Mailbox Monday - February 24

Mailbox Monday is a meme started by Marcia of To Be Continued. Mailbox Monday is the gathering place for readers to share the books that came in their mailbox during the last week. It now has a permanent home at the Mailbox Monday blog.

Warning: Mailbox Monday can lead to envy, toppling TBR piles, and humongous wish lists.

What a busy week it was. The kids were on vacation last week. Actually, thanks to a snowstorm on February 13 and 14, they had two extra days of vacation. I think all of us were ready to get back to our schedules today. I didn't get a lot of reading done, but I did get a few surprises in my mailbox. The following three books came unsolicited from Chronicle Books:

When Bryce Billings says he will clobber Fish Finelli in the Captain Kidd Classic boat race, Fish has no choice but to accept the bet. But Fish’s 1970s Whaler with a broken motor is no match for Bryce’s new, top-of-the-line, 9.9-horsepower Viper—even if Fish, Roger, and T. J. can fix their measly 5-horsepower motor, it can’t compete with Bryce’s boat. With $9.63 between them, do the guys even have a chance at the Classic? A hilarious romp, filled with fun facts seamlessly integrated into the story, Fish Finelli informs as much as it entertains for perfect middle-grade reading.

Armani Curtis can think about only one thing: her tenth birthday. All her friends are coming to her party, her mama is making a big cake, and she has a good feeling about a certain wrapped box. Turning ten is a big deal to Armani. It means she’s older, wiser, more responsible. But when Hurricane Katrina hits the Lower Nines of New Orleans, Armani realizes that being ten means being brave, watching loved ones die, and mustering all her strength to help her family weather the storm. A powerful story of courage and survival, Upside Down in the Middle of Nowhere celebrates the miraculous power of hope and love in the face of the unthinkable.

As befits a future President of the United States of America, Maggie Mayfield has decided to write a memoir of the past year of her life. And what a banner year it’s been! During this period she’s Student of the Month on a regular basis, an official shareholder of Coca-Cola stock, and defending Science Fair champion. Most importantly, though, this is the year Maggie has to pull up her bootstraps (the family motto) and finally learn why her cool-dude dad is in a wheelchair, no matter how scary that is. Author Megan Jean Sovern, herself the daughter of a dad with multiple sclerosis, writes with the funny grace and assured prose of a new literary star.

A portion of the proceeds of the sale of this book will be donated to the National Multiple Sclerosis Society.

I also added to my free books list because these seemed too good to pass up. My daughter will probably want to read the first one.

Millions have already died, and thousands more are perishing daily. As a last ditch effort to preserve the human race, the government implements Project ELE. With the earth heating at rapid speeds, all remaining survivors are forced to turn to F.E.M.A. shelters to wait out ELE's wrath.

Fifteen-year-old Willow Mosby's life, as she knows it, ends the moment she walks through the shelter's door. Willow has to quickly adapt to the new challenges that shelter life demands, the least of which includes making new friends and working a full time job.

Soon after making an interesting discovery, Willow and her friends start exhibiting strange abilities. Seeking answers, they embark on a mission to find out what these new abilities mean and whether they are a gift or a curse.

This new adventure can send her world crashing down around her. The question is: Can Willow survive the fall?

From the authors of Night Marchers comes a new apocalyptic series with a paranormal twist.

The summer of 1984 was a golden time in America. From California, where gymnast Mary Lou Retton was winning Olympic gold, to Cape Cod, where explorer Barry Clifford was discovering pirate gold, the nation seemed obsessed with the precious metal. But for 15-year old Al, that obsession hits a little too close to home when he finds a code-filled notebook belonging to his missing father that may contain the ancient formula for turning lead to gold. Convinced that his father's sudden disappearance is connected to his secret experiments in alchemy, Al sets out to find the truth. He enlists the help of Cammie, a beautiful girl staying for the summer while her marine biologist father tracks a wayward manatee, and together they begin unraveling the mystery. But the closer they get to an answer, the closer they grow to each other, and as the end of summer draws nearer, Al wonders if they can break the code without breaking his heart.

Mike Wood is from Massachusetts, which influenced my decision to download this one. It's important to support local authors.

The popularity of homeschooling combined with concerns over the development of curriculum in public schools has encouraged me to find out more.

This book aims to provide parents and teachers a good resource to start when considering homeschooling. It outlines the benefits and downsides of homeschooling and it can be helpful for anyone who wants to learn the whole process of homeschooling from early childhood years through tertiary level. In addition to sample homeschooling curriculum, this book laid out essential learning processes and teaching methods that parents and teachers need to practice and observe when homeschooling.

A murder mystery that happens in a library. Talk about blending two of my favorite things.

A man is found murdered in the locked library in his home. Surveillance cameras show that no one other than the deceased entered the library. The deceased left a clue for the police, only they cannot figure out what the clue means.

What did you receive in your mailbox?

Guest Blogger: Lindsey Fairleigh and Lindsey Pogue, Author of After the Ending (Giveaway)

The Virus spread. Billions died. The Ending began. We may have survived the apocalypse, but the Virus changed us.

When people started getting sick, “they” thought it was just the flu. My roommate, my boyfriend, my family…they’re all gone now. I got sick too. I should have died with them—with the rest of the world—but I didn’t. I thought witnessing the human population almost disappear off the face of the earth was the craziest thing I’d ever experience. I was so wrong. My name is Dani O’Connor, I’m twenty-six-years-old, and I survived The Ending.

The Virus changed everything. The world I knew is gone, and life is backwards. We’ve all had to start over. I’ve been stripped of my home, my dreams…all that is me. I’m someone else now—broken and changed. Other survivors’ memories and emotions haunt me. They invade my mind until I can no longer separate them from my own. I won’t let them consume me. I can’t. My name is Zoe Cartwright, I’m twenty-six-years-old, and I survived The Ending.

We’ve been inseparable for most of our lives, and now our friendship is all we have left. The aftermath of the Virus has stranded us on opposite sides of the United States. Trusting strangers, making sacrifices, killing—we’ll do anything to reach one another. Fear and pain may be unavoidable, but we’re strong…we’re survivors. But to continue surviving in this unfamil-iar world plagued by Crazies and strange new abilities, we have to adapt. We have to evolve.

And more than anything, we have to find each other.

Purchase at Amazon!

“I’m lost in thought…brb” – Realizing that I’m “one of those creative types” and learning how to embrace it.

by Lindsey Pogue

Have you ever heard someone say, “Oh, he’s flakey, but it’s because he’s one of those artistic types”? I used to despise that saying because to me blaming anything on being the “artisitc type” is a cop out. Well, that’s until I realized I’m one of those. I’m generally always on time and never flake on commitments I’ve made, but I definitely have a different way of thinking and processing information that some people find irritating. It’s taken me a very long time to understand that there’s nothing wrong with me, I’m just different and I’m learning how to embrace it.

That pesky “Mind Chatter” thing.
Do you ever pull out of your driveway and fifteen minutes later you’re at work and don’t really remember the process of driving there? Are you ever in the middle of a conversation with someone and their answering a question you asked them, but you got distracted listening to your mind chatter and you didn’t hear a single word they said? Those types of things happen to me all the time and no matter how much I try to control my mind…it wanders.

As I’ve begun to listen to myself a bit more, I discovered what some of my creative quirks are and how to not only identify them but how to enhance them or use them to my advantage. I thought I’d share some of my insight with you...

Realization 1: I’m not nosey…I prefer to call it ‘observation for inspiration’.

My boyfriend says I’m nosey. In fact, he’s almost convinced me I have a problem a time or two…but I’ve learned that it’s nothing like that. I’m researching, you see? There’s a reason I have two shelves of my bookcase designated for my notebooks. I see something that inspires an idea—remember a crazy dream I had, witness a couple arguing, see a contented gleam in someone’s eye or goofy smile on someone’s face—I write it down for a rainy day.

“Pee (that’s what my boyfriend calls me), stop staring,” he says.
I shake my head and roll my eyes, knowing he’ll never understand.
“Every time you roll your eyes an angel loses its wings,” he says with a smirk.
I laugh at this because he’s been saying that same thing to me for over seven years, and I wonder how many angels I’ve left to aimlessly wander the earth. “I’m not staring,” I retort, pulling my notebook out quickly to jot down all my ideas before I forget them all completely.

I learned long ago that I can’t remember what I made for dinner two nights ago, let alone the dozens of ideas that sprout in my mind every single day that I think might be a good story premise or scene in a story I’m currently writing. I‘m not one of those people who has an endless plethora of ideas in their head just waiting to be plucked and expanded upon. No, I need inspiration...something to get my creative juices flowing, and recalling ideas in my notebooks helps me when I’m in dire straits.

Note to self: Write in complete sentences when you’re jotting down notes because you always say you’ll remember what you mean later, but you NEVER do.

Realization 2: I have Blinking Cursor Syndrome (BCS).

It’s one of the few designated writing days I get during the week, and I’m sitting out in the backyard, in the sunshine listening to the waterfall and staring at my computer screen as I plot and scheme what comes next in my Into The Fire chapters. I’ve been on a roll, my mind churning out one “brilliant” idea after another for days, and I finally have the time to sit down and write it all out. That is until BCS kicks in. Minutes go by before I even realize I’m just staring at the blinking cursor, hypnotized while the overabundance of thoughts turns into a congested clusterf*#k. I’ve been waiting all week for my writing time and then my mind fails me. Fantastic.

Note to self: When you’re lying in bed in the middle of night and you have a bunch of ideas clogging your dream pipes and you can’t get to sleep…stop doing a half-ass job of writing them down in the dark and get up and start writing. Who cares if you have to wake up for work in three hours? You’ll kick yourself if you don’t.

Realization 3: I need to step away from the edge.

As much as I’d like to, I can’t force my brain to do what I want it to—not to stop thinking, not to go to sleep, not to work when I want it to, not to remember anything I want it to…nothing. When all else fails me, getting out of my comfy office chair and getting out of the house is the only way to alleviate the mental blockage that makes me want to scream. As Morpheus would say, “Free your mind.”

I've always loved nature. It’s what keeps me grounded and sane no matter which one of life’s rollercoasters I find myself on. Whether it’s hiking with my man through the rolling foothills in the valley, going on road trips through the redwoods, or lying on the giant trampoline looking up at the swaying oak trees, being in nature does something magical to my brain. It soothes and distracts me. I love the smell of red dirt, dry oak leaves, and sunshine. Yes, I believe sunshine has a scent, especially when you combine the three things. Being in nature is both rejuvenating and enlightening, and it’s when I’m lost in its beauty and tranquility that I become inspired—when life’s answers come to me and I feel clarity within myself and in my writing.

Note to self: Nature is your muse…be out in Mother Nature more often, write, and be inspired!

As a result of my distracted nature, my frenzied thought process, the characteristics I’m learning about myself, and the tangents I always seem to find myself getting lost within, I’ve discovered one last thing…GET IT OUT. That’s why I started my blog “I’m Lost in Thought…brb”. It’s a place I can write, vent, get my inspirations down even if I’ll never put them in a story.. My blog is random, like I tend to be, but that’s the fun of it. I can write about whatever I want and it doesn’t have to fit within a certain character’s personality or a fit within a story arch…it just is because the feeling of inspiration keeps me confident and real and thoughtful. Who doesn’t want to be thoughtful? Although I often get frustrated with myself and how my mind works, I’m learning how to curb my quirky habits one by one by embracing and harnessing them to help me become a better writer. I just hope it’s working.

Lindsey Fairleigh lives her life with one foot in a book—as long as that book transports her to a magical world or bends the rules of science. Her novels, from post-apocalyptic to time travel and historical fantasy, always offer up a hearty dose of unreality, along with plenty of adventure and romance. When she’s not working on her next novel, Lindsey spends her time reading and trying out new recipes in the kitchen. She lives in the Napa Valley with her loving husband and confused cats. You can visit Lindsey’s blog at lindseyfairleigh.blogspot.com.

Lindsey Pogue has always been a little creative. As a child she established a bug hospital on her elementary school soccer field, compiled books of collages as a teenager, and as an adult, expresses herself through writing. Her novels are inspired by her observations of the world around her—whether she’s traveling, people watching, or hiking. When not plotting her next storyline or dreaming up new, brooding characters, Lindsey’s wrapped in blankets watching her favorite action flicks or going on road trips with her own leading man. You can visit Lindsey’s blog at lindseypogue.wordpress.com.



Enter for your chance to win one of two free copies of After the Ending: a printed version of the book (U.S.) and an electronic version (US and International). Please use the Rafflecopter form below. Good luck!


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Author Spotlight: The Things That Keep Us Here by Carla Buckley

How far would you go to protect your family?

Ann Brooks never thought she’d have to answer that question. Then she found her limits tested by a crisis no one could prevent. Now, as her neighborhood descends into panic, she must make tough choices to protect everyone she loves from a threat she cannot even see. In this chillingly urgent novel, Carla Buckley confronts us with the terrifying decisions we are forced to make when ordinary life changes overnight.

A year ago, Ann and Peter Brooks were just another unhappily married couple trying–and failing–to keep their relationship together while they raised two young daughters. Now the world around them is about to be shaken as Peter, a university researcher, comes to a startling realization: A virulent pandemic has made the terrible leap across the ocean to America’s heartland.

And it is killing fifty out of every hundred people it touches.

As their town goes into lockdown, Peter is forced to return home–with his beautiful graduate assistant. But the Brookses’ safe suburban world is no longer the refuge it once was. Food grows scarce, and neighbor turns against neighbor in grocery stores and at gas pumps. And then a winter storm strikes, and the community is left huddling in the dark.

Trapped inside the house she once called home, Ann Brooks must make life-or-death decisions in an environment where opening a door to a neighbor could threaten all the things she holds dear.

Carla Buckley’s poignant debut raises important questions to which there are no easy answers, in an emotionally riveting tale of one family facing unimaginable stress.

Read an Excerpt from The Things That Keep Us Here!

Prologue

It was quiet coming home from the funeral. Too quiet. Ann wished Peter would say something, but there was just the soft patter of rain and the wipers squeaking back and forth across the windshield. Even the radio was mute, reception having sizzled into static miles before.

As they crossed into Ohio, Ann turned around to see why Maddie hadn’t called it, and saw her seven-year-old had fallen asleep, her head tipped back and her lips parted, her book slipped halfway from her grasp. The first hour of their trip had been punctuated by Maddie asking every five minutes, Mom, what does this spell? Ann leaned back and teased the opened book from her daughter’s fingers, closed it and put it on the seat beside Maddie. Kate hunched in the opposite corner, a tangle of brown hair falling over her face and obscuring her features, the twin wires of her iPod coiling past her shoulders and into her lap.

Ann turned back around. “The girls are asleep.”

Peter nodded.

“Even Kate. I don’t know how she can possibly sleep with her music going.”

He made no reply.

“Do you know I caught her trying to sneak her iPod into the church? I don’t think giving her that was such a great idea.” When Peter remained silent, she went on. “It’s just one more way for her to tune everyone out.”

He shrugged. “She’s twelve. That’s what twelve-year-olds do.”

“I think it’s more than that, Peter.”

He said nothing, simply glanced into the rearview mirror and flicked on the turn signal, glided the minivan around the slowermoving vehicle in front of them.

It was an old argument and he wasn’t engaging. Still, there was something else lurking beneath his silence. She read it in his narrow focus on the highway and along the tightness of his jaw. “You all right?” Of course he wasn’t.

“Just tired. It was a long weekend.”

A long, horrible weekend. All those relatives crammed together in that small clapboard house, no air- conditioning, Peter’s mother wandering around, plaintively asking everyone where Jerry was.

“I’m glad your brother made it.”

“Yep.”

Not yes, or yeah. Yep. He never talked like that. He was throwing up warning signs, telling her to back off. But fourteen years of marriage made her plough straight through anyway. “Everything okay between you two?”

“Sure.”

So he wasn’t going to tell her. “Bonni said she saw you and Mike arguing.”

He glanced at her. So handsome her breath snagged for a moment. The strong, tanned planes of his face and the beautiful bluegreen of his eyes that Kate had inherited; now he looked drawn and older than his forty years. He returned his attention to the road. She wanted to cup her hand to his cheek, but he was sending out those keep-away signals.

She crossed her arms. “Mike doesn’t think it was an accident.”

“Mike doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“He has a point, though. It is strange your father wasn’t wearing blaze orange.”

“What are you suggesting, Ann? Suicide by hunter? Give me a break.”

She should have, but she couldn’t let it go. The questions piled up inside her, three days’ worth of strangers whispering, three days of Peter’s mother tugging at Ann’s sleeve. “Things have gotten so bad with your mom, Peter. I had no idea. This morning, she told Maddie that her parents must be looking for her and that she’d better run along home. You should have seen the hurt look on Maddie’s face.” Ann shook her head. “It just breaks my heart. We can’t leave her like this.”

“Bonni will check in on her.”

“Checking in’s not enough. She needs round-the-clock care.”

The rain had stopped. A watery sunshine glinted through the clouds.

Peter switched off the wipers. “I don’t want to talk about it. Especially not with the girls in the car.”

“You mean the girls who are sound asleep?”

“Ann.”

Maybe she was pushing too hard. She leaned her forehead against the window and watched a hawk spin circles high above. “You sure you need to go into the field tomorrow? Maybe one of your students can go in your place.”

“I’ve got no choice. Hunters are nervous enough right now without me sending in some twenty-year-old.”

“Because of the bird flu?”

“Exactly.”

“Do you think you’ll find anything?”

He shifted position. “Probably. But it’s not an isolated case that’s a problem.”

“It’s a cluster of cases.”

“Right.”

The hawk grew smaller and smaller, a smudged dot that eventually disappeared. No doubt to perch on a branch somewhere and watch for prey. “I forgot to tell you, things were so rushed Friday, but that interview came through.”

“At Maddie’s school?”

She nodded. “I go in next week to meet with the principal. I keep thinking, what if I don’t get the job? Then I think, what if I do?”

“You’ll be fine.”

“I haven’t worked in, God, twelve years.”

“How hard can it be?”

She flashed him an irritated look but he was staring straight ahead. “It’s not finger painting and Popsicle sticks, Peter.”

“I just meant I know you can do it.”

“It’s theory and history, too. What if I teach above their heads? What if they’re bored? What if Maddie hates me being her art teacher?”

“There must be some part of you that’s looking forward to it.”

Did she want to talk about this? “It’s the whole . . . thing. I’m not sure I can do it.”

“You mean, art in general?”

“Exactly.”

He heaved a sigh. She heard the impatience in it. “It’s been a long time,” he said.

Nine years. An eternity. A blink.

“Maybe you’re ready, Ann.”

“In other words, I should be ready.”

He lifted his hands briefly from the steering wheel. I give up. “Whatever.”

The hills undulated by, the woods fiery red and burnt orange. She caught glimpses of barns and houses set high and solitary. She wondered about the people who lived there, if they were lonely.

“It’d be good for you to go back to work,” Peter said. “A fresh start.”

She nodded, distracted. They needed the second income, what with two college tuitions coming up. And everything had gotten so frighteningly expensive, especially gas. It was costing as much to fill up the minivan as it was to take everyone out to dinner and the movies.

“Actually.” He cleared his throat. “We could both use a fresh start.”

She turned to him, worried by the strangeness in his voice. “Okay.”

“Not okay, Ann. It hasn’t been okay for a long time.”

“What does that mean? What are you talking about?” But she knew. This quiet autumn day had suddenly become strange, queered by intensity and the feeling that something terrible was about to happen.

“I think we need some time apart.”

She stared at his profile, speechless, feeling her heartbeat accelerate. He was suddenly a stranger to her. The seatbelt slid down her arm, she was skewed so sideways. “You don’t mean that.”

“I have to.”

“I thought we were doing okay. Not good, but . . . better.” Maybe this weekend had been the last straw. Was it just his father’s death? Or had he been thinking about this for a while? How could she not have known? How foolish she’d been, taking things for granted, being her clumsy, pushy self. She’d been too harsh about his father’s death. Maybe she should have been kinder, but she’d never really liked the man.

“Dad was sixty-two. Sixty-two.” Peter gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. “There were so many things he never got to do. So many things he put off. Going to Gettysburg. Seeing the Vietnam Memorial. Finishing that tree house for our girls. I stood there and watched them put his coffin into the ground.” He leaned back and let out a breath. “I don’t want to be that man. I don’t want to live like he did.”

She put her hand on his arm, felt the warmth of his skin. “But . . . you’re not.”

He shook his head. “I’m just like him, living in suspended animation, watching everything go past.”

“Is this some kind of midlife crisis?”

He glanced at her. “I wish it were, sweetheart.” His eyes were gentle. “Ever since the baby died–”

“Don’t,” she said, hearing her voice sharpen, and took her hand away. She’d never forget walking into the nursery. Seeing William silent and unmoving in his crib.

“We can’t even talk about it.”

“This isn’t talking about it. This is telling me to get over it.” She twisted to look back at the girls, saw that they were still fast asleep. He didn’t want to discuss his mother with them sleeping back there, but it was okay to talk about the one thing they struggled every day to get past? She felt a spark of anger at his indifference. “Which is all you’ve ever done.”

“That’s not fair. You won’t let me in to do anything else. It’s like you slammed all the doors shut and threw away the keys.”

“I’ve tried.”

“I know you have.” There was that horrible kind voice again. “I’ve tried, too. Don’t you think it’s time we both stopped trying, and started loving one another the way we used to?”

She stared at him. “But we can’t,” she said, helpless. “We’re not the same people.” They couldn’t be that man and that woman who happily fell in love at that insanely crowded party; they couldn’t be that naive twosome who thought finding each other was the hard part. She tried again. “We do love each other.”

“I know.”

He sounded so sad. She hated this. Couldn’t he understand she was doing the best she could? Couldn’t he be happy with the way things were now?

He slowed to take the exit toward Columbus. They passed a cluster of gas stations, then a series of strip malls.

“But Thanksgiving’s next week.” A stupid thing to say. Who cared about that? She clenched her fists in her lap. It wasn’t about Thanksgiving. It was deciding whether to go with his mom’s traditional stuffing or her mom’s walnut-apple. It was picking out the Christmas tree, loading the dishwasher, and bringing in the mail. It was waking up in the middle of the night, hearing the person breathing next to you. About knowing you weren’t alone.

“We both need to move on,” he said. “We can’t live like this, two people afraid to be real with one another. I love you. I’ll always love you.” His voice was low but relentless. “I’m just not in love with you anymore.”

She didn’t want to hear this. She sat back and stared numbly through the glass. This was one of those hideous things that happened to other people. The fabric of her life shredded just like that, all the truths she’d clung to now melted into nothing. Everything she was or thought she was, everything she thought they were, had vanished as though they’d never been.

Another house appeared, tucked among the golden trees by the roadside. Someone was there, crouched and working in a garden. A woman. Ann watched as she straightened, lifted a hand to shade her eyes to watch them shoot past, the four of them entombed in a blue minivan and hurtling toward the unknown.

Excerpted from The Things That Keep Us Here by Carla Buckley Copyright © 2010 by Carla Buckley. Excerpted by permission of Dell Publishing, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

Praise for The Things That Keep Us Here!

“In her debut, Carla Buckley provides a thought-provoking thriller that asks her readers who would they become if civilization somewhat vanished.” - Harriet Klausner, Alternative Worlds

“This apocalyptic novel is an absolute page turner…Highly recommended for anyone interested in realistic apocalyptic scenarios and for readers who like a bit of science as well as internal conflict in their reading.” – Shellie, Layers of Thought


Carla Buckley was born in Washington, D.C. She has worked in a variety of jobs, including a stint as an assistant press secretary for a U.S. senator, an analyst with the Smithsonian Institution, and a technical writer for a defense contractor. She currently lives in Ohio with her husband and children. The Things That Keep Us Here is her first novel. Bantam Dell will publish Buckley’s next novel in 2011. You can visit Carla Buckley’s website at www.CarlaBuckley.com.

You can visit Carla’s blog stops at www.virtualbooktours.wordpress.com during the month of February to find out more about this great book and talented author.