#but two people who love each other dying brutally young because in the chaos of this world henry could not protect sam

[thewingedwolf]

no this was ROUGH okay because i was just staring at the tv in horror as Sam shows Ellie his leg, knowing what’s coming, and when they bust through the door and Henry points the gun at Joel, my brain first went to “Joel is going to accidentally kill Henry in order to save Ellie from being bit by Sam” but then Henry is aware enough to shoot Sam to save Ellie and the moment the gun fired I knew Henry was about to kill himself, and because this is how my mind works when I watch shows like this, I thought “if B was Sam in this situation and I was Henry, I don’t know that I would react any different” and I felt a gut wrenching, sick moment of compassion and warmth towards poor Henry as Joel is begging him to give up the gun because he is also just as aware as I am what is about to happen, but then the camera switches to Ellie’s face and I switched into horror once again as I realized “oh my god but Ellie is going to watch Henry pull the trigger after she told Sam it would be alright no WAIT” and then the gun goes off again and Ellie screams

[ibijau]

chap 4 of the modern xisangyao, also on AO3

Meng Yao faces his past and his future

Meng Yao screams upon seeing the face of those two intruders, and nearly stabs himself in the cheek with his tiny knife as he brings up his hands to cover his mouth.

He knows these men.

They killed him, once.

The one in blue chopped off his arm.

That one in red destroyed his reputation, exposed the darker sides of him for all to see, leaving him no choice but to die.

And Lan Xichen, of course, dealt the fatal blow.

Three men in this desolate house with him. Three murderers. Or is it really three? After all, none of this would have happened without…

Meng Yao, who refuses to fall to his knees like Lan Xichen out of sheer pride, sobs. He doesn’t know when, exactly, he started crying. But his face is now wet with tears and snot under his hands and his breath fogs up the blade of his knife. He hasn’t cried like this since his mother died.

In every life he’s lived, she has died too early.

A curse bound to repeat itself, a punishment for everything Meng Yao ended up doing after she died in that first life, and the second, and the third, and…

Somewhere a thousand miles away, heavy footsteps climb up stairs two, three at a times, rushed and loud as they never are usually. Meng Yao can’t see through his tears, but he still knows it must be mister Shanzi. A suspicion confirmed when a moment later his employer speaks up, breathless from running up those stairs.

He never was an athletic man, mister Shanzi, not if he could avoid it.

“Don’t hurt him!” Mister Shanzi cries out, trying to run again, only to settle for stumbling along until he’s in front of Meng Yao.

It’s a surprise, and it’s not. Either way, it startles Meng Yao out of his tears. He blinks a few times, until his vision clears. Mister Shanzi is there, shielding him from the other three, arms spread wide as if to better protect him. Meng Yao can’t see his face, but he can imagine the fierce, determined expression on his employer’s face.

His fourth murderer, and yet now Meng Yao feels less scared at last.

The newcomers aren’t impressed with mister Shanzi. The man in white and blue, kneeling next to Lan Xichen, glares up at mister Shanzi. Meng Yao feels he should know his name. He knew it, once, but they haven’t met in many lifetimes.

“You didn’t say,” the man says coldly, eyes darting toward Lan Xichen, still prostrated on the floor, as if he’s remembering as much as Meng Yao does, and enjoys it as little. “You know how much I’ve tried to find…”

“I’ll buy you lunch, Wangji,” mister Shanzi cuts him. “Deal with your brother, I’m taking care of Meng Yao.”

Lan Wangji frowns at this answer.

That’s his name, Meng Yao recalls. Lan Wangji, the one who goes where the chaos is. And the other, then, is Wei Wuxian. Two parts of a whole. Meng Yao thinks he hated them, once. Even before they destroyed him, he hated them for their freedom, for their right to be careless, when he had to measure his every word, his every action. Or perhaps it is just that a part of him always knew they would kill him.

As Meng Yao tries to remember which came first between hatred and murder, he feels mister Shanzi reach for his hands. The knife is taken from him and put away on the nearest surface, which ought to scare him. He knows, though, that no weapon he might yield could protect him, should mister Shanzi have it in mind to murder him again. Meng Yao has never once been successful in defending himself against him.

With this certainty in mind, Meng Yao doesn’t resist as mister Shanzi pulls him away, back to the basement. This, too, reassures him. Mister Shanzi loves his paintings more than anything in the world, more than scamming powerful assholes and overconfident idiots. If he had to kill Meng Yao, mister Shanzi wouldn't do it somewhere that would taint his precious art.

Once they reach the workshop, mister Shanzi gently brings Meng Yao inside and invites him to take the chair while he closes the door, locking it behind them. This too should scare Meng Yao. It doesn’t.

“How are you feeling?” mister Shanzi asks, coming closer but stopping at few steps away from Meng Yao. Giving him space, so he can feel safe. “How much do you remember?”

“I remember dying because of you,” Meng Yao says, falling onto the chair which rolls away from his employer. 

Mister Shanzi is unphased, his face showing only polite interest, the way he does when meeting sellers and buyers. With him dressed like this, the neutral expression feels wrong. Funny, almost. Meng Yao would laugh, if he remembered how.

“You killed me several times,” Meng Yao says. It should make him angry. When he looked at Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, he felt unfathomable rage over what they did to him even if he doesn’t understand what, exactly, it is that they did. They only killed him once, though. But mister Shanzi, who he can remember towering over him, holding a blade wet with his blood… “You also saved me, didn’t you?”

Mister Shanzi smiles, if you can call it that.

“I had to find a new way of dealing with you,” he casually admits. “After the first few times, killing you wasn’t as fun anymore.”

“I was a child the last time you killed me,” Meng Yao protests, and maybe there is some anger to be felt over that. He was just a child that one time.

A toddler really, playing in the street with other kids, Meng Yao suddenly remembers. His mother hadn’t quite died yet in that life, but her health had been declining, so he’d been left to his own devices too often. Someone had offered him sweets and he’d been too young to know he should refuse.

He hadn't even gotten those candies before getting his throat slit.

“It was a low point for me,” mister Shanzi admits with a shiver. “At that time, I was... You see, you had killed my brother in the first life in which we met, and in a truly horrible manner too,” he explains, and Meng Yao nods. It rings a bell. A corpse butchered, a melody... “and since he had never reincarnated, I didn’t see why you should get to. I’d always found you as an adult before that, and it was easy to find some failings of yours to excuse killing you. A child though…” He grimaces in disgust, looks down as his hands as if they're still stained with the warm blood of a three years old. “After that, I started reconsidering the way I was doing things. My brother had believed you were worth giving several chances, once, so I thought I’d honour his memory and do the same.”

“I suppose I should be grateful?” Meng Yao asks. “Just as I was supposed to be grateful toward Mingjue.”

Hearing his brother’s name makes mister Shanzi jump. But he’s not mister Shanzi, Meng Yao realises. That was never his true name.

“You’re Nie Huaisang,” Meng Yao says, mostly to himself. “You’re… after so long, and you’re still doing all this for him. I’d murdered the wrong brother, back then.”

Realising what he just said, Meng Yao tenses and throws Nie Huaisang a sharp glance, terrified that he might lash out at the reminder of that crime which has entangled their fates through centuries.

Nie Huaisang turns away, curling up on himself, shoulders shaking. Meng Yao braces himself for an attack, verbal or physical, but instead after a moment Nie Huaisang bursts out laughing, loud and unrestrained.

“Every time!” Nie Huaisang giggles. “Every damn time, you end up saying that! And every time I say that…”

“Da-ge would have been just as fierce in avenging you, so there was no right brother to kill, no right brother to spare,” Meng Yao finishes in a whisper. “I’m not saying that I want to kill you now,” he quickly adds. “I don’t. Not after what I owe you.”

Of course in that very first life, he owed Nie Mingjue, and that hadn’t stopped him. Meng Yao can feel the reek of the terror he’d felt then, stuck between a rock and a hard place, certain he didn’t have a choice. Perhaps he didn’t. Those were different times, and he had promised his mother to be a good son so his father would give him the status he deserved. So she hadn't suffered in vain when raising him.

Meng Yao had tried to be a good son, which had turned him into a poor friend. Not to Nie Mingjue exactly. They weren’t friends anymore by then. But to Lan Xichen, who had suffered first the loss of Nie Mingjue, and then years later the horror of having helped it happen.

And then Lan Xichen had killed him.

Maybe he hadn't been a very good friend either.

“I’m really sorry for this,” Nie Huaisang says. “You’ve always remembered, whenever I’ve taken you in, but it’s never been quite so fast and brutally. And it’s the first time that…”

He trails off, looking over his shoulder toward the door with a mix of dread and longing.

“Lan Xichen,” Meng Yao guesses.

“Lan Xichen,” Nie Huaisang agrees, before chuckling sadly. “Did you… does he… did he know before coming here, or…”

Meng Yao thinks on it, and shakes his head. He might be deluding himself, but he doesn’t believe Lan Xichen knew, not until they arrived to the Hanshi, not until he saw Nie Huaisang, not until he was confronted by his own brother. It took both of them by surprise.

Meng Yao wants to ask about Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, but doesn’t. It’s not necessary, he realises. Having been in their presence, he can guess that they are more like Nie Huaisang than like him or Lan Xichen. There is just something about those people who no longer die that sets them apart from ordinary humans, even at first glance.

“He was just here about the painting,” Meng Yao explains. “He’s writing a book on… well, on you, I guess.”

The expression on Nie Huaisang’s face is a complicated one, equal part regret and relief.

“Wangji had been looking for him,” he says. “Quite desperately. Well, he found him now, good for him. As for myself, I don’t think I should… well. Well. It doesn’t matter. Lan Xichen made it clear once how he thinks of me, and I know better than to impose myself where I am unwanted. I’ll just disappear for a while, make sure we don’t run into each other. The antics scene was getting a little bothersome anyway. Damn technology, ruining my life. I’ll have to find something else to keep me busy. I guess I’ll have to leave this house, too.”

As he speaks of abandoning the Hanshi, Nie Huaisang looks truly sad. Almost in spite of himself he raises a hand to touch the nearest wall, brushing his fingertips against it as one would a lover.

He's owned this house most of his life, he once told Meng Yao. At the time, Meng Yao had thought his employer had bought it young, or inherited it somehow, meaning he’d lived there for maybe twenty years.

He wonders how long “most of his life” really means.

“Am I fired?” Meng Yao asks instead. A more practical question, and one to which he’s more likely to get an answer.

“Fired?”

“I… I betrayed you. I took someone here without your knowledge.”

Nie Huaisang blinks a few times, then laughs softly and comes to kneel before the chair, taking Meng Yao's hand. His skin his warm, his touch grounding, and Meng Yao, stupidly, wants him to never let go.

“Oh, A-Yao,” Ni Huaisang sighs, squeezing his hand. “Neither of us would ever know how to refuse Lan Xichen anything that he asks. How could I blame you for this? No, you’re not fired.”

Meng Yao lets out a deep exhale.

“I still can’t keep you around anymore,” Nie Huaisang adds, tilting his head slightly. It makes him look like a curious bird. He’d like the comparison, Meng Yao thinks in a panicked effort to not delve on what his former employer just said.

“I won’t betray you again,” he promises, grasping Nie Huaisang's hand tightly, as if that could keep him here.

“If Lan Xichen asks, you will. I don’t think he’ll ask, mind you,” Nie Huaisang says with a smile. “I haven’t seen him since that first life we all shared, and we didn’t part on good terms. You wouldn’t know, you were dead already, but I… well. He did not take kindly to being used as my weapon to kill you, to put it mildly. And now you’re in love with him again, in a world where… well, it’s easier to love him these days, isn’t it?”

“I’m not in love,” Meng Yao says, but the protest sounds hollow as it leaves his lips.

If he’s not in love with Lan Xichen, he’s more than halfway there already. Why else would he have betrayed Nie Huaisang, whom he does love, in spite of how stupid it is? Even without realising exactly what 'mister Shanzi' was, Meng Yao could tell there was something off about the man, something unnatural and dangerous. He's an idiot, though, and loved him all the more for it.

“I’m not in love just with him,” Meng Yao corrects, which startles Nie Huaisang. Good. Meng Yao isn’t quite as cruel as he was in that first life or some of the following ones, but he wouldn’t call himself kind either. If he must suffer, why shouldn’t others do too? “Take me with you. Wherever you’re going, take me with you.”

“No.”

“Do you really think Lan Xichen would still have anything to do with me, now that he remembers?” Meng Yao insists, rising from the chair. Nie Huaisang lets go of his hand and stands up as well, takes a few steps back as if putting distance between them will do anything. “It’s pointless to leave me behind. Take me with you.”

“No. You’re mortal,” Nie Huaisang sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You… I’m not doing that. I’m not involving myself with a mortal. I’ve seen what it does to people like me. I won’t… I can’t allow anything to destroy me like that. Not until I’ve found da-ge again, not until I’ve seen him safe and happy.”

Meng Yao nods, because he understands, because he’d give everything for a chance to see his mother again, would sacrifice anything just to make sure she’s happy. And still, he says again: “Take me with you.”

“No.”

“You’ll need an assistant. You need one. You're useless on your own. You suck at keeping track of appointments, and you still haven’t figured out social media, and… just that, just your assistant.”

“No.”

“I can keep things compartmentalised.”

“I can’t,” Nie Huaisang snaps. “I… I would have let you go soon, anyway,” he adds, more quietly, as if confessing a terrible secret. “You are… I got attached, more than planned. You’re good, in this life. I think the world is finally changing enough to allow you to exist and you’re… but it doesn’t matter. I was always going to let you go, it’s just happening sooner than I’d planned.”

“So I am fired.”

Nie Huaisang grimaces. For a moment, just a second, he looks exactly as old as he is. There’s an exhaustion in his eyes, so deep and ancient it is almost frightening to behold. Centuries after centuries of looking for the same person, of never finding him, of meeting instead his brother's murderer over and over and over again.

“You’re not fired,” Nie Huaisang tiredly insist. “I’m going to continue paying you until you find another job, and I’ll make sure the right people know you’re on the market again, if you want to stay in that line of work. I also don’t mind paying for any school you like. I’ll write you letters of recommendation, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re good even without me, but… but after today you won’t see me again. I just can’t risk it.”

“And if you found your brother again,” Meng Yao suggests, because unlike Nie Huaisang he’s good with new technology. If Nie Mingjue is alive somewhere, he can find him. He will find him. It can’t be a coincidence that Lan Xichen and him met like that, so maybe…

Nie Huaisang shrugs, and shakes his head.

“I’ll never stop looking for him. But I don’t think he’s coming back. I think the damage to his soul was too great, and it was just the end for him. I’ve got to keep looking, but I think there’s nothing to find. So I won’t make promises to you, Meng Yao. I’ll have that decency, at least.”

It’s funny, Meng Yao thinks, how little Nie Huaisang has changed since that first life. 

By which he means, Nie Huaisang is still the same dramatic asshole as he used to be, still so wrapped in his own problems that he doesn’t really care about the effect his decisions have on others, because he’s a Nie so of course he’s always right.

It used to drive Meng Yao grazy, in that first life, when he thought all Nie Huaisang had going for him was a good inheritance and a pretty face.

It still drives him crazy right now, when he knows Nie Huaisang is perfectly capable of being more than this, should he feel like it.

Before Meng Yao can insist, there is a knock on the door. They both startle, having half forgotten there are others with them in that house. Nie Huaisang looks panicked for a moment, but quickly gets himself under control. He probably guesses, as Meng Yao does, that it cannot be Lan Xichen, who surely would never reach out to either of them.

That guess turns out to be right. When Nie Huaisang goes to open the door, he finds Wei Wuxian there, who looks… not quite angry as such, but ready to be pushed there if anyone says the wrong thing.

“You still want us to take you away?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Nie Huaisang nods quickly, than shakes his head, looking up at the ceiling.

“Zewu-Jun can’t… If he's coming too...”

“He needs time to digest, and he says that one…” Wei Wuxian nods toward Meng Yao, who flinches on instinct “...called him a taxi, so he’ll make his own way home. Lots to think about. Did you fucking know, Huaisang?”

“Not until today, and I called you right away. You think I wouldn’t have told you, if I’d known? You think I’d have gone anywhere near him by choice?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs, in a manner that seems to imply he doesn’t really know what Nie Huaisang might do about anything.

“What about that one?” Wei Wuxian asks, nodding again toward Meng Yao.

Nie Huaisang shrugs. “He has his car. Wei-xiong, I just want to leave now. Please.”

They do leave. Wei Wuxian glances one last time at Meng Yao, but Nie Huaisang doesn’t look back as he exits the room.

Just like that, Meng Yao finds himself alone, with only paintings and a broken game console for company.

He allows himself a moment of sorrow because, and he can admit this to himself now that it no longer matters, he’d been hoping to spend the rest of his life with either Lan Xichen or Nie Huaisang. Both, if fate chose to be kind to him.

Fate has never chosen kindness, when it comes to him.

So Meng Yao dries his tears, and picks up that shattered console on the floor.

The paintings in this room are worthless to him. Over half are fakes, and even Nie Huaisang, who painted them, doesn’t always recognises just from looking what’s real and what’s not. But the console… well, there’s a guy who lives in Meng Yao’s building who’s made a business of buying broken electronics and either repairing them or scavenging them for parts.

Maybe Nie Huaisang really will continue paying him, or maybe he won’t, but Meng Yao hasn’t gotten where he is in life by counting on the kindness of others.

He’ll sell the console when he gets home.

[carnistcervine]

AU Thoughts

So, in my AU where Raava adopts Zuko, I mentioned that there is still an Avatar, just not Raava’s Avatar. So I started thinking up some ideas for what the Avatar would be like if Raava and Vaatu were swapped.

I’m not 100% on these ideas, I might tweak them or use them for their own AU and come up with something else for Raava Adopts Zuko, but this is what I got.

If anyone likes these ideas or the concept, feel free to use them. :D

~~~

*There is an old myth concerning the origin of the Avatar, it varies from nation to nation, and even some nations have multiple variants depending on where the tale is told. But the basic rundown is this: Thousands of years ago, in an era before bending, when the greater spirits still roamed the lands and mighty beasts guarded the tribes of man, a human was banished from his home, forced to roam the wilds alone. Tales vary on why he was banished and whether he deserved it, some stories claiming that he was a dirty thief who got finally got caught, others say he was falsely accused of murder, there's even one tale of the man as an almost robin hood style figure who stole food from the rich to help the poor. The man survives in the wilds for a while, seemingly bent by the spirits to turn against his fellow man. He eventually goes on, traveling the world, encountering the eternal spirits. The tales are split on whether the spirits were lovers(cast in an eternal dance) or foes(cast in an eternal struggle), but all tales agree that there were two, a pale one who embodied the light and order of the world, and a dark one who embodied the darkness and chaos. The man attacked the spirits, reasons vary on why, some say he was tricked by the dark one, some say he simply misinterpreted their dance to be a struggle, some say he was just trying to protect someone else. Either way, the spirits are separated and one is wounded. Stories once again diverge on whether it was the pale one or the dark one who was injured, but the result is the same. The balance of the world is egregiously damaged by his actions, and as penance he is forced to absorb the dark spirit and suffer it for ten thousand years. For each mistake he makes, another hundred years are added to his sentence. He spends the rest of his life trying to atone for his mistakes, dying on the battlefield when he's old and grey. Being that his sentence is not yet up, he reincarnates into his next life, and the cycle of the Avatar begins.

*Most dismiss these stories as, well, stories. But they remain the only record of any kind of origin for the mysterious being known as the Avatar.

*As for the Avatar themself, they tend to do whatever the hell they feel like doing. Despite being possessed by a dark spirit, they rarely do anything that could be considered genuinely malicious. The Avatar's presence is often marked before a great disaster or tragedy. Leading some to call them an omen.

*There have been stories of Avatars who gave warnings that were ignored. Then stood by and watched the chaos unfold, smiling and mockingly saying: “I told you so.”

*Being as powerful as they are, there are measures in place to immediately locate the newest Avatar as soon as the previous one perishes.

*One consequence of finding out when the Avatar is so young is that new Avatars are often either snuffed in their cribs or abandoned as small children by parents unable to deal with the dark spirit haunting them.

*Should the Avatar be allowed to live and grow, they will eventually seek aid in learning to control their abilities. Whether they seek the aid in disguise or openly depends mostly on society's view of the Avatar at that time.

*Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom parents are the most likely to snuff out a baby Avatar. In the Fire Nation, having the Avatar for a child is said to mean that Agni himself is angry with you or your family and is punishing you. In the Earth Kingdom it is usually said to mean that a tragedy will soon befall one. Usually the means of avoiding said tragedy is by ridding yourself of the dark spirit and passing it along the elemental chain. In the Water Tribes, the arrival of the Avatar is said to be a sign of change. While it's not uncommon for the Avatar to be killed in it's crib, the usual tradition in the southern tribe is that the head chief raises the Avatar, and in the north, the head healer is set to raise the child. As for the Air Nomads, since it is in their teachings that all life is sacred, and children aren't raised by their parents anyway, Air Nomad Avatars are pretty much never killed young. Instead the Avatar is sent to be cared for and taught by the strongest and most spiritual master. Rather than try and snuff them out, Air Nomads try as much they can to be a guiding force. Leading the Avatar down a good path and hopefully curbing any vicious tendencies.

*While not the first, Yang Chen is quite notable for the peaceful era that her long rein achieved. As for how she achieved such a peace, well, let's just say there's a reason no one dares invoke her name.

*People became much more open and accepting of the Avatar after Yang Chen, however. When Kuruk's time came, he was treated very well by those around him. Times were peaceful, and Kuruk himself was mostly pretty laid back. Well, except for his competitive streak. He'd challenge anyone and everyone to bending competition, or harmless duels. He was also quite the ladies man, only eventually settling down with a woman from his tribe. When she died, he became cold and withdrawn, wandering the world alone and eventually vanishing. His fate unknown.

*Well, he obviously died, as a new Avatar was born, but his body was never found.

*With Kuruk MIA, there was a bit of a power vacuum. Criminals took full advantage of this and terrible gangs roved the lands, killing and pillaging as they pleased.

*At least until Kyoshi showed up.

*Kyoshi was legendary for her ruthlessness. She slaughtered her enemies without so much as a second of hesitation. Some sources say she bathed in their blood and wore their entrails as fashion. While exact details of Kyoshi's apparent brutality are hotly debated among historians, one thing remains clear. Her enemies died quickly, and the world feared her. She was the longest lived Avatar, and the world remained at peace for her reign.

*With the Avatar having a mostly positive reputation, the Fire Sages opted to let the newest Avatar, Roku enjoy his early years as a normal person. And to their surprise, he was very normal. He didn't have any apparent violent impulses, wasn't withdrawn(even if he did seem a little shy), and overall was very happy and healthy. Like in canon, he grew quite close to Prince Sozin and they enjoyed a good friendship. Roku's status as Avatar was very publicly announced at his and Sozin's birthday. While Sozin was happy to have such a being as his friend, Roku had mixed feelings on harboring a dark spirit within him. He saw how the people around him reacted, they feared him. So he tried his best to show restraint. He'd prove to the world that the Avatar isn't one meant to be feared. His training went mostly smoothly, with only the spiritual training having some... unfortunate mishaps. Eventually he fell in love with a woman that didn't fear him, they got married and at the wedding Sozin told Roku vaguely about his plans of world domination. Roku, uh, didn't approve. But didn't want to make a show, because it was his wedding. So he simply growled at Sozin that he didn't want to hear about it. Then, he found a colony in the Earth Kingdom. He and Fang nearly trashed it in a fit of rage, but he decided to show restraint and told the people to fuck off back to the Fire Nation. Terrified of the Avatar, they did. Roku went to go confront Sozin, they got into an argument, Sozin attacked Roku and a royally pissed off Roku leveled the palace, only barely spared Sozin. In full avatar state, with red glowing eyes and smoky darkness billowing around him, Roku roared at Sozin that if he so much as breathed at the Earth Kingdom wrong he'd string him up by his entrails. Terrified of Roku's threat, Sozin abandoned his ambitions. He and Roku didn't speak again until many years later, when Roku's home erupted. Sozin didn't abandon Roku, but Roku being old and having inhaled too much poisonous gas died not too long after the incident. Sozin stayed by Roku on his deathbed. Roku had grown to regret his harsh treatment of Sozin, feeling he may have judged his old friend wrongly. His last words to him were an apology. Then he passed on, the Avatar Spirit moving to the Air Nomads once again.

*Sozin misinterpreted Roku's apology and subsequent death as the spirits being on his side and thusly went back to trying to achieve his ambitions.

*With Roku's last breath, Aang is born into the Air Nomads. He's left under Monk Gyatso's care. For the most part, Gyatso finds that Aang is a very gentle soul. He enjoys having fun and playing around. They decide not to tell him his true identity until he's older. Aang gets along quite well with his peers and gains many friends very quickly. Despite Gyatso's protests that Aang must be properly nurtured to sooth the dark spirit within him, the Elders decide to reveal the boy's true identity at twelve. Aang, doesn't take it well. The thought of a dark spirit living within him is well, scary. To make matters worse, his friends abandon him, utterly terrified of him. Gyatso tries to help Aang, treating him the same and remaining his last support. Then, because Gyatso insists on letting Aang be a kid, the elders try and separate them. Heartbroken, Aang runs away.

*Sozin still attacks the Air Temples, but not in an attempt to kill them all or rid the Avatar. No, Sozin thinks that the Avatar could be used for his war, so the soldiers are ordered to steal away as many children as possible, while killing anyone and everyone that stands in their way. Aang is frozen, so obviously all of the captured youths are just airbenders. Sozin doesn't have them killed though. No, he has use for them in his war machine...

*The search for the Avatar continues for a fair few decades before they figure that the being may have simply served his sentence and vanished from the world.

*When Katara and Sokka find Aang in the ice, let's just say they have more than a few reasons to be suspicious of him.

*As for Aang, he opts to keep his true nature under wraps for as long as he can.

*Not like anyone is actually looking for him anyway. :p

[ninaahelvar]

With Flowers In Her Wake

Summary: Charlotte had been a goddess long enough to know what the underworld would look like. What she didn't expect was to find its king - Sidney Parker. (Hades/Persephone AU)

AO3

A/N: so i debated whether or not to put this up and i'm still incredibly nervous about it also, please let me know if you think this deserves more chapters! will probably work on it if enough people want more! 

Charlotte had lived for a very long time - immortal gods did tend to do that. She’d done her best at controlling her powers, restrain them where her mother told her to, but she loved the freedom of spring. She could let it all out like letting hair fall from a tight binding, finally able to unwind itself. Yet, after centuries of being the best at her job, providing only the basic care for spring as her mother saw fit - she had grown restless. 

Finally, she told her mother she needed time - she wanted her own life away from the restraints of her mother’s watchful eye, and to do her duty as she knew she could - she wasn’t a child. And so, Charlotte took to the mortal world and lived among them. 

She found that she thrived within their chaos, to be amongst them and struggle like the rest - just without the dying part. It was an advantage. Charlotte adapted, moved on from town to town, city to city, country to country, and it worked for her. 

Every spring, she came alive, bringing it to the world, and moving north or south where she was needed. Yet, for half of the year, she still struggled with being maintained and coddled, as though she were expected to be neat and proper. Charlotte had found that she liked the wild recklessness of herself. 

In her sanctuary of joy, Sanditon, she had built a flower shop. People would come for miles to get her flowers that shouldn’t exist year round, but do! What a miracle it was! It made Charlotte feel important in spite of her mother’s warning. 

It had been centuries since she had found Sanditon, a charming little village at first, before turning into a bustling seaside town with a load of charm to match. Charlotte had known the families of the town for years, most staying and enjoying the comfort of the sea, and others came and went. Her shop was quaint at first, a little cart that she had put on a corner one day, offering flowers for a shilling and donating the money to a children’s orphanage when she had saved enough. She had no use for money, it wasn’t as if she bought things anyhow - she liked being amongst the people and growing her own food to survive and thrive. 

Over time, she had built it into a thriving business, with regular customers and the ones that would travel half the country for a flower in bloom in the midst of winter. She’d lie, saying it was a family tradition of planting seeds that let them grow in the harsh weather, and most people would believe her. Others would roll their eyes and call her creations fake. It hurt, but it wasn’t as though she could change their mind - she was lying of course. 

As her business provided her with interpersonal interactions, she learnt of families and how they fit into the town. The Stringer family had been around since the beginning - generation after generation finding a home amongst the rocks and sea breeze. There was also the Denhams, a family that was a mix of hateful and snobbish people, as well as the kindest and most gentle beings in the town. It was the sea encrusted within them - calm, but brutal when need be. 

In all, she had her own home within the town. As each decade went on and she remained ageless, there were always excuses, but she found that many people didn’t care. They went about their business and assumed she was the niece or daughter of the previous owner. It worked. It was a breath of fresh air to never be made into a spectacle, though she very well could have been - even when children would whisper about her. When they finally approached her and asked about the little rumours that had spread, she’d spill her secret and they promised to keep it to themselves. 

A town with a goddess was something to hold onto, not throw away. 

When the mornings were quiet, and daybreak wasn’t for a while longer, Charlotte knew she could steal away from the town. It kept her away from people prying into who she was, and gave her a moment for herself and nature. She put on her black denim jeans, a simple floral shirt with an oversized tan sweater that hung over her form. 

Putting an alarm on her phone, telling her when to get back to the store, she ventured out into the morning. Charlotte had found the field of wild flowers a while ago, she found the dead things and brought them back to life once more, setting them to bloom and adding them to her collection. It was good for her to search out her flowers, producing them from nothing made her feel so tired afterwards, especially when winter was taking root. 

With the fog of morning still upon the moors, Charlotte was surprised to see anyone about. She saw two men, one walking in front of the other - the one following was a man she knew from town, Old Stringer, but she’d never see the man leading before. He was also dressed oddly, but she couldn’t tell from the distance between them. Curiosity taking hold, Charlotte pursed her lips and moved silently to follow after the pair. 

They didn’t walk far, moving down into a hole in the earth. It was wide, and the two men walked in without even batting an eye. In the pit of Charlotte’s stomach, she knew there was something wrong, that she should have gone back into town and asked young Stringer what could possibly be going on - but she was a god, she could help if need be. 

So, in spite of her fear, she moved to the hole, noticing it was different than she anticipated. It was as if it were a simple tunnel, it didn’t go very deep, more like a slow incline to make it easy to descend wherever they were going. Charlotte glanced over her shoulder, seeing the light of morning coming along the shore line, breaking onto the ocean’s reflective surface, and then she looked back to the depths of black nothingness. And she knew she had to keep going. 

She wandered, her hand on the wall, steadying herself and taking careful steps amongst the dark. Charlotte could see the glow of something in the distance, not too far off, but it guided her where she thought she needed to be. Her sneakers would catch on earth, but she knew she couldn’t stop, even when the air was so cold, it was leaving puffs of heavy air every time she breathed. 

When it finally opened up, Charlotte staggered back, seeing a dismal river that held mourners on it’s bank. Every structure that scattered the shore line was as though it was the soul of a fallen building - crumbled columns and half built walls. The sands were like copper - dust that had been stained with blood. It was as though went on for miles, no need to the shoreline - an endless bank to forever wander. In the end, it was only the river that would take them away from the waiting. 

In all her years, she’d never experienced the underworld, but upon seeing it, she knew that was exactly where she was. The atmosphere felt dead, like nothing could grow there, as if it wasn’t rich enough to grow a thing. Yet, as her nerves took over her, she could see small flowers growing around her feet. She tried to restrain herself, only for an earth rumbling growl to occur closeby. When she turned to her right, she saw it - the creature that so many feared - cerberus. Three heads, all growling at her.

Regardless of the warning in her belly, she edged closer to the spot, her hand extended out. It didn’t snap at her, but rather leaned down, still sniffing and growling in her direction. Then, finally it came to her hand and she ran her hands through the fur on Cerberus’ jaw, the growling stopped, and she felt no more fear. She giggled as she held him closer to her. 

“What a beautiful thing you are,” she smiled to the beast, only for her hand to be snatched away and whirled around. Charlotte was completely taken off guard, stumbling into the person that hauled her about. 

Staring up at him, she was lost for words. He was handsome, and he had to have been told, because it was quite obvious. He stunned her completely. 

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing here!?” He was dressed in regency clothes, as though he were a lord lost from a time that had long since passed. He scowled so deeply, he should have lines running along his face - it seemed to be a natural state of how his features. He wasn’t clean shaven like a regency man would be, stubble growing across his jaw and lip - he was old and tired. Yet, Charlotte could tell he was ageless - weather and time no longer touching his body. He was…

And it came to her. 

He pulled on her hand once more, grip tight and the time etched into the very skin that held her, guiding her back up the path she had entered through, rage in the hold he held her in. “No living being can come into this domain. You’ll wake and think this is all a dream, but dear gods, girl learn where you can and can’t go!” 

“You’re the God of the Dead, aren’t you?” she asked, and he stopped, looking down at her. The scowl that was once written into his face was gone, and the softness that she predicted was now leaving him like the god she knew him to be. 

“How could you possibly know that, girl?” 

“I have a name!” she snapped, unsure as to why she would provoke a god such as he. Yet, with all his authority over her, she felt the need to fight, not to be handled in such a way. 

“Well, speak it or you’ll remain here without one,” he snarled. 

“Charlotte,” she said, raising her chin, trying to stand taller, but he still loomed over her. 

“Well now, Charlotte, I’d suggest you head back the way you came, absolute fool you are,” he said, pushing her off again. 

“And a goddess,” she corrected, and once the word was said, his hand loosened, falling from hers. There was something cold after his touch was gone - an odd heat from a man that was stuck in such a place. She had found, in the short time he had held her - that his touch wasn’t terrible in the slightest. He was stunned this time, looking her over. “What? You weren’t expecting that?” she asked, batting her lashes as she rested her weight on one hip. 

“I know all the gods,” he said, as though the notion of her being a god was unbelievable. 

“Not I,” she said. She always felt as though she talked too formally to other gods - they were so old and talked like the ancient time when they were still worshiped. Charlotte barely grew when the worshiping was coming to its end. “Like you, I had many names. Kore, Persephone, Charlotte,” she rattled off, and he rolled his eyes. Charlotte looked back sternly. 

“Goddess of Spring. I should have guessed from the growing flowers in the land of the gods damned dead,” he scoffed, stepping back from Charlotte and extending his hand to the exit. “Get out,” he said, exhaustion in his voice. 

“What?” 

“You aren’t even supposed to be here, so get back to where you belong,” he continued, and Charlotte felt ... compelled to stay, even though it chilled her to her core to be there, she still felt comfortable there. 

“What should I call you, if I am to ever see you again?” she asked, walking slowly to the entrance.

“I would hope we never find ourselves in each others company. But if we are to meet, you may call me Sidney,” 

“Sidney,” she repeated, trying not to smile. She had to admit, it suited him more than Hades ever could. “You’re far too pale. Maybe some springtime sunshine will bring some colour out in you,” she said, words slipping and making him blink back in surprise. His hands went behind his back and a smirk fell onto his lips, stepping back into her space once more. 

“Or perhaps your mother will strike me down how she’s always wished,” he replied. Charlotte had to admit, when he wasn’t a raging bull, he made her feel like she was the centre of the world. That smile would be hard to say goodbye to, she assured herself. 

If she looked to her feet, she knew she’d see green, that her heart was racing and her power was becoming reckless. She would sprout a forest if he laughed, though she had doubts if he even knew how to do such a thing. 

“I may be younger than you are, but we are both gods, what is it fear another god?” she asked, trying to understand his mind. 

“A wise endeavour,” he quickly replied, raising one eyebrow, then his hand went out again, showing her the exit once more. “Now good day to you, Miss…” 

“They call me Heywood on earth,” she continued. 

“Miss Heywood,” he finished. Charlotte nodded as they parted and Charlotte moved off, only to stop when she realised something that she had forgotten. The reason she was there in the first place.

“Old Stringer, where is he?” she asked. Sidney turned, hands going behind his back once again.

“Ah, that’s why you’re here,” he sighed, looking down at the ground before looking back at her, “he died this morning.” 

“Oh no,” she whispered under her breath, “I have to go.” 

“Yes, yes, leave,” he sighed, ushering her off. Sidney turned, looking back at the realm he controlled, Cerberus looming over the god, glancing to Charlotte and whining in soft breaths. 

“You have a very lovely dog,” Charlotte called out, walking backwards as she parted from the realm of the dead. 

“Thank you. He’s a pain in the ass,” Sidney replied, hand reaching up to the dog and not even looking over his shoulder, as though the exchange were normal for him. Charlotte took off, not caring that she may trip if she weren’t careful - it didn’t matter, she needed to get back to the town. 

Climbing out, she got to the surface, seeing the sun in the near exact position as she had last seen it - the minutes and hours halted by her time within his realm. When she glanced back to the tunnel, it was gone, sealed up with grass back on top - as though it were never there. Charlotte wanted to tap on the earth to see if it would give way and she could see him again. An allure she couldn’t quite describe was hidden within him. 

Yet, she had other things to worry about. She sprinted back to the town, tripping every so often as she frantically made her way into the square, seeing the paramedics already going up the stairs to the Stringer home, James standing outside, pacing as grief was written into him. Charlotte sighed, making her way to him, and as they saw each other, embraced. It was the only thing she could think of doing for him. 

~

“Charlotte Heywood,” Sidney whispered to himself. The land of the dead kept itself true to its name, the trail of flowers that she left died the moment the entrance closed. Yet, a bright, white, little flower stuck out near Sidney’s foot, and he crouched down to it. 

He plucked up the flower that had bloomed in his land before it had the chance to wither with the rest. He hadn’t seen life in this domain since...well, ever. Nothing was able to grow, it was practically forbidden by the damn physics of the place. Yet, she let it grow. Sidney tried not to smile as he said it again. “Charlotte Heywood.” 

“You are quite the bore,” a voice called nearby. Sidney turned to it, seeing his life long companion - though, it seemed like a loose word, they barely tolerated each other on the best of days. 

“Hecate,” he sighed, irritated by her already. She pushed off the giant rock she was leaning on and walked to his side. She opted to also wear what the mortals would - choosing to keep up with the attire of the times. Sidney rarely saw daylight, so he had little reason to change. 

“I told you, the mortals call me Georgina. I prefer it,” she reminded, and he sighed. 

“As you prefer it, I will endeavour to keep using it.” Georgina wore a red suit, something that complimented her skin fantastically, but it also made a lot of the mortals in the underworld fear her. As she should have been. She was even older than he was, regardless of how young she appeared.  

“Why would you send her away? She’s the most interesting thing that’s ever happened to us,” she reiterated, and Sidney sighed, rolling his eyes and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. 

“To us?” he asked, still rubbing his nose before looking back to her. 

Georgina shrugged. “Well, you. But you’re my only source of entertainment and your life is rather boring,” she reminded. For the millionth time. Sidney had to remind himself that she was a very powerful god and not, in fact, the child that she acted like. 

“Go torture someone else, please,” he asked, waving her off. She poked at his chest, eyeing him down one last time. 

“Invite her back. For the both of us,” she said, almost as though if he didn’t, it’d end poorly for him. Georgina became the journey down to the river when Sidney stood in the perfect little field in the land of the dead. He smiled.

“Spring. We’ll go to earth in Spring,” he called, and he heard Georgina cheer. 

Spring. He could wait until Spring. He pressed the flower to his nose, inhaling the scent softly, and he sighed. 

“Charlotte Heywood. Persephone.” 

[phantomphangphucker]

One Lonely Star

⚠️warning: analysis of the human condition, angst, depression, violence, mass global death, murder, major character death, suicide, torture, cannibalism, body horror, dissection, animal death⚠️

When all the stars fell down, 

there was nothing I could do.

For all my power and heroism,

 there was nothing I could do.

-a phantom of the past-

Chap. 1 - Star Fall Down

I don’t know how long it’s been since I last saw the light of day, I walk pushing and shoving rubble out of my way. I’m not sure what they belong to anymore. I used to be able to tell which brick belonged to which building, which siding was from the school or what piece of neon lighting was from the nasty burger. Now it’s all just a blend of grays and browns, there’s the occasional splash of something else but it’s fleeting and eventually becomes muddied too. The odd living or sentient thing I see, is best avoided I’ve found. Societal collapse relieves most folks of their inhibitions and it gives them newfound urgency. Urgency which always trumps whatever morals and mental high roads they have or once had. It’s different for me, I knew this urgency before the fall; had my morals tested before everything crashed. 

So I guess I was a step ahead, I’m still unsure if that’s for the best or not. Sure it made it easier to adjust to all of this but others noticed my ease; and people, humans especially, are easily paranoid. It doesn’t help that the young, quick to fight, and those seeking to take advantage of things were the first to succumb to this harsh reality. Those were the ones who trusted me and believed in me most. I mean sure my parents are still around but they never really knew me, trusted me or even really liked me. Well, at least that’s how they were about half of me, though if I’m honest they didn’t know either half of me. Before everything fell I had suspected they were starting to realize how far from them I had become but that doesn’t matter now. Survival and trying to protect what’s left is what matters now. At least my parents can agree with me on that. Though if at any point they had begun to trust or like all of me, that time had since past. My ease with suffering, destruction and sudden mass disaster made them blame me. Because of course, since I was used to everything going to hell then I must be the cause! I guess if I hadn’t reacted with jokes or may be shown a facial expression other then resignation, they may have viewed me differently. 

I visibly sigh, giving my current surroundings another once over; just in case. I need more, always more. Yet there’s never really enough. There isn’t enough for anyone and there are not enough people to need things either. Sure there’s an abundance of many things, picking up a discarded poker chip, but those things aren’t good for much. Flicking the chip across the floor it manages to break off some glass from one of the few somewhat intact windows. Chuckling, it’s not like windows do any good down here anymore. Deciding that there’s nothing here worth the effort I elect to head back to my overpass, not that it really counts as an “overpass” anymore. Looking back I’d honestly rather just jump out one of the real windows. One that can actually see the outside air and sky. But I know that’s a fools game today, a gamble not worth much thought. Even if I did find a way out to the above from that building, who knows how far a drop the ground is; and it’s not like I can fly. Chuckling dryly, it’s been longer than I’d like. Turning back, using both memory and the glow of my eyes to guide me “home”. 

“Home” is a funny word now, it really doesn’t mean what it used to mean. All it means now is that I can rest, stop, breathe; for a while. When I’m out I never breathe, I just hold abated breath. Can’t risk anything or one hearing. Before I could breathe, I did breathe, all the time actually. That seems dangerous and absurd now. Back then dangers came and went, they were boisterous, flashy and wanted to be noticed. Now danger is a constant, it never leaves, and it doesn’t care about making itself known. Before I could fight back, I could spar, I could joke; I can’t do that now. Not with this danger. 

Humans can be ruthless things, sure ghosts have naturally equipped weapons but they seldom have a true drive to just end you. Ghost can be content with returning to the same game of hunt and chase, over and over again. Humans want finality and when they really truly want it, they never take breaks. Maybe that’s why I’m still here, why I still keep doing this again and again. I’m not content to succumb to accepting the finality of this situation but I’m also not willing to just try again later. I won’t accept finality and I won’t take breaks. So that’s why I went looking today and why I’ll go again tomorrow. Till I have what I need, what they need. 

Ghosts gave up on this place years ago, I don’t think I’ve even sensed a single one in months. I guess humans are no fun to scare when they’ve gotten past all their senses. And I guess cities aren’t so fun when nothing works. Sadder thing yet, it’s not just here; it’s everywhere. They’re everywhere. 

I used to love the stars, there were my everything when I had nothing else. They were a safe haven I could have fled to if everything went to hell. Well, guess what? Everything did go to hell, but the stars were the hell. Yet I can’t bring myself to ever hate the stars, even if they’re on earth now rather than the sky. Everything’s better in the sky, including me; I would know. That’s the great irony of this all, my one love stole my other love. The two things in the world that gave me mental safe haven, apparently unable to coexist. On top of that, I’m basically the definition of two things that technically can’t coexist, coexisting. That’s another reason why really, because dammit, if I can make life and death coexist then I damn well will do the same to the sky and stars. Though that’s not something that’s really a desire of mine much anymore, these stars, our stars, need to be destroyed. 

As I sit here, legs crossed, tinkering away on what little I’ve managed to find over time; I can’t help but look back. That’s always how it is, get in the zone of simply making something, anything, and the mind goes to pleasanter times. Before all of this mess I was a pretty happy kid, all things considered. I can’t really say if I’m still happy. I think I am, but it’s not the same kind of happy. Maybe it’s closer to hope than happiness. I remember the day with odd clarity but I’m sure much has gotten muddled in the years since. I can’t really say how long it’s actually been, times a funny thing like that. 

Just a day with ordinary classes, ordinary teachers and extraordinary friends.

At first, I thought it was nothing more than another ghost attack, we all did; how could we not? We all lived in Amity Park after all. 

One look outside changed everyone’s mood though, the sky was alight with a great many blazes.

As if someone had set every single cloud on fire, turns out that was pretty close to the truth. 

Emergency broadcasts erupted over every phone and every speaker. 

Screaming to stay indoors, away from the windows and to not under any circumstances look at the sky. 

Being kids, we did what kids do, we looked to the skies. 

Light danced across the sky in massive arches, I knew it immediately as lighting. 

Far more massive than anything I’d ever seen and very much not right. 

I foolishly assumed it must be that weather ghost again and looked for a way to leave; to change. I wish I had been right. 

The teachers had herded us all up, packed and watched closely. There was nowhere I could run and no one who could hide me. So I waited, just like everyone else. 

Not knowing was the worst part, I’ve learned over the years before this time and since this time that the worst thing I can do, is to do nothing. Both for my own sake and others. If I didn’t believe that before the day the stars fell I would have after. 

In movies, people like to say the crash came without a warning but that’s not true. We had a warning, the buzzing, the popping, the air becoming brutal just to breathe in. 

Instinctively I just stopped breathing, I had known no one would notice. That was something I had been right about. 

Everyone had gone to the ground, I had gone into a fighting stance originally but I got pulled down by the chaos of the others. 

The roof shook for only a second before it all came down, massive flashes of blinding electricity shooting everywhere and at everything. 

It hadn’t taken me long to notice that it wasn’t just things it had struck and was still striking, but rather beings. 

They say this is when fight or flight kicks in, when you see a person's true colours. That saying is true and I had long since lost my flight response. Fighting was all I knew, had been all I’d known for so long. But this, this was something I couldn’t fight. I hadn't even known where to start.  

So I did what I knew, I protected. I wore my colours, my true colours. Secrets be damned, secrets don’t matter in the face of death. In the face of people dying while you’re just, there. 

Turns out I needn’t worry about my secret, there wasn’t anyone left to tell.  

That day I learned something, something about intangibility. Something I wish I hadn’t. 

There’s a big difference between a regular human being made intangible and me becoming intangible. Raw electricity will go through me, it won’t go through them. But that wasn’t for a lack of me trying, anyone who was there wouldn’t dare disagree; if they had lived. 

I screamed, I cried, I wailed, I begged. All while struggling to hold onto, grab onto, and cover as many as I could. They flocked to me too, understanding that I always had and would play protector. But it didn’t matter, the electricity went through each one, most I didn’t even get to see die. 

They were gone too fast and eventually I was left to cradle the last one. I’ve seen so many others go like this since, had so many others go because my protection just wasn’t good enough; that I can’t say who I was cradling that day. Things blur, it’s all a matter of time. 

Stepping out of the destroyed school I had been soaked in blood, none of it my own, and tears, all of it my own. And I looked to the skies. 

And everything was coming down, crash and burn. Every building, every plane, every person unable to hide. This was on such a level that for seconds all I could do was stare, eventually I made some unremembered joke. I’m sure it was either really stupid or unbridled genius. 

Then I got to work, I did the one other thing I knew. I tried to exchange witty banter and a few blows. Turns out that doesn’t work on a gigantic ball of electricity and exploding gas. And that was when I knew, I remember looking up and seeing the empty night sky. Not a single star. Then staring around me, massive balls destroying everything. 

I had no time then to think about, really think about it, now I do. Back then I had simply fallen into trying to get people inside shelters, away from the nightmare from the skies. Others did the same too, even my parents. But they as always didn’t recognise me as their son and I guess I was acting to calm, too collected. In short, I had gotten too good at lying and playing a facade. 

They shouted and yelled at me, assumed it must be my fault. Some plan to make myself look like a hero. My mom has always been good at fear-mongering and being a ghost expert everyone assumed she was right about me, who to them was just a ghost. And like that, they turned on me, now that they had something to blame, something that had a consciousness. I quickly learned that my human allies were all dead or gone. 

I hid, I had to, if not for my own safety then for theirs. Humans, in their chance to seek revenge on those they deem responsible, will put themselves in harm's way. I couldn’t have that. And if they managed to destroy me, in their fear, then I wouldn’t be here to protect them. I couldn’t have that either. So I ran. 

And that’s how I discovered that flying was bad, very bad. The stars electricity was drawn to movement and the higher up the movement was the more attractive it was, and I move both fast and high. This caused the electricity to target me, and this show caused the humans to be even more sure that I was somehow controlling or responsible for this. While my intangibility could protect me, I could only hold it for so long and the blinding light really was blinding. 

Eventually, everything caught up with me, emotional and physical exhaustion, I just stopped. Stopped all of it, the flying, the intangibility and my colours. In some way, I wanted the pain of electricity, felt I deserved it. Why wouldn’t I? I had failed to save everyone. My ghost healing is all that saved me then. 

The only other like me was not so lucky, it turned out. Shortly after this catastrophe started he, being the frootloop he was, tried to bend the arm of the world. Tried to offer his “protection” for a price. He didn’t know what I had already learned and I’m not sure he would have listened if I had been able to get a hold of him. Intangibility wouldn’t work. He tried his plan and it killed him. I know it did, I’d heard it over the radio. 

Eventually, I think I’m done with my tinkering; this one might actually do something. What exactly? I don’t know but anything is better than what currently is. I’ve given up on testing things, on making sure it’s just right; I guess I realised I don’t have time for that anymore. I don’t have time for much at all anymore. But that’s ok, my time was never really mine was it? No, it always belonged to everyone else. To their safety, their future, their survival. It always was and always will be. And that’s ok. It really is. 

Look I know you can’t always save everyone, but that’s always been my plan. At the very least I’ll save some of them, a part, something that can exist on. I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that I have been, and will continue to be, saving more parts than wholes. A leg here, an eye there, even a patch of hair will just have to do. I can’t afford to be choosy with anything, not a single scrap. And every single scrap has seen me bleed and cry, that’s what doesn’t get easier. Mourning still happens even if I don’t have the time, even if no one does. I know a lot of people walking around are permanently mourning, unable to just carry on. They’re the ones waiting to just be taken out. I wish they wouldn’t do that, they’ll become another person I can only save part of. And everyone, every single one, is worth being save in the whole. I don’t care what hardships they’ve seen or who they lost, dammit! They have inherent worth! They deserve the right to survive! I always want to shout at them when I do spot one of the wanderers. If you can’t bare to survive for your own sake then find someone or thing else to survive for! Someone or something needs you! Wants you! I promise! But I know shouting does no good, I’ve tried; oh how I’ve tried. They’ll either learn it on their own or well.............or they just won’t. But I’ll be there to pick up the pieces, always. Put back together what I can and hope the rest forgives me for not rescuing it too. I like to think they all do but I know some don’t, they’ve told me so. 

Picking up my new trinket I begin the walk to the surface, breathing stalled and eyes always scanning. Looking for stars or looking for people, I no longer know which I’d really prefer. The first time a saw some eat another person was when I knew this really was hell. As I pass one of the many haphazardly built concrete caves, I do wind up spotting a person; and they spot me. 

I never take off my colours now, I can’t afford to. I need to be able to fly, fight, fire, or become intangible at a moments notice. I must not die. Sometimes that’s a problem and right now is one of those times. This person is clearly one that blames me, I know that immediately, as the fling anything they can get their hands on. A second runs out and attempts to fire what is a now empty ecto gun, old habits die hard. I shake my head and sigh at them, my parents. They look worse for the ware, with them being so close to where I’ve been resting and tinkering; they must be tracking me. This knowledge just makes me sigh deeper and longer, I know talking to them is no use. They’ve lost everything, believing both their kids dead and gone. And they blame me, a parents desire to kill who they believe is their children’s killer is unmatched. It can’t be faltered or bent. I know that and I know that to tell them now would break them to dust. They need something to blame and if they knew they’d eventually blame themselves, that’s yet another thing I just can’t have happening. So let them blame me, I’ll gladly take the fall. It’s what I do. 

It doesn’t take much to get away from them, they’re weakened and without usable weapons. Though they’d rip me to shreds with their bare hands if they could, and I know they’d think they were doing it for their kids; for me. Which is touching and I choose to hold on to the warm feeling that brings. Warm feelings don’t come often, so they have to be cherished. 

The time comes when I get to where and when I need to be. This star is the biggest I’ve spotted, so it’s always the one I pick to try and destroy. Take out the biggest, baddest foe and the rest will fall like flies, that’s how it works right? Well, I sure hope so. 

I stick my fists inside and charge up the blasters with my own ghostly energy. They look something like giant balls attached to tubes encasing my arms. Balls to defeat balls, I find some humour in that really. Once they’re all charged I ram them inside the star with an angry growl. 

It doesn’t work. 

I know I can’t go back to the same place as before, I know my parents will be waiting for me. I’m used to this though, just move on. Keep going. You’ll get it. Eventually.

to be continued.....

[miniatureclover]

Faraway Wanderers Reading Blog: Chapters 06-10

I AM BACK! Maybe I’ll be able to finish this live blog series before the live action comes out? Hopefully?

Chapter 6: The Beauty

Gu Xiang and Zhou Zishu are way too much together, ha. They also make a good team, surprisingly, even with Zhou Zishu having to bow out of the fight part way (throwing the same “poor fragile me” excuse Gu Xiang used right back at her…except he actually means it since the fool is literally dying a slow death by nails). He’s also a good teacher, and her a good student, and this really isn’t helping him lay low but ah well, I guess that flew out of the window once this whole mess started.

The fight scenes are pretty good, too. Gu Xiang is young and confident, but absolutely brutal and not afraid to use hidden weapons. She has good reflexes and instincts, though she is still young, and that’s reflected in her panic when she loses her weapon and getting overconfident. Contrast that with Zhou Zishu who is very observant and picks up some stones to help her out when he has to rest, and you can see the clear difference between them as people with two different experience levels. It’s really neat how the narrative manages to mix the characters’ life experiences, personality, and age into the way they fight without giving it away explicitly.

She blinked in astonishment — this ragged man’s ramblings worth diddlysquat, but his execution in battle was one of the cleanest and cruelest she had ever seen. It really made one wonder who he was.

Really throwing that image out the window. Guess it’s lucky he was nerfed by the nails, huh. And it turns out that our main character is also a rather brutal fighter, when he can fight without collapsing.

And here enters Wen Kexing, finally with a proper name! What an entrance. He’s already kind of a creep with no sense of personal boundaries, ha. He’s also really, really perceptive though. In a creepy way (who says “your shoulder blades are beautiful, therefore your face must also be beautiful”?? he’s such a ridiculous flirt).

Alas, we are left wondering whether Wen Kexing is really blinded by good looks or just very perceptive after Gu Xiang says that he has a tendency to exaggerate.

Chapter 7: Setting Off

Oh gosh, this poor boy. Protect him, he is precious. I’m talking about Zhang Chengling of course, who starts the chapter off crying because he has seen a lot of stuff go down, like his entire family dying to start things off, followed by people coming to kill him and a seemingly random beggar agreeing to deliver him somewhere safe? But, alas, might as well cry yourself a river while you’re at it, kid. It’s going to be a rough ride now that he’s stuck with this ragtag group.

Wen Kexing is such a clown. He has his wits about him, but he is such a clown with a punchable face. Zhou Zishu isn’t actually much better in terms of acting like a normal human being interacting with smaller human beings. At least Zhang Chengling is resilient. He bounces back quickly and continues to pester Zhou Zishu to become his teacher. He does still have nightmares, which makes sense after all he’s been through.

But he seems to remind Zhou Zishu of someone from his past, which is interesting.

Back to why Zhang Chengling is a precious bun and must be protected: after having nightmares and believing he’s woken his savior up, he says things like “I can…I can stop sleeping if it’s a problem?” That is not actually a legitimate solution to the problem, believe it or not.

Then some enemies arrive with a superpowered guqin/zither, which is hilarious no matter how many novels or dramas I encounter considering traditional guqin with silk strings aren’t very loud instruments (the description from the first sentence of the next chapter is right in that it’s more of a “thin” sound than other instruments).

Chapter 8: Moonshade

Wen Kexing is indeed an enigma, the perfect match for Zhou Zishu who is undoubtedly one himself. In between his moments of eccentricity, he provides a lot of insight to the martial arts world, the way he conveys the harshness of life in it striking a rather eerie note (Wen Kexing’s voice was gentle, “Even if he’s still alive, all of his meridians have been broken; he’s useless now. Death would be a happier fate for him.”) and slides right out of it a moment later.

This match also speaks to Zhou Zishu’s capabilities: injured, he managed to beat Qin Song who is apparently well-known for his ability to kill people with that zither, and with a crudely constructed flute at that.

He felt a particular aura from this man that suggested they might be birds of a feather, the other would definitely not do something if it didn’t benefit him. […] After lots of thoughts without any solid conclusions, he scoffed at himself — old habits died hard.

You two are indeed birds of a feather, glad you noticed. I do like how he slips back into old habits, after all, he only recently stepped away from his former life as a spymaster, it’d be difficult to put a stop to all of his old tendencies.

They even proceed to exchange a few moves, presumably to figure each other out, until the pesky nails driven into Zhou Zishu’s torso act up, which gives Wen Kexing an opportunity to be a creep and touch his face. Half of it makes sense, since he’s convinced Zhou Zishu is “a beauty” and hiding it somehow, but he seems the type to have done such a thing even without that reason.

This exchange is hilarious though:

-What’s my face made of? -Human skin. -It feels like it’s one with your body… -Well, I was born with it, so.

…I should hope so. These two are a comedy duo in their own right.

Gu Xiang continues to be a delight, in any case. She has no reserve about making smart comments as soon as Wen Kexing’s back is turned, probably knowing he can still hear her at a distance.

Finally, three days later, their little party manages to make it to Zhang Chengling’s father’s friend, but we’re only on chapter 8, which means there’s much more chaos to be had in their future. For now, Zhou Zishu is relieved he finished his self-imposed mission and gained some “merits”, but muses on how it’s exhausting to be good person, haha. Indeed, the world doesn’t make it easy sometimes, especially not the crazy martial arts world they live in.

Chapter 9: In the Woods

Name info-dump, I guarantee I will remember none of them. It does fill out the world and fits with Zhou Zishu’s character, since his job required him to know all the nitty-gritty details of the major players in the martial arts world.

Ultimately, the exposition serves to let us know why he decides stay in the manor for a bit, as he’s well aware that Zhao Jing and the rest of the people grouping up at his place aren’t as glamorous and gallant as they seem. Also, he’s already weak to Zhang Chengling’s puppy eyes, apparently.

Zhao Jing is catching onto the glaringly obvious hints at Zhou Zishu being far more than a random beggar, and his manipulation of Zhang Chengling’s eager to please nature might be a bad sign of what’s to come. Zhou Zishu is more than prepared for a little investigating into his real identity, and the deception runs deep enough that he has a whole fake history and job to go along with his name.

Zhou Zishu endures a round of social BS-ing, aka attempts to dig for information on him, which is explained in a really succinct manner: although the greetings and false praise are absolute bullshit and not genuine in the least, they do serve a purpose, which is to sort out who has relations with who, and who is an outsider to be wary of. It’s a good point. The boot-licking is a standard in the genre that emphasizes the importance of saving face and social relations. The author summed it up well.

After sitting through all that, Zhou Zishu decides he has stayed long enough and departs under the cover of night, except he can’t shake Wen Kexing off his tail, much to his annoyance.

I’ll admit, these two characters don’t draw me in quite as much as some of priest’s other protagonists, but their dialogue is a goldmine:

-“Escorting the young master Zhang is purely for gathering merits, so that I won’t have to endure any tortures in the Underworld after death. -“Correct, Brother Zhou truly shares the same mind with me; and as only beautiful people can do that, it is clear-” -“See, my dear soulmate, another chance for merit gathering has appeared.”

They continue bickering until they find a corpse in the forest, aaand this is where our plot kicks off!

Chapter 10: Netherworld

“Someone killed the Lord of Duan Jian Manor, and I’m a charitable person who wants to gather merits, so why not. And I’m bored anyway.”

Ha. And Zhou Zishu catches onto his BS right away, suggesting he might want to chase after Sun Ding because he’s the most powerful of the culprits who ran off. It’s hilarious how well-matched these two are, and how they just roll with each other’s ridiculous commentary.

Despite not wanting to get involved, Zhou Zishu can’t help it. His detective senses are tingling and he figures there’s nothing to lose since he’s a dead man walking.

However, their pursuit leads them to another dead body, and they take off after the person fleeing the crime scene until they reach a cemetery. Of course it’s a cemetery, haha. The person they were pursuing also disappears mysteriously. The whole scene is fit for a horror movie, complete with laughing animals.

Now, to be fair, and I’m not sure if this applies to owls, but some animals like foxes have truly terrifying vocalizations (one variation sounds like a screaming woman, for one). It’s no wonder people used to think demons and spirits existed. Unlike western depictions of the owl as a symbol of wisdom, among other things, in Chinese culture they’re apparently bad omens, at most used to ward off evil spirits.

Wen Kexing is so random and dramatic and loves to talk, haha. He tells a short story about owls being omens of death, then about locust trees being considered the door to the underworld. They really do find an underground cavern and river beneath the tombstone.

So! We have met our two main characters, become well-acquainted with their propensity to hide their true identities and incessant bickering when they’re together, and set the stage for solving a murder mystery. Decent progression for 10/78 chapters. I really love priest’s writing, which is always a delightful balance of pleasant and poetic description between good, distinctive dialogue and forward action to progress the story.

[playercharacter1]

I said that I’d wait to try the DLCs before working out how much of them I want to incorporate into the gameverse tale, and having played Dead Money I’m now inclined to think I want to incorporate more or less the whole thing - because it gives me a really handy post-game hook. Almost certainly messes with the canon timeline a bit, but I’m not out to write a novel any time soon so I’m handwaving it in the name of fun.

As noted, Larkin gets drawn into the Dead Money mess around the age of 23, spends a week or so suffering, and gets out with...maybe one gold bar, which allows for a comfortable few months in recompense. (A spending splurge that means she recovers well from her time amidst the Cloud, with a healthy portion left over as savings to be squirrelled away for emergencies.) She parts with Christine on loosely friendly terms; they didn’t know each other long enough or under relaxed enough circumstances to bond in any great depth, but after dragging someone’s dying ass up a staircase and collaborating on a murder plot with them, it’s only natural to hope their future endeavours go well.

At age 25-26, nine-ish months of game plot occur. Blah blah etc, Larkin eventually deposes House and establishes herself as a significant power in Vegas, with Veronica and Yes Man helping her out. The first six months that follow are barely bridled chaos, and even after that there is a hell of a lot to deal with; there are plenty of people who respect Larkin for being The Courier who pushed the NCR and Legion out, but no small number resent her for upending the status quo so dramatically (and nearly plunging the city into complete economic disaster in the process). There are of course also the handful who simply see her as easier pickings than the elusive House ever was.

And Larkin’s certainly more exposed than House, because she still insists on striking her deals and seeing things carried out in person. There’s a danger to it, but there’s equal danger in sitting too far out of the action; she knows how easy it to have vital information hidden or misconstrued by those with an agenda. It’s around this period that she upgrades her look a bit from the grubby wastelander half-angling to be underestimated. Still goes armed and armoured (because there’s presenting a confident image and then there’s asking to be stabbed), but it’s less of a chunky / patchwork mess, and more...something like the assassin suit in style, I suppose? A sleeker, meaner Larkin, balancing practicality against image, her background and experiences against life as a permanent part of the Strip.

Two-ish years after the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, Larkin’s progressed from significant power to dominant power, generally recognised as the head of what loose hierarchy exists, and had a few close calls. A wary eye is still kept on all horizons, with rumours out of both east and west speaking not of war, not yet, but enough hostility to settle uncomfortably between her shoulder-blades. She has alliances, but people are fickle; she has the Securitrons, but they’re known and familiar and far from invulnerable, and their numbers have been whittled down over the years. As she lounges at the top of the Lucky 38, she finds her thoughts drifting back to a misadventure from her youth and the unique tech she’d witnessed there.

At age 28, Larkin returns to the Sierra Madre with Veronica in tow - a Veronica who’s older and tireder and still trying to do what’s right. The former scribe has been loyal, has been valuable, and has been growing ever uneasier with her friend / sometimes lover and all that’s been done in the name of staying safe or making improvements or it’s not like this is how I want to play it, V, but it’s how it has to happen. After being cast aside by her old family, however, she can’t make herself abandon what small measure of it she has here. 

She’s taken completely by surprise by the face who greets them at the gates.

Larkin has long since guessed that Christine’s Elijah and Veronica’s Elijah are likely one and the same, and Veronica’s presence is at least partly grease on the wheels: Look at this! Old friends, all three of us. Who’d have thought? It works, too; nobody’s throwing themselves into anyone’s arms, but beneath the bewilderment and disbelief there’s real relief at finding out they’re both alive, and the faintest echoes of an old tenderness, a young love cut short but never forgotten. As for Larkin, well, Christine’s memories of Larkin are of a resourceful and reliable ally, and in the wild weirdness of the moment Veronica’s doubts are submerged again as they laugh together and shake heads over how they’ve all changed and oh, god, it’s really Christine? It makes for a warm welcome.

The good feeling lasts maybe a day or two as the warden shows them about and ample tales are traded. Then, on the second night, Larkin casually comes out and says that she’s here for the tech - for the holograms predominantly, but she’s not averse to the other bits and pieces that make the Sierra Madre such a fortress. She’s not after Elijah’s dream of hunching like a mad vulture over a dead zone, but the holograms alone would vastly improve her security.

Christine says no.

More than that, Veronica says no. She, more than Christine, knows what Larkin’s not saying, knows what kind of edge she’s seeking, has watched her walking slowly but steadily down a path that is becoming harder and harder to condone. And now - away from Vegas, away from the politicking and the danger and the Hard Choices That Must Be Made - she finds herself appealing to the young woman she befriended in the first place. Is this really necessary? Heck, do we even need to go back? It was just...it was so nice travelling out here, just the two of them (and a Securitron) like the old days, and Christine’s presence is reminding her of a time she was truly happy, which makes it easier to recognise that she’s not anymore. That she hasn’t been for a long time now.

Veronica’s reluctance only firms Christine’s stance that what’s in the Sierra Madre should stay in the Sierra Madre; likewise, Christine being present means Larkin can’t resort to her usual manipulative tactics to talk Veronica around from her misgivings. It means a long conversation that gets just close enough to ugly for Christine to grow wary - before Larkin finally smiles, holds up her hands, and says alright, very well, the point has been made. Can’t blame her for trying. Have you gotten much news from the south in your six years of solitude? Ah, well...

(And Veronica thinks, later, she should have known that moment for what it was, but she never really thought she’d end up on the other side of it.)

By the time they all part for bed, things aren’t quite as comfortable as they were before the disagreement, but Larkin waves off Veronica’s attempt to talk privately, claiming weariness and no hard feelings. Veronica hesitates, looks down the hallway a long moment before turning in...and then wakes during the night to find Larkin has attempted to lock both she and Christine in their rooms in order to take the tech by force.

What commences is three-ish days of cat-and-mousing in the deadly playground that is the Sierra Madre; no bomb collars this time at least, but an infinitely more personal fight. The longer it goes, the less Larkin holds back, and the ruthless resourcefulness that saw her turn the tables on Elijah has only been honed further since they last met. She is The Courier-

But Christine is the Warden. She has spent those same six years guarding this territory. She knows it inside and out, she taught Larkin half her skills with computers; the Cloud barely scathes her lungs, and the Ghost People shy away from her and those she protects. Eventually, with Veronica’s aid, she ends the bitter struggle over the Sierra Madre’s treasures by taking it out of the equation altogether - they rig a bomb that triggers a chemical reaction and ignites the Cloud like a funeral pyre that will burn for nearly a decade.

All three make it out before it goes; as deeply distressed as Veronica is by Larkin’s actions, as brutal a confirmation this has been that the woman she liked and loved (as a friend and, in a few precious moments, a little like something more) has gradually become no better than House, no better than Elijah - she doesn’t want her dead. She makes sure her old friend has a fair chance to escape.

Veronica and Christine flee together. Nothing has quite been rekindled between them yet; it’s been such a long time, and so much has happened. They’re quiet and hurting, leaving more things burning in Sierra Madre’s fires than tech and treasures. There’s a strange sense of lightness though, the slow awareness of freedom - from Christine’s vigil over the city of the dead, to Veronica’s dogged loyalty to a cause she’d long lost heart in - and for once the future is a total, enticing mystery.

Larkin limps back alone to New Vegas, humiliated and hating. To have lost a fight she started is a grievous blow to her pride, and the paranoiac edge that can in some ways be traced to the her first encounter with the Sierra Madre is now spiralling after the second - it doesn’t help that both Christine and Veronica are ex-Brotherhood, a group that Larkin has developed an increasingly personal grudge against. She genuinely believes that the fight isn’t finished here, that they’ll return all high and mighty to deny her Vegas as well, and even if they don’t someone else fucking will, there’s always someone who wants what she has.

She might not be wrong.

She will be ready.

[inloveandwords]

I’m participating in 2 readathons (Magical Readathon & Fantasyathon) in April as well as the Dragons & Tea Book Club and my Talk Darcy to Me book club, so every book on this list is part of those.

If you’d like to watch the video instead, you can check it out here:

April Reading List

These are all books that I own and want to read this month! Titles link to Goodreads.

A Curse So Dark and Lonely (A Curse So Dark and Lonely #1) by Brigid Kemmerer

Fall in love, break the curse.

It once seemed so easy to Prince Rhen, the heir to Emberfall. Cursed by a powerful enchantress to repeat the autumn of his eighteenth year over and over, he knew he could be saved if a girl fell for him. But that was before he learned that at the end of each autumn, he would turn into a vicious beast hell-bent on destruction. That was before he destroyed his castle, his family, and every last shred of hope.

Nothing has ever been easy for Harper Lacy. With her father long gone, her mother dying, and her brother barely holding their family together while constantly underestimating her because of her cerebral palsy, she learned to be tough enough to survive. But when she tries to save someone else on the streets of Washington, DC, she’s instead somehow sucked into Rhen’s cursed world.

Break the curse, save the kingdom.

A prince? A monster? A curse? Harper doesn’t know where she is or what to believe. But as she spends time with Rhen in this enchanted land, she begins to understand what’s at stake. And as Rhen realizes Harper is not just another girl to charm, his hope comes flooding back. But powerful forces are standing against Emberfall . . . and it will take more than a broken curse to save Harper, Rhen, and his people from utter ruin.

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Because You Love to Hate Me: 13 Tales of Villainy

Leave it to the heroes to save the world–villains just want to rule the world.

In this unique YA anthology, thirteen acclaimed, bestselling authors team up with thirteen influential BookTubers to reimagine fairy tales from the oft-misunderstood villains’ points of view.

These fractured, unconventional spins on classics like “Medusa,” Sherlock Holmes, and “Jack and the Beanstalk” provide a behind-the-curtain look at villains’ acts of vengeance, defiance, and rage–and the pain, heartbreak, and sorrow that spurned them on. No fairy tale will ever seem quite the same again!

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Defy the Stars (Constellation #1) by Claudia Gray

She’s a soldier – Noemi Vidal is willing to risk anything to protect her planet, Genesis, including her own life. To their enemies on Earth, she’s a rebel.

He’s a machine – Abandoned in space for years, utterly alone, Abel’s advanced programming has begun to evolve. He wants only to protect his creator, and to be free. To the people of Genesis, he’s an abomination.

Noemi and Abel are enemies in an interstellar war, forced by chance to work together as they embark on a daring journey through the stars. Their efforts would end the fighting for good, but they’re not without sacrifice. The stakes are even higher than either of them first realized, and the more time they spend together, the more they’re forced to question everything they’d been taught was true.

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Catwoman: Soulstealer (DC Icons #3) by Sarah J. Maas

When the Bat’s away, the Cat will play. It’s time to see how many lives this cat really has. . . .

Two years after escaping Gotham City’s slums, Selina Kyle returns as the mysterious and wealthy Holly Vanderhees. She quickly discovers that with Batman off on a vital mission, Batwing is left to hold back the tide of notorious criminals. Gotham City is ripe for the taking.

Meanwhile, Luke Fox wants to prove he has what it takes to help people in his role as Batwing. He targets a new thief on the prowl who seems cleverer than most. She has teamed up with Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn, and together they are wreaking havoc. This Catwoman may be Batwing’s undoing.

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Beautiful Mistake by Vi Keeland

The first time I met Caine West was in a bar. He noticed me looking his way and mistakenly read my scowling as checking him out. When he attempted to talk to me, I set him straight—telling him what I thought of his lying, cheating, egomaniacal ass. You see, the gorgeous jerk had wined and dined my best friend–smooth talking her into his bed, all along failing to mention that he was married. He deserved every bit of my tongue-lashing and more for what he’d done. Especially when that lazy smile graced his perfect face in response to my rant. Only it turned out, the man I’d just told off wasn’t the right guy. Oops. My mistake. Embarrassed, I slunk out without an apology. I was never going to see the handsome stranger again anyway, right? That’s what I thought…until I walked into class the next morning. Well, hello Professor West, I’m your new teaching assistant. I’ll be working under you…figuratively speaking. Although the literal interpretation might not be such a bad thing—working under Professor West. This was going to be interesting…

Reckless by Lex Martin

Reckless features Tori and Ethan and is a standalone companion to the USA Today bestseller Shameless.

Tori… For the record, I’m not going to hook up with my boss.

I’m a lot of things—a screwup, a basket case, a flunky. But when I take a nanny job to be near my pregnant sister, I swear to myself I’ll walk the straight and narrow, which means I cannot fall for my insanely hot boss.

I don’t want to be tempted by that rugged rancher. By his chiseled muscles or southern charm or the way he snuggles his kids at bedtime. Ethan Carter won’t get the key to my heart, no matter how much I want him.

Ethan… Between us, she’s the last thing I need as I finalize my hellish divorce.

What sane man trying to rebuild his life wants a hot nanny with long, sexy hair, curves for miles, and a smart mouth? A perfectly kissable, pouty mouth that I shouldn’t notice.

My focus is on my kids and my ranch, not the insufferable siren who sleeps in the room next to mine. It doesn’t matter that she wins over my kids in a heartbeat or runs my life better than I do. Tori Duran is the one woman I can’t have and shouldn’t want, no matter how much I crave her.

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Saga, Vol. 1 (Saga #1) by Brian K. Vaughan (Writer), Fiona Staples (Artist)

When two soldiers from opposite sides of a never-ending galactic war fall in love, they risk everything to bring a fragile new life into a dangerous old universe.

From bestselling writer Brian K. Vaughan, Saga is the sweeping tale of one young family fighting to find their place in the worlds. Fantasy and science fiction are wed like never before in this sexy, subversive drama for adults.

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A Study in Charlotte (Charlotte Holmes #1) by Brittany Cavallaro

The last thing Jamie Watson wants is a rugby scholarship to Sherringford, a Connecticut prep school just an hour away from his estranged father. But that’s not the only complication: Sherringford is also home to Charlotte Holmes, the famous detective’s great-great-great-granddaughter, who has inherited not only Sherlock’s genius but also his volatile temperament. From everything Jamie has heard about Charlotte, it seems safer to admire her from afar.

From the moment they meet, there’s a tense energy between them, and they seem more destined to be rivals than anything else. But when a Sherringford student dies under suspicious circumstances, ripped straight from the most terrifying of the Sherlock Holmes stories, Jamie can no longer afford to keep his distance. Jamie and Charlotte are being framed for murder, and only Charlotte can clear their names. But danger is mounting and nowhere is safe—and the only people they can trust are each other.

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The Looking Glass Wars (The Looking Glass Wars #1) by Frank Beddor

Alyss of Wonderland? When Alyss Heart, newly orphaned heir to the Wonderland throne, flees through the Pool of Tears to escape her murderous Aunt Redd, she finds herself lost and alone in Victorian London. Befriended by an aspiring author named Lewis Carrol, Alyss tells the violent, heartbreaking story of her young life. Alyss trusts this author to tell the truth so that someone, somewhere will find her and bring her home. But he gets the story all wrong. He even spells her name incorrectly!

Fortunately, Royal Bodyguard Hatter Madigan knows all too well the awful truth of Alyss’ story – and he’s searching every corner of our world to find the lost princess and return her to Wonderland, to battle Redd for her rightful place as the Queen of Hearts.

The Looking Glass Wars unabashedly challenges our Wonderland assumptions of mad tea parties, grinning Cheshire cats, and a curious little blond girl to reveal an epic battle in the endless war for Imagination.

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Seeing Redd (The Looking Glass Wars #2) by Frank Beddor

Alyss of Wonderland’s rule has only just begun, and already those who prefer chaos to peace are threatening to destroy everything worth imagining. Trailed by newly appointed royal bodyguard Homburg Molly, Alyss is doing her best to keep pace with the non-stop demands of being queen while attempting to evade Molly for a few private moments with Dodge.

Alyss’ life is a challenging mix of duty, love, and tough decisions, and then a series of phantom sightings set fire to an urban myth of Her Imperial Viciousness’ return and have everyone… seeing Redd.

Has Redd somehow freed herself and her chief assassin, The Cat, from the confines of the Heart Crystal? If not, then who has resurrected Redd’s brutal foot soldiers the Glass Eyes and set them loose to attack Wonderland on all sides?

Battles rage, looking glasses explode, and the Alyssians once again unite to defend White Imagination in this fast-paced follow-up to the New York Times best-selling The Looking Glass Wars.

Sadie by Courtney Summers

A missing girl on a journey of revenge. A Serial―like podcast following the clues she’s left behind. And an ending you won’t be able to stop talking about.

Sadie hasn’t had an easy life. Growing up on her own, she’s been raising her sister Mattie in an isolated small town, trying her best to provide a normal life and keep their heads above water.

But when Mattie is found dead, Sadie’s entire world crumbles. After a somewhat botched police investigation, Sadie is determined to bring her sister’s killer to justice and hits the road following a few meager clues to find him.

When West McCray―a radio personality working on a segment about small, forgotten towns in America―overhears Sadie’s story at a local gas station, he becomes obsessed with finding the missing girl. He starts his own podcast as he tracks Sadie’s journey, trying to figure out what happened, hoping to find her before it’s too late.

Courtney Summers has written the breakout book of her career. Sadie is propulsive and harrowing and will keep you riveted until the last page.

+++

ArchEnemy (The Looking Glass Wars #3) by Frank Beddor

Imagine this… The power of imagination has been lost!

Now it’s all about the artillery as AD52s, crystal shooters, spikejack tumblers, and orb cannons are unleashed in a war of weapons and brute force.

As Alyss searches wildly for the solution to the disaster that has engulfed her queendom, Arch declares himself King of Wonderland. The moment is desperate enough for Alyss to travel back to London for answers, where Arch’s assassins are threatening Alice Liddell and her family. But after coming to the Liddells’ assistance, Alyss discovers herself trapped in a conundrum of evaporating puddles. The shimmering portals that exist to transport her home through the Pool of Tears are disappearing!

What is happening in Wonderland? Deep within the Valley of Mushroom the Caterpillar Oracles issue this prophecy: “Action shall be taken to ensure the safety of the Heart Crystal. For Everqueen.” But who is Everqueen?

As the metamorphosis of Wonderland unfolds, enemies become allies, bitter rivals face off, and Queen Alyss and Redd Heart must both confront their pasts in this thrilling, no-holds-barred conclusion to the New York Times bestselling series.

+++

Crooked Kingdom (Six of Crows #2) by Leigh Bardugo

Welcome to the world of the Grisha.

Kaz Brekker and his crew of deadly outcasts have just pulled off a heist so daring even they didn’t think they’d survive. But instead of divvying up a fat reward, they’re right back to fighting for their lives.

Double-crossed and badly weakened, the crew is low on resources, allies, and hope. As powerful forces from around the world descend on Ketterdam to root out the secrets of the dangerous drug known as jurda parem, old rivals and new enemies emerge to challenge Kaz’s cunning and test the team’s fragile loyalties.

A war will be waged on the city’s dark and twisting streets – a battle for revenge and redemption that will decide the fate of the Grisha world.

+++

The Bone Witch (The Bone Witch #1) by Rin Chupeco

In the captivating start to a new, darkly lyrical fantasy series for readers of Leigh Bardugo and Sabaa Tahir, Tea can raise the dead, but resurrection comes at a price…

Let me be clear: I never intended to raise my brother from his grave, though he may claim otherwise. If there’s anything I’ve learned from him in the years since, it’s that the dead hide truths as well as the living.

When Tea accidentally resurrects her brother from the dead, she learns she is different from the other witches in her family. Her gift for necromancy means that she’s a bone witch, a title that makes her feared and ostracized by her community. But Tea finds solace and guidance with an older, wiser bone witch, who takes Tea and her brother to another land for training.

In her new home, Tea puts all her energy into becoming an asha-one who can wield elemental magic. But dark forces are approaching quickly, and in the face of danger, Tea will have to overcome her obstacles…and make a powerful choice.

+++

When the Moon Was Ours by Anna-Marie McLemore

To everyone who knows them, best friends Miel and Sam are as strange as they are inseparable. Roses grow out of Miel’s wrist, and rumors say that she spilled out of a water tower when she was five. Sam is known for the moons he paints and hangs in the trees, and for how little anyone knows about his life before he and his mother moved to town. But as odd as everyone considers Miel and Sam, even they stay away from the Bonner girls, four beautiful sisters rumored to be witches. Now they want the roses that grow from Miel’s skin, convinced that their scent can make anyone fall in love. And they’re willing to use every secret Miel has fought to protect to make sure she gives them up.

What are you reading this month?

April 2019 Reading List I'm participating in 2 readathons (Magical Readathon & Fantasyathon) in April as well as the…

[pitz182]

It's Never Too Late to Change: New Books by Writers in Recovery

Your nerves shot? Mine, too. Winter is a slog and I can’t wait for spring. When I can’t stand one more minute of worrying about the planet, polar bears, politics and hate, I still choose escape. But… instead of rum and cocaine, my go-to is a good book. So, if stress has been dogging you and your bandwidth is low, it’s okay to turn off your gadgets so you can refuel. Breaks from YouTube and the 24/7 news cycle can do wondrous things for the mind. I went radical this week and even turned off my cell. Twitter can consume me if I let it.This month I made time to curl up on the couch with my dog and disappeared into these gems:Never Enough: The Neuroscience and Experience of Addictionby Judith Grisel (Doubleday, Feb. 19, 2019)“My response to being overwhelmed by the deep void was to leap into it.” — Judith GriselJudith Grisel writes about the grizzly years of self-destruction. Stories show the author at her messiest. In a decade, she’d consumed a cornucopia of substances; by age 23, she was a self-loathing mess.The strength of Grisel’s bestseller is her intimate knowledge about the nervous system and addiction. Grisel peppers the pages with unsettling anecdotes, but she does it sans self-pity. Like a journalist, she reports embarrassing and creepy things.“I ripped off stores and stole credit cards when the opportunity presented itself, I was still able to maintain, at least to myself, that I was basically a good person. To an extent, for instance, I could count on my companions, and they could count on me. I say to an extent, because we also knew and expected that we would lie, cheat, or steal from each other if something really important were at stake (that is, drugs).”I never tire of drunken-drugalogues, and Grisel doesn’t disappoint on that front. But telling these stories is not to shock or manipulate readers, nor is Grisel trying to prove she was “a bona fide addict.” Her purpose is to illustrate the bleak existence of those who cannot stop drinking and drugging.When Grisel “finally reached the dead end” where she felt she was “incapable of living either with or without mind-altering substances,” she sought help. After a 28-day rehab and months in a halfway house, she managed to pull her life together. After seven years of study, she earned a PhD in behavioral neuroscience and became an expert in neurobiology, chemistry, and the genetics of addictive behavior.This book doesn't brag about having the answers, but shows what a sober neuroscientist has learned after 20 years of studying how an addicted brain works. She makes it easy to understand why it's so difficult to get sober and maybe even harder to stay that way. It irks me when people say they never think about drugs or alcohol anymore. My first feeling is rage—probably because I’ve never experienced anything like that, despite working hard on myself during 30 years in recovery. Grisel refreshingly writes about the temptation that’s always there.Grisel’s writing communicates succinctly: “A plaque I later saw posted behind a bar described my first experience [with alcohol] precisely: Alcohol makes you feel like you’re supposed to feel when you’re not drinking alcohol.” In another passage, she quotes George Koob, chief of the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism: “There are two ways of becoming an alcoholic: either being born one or drinking a lot.” Grisel is careful to explain so you don’t get the wrong idea. “Dr. Koob is not trying to be flip, and the high likelihood that one or the other of these applies to each of us helps explain why the disease is so prevalent.”When she writes about her experiences, it’s candid and clear, and it feels like she’s a friend and we’re chatting in a café. I found myself frequently nodding with identification—like a bobblehead on a car dashboard. It’s a fascinating, absorbing, satisfying book about addiction.Widows-in-Lawby Michele W. Miller (Blackstone Publishing, Feb. 26, 2019)There was a huge turnout at The Mysterious Bookshop in downtown Manhattan on February 26. The event was the book launch of Michele W. Miller’s second novel, Widows-in-Law. Lawrence Block, the wildly successful, sober crime novelist, sat beside Miller in the role of interviewer, and he was as entertaining as ever.See Also: Lawrence Block: One Case at a TimeMiller, a high-level attorney for New York City, said, “Widows-in-Law is about an attorney who dies suddenly in a fire, leaving behind a first wife who’s a streetwise child abuse prosecutor.” She then jokingly added, “who might resemble me a little bit.” That got a big laugh because many attendees knew that Miller had previously worked as a child abuse prosecutor.In a thick and endearing Brooklyn-Queens accent, Miller described the deceased’s second bride. “You know, legs up to the eyeballs…[a] gawgeous trophy wife.” Block jumped in with praise: “That’s the one that resembles you.” Miller blushed and said, “See? That’s why we keep him around for a hundred books. Another big laugh, another inside joke: throughout Block’s astounding career, the well-loved crime writer has churned out 100 books.Miller quickly regained her composure and got back to the novel’s setup: Emily is a 16-year-old from Brian’s first marriage, to Lauren. Shortly before Brian died in the fire, Emily moved in with Brian (and his new wife). Lauren hoped they could reel in the out-of-control teen.The Miller thriller works well. It’s a fast read with dramatic and believable scenes and dialogue. I wanted to dig deeper and find out how much of the novel was fictional. Many novelists write about the worlds they know. Miller agreed to one-on-one time to discuss the three badass women at the center of the story.“Emily’s mom Lauren is my main character. Her backstory includes being a homeless teenager during the 1980s and ‘90s,” Miller said. “Her parents were whacked on drugs so Lauren left. She stayed at a shelter on St. Marks. It’s an iconic recovery building in the East Village.”When I asked which parts of the novel are autobiographical, Miller paused, sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.“Okay,” she said. “Here goes. I’m in my 30th year clean. I was a low-bottom heroin addict.” Miller’s past included a felony arrest for cocaine possession. She was facing 15 to life. To avoid spoilers, suffice it to say that explained why some of the scenes seemed so thoroughly researched.“The book touches on my experiences with jail, illegal after-hours spots, and the complete chaos of addiction,” said Miller, who is now the director of enforcement for the New York City Conflicts of Interest Board. “Basically, that means I’m the chief ethics prosecutor for the city.” She’s aware of the irony. Before getting clean, Miller ran in the same circles as hitmen, such as the infamous Tommy Pitera.“Yeah, we got high together,” said Miller. “People knew him as Tommy Karate because he was into martial arts. But it wasn’t until a book that I found out he was a brutal killer who cut people into little pieces. I was traumatized. We hung out, getting high. I don’t know why he didn’t kill me. I guess he liked me. Maybe because I was an accomplished martial artist?”Miller is proof of how much your life can change when you get sober. She's lucky to have survived her druggy past that included hanging out with murderers. Lawrence Block said, “Michele Miller has had more lives than a cat, and they’ve made her a writer of passion and substance.”After you read Widows-in-Law, check out Miller’s first novel, The Thirteenth Step: Zombie Recovery (HOW Club Press, November 4, 2013). It’s another fast-paced doozy and a finalist in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards. Kirkus Reviews wrote, “A humorous and surprising satire of both the zombie apocalypse and the culture of addiction... wholly original... satisfying.... The care taken in both characterization and prose earns the reader’s time. A well-written, thoughtful treatment not just of a popular literary trope but of a nagging social issue.”The Addiction Spectrum: A Compassionate Approach to Recovery by Paul Thomas, MD, and Jennifer Margulis, PhD. (HarperOne, Sept. 4. 2018)Paul Thomas, MD, is board certified in integrative and holistic medicine and addiction medicine—he’s also in recovery.“Addiction isn’t about willpower or blame,” he said. “It’s a disease that, like many other conditions, exists on a spectrum.” The spectrum is about how severely you crave your substance of choice when you don’t have it. It’s about how serious your health consequences are. Death, of course, is the worst end of the spectrum.The Addiction Spectrum offers a system that bases the individual’s needs on where they are on the spectrum. Thomas offers seven key methods for healing, whether you’re active in addiction or already in recovery. “Doctors need a new approach to treating pain,” said Thomas. He mentioned the hazards of painkillers within the medical community, “My wife is a nurse and recovering opiate addict,” he said. The book is about any addiction—alcohol, marijuana, opioids, meth, technology. Co-author Jennifer Margulis, PhD, is an award-winning science journalist who’s been writing books about children’s health for over 10 years.“Making love, eating delicious food,” said Margulis, “these activities release dopamine and make you feel good. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel good. But using heroin or abusing prescription opioids or even excessive computer gaming or binge eating will harm your brain. Too many young people think, ‘Hey, I’m just having fun.’ But there is nothing fun about dying from an overdose.”But what is it about right now that can explain the drug epidemic?“We’re animals, wired to avoid danger and seek pleasure,” Thomas said. “We scan for threats and have an immediate fight, flight or freeze reaction. We’re talking about dopamine and epinephrine (adrenaline) responses.”Margulis agreed: “with cell phone alerts, video games, 24/7 news and high stress from work or school, we are overloaded. We can become addicted to food, social media, cigarettes, and a bunch of other substances and behaviors.”Both Thomas and Margulis agree it is time to start looking at the root causes. Why is there an increase in mood disorders, fatigue, and addiction? The book answers so many questions and I learned a lot about how to treat my body and mind better. The writing style makes it easy reading—nothing too tough to get through and very practical.The most anticipated book on my list isn’t out yet, but I’ve been lucky enough to read a sample chapter.Strung Outby Erin Khar (HarperCollins|Park Row Books, Feb. 2020)Erin Khar’s much-anticipated memoir will hit the shelves in early 2020. It’s the story of Khar’s decade-long battle with opioids, but it goes even further by searching for answers. Why is it that some people can do drugs and stop, while others become addicted? She explores possible reasons for America’s current drug crisis and its soaring death toll. The CDC statistics are staggering. From 1999 to 2017, more than 700,000 people died from drug overdoses, and 400,000 of those died from an opioid overdose. This epidemic is devouring our nation.Khar’s writing beat includes addiction, recovery, mental health, relationships, and self-care. She also writes the “Ask Erin” column for Ravishly.For a decade, beginning at age 13, she kept her heroin use a secret from friends and family. When she was caught by her then-fiancé, she went to rehab and her book describes her harrowing withdrawal. Three years later, at age 26, she relapsed. Four months later, her using had dragged her to the bottom.Khar, who has written for The Fix, told me, “I’ve been clean from opiates for 15 years!” That’s an enormous achievement for any addict, and in that decade and a half, she’s completely changed her life.From Khar’s essay in Self magazine:“If you had told me 15 years ago that I would be a happily married mother, living in New York City, doing what she loves for a living… I would have laughed.”She hopes that her book will help shatter the stigma; stop the shaming. She describes its genesis: “I wrote the short story 'David' for Cosmonauts Avenue. Agents contacted me about writing a memoir.” After reading her essays, and following her writing career, I’m eager to read a book by this heroine about heroin.Every one of these books is written by a sober writer. They are living proof that people’s lives can change at any time.Mine sure did.Do you have favorite sober authors? Please share them with us in the comments!

[emlydunstan]

It's Never Too Late to Change: New Books by Writers in Recovery

Your nerves shot? Mine, too. Winter is a slog and I can’t wait for spring. When I can’t stand one more minute of worrying about the planet, polar bears, politics and hate, I still choose escape. But… instead of rum and cocaine, my go-to is a good book. So, if stress has been dogging you and your bandwidth is low, it’s okay to turn off your gadgets so you can refuel. Breaks from YouTube and the 24/7 news cycle can do wondrous things for the mind. I went radical this week and even turned off my cell. Twitter can consume me if I let it.This month I made time to curl up on the couch with my dog and disappeared into these gems:Never Enough: The Neuroscience and Experience of Addictionby Judith Grisel (Doubleday, Feb. 19, 2019)“My response to being overwhelmed by the deep void was to leap into it.” — Judith GriselJudith Grisel writes about the grizzly years of self-destruction. Stories show the author at her messiest. In a decade, she’d consumed a cornucopia of substances; by age 23, she was a self-loathing mess.The strength of Grisel’s bestseller is her intimate knowledge about the nervous system and addiction. Grisel peppers the pages with unsettling anecdotes, but she does it sans self-pity. Like a journalist, she reports embarrassing and creepy things.“I ripped off stores and stole credit cards when the opportunity presented itself, I was still able to maintain, at least to myself, that I was basically a good person. To an extent, for instance, I could count on my companions, and they could count on me. I say to an extent, because we also knew and expected that we would lie, cheat, or steal from each other if something really important were at stake (that is, drugs).”I never tire of drunken-drugalogues, and Grisel doesn’t disappoint on that front. But telling these stories is not to shock or manipulate readers, nor is Grisel trying to prove she was “a bona fide addict.” Her purpose is to illustrate the bleak existence of those who cannot stop drinking and drugging.When Grisel “finally reached the dead end” where she felt she was “incapable of living either with or without mind-altering substances,” she sought help. After a 28-day rehab and months in a halfway house, she managed to pull her life together. After seven years of study, she earned a PhD in behavioral neuroscience and became an expert in neurobiology, chemistry, and the genetics of addictive behavior.This book doesn't brag about having the answers, but shows what a sober neuroscientist has learned after 20 years of studying how an addicted brain works. She makes it easy to understand why it's so difficult to get sober and maybe even harder to stay that way. It irks me when people say they never think about drugs or alcohol anymore. My first feeling is rage—probably because I’ve never experienced anything like that, despite working hard on myself during 30 years in recovery. Grisel refreshingly writes about the temptation that’s always there.Grisel’s writing communicates succinctly: “A plaque I later saw posted behind a bar described my first experience [with alcohol] precisely: Alcohol makes you feel like you’re supposed to feel when you’re not drinking alcohol.” In another passage, she quotes George Koob, chief of the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism: “There are two ways of becoming an alcoholic: either being born one or drinking a lot.” Grisel is careful to explain so you don’t get the wrong idea. “Dr. Koob is not trying to be flip, and the high likelihood that one or the other of these applies to each of us helps explain why the disease is so prevalent.”When she writes about her experiences, it’s candid and clear, and it feels like she’s a friend and we’re chatting in a café. I found myself frequently nodding with identification—like a bobblehead on a car dashboard. It’s a fascinating, absorbing, satisfying book about addiction.Widows-in-Lawby Michele W. Miller (Blackstone Publishing, Feb. 26, 2019)There was a huge turnout at The Mysterious Bookshop in downtown Manhattan on February 26. The event was the book launch of Michele W. Miller’s second novel, Widows-in-Law. Lawrence Block, the wildly successful, sober crime novelist, sat beside Miller in the role of interviewer, and he was as entertaining as ever.See Also: Lawrence Block: One Case at a TimeMiller, a high-level attorney for New York City, said, “Widows-in-Law is about an attorney who dies suddenly in a fire, leaving behind a first wife who’s a streetwise child abuse prosecutor.” She then jokingly added, “who might resemble me a little bit.” That got a big laugh because many attendees knew that Miller had previously worked as a child abuse prosecutor.In a thick and endearing Brooklyn-Queens accent, Miller described the deceased’s second bride. “You know, legs up to the eyeballs…[a] gawgeous trophy wife.” Block jumped in with praise: “That’s the one that resembles you.” Miller blushed and said, “See? That’s why we keep him around for a hundred books. Another big laugh, another inside joke: throughout Block’s astounding career, the well-loved crime writer has churned out 100 books.Miller quickly regained her composure and got back to the novel’s setup: Emily is a 16-year-old from Brian’s first marriage, to Lauren. Shortly before Brian died in the fire, Emily moved in with Brian (and his new wife). Lauren hoped they could reel in the out-of-control teen.The Miller thriller works well. It’s a fast read with dramatic and believable scenes and dialogue. I wanted to dig deeper and find out how much of the novel was fictional. Many novelists write about the worlds they know. Miller agreed to one-on-one time to discuss the three badass women at the center of the story.“Emily’s mom Lauren is my main character. Her backstory includes being a homeless teenager during the 1980s and ‘90s,” Miller said. “Her parents were whacked on drugs so Lauren left. She stayed at a shelter on St. Marks. It’s an iconic recovery building in the East Village.”When I asked which parts of the novel are autobiographical, Miller paused, sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.“Okay,” she said. “Here goes. I’m in my 30th year clean. I was a low-bottom heroin addict.” Miller’s past included a felony arrest for cocaine possession. She was facing 15 to life. To avoid spoilers, suffice it to say that explained why some of the scenes seemed so thoroughly researched.“The book touches on my experiences with jail, illegal after-hours spots, and the complete chaos of addiction,” said Miller, who is now the director of enforcement for the New York City Conflicts of Interest Board. “Basically, that means I’m the chief ethics prosecutor for the city.” She’s aware of the irony. Before getting clean, Miller ran in the same circles as hitmen, such as the infamous Tommy Pitera.“Yeah, we got high together,” said Miller. “People knew him as Tommy Karate because he was into martial arts. But it wasn’t until a book that I found out he was a brutal killer who cut people into little pieces. I was traumatized. We hung out, getting high. I don’t know why he didn’t kill me. I guess he liked me. Maybe because I was an accomplished martial artist?”Miller is proof of how much your life can change when you get sober. She's lucky to have survived her druggy past that included hanging out with murderers. Lawrence Block said, “Michele Miller has had more lives than a cat, and they’ve made her a writer of passion and substance.”After you read Widows-in-Law, check out Miller’s first novel, The Thirteenth Step: Zombie Recovery (HOW Club Press, November 4, 2013). It’s another fast-paced doozy and a finalist in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards. Kirkus Reviews wrote, “A humorous and surprising satire of both the zombie apocalypse and the culture of addiction... wholly original... satisfying.... The care taken in both characterization and prose earns the reader’s time. A well-written, thoughtful treatment not just of a popular literary trope but of a nagging social issue.”The Addiction Spectrum: A Compassionate Approach to Recovery by Paul Thomas, MD, and Jennifer Margulis, PhD. (HarperOne, Sept. 4. 2018)Paul Thomas, MD, is board certified in integrative and holistic medicine and addiction medicine—he’s also in recovery.“Addiction isn’t about willpower or blame,” he said. “It’s a disease that, like many other conditions, exists on a spectrum.” The spectrum is about how severely you crave your substance of choice when you don’t have it. It’s about how serious your health consequences are. Death, of course, is the worst end of the spectrum.The Addiction Spectrum offers a system that bases the individual’s needs on where they are on the spectrum. Thomas offers seven key methods for healing, whether you’re active in addiction or already in recovery. “Doctors need a new approach to treating pain,” said Thomas. He mentioned the hazards of painkillers within the medical community, “My wife is a nurse and recovering opiate addict,” he said. The book is about any addiction—alcohol, marijuana, opioids, meth, technology. Co-author Jennifer Margulis, PhD, is an award-winning science journalist who’s been writing books about children’s health for over 10 years.“Making love, eating delicious food,” said Margulis, “these activities release dopamine and make you feel good. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel good. But using heroin or abusing prescription opioids or even excessive computer gaming or binge eating will harm your brain. Too many young people think, ‘Hey, I’m just having fun.’ But there is nothing fun about dying from an overdose.”But what is it about right now that can explain the drug epidemic?“We’re animals, wired to avoid danger and seek pleasure,” Thomas said. “We scan for threats and have an immediate fight, flight or freeze reaction. We’re talking about dopamine and epinephrine (adrenaline) responses.”Margulis agreed: “with cell phone alerts, video games, 24/7 news and high stress from work or school, we are overloaded. We can become addicted to food, social media, cigarettes, and a bunch of other substances and behaviors.”Both Thomas and Margulis agree it is time to start looking at the root causes. Why is there an increase in mood disorders, fatigue, and addiction? The book answers so many questions and I learned a lot about how to treat my body and mind better. The writing style makes it easy reading—nothing too tough to get through and very practical.The most anticipated book on my list isn’t out yet, but I’ve been lucky enough to read a sample chapter.Strung Outby Erin Khar (HarperCollins|Park Row Books, Feb. 2020)Erin Khar’s much-anticipated memoir will hit the shelves in early 2020. It’s the story of Khar’s decade-long battle with opioids, but it goes even further by searching for answers. Why is it that some people can do drugs and stop, while others become addicted? She explores possible reasons for America’s current drug crisis and its soaring death toll. The CDC statistics are staggering. From 1999 to 2017, more than 700,000 people died from drug overdoses, and 400,000 of those died from an opioid overdose. This epidemic is devouring our nation.Khar’s writing beat includes addiction, recovery, mental health, relationships, and self-care. She also writes the “Ask Erin” column for Ravishly.For a decade, beginning at age 13, she kept her heroin use a secret from friends and family. When she was caught by her then-fiancé, she went to rehab and her book describes her harrowing withdrawal. Three years later, at age 26, she relapsed. Four months later, her using had dragged her to the bottom.Khar, who has written for The Fix, told me, “I’ve been clean from opiates for 15 years!” That’s an enormous achievement for any addict, and in that decade and a half, she’s completely changed her life.From Khar’s essay in Self magazine:“If you had told me 15 years ago that I would be a happily married mother, living in New York City, doing what she loves for a living… I would have laughed.”She hopes that her book will help shatter the stigma; stop the shaming. She describes its genesis: “I wrote the short story 'David' for Cosmonauts Avenue. Agents contacted me about writing a memoir.” After reading her essays, and following her writing career, I’m eager to read a book by this heroine about heroin.Every one of these books is written by a sober writer. They are living proof that people’s lives can change at any time.Mine sure did.Do you have favorite sober authors? Please share them with us in the comments!

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241841 https://www.thefix.com/its-never-too-late-change-new-books-writers-recovery

[alexdmorgan30]

It's Never Too Late to Change: New Books by Writers in Recovery

Your nerves shot? Mine, too. Winter is a slog and I can’t wait for spring. When I can’t stand one more minute of worrying about the planet, polar bears, politics and hate, I still choose escape. But… instead of rum and cocaine, my go-to is a good book. So, if stress has been dogging you and your bandwidth is low, it’s okay to turn off your gadgets so you can refuel. Breaks from YouTube and the 24/7 news cycle can do wondrous things for the mind. I went radical this week and even turned off my cell. Twitter can consume me if I let it.This month I made time to curl up on the couch with my dog and disappeared into these gems:Never Enough: The Neuroscience and Experience of Addictionby Judith Grisel (Doubleday, Feb. 19, 2019)“My response to being overwhelmed by the deep void was to leap into it.” — Judith GriselJudith Grisel writes about the grizzly years of self-destruction. Stories show the author at her messiest. In a decade, she’d consumed a cornucopia of substances; by age 23, she was a self-loathing mess.The strength of Grisel’s bestseller is her intimate knowledge about the nervous system and addiction. Grisel peppers the pages with unsettling anecdotes, but she does it sans self-pity. Like a journalist, she reports embarrassing and creepy things.“I ripped off stores and stole credit cards when the opportunity presented itself, I was still able to maintain, at least to myself, that I was basically a good person. To an extent, for instance, I could count on my companions, and they could count on me. I say to an extent, because we also knew and expected that we would lie, cheat, or steal from each other if something really important were at stake (that is, drugs).”I never tire of drunken-drugalogues, and Grisel doesn’t disappoint on that front. But telling these stories is not to shock or manipulate readers, nor is Grisel trying to prove she was “a bona fide addict.” Her purpose is to illustrate the bleak existence of those who cannot stop drinking and drugging.When Grisel “finally reached the dead end” where she felt she was “incapable of living either with or without mind-altering substances,” she sought help. After a 28-day rehab and months in a halfway house, she managed to pull her life together. After seven years of study, she earned a PhD in behavioral neuroscience and became an expert in neurobiology, chemistry, and the genetics of addictive behavior.This book doesn't brag about having the answers, but shows what a sober neuroscientist has learned after 20 years of studying how an addicted brain works. She makes it easy to understand why it's so difficult to get sober and maybe even harder to stay that way. It irks me when people say they never think about drugs or alcohol anymore. My first feeling is rage—probably because I’ve never experienced anything like that, despite working hard on myself during 30 years in recovery. Grisel refreshingly writes about the temptation that’s always there.Grisel’s writing communicates succinctly: “A plaque I later saw posted behind a bar described my first experience [with alcohol] precisely: Alcohol makes you feel like you’re supposed to feel when you’re not drinking alcohol.” In another passage, she quotes George Koob, chief of the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism: “There are two ways of becoming an alcoholic: either being born one or drinking a lot.” Grisel is careful to explain so you don’t get the wrong idea. “Dr. Koob is not trying to be flip, and the high likelihood that one or the other of these applies to each of us helps explain why the disease is so prevalent.”When she writes about her experiences, it’s candid and clear, and it feels like she’s a friend and we’re chatting in a café. I found myself frequently nodding with identification—like a bobblehead on a car dashboard. It’s a fascinating, absorbing, satisfying book about addiction.Widows-in-Lawby Michele W. Miller (Blackstone Publishing, Feb. 26, 2019)There was a huge turnout at The Mysterious Bookshop in downtown Manhattan on February 26. The event was the book launch of Michele W. Miller’s second novel, Widows-in-Law. Lawrence Block, the wildly successful, sober crime novelist, sat beside Miller in the role of interviewer, and he was as entertaining as ever.See Also: Lawrence Block: One Case at a TimeMiller, a high-level attorney for New York City, said, “Widows-in-Law is about an attorney who dies suddenly in a fire, leaving behind a first wife who’s a streetwise child abuse prosecutor.” She then jokingly added, “who might resemble me a little bit.” That got a big laugh because many attendees knew that Miller had previously worked as a child abuse prosecutor.In a thick and endearing Brooklyn-Queens accent, Miller described the deceased’s second bride. “You know, legs up to the eyeballs…[a] gawgeous trophy wife.” Block jumped in with praise: “That’s the one that resembles you.” Miller blushed and said, “See? That’s why we keep him around for a hundred books. Another big laugh, another inside joke: throughout Block’s astounding career, the well-loved crime writer has churned out 100 books.Miller quickly regained her composure and got back to the novel’s setup: Emily is a 16-year-old from Brian’s first marriage, to Lauren. Shortly before Brian died in the fire, Emily moved in with Brian (and his new wife). Lauren hoped they could reel in the out-of-control teen.The Miller thriller works well. It’s a fast read with dramatic and believable scenes and dialogue. I wanted to dig deeper and find out how much of the novel was fictional. Many novelists write about the worlds they know. Miller agreed to one-on-one time to discuss the three badass women at the center of the story.“Emily’s mom Lauren is my main character. Her backstory includes being a homeless teenager during the 1980s and ‘90s,” Miller said. “Her parents were whacked on drugs so Lauren left. She stayed at a shelter on St. Marks. It’s an iconic recovery building in the East Village.”When I asked which parts of the novel are autobiographical, Miller paused, sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.“Okay,” she said. “Here goes. I’m in my 30th year clean. I was a low-bottom heroin addict.” Miller’s past included a felony arrest for cocaine possession. She was facing 15 to life. To avoid spoilers, suffice it to say that explained why some of the scenes seemed so thoroughly researched.“The book touches on my experiences with jail, illegal after-hours spots, and the complete chaos of addiction,” said Miller, who is now the director of enforcement for the New York City Conflicts of Interest Board. “Basically, that means I’m the chief ethics prosecutor for the city.” She’s aware of the irony. Before getting clean, Miller ran in the same circles as hitmen, such as the infamous Tommy Pitera.“Yeah, we got high together,” said Miller. “People knew him as Tommy Karate because he was into martial arts. But it wasn’t until a book that I found out he was a brutal killer who cut people into little pieces. I was traumatized. We hung out, getting high. I don’t know why he didn’t kill me. I guess he liked me. Maybe because I was an accomplished martial artist?”Miller is proof of how much your life can change when you get sober. She's lucky to have survived her druggy past that included hanging out with murderers. Lawrence Block said, “Michele Miller has had more lives than a cat, and they’ve made her a writer of passion and substance.”After you read Widows-in-Law, check out Miller’s first novel, The Thirteenth Step: Zombie Recovery (HOW Club Press, November 4, 2013). It’s another fast-paced doozy and a finalist in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards. Kirkus Reviews wrote, “A humorous and surprising satire of both the zombie apocalypse and the culture of addiction... wholly original... satisfying.... The care taken in both characterization and prose earns the reader’s time. A well-written, thoughtful treatment not just of a popular literary trope but of a nagging social issue.”The Addiction Spectrum: A Compassionate Approach to Recovery by Paul Thomas, MD, and Jennifer Margulis, PhD. (HarperOne, Sept. 4. 2018)Paul Thomas, MD, is board certified in integrative and holistic medicine and addiction medicine—he’s also in recovery.“Addiction isn’t about willpower or blame,” he said. “It’s a disease that, like many other conditions, exists on a spectrum.” The spectrum is about how severely you crave your substance of choice when you don’t have it. It’s about how serious your health consequences are. Death, of course, is the worst end of the spectrum.The Addiction Spectrum offers a system that bases the individual’s needs on where they are on the spectrum. Thomas offers seven key methods for healing, whether you’re active in addiction or already in recovery. “Doctors need a new approach to treating pain,” said Thomas. He mentioned the hazards of painkillers within the medical community, “My wife is a nurse and recovering opiate addict,” he said. The book is about any addiction—alcohol, marijuana, opioids, meth, technology. Co-author Jennifer Margulis, PhD, is an award-winning science journalist who’s been writing books about children’s health for over 10 years.“Making love, eating delicious food,” said Margulis, “these activities release dopamine and make you feel good. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel good. But using heroin or abusing prescription opioids or even excessive computer gaming or binge eating will harm your brain. Too many young people think, ‘Hey, I’m just having fun.’ But there is nothing fun about dying from an overdose.”But what is it about right now that can explain the drug epidemic?“We’re animals, wired to avoid danger and seek pleasure,” Thomas said. “We scan for threats and have an immediate fight, flight or freeze reaction. We’re talking about dopamine and epinephrine (adrenaline) responses.”Margulis agreed: “with cell phone alerts, video games, 24/7 news and high stress from work or school, we are overloaded. We can become addicted to food, social media, cigarettes, and a bunch of other substances and behaviors.”Both Thomas and Margulis agree it is time to start looking at the root causes. Why is there an increase in mood disorders, fatigue, and addiction? The book answers so many questions and I learned a lot about how to treat my body and mind better. The writing style makes it easy reading—nothing too tough to get through and very practical.The most anticipated book on my list isn’t out yet, but I’ve been lucky enough to read a sample chapter.Strung Outby Erin Khar (HarperCollins|Park Row Books, Feb. 2020)Erin Khar’s much-anticipated memoir will hit the shelves in early 2020. It’s the story of Khar’s decade-long battle with opioids, but it goes even further by searching for answers. Why is it that some people can do drugs and stop, while others become addicted? She explores possible reasons for America’s current drug crisis and its soaring death toll. The CDC statistics are staggering. From 1999 to 2017, more than 700,000 people died from drug overdoses, and 400,000 of those died from an opioid overdose. This epidemic is devouring our nation.Khar’s writing beat includes addiction, recovery, mental health, relationships, and self-care. She also writes the “Ask Erin” column for Ravishly.For a decade, beginning at age 13, she kept her heroin use a secret from friends and family. When she was caught by her then-fiancé, she went to rehab and her book describes her harrowing withdrawal. Three years later, at age 26, she relapsed. Four months later, her using had dragged her to the bottom.Khar, who has written for The Fix, told me, “I’ve been clean from opiates for 15 years!” That’s an enormous achievement for any addict, and in that decade and a half, she’s completely changed her life.From Khar’s essay in Self magazine:“If you had told me 15 years ago that I would be a happily married mother, living in New York City, doing what she loves for a living… I would have laughed.”She hopes that her book will help shatter the stigma; stop the shaming. She describes its genesis: “I wrote the short story 'David' for Cosmonauts Avenue. Agents contacted me about writing a memoir.” After reading her essays, and following her writing career, I’m eager to read a book by this heroine about heroin.Every one of these books is written by a sober writer. They are living proof that people’s lives can change at any time.Mine sure did.Do you have favorite sober authors? Please share them with us in the comments!

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[dazzledbybooks]

A thief. An officer. A guardian. Three strangers, one shared destiny . . . When the Last Days came, the planet of Laterre promised hope. A new life for a wealthy French family and their descendants. But five hundred years later, it’s now a place where an extravagant elite class reigns supreme; where the clouds hide the stars and the poor starve in the streets; where a rebel group, long thought dead, is resurfacing. Whispers of revolution have begun—a revolution that hinges on three unlikely heroes… Chatine is a street-savvy thief who will do anything to escape the brutal Regime, including spy on Marcellus, the grandson of the most powerful man on the planet. Marcellus is an officer—and the son of a renowned traitor. In training to take command of the military, Marcellus begins to doubt the government he’s vowed to serve when his father dies and leaves behind a cryptic message that only one person can read: a girl named Alouette. Alouette is living in an underground refuge, where she guards and protects the last surviving library on the planet. But a shocking murder will bring Alouette to the surface for the first time in twelve years…and plunge Laterre into chaos. All three have a role to play in a dangerous game of revolution—and together they will shape the future of a planet. Power, romance, and destiny collide in this sweeping reimagining of Victor Hugo’s masterpiece, Les Misérables. Sky Without Stars (System Divine #1) by Jessica Brody & Joanne Rendell Publisher: Simon Pulse Release Date: March 26th 2019 Genre: Retellings, Young Adult, Science Fiction Review: Sky Without Stars by Jessica Brody and Joanne Rendell is fantastic. I am loving this book. If the cover doesn't grab you right away then the story will draw you in. As the reader you are introduced to three characters, Chatine, Marcellus, and Alouette. These three people couldn't be more different but they will all touch each others lives in a different way. Chatine is a thief. Chatine has lived a hard life. She is considered to be part of the lowest part of society, the third estate. No one cares about her or others like her. Obviously she doesn't have the best outlook on life.  Marcellus is the son of a renowned traitor. Marcellus wants to be the best solider that he can be but he just isn't cut out for it. He is so used to being alone that he really just wants to be loved by anyone. Alouette has a secret. She has lived underground her entire life. She grew up helping the sisters record history. Now she lives in a time that people don't remember the written word. Alouette wants nothing more than to go outside but once she is outside she discovers secrets about her past that she wasn't ready for.  I really enjoy these characters. Just as importantly, I enjoyed the world building. Brody and Rendell brought us a beautiful world that is so vivid. Even the drabby parts were described so beautifully. I really enjoyed this book. One thing I really appreciate is this book makes me feel like I am there and that I am part of the story. I have read Les Miserables and I have to say that this is a great retelling of Les Miserables but I feel like a lot of backstory is left out compared to the book it is based on. I think someone who has not read Les Miserables  won't have any issues with this story and they will probably breeze straight through it. Someone who has read it, will definitely notice the differences and the backstory that is missing. You should definitely check out this book. I really like it and I think it is worth your time to read. Plus there are so many good and fun things coming out about this book. Check it out because I don't think you will regret it. Favorite Quotes: High on a hill, the family built their Grand Palais under a vast climate-controlled dome. And in the flatlands below lived their chosen people.  Since the day she was born into this Regime, she was fated to die young. She would never see the stars. She would never feel the warmth of real Sol-light on her face. She would never escape. He had to prove to himself, once and for all, that he was not his father’s son. He was a loyal grandson and a proud member of the Second Estate. She was so sick of it. The secrets. The mysteries. The torn-out pages. The hidden boxes. She needed answers. And she needed them now.  The Map: Excerpt: Chapter One Chatine The rain was falling sideways in the Marsh. It was never a straight downpour. It was always crooked. Just like the people here. Con artists and hustlers and crocs, the lot of them. Anyone can be a saint until they’re hungry enough. Chatine Renard was perched high above it all, watching the stream of people churn through the busy marketplace like clotted blood through a vein. She was straddling an exposed metal beam that once connected the old freightship to its roof. At least, that’s what Chatine had been told—that the Frets were once titanic flying vessels that soared across the galaxy, bringing her ancestors to the planet of Laterre, the coldest and wettest of the twelve planets in the System Divine. But years of neglect and crooked rain had corroded the PermaSteel walls and ceilings, turning the staterooms in the passenger freightships into leaky, mold-ridden housing for the poor, and this cargo freightship into an open-air marketplace. Chatine pulled her hood farther down her forehead in an attempt to block her face. Much to her dismay, she’d noticed over the past few years that her eyelashes had grown longer, her chest had filled out, her cheekbones had become more pronounced, and her nose had slimmed to a dainty point, which she despised. She had streaked her face with mud before coming to the Marsh today, but every time she caught sight of her reflection in a puddle or the metal of a partially collapsed wall, she cringed at how much she still looked like a girl. So inconvenient. The Marsh was far more crowded today than usual. Chatine leaned forward and balanced on her stomach, hugging the beam to her chest as she scanned the countless faces that passed beneath her. They were always the same faces. Poor, downtrodden souls like her trying to find creative ways to stretch their weekly wages. Or con their neighbor out of a larg or two. Newcomers were rare to the Marsh. No one outside of the Third Estate bothered with the picked-over cabbages and mangy turnips for sale. With the exception of Inspecteur Limier and his army of Policier droids tasked with keeping the peace, the Frets and the marketplace in its center were normally avoided at all costs by anyone who didn’t live here. Which was why the man in the long coat immediately caught Chatine’s eye. His wealth was written all over his groomed black beard, matching hair, pressed clothes, and sparkling adornments. Second Estate, to be sure. She’d never known the First Estate to ever venture out of Ledôme. The climate-controlled biodome sat high on the hill just outside the capital city of Vallonay, shielding the First Estate from Laterre’s persistent downpours. And the slums below. Chatine’s eyes raked over the man, taking in every stitch and every button. Her gaze expertly landed on the gold medallion dangling like bait from his neck. She didn’t have to see it up close to know it was a relic from the Last Days, rescued from the burning embers of a dying planet. The Second Estate loved their First World relics. Five hundred largs easy, Chatine calculated in her head. Enough money to feed an entire Third Estate family for weeks. But it wouldn’t be long before the rest of the crocs in the Marsh spotted the treasure too and made their play. Which meant Chatine had to move fast. Gripping the beam with both hands, she swung her legs over the side and launched her body to the nearby catwalk, landing silently in a crouch. Directly underneath her, the man continued farther into the marketplace, weaving around the loose chickens that roamed the stalls searching for scraps. His gaze swept left and right as though taking mental inventory of the space. For a moment, Chatine wondered what he was doing here. Had he gotten lost on his way back up to Ledôme? Or was he here on some kind of business? But then she remembered the annual Ascension happening later today and reasoned he was probably a foreman of a fabrique, come to round up his workers who were skipping out on their shifts to get jacked up on weed wine, all the while hoping to win a new life. “Win a new life?” Chatine muttered to herself and let out a bitter laugh. Deluded fools, all of them. She crept across the grid of overhead walkways and ramps, skillfully ducking to avoid broken water pipes and leaping over giant chasms in the grated floor. All the while, she kept a close watch on the man, making sure she was never more than a few steps behind him. He finally slowed near Madame Dufour’s stall, pulled an apricot from his pocket, and took a large bite, the juice dripping into his beard. Chatine’s mouth started to water. She’d only ever tasted an apricot once, when a crate had fallen off the back of a cargo transporteur delivering fruit from the hothouses to Ledôme. Chatine watched Madame Dufour size the man up with sinister fascination. The old croc was practically licking her lips at the sight of such an easy mark. It was now or never. Ducking under the broken railing, Chatine grabbed onto the raised rim of the walkway floor and somersaulted over the edge. She whipped her body forward, fell three mètres down, and adeptly caught the beam below her. She circled around until it rested against her hips and she could balance there. She was now only a mètre above the man’s head. Yet with the buzz of the busy marketplace, no one even bothered to look up. “What a pitiful sight,” the man said, taking another bite of his apricot. He didn’t even bother to hide his disgust. The Second Estate rarely did. It was something about being stuck in the middle, Chatine had always noticed—not quite rulers and yet far from being one of the wretched like her—that gave the Second Estate their shameless sense of arrogance. They were almost more intolerable than the First Estate. Almost. Chatine’s gaze cut to the left, taking in the tower of empty crates stacked up next to Madame Dufour’s stall. She shimmied along the beam until she was directly above them. Then, she tipped forward, rotated around, and kicked both feet out in front of her. The crash was louder than she anticipated. The crates toppled to the ground, avalanching around the man as he fell to his knees with a grunt. Chatine moved quickly. Landing in a squat, she crawled through the wreckage until she found the man and graciously helped him back onto his feet. He was so busy brushing dust and cabbage leaves from his coat, he didn’t even feel the medallion being lifted from his neck. “Are you all right, Monsieur?” Chatine asked in her friendliest tone, slipping the pendant into her pocket. The man barely looked at her as he straightened his hat. “Quite all right, boy.” “You must be careful in the Marsh, Monsieur. It isn’t safe for someone of your rank.” “Merci,” he said dismissively as he tossed the apricot he’d been eating toward Chatine. She caught it and flashed him an appreciative smile. “Vive Laterre.” “Vive Laterre,” he echoed before turning away. Chatine grinned at the man’s back as she turned on her heels and slipped the half-eaten apricot into her pocket. It took all her strength not to consume the entire thing here and now. She knew the man would hardly even miss that gold medallion from his neck. He probably had ten just like it back in his manoir in Ledôme. But to her, it was everything. It would change everything. The wind picked up, howling through the stalls and biting viciously at Chatine’s skin. She pulled her tattered black coat tighter around her, trying in vain to stave off the chill. But the holes and ripped lining of her clothes weren’t the problem. It was the hunger—the ribs poking through her skin. There wasn’t a single shred of insulation left on her body. But after that score, she was finding it hard to care. As Chatine headed toward the south exit of the Marsh, weaving through stalls selling moldy potatoes, slimy leeks, and pungent seaweed dragged in from the nearby docks, there was a new lightness to her gait. A new hopefulness in her step. But just before passing through what used to be the old cargo ship’s loading bay, Chatine felt a large hand clamp down on her shoulder and she stopped dead in her tracks, a shiver running through her. “So nice of you to help out a member of the Second Estate,” a cold, robotic voice said. “I’ve never seen such chivalry from a Renard.” The emphasis he placed on her last name made Chatine squirm. She closed her eyes, mustering strength, and painted on a blithe smile. She slowly turned around. “Inspecteur Limier,” she said. “Always a pleasure.” His stony expression didn’t change. It hardly ever did. The circuitry implants on the left side of his face made it nearly impossible for the inspecteur to express any emotion. Chatine often wondered if the man was even capable of smiling. “I wish I could say the same for you, Théo.” His tone was flat. Only her parents called her Chatine. Everyone in the Frets knew her as Théo. It was the name she’d given herself ten years ago, when they’d first moved to the capital city of Vallonay and Chatine had decided that life as a boy would be much less complicated than life as a girl. Chatine clucked her tongue. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Inspecteur.” “What did you take from the kind monsieur?” Limier asked, his half-human, half-robot voice clicking on the hard consonants. Chatine refreshed her smile. “Whatever do you mean, Inspecteur? I know better than to steal from the hand that feeds me.” She nearly gagged on the words. But if they saved her from a one-way ticket to Bastille—the price you paid for stealing from an upper estate—then she could choke her way through them. Chatine held her breath as the inspecteur’s circuitry flickered on his face. He was computing the information, analyzing her words, searching for hints of perjury. Over the past ten years of living in the Frets, Chatine had learned how to lie. But lying to a human being was one thing. Lying to a cyborg inspecteur, programmed to seek the truth, was quite another. She waited, keeping her smile taut until the circuits stopped flashing. “Will that be all, Inspecteur?” Chatine asked, smiling sweetly while pressing her hands against her tattered black pants. Her palms were starting to sweat, and she didn’t want his heat sensors to pick up on it. Then, slowly, Chatine watched the inspecteur’s gloved hand extend toward her. With a soft touch that chilled her to the bone, he pushed up her black hood to reveal more of her face. His electric orange eye blinked to life, scanning her features. It seemed to linger a beat too long on her high, feminine cheekbones. Panic bloomed in her chest. Can it see who I really am? Chatine hastily took a step back, out of the inspecteur’s reach, and yanked her hood back down. “My maman is expecting me home,” she said. “So, if you don’t mind, I’ll be going now.” “Of course,” the inspecteur replied. “Thank you, Inspecteur. Vive Laterre.” As Chatine turned to leave, she felt her entire body collapse with relief. She had done it. She had fooled his sensors. She was a better liar than even she had come to believe. “I’ll just need to check your pockets first.” Chatine froze. She quickly surveyed her surroundings. She spotted five Policier droids in her vicinity. More than usually roamed the Marsh, due to the annual Ascension ceremony today. The droids—or bashers as they were referred to around here—stood at almost twice the size of an average man and their slate-gray exoskeletons crunched and whirred as they walked. Chatine wasn’t afraid of them, though. She’d escaped Policier droids plenty of times. They were fast and stronger than ten men, but they still had their limitations. For instance, they couldn’t climb. Careful not to move her head, Chatine glanced up, thanking her lucky Sols that there was an old pipe running directly over her head. She refused to get flown off to Bastille. A neighbor was currently serving three years for stealing a measly sac of turnips. A First World relic lifted off a Second Estater? She’d be looking at ten years minimum. And hardly anyone lived that long on the moon. She slowly spun back around to face Limier. “Of course, Inspecteur. I have nothing to hide.” Flashing another smile, Chatine stuffed her hand into her pocket and felt the medallion cool and smooth against her skin. The inspecteur once again reached a hand in her direction. Then, before he could react, Chatine hurled the apricot the monsieur had given her straight at the inspecteur’s face. His circuitry sparked as his brain tried to make sense of the incoming object. Chatine bolted, scrambling onto a table full of fabric scraps before leaping toward the pipe. For a second, she was flying, soaring above the inspecteur, the shoppers in the Marsh, and the Policier droids who were just starting to take notice of the disturbance. As she caught the pipe, she used her momentum to circle her legs around until she was straddling the rusty, metal pole. “Paralyze him!” Inspecteur Limier shouted to his droids, peering up at Chatine. His circuitry was going haywire, like someone had hacked the signal. “Now!” The bashers maneuvered their bulky PermaSteel bodies around one another, assembling into attack formation. Chatine knew she had to move quickly. One rayonette pulse she could dodge, but five? That would be rough. The pipe was too narrow to walk on, so Chatine shimmied across it on her stomach, weighing her options. The north exit was out of the question. It backed up to the Vallonay Policier Precinct, where she would certainly run into more droids. There was a catwalk about three mètres ahead of her. If she could reach it without getting shot, she could crawl the rest of the way to the east exit, back near Madame Dufour’s stall. A split second later, she felt the heat of the first rayonette pulse whizz by the side of her face. She sucked in a sharp breath and shimmied faster. A second droid took aim below her, its shot perfectly aligned at her left knee. She braced herself for the impact. But just then, a group of drunk exploit workers stumbled through the fray, arguing about who among them had the most Ascension points stored up. One of them crashed right into the droid, and the pulse barely missed her leg. “Oh, excuse me, Monsieur,” the drunk worker slurred to the droid, bowing ceremoniously. His friends broke out into hoots of laughter while Chatine took the opportunity to slide the rest of the way across the rusted pipe. Thank the Sols for strong weed wine, she thought as she launched herself toward the catwalk. She caught the railing with both hands just as a third pulse was fired from below. This one glanced her left shoulder. It wasn’t a direct hit, but it was enough. The pain was instant. Like someone had scraped her skin with a blazing-hot knife. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. The sound would only improve the droids’ aim. Within seconds, her left arm started to lose sensation from the paralyzeur now pumping through her blood. She scrambled to swing her feet up over the ledge of the walkway but was unsuccessful. Now she was just dangling there, her feet paddling against the air. The droids shoved people aside as they zeroed in on her location. More rayonette pulses tore past her, rippling and bending the air. It was only a matter of time before another one found its target. Chatine knew she needed a distraction. She spotted a crate packed with chickens directly in front of her. She shook out her left arm, trying to chase away the numbness that was spreading toward her fingers, but it was no use. The paralyzeur was quickly working its way through her muscles. Favoring her right hand, she gripped the railing as tightly as she could and pumped her legs until she’d built up enough momentum to reach the crate. She arched her body and kicked her legs out hard. The crate crashed to the ground and busted open. The chickens squawked and tried to fly away, but their useless wings barely allowed them to get off the ground. The commotion was enough, though. People were screaming, the stall owner was desperately trying to wrangle the loose birds, and the Policier droids fought to barrel through it all. But their efforts only managed to rile up the birds even more. They fluttered about, scraping people with their sharp claws. The droids started firing with abandon. But with all the chaos below, their aim was poor. They hit more chickens than anything else. The birds absorbed the stun of the rayonettes and fell limp to the ground. They wouldn’t be able to move again for a few hours. With the droids distracted, Chatine was finally able to pull herself onto the catwalk and crawl, one-handed, across the rusty, metal plank before shimmying down a support beam next to Madame Dufour’s stall. She glanced back to see the bashers still trying to push their way through the crowd to reach her. But with the number of people in the Marsh today and the riled-up chickens, it wasn’t an easy task. Madame Dufour glared at Chatine, her wrinkled arms folded across her chest. “Like father, like son,” she said, making a tsk sound with her teeth. “Mark my words, boy, you’ll be rotting on the moon before the end of this year.” Chatine flashed her a goading grin before swiping a loaf of chou bread from one of Madame Dufour’s crates and darting toward the exit. “Arrête!” The old woman’s command sounded like a croak. “Get back here, you wretched croc!” “Thanks for breakfast!” Chatine called back in a singsong voice. And then, before the droids could track her or Madame Dufour could catch her, Chatine was gone. Once she’d put a good distance between herself and the marketplace, she slowed to a walk and massaged her dead arm with the opposite hand. It wasn’t the first time she’d been shot by a rayonette. And it probably wouldn’t be the last. The sensation would return soon enough. Chatine reached into her pocket and pulled out the pendant she had lifted from the Second Estater. She sucked off the sweet apricot juice and held the medallion in her open palm, studying it. For the first time, Chatine noticed the ornate golden Sol carved into the surface. It was unlike any of the three Sols that hung in the sky of the System Divine. This was a First World Sol. Its brilliant, fiery rays flared out to the edge of the medallion. Chatine reverently clasped the pendant around her neck, a rare genuine smile creeping across her face. She hadn’t seen the light of a Sol in nine years. This was definitely a sign of good things to come. Excerpted from Sky Without Stars by Jessica Brody and Joanne Rendell. Copyright © 2019 by Jessica Brody and Joanne Rendell. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Book Links:  Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34513785-sky-without-stars Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1534410635/ref=as_li_qf_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=theunoaddboof-20&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=1534410635&linkId=feb74b0ddbf635416ba2f226261deeed Bookdepository: https://www.bookdepository.com/Sky-Without-Stars-Jessica-Brody/9781534410633?ref=grid-view&qid=1549403509338&sr=1-1 B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/sky-without-stars-jessica-brody/1128863849?ean=9781534410633&st=AFF&SID=www.barnesandnoble.com&2sid=Royal+Social+Media_7992605_NA&sourceId=AFFRoyal+Social+Media&cjevent=2866ff23299011e9829a01080a180514&dpid=tekz25v83 iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/sky-without-stars/id1431862368?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4 Google Books: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Jessica_Brody_Sky_Without_Stars?id=Yj1qDwAAQBAJ&hl=en Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ch/en/ebook/sky-without-stars-1 Pre-Order Campaign: Pre-order a hardcover of SKY WITHOUT STARS by Jessica Brody and Joanne Rendell from a participating indie bookstore* before March 26, 2019 and you’ll receive an exclusive Sky Without Stars Gift Pack, including the following: ·         A limited edition two-sided 12”x16” poster featuring the ONLY available colored version of the book’s world map ·         A Sky Without Stars bookplate, signed by both authors ·         A Sky Without Stars postcard ·         A Sky Without Stars bookmark The gift pack will be included with your book when it is shipped or picked up in store. *Click here for participating stores. About the Author: Jessica Brody Jessica Brody is the author of more than 15 books for teens, tweens, and adults including Addie Bell’s Shortcut to Growing Up, A Week of Mondays, Boys of Summer, 52 Reasons to Hate My Father, and the three books in the sci-fi Unremembered trilogy. She’s also the author of the Descendants: School of Secrets series, based on the hit Disney Channel original movie, Descendants. Her books have been translated and published in over 23 countries and Unremembered and 52 Reasons to Hate My Father are currently in development as major motion pictures. She lives with her husband and four dogs and splits her time between California and Colorado. Visit her online at JessicaBrody.com. Follow her on Twitter or Instagram @JessicaBrody Joanne Rendell Joanne Rendell is the author of three novels and holds a PhD in English literature. She teaches fiction writing to teens and kids and is a board member for the youth Shakespeare company, New Genesis Productions. With her husband and son, Joanne divides her time between New York City, and New Paltz, New York. Visit Joanne at JoanneRendell.com. Giveaway: Prize: Win a copy of SKY WITHOUT STARS by Jessica Brody and Joanne Rendell (US Only) Stars: 20th March 2019 Ends: 2nd April 2019 a Rafflecopter giveaway Tour Schedule: http://fantasticflyingbookclub.blogspot.com/2019/02/tour-schedule-sky-without-stars-system.html March 20th  The Unofficial Addiction Book Fan Club - Interview with Joanne Rendell March 21st NovelKnight - Guest Post Andi's ABCs - Book Spotlight L.M. Durand - Review Book Beach Bunny - Review + Dream Cast That Artsy Reader Girl - Interview with Jessica Brody March 22nd BookCrushin - Guest Post Hauntedbybooks - Review + Favourite Quotes Dazzled by Books - Review + Favourite Quotes The Mind of a Book Dragon - Review + Playlist March 23rd Wishful Endings - Interview Lisa Loves Literature - Review Moonlight Rendezvous - Review + Favourite Quotes everywhere and nowhere - Review March 24th Here's to Happy Endings - Review Malanie Loves Fiction - Review A Dream Within A Dream - Review Confessions of a YA Reader - Promotional Post March 25th Library of a Book Witch - Review Hopelessly Devoted Bibliophile - Review Adventures Thru Wonderland - Review Camillea Reads - Review + Favourite Quotes March 26th Book Slaying - Interview Bookwyrming Thoughts - Review It Starts at Midnight - Review In Between Book Pages - Review + Favourite Quotes

http://www.dazzledbybooks.com/2019/03/skywithoutstarsblogtour.html

[mercerislandbooks]

Fall Book Preview 2018

It was a tough year for journalists with the rise of fake news, presidential name-calling, layoffs, and increasing threats worldwide. Authors, on the other hand, wrote from a safer position. They had the luxury of hiding longer in their offices. Writers and editors had a better chance of stepping back from the brutal news cycle and taking the longer view. 

That time to breathe was a good thing. The book publishing industry’s deeper immersion in its work will be on full display this fall, which promises to be a good one for book junkies. From political exposés to psychological suspense to locally-inspired cookbooks to iconic memoirs, I’m not exaggerating when I tell you our fall tables will be a reader’s feast. Here’s a small sliver of what’s coming, and a few special preorder perks you’ll want to know about.

Lake Success by Gary Shteyngart (Sept 4): Narcissistic, hilariously self-deluded, and divorced from the real world as most of us know it, hedge-fund manager Barry Cohen oversees $2.4 billion in assets. Deeply stressed by an SEC investigation and by his three-year-old son’s diagnosis of autism, he flees New York on a Greyhound bus in search of a simpler, more romantic life with his old college sweetheart. Meanwhile, his super-smart wife, Seema—a driven first-generation American who craved the picture-perfect life that comes with wealth—has her own demons to face. How these two flawed characters navigate the Shteyngartian chaos of their own making is at the heart of this piercing exploration of the 0.1 Percent, a poignant tale of familial longing and an unsentimental ode to what really makes America great.

Fear: Trump in the White House by Bob Woodward (Sept 11): With authoritative reporting honed through eight presidencies from Nixon to Obama, author Bob Woodward reveals in unprecedented detail the harrowing life inside President Donald Trump’s White House and precisely how he makes decisions on major foreign and domestic policies. Woodward draws from hundreds of hours of interviews with firsthand sources, meeting notes, personal diaries, files and documents. The focus is on the explosive debates and the decision-making in the Oval Office, the Situation Room, Air Force One and the White House residence.

Cooking from Scratch: 120 Recipes for Colorful, Seasonal Food from PCC Community Markets by PCC Community Markets (Sept 18): Eating healthy, local food prepared from scratch is at the heart of this cookbook from PCC Community Markets. Going strong for sixty-five years, they are respected and appreciated throughout our area for their commitment to local producers, sustainable food practices, and healthful, organic seasonal foods. You will find 120 recipes organized for every meal of the day, including many of PCC's most popular dishes, such as their treasured Emerald City Salad. The book also includes cooking, storing, and shopping tips—everything you need to know to make the most of the local bounty.

Heartland: A Memoir of Working Hard and Being Broke in the Richest Country on Earth by Sarah Smarsh (Sept 18): During Sarah Smarsh’s turbulent childhood in Kansas in the 1980s and 1990s, the forces of cyclical poverty and the country’s changing economic policies solidified her family’s place among the working poor. By telling the story of her life and the lives of the people she loves, Smarsh challenges us to look more closely at the class divide in our country and examine the myths about people thought to be less because they earn less. Combining memoir with powerful analysis and cultural commentary, Heartland is an uncompromising look at class, identity, and the particular perils of having less in a country known for its excess.

An Absolutely Remarkable Thing by Hank Green (Sept 25): In his much-anticipated debut novel, Hank Green spins a sweeping, cinematic tale about a young woman who becomes an overnight YouTube celebrity before realizing she's part of something bigger, and stranger, than anyone could have possibly imagined. Both entertaining and relevant, An Absolutely Remarkable Thing grapples with big themes, including how the social internet is changing fame, rhetoric, and radicalization; how our culture deals with fear and uncertainty; and how vilification and adoration spring from the same dehumanization that follows a life in the public eye.

***If you preorder An Absolutely Remarkable Thing from us before September 24th, you’ll receive an exclusive enamel pin as long as supplies last.

Transcription by Kate Atkinson (Sept 25): In a dramatic story of WWII betrayal and loyalty, eighteen-year old Juliet Armstrong is reluctantly recruited into the world of espionage. Sent to an obscure department of MI5 tasked with monitoring the comings and goings of British Fascist sympathizers, she discovers the work to be by turns both tedious and terrifying. But after the war has ended, she presumes the events of those years have been relegated to the past forever. Ten years later, now a radio producer at the BBC, Juliet is unexpectedly confronted by figures from her past. A different war is being fought now, on a different battleground, but Juliet finds herself once more under threat. 

The Fifth Risk by Michael Lewis (Oct 2): What are the consequences if the people given control over our government have no idea how it works? "The election happened," remembers Elizabeth Sherwood-Randall, then deputy secretary of the Department of Energy. "And then there was radio silence." Across all departments, similar stories were playing out: Trump appointees were few and far between; those that did show up were shockingly uninformed about the functions of their new workplace. Some even threw away the briefing books that had been prepared for them. Michael Lewis’s narrative takes us into the engine rooms of a government under attack by its own leaders. If there are dangerous fools in this book, there are also heroes, unsung, of course. They are the linchpins of the system―those public servants whose knowledge, dedication, and proactivity keep the machinery running. Michael Lewis finds them, and he asks them what keeps them up at night.

Killing Commendatore by Haruki Murakami (translated by Philip Gabriel and Ted Goossen) (Oct 9): A tour de force of love and loneliness, war and art—as well as a loving homage to The Great Gatsby, Murakami’s latest follows a thirty-something portrait painter in Tokyo abandoned by his wife and holed up in the mountain home of a famous artist. When he discovers a previously unseen painting in the attic, he unintentionally opens a circle of mysterious circumstances. To close it, he must complete a journey that involves a mysterious ringing bell, a two-foot-high physical manifestation of an Idea, a dapper businessman who lives across the valley, a precocious thirteen-year-old girl, a Nazi assassination attempt during World War II in Vienna, a pit in the woods behind the artist’s home, and an underworld haunted by Double Metaphors. 

***If you preorder Killing Commendatore from us by October 8th, you’ll receive a free exclusive tote bag as long as supplies last.

The Witch Elm by Tana French (Oct 9): Toby is a happy-go-lucky charmer who's dodged a scrape at work. He’s out celebrating with friends when the night takes a turn that will change his life—he surprises two burglars who beat him and leave him for dead. Struggling to recover from his injuries, beginning to understand that he might never be the same man again, he takes refuge at his family's ancestral home to care for his dying uncle Hugo. Then a skull is found in the trunk of an elm tree in the garden and as detectives close in, Toby is forced to face the possibility that his past may not be what he’s always believed. 

Almost Everything: Notes on Hope by Anne Lamott (Oct 16): "All truth is paradox," Lamott writes, "and this turns out to be a reason for hope. If you arrive at a place in life that is miserable, it will change. That is the time when we must pledge not to give up but "to do what Wendell Berry wrote: 'Be joyful, though you have considered all the facts.'" In her profound and funny style, Lamott calls for each of us to rediscover the nuggets of hope and wisdom that are buried within us that can make life sweeter than we ever imagined. Divided into short chapters that explore life's essential truths, Almost Everything pinpoints these moments of insight as it shines an encouraging light forward.

Unsheltered by Barbara Kingsolver (Oct 16): Willa Knox has always prided herself on being the embodiment of responsibility for her family. Which is why it’s so unnerving that she’s arrived at middle age with nothing to show for her hard work but a stack of unpaid bills and an inherited brick home in Vineland, New Jersey, that is literally falling apart. The dilapidated house is also home to her ailing father-in-law and her two grown children: her stubborn, free-spirited daughter, Tig, and her debt-ridden son Zeke, who has arrived with his unplanned baby in the wake of a life-shattering development. In an act of desperation, Willa investigates the history of her home, hoping that the local historical preservation society might fund the direly needed repairs. Through her research, Willa discovers a kindred spirit from the 1880s, Thatcher Greenwood. A science teacher with a lifelong passion for honest investigation, Thatcher finds himself under siege in his community for telling the truth: his employer forbids him to speak of the exciting new theory recently published by Charles Darwin. Unsheltered is the story of two families, in two centuries, who live at the corner of Sixth and Plum, as they navigate the challenges of surviving a world in the throes of major cultural shifts. 

Becoming by Michelle Obama (Nov 13): As First Lady of the United States of America—the first African-American to serve in that role—Michelle Obama helped create a welcoming and inclusive White House, established herself as a powerful advocate for women and girls in the U.S. and around the world, changed the ways that families pursue healthier and more active lives, and stood with her husband as he led America through some of its most harrowing moments. Along the way, she showed us a few dance moves, crushed Carpool Karaoke, and raised two down-to-earth daughters under an unforgiving media glare. In her memoir, Michelle chronicles the experiences that have shaped her, from her childhood on the South Side of Chicago to her years as an executive balancing the demands of motherhood and work to her time spent at the world’s most famous address. 

–Miriam

[alexdmorgan30]

It's Never Too Late to Change: New Books by Writers in Recovery

Your nerves shot? Mine, too. Winter is a slog and I can’t wait for spring. When I can’t stand one more minute of worrying about the planet, polar bears, politics and hate, I still choose escape. But… instead of rum and cocaine, my go-to is a good book. So, if stress has been dogging you and your bandwidth is low, it’s okay to turn off your gadgets so you can refuel. Breaks from YouTube and the 24/7 news cycle can do wondrous things for the mind. I went radical this week and even turned off my cell. Twitter can consume me if I let it.This month I made time to curl up on the couch with my dog and disappeared into these gems:Never Enough: The Neuroscience and Experience of Addictionby Judith Grisel (Doubleday, Feb. 19, 2019)“My response to being overwhelmed by the deep void was to leap into it.” — Judith GriselJudith Grisel writes about the grizzly years of self-destruction. Stories show the author at her messiest. In a decade, she’d consumed a cornucopia of substances; by age 23, she was a self-loathing mess.The strength of Grisel’s bestseller is her intimate knowledge about the nervous system and addiction. Grisel peppers the pages with unsettling anecdotes, but she does it sans self-pity. Like a journalist, she reports embarrassing and creepy things.“I ripped off stores and stole credit cards when the opportunity presented itself, I was still able to maintain, at least to myself, that I was basically a good person. To an extent, for instance, I could count on my companions, and they could count on me. I say to an extent, because we also knew and expected that we would lie, cheat, or steal from each other if something really important were at stake (that is, drugs).”I never tire of drunken-drugalogues, and Grisel doesn’t disappoint on that front. But telling these stories is not to shock or manipulate readers, nor is Grisel trying to prove she was “a bona fide addict.” Her purpose is to illustrate the bleak existence of those who cannot stop drinking and drugging.When Grisel “finally reached the dead end” where she felt she was “incapable of living either with or without mind-altering substances,” she sought help. After a 28-day rehab and months in a halfway house, she managed to pull her life together. After seven years of study, she earned a PhD in behavioral neuroscience and became an expert in neurobiology, chemistry, and the genetics of addictive behavior.This book doesn't brag about having the answers, but shows what a sober neuroscientist has learned after 20 years of studying how an addicted brain works. She makes it easy to understand why it's so difficult to get sober and maybe even harder to stay that way. It irks me when people say they never think about drugs or alcohol anymore. My first feeling is rage—probably because I’ve never experienced anything like that, despite working hard on myself during 30 years in recovery. Grisel refreshingly writes about the temptation that’s always there.Grisel’s writing communicates succinctly: “A plaque I later saw posted behind a bar described my first experience [with alcohol] precisely: Alcohol makes you feel like you’re supposed to feel when you’re not drinking alcohol.” In another passage, she quotes George Koob, chief of the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism: “There are two ways of becoming an alcoholic: either being born one or drinking a lot.” Grisel is careful to explain so you don’t get the wrong idea. “Dr. Koob is not trying to be flip, and the high likelihood that one or the other of these applies to each of us helps explain why the disease is so prevalent.”When she writes about her experiences, it’s candid and clear, and it feels like she’s a friend and we’re chatting in a café. I found myself frequently nodding with identification—like a bobblehead on a car dashboard. It’s a fascinating, absorbing, satisfying book about addiction.Widows-in-Lawby Michele W. Miller (Blackstone Publishing, Feb. 26, 2019)There was a huge turnout at The Mysterious Bookshop in downtown Manhattan on February 26. The event was the book launch of Michele W. Miller’s second novel, Widows-in-Law. Lawrence Block, the wildly successful, sober crime novelist, sat beside Miller in the role of interviewer, and he was as entertaining as ever.See Also: Lawrence Block: One Case at a TimeMiller, a high-level attorney for New York City, said, “Widows-in-Law is about an attorney who dies suddenly in a fire, leaving behind a first wife who’s a streetwise child abuse prosecutor.” She then jokingly added, “who might resemble me a little bit.” That got a big laugh because many attendees knew that Miller had previously worked as a child abuse prosecutor.In a thick and endearing Brooklyn-Queens accent, Miller described the deceased’s second bride. “You know, legs up to the eyeballs…[a] gawgeous trophy wife.” Block jumped in with praise: “That’s the one that resembles you.” Miller blushed and said, “See? That’s why we keep him around for a hundred books. Another big laugh, another inside joke: throughout Block’s astounding career, the well-loved crime writer has churned out 100 books.Miller quickly regained her composure and got back to the novel’s setup: Emily is a 16-year-old from Brian’s first marriage, to Lauren. Shortly before Brian died in the fire, Emily moved in with Brian (and his new wife). Lauren hoped they could reel in the out-of-control teen.The Miller thriller works well. It’s a fast read with dramatic and believable scenes and dialogue. I wanted to dig deeper and find out how much of the novel was fictional. Many novelists write about the worlds they know. Miller agreed to one-on-one time to discuss the three badass women at the center of the story.“Emily’s mom Lauren is my main character. Her backstory includes being a homeless teenager during the 1980s and ‘90s,” Miller said. “Her parents were whacked on drugs so Lauren left. She stayed at a shelter on St. Marks. It’s an iconic recovery building in the East Village.”When I asked which parts of the novel are autobiographical, Miller paused, sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.“Okay,” she said. “Here goes. I’m in my 30th year clean. I was a low-bottom heroin addict.” Miller’s past included a felony arrest for cocaine possession. She was facing 15 to life. To avoid spoilers, suffice it to say that explained why some of the scenes seemed so thoroughly researched.“The book touches on my experiences with jail, illegal after-hours spots, and the complete chaos of addiction,” said Miller, who is now the director of enforcement for the New York City Conflicts of Interest Board. “Basically, that means I’m the chief ethics prosecutor for the city.” She’s aware of the irony. Before getting clean, Miller ran in the same circles as hitmen, such as the infamous Tommy Pitera.“Yeah, we got high together,” said Miller. “People knew him as Tommy Karate because he was into martial arts. But it wasn’t until a book that I found out he was a brutal killer who cut people into little pieces. I was traumatized. We hung out, getting high. I don’t know why he didn’t kill me. I guess he liked me. Maybe because I was an accomplished martial artist?”Miller is proof of how much your life can change when you get sober. She's lucky to have survived her druggy past that included hanging out with murderers. Lawrence Block said, “Michele Miller has had more lives than a cat, and they’ve made her a writer of passion and substance.”After you read Widows-in-Law, check out Miller’s first novel, The Thirteenth Step: Zombie Recovery (HOW Club Press, November 4, 2013). It’s another fast-paced doozy and a finalist in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards. Kirkus Reviews wrote, “A humorous and surprising satire of both the zombie apocalypse and the culture of addiction... wholly original... satisfying.... The care taken in both characterization and prose earns the reader’s time. A well-written, thoughtful treatment not just of a popular literary trope but of a nagging social issue.”The Addiction Spectrum: A Compassionate Approach to Recovery by Paul Thomas, MD, and Jennifer Margulis, PhD. (HarperOne, Sept. 4. 2018)Paul Thomas, MD, is board certified in integrative and holistic medicine and addiction medicine—he’s also in recovery.“Addiction isn’t about willpower or blame,” he said. “It’s a disease that, like many other conditions, exists on a spectrum.” The spectrum is about how severely you crave your substance of choice when you don’t have it. It’s about how serious your health consequences are. Death, of course, is the worst end of the spectrum.The Addiction Spectrum offers a system that bases the individual’s needs on where they are on the spectrum. Thomas offers seven key methods for healing, whether you’re active in addiction or already in recovery. “Doctors need a new approach to treating pain,” said Thomas. He mentioned the hazards of painkillers within the medical community, “My wife is a nurse and recovering opiate addict,” he said. The book is about any addiction—alcohol, marijuana, opioids, meth, technology. Co-author Jennifer Margulis, PhD, is an award-winning science journalist who’s been writing books about children’s health for over 10 years.“Making love, eating delicious food,” said Margulis, “these activities release dopamine and make you feel good. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel good. But using heroin or abusing prescription opioids or even excessive computer gaming or binge eating will harm your brain. Too many young people think, ‘Hey, I’m just having fun.’ But there is nothing fun about dying from an overdose.”But what is it about right now that can explain the drug epidemic?“We’re animals, wired to avoid danger and seek pleasure,” Thomas said. “We scan for threats and have an immediate fight, flight or freeze reaction. We’re talking about dopamine and epinephrine (adrenaline) responses.”Margulis agreed: “with cell phone alerts, video games, 24/7 news and high stress from work or school, we are overloaded. We can become addicted to food, social media, cigarettes, and a bunch of other substances and behaviors.”Both Thomas and Margulis agree it is time to start looking at the root causes. Why is there an increase in mood disorders, fatigue, and addiction? The book answers so many questions and I learned a lot about how to treat my body and mind better. The writing style makes it easy reading—nothing too tough to get through and very practical.The most anticipated book on my list isn’t out yet, but I’ve been lucky enough to read a sample chapter.Strung Outby Erin Khar (HarperCollins|Park Row Books, Feb. 2020)Erin Khar’s much-anticipated memoir will hit the shelves in early 2020. It’s the story of Khar’s decade-long battle with opioids, but it goes even further by searching for answers. Why is it that some people can do drugs and stop, while others become addicted? She explores possible reasons for America’s current drug crisis and its soaring death toll. The CDC statistics are staggering. From 1999 to 2017, more than 700,000 people died from drug overdoses, and 400,000 of those died from an opioid overdose. This epidemic is devouring our nation.Khar’s writing beat includes addiction, recovery, mental health, relationships, and self-care. She also writes the “Ask Erin” column for Ravishly.For a decade, beginning at age 13, she kept her heroin use a secret from friends and family. When she was caught by her then-fiancé, she went to rehab and her book describes her harrowing withdrawal. Three years later, at age 26, she relapsed. Four months later, her using had dragged her to the bottom.Khar, who has written for The Fix, told me, “I’ve been clean from opiates for 15 years!” That’s an enormous achievement for any addict, and in that decade and a half, she’s completely changed her life.From Khar’s essay in Self magazine:“If you had told me 15 years ago that I would be a happily married mother, living in New York City, doing what she loves for a living… I would have laughed.”She hopes that her book will help shatter the stigma; stop the shaming. She describes its genesis: “I wrote the short story 'David' for Cosmonauts Avenue. Agents contacted me about writing a memoir.” After reading her essays, and following her writing career, I’m eager to read a book by this heroine about heroin.Every one of these books is written by a sober writer. They are living proof that people’s lives can change at any time.Mine sure did.Do you have favorite sober authors? Please share them with us in the comments!

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241841 https://ift.tt/2UEuCbv

[pitz182]

It's Never Too Late to Change: New Books by Writers in Recovery

Your nerves shot? Mine, too. Winter is a slog and I can’t wait for spring. When I can’t stand one more minute of worrying about the planet, polar bears, politics and hate, I still choose escape. But… instead of rum and cocaine, my go-to is a good book. So, if stress has been dogging you and your bandwidth is low, it’s okay to turn off your gadgets so you can refuel. Breaks from YouTube and the 24/7 news cycle can do wondrous things for the mind. I went radical this week and even turned off my cell. Twitter can consume me if I let it.This month I made time to curl up on the couch with my dog and disappeared into these gems:Never Enough: The Neuroscience and Experience of Addictionby Judith Grisel (Doubleday, Feb. 19, 2019)“My response to being overwhelmed by the deep void was to leap into it.” — Judith GriselJudith Grisel writes about the grizzly years of self-destruction. Stories show the author at her messiest. In a decade, she’d consumed a cornucopia of substances; by age 23, she was a self-loathing mess.The strength of Grisel’s bestseller is her intimate knowledge about the nervous system and addiction. Grisel peppers the pages with unsettling anecdotes, but she does it sans self-pity. Like a journalist, she reports embarrassing and creepy things.“I ripped off stores and stole credit cards when the opportunity presented itself, I was still able to maintain, at least to myself, that I was basically a good person. To an extent, for instance, I could count on my companions, and they could count on me. I say to an extent, because we also knew and expected that we would lie, cheat, or steal from each other if something really important were at stake (that is, drugs).”I never tire of drunken-drugalogues, and Grisel doesn’t disappoint on that front. But telling these stories is not to shock or manipulate readers, nor is Grisel trying to prove she was “a bona fide addict.” Her purpose is to illustrate the bleak existence of those who cannot stop drinking and drugging.When Grisel “finally reached the dead end” where she felt she was “incapable of living either with or without mind-altering substances,” she sought help. After a 28-day rehab and months in a halfway house, she managed to pull her life together. After seven years of study, she earned a PhD in behavioral neuroscience and became an expert in neurobiology, chemistry, and the genetics of addictive behavior.This book doesn't brag about having the answers, but shows what a sober neuroscientist has learned after 20 years of studying how an addicted brain works. She makes it easy to understand why it's so difficult to get sober and maybe even harder to stay that way. It irks me when people say they never think about drugs or alcohol anymore. My first feeling is rage—probably because I’ve never experienced anything like that, despite working hard on myself during 30 years in recovery. Grisel refreshingly writes about the temptation that’s always there.Grisel’s writing communicates succinctly: “A plaque I later saw posted behind a bar described my first experience [with alcohol] precisely: Alcohol makes you feel like you’re supposed to feel when you’re not drinking alcohol.” In another passage, she quotes George Koob, chief of the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism: “There are two ways of becoming an alcoholic: either being born one or drinking a lot.” Grisel is careful to explain so you don’t get the wrong idea. “Dr. Koob is not trying to be flip, and the high likelihood that one or the other of these applies to each of us helps explain why the disease is so prevalent.”When she writes about her experiences, it’s candid and clear, and it feels like she’s a friend and we’re chatting in a café. I found myself frequently nodding with identification—like a bobblehead on a car dashboard. It’s a fascinating, absorbing, satisfying book about addiction.Widows-in-Lawby Michele W. Miller (Blackstone Publishing, Feb. 26, 2019)There was a huge turnout at The Mysterious Bookshop in downtown Manhattan on February 26. The event was the book launch of Michele W. Miller’s second novel, Widows-in-Law. Lawrence Block, the wildly successful, sober crime novelist, sat beside Miller in the role of interviewer, and he was as entertaining as ever.See Also: Lawrence Block: One Case at a TimeMiller, a high-level attorney for New York City, said, “Widows-in-Law is about an attorney who dies suddenly in a fire, leaving behind a first wife who’s a streetwise child abuse prosecutor.” She then jokingly added, “who might resemble me a little bit.” That got a big laugh because many attendees knew that Miller had previously worked as a child abuse prosecutor.In a thick and endearing Brooklyn-Queens accent, Miller described the deceased’s second bride. “You know, legs up to the eyeballs…[a] gawgeous trophy wife.” Block jumped in with praise: “That’s the one that resembles you.” Miller blushed and said, “See? That’s why we keep him around for a hundred books. Another big laugh, another inside joke: throughout Block’s astounding career, the well-loved crime writer has churned out 100 books.Miller quickly regained her composure and got back to the novel’s setup: Emily is a 16-year-old from Brian’s first marriage, to Lauren. Shortly before Brian died in the fire, Emily moved in with Brian (and his new wife). Lauren hoped they could reel in the out-of-control teen.The Miller thriller works well. It’s a fast read with dramatic and believable scenes and dialogue. I wanted to dig deeper and find out how much of the novel was fictional. Many novelists write about the worlds they know. Miller agreed to one-on-one time to discuss the three badass women at the center of the story.“Emily’s mom Lauren is my main character. Her backstory includes being a homeless teenager during the 1980s and ‘90s,” Miller said. “Her parents were whacked on drugs so Lauren left. She stayed at a shelter on St. Marks. It’s an iconic recovery building in the East Village.”When I asked which parts of the novel are autobiographical, Miller paused, sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.“Okay,” she said. “Here goes. I’m in my 30th year clean. I was a low-bottom heroin addict.” Miller’s past included a felony arrest for cocaine possession. She was facing 15 to life. To avoid spoilers, suffice it to say that explained why some of the scenes seemed so thoroughly researched.“The book touches on my experiences with jail, illegal after-hours spots, and the complete chaos of addiction,” said Miller, who is now the director of enforcement for the New York City Conflicts of Interest Board. “Basically, that means I’m the chief ethics prosecutor for the city.” She’s aware of the irony. Before getting clean, Miller ran in the same circles as hitmen, such as the infamous Tommy Pitera.“Yeah, we got high together,” said Miller. “People knew him as Tommy Karate because he was into martial arts. But it wasn’t until a book that I found out he was a brutal killer who cut people into little pieces. I was traumatized. We hung out, getting high. I don’t know why he didn’t kill me. I guess he liked me. Maybe because I was an accomplished martial artist?”Miller is proof of how much your life can change when you get sober. She's lucky to have survived her druggy past that included hanging out with murderers. Lawrence Block said, “Michele Miller has had more lives than a cat, and they’ve made her a writer of passion and substance.”After you read Widows-in-Law, check out Miller’s first novel, The Thirteenth Step: Zombie Recovery (HOW Club Press, November 4, 2013). It’s another fast-paced doozy and a finalist in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards. Kirkus Reviews wrote, “A humorous and surprising satire of both the zombie apocalypse and the culture of addiction... wholly original... satisfying.... The care taken in both characterization and prose earns the reader’s time. A well-written, thoughtful treatment not just of a popular literary trope but of a nagging social issue.”The Addiction Spectrum: A Compassionate Approach to Recovery by Paul Thomas, MD, and Jennifer Margulis, PhD. (HarperOne, Sept. 4. 2018)Paul Thomas, MD, is board certified in integrative and holistic medicine and addiction medicine—he’s also in recovery.“Addiction isn’t about willpower or blame,” he said. “It’s a disease that, like many other conditions, exists on a spectrum.” The spectrum is about how severely you crave your substance of choice when you don’t have it. It’s about how serious your health consequences are. Death, of course, is the worst end of the spectrum.The Addiction Spectrum offers a system that bases the individual’s needs on where they are on the spectrum. Thomas offers seven key methods for healing, whether you’re active in addiction or already in recovery. “Doctors need a new approach to treating pain,” said Thomas. He mentioned the hazards of painkillers within the medical community, “My wife is a nurse and recovering opiate addict,” he said. The book is about any addiction—alcohol, marijuana, opioids, meth, technology. Co-author Jennifer Margulis, PhD, is an award-winning science journalist who’s been writing books about children’s health for over 10 years.“Making love, eating delicious food,” said Margulis, “these activities release dopamine and make you feel good. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel good. But using heroin or abusing prescription opioids or even excessive computer gaming or binge eating will harm your brain. Too many young people think, ‘Hey, I’m just having fun.’ But there is nothing fun about dying from an overdose.”But what is it about right now that can explain the drug epidemic?“We’re animals, wired to avoid danger and seek pleasure,” Thomas said. “We scan for threats and have an immediate fight, flight or freeze reaction. We’re talking about dopamine and epinephrine (adrenaline) responses.”Margulis agreed: “with cell phone alerts, video games, 24/7 news and high stress from work or school, we are overloaded. We can become addicted to food, social media, cigarettes, and a bunch of other substances and behaviors.”Both Thomas and Margulis agree it is time to start looking at the root causes. Why is there an increase in mood disorders, fatigue, and addiction? The book answers so many questions and I learned a lot about how to treat my body and mind better. The writing style makes it easy reading—nothing too tough to get through and very practical.The most anticipated book on my list isn’t out yet, but I’ve been lucky enough to read a sample chapter.Strung Outby Erin Khar (HarperCollins|Park Row Books, Feb. 2020)Erin Khar’s much-anticipated memoir will hit the shelves in early 2020. It’s the story of Khar’s decade-long battle with opioids, but it goes even further by searching for answers. Why is it that some people can do drugs and stop, while others become addicted? She explores possible reasons for America’s current drug crisis and its soaring death toll. The CDC statistics are staggering. From 1999 to 2017, more than 700,000 people died from drug overdoses, and 400,000 of those died from an opioid overdose. This epidemic is devouring our nation.Khar’s writing beat includes addiction, recovery, mental health, relationships, and self-care. She also writes the “Ask Erin” column for Ravishly.For a decade, beginning at age 13, she kept her heroin use a secret from friends and family. When she was caught by her then-fiancé, she went to rehab and her book describes her harrowing withdrawal. Three years later, at age 26, she relapsed. Four months later, her using had dragged her to the bottom.Khar, who has written for The Fix, told me, “I’ve been clean from opiates for 15 years!” That’s an enormous achievement for any addict, and in that decade and a half, she’s completely changed her life.From Khar’s essay in Self magazine:“If you had told me 15 years ago that I would be a happily married mother, living in New York City, doing what she loves for a living… I would have laughed.”She hopes that her book will help shatter the stigma; stop the shaming. She describes its genesis: “I wrote the short story 'David' for Cosmonauts Avenue. Agents contacted me about writing a memoir.” After reading her essays, and following her writing career, I’m eager to read a book by this heroine about heroin.Every one of these books is written by a sober writer. They are living proof that people’s lives can change at any time.Mine sure did.Do you have favorite sober authors? Please share them with us in the comments!

[emlydunstan]

It's Never Too Late to Change: New Books by Writers in Recovery

Your nerves shot? Mine, too. Winter is a slog and I can’t wait for spring. When I can’t stand one more minute of worrying about the planet, polar bears, politics and hate, I still choose escape. But… instead of rum and cocaine, my go-to is a good book. So, if stress has been dogging you and your bandwidth is low, it’s okay to turn off your gadgets so you can refuel. Breaks from YouTube and the 24/7 news cycle can do wondrous things for the mind. I went radical this week and even turned off my cell. Twitter can consume me if I let it.This month I made time to curl up on the couch with my dog and disappeared into these gems:Never Enough: The Neuroscience and Experience of Addictionby Judith Grisel (Doubleday, Feb. 19, 2019)“My response to being overwhelmed by the deep void was to leap into it.” — Judith GriselJudith Grisel writes about the grizzly years of self-destruction. Stories show the author at her messiest. In a decade, she’d consumed a cornucopia of substances; by age 23, she was a self-loathing mess.The strength of Grisel’s bestseller is her intimate knowledge about the nervous system and addiction. Grisel peppers the pages with unsettling anecdotes, but she does it sans self-pity. Like a journalist, she reports embarrassing and creepy things.“I ripped off stores and stole credit cards when the opportunity presented itself, I was still able to maintain, at least to myself, that I was basically a good person. To an extent, for instance, I could count on my companions, and they could count on me. I say to an extent, because we also knew and expected that we would lie, cheat, or steal from each other if something really important were at stake (that is, drugs).”I never tire of drunken-drugalogues, and Grisel doesn’t disappoint on that front. But telling these stories is not to shock or manipulate readers, nor is Grisel trying to prove she was “a bona fide addict.” Her purpose is to illustrate the bleak existence of those who cannot stop drinking and drugging.When Grisel “finally reached the dead end” where she felt she was “incapable of living either with or without mind-altering substances,” she sought help. After a 28-day rehab and months in a halfway house, she managed to pull her life together. After seven years of study, she earned a PhD in behavioral neuroscience and became an expert in neurobiology, chemistry, and the genetics of addictive behavior.This book doesn't brag about having the answers, but shows what a sober neuroscientist has learned after 20 years of studying how an addicted brain works. She makes it easy to understand why it's so difficult to get sober and maybe even harder to stay that way. It irks me when people say they never think about drugs or alcohol anymore. My first feeling is rage—probably because I’ve never experienced anything like that, despite working hard on myself during 30 years in recovery. Grisel refreshingly writes about the temptation that’s always there.Grisel’s writing communicates succinctly: “A plaque I later saw posted behind a bar described my first experience [with alcohol] precisely: Alcohol makes you feel like you’re supposed to feel when you’re not drinking alcohol.” In another passage, she quotes George Koob, chief of the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism: “There are two ways of becoming an alcoholic: either being born one or drinking a lot.” Grisel is careful to explain so you don’t get the wrong idea. “Dr. Koob is not trying to be flip, and the high likelihood that one or the other of these applies to each of us helps explain why the disease is so prevalent.”When she writes about her experiences, it’s candid and clear, and it feels like she’s a friend and we’re chatting in a café. I found myself frequently nodding with identification—like a bobblehead on a car dashboard. It’s a fascinating, absorbing, satisfying book about addiction.Widows-in-Lawby Michele W. Miller (Blackstone Publishing, Feb. 26, 2019)There was a huge turnout at The Mysterious Bookshop in downtown Manhattan on February 26. The event was the book launch of Michele W. Miller’s second novel, Widows-in-Law. Lawrence Block, the wildly successful, sober crime novelist, sat beside Miller in the role of interviewer, and he was as entertaining as ever.See Also: Lawrence Block: One Case at a TimeMiller, a high-level attorney for New York City, said, “Widows-in-Law is about an attorney who dies suddenly in a fire, leaving behind a first wife who’s a streetwise child abuse prosecutor.” She then jokingly added, “who might resemble me a little bit.” That got a big laugh because many attendees knew that Miller had previously worked as a child abuse prosecutor.In a thick and endearing Brooklyn-Queens accent, Miller described the deceased’s second bride. “You know, legs up to the eyeballs…[a] gawgeous trophy wife.” Block jumped in with praise: “That’s the one that resembles you.” Miller blushed and said, “See? That’s why we keep him around for a hundred books. Another big laugh, another inside joke: throughout Block’s astounding career, the well-loved crime writer has churned out 100 books.Miller quickly regained her composure and got back to the novel’s setup: Emily is a 16-year-old from Brian’s first marriage, to Lauren. Shortly before Brian died in the fire, Emily moved in with Brian (and his new wife). Lauren hoped they could reel in the out-of-control teen.The Miller thriller works well. It’s a fast read with dramatic and believable scenes and dialogue. I wanted to dig deeper and find out how much of the novel was fictional. Many novelists write about the worlds they know. Miller agreed to one-on-one time to discuss the three badass women at the center of the story.“Emily’s mom Lauren is my main character. Her backstory includes being a homeless teenager during the 1980s and ‘90s,” Miller said. “Her parents were whacked on drugs so Lauren left. She stayed at a shelter on St. Marks. It’s an iconic recovery building in the East Village.”When I asked which parts of the novel are autobiographical, Miller paused, sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.“Okay,” she said. “Here goes. I’m in my 30th year clean. I was a low-bottom heroin addict.” Miller’s past included a felony arrest for cocaine possession. She was facing 15 to life. To avoid spoilers, suffice it to say that explained why some of the scenes seemed so thoroughly researched.“The book touches on my experiences with jail, illegal after-hours spots, and the complete chaos of addiction,” said Miller, who is now the director of enforcement for the New York City Conflicts of Interest Board. “Basically, that means I’m the chief ethics prosecutor for the city.” She’s aware of the irony. Before getting clean, Miller ran in the same circles as hitmen, such as the infamous Tommy Pitera.“Yeah, we got high together,” said Miller. “People knew him as Tommy Karate because he was into martial arts. But it wasn’t until a book that I found out he was a brutal killer who cut people into little pieces. I was traumatized. We hung out, getting high. I don’t know why he didn’t kill me. I guess he liked me. Maybe because I was an accomplished martial artist?”Miller is proof of how much your life can change when you get sober. She's lucky to have survived her druggy past that included hanging out with murderers. Lawrence Block said, “Michele Miller has had more lives than a cat, and they’ve made her a writer of passion and substance.”After you read Widows-in-Law, check out Miller’s first novel, The Thirteenth Step: Zombie Recovery (HOW Club Press, November 4, 2013). It’s another fast-paced doozy and a finalist in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards. Kirkus Reviews wrote, “A humorous and surprising satire of both the zombie apocalypse and the culture of addiction... wholly original... satisfying.... The care taken in both characterization and prose earns the reader’s time. A well-written, thoughtful treatment not just of a popular literary trope but of a nagging social issue.”The Addiction Spectrum: A Compassionate Approach to Recovery by Paul Thomas, MD, and Jennifer Margulis, PhD. (HarperOne, Sept. 4. 2018)Paul Thomas, MD, is board certified in integrative and holistic medicine and addiction medicine—he’s also in recovery.“Addiction isn’t about willpower or blame,” he said. “It’s a disease that, like many other conditions, exists on a spectrum.” The spectrum is about how severely you crave your substance of choice when you don’t have it. It’s about how serious your health consequences are. Death, of course, is the worst end of the spectrum.The Addiction Spectrum offers a system that bases the individual’s needs on where they are on the spectrum. Thomas offers seven key methods for healing, whether you’re active in addiction or already in recovery. “Doctors need a new approach to treating pain,” said Thomas. He mentioned the hazards of painkillers within the medical community, “My wife is a nurse and recovering opiate addict,” he said. The book is about any addiction—alcohol, marijuana, opioids, meth, technology. Co-author Jennifer Margulis, PhD, is an award-winning science journalist who’s been writing books about children’s health for over 10 years.“Making love, eating delicious food,” said Margulis, “these activities release dopamine and make you feel good. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel good. But using heroin or abusing prescription opioids or even excessive computer gaming or binge eating will harm your brain. Too many young people think, ‘Hey, I’m just having fun.’ But there is nothing fun about dying from an overdose.”But what is it about right now that can explain the drug epidemic?“We’re animals, wired to avoid danger and seek pleasure,” Thomas said. “We scan for threats and have an immediate fight, flight or freeze reaction. We’re talking about dopamine and epinephrine (adrenaline) responses.”Margulis agreed: “with cell phone alerts, video games, 24/7 news and high stress from work or school, we are overloaded. We can become addicted to food, social media, cigarettes, and a bunch of other substances and behaviors.”Both Thomas and Margulis agree it is time to start looking at the root causes. Why is there an increase in mood disorders, fatigue, and addiction? The book answers so many questions and I learned a lot about how to treat my body and mind better. The writing style makes it easy reading—nothing too tough to get through and very practical.The most anticipated book on my list isn’t out yet, but I’ve been lucky enough to read a sample chapter.Strung Outby Erin Khar (HarperCollins|Park Row Books, Feb. 2020)Erin Khar’s much-anticipated memoir will hit the shelves in early 2020. It’s the story of Khar’s decade-long battle with opioids, but it goes even further by searching for answers. Why is it that some people can do drugs and stop, while others become addicted? She explores possible reasons for America’s current drug crisis and its soaring death toll. The CDC statistics are staggering. From 1999 to 2017, more than 700,000 people died from drug overdoses, and 400,000 of those died from an opioid overdose. This epidemic is devouring our nation.Khar’s writing beat includes addiction, recovery, mental health, relationships, and self-care. She also writes the “Ask Erin” column for Ravishly.For a decade, beginning at age 13, she kept her heroin use a secret from friends and family. When she was caught by her then-fiancé, she went to rehab and her book describes her harrowing withdrawal. Three years later, at age 26, she relapsed. Four months later, her using had dragged her to the bottom.Khar, who has written for The Fix, told me, “I’ve been clean from opiates for 15 years!” That’s an enormous achievement for any addict, and in that decade and a half, she’s completely changed her life.From Khar’s essay in Self magazine:“If you had told me 15 years ago that I would be a happily married mother, living in New York City, doing what she loves for a living… I would have laughed.”She hopes that her book will help shatter the stigma; stop the shaming. She describes its genesis: “I wrote the short story 'David' for Cosmonauts Avenue. Agents contacted me about writing a memoir.” After reading her essays, and following her writing career, I’m eager to read a book by this heroine about heroin.Every one of these books is written by a sober writer. They are living proof that people’s lives can change at any time.Mine sure did.Do you have favorite sober authors? Please share them with us in the comments!

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