Tag Archives: Jordan Elizabeth Mierek

“Path to Old Talbot” by Jordan Elizabeth – Blog Tour

Today I’m participating in a blog tour for fellow author Jordan Elizabeth. She has a new book coming soon. 🙂

(Note: I did not design the cover. The cover artist is Rue Volley.)

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PATH TO OLD TALBOT

A Young Adult Fantasy

Path to Old Tabot - Book Cover

Thirteen-year-old Charity can escape her unpleasant reality by stepping through the parlor closet of her mother’s new home, a mansion built in the 1800’s. 

In her hometown of Talbot, New York, in the year 1880, she doesn’t have to worry about her depressed father skipping his medications or her mother flirting with her coworker. Instead, she gets to know the hatter’s son, who shows her a lifestyle of manners and pride. Few have ever accepted Charity’s old-fashioned ways…until now. 

However, old Talbot can’t banish the present. Charity can stay in the mansion, with access to the hatter’s son in the past, and the prospect of a steady family unit with her mother and the new man in her mother’s life, or she can go back to her father, who has been given the option to straighten out his life and join them in their new home. Instead, his world unravels, and he spirals into violence and self-harm.

Torn between two worlds, Charity knows that if she doesn’t help him, she may lose him forever if he follows through on his threats of self-destruction. 

PATH TO OLD TALBOT is on Amazon from CHBB.

Check out early reviews on GoodReads!

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Check out Chapter 1:

Sunlight reflects off the pavement and bakes my bare legs. Shadows play across Daddy while he cries on the stoop, slumped forward, his shoulders shaking. How many times will he play this game? If he got it together, Mom and I wouldn’t be packing the car to move to a different house.

I shade my eyes and look away from him. Think about the steps. Don’t think about him. It’s a lovely stoop, with only a few chips, and it has a wrought iron railing that curls at the end.

“Why does life keep throwing crap at me?” Daddy’s yell makes a crow fly from the old oak tree in our front yard.

Leaves rustle in its wake as the bird shoots over the house like a black ball, and it caws, a hoarse screech like Daddy’s voice when he’s upset.

Mom carries her last box of books from inside the garage and sets it in the trunk of her Subaru. The huge box catches on an edge and she grunts as she shoves it. Her biceps flex— surprising how strong she is, since she never works out. I swear Mom can lift anything. She wipes her palms on her shorts, smearing dust across the black denim.

“Why does this always happen?” Daddy slams his fist into the cement stoop.

I wince. I could cover my ears against the sound, but I’m not a little kid anymore; no more hiding for me.

His hand bleeds. It will add a new scar to the skinny white lines that crisscross his knuckles.

When I was younger, I pretended they were lines from elf hoes, and miniature vegetables would grow among the whorls of dark curls. Now, seeing the scars makes my stomach clench.

Mom won’t bandage him up. She stopped years ago. This time, I won’t either, even though my fingers itch to fetch the Band-Aids and Neosporin. I didn’t make Daddy punch anything. He needs to patch himself. It isn’t our fault he won’t take his medication.

I pick at my glittered purple polish, catching a hangnail. The red stain mixes with the polish as if I intended for a gruesome pattern.

Daddy staggers off the stoop and paces.

“I need a gun,” he rants. “I’m gonna put a bullet in my head.”

Mom clears her throat. “Come on, Charity. We’re leaving.” She presses her lips into a thin line and slams the trunk door, making her Impreza vibrate. She walks along the path of flat rocks, trampling some of the grass that has grown too tall, and pauses next to him.

Daddy grunts, dropping back down onto the stone, and he tips his head up, his fingers dragging across his cheeks. Blood trickles down the back of his hand into the sleeve of his button-up shirt. His blue eyes are wide and bloodshot, tear-filled. Sometimes when he cries, Mom kisses the tears away.

Even though I’m thirteen, I should be the one crying. Heck, I’m still a child. His therapist said so. Daddy should hold me and promise everything will be fine. He’ll take his meds and we’ll all be okay.

I’m too delusional for all that, but the thoughts slip in anyways.

I shouldn’t have to avoid Daddy when he’s in a mood. I shouldn’t have to worry about my words making him emotional, or my attitude setting him off, or whether I’m going to find him dead when I come home.

Mom kneels to clasp his wrists. “I love you, Max. I will always love you.” Her voice squeaks, but her body remains steady. She doesn’t look away from his stare.

“You can’t go!” He yanks his arms free and stands on the stoop, but he teeters. His bare feet poke from the ragged hem of his jeans. The lack of shoes makes him look like a teenager. When has Daddy ever been an adult for me?

Has he ever been an adult for himself? According to my grandparents, his depression started in high school. Why hasn’t he learned how to cope yet?

“I’ll kill myself!”

I wince at the threat, but Mom rises, shaking her head. Why can’t he see how much we love him? Why aren’t we enough to stop his pain?

“You know where we are. When you’re ready, come find us.” She kisses his mouth, fast, as if afraid he’ll push her away. His blood smears her palm, but she doesn’t look down when she wipes it on her thigh. It leaves a crimson streak, as if she’s the one bleeding.

“Charity!” Daddy stumbles toward me. “You won’t leave me. Come back, honey. I need you.”

I quicken my pace to open the car door and slip into the passenger’s seat. My fingers shake as I fasten my seatbelt. He doesn’t need me. He needs to help himself. I play with my hemp bracelet to avoid looking at him. My stomach heaves as I fight back tears.

“Isadora,” he yells.

I glance back, a final glimpse in case he does kill himself.

It won’t be my fault, or Mom’s. We don’t make Daddy do things. Mom tells me that every day. It is never your fault. Sometimes it hurts to think that. If it was my fault, maybe I could fix it.

His brown hair is in that buzz cut Mom hates. He’s gotten blood on his cheek. If only he took care of the things about the house the way he cuts his hair, the place wouldn’t look so run down. After we leave, he’ll break things, but we took the things we cherished— everything except for Daddy, and seeing the tears in Mom’s eyes, I know we cherish him most of all.

That’s why we have to leave.

Mom sits beside me and slams her door. She slips the key into the ignition and turns it without taking her gaze from the road. I stare forward too, because it only hurts to think about the past. Tall grasses wave in the breeze next to the garage as if saying goodbye.

I’ll really miss this place.

“He needs to get help,” Mom whispers. “He can’t do that with us. We’re just his crutch now.”

A chipmunk darts across the driveway and from somewhere down the street, music plays through an open window. I almost forget how hot the day is until sweat gathers behind my knees.

We need to grow up, too, but I don’t talk in case Mom needs solitude. What will the neighbors think?

It’s about time Isadora and Charity left.

How dare they leave that poor man? Mrs. Ames next door has always seen him as someone to coddle, like an oversized infant. No doubt she’ll go with that train of thought.

Mom drives forward and heads down the road, past all the neighbors with their happy, safe families, as peaceful as the fluffy clouds dancing over the blue sky.

“Isadora! Charity!” Daddy’s wails fade and I bite my lower lip.

Mom told him to come home once he becomes well. Our new house. Her dream house.

Our home.

I want to squeeze Daddy’s hand, to feel secure, but my fingers close on false hope.

 

Jordan Elizabeth - Author Photo

Jordan Elizabeth is known for her odd sense of humor and her outrageous outfits.  Surrounded by bookshelves, she can often be found pounding away at her keyboard – she’s known for breaking keyboards, too.  Jordan’s young adult novels include ESCAPE FROM WITCHWOOD HOLLOW, COGLING, TREASURE DARKLY, GOAT CHILDREN, and VICTORIAN.  PATH TO OLD TALBOT is her third novel with CHBB.  Check out her website for bonus scenes and contests.

Jordan Elizabeth - Author Logo

 

Books can be our window into the past when we don’t have a portal in our new house.  In honor of PATH TO OLD TALBOT, enter for a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card!

All winners will be notified after verification of entry at the end of this promotion.  Prizes have been supplied by and the responsibility of delivery are solely that of the author and/or their representatives. Blogs are not liable for non-delivery on the part of the author. No purchase necessary.

Click here to enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway!

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Blog Tour for a Fellow Author – The Goat Children

Today I’m participating in a blog tour for Jordan Elizabeth’s latest book, The Goat Children. Friday I’ll plan on doing the video blog post, along with an update on our booth at the upcoming Old Drum Days Festival. 🙂

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GOAT CHILDREN

A young adult novel with a touch of fantasy, love, and imagination versus reality.

The Goat Children Book Cover

When Keziah’s grandmother, Oma, is diagnosed with dementia, Keziah faces two choices: leave her family and move to New Winchester to care for Oma, or stay in New York City and allow her grandmother to live in a nursing home miles away.

The dementia causes Oma to be rude and paranoid, nothing like the woman Keziah remembers. Each day becomes a greater weight and love a harsher burden. Keziah must keep Oma from wandering off or falling, and try to convince her grandmother to see a doctor as her eyesight and hearing fail, but Oma refuses to believe anything is wrong. Resentful of her hardships in New Winchester, Keziah finds herself drawn to Oma’s ramblings about the Goat Children, a mythical warrior class. These fighters ride winged horses, locating people in need, while attempting to destroy evil in the world. Oma sees the Goat Children everywhere, and as Keziah reads the stories Oma wrote about them, she begins to question if they really exist.

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GOAT CHILDREN is now available on Amazon from CHBB.

Check out early reviews on GoodReads!

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Check out Chapter 1:

Bodies crushed against each other, a blur of hair and clothes, in the mad dash to exit the subway. The air smelled of the greasy restaurants above and felt stuffy, despite the bitter cold that rattled through the damp subway tunnel. My mouth watered as I sniffed roasted chestnuts.

 

You haven’t eaten dinner yet, my rumbling stomach scolded.

 

I slipped past a man speaking rapid Spanish to board the train, grabbed a pole, slid on to a seat, and pulled my green bag higher towards my chest. The two paperbacks inside jammed into my ribs. With a groan, I shifted into a new position, wondering what glorious worlds awaited within the glossy covers.

 

“Whoa ho, ho, ho.”

 

More people ranting on the subway. It could never be a quiet ride. I opened my bag to peer at the fantasy novels. I’d chosen thick books because they lasted longer and made the reading more rewarding.

 

“Ho, little one.”

 

A face shoved into mine from the aisle, and I jerked back, squeaking. Oily black hair hung over a scarred forehead. The man swayed, braying a laugh. I glanced at the woman with bright pink hair sitting on the next seat. She read a newspaper without looking up.

 

“So much to you.” The man licked his lips and slurred the words.

 

His pungent odor clawed its way through my nose; no escaping the invisible fumes. They washed over me with groping draws until my eyes watered. I cringed, my craving for chestnuts gone. Anyone on a diet would be thankful to have him around.

 

He stood, clinging to a pole with one gloved hand. Threads poked from the torn seams in the gripping brown leather. Two duffel bags, stained with mud, rested near his feet, bulging with contents.

 

I lowered my gaze, clutching the bag tighter. Please go away. I shouldn’t have taken the subway, but I’d done it to save time. Even though I was seventeen, Mama said it wasn’t safe to ride alone, and now, I agreed.

 

I’m not gonna be home by my seven o’clock curfew. Mama’s gonna freak. I can’t believe I forgot my phone.

 

“You don’t belong on this world.” He smacked his lips. Behind his head, a large sign told the public not to smoke, or they’d get lung cancer and die. It was easier to stare at the anti-smoking sign than him.

 

“Yes, thank you,” I mumbled as he leered at me. Even if he lacked a home and suffered from insanity, he didn’t deserve rudeness.

 

“You like fantasy?”

 

I stared at my lap, but when he repeated the question louder, I nodded.

 

“What would ya do if fantasy became your life? What would ya do if it wasn’t fantasy anymore?”

 

“Fantasy isn’t real.” I shifted my gaze to my black socks. They came up to my thighs and the right sock had a tiny hole near the knee. I’d have to sew it when I got home. If I studied it, maybe he’d grow bored and mosey on elsewhere.

 

“Are you happy here? Don’t you want more, little one? I can take you to another world.” His deep breaths made snot rattle in his nose.

 

I gagged, hiding my mouth behind my hand. The woman with the newspaper glanced over. I pleaded silently for her to make the man go away, but she moved to an empty seat down the car, wrinkling her nose. I still had five more stops before I could get away.

 

Do I dare follow her?

 

“Don’t you believe in destiny?”

 

What if he sits next to me? I slid my bag onto the empty seat, clutching the handle. As the subway curved around the corner, it screeched, the sound echoing through the metallic enclosure as if screaming, “Doom!”

 

“I’ve been to other lands. I’ve seen my future, and I spit at it.” He turned his head to hack on the floor. The saliva bubbled with a yellowish hue.

 

The subway squealed to a halt, and some of the passengers stood to exit. I removed the bag in case someone new sat down, someone safe, but no one came near or looked at us as they found seats. The doors slid shut, and the train moved again. Four more stops to go.

 

“Don’t shun fantasy. I’ve made mistakes and don’t want you to make ‘em too. Take it and see what you can do. Take it!” He pumped his fist, revealing grease stains on his coat sleeves.

 

I scanned the other passengers’ faces. They ignored us, although the ranting man filled the car with his voice. Only the smiling faces on wall advertisements watched. Ever-smiling, ever-trapped in their realm of sales. I fiddled with the zipper on the front of my gray hoodie, heart racing.

 

The subway halted at the next station. Again, people exited and entered, and no one sat beside me. Three more stops to go. I drummed my fingers against my thigh.

 

“I know all about the ones they call the Goats.” He drew a ragged breath. “I’m not supposed to, but I know. My wife was one. She told me all about them. Oh, yes, she did. She wasn’t supposed to, but she did. They don’t let them take over the world. They won’t!”

 

Why do crazies always go for alien invasions? I twirled my brown curls. I’d get off at the next stop and walk the rest of the way, even if I arrived home later.

 

What if he follows me?

 

“The Goats!” He flapped his arm.

 

Alien goat invasion. How awesome. I jumped and clutched my bag like a shield. The subway screeched as it approached the next station. I wanted to run, but he waved both arms, repeating the scream.

 

The doors swished open, but if I stood to escape, he could attack. Two more stops to go. What if I can’t escape at my stop, either?

 

As soon as the subway started, he lowered his arm and drew a few breaths. He reeked of alcohol, and overpowering the sweat stench, the stench made my head swirl.

 

“Beware of the Goats.” His chest heaved. “Help the Goats. Save the Goats!”

 

He really is deranged. There weren’t any goats in New York City that I’d ever seen.

 

“Yes, I will.” Go away. “I’ll … I’ll watch out for the goats.”

 

“The Goats,” he corrected, as if I’d mispronounced the word. He picked up his duffel bags and waddled to the back of the car, where he dropped onto a seat. He took a small paperback book from the pocket of his trench coat and flipped it open.

 

When the doors swished open at the next stop, I exited in the crush of bodies. People coughed and spoke, heels clicked and wheels on backpacks rolled, and the sounds echoed off the stone walls.

 

I slid through the turnstile and bolted up the cement steps two at a time, the edges cracked and crumbled and graffiti decorated the walls with images of fire and obscene language. The brightness of the paint, and the harsh edges that curved and sang were beautiful. The scrawls seemed to want to leap off the stone, suddenly alive.

 

At the top, I grasped the railing. Cold, dented metal bit through the fishnet of my fingerless gloves while I gazed over my shoulder. The people emerging didn’t spare me a glance. I was lost in the crowd, a stationary fixture.

 

The man wasn’t following. I ducked my head to push into the crowd. People bumped into me, jostling with elbows and bags. I almost walked into a tourist, who snapped a picture of the taxicabs.

 

“Hey,” called a stout vender from the corner. “You okay?”

 

I tucked back a brown curl. “I’m fine, but thanks.” Wind whipping between the skyscrapers stole the power of my words.

 

“Wanna dog?” He held one out, nestled in a white roll.

 

“No, thanks. I don’t eat meat.”

 

“Good,” I thought I heard him whisper. “Your kind shouldn’t.”

 

He couldn’t have spoken. It must’ve been someone else. It wouldn’t make sense for a man who made his living off people scarfing down meat-in-a-tube to agree with my vegetarian lifestyle.

 

I ogled the sea of metal vehicles washed in the afternoon sunlight like sharks swarming for a fresh kill. I shook off the thought and ran, an empty Styrofoam cup crunching beneath my foot. I didn’t have a watch, but the sun hung low in the sky.

 

A thought raced through my mind as the sun made windows wink and flash.

 

Beware of Goats.

 

#

 

“Long line at the bookstore.” I dropped my bag on the marble table beside the door to my family’s condo. Instrumental Celtic music wafted from the living room as I left the small foyer, and I almost tripped over my sprawled little sister.

 

“Phebe, you shouldn’t lie on the floor.”

 

“Why are you home so late?” Phebe dragged an orange crayon over the page of her coloring book. Her ponytail bobbed as she tipped her head, studying the picture. “You should’ve taken me with you. Mommy said so.”

 

“I’m sure she did.” I rolled my eyes.

 

When I’d left earlier, Phebe had still been doing her mathematics homework. We were home schooled, so even in the summer, we had work to do. It sucked because other home schooled students I knew had summers off. That was our penalty for having a mother with a Master’s degree in elementary education.

 

“Where’re Mama and Dad?”

 

Phebe sat up on her knees with her eyebrows knit together. “Mommy’s crying.”

 

My heart sunk and dropped clear out of my stomach. Mama never got that upset when I came home late. Did she find out about the party last weekend at Tiffany’s? I’d lied and said it was only going to be Tiff, her parents and siblings, and me. I hadn’t mentioned her parents were in Vancouver on vacation or that Tiff had invited all of her friends, not just me. Regret stabbed my gut.

 

“Mama, I’m home! Mama?”

 

The family photographs glared at me from the wall, none so reprimanding as the face of my Reverend Uncle. I kicked off my flats and hurried into my parents’ bedroom. With the lamp off, only a little light slipped through the closed venetian blinds covering the single window.

 

Short brown hair fanned over the plaid pillowcase, and Mama lay sideways on the king-sized bed, a crumpled tissue pressed against her nose. Dad sat beside her, stroking her shoulders. He still wore his suit from work—an even worse sign. The first thing Dad did when he walked through the door was peel off his jacket and toss the tie onto the table.

 

“Mama?” My voice cracked as my throat constricted.

 

“Your uncle called.” Dad tugged on his green silk tie that should’ve been lost in the pile of mail, not still fastened around his neck.

 

“Uncle Tom?”

 

The Reverend in Massachusetts, Dad’s younger brother, only called once a month, on the first Friday. Even though we called him Uncle Tom around the house, we all referred to him as Pastor Thomas to his face.

 

“No, Uncle Jan.”

 

Mama’s brother, the one who called less than Uncle Tom did.

 

“What…what did he want? Has someone died?” Oh no, is it my grandmother? Uncle Jan lived upstate, in the same town as her.

 

“Keziah, it’s your grandmother,” Dad continued.

 

Oh no, oh no, oh no. When I’d been younger, we’d lived down the street from Mama’s mother. She had taken care of me while my parents worked, and we’d often picked violets in the yard. Sometimes, I imagined I could smell their perfume years later and hundreds of miles away.

 

I’d always called her Oma, which meant grandmother in Dutch. I could still remember the way I’d cried and screamed, begging to stay with Oma when we’d moved to New York City. The hours separating us seemed like an eternity.

 

“She has dementia.” Dad removed his tie and knotted it around his fingers.

 

I blinked at him. “Dementia?” Demented, like the man on the subway?

 

“She hasn’t been officially diagnosed, but the symptoms are there. Uncle Jan doesn’t feel she can live on her own anymore.” Dad dropped his tie onto the alarm clock.

 

“So…she’s moving in with Uncle Jan?” I pictured waking up from a sleepover at Oma’s house with fresh squeezed orange juice waiting in the kitchen beside a bowl of cream of wheat cereal, steamy and sweet.

 

“Good morning, sunshine,” Oma would sing. She’d pull out the chair, the seat hideous and green, leftover from the 1970s. It had been an honor to sit at the kitchen table with her.

 

Dad rubbed his chin. “Your aunt won’t let her do that.”

 

I grinned. “She’s moving in with us? That’s amazing!” I only saw Oma on school holidays, and that summer, we’d had to pass because Mama had taught a summer school class.

 

“You know that wouldn’t work.” Dad gazed at the dresser across the room, a fog coming over his eyes.

 

I pulled at a loose thread on my black skirt. If Oma moved in, then Dad would have to move out or risk family war. The yelling would never stop. She hated Dad with a roaring passion I’d never understood. That anger had contributed to the reason why we’d moved, and when we visited Oma, Dad never went.

 

“Your uncle wants to put her in a home.” Dad leaned over to rub a spot on the wall’s blue paint as if that space was the problem, and he could make it disappear.

 

I licked my dry lips. “You mean like a nursing home?”

 

“No!” Mama rose on her elbows. “I’m not putting my mother in a nursing home. Do you know how they treat their patients? It’s horrible. All those people. Oma would hate it. She’s so antisocial these days. Really hate it.”

 

“Hush. Come on, sweetheart. It’s all right. We won’t put her in a home.” Dad combed his fingers through her hair.

 

“Why would Uncle Jan want to do that?” I didn’t know anything about nursing homes, but Mama was right. Oma had become one of the most antisocial people I’d ever met.

 

“It’s your aunt.” Dad patted Mama’s back. “She wants to put your grandmother away. It’s getting too hard to take care of her, and she won’t let her move in with them. You know how your aunt can be.”

 

My aunt could be downright nasty—a sickish combination of stubborn and controlling. Dad was too nice to say that aloud, though.

 

“What are we going to do?” My question made Mama cry harder, and I flinched.

 

“We’ll think of something,” Dad whispered.

*

Jordan Elizabeth - Author Photo

Jordan Elizabeth, formally Jordan Elizabeth Mierek, is known for her odd sense of humor and her outrageous outfits.  Surrounded by bookshelves, she can often be found pounding away at her keyboard – she’s known for breaking keyboards, too.  Jordan’s young adult novels include ESCAPE FROM WITCHWOOD HOLLOW, COGLING, TREASURE DARKLY, and BORN OF TREASURE.  GOAT CHILDREN is her first novel with CHBB.  Her short stories are featured in over twenty anthologies.  Check out her website for bonus scenes and contests.

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Keziah lives in New Winchester, a town frequented by squirrels.  Win a squirrel charm necklace in honor of her furry companions!

All winners will be notified after verification of entry at the end of this promotion.  Prizes have been supplied by and the responsibility of delivery are solely that of the author and/or their representatives. Blogs are not liable for non-delivery on the part of the author. No purchase necessary.

Click Here to Enter a Rafflecopter Giveaway!

 

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Cover Reveal for A Fellow Author – The Goat Children!

Today I’m doing a cover reveal for fellow author, Jordan Elizabeth! I didn’t make this cover, but I quite like how it looks!

In the meantime, onward to the reveal! Take it away, Jordan…

* * *

GOAT CHILDREN

A YA Novel with a touch of Fantasy

When Keziah’s grandmother, Oma, is diagnosed with dementia, Keziah faces two choices: leave her family and move to New Winchester to care for Oma, or stay in New York City and allow her grandmother to live in a nursing home miles away.

The dementia causes Oma to be rude and paranoid, nothing like the woman Keziah remembers. Each day becomes a greater weight and love a harsher burden. Keziah must keep Oma from wandering off or falling, and try to convince her grandmother to see a doctor as her eyesight and hearing fail, but Oma refuses to believe anything is wrong. Resentful of her hardships in New Winchester, Keziah finds herself drawn to Oma’s ramblings about the Goat Children, a mythical warrior class. These fighters ride winged horses, locating people in need, while attempting to destroy evil in the world. Oma sees the Goat Children everywhere, and as Keziah reads the stories Oma wrote about them, she begins to question if they really exist.

#

GOAT CHILDREN will be released March 25, 2016 from CHBB.

This story means a lot to me.  Many of the events are taken from my own life when I helped out my grandmother.  She was one of my best friends and in many ways, my world.  It still hurts to think about how the dementia made her suffer.

As she would have said: without further ado, I present the cover for GOAT CHILDREN.  The talented Rue Volley created this cover.

Book Cover Reveal For A Fellow Author - The Goat Children

I can’t wait to share this book with all of you!  You can mark it as TBR today on GoodReads.

Author - Jordan Elizabeth

About the author: Jordan Elizabeth, formally Jordan Elizabeth Mierek, writes her nightmares in order to live her dreams. With an eclectic job history behind her, she is now diving into the world of writing. It happens to be her most favorite one yet. When she’s not creating art or researching her family tree, she’s updating her blog. Jordan is the vice president of the Utica Writers Club. She roams Central New York, but loves to travel.

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Win a paperback copy of my first novel, ESCAPE FROM WITCHWOOD HOLLOW.

Click here to enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway.

All winners will be notified after verification of entry at the end of this promotion.  Prizes have been supplied by and the responsibility of delivery are solely that of the author and/or their representatives. Blogs are not liable for non-delivery on the part of the author. No purchase necessary.

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Cover Reveal for a Fellow Author – Cogling!

Today I am super excited to be hosting a cover reveal for Cogling by Jordan Elizabeth. 😀

See, a while back I got the pleasure of beta-reading an earlier draft of this story, and I’ve been eagerly anticipating its release into the world. I’ve long wondered what the cover would look like (I did not create this cover). Now I finally get to see it, and so do you!

Are you ready?

I’m telling you, this cover is really pretty. 😀

….

…..

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COGLING

 

A Steampunk Fairy Tale for Young Adults who love a little Romance in their Adventures

 

Jordan Elizabeth - Cogling Cover

 

When fifteen-year-old Edna Mather tears an expensive and unfamiliar pocket watch off her little brother’s neck, he crumbles into a pile of cogs right before her eyes. Horrified, Edna flees for help, but encounters Ike, a thief who attempts to steal the watch before he realizes what it is: a device to power Coglings—clockwork changelings left in place of stolen children who have been forced to work in factories.

Desperate to rescue her brother, Edna sets off across the kingdom to the hags’ swamp, with Ike in tow. There, they learn Coglings are also replacing nobility so the hags can stage a rebellion and rule over humanity. Edna and Ike must stop the revolt, but the populace believes hags are helpful godmothers and healers. No one wants to believe a lowly servant and a thief, especially when Ike has secrets that label them both as traitors.

Together, Edna and Ike must make the kingdom trust them or stop the hags themselves, even if Ike is forced to embrace his dark heritage and Edna must surrender her family.

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COGLING has already gained advanced praise from NY Times Bestselling author, Maria V. Snyder!

“This is a fun YA Steampunk novel. It’s very different than many other Steampunk stories I’ve read. Basic plot is Edna’s brother is kidnapped by hags and replaced with a “cogling” and she’s on a mission to find and rescue her brother. The world is a Victorian-era with a strict class system for the humans and for those with magic. The woman with magic are called hags and the men with magic are ogres and they’re not nice and are planning to change the system. I really enjoyed learning about the world and the characters are well drawn and engaging.”

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Check out COGLING on GoodReads and Curiosity Quills.

Jordan Elizabeth - Author Photo

Meet the author
Jordan Elizabeth Mierek lives in a dream world.  Sometimes she comes out to do her day job, but most of the time she is writing about her favorite people – her characters!  COGLING is her fourth book.  Her previous steampunk series, the Treasure Chronicles, include TREASURE DARKLY and BORN OF TREASURE.  Her debut novel, ESCAPE FROM WITCHWOOD HOLLOW, is a young adult fantasy-horror.  You can find her short stories in numerous anthologies.  Check out her website, JordanElizabethMierek.com, for contests and bonus stories!

Win a steampunk necklace!

Click here to enter the Rafflecopter giveaway.

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Blog Tour – Born of Treasure by Jordan Elizabeth

Today I’m participating in a blog tour for Jordan Elizabeth’s newly released book, Born of Treasure! If you enjoy steampunk, be sure to take a look. 🙂

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Born of Treasure Banner

It’s science, darling…

Death and diamonds often dance together.

Born of Treasure - Cover

((Just to clarify, the cover artist is Amalia Chitulescu, not me.))

Blurb

Clark used to be a miner, until he drank from a vial he swore was absinthe but was actually an invention to give him the ability to raise the dead. Now Clark seeks to fulfill his father’s wishes to keep other inventions away from Senator Horan. His beloved Amethyst is along for the ride. Deceit, drama, romance, the insidious underbellies of gangs…How can she not be involved?

Clark can’t hide behind the Treasure name forever and the army still wants him for his secret abilities. If Captain Greenwood can’t snare Clark, then he’ll use the Treasures as collateral. Saving his father’s inventions will just have to wait, especially now that the Treasures have been kicked off their ranch and driven into exile. Clark knows how to survive on the run, but that’s not the fate the Treasures deserve. He can surrender to the army or fight for his freedom, but Amethyst has other plans for fixing their troubles.

She’s come across another one of the vials that gave Clark is abilities, and it looks mighty tasty.

BORN OF TREASURE is Jordan Elizabeth’s third novel and the second installment of the Treasure Chronicles series. This young adult fantasy with elements of steampunk and romance, published through Curiosity Quills Press, is now available for purchase.

https://curiosityquills.com/books/born-treasure/

Check out BORN OF TREASURE on GoodReads for fabulous reviews!

Author - Jordan Elizabeth

Jordan Elizabeth, formally Jordan Elizabeth Mierek, can often be found garbed in corsets, long skirts, and boots. Her first novel, ESCAPE FROM WITCHWOOD HOLLOW, came out in October of 2014. You can contact Jordan via her website, JordanElizabethMierek.com.

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Craving more steampunk with the Treasure family? TREASURE DARKLY, book one of the Treasure Chronicles, is available wherever books are sold. GEARS OF BRASS, a steampunk anthology, features a short story about Amethyst.

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Win a key necklace and matching earrings worthy of Amethyst herself!

Click here for the Rafflecopter Giveaway.

 

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Cover Reveal for a Fellow Author – Born of Treasure!

Today I’m hosting a cover reveal for Jordan Elizabeth, one of my author friends. Just to clarify, I didn’t create this cover (Amalia Chitulescu did, you can see more of her work here: http://www.redbubble.com/people/amyamalia ). I think it looks stunning. 🙂 And now for the reveal…

BORN OF TREASURE

Born of Treasure - Cover
Clark used to be a miner, until he drank from a vial he swore was absinthe but was actually an invention to give him the ability to raise the dead. Now Clark seeks to fulfill his father’s wishes to keep inventions away from Senator Horan and his beloved Amethyst is along for the ride. Deceit, drama, romance, the insidious underbellies of gangs…How can she not be involved?

Clark can’t hide behind the Treasure name forever and the army still wants him for his secret abilities. If Captain Greenwood can’t snare Clark, then he’ll use the Treasures as collateral. Saving his father’s inventions will just have to wait, especially now that the Treasures have been kicked off their ranch and driven into exile. Clark knows how to survive on the run, but that’s not the fate the Treasures deserve. He can surrender to the army or fight for his freedom, but Amethyst has other plans for fixing their troubles.

She’s come across another one of the vials that gave Clark his abilities, and it looks mighty tasty.

Born of Treasure Banner

BORN OF TREASURE, Book 2 of the Treasure Chronicles

This young adult fantasy turns the Wild West into a steampunk adventure. It will be released September 12, 2015, but in the meantime, enjoy the stunning cover, a contest, and an excerpt!

Enjoy the following excerpt…

Clark eased the door open enough to peer into the closet. Scratch that, make it a ballroom. Faded curtains with moth-chewed holes were fastened to the walls to display a stage. Forgotten props leaned against the back, a mixture of painted shrubbery and constructed balconies, as though the musty room couldn’t decide what it wanted to be.

This would be fun. He’d never come across a rundown, exotic hideout in the desert. Clark tucked his lock-picking kit into his jacket pocket and nudged the door shut behind him. His breath sounded too loud in the still room, but no ghosts appeared to haunt the memories. Dust motes floated in the sunbeams coming through the windows near the ceiling. One window, of stained glass, sent a distorted image of the late king onto the hardwood floor. He pictured the theater where he’d grown up back in Tangled Wire, a space in the corner of the saloon where alcohol hadn’t puckered the floorboards too much. Sometimes, the saloon owner had made his mother dance with the younger Tarnished Silvers.

“Mum would’ve shone on this stage,” Clark whispered. She could’ve worn her favorite green dress, to go along with the emerald shade of the curtains.

Tables covered what remained of the room, littered with piles of gears and cogs. Broken clocks glared at him through their cracked faces.

“Check near the stage.” The spirit of Clark’s father appeared beside him. Perfect, the ballroom needed a ghost. Black holes peered out instead of eyes, matching the space in his chest where a bullet had stolen his life. At last, a ghost to match the dismal space.

“Your inventions show up in the weirdest places.” Clark stepped over a heap of clock keys, but one crunched beneath the heel of his riding boot.

“Senator Horan never got this one, and he’s looked. Trust me, he’s looked. See, it was stolen right from my jacket! Never trust a girl wearing too much lip paint. She’ll slip her hand in your pocket and you’ll never see your watch or billfold again.”

This had to be the point where a son grew tired of his father’s rambling and zoned out. He’d seen it enough on ranches, especially when the father wanted the son to follow in reluctant footsteps. “Senator Horan wanted to buy the pocket watch right after I finished it.” Eric waved his hands. “Nope, I told him. You’re too late. A pretty Tarnished Silver made off with it. He didn’t believe me, swore I was lying. He tried to pay me another small fortune in land.”

Clark grinned. He could listen to his father, Eric, all day and never grow weary of his words. His mother must’ve felt like that, getting lost in Eric’s passion.

Clark lifted the corner of a striped sheet thrown over a table, revealing glass plates for clock faces. “Don’t worry, your time travel device is safe.”

Eric floated closer. “I told you, son. It’s not time travel.”

“Right,” Clark teased, drawing out the word. At least if the pocket watch had to have been stolen, it hadn’t been tossed down a privy with other garbage. A clock collector—obsessed fellow, more likely—turned out to be a great alternative. “If I was going to collect something, I would definitely keep it in an old railroad station.” Not that he’d ever had the luxury of collecting anything. If he managed to own a second pair of shoes, he felt like a king.

“It’s a magnificent workspace,” his father said. “Pity I didn’t think of using an old ballroom. Perfect light from every angle, lots of room to spread-out.”

Clark studied the table closest to the stage. Pocket watches of various sizes ranged from thumbnail small to fist-size large, most dented. A polishing cloth had been thrown over a triangular-shaped one.

“This was the first train station in Hedlund,” Eric rambled. “All they had here was a mission and a few shacks. The mountains were just starting to be mined and the king was encouraging farmers to come out here to the land. They wanted this station to be the hubbub of life. A great encouragement to the weaklings back east.”

“Like you?” Clark lifted an oval pocket watch with diamonds on the front. The spaces of missing stones reminded him of a face scarred by the pox.

“As the rest of Hedlund built up and the main cities extended to the ocean, this little town became quite little. It’s still a stop on the main railroad, but people don’t want to stay for dancing or a show. Did I tell you I wanted to be a professor?”

The other gang members might not laugh if they knew Clark’s father was loaded—lots of the wealthy slept around with Tarnished Silvers—but they’d have a good roar over Brass Glass Clark having a professor for an old man. Univeristy brats hid behind books in shadowed libraries. They didn’t run around the desert with steamcycles and pistols.

They didn’t get shot by mercenaries hired by a senator, either.

Clark spotted a pocket watch with the Grisham family crest on the front: a swan with a key hanging from its beak. “Got it.” A tiny diamond winked from the swan’s eye.

Author - Jordan ElizabethJordan Elizabeth, formally Jordan Elizabeth Mierek, is the author of ESCAPE FROM WITCHWOOD HOLLOW and a contributor to GEARS OF BRASS, both available from Curiosity Quills Press. GEARS OF BRASS includes a short story featuring Amethyst Treasure, one of the main characters in the Treasure Chronicles. Check out Jordan’s website for contests and book signings. Jordan is represented by Belcastro Agency and President of the Utica Writers Club.

Don’t miss any of the Treasure Chronicles. Book 1, TREASURE DARKLY, is on sale for 99 cents this week only!

Mark BORN OF TREASURE to read on GoodReads and check out the Facebook Release Party.

Don’t miss your chance to win a heart-and-key necklace with matching earrings worthy of Amethyst Treasure. Click here to enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway.

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Guest Post – Escape From Witchwood Hollow

Today we have a guest post with Jordan Elizabeth, an author for whom I’ve beta read one of her manuscripts. She’ll be talking about her history as a writer below. 🙂

Escape From Witchwood Hollow - Tour Dates

How far into the hollow would you go?

Escape from Witchwood Hollow - Book Cover

After losing her parents in a terrorist attack on the Twin Towers, fifteen-year-old Honoria escapes New York City to Arnn—a farming town with more legends than residents, and a history of witchcraft and secrets best left buried.

 Everyone in Arnn knows the story of Witchwood Hollow: if you venture into the whispering forest, the witch will trap your soul among the shadowed trees. In the lure of that perpetual darkness, Honoria finds hope when she should be afraid, and a past of missing children and broken promises.  To save the citizens of Arnn from becoming the witch’s next victims, she must find the truth behind the woman’s madness. How deep into Witchwood Hollow does Honoria dare venture?

ESCAPE FROM WITCHWOOD HOLLOW is Jordan Elizabeth’s first novel.  This young adult fantasy, published through Curiosity Quills Press, is now available for purchase.

https://curiosityquills.com/books/escape-witchwood-hollow/

Jordan Elizabeth, formally Jordan Elizabeth Mierek, can’t get enough of the woods, be it splashing through a stream, sitting beneath an ancient oak, or following a path up a hill.  Some of those adventures have led to abandoned foundations.  Exploring the rocks and crumbling bricks sparked Jordan to imagine who might have lived there before, and that train of thought carried her to a wicked legend and an enchanted hollow.  You can contact Jordan via her website, JordanElizabethMierek.com.

Jordan Elizabeth - Author Photo

My History as a Writer

As told by Jordan Elizabeth

 

I like to think my history as a writer began as a storyteller.  I would hold a picture book – or draw my own pictures – and then I would make up stories.  My grandmother recorded them on a tape player.  I still have them, although they sound like baby babble.

 

As I grew older, my grandmother wrote them down for me as my handwriting was, and still is, atrocious.  I’m also a slow hand writer.  In late elementary school, I discovered the joys of computer typing.  My fingers could match the speed of my thoughts.  I can now type 77 words per minutes and that’s with two fingers.

 

As time continued, I had my family read my stories and like all good families, they said it was great.  Morbid, but great.  I had no idea about solid editing or query letters.  With great excitement, I sent off my manuscript to a leading publisher.  A year later, the rejection letter came.  I didn’t allow myself to be devastated – time to move on and stick to my dream.

 

I finally did my research – huzzah – and learned editing skills.  My favorite writing website is Critiquecircle.com.  I’ve learned valuable advice and made lasting friendships thanks to that site.  I began to seriously query agents and I kept writing.  There are 23 completed manuscripts now and one in the works.

 

I won first place in the Milton and Harriet Shaw Short Story contest through the Utica Writers Club.  The prize consisted of $100 – my first pay as a writer – and year’s free membership.  Since joining the club, I’ve gotten to meet some of my favorite authors: Tamora Pierce, Bruce Coville, and Maria V. Snyder.  I’m the new president of the club.

 

After six years of querying agents, I finally landed one on my birthday!  That “dream come true” feeling exists; it isn’t just in movies.  I’ve switched agents since then and am pleased to be represented by the Belcastro Agency.

 

I’ve been published in numerous anthologies and have four other books coming out from Curiosity Quills Press.  TREASURE DARKLY will be published February 16, 2015.

 

 

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Jordan Elizabeth is offering up a free eArc of ESCAPE FROM WITCHWOOD HOLLOW.  To enter for your chance to win a copy of ESCAPE FROM WITCHWOOD HOLLOW, you will need to share the cover.  This can be on your blog, Facebook, Twitter… Each time you share the cover image, log it into Rafflecoper to record it.  It will give you more chances to win.  There are other ways to enter.  You’ll have to take a look to see what those are!  The drawing for the winner will be held on November 16.

 href=”http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/dcedff6d2/

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