This is an odd day for me.

When I wrote the first words of what would become my debut novel, Life, A.D., I clicked on the little calendar that hangs out on my taskbar, looked ahead a couple of years, and chose April 13^th, 2013. And here it is.

I don’t remember exactly why I zeroed in on this particular date, but it must have been a combination of factors.

For one, spring is underway, in its early, tantalizing state with the promise of warm days to come. It’s a time of renewal and rebirth, a vivid backdrop for what I had planned.

Another factor must have been its close proximity to the end of the school year. For graduating seniors, it’s a time when everything is finally coming together. Adulthood lies just ahead; college, independence, the future you’ve been planning—it’s all there on the near horizon.

For my protagonist, Dez Donnelly, today is the day that changes everything.

It’s the day she dies.

I recently visited the remote stretch of road, not far from my house, where the scene has always played out in my mind. I stopped the car, got out, and took some photos. I crouched down on the shoulder of the road and put my hand to the ground, letting the cold seep into my fingers. And I thought of Dez.

It was quiet, remote, and lonely. There was not another car or person to be seen. But for the birds in the trees, I was completely alone, just as she was while life slipped from her grasp. I thought about how those final moments must have been for her. In my mind I was torn between thoughts of she isn’t even a real person, and sorrow.

That same day, still a bit shaken by this odd experience, I sent the photo to my publisher with the title RIP Dez. She replied quickly, expressing how sad it made her. We were both surprised by our reaction to the photo, and to my experience.

It’s funny how this young woman, a creation of my imagination, could take up residence in our hearts like she has.

So today I think of her, as I never really had before. This semi-randomly chosen date has arrived, and Dez has an incredible journey ahead of her.

My publisher, Month9Books, has given their kind permission for me to share this exclusive sneak-peek of my debut novel, Life, A.D., coming December 2013.

The world around me is fuzzy.

I’m lying on the ground, and my face is wet. I blink. Drawing in a shot of frigid air, I shudder at the sensation of a million needles in my throat. Pain sets fire to my leg, and shoots up my spine. My left arm is numb, useless. And my right arm is—gone? Mangled?

I don’t know.

Don’t panic. The fear grows and festers, running toxic through my bloodstream like a virus.

My breath comes in short, desperate gasps, which grow strained with each inhalation. The drumbeat rhythm of my heart pounds against my chest, sending mini-shockwaves to my fingers and toes.

A gentle breeze kisses my cheek, turning my thoughts to Aaron.

I jerk my head off the ground. A scream escapes my lips as burning pain engulfs my every molecule. I fight to move. My unresponsive limbs refuse to help me shift position.

I need help.

Thoughts drift through my mind, pulling me in a thousand directions. Panic steals my concentration and threatens to drag me away. I cry out, fighting against hopelessness. My own distant echo bouncing back at me is the only reply.

Blackness creeps into the edges of my vision, sending my labored breathing into overdrive.

I’m going to die here.

“Somebody, please…” I gag on blood and saliva. My voice is unrecognizable, deep and gurgling.

Where am I?

I lift my head again, fighting against the pain and panic in a frantic effort to get my bearings. I’m lying on the side of the road by a forest. Only the tiniest of buds peek from the trees and shrubs, and after staring at them for a bit, I swear I can see them shiver. I, too, tremble, cold and shaken.

A chickadee sings out its springtime call from a nearby tree, whistling “sweet weather,” and waiting for a reply. A crunch of snow from the nearby forest signals a passing animal, its footfalls soft, cautious.

Frost is still rooted in the ground, and the sky refuses to allow sunshine through the thick layer of haze above. There is a freshness to the air. Renewal, is it? That must be what people mean when they say “it smells like spring.”

The deserted stretch of highway offers little hope; the animals and forest the only witnesses as life slips from my grasp.

No one is coming.

The black advances. My vision retreats. I’m getting colder, the numbness spreading down my body from my arms.

The sound of my ringtone snaps me back to reality. Where’s my phone? My teeth clench in agony. I manage to turn my head.

How did I get here?

The phone is well out of reach—ten feet or so away, ringing despite being under the crumpled remains of the overturned car. What’s left of my mangled right arm flops into view. My mind retreats, resisting the image—twisted, bloodied, the flesh ripped from the visible bones of my forearm.

My outstretched fingers refuse to budge, even to escape the slow-motion pool of red creeping toward them.

My ragged breathing accelerates, my heart races, and I do something I’ve never done before: I pray.

Stay calm.

Survive.

The sound of a distant whistle breaks through my raspy, disjointed plea for mercy, for life.

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 Today, I’m test-running a new piece, one which may or may not work as a regular thing, as it is dependent on the cooperation of a child. So…we’ll see how it goes. The idea came to me yesterday as I was driving my just-turned-five-year-old home from school. We began to make up a story together, and I thought it would be fun to blog our results. When we got home, we sat down to hash out our tale. He did most of the storytelling, and proved to have great resolve in the tone and theme of the story he wanted to tell. What follows is the results of our collaboration. I have changed his name and “kingdom” to preserve his privacy. Our story begins:

Once upon a time in the Kingdom of Wisconsin there lived a young prince named James. James spent his days adventuring with his trusty dog, Sully.

One sunny day while out on a particularly grand adventure, James and Sully came upon a bridge crossing a roaring river. The bridge was made of polished wood from the tallest Chocolate Tree in all the land. It smelled delicious.

Just as our hero James and his dog Sully were about to cross the bridge, they heard a mighty roar. The ground shook. James and Sully spotted an enormous dragon on the other side of the bridge. The dragon was a deep, shimmering green with red polka dots.

His booming voice called out, “Who dares cross my chocolate bridge?”

“It is I, Prince James of the Kingdom of Wisconsin!” James said boldly.

“Woof!” said Sully.

The dragon charged across the bridge toward the fearless duo. James raised his fist, and with the dragon’s breath hot on his face, he bopped the dragon on the nose.

“Woof!” said Sully.

The dragon reared back on his hind legs and drew in a deep breath. With all his might, he breathed a fiery breath upon the prince and his dog. But instead of fire, the dragon breathed jellybeans! The sweet beans piled high on the ground, covering James and Sully’s feet.

James reached into the pile and grabbed a strawberry jellybean—his favorite! He ate the jellybean, and the dragon began to cry.

“Cheer up!” said James. “Have a jellybean! There are plenty.” James took a handful of the jellybeans and offered them to the dragon.

The dragon wiped away his tears and smiled. “For me?” he said. “Nobody has ever shared jellybeans with me before.” The dragon smiled and ate the jellybeans.

“Woof!” said Sully.

And the duo became a trio. James, Sully, and their new friend the dragon lived out their days sharing many adventures together.

THE END

You can find me on Twitter: @Michelle_E_Reed

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I look forward to chatting with you on Wednesday!

And here it is!

I’d love to hear your thoughts!

How was your summer? Your autumn? Was the holiday season resplendent?

Yeah, I’ve been gone a while. A long while.

This publishing process has taught me many things. Chief among them, I’ve learned that publishing is very time consuming, and I am less good at multitasking than I had believed. Having two deadlines to contend with (a short story for an anthology, and the rewrites for Life, A.D.) while being a stay at home mom has been far more challenging than I’d ever imagined. So that’s my excuse. Pretty good, right? I mean, I’d accept that as a proper excuse.

Now that things have settled a bit, I hope to get back to regular blogging.

And on to exciting news- my cover has been revealed in this amazing video from my publisher, Month9Books. Please click the link below and check it out! I’d love to hear what you think, and I would super-duper love for you to share the video.

Meet Month9Books

Yeah.

Totally not my fault. Have you ever tried to put together the LEGO Super Heroes Batmobile and the Two-Face Chase set? Well, now I have. All 531 pieces of it. And there went my Wednesday.

So, while my son is learning the finer points of bank heists (apparently, exterior walls of banks just pull right off. Seems very lifelike. And, no worries, the security guard only has a walkie-talkie, so it’s not like he’s going to stop you. Batman, on the other hand…) I can get to this week’s review.

Anyway, today is another entry in my weekly installment of Way-Back Wednesdays (or Throwback Thursdays, if a certain someone’s Wednesday was consumed with tiny plastic bricks), in which I am making my way through a box I was recently given, filled with books from my childhood bedroom. I’ve been utilizing the scientific selection process known as closing my eyes and grabbing a book.

This week, I will delve into what was my greatest childhood passion, and something I miss greatly. As a kid, I was horse crazy (and I don’t mean, “Ooh, I want a pony,” crazy, I mean hardcore fanatic—like a Twilight fan in the photo line at ComicCon. Cray-zay.). I took riding lessons from age ten until I left for college, and had a beautiful American Quarter Horse whose name was Cyclone. Sadly, I haven’t ridden in years, but it is something I hope to get back to.

My favorite book series as a kid was The Black Stallion. I had every book, and have read each a minimum of six times, I would guess. My grasp found The Black Stallion and Satan (oooh, sounds ominous!) for this week’s pick. It is the fifth book in Walter Farley’s classic series—the fourth in this storyline. And yes, I should probably read and review these in order, but I’m not so sure anyone is interested in reading a book by book review of the enitre series. And this is random. But there are a lot of these books in that box (yet quite a few of them are missing. Weird), so brace yourselves.

The Black Stallion series follows the life of Alexander (Alec) Ramsey, who as a boy in the 1940s survives a shipwreck and finds himself on a deserted island with a wild stallion he names the Black.

Not to be confused with Wyld Stallyns

Boy and horse are rescued, and Alec brings the Black home with him to live happily ever after, until a Sheikh Abu Ishak shows up to claim rightful ownership of the horse. The Black Stallion and Satan picks up after Alec has raised the Black’s first foal, Satan, who Ishak gives Alec as a sort of consolation for taking the Black back to Arabia.

Alec receives a letter from Ishak’s daughter, stating he had died after being thrown from the Black, and Alec had been bequeathed the animal. Alec and the Black are reunited, and just in time for the International Cup, a race featuring the top champion horses from around the world.

Owner, jockey, and college student, Alec is one busy dude, and must decide if he plans to race the Black again. Probably not a good idea, since the Black’s first and only race was a bit of a disaster. But the temptation is great, and Alec must wrestle with the idea, while maintaining his racing career and ownership duties, not to mention the looming school year.

This week’s read was nostalgia-city for me, and I must admit to totally loving it. The book was written in 1949 but still resonates with the horse-crazed today. At least, me. And that’s what matters, right?

RIGHT?

Ahem. Anyway, aside from a DDT reference (yeah, you may want to keep that stuff away from horses. And people. And anything that breathes, for that matter), these books are pretty timely. Yet they would never fly with today’s publishers, I’d bet. A middle grade(ish) series about a college student? Try selling that one. I mean, in book one he’s quite a bit younger, but the bulk of the series he’s college aged or older. Yet it totally works.

If you were ever a fan, go read these again. If you weren’t, they’re definitely worth a read. Get them for your kids, so they can be horse crazy, too. You’ll thank me. Horses rule.

In selecting titles for review, I’ve utilized the very scientific practice of closing my eyes, reaching in the box, and grabbing a book.

And now to this week’s selection:

Little Witch, by Anna Elizabeth Bennett.

This is a chapter book I recall reading quite a few times around age eight. The copyright is 1953, and it definitely reads that way—plenty of cigar smoking, calling females “sis,” and vaguely sexist, fear-inducing authority figures. This is a bit of an odd read, but still kind of fun.  And there’s plenty of nostalgia, as I do remember how much I liked it as a kid.

It is the story of a young girl, Minikin, who has the great misfortune of being the daughter of an ill-tempered witch. Madam Snickasee, aforementioned witch, goes out each night, gallivanting about on her broomstick and working her black magic, while poor Minikin (Minx, for short) is stuck at home making Black Spell Brew and trying to find a way to conjure up a fairy.

Story of my life.

Many of the neighborhood children have gone missing, having fallen victim to the sorcery of Madam Snickasee. Any child who dared cross her was turned into a flowerpot and stuck in her windowsill. And the flowers have faces, people. FACES.

See?

Fortunately for the children, Minx has taken it upon herself to tend to the botanical kids, making sure they get plenty of water and sunshine.

Madam Snickasee sleeps through the days (what is she doing at night?), not stirring from dawn to dusk. Yet, oddly, she is not a vampire. Not even a sparkly one.

Unsupervised, Minx decides it is best to enroll herself in school (because what kid wouldn’t, right?) and meets a new friend, who takes in the poor, unkempt, underfed child.

After several run-ins with various threatening adults—the head of the PTA, a private investigator, the school principal—things get a bit treacherous for poor Minx. That private investigator is getting mighty suspicious about those missing kids, and as it turns out, she could be jailed for practicing witchcraft! No mention of burning at the stake, so at least she’s got that going for her.

Fear not, dear reader. You will be relieved to know it all works out in the end. Madam Snickasee is turned into an anteater (no, really) while answering charges of witchcraft in a courtroom, and Minx finds out she is actually the daughter of a fairy. Win, win.

Oh, sorry. Should have posted spoiler warnings.

I hope you can forgive me.

Month9Books Blog

What, exactly, is Way-Back Wednesdays?

I’m so glad you asked.

Way-Back Wednesdays (not to be confused with Peabody’s WABAC Machine), is a new series in which I will be re-reading and reviewing books from my own collection. And it’s a very specific collection, at that. I will be limiting myself to the contents of a random box of books I was recently given from my childhood bedroom:

And there are some doozies in there. So prepare yourselves. There has been no cherry-picking on my part, no hiding the occasionally…umm…eclectic literary choices of my younger self. The USOC has monitored all box searching activity to assure the purity of the sport.

Just to show I’m being honest, here’s a book for the ages:

Today, however, I will begin with an absolute favorite of mine. In my house we have not one, but three copies of Norton Juster’s classic, The Phantom Tollbooth. In this box is a well-worn, and apparently STOLEN copy, belonging to my best friend. Sorry, Marsha. I will send it back, I promise!

My apologies for this ridiculously short review, but really, I can sum it up in one word: brilliant.

Our story begins with a boy named Milo, who is exceedingly bored with, well, everything. And that’s really all we know about him, but it works. Within the first few pages, Milo finds several boxes in his home, the contents of which are “ONE GENUINE TURNPIKE TOLLBOOTH” and an electric car. Milo decides to set aside his boredom and assemble the tollbooth and car, and in no time, he sets off on an adventure into a land of puns and wordplay.

Stuck in the Doldrums, he meets Tock the watchdog and they travel to Dictionopolis, where they are sent off to rescue the princesses, Rhyme and Reason. This is an adventure filled with clever puns and an ever fascinating play on words. Juster’s sharp wit leaps from every page, and Jules Feiffer’s fantastic illustrations only add to the overall appeal. It is such a brilliant combination, resulting in a perfect tale for the ages.

The overarching theme of finding magic in ordinary things is timeless, and this book, now more than fifty years old, is as appealing as ever.

I think one of the true tests of children’s literature is its ability to not only appeal to adults, but transport us back to childhood, sweeping us up with the same magic we felt as kids. This book does exactly that, and it’s one of the many reasons this will always be a favorite of mine.

If you’ve reached adulthood without having read this classic, you must go forth and consume it immediately. If it’s been years since you’ve had the pleasure of drinking in Juster’s words, go find that stolen copy you’re hiding in a box somewhere and read it!*

*And then return it, 25-30 years late.

I’m not so good at this, apparently. Keeping up my blog while working furiously on my sequel in anticipation of putting it aside once my first round of edits come in (less than a week!), while maintaining my stay-at-home-mom status? I’m tired just writing that. But it’s a happy tired. A grateful tired. Whew!

However,

I have been struck with a bolt of inspiration. Inspired by questions of “How long have you been a writer?” and “Have you always wanted to write?” I have a plan for a new weekly piece. I will be re-reading and then reviewing some of my favorite books from childhood. Some are classics, some are brilliant, some are silly, but I will (literally) be digging through boxes from my childhood bedroom, and whatever I find, I review.

Childhood is when it all starts, after all-that obsessive love of books, of getting lost in worlds that jump out from the written word. That’s where we foster the desire to try our own hand at such creation, and thus, I plan this homage to the books that made me want to write.

First up: perhaps my favorite of all, Norton Juster’s impossibly great The Phantom Tollbooth.

Look for my review next week. In the meantime, go forth and see the great happenings from my publisher, Month9Books! On today’s agenda, they continue their blog tour over at Once Upon A Twilight:

http://www.onceuponatwilight.com/