This Thursday, August 21, is the day I’ve been so excited about — my latest novel, Like Shards of Glass, will finally be available – officially!!
UPDATE >> Like Shards of Glass Giveaway
Now, the part I was also super-excited about, was the giveaway. Slight change of plans ..
Although I won’t be able to do the type of giveaway I originally had in mind (can’t really afford to give away fifty, seventy-five, or one hundred dollar gift certificates, as we just moved, school just started, and the list goes on)
… I still have a few things I would like to do, to celebrate the new release with you. (Winners will be selected through rafflecopter in late September.)
*A ten dollar Amazon gift certificate
*Unique “shard” themed jewelry, handmade by my cousin, Megan Henderson
*FOR AUTHORS: A pre-made book cover by Laura Wright LaRoche
*1 free signed print book (by me … hope that’s okay? I’ve been told Like shards of Glass and Undone are pretty good reads. Oops! Cat’s out of the bag. 2 signed print books. Dangit.)
*Lots of free ebooks (By who? Well, by as many authors as I can gather to participate in this giveaway 🙂 )
*2 free GIANT bookmarks
I try not to do this, but I’m going there: Please share. When Thursday rolls around, I really need your help. Like I said, I try not to ask for shares, or likes, etc., but it would mean so much if you could take a second to share the book. And if you read it, and you feel as if you’re embarrassed for having shared it and told people to check it out – well, email me at (hatemail@booo!getoffthestage.com), and I’ll send you a free virtual hug and a heartfelt apology.
But, please. Please, oh, please. Once Thursday rolls around, share, share, share!!!!
Now that that’s over with, how about a new excerpt?
I dragged my gym bag to my bedroom, flung it on the floor, and grabbed some clothes.
I burst into the bathroom, rapping along with a song. My voice trailed off. Snatching the ear buds from my ears, my eyes trailed her: naked, drying off in the mirror, staring at my reflection unfazed.
Why was she unfazed? And what was that fragrance? Like some undiscovered berry and honeysuckle intertwined?
The gentleman in me shielded my eyes, while the dog channeled a deer in headlights, too stunned to leave and close the door. “I’m so sorry.”
And I feel like an adolescent; your body is etched in my mind’s eye, so every time we talk, from now on, this is what I’ll see.
I swallowed hard, and managed to squeeze out, “I’m going.”
“Hey.” Her voice was as dry as dust, and the calmness surprised me, intimidated me.
“Yeah.” What was I supposed to do?
“Make sure you, umm…”
“Knock, I know. I –”
“Make sure you give real music a chance. You listen to garbage your thought process changes into baby food – mush. Try some Marvin, Otis, some Sam Cooke. And do me a favor.”
In my peripherals I could see her wrapping herself in the towel. I raised my eyebrows, then eyes, then head, and replied, “Yes?”
“Bring me some wine?”
I nodded, eyes back on the floor, backing up, then turning away. She slammed the door behind me.
I asked myself over and over, again what had just happened. Telling myself to hurry up, my feet moving me at the pace of a mummy until finally, I stood staring at the wine rack. For several seconds, I stood holding a burgundy bottle. In the glass, I saw not only her body: this bare rose, covered in dew. Her ribs were showing, and she was even smaller than when she had first arrived weeks ago. Only until she spoke, did she remind me of her ascendency. Small, she was not; she was a lioness. I was the mouse.
Eager to get back to her, to look into those eyes, which had looked at me almost as if they expected me, I knocked on the bathroom door. Taking a step back, looking under the door, I noticed the light was off. I turned, and clutching the bottle with both hands, as if the lioness would come pouncing – no, stalking, walking low to the ground, sizing me up in the corner of the hallway.
Monroe’s door was open, but I kept my head down as I knocked. She groaned, mumbled something, and I heard her bed squeak. Her eyes were closed, and for some reason I wanted to tip-toe. As I walked heedfully, she cleared her throat. I stopped.
Monroe frowned, “What are you –”
“You asked for this?”
“I know.” Monroe smiled, her eyes were closed.
She wore a satin bathrobe, which was an earth-copper color. I couldn’t tell where her skin began and the robe ended without staring too hard. I knew I was staring too hard. Taking my focus off of her skin, I eyed the cigar and incense burning side by side on her nightstand.
She chuckled as she spoke, “I was thinking – saying – before you tried to finish my sentence: once again you’re in my room all sweaty.”
Was I sweating?
“Hand me those.” She pointed to a prescription bottle. “Were you working out?”
I looked down at myself; I’d forgotten my shirt had been discarded at the front door. Handing her the bottle of pills and wine I said, “I was playing ball.”
“Dominique, you’re built like a gladiator. What’s your little girlfriend’s name? Is she tall? What grade is she in? I heard you’ve been job hopping. What is it you do, now?”
“I don’t have a girl in a grade. I’m almost twenty-four years old. A college graduate, Monroe.”
She hadn’t opened her eyes, yet I could feel them looking down on me. Why did she keep talking to me about my parents, lunch money, forgettable jobs and little girlfriends.