Blog Tour Nomination

I am so grateful for my second nomination! Thank you 90sgrungechick, author of for this sick award and inviting me on this blog tour.

The rules for this one are simple; pass the tour on up to four other bloggers. Give them the rules and a specific Monday to post. (Post whenever you wish). Answer four questions about your creative process that lets other bloggers and visitors know what inspires you to do what you do.

  1. What I’m working on at the moment?

“Charged,” which is the novel I’ve been posting snippets of little by little. However, my goal is not to rush it, so I have been taking breaks from it and only writing when the inspiration is high. Other than this I focus on my blog and individual short stories.

  1. How does my work differ from others in my genre?

Seeing as I have most recently been working on “Charged,” I’d say I’ve fallen victim to the catastrophically thrilling world of dystopia. As a dystopian author, I am not exactly sure how my work differs from others yet. I am still in the early stages, but I’d say that I enjoy adding more imagery than most. I want my readers to feel that they exist in the world I created. I want them to feel they are dreaming when they glide through the pages of my book.

  1. How does my writing and creative process work?

Simple. I daydream about my novel throughout the day, twisting the storyline in my head. I begin playing out different scenarios and when I create one that I am in love with I jot it down. When I feel inspired enough to elaborate, I write.

  1. Why do I write and create what I do?

Writing is a very personal experience for me. I use my keyboard to paint a canvas of words. I see these words as different colors and arrange them in the most beautiful scheme. Writing sets my creative genius free.

What Inspires me?

I am inspired by the world around me. I take real life situations and people into my creative process. I am also inspired by the works of others, although there are far too many to list here. Sometimes I inspire myself by saying or doing something I would have never expected.

Now, I’d like to nominate 4 other talented, creative, and inspirational blogs. Each of these are quite different from each other but exciting to read in their own way.






Snippet #6

I don’t have to put on the ceremonial gown till tonight, so I slip on my hunting boots and grab my spear.

It’s heavier than I remember.

I look down and see Dimitri tugging on the other end, a smile on his chubby little face.

“Are you keeping me here hostage, Mimi?” I put the spear back on the wall and pick up my little munchkin of a brother. I cradle him in my arms and press my forehead against his. Our noses touch and he giggles. I hope his eyes stay blue like my fathers, they suite him well with his light blond curls. “Still can’t talk, huh? That’s all right. You’re the best listener in this house.”

“Gah!” he waves his pint-sized hands around my face before finally knocking off my father’s deerstalker. It makes only the faintest noise.

I pick up the hat just as Opal walks in.

A small snippet, not trying to give much away. I know I said I would stop posting these for a while, but I have moved further along in my writing and felt it was safe enough to post a few more from chapter one. You all keep me so motivated, and I am more than appreciative.

A Man’s Land

I am trapped inside of a metal box.

It is small, and I am sitting on my bottom with my arms wrapped around my knees. The cold metal surface sends chills across my skin. I try pushing it away, but the metal folds in.

I worry that this is the end, there is no escape. I hear music in the background, pounding against the outer walls. the sound of electronic beats, quickening. I tap my foot to the sound, and the metal entraps my shoe, a perfect fit.

I raise my hand, and the metal pulls down to grab it. In one swift motion I stand, and the metal walls convulse around my legs, arms and torso.

I gaze around me, there are bright lights shooting pass me at infinite speeds. there are metal buildings, metal people walking down metal streets that shine against the pitch black sky.

Continue reading

Snippet #5

“Gemma! Opal!” my mother cries out, “One of you come here and hold the chair for me, I’m going to slip!”

I walk out into the hallway to see a lazy eyed sister snoozing on the couch and a mother who appears to be practicing the balance beam on a three-legged stool. I hunch over to hold it in place.

My mother is a tall woman, close to six feet. She wears her auburn hair short and neat, like most women in our community. I watch her scavenge through old cardboard boxes on the top shelf of our closet. She groans as a loose hook in the doorframe catches a strand. Her hair is the most stunning shade of copper; it curls at the tips and right beneath the bangs. I wish she would grow out that silly bob cut. It never did her justice.

“Found it!” My mother lowers what appears to be a small, silver container. “Let’s see how well these gems survived.”

Inside the case are two square-cut emerald earrings with gold posts. The only piece of real jewelry we own, and the most beautiful things I’ve ever held. “You want me to go out in public with these?”

“Why not?” she huffs, “It’s your big day.”

There really is no good explanation why I shouldn’t wear them. It is graduation day. We may not be able to afford food, but why should anyone question how we’re able to afford jewelry? I pause to think. “People will talk.”

“So let them talk.”

Mom puts the first gem through my left ear before screwing on the back.

“I heard there’s going to be an assortment of desserts at the ceremony,” I shrug, “Is any of that for us?”

She turns my head and begins twisting in the second. “Probably not,” she scoffs, “Food is a vanity, why would they allow us the pleasure?”

I walk towards the mirror and peer into the fingerprint stained glass. My auburn hair is much longer than my mothers, but dull in comparison. It curls at awkward places and appears more of a light brown than a red. I stare at my fine features and wish they were stronger, a bit more defined. My father has a chiseled face with deep-set eyes and a full set of lips. I inherited none of that.

Today I was hoping to see a capable, sophisticated eighteen-year-old woman staring back, but even I realize that two small rocks aren’t going to make the difference.

“They’re nice.”

“They bring out the green in your eyes,” she smiles.

Fair warning, this is the last snippet I’m going to be posting for a while. While I absolutely love all the feed back I have been getting, I am now reaching a place where I don’t want to share anything before it’s set in stone. I may go back and change these snippets too, If I decide that I need to add or take away. Remember, everything that I post on here is a first draft and it’s mostly done for moral support and critique. I will be morphing Gemma’s story further in my head and on paper, adding detail and creating new characters. I can’t wait to introduce you guys to Opal, Mimi and Gage, But they will have to wait.

Once again, feedback appreciated. On a side note, thank you all for allowing me reach 500 followers!!! WOW. You guys are the best. Love you all!

Snippet #4

Twelve Years Later

We live in a small, four-sided stone home with a couch, three bedrooms, and a kitchen that’s never been touched. Food is not something commoners like us waste our time with, but as huntsmen we take pride in killing it. Our doll-sized castle, as dad calls it, is a cookie-cutter replica of every other stone-built home in Huntsman Square. Nevertheless, I shouldn’t be complaining. Our cottage is one of five with the addition of a third bedroom and a kitchen. This luxury is purely because of dad’s rank as an Alpha hunter, but they don’t pay us anymore than a Beta or a Gamma, so who cares?

I peak out the window of my bedroom to gaze at miles of clover-green flat land and a few dusty mountains in the distance. It could have been a beautiful picture, in another world.

Regardless of its isolation, I’m fond of our little corner of the compound. The South Gate is our backyard. It uncovers the woods where we hunt, and allows us the luxury of crisp, clean air. Still, I wonder if that’s such a good thing. It’s mind numbing to be away from it all.

I let out a sigh that fogs the glass. I mop the white circle with my elbow and fall back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

I only visited the inner city once, and that was a long time ago. It was filled with mammoth sized buildings and streets made of metal. There were highways that traveled over your head and shook the ground under your feet. It was much different from our little hunting village on the border, but this is where we must live. Those who are rich enough live in the center of Abdo, while the rest of us, the majority of us, live in the surrounding communities.


I lose my train of thought.

I hope this snippet is as good as the others, because I received a surprising amount of positive feedback from the first three. Let me know if I’ve fallen short, or if I hit the nail on the head. Both negative and positive feedback appreciated!

Snippet #3

“Come on, Dad, charge up!”

“I can’t, we have to liquefy it.” He grabs his spear and our kill for the day, a few rabbits and a beaver, nothing special.

My father looks at me now, but not with the same glare of pride. “Playing with water, hmm?”

How did he know?

“Your eyelashes are sparkling.”

I look down; my cheeks are as red as the leaves. I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. I look to the sky for help, but the birds even seem to turn away. “Am… am I in trouble?”

He scratches his beard.

“You are a daring little six year old, taking after your old man.”

I take it as a compliment.

We sprint back to the border where we exchange our hunt for Charge. My father unfolds his sleeve for the syringe to penetrate his wrist. I watch the golden liquid course through his veins, it runs underneath the light hairs peaking out of his arm. “Beep.” He is granted eighteen percent, eighteen for a family of five. I open my mouth to scream at the guard, to make him pay us more. My father holds me back with a cautionary look, his blue eyes are stone cold.

I glare at the guard on the way through the doors, until he catches my eye. “Shoot,” I mutter as I wipe my lashes.

He saw the droplets.

This snippet marks the end of my prologue. Now we get into the real story. Again, let me know if you guys have any comments, questions or suggestions. I don’t live in fear of critique.