Book Promo Feature–Ghosts of Manitowish Waters by G.M. Moore

YAPC would like to welcome G.M. Moore to the blog today. She is here to share some info and an excerpt from her book Ghosts of Manitowish Waters. If this looks like a book you would enjoy reading, please go pick up a copy!

Book Description:

Ghosts of Manitowish Waters“Powerful. Clever. A solid … choice for both girls and boys.” —Publishers Weekly

Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Quarterfinalist

Balance in all things. That principle is at the heart of the teachings of Wisconsin’s Ojibwe Indians and at the heart of the conflict in the lives of three young adults.

Fifteen-year-old Tess O’Brien finds her life inexplicably intertwined with the rebellious teen Cain Mathews and the conflicted Wesley Thayer as they search the vast Wisconsin woodlands for a mystical albino deer herd.

An ominous curse, a mysterious fog and villainous poachers plague their journeys as the three struggle to come to terms with their lives, their parents and the wilderness they love.

Ghosts of Manitowish Waters is a coming of age story about finding your own path and following it. It’s a lesson in knowing when to obey your parents and when to have the courage to defy them.

Buy Ghosts of Manitowish Waters:

Paperback * Kindle

Excerpt:

The hand covering Tess’s mouth loosened, and she turned on her attacker wild eyed and ready for a fight. Their faces were now just inches apart, her green eyes locked intently on his hazel ones. He held one finger to his mouth and whispered, “Tess, shhhhh.”
She gulped, the fight instantly draining from her body. He knew her name? How did he know her name?
He motioned for her to follow him. She did so quietly and without hesitating, and soon the two were crouched side by side behind a group of mossy boulders hidden among the blackened, twisted trees and the brushy growth surrounding them.
Tess turned to look at his chiseled profile, the square jaw, the rugged nose. His dark brown hair was slightly greasy and hung in scruffy layered waves down to his chin. The shortest pieces hit just under his eyes. The way those pieces frame his hazel eyes… Tess drifted into a dreamy daze, then quickly snapped herself out of it. Get a grip, she scolded. But that was difficult to do because Cain Mathews knew who she was. How was that possible? she wondered. Tess was a freshman and a nobody at Northwoods High School. The campus drew from towns across the county and had more than 1,500 students, so it just wasn’t possible that he knew her by name. He was a junior. And he wasn’t just any junior, she reminded herself. Cain Mathews was one of those bad boys; half Ojibwe Indian, he was a loner so aloof that he was the constant topic of gossip. Yet, here she was with him at her side. Tess’s mouth felt dry, and she had to swallow hard before speaking.

“What’s going on?” she partly croaked, partly whispered, then laughed nervously. “You scared me.”
He nodded toward where the animal had fallen. “Poachers,” he whispered.
Her cheeks flushed red. In less than two minutes she had forgotten all about the strange creature lying just a few yards away. “Whaa whaa what is it?” Tess stammered, took a quick breath, and then asked, “Is it a deer? From what I saw, it looked like a deer.”
Cain nodded.
“Will it live?”
He shook his head. “No, it’s likely dead already. Hit just above the heart.”
“What’s wrong with it?” she asked, then rolled her eyes at the stupidity of the question. “I mean besides being shot,” she quickly explained. “Its hoofs, they’re pink.”
“It’s a woods ghost,” Cain stated matter of fact, then turned to her and saw the puzzlement in her face. “An albino deer. Very rare and very sacred.” He put his hand on the back of her head and gently pushed. “Stay down and stay quiet.

They’re coming.”

Tess crouched lower and waited, scanning the clearing for whoever was about to enter. The steady lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub of her beating heart vibrated through her body. Her ears pounded. Her skin prickled. Then, with one quick inhale, everything stopped. Tess held her breath as a small, ghostly figure emerged timidly from the woods. The small, white fawn stood out sharply against the blackened trees. It was so fragile, so vulnerable looking that Tess immediately began to rise. A hand firmly gripped her arm and forced her back down.
“But…” she whined, pulling slightly against the hand holding her. She looked down at Cain’s hand, then turned her gaze upward. Tess saw fear flicker across his face. He never looked directly at her, just shook his head no as he watched the fawn. Tension emanated from him. She looked down at his hand again and felt the grip loosen, but the hand did not leave her arm.
The two teens watched the albino fawn creep across the meadow on spindly legs. Its large, pink ears twitched back and forth as its pink nose lifted in the air. It came to an abrupt stop, then pranced almost playfully on pink hooves to where the doe had fallen. Tess couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She had lived near Spooner her whole life and had never seen an albino deer, had only heard stories. Now, within twenty minutes, she had seen two of the mystical creatures. Unbelievable.
The fawn’s head went to the ground, lost in the underbrush for a moment. The head came up and went back down as the animal slowly circled the slain doe. Tess squirmed as the baby let out a series of mournful bleats. The hand on her arm tightened. She turned to plead with Cain but saw he was no longer watching the fawn. She followed his gaze across the meadow to where a short, fat man stood, shotgun raised. Her stomach lurched when suddenly a second man rushed out of the woods and hit the shooter’s arm. Tess bit back a scream as a shot rang out.

********

About the Author: G. M. Moore is a former newspaper writer, editor and columnist. She currently works as a G.M. Mooremagazine art director and writes fiction as a hobby. The author grew up battling game fish and exploring the lakes of northern Wisconsin, and uses that state’s enchanting wilderness as her muse. During the summer months, you can still find the Chicago-area author “up north” and out on the lake.

“Ghosts of Manitowish Waters,” the author’s first young adult book, is set for release Sept. 19, 2014. Moore is also the author of a middle grade action-adventure series. The Up North Adventure series includes, “Muskie Attack” (Book 1), “Ancient Elk Hunt” (Book 2) and “Snakehead Invasion” (Book 3).

Moore was inspired to write her first book, “Muskie Attack”, by her then 9-year-old nephew who, in a literary world filled with fantasy, was struggling to find books that appealed to his outdoor interests and adventurous spirit.

When not writing, Moore can be found walking her dog, Piper, or feeding the fish, birds and flying squirrels in her Snow White-like backyard.

Connect with G.M.:

Amazon Page * Twitter * Facebook * Goodreads

Interview with Norma Jean Lutz–Author of Flower in the Hills

YAPC would like to welcome Norma Jean Lutz to the blog today. She is here to answer some of our questions and tell us about herself and her book Flower in the Hills. If this books looks like something you would like to read please use the links to get a copy and check it out!

About Flower in the Hills:

YAPC:  Tell us about your new release.

Norma Jean: What Latina Harmen views as an upcoming summer of total disaster, transforms into a magical summer of self discovery.

Spending the summer in an old farmhouse outside a small town in the Missouri Ozarks instead of at the beach? The summer before her senior year? What could her parents have been thinking?

How could Latina have guessed the beauty that lay waiting for her in those brooding hills? How was she to know she would meet fascinating people, and that she would learn more about herself than she’d ever known?

How was she to know she would meet a special someone whose friendship and support would change her life forever?

About the Author 

YAPC:  Tell me a little about yourself (combines 7,8,9…).

Norma Jean: Writing has been my life-long career. The writing has taken various forms such as ghostwriting, writing on assignment, business writing, and of course – the many books I’ve authored under my own name.

My career was launched when I was a young stay-at-home mom (now I’m a grandmother), and I dared to enroll in a writing correspondence course. Before that course was completed, I had sold several magazine articles. After spending a number of years in that genre, I at last graduated into full-length novels.

I can never remember a time when I didn’t long to be a published author. That passion has never diminished through all these years. I have to write like I have to breathe. I have gone through periods of time when I tried other occupations (in order to support my writing habit), but I was miserable and always came back to writing.

For the past five or six years, I have balanced my time between my own writing, and working as a freelance writer. This has worked better for me than anything I had tried previously. And – all thanks to technology – it’s so much easier now to freelance from home. I enjoy interacting with clients from across the country and around the world.

I feel privileged to have had a long writing career with many published books to my credit. And now I’ve become an indie author. I’m bringing out my past young adult novels, publishing them online, and introducing them to a whole new generation of readers.

I have a passion for teens. As a sponsor for the youth group at my local church, I have the opportunity to hang out with teens on a regular basis.

Writing Questions

YAPC:  What’s the hardest part about writing a book?

Norma Jean: I used to say the hardest part about writing a book was getting published. And that was the truth. It was pure agony. But now that I self-publish, that “hardest part” has been removed. And I’m overjoyed.

Taking a more serious tack, all of writing is hard. It’s darn hard work. But, to my way of thinking, that’s not a bad thing. I love every minute of developing a story, even when the path is not always smooth, and the way to the conclusion is not always clear. I am addicted to story – and to storytelling.

Inspiration or Idea Generation

YAPC:  Where do you get your inspiration?

Norma Jean: I derive inspiration to write from almost everything in life – people I meet, stories I hear, things I see, circumstances I experience, books I read, sermons I hear. Everything around me makes me want to write about it. My dilemma is never a lack of inspiration; but rather enough time to channel all the scattered lightning bolts of inspiration into a structured, workable plot.

I have always taught my writing students that writing is 90% perspiration and 10% inspiration. In other words, putting too much emphasis on the need for inspiration can be detrimental to a productive writing life. It’s crucial that a serious novelist discipline self to write, regardless of the presence of inspiration, or the lack thereof.

Reading / Author

YAPC:  Which genres do you prefer to read?

Norma Jean: Because my chosen writing genre is Young Adult (coming of age), that’s primarily where I focus my reading. I’m not embarrassed to check them out of the library by the armloads, to be seen reading them in the doctor’s office, on a plane, or wherever. This doesn’t mean I never read adult novels, because I do. Especially literary authors such as Carrie Brown, Ernest J. Gaines, Ann Patchett, and others. But as a rule I read teen novels – to the tune of two or three a month.

Contact

YAPC:  Where can fans find your books?

Norma Jean: All of my older titles are on Amazon and Goodreads. (Just run an author name search.)

The newly released titles in the Norma Jean Lutz Classic Collection are at the present time on Create Space (https://www.createspace.com/4814047) and Amazon http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00H4H0RDW/). 

Fun Question

YAPC:  Have you ever Googled yourself?

Norma Jean: I have Googled myself. The first time I did was about four years ago, and I nearly passed out from shock. I had no idea that I was all over the Internet. What fun! Having been in the writing/publishing industry for as long as I have, I believe, brings all of this into a more vivid perspective. I can remember a time when authors would have given anything to have had that kind of exposure at their fingertips without paying thousands of dollars for it. And now here it is.

To say I’m enjoying this age of technology would be a vast understatement.

Future Works

YAPC:  How many more books can we expect in this series?

Norma Jean: The Norma Jean Lutz Classic Collectionis a collection of teen novels that I authored in the 1990s. I set about requesting that all rights be reverted into my name (a task that took several months) so that I could then publish them under my own auspices and present them to an entirely new audience. Quite an adventure.

When the collection is complete it will contain six titles – the first of which is Flower in the Hills.

 

Book Description:

Flower in the HillsLatina Harmen knew she was going to hate Missouri. “There’s nothing in Missouri!”
she had told her father when he announced they were to spend the summer there.
And now she knew she had been one hundred and ten percent right.

Latina had taken for granted that she would be spending another happy summer
vacation with her friends at Periwinkle Cove on the East Coast. After all, her family
had spent summers there as long as she could remember.

Now, in the summer before her senior year, she would be stuck in a hick town with
no one around but her boring parents and bratty younger brother.

How could she have guessed the beauty that lay waiting for her in those brooding
hills? How was she to know she would meet fascinating people, and that she would
learn more about herself than she’d ever known?

How was she to know she would meet a special someone whose friendship and
support would change her life forever?

Buy Flower in the Hills:

CreateSpace * Amazon

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Latina Harmen knew she was going to hate Missouri. “There’s nothing in Missouri!” she had told her father when he announced they were to spend the summer there. And now she knew she’d been one hundred and ten percent right.
 

The Harmen’s family car lurched and swayed around each sharp hairpin curve deep in the green-black Ozark Mountains. As the dense stands of trees flew by, Latina had been watching the curving roads and valleys directly beneath the road they were on. But now she was unable to look out the window at all.
 

The usually sweet fragrance of her father’s pipe was making her feel sick. She pressed her forehead against the cool window and squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t have motion sickness. Latina, the girl who fearlessly rode the wildest rides at the oceanfront park in Periwinkle Cove each and every summer? Impossible.
 

Her thirteen-year-old brother, Dirk, had finally stopped his nerve-shattering habit of snapping the little rubber bands on his braces and was now gazing out his window at the panoramic view, offering a few intelligent comments such as, “Wow!” and “Gee whiz, would you look at that.”
 

His very excitement over this desolate place was more than enough to nauseate Latina even without the constant, unending rocking of the car.
 

She clenched her teeth in a determined effort not to be sick in the car like a little kid. As she did, a soft uncontrollable moan escaped her lips.
 

Dirk turned to look at her. “Hey Mom! Latina’s making like Casper the Ghost.”
In a sort of haze, she heard her mother saying to her father, “Oh, Ross! She’s car sick. How much farther?”
 

“We turn off the main highway about five miles up ahead, but then it’s seven more miles to Zell’s Bush.”
 

Her mother looked around at her again, her face filled with concern. “Think you can hold on that long, Latina?”
 

Latina nodded without unclenching her teeth. The hamburger she’d had for lunch felt as it were hanging somewhere in the halfway spot of her esophagus.
 

Zell’s Bush. Even the name of the town to which they were headed was revolting. Every new lurch of the car took her farther and farther from the beach at Periwinkle Cove. And from Kent Starner.
 

As far as she could see out across the valleys, there were hills of deep green pine, which looked almost black – black and ominous. It seemed like an eternity before they turned a tight little curve on the dusty back road and saw a huddle of buildings sitting just past a sign announcing: Zell’s Bush. POP 381.
 

Her father parked the car, jumped out, and took long strides up the wooden step to the high porch of a store whose faded sign read Boles’ Grocery. Within minutes he called out to his wife to bring Latina inside.
 

When Latina thought back to it later, there wasn’t much she could remember about being led into the back living quarters of the dusty old store. Her stomach was kinked in little knots and her hair felt pasted to her head.
 

An old bathtub stood upon four quaint claw legs and the pipes came out of holes in the wooden floor to the faucets. She recalled sitting on the edge of that old tub while her mother held a cold cloth to her burning forehead. Voices coming from the store drifted back to them as Latina sat there attempting to regain her composure after having lost all her lunch.
 

She heard an older man saying, “I’m Orville Boles, and this here’s my wife, Maude. You folks heading for the Nettle ton place?”
 

“No,” she could hear her father explain in his patient professor voice. “We’re looking for the farm that Professor Kirkland owns. He’s a friend of mine. He’s in Europe for the summer, so we’re renting it.”
 

“Yep. That there’s the one. It’s the Nettleton place. The Nettletons owned it nigh on to fifty years.”
 

When Latina emerged from the back room with her mother, Mr. Boles was drawing her father a map on a brown paper bag that showed how to get to the farm. Thin, frail Maude Boles smiled at her sympathetically and made a tsking sound through her dentures. Latina looked away, wishing someone would offer her a place to sit down.
 

It wasn’t until that very moment that she noticed the young man sitting in a straight-backed chair tipped against the wall next to the pop cooler. His arms were folded across his broad chest and his long legs allowed his feet to remain flat on the floor. A shock of sandy curls lay across his forehead and his dancing blue eyes were laughing at her.
 

“Let’s go back to the car, Mom,” she whispered as her hand flew to her mussed and matted hair.
 

“We can wait till you’re feeling a little better,” her mother suggested. “No need to hurry now. We’re almost there.”
 

A few minutes earlier, Latina had never wanted to ride in a car ever again, but now she said. “Let’s go to the car now, Mother. Please!”
 

She couldn’t bear those laughing eyes on her another second.
 

The screen door was held by a snaky-looking long black spring that made the door bang shut as they went out.
 

Her father and Dirk followed shortly, chattering about their first glimpse of Zell’s Bush. “Paulie,” the professor said, “did you ever see the likes of that store? Just like a scene from Ma and Pa Kettle wasn’t it?”
 

“Somewhat, I suppose.” Her mother’s voice was non committal.
 

“That tall guy was really cool,” Dirk was saying in his usual breathless way. “Did you see the muscles on that dude? What’d they say his name was, Dad?”
 

“Clouse. Tully Clouse, I think. They drawl their words so that I can barely make out what they’re saying.”
 

Clouse! Latina seethed inwardly. Should have been Louse. That clod, who looked like he was wearing his little brother’s jeans, had laughed at her! As if coming to this miserable place and then getting sick weren’t degrading enough, that hillbilly had had the audacity to laugh at her.
 

Gray clouds gathered in the sky as they traveled the winding road from Boles’ Grocery to the farm. Twice, their car bumped over metal bridges that rattled beneath them in protest. Her mother remarked that the road must wind and turn more than the streams did.
Latina mutely agreed.
 

The fact that the two-story farmhouse was in better repair than Latina thought it might be did nothing to cheer her. It was nothing in comparison to their charming cottage at the cove on the East Coast where they had stayed every summer for as long as she could remember.
 

A few drops of rain had begun to fall as her father brought the last of their luggage into the cavernous house. After the long tedious hours traveling from their home in Eagleton, Ohio, Dirk now exploded into a missile, shooting from room to room. His insatiable curiosity about the big old house made it impossible for their father to get any help out of him.
 

Dirk reported that there were four humongous bedrooms upstairs and immediately staked his claim on the southeast room that overlooked the meandering driveway and the expanse of the valley. He wanted to see the sun come up, the announced to all who would listen as he leaned precariously over the balcony railing at the head of the stairs.
 

The musty smells of the old house – which had recently been opened up and aired out by one of the local women – didn’t do much for Latina’s queasy stomach.
 

“As soon as I locate the teakettle, Latina,” her mother said as they carried boxes into the kitchen, “I’ll heat you some soup and make a cup of tea.”
 

Latina set the box she was carrying on the kitchen table which was spread with a worn, flower-print oilcloth. She watched as her mother gazed about the room. “This place smells like my Grandma’s old farmhouse.”
 

The statement surprised Latina. She hadn’t heard her mother speak much about her family, all of whom had lived in Kansas and had long since passed away before Latina was born.
 

The air in the house was cool and clammy. As soon as Latina located the right suitcase, she pulled out her bulky blue cardigan and slipped its warmth over her bare arms. She then grabbed her transistor radio from the same suitcase and tuned in her favorite music to chase the formidable silence out of the house.

*****

About the Author: Norma Jean Lutz’s writing career began when she enrolled in a writing correspondence course.Norma Jean Lutz Since then, she has had over 250 short stories and articles published in both secular and Christian publications. The full-time writer is also the author of over 50 published books under her own name and many ghostwritten books. Her books have been favorably reviewed in Affair de Coeur, Coffee Time Romance, Romance Reader at Heart, and The Romance Studio magazines, and her short fiction has garnered a number of first prizes in local writing contests.

Norma Jean is the founder of the Professionalism In Writing School, which was held annually in Tulsa for fourteen years. This writers’ conference, which closed its doors in 1996, gave many writers their start in the publishing world.

A gifted teacher, Norma Jean has taught a variety of writing courses at local colleges and community schools, and is a frequent speaker at writers’ seminars around the country. For eight years, she taught on staff for the Institute of Children’s Literature. She has served as artist-in-residence at grade schools, and for two years taught a staff development workshop for language arts teachers in schools in Northeastern Oklahoma.

As co-host for the Tulsa KNYD Road Show, she shared the microphone with Kim Spence to present the Road Show Book Club, a feature presented by the station for more than a year. She has also appeared in numerous interviews on KDOR-TV.

Presently (in addition to her own writing endeavors) Norma Jean is actively reaching out to other writers via the Internet and social media.

Connect with Norma Jean:

Website * Pinterest * Facebook * Goodreads * YouTube * Twitter

Book Promo Feature–Waiting for the Voo by Dean Ammerman

Waiting for the Voo

YAPC would like to welcome Dean Ammerman to the blog today. He is here to share some info about his book Waiting for the Voo. If this looks like something you would enjoy, please go pick up a copy or two! Book Description: “Waiting for the Voo” is … [Continue reading]

Book Promo Feature–Who We Were by Christy Sloat

Who We Were

YAPC would like to welcome Christy Sloat to the blog today. She is here to share some info about her book Who We Were. Today is release day! So, if you think this is something you would like to read, go pick up a copy! Content Warning: Due to … [Continue reading]

Book Promo Feature–Out of Time by Donna Marie Oldfield

Out of Time

YAPC would like to welcome Donna Marie Oldfield to the blog today. She will be sharing some info about her book Out of Time. If this looks like something you would enjoy please go pick up a copy or two! Book Description: Scarlett Shortt is just an … [Continue reading]

Book Promo Feature–Deceived by L.A. Starkey

Deceived

YAPC would like to welcome L.A. Starkey to the blog today. She is here to share some info about her debut novel Deceived which is the first book of the Soul Keeper Series. If this looks like something that you would enjoy reading, please go pick up a … [Continue reading]

Interview with Anna Scanlon–Author of Unraveled and Children of the Most High

unravelled

YAPC would like to welcome Anna Scanlon to the blog today. She is here to interview with us and to share some info about a couple of her books: Unravelled and Children of the Most High. If these look like something you would enjoy reading, please go … [Continue reading]

Interview with Samantha Vervoordt–Author of Mutant

Mutant

YAPC would like to welcome Samantha Vervoordt to the blog today. She is here interview with us and to share some info about her book Mutant. If this looks like something you would enjoy reading please go get a few copies! YAPC: Try to describe … [Continue reading]

Book Promo Feature–Failblog by Sheila Scobba Banning

failblog

YAPC would like to welcome back Sheila Scobba Banning to the blog today. She is here to share some information about her book Failblog. If this looks like something you would enjoy reading, please go pick up a copy! Book Description: If you were … [Continue reading]

Book Promo Feature–The Wordsmith by Sheila Scobba Banning

The Wordsmith

YAPC would like to welcome Sheila Scobba Banning to the blog today. She is here to share some information about her book The Wordsmith. If this looks like something you would enjoy reading, please go pick up a copy! Book Description: The Wordsmith … [Continue reading]