke. It had been a while since we had been together.

Four whole days.

The first night we did it the minute we got inside our motel room. Both our clothes off before we’d even hit the bed. For me it was the freedom, a way to confirm that we were really doing this together.

Totally together.

But since then, nothing, I was starting to feel neglected.

I was starting to feel ugly.

“We can’t stay here much longer,” he said, peeking out the heavy orange window-shade and then putting it back. He had to have done it twenty times in the last hour.

He could blame it on the fact that he thought someone was following us, but we both knew it was really because we were down to our last twenty dollars. Not even enough for another night in the crappy motel we called home. Not even enough for gas to get us further than the next town.

“I know,” I said. “One more night,” I added, my chest starting to tingle and hollow. Maybe he didn’t want to discuss that we were out of money, but I did.

I was scared.

I wanted him to run across the motel room, take me in his arms and tell me everything would be alright, like he had the first night.

Like he hadn’t since the first night.

“I know, Lila,” he said, with an edge to his voice. I shouldn’t have pushed it, but I couldn’t help it.

“What are we going to do?” I asked, pushing it even further. I sat up on the bed, the comforter scratching the part of my legs that weren’t covered with jean shorts; it had been washed so many times, it felt like sandpaper.

My insides felt like sandpaper.

“Why don’t you stop asking questions and come up with some answers,” Brian spit, finally walking across the room, but not to comfort me, to slam the door to the bathroom and turn on the shower.

Unfortunately, that was another thing I’d been learning about Brian on the road, the temper I used to find sexy was now bothering the shit out of me.

I wouldn’t say it scared me, because he hadn’t done anything to scare me yet, but once he did I knew it would. Once he did, I didn’t know what I would do.

I snuggled under the covers. $20 was nowhere near enough to keep surviving and wondered what we would have to do to get more.

Wondered how far we would have to go next.

YA Scavenger HUNT!

Welcome to YA Scavenger Hunt! This tri-annual event was first organized by author Colleen Houck as a way to give readers a chance to gain access to exclusive bonus material from their favorite authors…and a chance to win some awesome prizes! At this hunt, you not only get access to exclusive content from each author, you also get a clue for the hunt. Add up the clues, and you can enter for our prize–one lucky winner will receive one signed book from each author on the hunt in my team! But play fast: this contest (and all the exclusive bonus material) will only be online for 72 hours!

I am on the BLUE TEAM!

I am happy to be hosting Gina Rosati, author of Auracle. I heard a rumor that she needs to crack her knuckles 7 times before she can start writing.

16 year old Anna Rogan has a secret she’s only shared with her best friend, Rei; she can astrally project out of her body, allowing her spirit to explore the far reaches of the universe. When there’s a fatal accident and her classmate Taylor takes over Anna’s body, what was an exhilarating distraction from her repressive home life threatens to become a permanent state. Faced with a future trapped in another dimension, Anna turns to Rei for help. Now the two of them must find a way to get Anna back into her body and stop Taylor from accusing an innocent friend of murder.

Find more info here

Gina Rosati lives in southern New Hampshire with her husband, two children and two chubby guinea pigs. AURACLE is her first novel.

Without further ado- here is the exclusive content from Auracle!

This was the first chapter of Auracle, which went to a few agents and editors when I was querying, but which was ultimately edited out of the finished book. You may have your own issues with this chapter, but read on to see the feedback I had from agents and editors and why it was pulled.

Auracle

by Gina Rosati

Deleted Scene

“Please don’t take this personally,” I say as I tug at a lock of Auston Martin’s hair, “but after the Legolas debacle, I have some trust issues when it comes to hair.”

Of course he doesn’t take it personally, in fact, his only reaction is to reach up and scratch at the back of his head where I’ve just tugged, acknowledging me as nothing more than a random itch. He smoothes his dark hair back into place, oblivious to my presence, even though I am no more than two feet away from him. I am invisible to him, and that’s just the way I like it.

Twelve is a tough age. It’s old enough to understand the realities of life, but young enough to resent the unfairness of them. When I was twelve, every girl I knew had a crush on Legolas, the cute blond elf from Lord of the Rings, and I was no exception. For me, the big attraction was the hair, that long platinum blond hair. It was always so perfect, no matter what he did, every hair remained in place.

One Sunday morning, as I sat at the kitchen table picking at dry Froot Loops and poking through the newspaper in search of the comics, I found a picture of Legolas on the cover of the magazine section. Practically swooning over my cereal, I skimmed through the pages, and there, on page six, I discovered the terrible truth.

The hair was a lie.

A lie, a fake, a sham, a wig!

It took me a while to process this information, and during that time I kept repeating the word until it felt foul, like a swear word weighing on my lips. Wig. I was torn between grief over the death of a fantasy and fury at being fooled. Only one thing was crystal clear to me. Legolas was the scum of the middle earth.

“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” I had heard my grandmother say this at least a dozen times, and she was right. There was no one else I could blame for my disappointments if I didn’t guard myself well. And there was no one else to shoulder my shame when I failed, falling for yet another handsome Hollywood hero.

It isn’t nice to spy on people, I realize that, but I’m here for a purpose other than the thrill of watching my latest movie star crush in action. Lately, Auston has been on my mind a little too much, meandering into my thoughts during chemistry class or while I’m trying to do homework. He has a bad habit of popping into my head, uninvited, whenever I’m bored, and chemistry bores me to no end. Even if I fantasized that Auston and I did nothing more exciting than play checkers, it’s better than chemistry. The problem is I know myself well enough to recognize when a crush slips beyond the point of entertainment into the darkness of obsession. If I don’t get rid of him soon, I’m going to fail chemistry.

So I need to find a flaw, but not just any flaw. I’m looking for something big, something so icky and despicable that every time I think of Auston, I’ll envision this imperfection long before I remember the curve of his biceps or those big, blue eyes.

It took me a while, but I finally found Auston in Surrey, which is a lovely, woodsy section of England where he’s brushing up on his archery skills for his upcoming movie, Raging Arrow. He plays the hero. In every movie, he’s always the hero. There’s a film crew set up nearby, most of them chattering through a lunch break, but here in the shadowy glade by the forest edge, Auston is alone. Except for me. About a hundred feet away from him, a round, ringed target is staked to the ground. The bow in his left hand is an obviously expensive work of art, with scrolls and symbols carved into the polished wood. He draws an arrow from the leather quiver holstered around his back, leans forward and nocks the arrow in one fluid movement.

So far, he is poetry in motion.

Straightening his torso, he steps back with his right leg into an impressive stance and surveys his target. His eyes are the color of my favorite stonewashed jeans, fringed with long, dark lashes, and his eyebrows are so perfectly shaped that I can’t help but wonder if he plucks them. I have a sudden, unpleasant vision of Auston leaning towards my pink magnifying mirror with tweezers in hand, flinching as each little hair is uprooted, like I do.

He squeezes his left eye shut as he draws the string back, the sharp metal tip trembling slightly. I follow the focus of his right eye to the yellow center of the target, the archer’s Holy Grail. His jaw is set. His lips are locked together in concentration, those fantasy lips that half the world’s female population dreams of kissing.

Wait! Could that possibly be a zit on his chin? I zoom up for a closer look. Why yes, it is, and look! There’s a smattering of blackheads across his nose. Tiny flaws, but I’ll take what I can get. He draws the string back a fraction of an inch further, releases and the arrow whizzes through the air.

Bulls eye! I give Auston a generous round of applause, which he cannot hear. I settle myself on a nearby boulder to watch the rest of the show. He launches the arrows with great deliberation. Zzzumpf! Zzzumpf! Zzzumph! Zzzzz … you know, as gorgeous as Auston is, this is getting boring. Maybe he’ll get warm and take off that T-shirt.

No such luck. Ten minutes later, I realize that archery is not an aerobic sport because Auston is still fully dressed. How sad – I was hoping to check for excessive back hair. He pauses to reach into an obviously expensive black leather duffle and retrieves a cobalt blue glass bottle filled with obviously expensive water. After he drains the water in several deep gulps, he hurls the empty bottle into the woods where it shatters against a pine tree.

Gasp! In my religion, littering is a mortal sin. I float there with my mouth hanging wide open, unable to believe that someone who looks so close to perfect could harbor such a severe character flaw, when he clears his throat, a deep, productive reverberation that promises something slimy. I shut my mouth quick and dark back several feet as he spits a wad of chunky green gunk onto the ground.

Okay, I am cured now. Why do guys spit? Do they not realize how disgusting it is? Do they care? I feel a slight tug just above my belly button, the ethereal cord that connects what is spirit to what is flesh, telling me it’s time to go. Before I do, I feel compelled to give him just a hint that I’ve been here, enjoying my own private matinee, well, enjoying it until that final phlegmatic scene.

I position myself directly in front of the target, facing him, hovering there until he loads another arrow and draws the string back, back, back …

… and release.

I hear the whoosh of the arrow heading towards me. I feel the arrow’s vibration closing in on me.

I choose this moment, this precise millisecond in time to concentrate all of my energy into one powerful surge. Those baby blue eyes bulge like two sunny-side-up eggs, and his mouth flops open. I know, I know. I’m riddled with guilt.

In the mirror of Auston’s eyes, you would finally see me, Annaliese Rogan, just an average skinny teenage girl with messy brown hair and olive green eyes staring directly at him with a slightly devious smile. For this flash second, I appear, not as a ghost, not as a mirage, but as solid as any flesh and blood girl. His gaping stare leaves him looking so incredibly … dorky.

Mission accomplished! The arrow whizzes through the air, too late for any hero, real or imagined, to stop. I hear him gasp as it pierces my chest … and poof! I vanish.

Bulls-eye.

Obvious problems: 1) The mention of Legolas immediately dates this – today’s readers are past LOTR and into the Hobbit now, and even that will be old news before long, 2) The story hinges on a love story between Anna and Rei. Mentioning that Anna has a crush on a movie star takes away from Rei and makes Anna seem fickle, something we don’t want to see in our hero, 3) The only purpose of this chapter is to show that Anna can astrally project – there is little to hook the reader, it doesn’t give a good glimpse into her life and what she’s doing now, and 4) Anna is a bit of a brat in this scene. Edits do her a world of good, I promise you!

Now for some more fun! I’m giving away a copy of my NA E-Novella The Next Forever, companion to my debut novel Pretty Amy! All you have to do is comment in the comment section and FOLLOW ME on twitter at @LisaBurstein !

One night in college can change everything…

Away at college, Amy just wants one night alone without her high school sweetheart, Joe. So when he invites her to go to the library, she heads off on her own instead. How she ended up at a house party with the mysterious bad-boy Trevor is another story…

Joe so isn’t going to the library. He needs space from Amy, too, so he’s decided to rush a fraternity, to get back the swagger he had in high school. But it doesn’t take long for the brothers to invite him to the real rush–where the beer is flowing and one particular girl has set her eyes on Joe.

Over the course of one wild night, both Amy and Joe will have to decide if their futures belong with two new people, or whether the next forever will have their first loves in it.

Link to Diana Peterfreund the next stop here !

Interview with the WINNER of the Dear Cassie Diary Entry Contest

Today I am so excited to have an interview with the winner of the Dear Cassie Diary Entry Contest, Monica Fumarolo.  Her diary entry as Amy Pond from Doctor Who was chosen as the favorite and published in the final version of Dear Cassie.

You can read her winning entry here.

Tell me how you started writing

I have absolutely loved stories for as long as I can remember, and I would write them sometimes when I was little. (Such standouts were “The Dancing Raccoon” and “The Adventures of Tina the Tiny.”) I have also kept a journal for a number of years and have literally written everyday since March 7, 2011.

As for writing fiction and longer stories, that also started in spring of 2011. A story idea popped into my head, and for once instead of brushing it off I actually decided to try writing it and see what happened. Four months later, I had a 62,000 word first draft and I’ve been hooked ever since.

Who are some of your influences?

I grew up part of the Harry Potter generation, so of course J.K. Rowling! As for people whose styles have definitely shaped mine, Sarah Dessen, Stephanie Perkins and Elizabeth Eulberg rank up there. I also love John Green whose amazing talent leaves me in awe. And I must give a shout-out to Shakespeare and Jane Austen – I have always adored them both, but her novels especially have been close to my heart since I was a teen and I love rereading them every few years.

What is your writing routine?

I’m definitely a planner, not a pantster, so when I have an idea I tend to sit on it for a very long time to decide if I can really make something of it or not. If I think I can, then I make endless notes for myself. A huge part of my process is coming up with a playlist for that story – it helps me think of the mood and tone I want, along with getting into a character’s head. However, despite how much music influences me, I usually need to write in silence so I can focus.

How did you get the idea for the piece you submitted to the Dear Cassie Diary Contest?

I actually tried writing entries for a few different characters but nothing was fitting. Around the same time, Amy Pond made her final appearance on Doctor Who (the Doctor’s companions come and go, and her time was up), and I was watching her early episodes, mourning the loss of this character I’d come to love so much. Writing her diary entry was my way of dealing with some of those feelings, I sent it in, and here we are!

How did you feel when you found out you won? And who was the first person you told?

I could not have been more surprised. I’ve been stuck in Queryland for so long, so when I got the email, I was absolutely and completely shocked! I immediately called my mom (who was also thrilled) and texted my dad. Then I sprinted from the library in the school where I work to another department office where my friend and fellow teacher Camille was and we freaked out together – it was such an incredible feeling!

How did you feel when you saw your name in print?

Again, shock! It didn’t fully hit me that this was really happening until I had the book in my hands for myself. Then it really hit me again when people who watched my video about release day on my YouTube channel and live in other states and countries said they couldn’t wait to read Dear Cassie and my story, too. It’s a lot to wrap my head around, but it’s great.

What are you working on now?

What happens when the cynical descendant of the real Beauty & the Beast finds herself trapped in what anyone else would call a Cinderella story?  That’s what my current work in progress tries to answer, and while it’s been very slow going (I recently had to scrap 100 pages and start over again), I’m having a lot of fun with it. =)

Monica Fumarolo received her B.A. in English and M.S. in library and information science, both from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. She lives in the Chicagoland area where she is a librarian by day and writer by night. Visit her online @mfumarolo.

DEAR CASSIE Read-Along & Giveaways!

I’ve never done one of these before, but I thought it would be fun to host a read-along for Dear Cassie. I am lucky to have the help of both:

Andrea at http://www.thebookishbabes.blogspot.com & Amy at http://www.booklovingme.com to help me with this.

So what does a read along mean? It means you and other people read Dear Cassie at the same time on a schedule. Maybe you’ve already read it. Maybe it’s been waiting on your shelf-or e-reader, or maybe you’ve been meaning to read it. Whatever the case- now you can read it and WIN PRIZES and HAVE FUN!

How do you participate? Lots of ways. You can comment on discussions on the book page on Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/1267371-dear-cassie-read-along

You can tweet you favorite lines, passages, characters using #CassieReadAlong or take photos of favorite passages/quotes, or of where the book is at while you read, etc.

You can shout-out your daily “fucks” count, or favorite use of swear word.

AND, that’s not all, each tweet you send or discussion you start or respond to enters you to WIN your choice of 5, 3 or 1 – Entangled Teen Digital Books!

3 Lucky Winners!

It all ends with a twitter chat hosted by Teen Librarian Toolbox on April 30th, where you get to tweet with other readers and ask me questions!

Schedule:

Week of April 1st- Chapters 1-7

Week of April 8th- Chapters 8-15

Week of April 15th- Chapters 15-22

Week of April 22nd- Chapters 22-29

Week of April 29th- Chapter 30

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Book Depository

Goodreads

WINNERS of the How Many F*cks in DEAR CASSIE Contest!

I received a total of 60 guesses- some via blog- a few via email. There was someone who got it right on the money- 204- but then changed her guess- so to make it fair- she is the winner of the paperback signed by CASSIE and I chose an additional winner of the $25 gift card.

That is Jenna DeTrapani!

The winner of the $25 Gift Card wanted to remain anonymous and guessed 205 via email!

Thank you everyone who participated. I also wanted to let anyone who is waiting for bookplates and bookmarks know I will get them out at the end of this month- promise!

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Book Depository

Goodreads

DEAR CASSIE Book Trailer!

Hey Guys!

The Dear Cassie book trailer premiered on Friday! In case you missed it, I thought I would post here too. Enjoy!

 

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Book Depository

Goodreads