Tuesday, 4 November 2014

Blog Tour + Guest Post + Giveaway - A Murder of Magpies by Sarah Bromley


Find the tour schedule here.






Title: A Murder of Magpies

Publication date: October 28, 2014

Publisher: Month9Books, LLC.

Author: Sarah Bromley




Winter in Black Orchard, Wisconsin, is long and dark, and sixteen-year-old Vayda Silver prays the snow will keep the truth and secrecy of the last two years buried. Hiding from the past with her father and twin brother, Vayda knows the rules: never return to the town of her mother’s murder, and never work a Mind Game where someone might see.



No one can know the toll emotions take on Vayda, how emotion becomes energy in her hands, or how she can’t control the destruction she causes. But it’s not long before her powers can no longer be contained. The truth is dangerously close to being exposed, placing Vayda and her family at risk.

Until someone quiets the chaos inside her.



Unwanted. That’s all Ward Ravenscroft has ever been. To cope, he numbs the pain of rejection by denying himself emotions of any kind. Yet Vayda stirs something in him. He can’t explain the hold she has on him–inspiring him with both hope and fear. He claims not to scare easily, except he doesn’t know what her powers can do. Yet.



Just as Vadya and Ward draw closer, she finds the past isn’t so easily buried. And when it follows the Silvers to Black Orchard, it has murder in mind.




 








About the Author


Sarah Bromley lives near St. Louis with her husband, three children, and two dogs. 
She likes the quiet hours of morning when she can drink coffee in peace, stare into the woods behind her house, and wonder what monsters live there. 
When she’s not writing or wrangling small children, she can be found volunteering at a stable for disabled riders.






Connect with the Author: 













Inside the Mind of the Author by Sarah Bromley 

Going into any author’s mind is a scary place because you feel like, at any given time, your head is occupied by not only you and your life but also the lives of your characters.
I spend a lot of time in my head. It’s always been that way, and I blame my older sister. Or rather, I blame the golf club she used to fracture my skull. She could have killed me. Instead, she turned me into a writer. It was an accident, she says. I was six years old, and I spent the rest of the summer in the dark with only my imagination, which is how Writer Sarah came to be.
Most days, I blink awake long before dawn. So after my dog Bella has had her morning snuggles, during which time I’m usually thinking about what I wrote the day before, I wander downstairs, let out the dogs, get the coffee brewing, and hunker down to make some words before my littles awaken for the day. Having already stewed over the previous day’s work, I’m usually pretty well able to plod forward in the story, but sometimes I go back over it just to put on a little polish. Then … it gets ugly.
The words don’t come fast enough. I am a visual thinker, so I picture the story in my head. I sort of wish I could tip my head to the side and let all those images pour out of my ear as words so I didn’t have to take all that time to write. Reciting dialogue aloud is handy, which sometimes leads to my kids thinking I’m talking to them. I get up and pace. I get more coffee and pace some more. Oooh, Netflix. I can watch Hemlock Grove. Inspiration!
And if writer’s block occurs, it usually dislodges in an inconvenient place, like while I’m in the shower or driving the car. My subconscious chews on the story just long enough to spit it out what the hang up is. If my subconscious can’t do it, there’s usually extensive chatter with my critique partners either via phone or the Internet.
In-person coffee gabs are good, too, when they can be arranged. The act of writing may be done in isolation, but a writer needs a community of others like her to stay (relatively) sane. Someone needs to pull you away from the story when you’ve been staring at the same single sentence for the last hour trying to figure out what’s wrong with it. The bird soared. No, flew. No, swooped. One word is off. It has to be. You know it, but which one? Sometimes your infernal internal editor just needs to go lay an egg.
There are some writers who might be similar to me, and those are the people I enjoy reading and often make friends with. But no two writers ever work quite the same way or think in quite the same way. My writer’s mind is mine, and as crazy as I can make myself, I’d have it no other way.








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