Monday, July 3, 2017

Have you seen Magali Frechette's MY SOUL TO GIVE yet?

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When Celina Leviet escapes the brutal home invasion that kills her husband, she’s left with a bullet in her gut and vengeance in her heart. An alluring demon, Mekaisto, offers an irresistible deal—in exchange for her soul, he’ll let her live long enough to get her revenge, but she must hunt and kill the murderers herself.
After sealing the contract, Celina digs into her husband’s past for clues about his murder, and what she uncovers makes her question everything she thought she knew about him.
His company never existed.
His family history was a lie.
And he was involved with The Lumen, a shadowy religious order whose members know too much about demons. As the life she thought she knew crumbles around her, Mekaisto's charms become harder to resist. Forced to face a horrible truth, Celina struggles against her late husband’s betrayal and the dark seduction of the devil she knows.



AVAILABLE NOW:

Evernight Publishing: http://bit.ly/2t3IZZA

And check out the book trailer! https://youtu.be/OjS24vEYNwk




 Meet Magali!


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 I’m passionate about writing, reading, photo manipulation artwork, animals, anime/manga, video games, the fandom world of TV shows and movies, and stuff like that. I’m a proud Ravenclaw: I’ve always been sorted into this house, but the recent Pottermore sorting placed me in Gryffindor―I don’t care since the Sorting Hat couldn’t consider my choice, so I identify with Ravenclaw, and that’s where I’ll remain!

I have two main hobbies: writing and creating book covers. I’m also a gamer (Diablo, Zelda, Final Fantasy), enjoy listening to music (and always singing along to Disney), have a passion for Japanese culture, and adore reading. I love anime/manga, Japanese Dramas and consider myself a proud fan of many different TV shows including Buffy, Supernatural, Doctor Who, Sherlock, Merlin, Game of Thrones, Outlander, etc.

I wrote my first story when I was 12 years old (and we’ll
never talk about that story), but started writing three years later. Since then, I always write, and this particular novel is my 19th story. It’s always been a dream to be a published author, and I can happily say I’ve reached that goal―I plan on continuing writing and publishing for the rest of my days.

Connect with Magali

Website: http://bit.ly/1G4NELt
Facebook Page: http://bit.ly/2su1ZTS
Twitter: http://bit.ly/2oRUGit
Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2sci0uL

Thursday, June 29, 2017

I got scared at the beach and it wasn't because sharks have big teeth

I'm white. No amount of time spent teaching in an urban school district or working with a diverse ballet company or with incredible friends from all walks of life will change that. But it has and will continue to change my awareness and acknowledgment of my privilege.

Let me tell you a story.

Last night I went to the beach with one of my best friends. We've known each other since we were five and have basically grown up together. I have generally assumed that our lives and experiences have been similar. He's in the Air Force, college educated, from a traditional family, married with a baby on the way, and a bunch of other things I consider standard for our middle class existences. He's also black. I KNOW this makes our lives a hell of a lot less similar because I have privilege he doesn't but I admittedly FORGET it a lot. He feels like a brother to me in many ways and you expect brothers to be in the same playing field but if I stop to think I know we're not. 

Last night we were leaving the beach just as the sun was going down which is technically when the beach closes around here. I pulled off first, leaving my friend sitting in his car checking his phone. As I driving down the access road, I passed a sheriff's car pulling in, probably to chase off any stragglers before it was all the way dark.

I was raised to respect law enforcement and that they were there to help you. But recent atrocities carried out by police have clouded that opinion. When I saw the sheriff pull in last night, he waved to me but I was paralyzed with fear.

This particular beach is in a rural white neighborhood, was this sheriff a racist bastard who was going to think the worst of my friend on sight? I pulled over and texted my friend then waited until he'd pulled out into the main road too before leaving.

My friend laughed at me and said the sheriff didn't even come over to his car let alone give him a hard time. So maybe my fear was irrational and by texting him and waiting I wasn't really helping, but I was so scared. I thought if all the innocent blacks lives we've lost in the past few years, all the names I can't keep track of (but vow to do better at) and it was with horror that I realized it could happen in my backyard to my friend, my brother. And I'm still holding that fear pretty close today.

I hate that fear and I'm so incredibly sorry that there are whole portions of our population that live with that fear all the time. I don't know how but I have to do better, be better, change things for the better.

Wednesday, May 10, 2017

bitty words #14

"Well, that answers that question," I murmured against his shoulder.

Our bodies were still tangled together. the sheets knotted and twisted around us, and I never wanted to move.

"What question?" he asked, only half engaged.

Why was I not surprised that he couldn't recall the catalyst for our urgent second round? I reminded myself, boys are ridiculous.

Reality started to crack the magic sex spell and I started to roll away from him. "Nevermind."

He made a soft noise of confusion and his arm around my back tightened ever so slightly. "Where are you going?"

A small laugh grew in my throat, clinging to the sweetness that was quickly evaporating like the sweat on our skin.

We stayed entangled for a few more minutes as I inspected the popcorn texture of his ceiling. It almost felt like I had been there the week before instead of more than three months ago.

"Remind me why we waited so long to do this again?" I asked before good sense could stop my tongue.

He half laughed. "I don't know. We were busy, I guess."

I was sorry I asked the question and his response was such a lame non-answer that I had to disentangle myself to distract myself for my own disappointment. I don't know what I wanted him to say but I knew that wasn't it.

Moving out of his grip, I moved to the edge of the bed. I saw my pile of clothes on the floor and hated myself for coming straight here in my dress. There was no comfy half-dressed option; it was either lingerie or fully clothed.

I chose the lingerie option because fully clothed might look like I was leaving and I wasn't sure if I was. I slipped out of bed and slithered into my panties as quickly as possible.

"I'm hungry," he said, behind me.

I turned to him, a little shy despite it all. "Seriously? You're ridiculous?"

He sat up in bed. "I'm tired, I just worked hard. I need nourishment and I don't have any food in the house"

I rolled my eyes so hard, I was lucky they didn't fall right out.  "I feel like this is a reoccurring thing for you."

He tilted his head to the side for a moment until he remembered. "Oh, that's right, you took me for tacos once didn't you?"

"In the middle of the night," I added. "That is an important detail."

He laughed and I smiled, too. It had been ridiculous at the time and it was even more ridiculous now.

"Do you want tacos again?"

He checked the clock above his bed. "I actually think I'm going to walk around the corner for pizza, they're open for another half hour."

"That is my cue to get out of here." I reached for my dress. Was I glad to have an easy out or did I want to be staying? Especially after all this time?

He still hadn't moved from bed. "You don't have to go, you can hang out."

"No worries,  I should get home."  I had already stepped into my dress, there was no turning back now. At least not without a more concrete invitation than "you can hang out."

Finally extricating himself from the bed, he grabbed his boxers off the floor. "I'll walk out with you."

"How gentlemanly of you," I said with a laugh.

He smiled. "You know it."

I had my arm twisted up behind my back trying to zip my dress but I had to admit defeat. "Could you?" I turned my back to him.

"What? Oh. Sure."

I could fell the warmth of his body as he stepped in close and fumbled with the tiny tab. His fingers grazed my back as he zipped me up and his breath danced across my neck. I inhaled, anticipating that he would kiss my neck but there was no kiss. After a long second, he stepped away and I turned back to face him, trying to keep the disappointment off my face.

"That dress really is great." His eyes were no where near my face.

"Thanks for the stamp of approval."

A touch of snark crept into my voice and we carried the banter out of his apartment and down the street.

He kissed my cheek on the corner. "Thanks for..." His voice faded.

I smiled. Was he really going to be shy about this on a dark street corner in the middle of the night? Apparently. "You too."

As we walked away from each other, of all the things we'd done together, him zipping up my dress was the thing I couldn't get out of my mind.













Monday, April 24, 2017

THE MAN OF MY DREAMS was all about reality

I read Curtis Sittenfeld's PREP a few years ago and loved the awkward honesty with which she portrayed adolescence. So when I found a hardcover of THE MAN OF MY DREAMS at a thrift store, I snapped it up and binge read.



The same awkward honesty from PREP is omnipresent in THE MAN OF MY DREAMS and was heart-breakingly relateable to my twenty-something self. Reading about Hannah felt like reading about myself.

The way Hannah refuses to follow a mediocre man even if she is comfortable with him. The way that she chooses "the love of her life" but take no action towards capturing it. The way she accepts inferior love because she is afraid to ask for more. All of this felt like parts of my own existence. I was so acutely aware of the detailed feeling that I filled in the gaps in the poetic prose, knowing the nuances underneath the broad strokes made by the Sittenfeld's descriptively sparse but when aimed sentences.

I also really loved Hannah's therapy experiences as well as her extreme reluctance to admit she was seeing a therapist at all. Although I have never been to a therapist, her experiences are exactly how I would want mine to go. Those scenes made me feel like maybe I don't need to be so scared to talk to someone.

Finally, I loved Hannah's ending or beginning. Whatever you want to call it. But I won't say to much about that because you should go read it!



Sunday, April 23, 2017

bitty words #13


"Wow."

I echoed his sentiments in a dreamy tone, too gloriously satisfied to say more.

"No," he sat up and looked at me in the dusky light from the open bedroom door. "Like, so much better than I remembered it. And I remembered it being pretty good."

I giggled. "I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended. Both I guess, since both times were me."

"Stop, I didn't mean it like that. It's a compliment." He seemed to have missed my giggle and playful tone.

"It's okay. I'm not offended." I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "You were really great, too."

He all but growled as he caged himself over me. "Think I can be really great, twice in a row?"

I didn't have a chance to answer him as his mouth crashed into mine, demanding and urgent.  I pressed one hand against the smooth skin of his chest and threaded the other through his Adonis curls.

As we came up for air, I whispered between kisses on his neck. "Don't disappoint me now."

He laughed and rolled onto his back, taking me with him. Looking up at me, his smile was almost sinister. He had definitely accepted my challenge.

A shiver of anticipation ran through me before we attacked each other again.








Friday, April 21, 2017

bitty words #12

He dropped kissed across my collarbone and any hesitations I may or may not have had about going back there evaporated.

"Let's get you out of that dress," He whispered, his hot breath dancing across my neck.

I answered him by grabbing the hem of his t-shirt and pulling. He laughed as he flung it off, his impossibly defined abs now on full display, and laced his fingers through mine pulling toward the bedroom.

Yep. All hesitations were definitely gone.

Once inside his room he spun me into an embrace, pressing his body against my back and wrapping his arms around me.

"This is really such a great dress," He whispered. He ran his hand over the soft wool of my skirt, grabbing curves along the way.

I gave a half-hearted thanks, but I didn't really care if he liked the dress. I wanted to be kissing him again. "Are you gonna compliment it or take it off?" I asked with my characteristic snark.

He laughed into the curve of my neck and I felt his fingers on the zipper. I turned to face him as I let the dress fall to the floor.

His sound of lustful approval defied description as his eyes scanned my body.

I stepped out of my dress, rising up on my toes, and pressed myself against his bare chest. His skin felt scalding but in the best way. I was close enough to kiss him but I didn't. I catalogued the details of his face instead. The feathery lashes, the crinkles near his gold-flecked eyes, and the incorrigible way his hair curled across his forehead.

This man was seriously too attractive for his own good.

He interrupted my musings on his status as a perfect male specimen with a passionate kiss that left me breathless. I was trying to remember my own name when he half pushed half carried me onto his bed.

I giggled as he landed on top of me.

He hovered over me, poised to kiss me, but paused. "Did you miss me, Princess?"

My snark kicked in before I could stop it. "No, missing you would require feelings and I don't have those." I literally bit my tongue, holding it between my teeth as I waited to see if I'd gone to far.

He dropped his head onto my chest and laughed, vibrating my whole body with his mirth. "You're such a pain in my ass," he said.

And then neither one of us said anything coherent for a long time.





Wednesday, March 22, 2017

bitty words #11

I was expecting a text from my best friend when I heard my notification tone.

But it was him.

Risen from the graveyard of people who don't text back to give a girl a minor heart attack on a busy Friday afternoon.

I looked at the text for nearly fifteen minutes, shock and surprise eliminating any ability to construct complete sentences. But eventually I managed a few words and he volleyed back.

A plan was made. A time arranged.

I walked up the frosty front steps in my dainty heels, my legs shivering slightly in my dress. I pressed his doorbell and waited. How awkward was this going to be after nearly four months of radio silence?

Was I going to have to make small talk?

His Adonis face appeared in the shadowy hall and I knew I did not want to make small talk. AT ALL. I had way better things to do with him after all this time.

"How was the show?" He asked as soon as the door was closed behind us.

Fucking small talk. I shrugged out of my coat and tried not to sigh out loud.

"Pretty good."

"What show was it?" He took a step toward me and the look in his eye sent a whole new type of shiver through me.

"Does it matter?"

He laughed. "You are so good at small talk, has anyone ever told you that?"

I smiled but as a witty answer formed on my tongue, I shivered.

"Are you cold?" He dropped a hand onto my shoulder. "I could get you a blanket."

I spun into his embrace. "No, you'll do just fine yourself."

A broad smile spread across his face. "Damn, I missed you."


Monday, March 13, 2017

My privilege is showing

So I have probably said this often, but TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD is one of my favorite books. Top 5, no question. 

I read it my junior year of high school with a fabulous teacher in a sleepy white farm town in Western New York. I spent a lot time in Buffalo for ballet and had plenty of diverse friends but the people around me didn't. It was a book that changed the tenor of our other discussions in class, not just the ones about TKAM. It was a book that sparked my desire to be a lawyer. 

Aside from the effects on my class social dynamic, I love the life lessons we see through the children's eyes. The innocence of trading trinkets with Boo Radley, the simplicity of bartering goods for services, the hardship of being different, the quiet wisdom and struggle of Atticus, the awkwardly obvious truth in the courtroom. I love so much about this book. 

But, I will admit, that I have found my frustration and rage to be stronger in recent rereads. It felt far more removed from the present when I read it the first time over ten years ago. Now it feels like it could still happen in today's America. And that is terrifying. However, I still really enjoy rereading it and use that anger to fuel me to be better. 

Because of the way the Common Core was implemented in New York, our eighth graders now read TKAM. (Don't get me started on this.) And I mentioned to a black student who was carrying it, how much I like it. 

She didn't exactly lose it on me, but she definitely had an opinion and it blew me away. 

She said she hated it. She said it was just one more story in which the black guy isn't a character, he's a tool to make white people morally better or worse. He's a bullshit lesson. She said she was sick of reading about spoiled white kids FINALLY realizing what she grew up knowing already.  

She went on for several minutes. AND IT BLEW ME AWAY. 

I didn't realize how much of my white privilege was wrapped up in my love of this book. I told her how impressed I was and that I was thinking deeply about she said. 

I still don't know how to feel about loving a book that made a young girl feel so negatively.  I do know that I will be listening and being thoughtful as I keep reading. I know I will encourage my colleagues to value the opinions of their students even when they differ from the established thoughts on a "classic." I know I will endeavor engage my students in content that does not make them constantly feel like the other. 

I know I will fail but I will try to be better. 

Monday, February 20, 2017

bitty words #10

You aren't as cute as the asshole who made me orgasm so many times I forgot to keep count, but I might actually like you.

Red flag #1.

You invited me over to watch an indie movie and I actually wanted to go. I should have fun the other way. Netflix and chill never ends well, right?

What does ending well mean anyway?

I sit cross-legged on the floor, my back against a brown velour loveseat. You do the same but on the other side of the coffee table. Perpendicular to me.

A butterfly dies in my stomach. You've chosen to sit far from me. You've ruled out casual contact in the dark. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't bummed but I don't say anything at all.

This movie is ridiculous. There is no continuity. Except the crabs. The crabs that couldn't have actually lived the entire length of the movie so even that isn't accurate.

You think my unwillingness to suspend my disbelief, my focus on the practical and logistical despite the fact that a turtle literally turns into a woman is funny.

You laugh quietly in the dark and a pang of cellular longing makes me wish I could feel the vibrations of amusement in your chest.

I take a sip of cider and remind myself not to be an idiot. We're watching a movie. You aren't my type. You have never been anything but friendly. You are sitting so far away you cannot possibly be interested.

But I think I like you.

Sunday, January 1, 2017

bitty words #9

Back in his apartment I felt awkward. He was lounging on his sectional sofa, stuffing his face full of tacos and I felt supremely superfluous. I perched a section away from him and surveyed his living room in greater detail. He actually had some nice original art on the walls but the rest of it screamed bachelor pad. For some perverse reason, that made me smile.

"Why are you so far away?" he asked, crumpling up yet another taco wrapper.

"Because I am superfluous to your taco feast," I said, truthfully.

"You know, I think I'm starting to like your big words." He smiled. "It's kind of a hot."

I shrugged. I have my fair share of insecurities but my intelligence isn't one of them.

He moved to my section of the sofa. "So, do you have plans for Thanksgiving?"

"Yeah, just dinner with my mother and sister." Oh, lord. Small talk? Really? "What about you? Do you even have a family or did you just enter the world fully formed like a god?"

He laughed so hard it clapped his hands in that involuntary way that it happens when you're really really amused. "Sadly, no. I'm the youngest, three older sisters and two predictably human parents."

I couldn't stop myself from smiling. "That explains everything."

"What is that supposed to mean?" There was a distinctly defensive note in his voice that made me smile harder.

I put my hands up in mock surrender. "Nothing, just a little insight into your personality."

"I thought you didn't like my personality." He nudged me with his shoulder then stayed close.

"I don't necessarily but I still find it objectively interesting." I reasoned.

He mumbled "objectively interesting" to himself then looked at me seriously. "Is this what all small talk with you is like?"

I laughed. "Pretty much."

"Hmm" was his only response and I didn't push for more. After a few extra long seconds he asked, "so are you done with small talk then?"

"To be fair, you started the small talk so you're the one to decide if we're done with it or not."

His hand snaked around my waist and pulled me onto his lap. "Oh, I am definitely done with small talk but I'm just getting started with you."




Have you seen Magali Frechette's MY SOUL TO GIVE yet?

When Celina Leviet escapes the brutal home invasion that kills her husband, she’s left with a bullet in her gut and vengeance in her...