Saturday, March 28, 2015

Book Club Girl: Pick-Someone Else's Love Story: A Novel (P.S.) Paperback – August 5, 2014 by Joshilyn Jackson


At twenty-one, Shandi Pierce is juggling finishing college, raising her delightful three-year-old genius son Natty, and keeping the peace between her eternally warring, long-divorced Catholic mother and Jewish father. She’s got enough complications without getting caught in the middle of a stick-up in a gas station mini-mart and falling in love with a great wall of a man named William Ashe, who willingly steps between the armed robber and her son.

Shandi doesn’t know that her blond god Thor has his own complications. When he looked down the barrel of that gun he believed it was destiny: It’s been one year to the day since a tragic act of physics shattered his universe. But William doesn’t define destiny the way other people do. A brilliant geneticist who believes in science and numbers, destiny to him is about choice.

Now, he and Shandi are about to meet their so-called destinies head on, in a funny, charming, and poignant novel about science and miracles, secrets and truths, faith and forgiveness,; about a virgin birth, a sacrifice, and a resurrection; about falling in love, and learning that things aren’t always what they seem—or what we hope they will be. It’s a novel about discovering what we want and ultimately finding what we need.

Jackson has a way to draw you into a read from the first line. She writes such original and unsuspecting great stories. She takes her time fleshing out the characters and making them relate-able, engaging and unforgettable. She has twists, turns and ending that are both unexpected and satisfying. She writes well rounded novels. I feel that Jackson is among the best story tellers out there. Make sure to grab this novel. It is not only one you will devour, but it is a great pick for your book club! 4.5 star 

Showcase with review: The Adventures of Daring Dog by Charlotte Jerace

Brimming with comedy, inspiration, and valuable lessons of love.

Filled with delightful oddball characters and heroic escapades, The Adventures of Daring Dog is a magical and inspiring tale for children of all ages.
Ten-year-old Sam Harris experiences life from a wheelchair, which wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the Crabs gang always bullying him. After all, his dad is a brilliant inventor. Plus, his family has Archie, a life-size robot “housekeeper.” How many kids can say that?
But the best thing that ever happened to Sam started out with a very sad discovery: upon exiting the hospital, Sam and his dad find Daring, a bloodhound, lying lifeless in the parking lot. They rush the dog to eccentric vet Hannah Sunshine Trout and hope for a miracle.
Someone with a bit of fairy dust seems to be paying attention, because when Daring wakes up from surgery, she’s not only alive—she can fly!
But the crazy adventure has only just begun for Sam and his dog friend. They have lessons to learn, secrets to uncover, and people to save.
The Adventures of Daring Dog will keep readers laughing, while also reminding of love’s power to heal.
Adventure of Daring Dog

Author Bio:

Charlotte Jerace was born on the rockbound coast of Maine, where she fell in love with the ocean’s shifting beauty. Early in her professional career, she worked as a partner in a global benefits consulting firm, through which she received national recognition for her creativity and her writing. Her significant honors include a New York Film Festival award, the International Association of Business Communicators Gold Quill, and several Telly awards.
Before she began writing for children, Jerace published a short story, “Cannibals,” in Provincetown Arts Magazine, as well as an adult novel, Kentucky Rain. Now she shares her love of animals with young readers in her new book, The Adventures of Daring Dog.
Jerace divides her time between Cape Cod and South Florida, where she enjoys daily beach walks with her faithful dog, Stella, and is always on the lookout for whales.
Author Website: Charlotte Jerace

LOVE, LOVE, LOVE!!!!  There is magic in the pages of this book.  The story is so moving and touching...a boy in a wheelchair and his flying bloodhound dog!  The supporting cast of characters in this book bring the story to a whole new level!!!  It is a remarkable story about the power of overcoming obstacles and facing challenges. You instantly get swept into the magic and imagination of the story.  It is really something and I think kids of all ages (and their parents) would love this story.  There needs to be more of this series and I cannot wait to read it!!  4.5 stars

Q.  What inspires your writing?

A.  I'm inspired by the fantastic and the mundane.  If I hear an amazing story, I'm inspired to write my own.  If I am just sitting in a park watching someone reading a book, I'm inspired to write one that person might like to read.  Life in general, nature specifically, family, friends and pets all inspire me.

Q.  What is your favorite thing about being an writer?

A. I love a blank canvas.  I love being able to use my imagination to say "what if?"

Q.  What is the toughest part of being an writer?

A.  It is tough letting go when a project is finished.

Q.  If you could not be writer, what would you do/be?

A.  Several answers come to mind.  A lawyer, an actress, a tireless charity worker.

Q.  What would the story of your life be entitled?

A.  She lived,  she loved, she laughed, she cried and cherished every moment

Q.  What is your favorite book of all time?

A.  Anna Karenina

Q.  Which character from ANY book are you most like?

A.  Skeeter in "The Help"

Q.  What character from all of your book are you most like?

A.   Mrs. Cohen in "The Adventures of Daring Dog"

Q.  Which book would you love to take a weekend vacation inside of?

A. "Dr Zhivago"

Q.  What do you want to be remembered for 100 years from now?

A.  She was kind and fair and filled with love for all.

Q.  What is your favorite season?

A.  Summer

Q.  What inspired your book cover(s)?  Or what is your favorite book cover and why?

A.  My book cover is an exact interpretation of my story.  It took eleven rounds.

Q.  Tell me something funny that happened while on a book tour or while promoting your book.

A.  At a private reading in the home of a nutritionist who only eats raw, vegan, healthy, healthy, her 7-year old stuffed four frosted cupcakes in his mouth.

Q.  Are you working on something new?

A. Absolutely. I'm working on Daring Dog's next adventure.

Q.  Anything you want to say to followers of this blog or those that are just stopping by?

A. Yes.  Read to your children.  Snuggle up and take those precious moments together and read, read, read.  You will cherish the memories years from now.  And ... thanks for considering "The Adventures of Daring Dog".

Showcase with review: Dr. Critchlore's School for Minions: Book 1 By Sheila Grau, illustrated by Joe Sutphin

About the book
Welcome to Dr. Critchlore’s School for Minions, the premier trainer of minions for Evil Overlords everywhere. No student is prouder to be at Dr. Critchlore’s than Runt Higgins, a twelve-year-old werewolf. (At least he thinks he’s twelve. He was abandoned at the school as a baby, so he can’t say for sure.) Runt loves everything about Dr. Critchlore’s. He loves his classes—like History of Henchmen and Introduction to Explosives. He loves his friends—like Darthin the gargoyle and Syke the tree nymph. And he loves his foster family, who took him in when his wolf pack couldn’t.
            But not everyone loves Dr. Critchlore’s as much as Runt. After a series of disasters, each worse than the next, it’s clear that someone is trying to shut the school down. It’s up to Runt, who knows the place better than anybody, to figure out who’s behind the attacks . . . and to save his home, and Dr. Critchlore himself, from total destruction.

Praise for Dr. Critchlore’s School for Minions
“An Addams Family for a new generation, filled with bizarre, peculiar, and sometimes downright silly characters. Readers, whether evil or not, are going to love the imaginative world that is Dr. Critchlore’s.” —Michael Buckley, bestselling author of the NERDS and Sisters Grimm series

“Werewolves, minions, evil overlords, junior henchmen, AND terrifying girl explorers. Dr. Critchlore’s School for Minions has got it covered. Clever and funny. I laughed throughout!” —Andrea Beaty, author of Attack of the Fluffy Bunnies and the bestselling Rosie Revere, Engineer 

"Dr. Critchlore's School for Minions is one cool ghoul school, but behind the monstrous mayhem and creepy, comedic antics is a heartfelt theme of friendship. Evil Overlords need not force their minions to enjoy this spooktacular romp!" —Tony DiTerlizzico-creator of The Spiderwick Chronicles

“A droll addition to the magical school genre, worthy of a seat toward the front of the (Harry) Potter-wagon.” —Kirkus Reviews

About the author
Sheila Grau is a writer living in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband and four children. Dr. Critchlore’s School for Minions is her first book.
Joe Sutphin has been illustrating since he was small. He lives in Columbus, Ohio.

I love when I can endorse a book that is truly magical, fun and entertaining!  This novel is one any middle grader would love to read alone or it would make the most amazing read together book.  There is fun galore, shenanigans and characters that are such a delight.  I recommend this book for any and all adventure fantasy lovers!!! 4 stars

A.  What inspires your writing?

A. My kids, mostly. But science, nature, and reading also provide a lot of  creative inspiration.

Q.  What is your favorite thing about being an writer?

A. I love making up stuff, and I love seeing a plot evolve in a surprising way.
Q.  What is the toughest part of being an writer?
A. Staying focused and finishing. When I get stuck, it’s so easy to be distracted by New Ideas. This leads to a lot of half-finished projects. Can you guess if I’m a Pantser or a Plotter?

Q.  If you could not be writer, what would you do/be?
A. I think I’d make a good DMV worker. Every time I go to the DMV I think, boy they look like they need help. I’ve also often dreamed of working in a factory, preferably a chocolate one.

Q.  What would the story of your life be entitled?
A. “Better Late Than Never.”

Q.  What is your favorite book of all time?
A. Oh, that’s a toughie, like trying to pick your favorite song of all time. It changes so often. I can tell you that the very first book I remember loving as a kid was the Jungle Book. I had an illustrated copy and I really wanted to be Mowgli and hang out with Baloo and Bagheera. The first required school reading book I loved was the Sea Wolf, by Jack London. In college, I read a lot of Dick Francis, just for fun. And since I started reading MG as an adult, my favorite is Fly By Night by Frances Hardinge.

Q.  Which character from ANY book are you most like?

A. This is also a toughie. I’ve thought about this for days and come up with nothing.
Q.  What character from all of your books are you most like?
A. There’s a little bit of me in a lot of characters I write, of course, both good and bad. I can be cranky and impatient, like Miss Merrybench, the school secretary. I forget names, like Dr. Critchlore. I’m athletic, like Syke. I can be sensitive, like Frankie. I want to rule the world, etc.

Q.  Which book would you love to take a weekend vacation inside of?

A. Howl’s Moving Castle. 
Q.  What do you want to be remembered for 100 years from now?

A. Being a good mom.
Q.  What is your favorite season?
A. Spring. Then autumn. I like transitions, I guess.

Q.  What inspired your book cover(s)?  Or what is your favorite book cover and why?
A. My cover, designed by Abrams with art by Joe Sutphin, does a fantastic job of showing what’s inside. You’ve got what looks like a happy kid and his two friends standing on top of a mountain of ogres and a Cyclops in front of a castle. So, right off, you know where you’re going, and you know the pictures inside will be fantastic.

Q.  Tell me something funny that happened while on a book tour or while promoting your book. 

A. I’m too new to have an answer to this question, so I’ll tell a funny story about when I took my son and his friends to see MG author Rick Riordan, who’s second Lightning Thief book had just come out. He wasn’t yet filling huge theaters for his events – we were tucked into a corner on the second floor of a B&N. My son’s friend looked out the window and saw a very flashy yellow Lamborghini parked outside and asked Mr. Riordan if it was his car. This still makes me chuckle, because, as you all know, most children’s book authors drive Ferraris, not Lambos. Please.

Q.  Are you working on something new?

A. Yes. I’m working on the sequel(s) to Dr. Critchlore’s School for Minions.

Q.  Anything you want to say to followers of this blog or those that are just stopping by?

A. If you’re still reading, Hi! Nice to meet you. I hope we can meet someday and talk about your favorite books.

Showcase: Death Wish - Megan Tayte


Death Wish - Megan Tayte


Seventeen-year-old Scarlett Blake is haunted by death. Her estranged sister has made the ultimate dramatic exit. Running away from school, joining a surfing fraternity, partying hard: that sounds like Sienna. But suicide? It makes no sense.
Following in her sister’s footsteps, Scarlett comes to the isolated cove of Twycombe, Devon, with grand plans to uncover the truth. Alone. But she hasn’t reckoned on meeting two boys who are determined to help her. Luke: the blue-eyed surfer who’ll see the real Scarlett, who’ll challenge her, who’ll save her. And Jude: the elusive drifter with a knack for turning up whenever Scarlett’s in need.
As Scarlett’s quest for the truth unravels, so too does her grip on reality as she’s always known it. Because there’s something strange going on in this little cove. A dead magpie circles the skies. A dead deer watches from the undergrowth. Hands glow with light. Warmth. Power.
What transpires is a summer of discovery. Of what it means to conquer fear. To fall in love. To choose life. To choose death.
To believe the impossible. 


Waves everywhere, swirling, surging, seething – a raging melange of foam and salt and inky water biting at me, pulling at me, thrusting upon me a solitary invitation:

As I fought to remain on the flimsy polystyrene surfboard that seemed more bucking bronco than wave rider, I thought: That’s how easy it is – you just let go. Just release the grip on this world that in recent months had seemed so much an effort, and sink into the blue, beneath the waves, where chaos and fury turned to quiet and calm. Like she did.

Was drowning as they claim? I wondered. The easiest way to die – peaceful? How would it feel to give up all the dragging myself through the day, all the struggle to evade the aching void inside? A relief?
Another wave rose me up and slammed me down with breathtaking power. Its force stirred me. You could say a lot of things about Scarlett Blake – she’s a loner, she’s a wallflower, she’s a menace in the kitchen – but no way was ‘she’s a quitter’ on the list of character flaws.
‘Screw you!’ I shouted through the spray.
Funny, sounded like someone shouted back. But who else would be out in this tumultuous sea at six a.m. on a summer’s morning? Solitude was the entire point of hauling myself out of bed in the still-dark and picking my way down the cliff path to the beach just in time to see the horizon light up with the first burnt-orange glow of the rising sun. No one to see me make a damn fool of myself on my first surfing attempt.
‘Trying… yourself killed?’
Definitely a voice. Male. Angry.
Scanning the surroundings for the source proved difficult while lying stomach-to-board. On an upward surge I got a glimpse of the Devonshire cliffs that fringed the cove, all dark, jutting rocks topped by bushes of gorse, and then a flash of the beach. On a downward plummet there was nothing but eye-burning, throat-choking seawater.
‘Forward… next wave!’
The voice was closer now. There was an edge to it beyond the anger. Something raw.
My eyes picked out a black form between the waves. Someone on a surfboard, paddling it expertly seaward. I took one hand off the board to push sticky tendrils of hair from my eyes. Rookie mistake. Turned out holding on one-handed was impossible. The board shot upwards, out of my feeble grip, and then it was just me and Old Man Sea.
Kicking frantically, I tried to keep my head above the surface, but the waves were burying me, one after the other, only a second or two to come up for air before the next one hit. Far away now were thoughts of letting go – I was fighting furiously for life. Never in my seventeen years had I been so desperate. But my legs were tingling with effort, and I knew it was just a matter of time.
When the final wave broke me all I could think was, Sienna. With her name on my lips I inhaled a lungful of water and I sank…

… for all of a second before something grabbed the back of my t-shirt and hauled me upward. Coughing and spluttering, I emerged from the blue and was pulled roughly onto a board, my leg shoved over so that I straddled it. I had the fleeting thought that this board was much sleeker and more substantial looking than the one I’d just lost before my rescuer settled pretty much on top of me and started paddling toward the shore.
With him in command, we crested waves and glided down the other side with apparent ease, though I seemed unable to match the rhythm of our motion and kept taking in great gulps of brine. Over the sound of the waves and the wind and the splash of powerful arms cutting into the water to propel us along, I picked out low, irate grumblings.
‘… idiot tourists… total waste of… all we need… another bloody drama…’

Finally, we reached the shallow waters and he slid off the board and pulled me off to walk to the beach. But my legs didn’t seem willing to respond to basic instructions like ‘walk’ or even ‘stand’ and breathing between wrenching gasps had become a challenge, so he threw an arm around me and half-carried, half-walked me, dragging his board with his spare hand.
Ten steps up the beach he let me down onto the sand.
‘Head down,’ he commanded. ‘Between your legs. Cough it out.’
I did as I was told. Liquid spilled out of me with each retching cough, and the cool air I gulped in burned my throat. I fought the panic, I fought the pain, focusing instead on the shells and stones strewn around. Finally, breathing won out.
‘You okay?’
I was reluctant to look up. For starters, I knew I must look a mess – long hair plastered to my head rat-tail style, face flushed and salt-burned, eyes teary and bloodshot. And then there was the fact that this guy, whoever he was, had just saved my life, and was evidently pretty mad about having had to do so.
‘Hey, you okay?’
I lifted my head slowly. Took in broad thighs clad in black neoprene; hands reaching out, palms raised; a wide, muscular chest; a striking face – rugged, square jaw, full lips, ruddy cheeks, Grecian nose bearing a thin scar across the bridge, thick black lashes framing eyes… oh, his eyes.
I opened my mouth, tried to speak, but I was paralysed by his gaze. All at once I was home in the cottage, tucked up beneath the blue patchwork quilt of my childhood; I was watching my grandmother remove vanilla-scented fairy cakes from her powder-blue Aga; I was running through a meadow of sky-blue forget-me-nots with my sister – free, exhilarated, happy. The memories took my breath away. I felt the familiar burn in my tear ducts.
His eyebrows pulled together and he placed a hand on my trembling knee.
‘Are. You. Okay?’ he said with exaggerated care, as if he were speaking to an elderly lady having a turn at a bus stop.
I blinked, cleared my throat and managed a husky, ‘Yes. Th-thank you.’
Concern melted into exasperation.
‘What’s the deal,’ he demanded, ‘out there on your own, clearly no idea what you’re doing, children’s play surfboard… you got a death wish or something?’
I cringed. I’d known the board was short, but I’d thought it was me-sized – at five foot three, what use was some enormous board?
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You would’ve been sorry if I hadn’t seen you.’
‘I just wanted to get a feel for it. I didn’t realise it was so rough out there.’
‘Rough? That’s not rough. Not even optimum surfing weather. Piece of cake for someone who actually knows how to surf…’
He paused when he saw a tear escape my eye and roll traitorously down my cheek. Furrowed his brow, combed his fingers roughly through dark hair that was drying fast in the breeze.
‘Listen, I didn’t mean to…’
I brushed the tear away furiously. Enough with the vulnerability.

‘Right, well, thank you…’
‘Luke. My name’s Luke.’ The stress lines in his face smoothed out and his lips curved. Like this, smiling and relaxed, his scrutiny was a touch less unsettling. ‘And you are…?’
‘Thank you, Luke, for your, um, help, but I’m sure you’ve better things to do, so I’ll just be…’
Before he could protest, I launched myself to my feet. He instinctively rose with me, and my water-fogged mind registered belatedly that my rescuer was a giant of a guy – my head was at the level of his chest. As I looked up to take in his stature I staggered slightly and he reached out to right me, but I stepped backwards. I didn’t need his kindness.
He looked awkward, unsure of himself, as he towered over me. ‘Hey, will you be okay?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. I’ll just head home.’
‘You live close?’
I pointed vaguely west. ‘Yes, not far.’
‘Up there?’ He looked puzzled, and then interest sparked in his eyes. ‘You mean the Blake place?’

Busted. Of course being vague was pointless. My grandparents’ ramshackle cottage on the western cliff was the only building up there.
I made a noncommittal mnnnhnnn noise, but Luke was not to be deterred.

‘But that place has been empty since…’
He was looking at me now with such scrutiny that I took a further step back. I saw the cogs turning in his mind as he took in the classic green Blake eyes and then compared her – short, spiky red hair, eternally crimson lips, tall and impossibly slender – with me – petite and curvy, hair more blond than auburn reaching to the base of my spine and a pallor worthy of a vampire. His eyes widened.

‘Scarlett? Scarlett Blake!’
There was shock in his tone, and then sympathy.

Q.  What inspires your writing?
A. I have many inspirations, from settings to culture to books. Often, the idea for a story comes to me when I let my mind wander – usually while I’m out walking or just about to fall asleep. When I’m in a particularly creative flow, I’m an insomniac, and once the muse was being so pushy my husband banned me from walking anywhere for a week, because whenever I walked anywhere I came home all het up about a new idea. It can be a little exhausting when the ideas flood me like that, but with a notebook close at hand I try to capture everything, and often the jumble of ideas crystallises into something over time.

Q.  What is your favorite thing about being a writer?
A. The moments when you read back something you wrote later - after the high of creation has passed and you’ve bumped back down to earth - and decide that you love it; creating something that you truly love makes all the work of writing worthwhile.

Q.  What is the toughest part of being a writer?
A. The way it consumes me. When I’m in the concept, first draft and rewrite stages, the story takes me over. I love the feeling, but it can make focusing in other areas of my life tricky. The day job becomes more challenging, and at times I find I’m washing up/cooking/building Lego towers/finger-painting with the kids in a dreamy haze. At its worst, that can mean slightly charred dinners and Technicoloured children. Thankfully, my family is very understanding!

Q.  If you could not be writer, what would you do/be?
A. My day job is ghostwriting and editing, so I guess when I’m not writing I’m still pretty much writing! If I had to do something completely different, I think I’d go back to uni and do a Ph.D. and then research and teach. I love academia, and the permission you have in that world to be buried in books.

Q.  What would the story of your life be entitled?
A. She Was Too Fond of Books

Q.  What is your favorite book of all time?
A. So hard to choose just one! The oldest and most well-thumbed books on my shelf are Wuthering Heights, Oliver Twist and To Kill a Mockingbird; my go-to young adult read is Jenny Downham’s Before I Die; my favourite non-fiction is Autobiography of a One-Year-Old by Rohan Candappa because it makes me laugh out loud every time I read it. But if I had to pick just one book, it would be The Color Purple by Alice Walker – because when I read it in my early teens it was completely life changing; it’s certainly the book that most inspired me in wanting to write, and it had a big part to play in my choice of degree at university.

Q.  Which character from ANY book are you most like?
A. I think my friends and family would say Bridget Jones (from the first book). Not for her obsession with blokes and her weight etc. - that’s not me at all - but for her astonishing ability to embarrass herself. I’ve lost track of the number of times a friend or family member has said to me, ‘Why do these things always happen to you?’ What can I say? It’s a gift.

Q.  What character from all of your books are you most like?
A. Scarlett, the protagonist of the Ceruleans. Some of her experiences are my own – for example, in her last summer before adulthood, between leaving school and going to university, she lives alone, independently, and that’s something I did at her age, which I found difficult but also hugely empowering. I’m also, like Scarlett, happiest someplace calm with a view, and more likely to prefer a meal cooked at home and a DVD than living it up at a rowdy party. I don’t think I’m quite as courageous as Scarlett, though: she conquers her fear of the ocean and becomes a pretty kick-ass surfer, but I’d probably always remain as Scarlett is at the start of Death Wish: bobbing about on the waves, clinging to a surfboard for dear life and in dire need of rescue. Ideally, by a very hot surfer, of course.

Q.  Which book would you love to take a weekend vacation inside of?
A. Ed Sheeran’s A Visual Journey - his recent autobiographical work. I’d love to stand backstage and watch him perform.

Q.  What is your favorite season?
A. Spring. I feel the cold keenly in winter, and miss the light mornings and evenings, and spring is a relief and so energising. I love how this time of year makes you feel: the first glimpse of a daffodil, the first scent of blossom on the air, the first day it’s warm enough to cast off the winter woollies and sit out in the sunshine. I also love Easter, watching my kids scramble about hunting for eggs in the garden, so enchanted by the idea of the magical bunny who left them.

Q.  What inspired your book cover(s)? 
A. The cover for Death Wish depicts a scene in the book; for Forget Me Not the cover conveys several themes – loneliness and sadness, a tunnel of light, and a clustering of wildflowers. I wanted covers that had strong central images, their own signature colours, and concepts readily understood but with the potential for deeper interpretation after reading the text.

Q. Tell me something funny that happened while promoting your book.
A. Well, my son (aged six) found my dancing at the launch party for Death Wish he threw pretty hysterical. Clearly, he’s too young to appreciate my expert execution of Will Smith’s ‘Men in Black’ routine. My daughter, at least, was respectful. Well, if you can call chewing a party hat in her highchair respectful. At least she refrained from throwing cake at me until I moved on to the ‘Time Warp’.

Q.  Are you working on something new?
A. I just published the second book in the Ceruleans series, Forget Me Not, and I’m busy editing the remaining three books for publication. Then I’ll be starting work on my next novel. After that, I’ll be writing another story. Which, if the Ceruleans is anything to go by, will end up being an intricate, epic one that spans several books and consumes me for many, many months!

Q.  Anything you want to say to followers of this blog or those that are just stopping by?
A. Thanks for reading, and if you’d like to find out more about me and my books, you can find me at

Megan Tayte

Author bio

Once upon a time a little girl told her grandmother that when she grew up she wanted to be a writer. Or a lollipop lady. Or a fairy princess fireman. 'Write, Megan,' her grandmother advised. So that's what she did.
Thirty-odd years later, Megan writes the kinds of books she loves to read: young-adult paranormal romance fiction. Young adult, because it's the time of life that most embodies freedom and discovery and first love. Paranormal, because she's always believed that there are more things in heaven and on earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy. And romance, because she's a misty-eyed dreamer who lives for those 'life is so breathtakingly beautiful' moments.
Megan grew up in the Royal County, a hop, skip and a (very long) jump from Windsor
Castle, but these days she makes her home in Robin Hood's county, Nottingham. She lives with her husband, a proud Scot who occasionally kicks back in a kilt; her son, a budding artist with the soul of a paleontologist; and her baby daughter, a keen pan-and-spoon drummer who sings in her sleep. When she's not writing, you'll find her walking someplace green, reading by the fire, or creating carnage in the kitchen as she pursues her impossible dream: of baking something edible.

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