#is it not interesting the way this sort of created a self-fulfilling prophesy ? where her frustrations with him only led her to withdraw

[idiotsonlyevent]

i'm not saying 'chilchuck did nothing wrong,' but i'm becoming increasingly bothered by the framing that the marriage failed because it was 'only his fault,' when his wife did just up and leave, seemingly without saying anything to him or having a conversation about it?

and i know we don't see anything from Her perspective, so maybe she did try, but the fact that he had no idea anything was wrong, despite being fairly present with her and their daughters is i think pretty indicative that she was probably stewing with her frustrations in silence for a long time... like, i'm not pinning the blame on her, but leaving your spouse without saying anything is also not great? especially if it's some sort of 'test'?

like, i think they both Kind Of Messed Up and now there's a stalemate where they're upset, and chilchuck is afraid to make the next move because he doesn't want to upset her further, but the longer he waits, the more frustrated she gets... and so it continues

also, dunmeshi spends SO much time focusing on how we often unintentionally hurt our loved ones, but how there's almost always ways to move past it and grow, so it feels very strange to me when people insist that there's no reason for them to get back together. like if you don't want them to, that's fine! but insisting that there's no way to repair their relationship, or that it's only one person's fault, or that it's unhealthy or whatever... idk, but it doesn't sit right w me.

[theorynexus]

56:   We continue, perhaps a bit later in the day than I might have liked.

Before we get started, I would just like to ponder something to myself:   What is Dirk’s actual motivation?   I had assumed that his decision to take over the narrative was just a result of the belief on his part that it was a natural part of his evolution, or that he was actually not doing it with a particular purpose in mind, but after Alt!Calliope accusing him of Megalomania became a thing, I guess I have to open up my mind to other possibilities.  It could be that she has simply observed him exploiting the capacity he now has in order to heighten his control over others (as was the natural result, considering his personality), but it might actually be that there’s something more. If I had to guess, it would be that (based on his conversation with Rose, and the statement about reality becoming congealed) he desires to prevent everyone’s lives from losing relevance and fading into an empty heap of incomplete thoughts and useless garbage. That is to say:  given the story was over, but in such a way that things were left unanswered, the story was incomplete, and the main characters were gods that would continue growing over time, it is conceivable that once Dirk reached the point where he could actually discern the narrative himself and saw that Hussie had essentially abandoned Homestuck (closing out the story in such a way that locked LE in canon and placed the early parts of Universe C/Earth 3′s timeline[s] outside of it), he had a crisis surrounding his existence as a fictional character, and wanted to take up Hussie’s role as a way to attempt the preservation of all of their lives, and the integrity of reality within their fictional (thus murky/fluid/malleable) world? Considering I know that Dirk is the first character with a “speaking” role in Homestuck^2, and that this is him writing a long letter (note:  I am now reminding you all that I accidentally very slightly dipped into it before I realized that it was not the Homestuck Epilogue[s]), I guess... maybe he eventually succeeds?  I mean, getting a continuation/spin-off would be one way to fulfill the “escape the destruction of Paradox Space by creating/traveling to a separate version of reality/world beyond its limitations” win condition that was one of the many possibilities that would mean the epilogue was satisfying in a narrative sense and not (entirely?) a Bad End.    Given the fact it’s on a different site, which could further emphasize this achievement, if that is the correct interpretation/guess to make about the later events which I have not read yet... congratulations, horrible person/Unreliable Narrator for theoretically saving reality for a time? I don’t know. That all seems uncertain and possibly a bit of a stretch at this point, and I feel like I’m cheating for including that accidental viewing into my analysis for the work I’m presently navigating.  I want to be honest with you all about my thoughts and experiences-- or at least as honest as I can be while ensuring that I don’t essentially post things stream-of-consciousness -style.  I do have certain standards of plausibility and coherence that I hold myself to, after all.  I want to keep this interesting and entertaining for you guys, just as it is for me. ... And finally, we get back to Terezi and John. I will not react to their entire page, this time-- or at least my intention is to not do so --but rather, only a half of it. That way this post won’t get as too terribly bloated.  ***irony rimshot ahoy***

Uuuugggh! John, can’t you tell that you’re killing yourself?!?!?!   Gah!

Tin of tobacco?  What, is Dad a chewer?   Certainly an int--- ooohhh, it’s pipe tobacco.  I see.  I wonder what sort of nutritional value there is in there. (Note: That’s two toxic substances she’s been eating for some reason.)

OH MY FRICKING GOSH!!! XD

Hmm. John presents an interesting question, just after this, with regards to her getting flavors from colors. Indeed, that is very much a form of synaesthesia.  That said:  Yeah, I know at least chewing tobacco can do that. Not sure about flakes of the smoking variety. I know that it can poison you to death if you eat too much of it.

Oh, hey, it seems that Terezi has probably noticed John’s confused+growing feelings for her. Neat. (And yeah, that’s what you get for talking with a Mind player. :P)

So great. So great.

...  I am pretty sure it has been more than a few years.  I guess the time in the Furthest Ring can be really fricking weird, though, and since Terezi said he wasn’t as old-seeming as she thought he would be, maybe the four of them somehow just got insanely lucky time-ways, which is... sortof ridiculous, considering Lord English’s time powers.  I guess it’s like Clover’s caveat that luck only bends so far as to not counter things that could be considered either lucky or unlucky, or neither in great amounts?     (Note: Clover’s defeat by Karkat happened because Clover thought it would be him “getting lucky” and falling into a Hearts, Stars, Horseshoes relationship with him. At the same time, it was unlucky because it was him being defeated. Thus, the power is shown to not only be weak against mediocre things like being hit with something that doesn’t hurt you [the only reason LE could get hit at all, probably, with the exception of his eventual critical sword wounds as the Green Sun Black Hole’s void influence grew], but also against things that could be described as either good or bad.)      LE getting opponents that are not massively crazy from being held enclosed for trillions of years without connections to the outside world could be considered lucky insofar as he has been constantly desiring and looking for real challenges for ages upon ages, at least as far as I understand things. Obviously, there’s the collective wills of all who have every been oppressed by him, and the prophesy of the Ultimate Juju being used as a weapon against him after its use by him to be considered, as well, but I think that there can logically be many sources playing into these sorts of outcomes. But yeah, I guess maybe it was seemingly eons for everyone else, but that little pocket of the Furthest Ring inexplicably only suffered a few years’ passage~

Hey, you asked for her to get real with you!  Don’t complain when her sincere reactions aren’t what you’d want! XD Also:   They’re totally going to run into something important while they’re not paying attention, aren’t they?

<3

Of course she’d put them on there. It was practically like using candy to bait a trap for a baby. NOW CLICK YOUR SHOES TOGETHER THREE TIMES AND GO HOME!!!

Sortof like the fight with LE, but you got lucky and pulled a Pyrrha out of your hat.

This should remind you of the fact that you can use your retcon powers to go save Vriska.   WHY DIDN’T YOU THINK OF THIS EARLIER?!?!?!!!    (Honestly, with his bleed+poison, it’s almost a miracle he’s thinking this straight, so I really don’t hold it against him, truthfully.   ... And yeah, self-blinded “F1X TH1S” Justice Terezi Pyrope was so fricking amazing, it’s almost unbelievable.)

***suddenly feels like I got my heart torn out and bashed against a hard surface by a time travelling robot for not remembering [S] Terezi: Remem8er. merged her memories of the two sides of the Retcanon Timelines***

Gah. This... this hurts so much.  ;~;

Huh. I thought for sure Caliborn’s circle drawing had “HUGE BITCH” in the center of it, and I was going to post that in relation to the Fat Vriska/Vriska being sucked into the black hole prophesy/foreshadowing, here, but it said, “FAT UGLY WHORE.”   Still somewhat relevant, but not what I was remembering, and thus not quite so connected as I’d like.    I guess there’s always her intro panel: 

[airiat]

for the detail OC questions! 28, 38, and 45, for either or both your girls!

Helloooo! Thank you so much for asking these questions!! They all deal with themes I focus on pretty heavily in LMNIT, so much so that Fjoara has even answered these questions before in her own words! Therefore, I’m only going to answer for her, and also because I lowkey haven’t developed Morvera very much yet. I’m so, so sorry it took this long to answer–I ended up basically writing a whole essay on this because you picked the absolute perfect questions to ask lol. Thank you so much, again! This was so helpful for my fic and super enjoyable to do.

Fjoara Ebonhand:

~ What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared? 

~ How do other people see them? Is it similar to how they see themselves?

~ What do they admire in others? What talents do they wish they had?

28. What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared?

The driving force behind most of her actions is actually her overwhelming sense of fear, the biggest being what she’s tasked to do as Dragonborn (first dealing with Miraak, then defeating Alduin), and if she’ll be capable of carrying it out. When we look at the LDB from an in-game perspective we view them as fearless and able to do anything, but I would imagine the emotional implications of being chosen to literally save the world would cause an immense amount of inner turmoil, and this is a theme I explore consistently as it evolves within her. The catalyst for this all is her complete lack of confidence in her abilities in combat. She compares herself to the traditional brutish Nord warrior when she herself will never be like that. However, I think LMNIT will see her gain this missing confidence when she successfully deals with the situation on Solstheim, even if her approach is somewhat unconventional.

Later on, though—and you can already see hints of this—her fear becomes more directed inwards instead of outwards. As in, she’s afraid of her own power and its potential for causing devastation. Another element of in-game Skyrim is the idea that the LDB is very much a murderer, even a serial killer, but Fjoara is very strongly against using violence as anything but self-defense, preferring instead to be diplomatic or tactical. In fact, her carrying of Dawnbreaker, a sword most powerful against the undead rather than living people, is somewhat symbolic of this. She sees the thu’um as a weapon rather than a powerful tool capable of bringing peace, believing that the two are mutually exclusive. Of this she has said, “I have never wished to harm others, but the gods have given me a weapon that can speak an end to life with more ease than the sharpest sword, and with more devastation than the most powerful army. Yet, if I were to cast this weapon aside in favor of peace, I would bring upon an even greater destruction to all of Tamriel. Both my calling and the fear within me are inescapable. How am I to cope with being torn between these two parts of myself?” Once she learns Bend Will, however, I believe it will become a whole different story. That’s one for another time, though.

As for how Fjoara’s fear manifests tangibly, she would meet the criteria for Generalized Anxiety Disorder as well as Panic Disorder. When confronted with something particularly intense, like when she went to Apocrypha for the first time, she’ll most likely have an anxiety attack. If it’s something less severe, she’ll just shut down for a little while and become almost catatonic, though you can coax her out of it. Otherwise, she’s just a super high-strung and nervous person all the time no matter what the circumstances are, and will occasionally have panic attacks if the stress is too bad. She presents pretty classically, it’s just the things she deals with in her life are obviously quite unique.

On a less serious note, she’s really not a fan of frostbite spiders.

45. How do other people see them? Is it similar to how they see themselves?

Fjoara has held two statuses in her life that predispose a certain attitude to her: daughter of the High King who is next in line to the throne and, of course, Dragonborn. Both of these titles command a great deal of respect and an innate sense of admiration, but that then means an inaccurate image of herself is being projected onto her. This has been a huge source of contention for her. Before she knew she was Dragonborn and was only just nobility, she always felt like people were only ever nice to her because of that. This is what she’s said on this topic: “Back home in Solitude, I had become so accustomed to the delicate and inauthentic manner in which I was treated by my father’s court, and even by those whom I considered my friends. The luxuries and privileges afforded to me by my father being High King of Skyrim were beyond the common people’s most outrageous fantasies, but there was always a part of me who would have discarded it all for the chance at a real connection with someone. To be loved and respected for who I am, not because of who my father is, and certainly not because I’m now destined to become some sort of hero.” On top of this, she doesn’t really have a good sense of self because she has never really received genuine feedback about herself from anyone other than her family, who also have their own ulterior motives. As it is mentioned above, Fjoara at the very least knows what she wants out of her relationships, but she feels barred from receiving that because of her social status. This is why she takes advantage of an out that was given to her by way of being Dragonborn.

After she absorbs her first dragon soul (but before she knew that meant she was Dragonborn) and runs away from home, Fjoara makes a concerted effort to hide herself and from herself, which is why she “traveled to The Rift, the farthest possible hold from Haafingar.” In doing so, she also decides to distance herself from her noble identity by changing her last name and lying about where she came from. She also inadvertently gains more anonymity when she decides to join the Thieves Guild just by the very nature of the work she does with them. Besides, who would ever suspect that the King’s daughter would stoop so low as to become a filthy criminal?

Fjoara gets on really well with the Guild, and it becomes her greatest source of pride because it was purely her own skills and efforts that got her membership–not because of nepotism or birthright. I won’t go into the story of how she joined, but it’s actually pretty funny. Let’s just say Brynjolf never saw it coming. While there, she also develops a strong, somewhat romantic relationship with Brynjolf and eventually, she does tell him who she is. He had a positive reaction to it and promised to keep her secret, which he does honor. This was really the first time that she feels truly appreciated by someone else; even though he knows of her nobility, he doesn’t treat her any differently because of it.

Yet, Fjoara never really finds her identity in the Thieves Guild despite her sense of belonging and the second family she creates there. I believe that this sense of disconnection will be something she’ll struggle with for her entire life. It will be a challenge for her to truly name an identity for herself when she will have to fulfill so many vastly different roles, from the mundane domesticity of wife and mother to the last of an ancient prophesied hero to the familial burdens of nobility, and so on.

Despite all of this, however, people do actually really like Fjoara no matter what lens they are seeing her through. She is very personable, eloquent, and charming, and genuinely takes an interest in helping people, even if she can unintentionally come off a little fake sometimes. The Skaal respect her, the Guild admires her talent, Frea will become her first real friend, and Teldryn will fall so much in love with her. And that’s just the beginning.

38. What do they admire in others? What talents do they wish they had?

I get to talk about Teldryn in this part! The very nature of their relationship is a mutual, but unspoken feeling of admiration for the other. A sense of “I can’t believe you would choose to be with me because I believe you to be far more superior than me.” For Teldryn, he obviously admires the fact that she’s Dragonborn–that much is inescapable–but not for the reason one would expect. As he is a Dunmer, I feel as if the meaning he assigns to her being this hero carries much less of a cultural significance as it would if he were a Nord. Instead, it’s out of pure wonder at how powerful she is, her resilience against the tribulations she will have to go through at the hands of it, and the amount of cool stuff she gets to experience. The very first admission of his admiration for her was: “There is a growing need within me to provide for her and ensure her safety, though I know she is capable of doing these things for herself. I truly have nothing to offer that she doesn’t already possess. Her wealth appears limitless, guidance and accommodation are given readily just because of who she is, and her abilities in combat dwarf my own—a spellsword, like me, but in combination with that fucking voice of hers, she’s a lethal weapon.” As of right now in my fic, Fjoara doesn’t yet know enough about Teldryn to think any more of him than just that she is attracted to him, so I say this about Teldryn’s feelings for her to help illustrate the idea of her own eventual admiration.

The things that Fjoara values in another person are a bit misguided right now. As I said earlier, she struggles with her identity, and part of this is a disassociation from what she feels it means to be a “daughter of Skyrim,” a true Nord. Inadequacy is something that plagues her and this is highlighted when she says, “For a Nord, there is no greater shame than that which is found in cowardice, but it would be impossible for me to ease my mind of all fear. I still cannot comprehend why I was chosen for this duty when there are thousands of other more capable warriors than I. If I had been allowed to retain my normal life so that I could have someday utilized my skills to be High Queen of Skyrim, then I would have still held on to my honor. But now I am unsure what of it still remains, if any at all.” Therefore, what she admires most are the strong, militant warriors who know their way around a battleaxe. Another reason why she carries Dawnbreaker is to create the illusion that she actually is as such, but in truth, she is certainly no swordsman. Instead, Fjoara is actually a really talented mage. She studied at the College of Winterhold for less than a year, but she was able to get a firm grasp on Destruction and has dipped a little into Restoration, Illusion, and Alteration. Because of the attitude Nords harbor against mages, however, Fjoara doesn’t value this skill as much as she should. On another note, the “skills” she mentions in the quote are her inclinations towards diplomacy, leadership, and oration. As in, if one were to look at her skill tree, her speech skill would be way up there. Fjoara honestly would have made a really good High Queen, but that’s not the path set out for her anymore, and she hasn’t quite realized yet that she can still put these talents to good use as Dragonborn.

To rein in my tangent a bit, as with Teldryn, Fjoara also admires resilience in the face of hardship. She admires the fearlessness both he and Frea displays. She admires Frea’s selflessness and dedication to protecting her village. She admires people who have been through more in life than her and respects the wisdom she can glean from them. She admires Teldryn’s persistent good-humor in spite of adversity in the present and the traumas of his past. She admires Brynjolf’s cunning personality, even if it isn’t always to the best end. She also admires anyone who is artistically or musically gifted because she can’t do either for shit.

[bookloveravenue]

Katie McGarry’s ONLY A BREATH APART – Excerpt Reveal

Would you dare to defy destiny? Are our destinies written in stone? Do we become nothing more than the self-fulfilling prophesies of other people's opinions? Or can we dare to become who we believe we were born to be?“A gorgeous, heartfelt journey of redemption and love” (Wendy Higgins), ONLY A BREATH APART is a young adult contemporary novel from critically acclaimed Katie McGarry. “Haunting, authentic, and ultimately hopeful” (Tammara Webber), ONLY A BREATH APART will be available on all retailers on January 22, 2019!

About ONLY A BREATH APART:Jesse dreams of working the land that’s been in his family forever. But he’s cursed to lose everything he loves most.Scarlett is desperate to escape her “charmed” life. But leaving a small town is easier said than done.Despite their history of heartbreak, when Jesse sees a way they can work together to each get what they want, Scarlett can’t say no.Each midnight meeting between Jesse and Scarlett will push them to confront their secrets and their feelings for each other.

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“Gritty and real, Only a Breath Apart is a story of hope conjured from pain, strength drawn from innocence, and love earned from self-respect. Beautiful, poignant, and fierce.” ―Kristen Simmons, critically acclaimed author of the Article 5 series

Add it to your Goodreads today!

Excerpt:

SCARLETT I’m defying my parents by attending a funeral. Reckless and adventurous teenage behavior, I know. Most seventeen-year-olds lie to their parents so they can go on a date with a forbidden boy or attend a party where there will be questionable behavior. Me? I’m outright lying to my dad, and it’s because Jesse Lachlin’s grandmother died. The entire way here I’ve questioned my sanity, but I don’t know how I’d live with myself if I stayed home. Jesse Lachlin used to be my childhood best friend. We were inseparable. We had the type of friendship people strive to have, and then, a few years ago, he cut me so deeply that I still bleed. But ten-year-old me would have never abandoned a hurting Jesse. So today I’m not only honoring the memory of Jesse’s grandmother, but also the memory of our dead friendship. On my way to the funeral, the high grass of the field swats at my legs, but I don’t mind the sting. I love walking barefoot in grass, I love the smell of the earth and I love that brief feeling of freedom open spaces can provide. It’s the dog days of August. The type of hot that starts when the sun rises and makes you sweat through your clothes within minutes. While my skin and palms are on fire, the pads of my feet are cool against the dirt. The heat is unwelcome, but the sky is deep blue and the sun is bright, and for that, I can be grateful. Walking out of the field, I stop short of crossing the one-lane road to slip on the flats that dangle from my fingertips. My mother would be mortified if she knew I was entering a church in a cotton daisy-print sundress. It’s not one of the dresses with stiff fabric and impossible back zippers she would have picked for me at an overpriced department store. It’s the type that’s machine-washable and breathable. The type of dress Jesse’s grandmother would have given her stamp of approval. I can practically hear my mother heavily sigh and mumble my name, Scarlett, as if it were her personal, private curse word. Mom believes there’s a certain way to dress and behave, and I’m breaking all sorts of her rules today. Watch out, world. I’m officially rebellious. I smile to myself because I’m the opposite of rebellious. For the last few years, I’ve followed every rule. I’m the teacher’s pet and the girl with straight A’s. I’m the poster child of perfection, and have earned every snarky ice princess comment Jesse’s friends whisper about me in the school hallways because he and I no longer speak. There are only six cars in the parking lot of the white church, and that makes me frown. I thought more people would have wanted to attend. Jesse’s mud-covered pickup is there, and so is an unnaturally clean black Mercedes that belongs to his uncle. This ought to be interesting. Jesse and his uncle have a mutual hate for each other that runs deeper than any root of any tree. Movement to my right and I slowly turn my head. Shivers run down my spine at the sight of Glory Gardner. Even though I’m seventeen and too old for ghost stories, I still can’t shake the ones regarding this woman. Girls would whisper over lunch boxes that Glory was a witch. As I grew older, I understood that witch meant con artist. She claims she can read palms, tarot cards and “sees” spirits from beyond the dead. All for a glorious fee. She’s a beautiful woman—long dirty blond hair that’s untamed, even in a bun, and she has an eclectic taste in clothing. Today she wears a white peasant shirt and a flowing skirt made of material that shimmers in the sun. Glory watches me like I watch her, with morbid curiosity. I knew her as a child, back when Jesse and I ran wild in the fields near her home, but we haven’t talked in years. She stands under the shade of a towering weeping willow. There are lots of those trees around here. Mom says it’s because there is too much water in the ground. I say it’s because the people in this town have cried too many tears. Mom doesn’t like my answer. I tilt my head toward the church, an unspoken question if Glory will be joining me. She shakes her head no. I’m not shocked. According to rumors, Glory will go up in flames if she enters the house of God. But who knows? Maybe I will, too. The church is one of those picturesque, historical, one-room school buildings squeezed between a cornfield on one side and a hay field on the other. A huge steeple with a bell attempts to reach the heavens, but like anything created by a human, it falls tragically short. The foreboding wooden door makes no noise as I open it, and I’m able to slip in without a huge, squeaking announcement. Orange light filters in through the dark stained glass windows, and its struggling beams reveal millions of dancing particles of dust. On the altar, there’s no casket, but there is an urn. My heart dips—Suzanne is dead. I used to wish she were my grandmother, and many times, she treated me as if I belonged to her. Suzanne was the epitome of love, and the world feels colder now that she’s gone. Choosing a spot in the back, I drop into a pew, and as I scan the church my stomach churns. How is it possible that this place is so barren? Besides the Funeral Brigade, or the FB, as I like to refer to them, there aren’t many people here. The FB are the older group of woman who attend every funeral in our small town even if they didn’t know the person. Attending funerals isn’t my idea of fun, but who am I to judge? The FB sit directly behind the one person the town believes to be the lone sane member of the Lachlin family, probably because he isn’t blood related—Jesse’s uncle. On the left side of the church is Jesse. Only Jesse. And that causes a painful pang in my chest. Where are his stinking friends? The anarchists in training who follow Jesse wherever he goes? Where is the rest of the town? Yes, Suzanne was polarizing, but still, where is any respect? Quietly, so I don’t draw attention to myself, I slip from the right set of pews to the left. Someone should be on Jesse’s side, and it’s sad it has to be me. A door at the front of the church opens, and the pastor walks out from the addition the church build on as a small office ten years ago. I would have thought any pastor assigned to this place would be as ancient as this church. Sort of like an Indiana Jones Knights Templar scenario where he lives forever as long as he stays inside. But no, he’s the youngest pastor from the main, newer church in town. His name is Pastor Hughes, and he’s a thirty-something black man with a fit build who is just cute enough that he should be starring in a movie. The pastor looks up, and he flinches as if startled. I peek over my shoulder then sigh. Clearly, he’s surprised to see me. Flipping fantastic. His reaction, and the fact he won’t stop staring, causes every person to turn their heads. Lovely. I’ve had dreams like this where I enter a room and become the center of attention. Only in my dreams it’s at school, it’s my classmates and I’m naked, but still, this is disconcerting. Eventually, the FB and Jesse’s uncle return their attention to the front, but Jesse doesn’t. He rests his arm on the back of the pew, and it’s hard to ignore that he’s made me his sole focus, but I do my best to act as if I don’t notice. To help, I concentrate on what my mom taught me as a child—to make sure the skirt of my dress is tucked appropriately so that my thighs don’t show. I then fold my hands in my lap and straighten to a book-on-head posture. I can be the ice princess people claim me to be. Five pews separate me and Jesse, and it’s not nearly enough. My cheeks burn under his continued inspection. Jesse has done this a handful of times since our freshman year. Glance at me as if I’m someone worth looking at, someone worth laughing with a little too loud and smiling with a little too much. Then he remembers who I am and snaps his gaze to someone else. But he’s not looking away now.  

Katie McGarry Bio: Katie McGarry was a teenager during the age of grunge and boy bands and remembers those years as the best and worst of her life. She is a lover of music, happy endings, reality television, and is a secret University of Kentucky basketball fan. Katie is the author of full length YA novels, PUSHING THE LIMITS, DARE YOU TO, CRASH INTO YOU, TAKE ME ON, BREAKING THE RULES, and NOWHERE BUT HERE and the e-novellas, CROSSING THE LINE and RED AT NIGHT. Her debut YA novel, PUSHING THE LIMITS was a 2012 Goodreads Choice Finalist for YA Fiction, a RT Magazine's 2012 Reviewer's Choice Awards Nominee for Young Adult Contemporary Novel, a double Rita Finalist, and a 2013 YALSA Top Ten Teen Pick. DARE YOU TO was also a Goodreads Choice Finalist for YA Fiction and won RT Magazine’s Reviewer’s Choice Best Book Award for Young Adult Contemporary fiction in 2013.

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[poisonbooknerd]

“Only A Breath Apart” Excerpt Reveal

Would you dare to defy destiny? Are our destinies written in stone? Do we become nothing more than the self-fulfilling prophesies of other people's opinions? Or can we dare to become who we believe we were born to be?

“A gorgeous, heartfelt journey of redemption and love” (Wendy Higgins), ONLY A BREATH APART is a young adult contemporary novel from critically acclaimed Katie McGarry. “Haunting, authentic, and ultimately hopeful” (Tammara Webber), ONLY A BREATH APART will be available on all retailers on January 22, 2019!

About ONLY A BREATH APART:

Jesse dreams of working the land that’s been in his family forever. But he’s cursed to lose everything he loves most.

Scarlett is desperate to escape her “charmed” life. But leaving a small town is easier said than done.

Despite their history of heartbreak, when Jesse sees a way they can work together to each get what they want, Scarlett can’t say no.Each midnight meeting between Jesse and Scarlett will push them to confront their secrets and their feelings for each other.

Amazon | Kobo | Google Play | B-A-M | Barnes & Noble | iBooks

“Gritty and real, Only a Breath Apart is a story of hope conjured from pain, strength drawn from innocence, and love earned from self-respect. Beautiful, poignant, and fierce.” ―Kristen Simmons, critically acclaimed author of the Article 5 series

Add it to your Goodreads today!

Excerpt:

SCARLETT

I’m defying my parents by attending a funeral. Reckless and adventurous teenage behavior, I know. Most seventeen-year-olds lie to their parents so they can go on a date with a forbidden boy or attend a party where there will be questionable behavior. Me? I’m outright lying to my dad, and it’s because Jesse Lachlin’s grandmother died.

The entire way here I’ve questioned my sanity, but I don’t know how I’d live with myself if I stayed home. Jesse Lachlin used to be my childhood best friend. We were inseparable. We had the type of friendship people strive to have, and then, a few years ago, he cut me so deeply that I still bleed. But ten-year-old me would have never abandoned a hurting Jesse. So today I’m not only honoring the memory of Jesse’s grandmother, but also the memory of our dead friendship.

On my way to the funeral, the high grass of the field swats at my legs, but I don’t mind the sting. I love walking barefoot in grass, I love the smell of the earth and I love that brief feeling of freedom open spaces can provide.

It’s the dog days of August. The type of hot that starts when the sun rises and makes you sweat through your clothes within minutes. While my skin and palms are on fire, the pads of my feet are cool against the dirt. The heat is unwelcome, but the sky is deep blue and the sun is bright, and for that, I can be grateful.

Walking out of the field, I stop short of crossing the one-lane road to slip on the flats that dangle from my fingertips. My mother would be mortified if she knew I was entering a church in a cotton daisy-print sundress. It’s not one of the dresses with stiff fabric and impossible back zippers she would have picked for me at an overpriced department store. It’s the type that’s machine-washable and breathable. The type of dress Jesse’s grandmother would have given her stamp of approval.

I can practically hear my mother heavily sigh and mumble my name, Scarlett, as if it were her personal, private curse word. Mom believes there’s a certain way to dress and behave, and I’m breaking all sorts of her rules today. Watch out, world. I’m officially rebellious.

I smile to myself because I’m the opposite of rebellious. For the last few years, I’ve followed every rule. I’m the teacher’s pet and the girl with straight A’s. I’m the poster child of perfection, and have earned every snarky ice princess comment Jesse’s friends whisper about me in the school hallways because he and I no longer speak.

There are only six cars in the parking lot of the white church, and that makes me frown. I thought more people would have wanted to attend. Jesse’s mud-covered pickup is there, and so is an unnaturally clean black Mercedes that belongs to his uncle. This ought to be interesting. Jesse and his uncle have a mutual hate for each other that runs deeper than any root of any tree.

Movement to my right and I slowly turn my head. Shivers run down my spine at the sight of Glory Gardner. Even though I’m seventeen and too old for ghost stories, I still can’t shake the ones regarding this woman. Girls would whisper over lunch boxes that Glory was a witch. As I grew older, I understood that witch meant con artist. She claims she can read palms, tarot cards and “sees” spirits from beyond the dead. All for a glorious fee.

She’s a beautiful woman—long dirty blond hair that’s untamed, even in a bun, and she has an eclectic taste in clothing. Today she wears a white peasant shirt and a flowing skirt made of material that shimmers in the sun.

Glory watches me like I watch her, with morbid curiosity. I knew her as a child, back when Jesse and I ran wild in the fields near her home, but we haven’t talked in years.

She stands under the shade of a towering weeping willow. There are lots of those trees around here. Mom says it’s because there is too much water in the ground. I say it’s because the people in this town have cried too many tears. Mom doesn’t like my answer.

I tilt my head toward the church, an unspoken question if Glory will be joining me. She shakes her head no. I’m not shocked. According to rumors, Glory will go up in flames if she enters the house of God. But who knows? Maybe I will, too.

The church is one of those picturesque, historical, one-room school buildings squeezed between a cornfield on one side and a hay field on the other. A huge steeple with a bell attempts to reach the heavens, but like anything created by a human, it falls tragically short.

The foreboding wooden door makes no noise as I open it, and I’m able to slip in without a huge, squeaking announcement. Orange light filters in through the dark stained glass windows, and its struggling beams reveal millions of dancing particles of dust.

On the altar, there’s no casket, but there is an urn. My heart dips—Suzanne is dead. I used to wish she were my grandmother, and many times, she treated me as if I belonged to her. Suzanne was the epitome of love, and the world feels colder now that she’s gone.

Choosing a spot in the back, I drop into a pew, and as I scan the church my stomach churns. How is it possible that this place is so barren?

Besides the Funeral Brigade, or the FB, as I like to refer to them, there aren’t many people here. The FB are the older group of woman who attend every funeral in our small town even if they didn’t know the person. Attending funerals isn’t my idea of fun, but who am I to judge?

The FB sit directly behind the one person the town believes to be the lone sane member of the Lachlin family, probably because he isn’t blood related—Jesse’s uncle.

On the left side of the church is Jesse. Only Jesse. And that causes a painful pang in my chest. Where are his stinking friends? The anarchists in training who follow Jesse wherever he goes? Where is the rest of the town? Yes, Suzanne was polarizing, but still, where is any respect?

Quietly, so I don’t draw attention to myself, I slip from the right set of pews to the left. Someone should be on Jesse’s side, and it’s sad it has to be me.

A door at the front of the church opens, and the pastor walks out from the addition the church build on as a small office ten years ago. I would have thought any pastor assigned to this place would be as ancient as this church. Sort of like an Indiana Jones Knights Templar scenario where he lives forever as long as he stays inside. But no, he’s the youngest pastor from the main, newer church in town. His name is Pastor Hughes, and he’s a thirty-something black man with a fit build who is just cute enough that he should be starring in a movie.

The pastor looks up, and he flinches as if startled. I peek over my shoulder then sigh. Clearly, he’s surprised to see me. Flipping fantastic.

His reaction, and the fact he won’t stop staring, causes every person to turn their heads. Lovely. I’ve had dreams like this where I enter a room and become the center of attention. Only in my dreams it’s at school, it’s my classmates and I’m naked, but still, this is disconcerting.

Eventually, the FB and Jesse’s uncle return their attention to the front, but Jesse doesn’t. He rests his arm on the back of the pew, and it’s hard to ignore that he’s made me his sole focus, but I do my best to act as if I don’t notice.

To help, I concentrate on what my mom taught me as a child—to make sure the skirt of my dress is tucked appropriately so that my thighs don’t show. I then fold my hands in my lap and straighten to a book-on-head posture. I can be the ice princess people claim me to be.

Five pews separate me and Jesse, and it’s not nearly enough. My cheeks burn under his continued inspection. Jesse has done this a handful of times since our freshman year. Glance at me as if I’m someone worth looking at, someone worth laughing with a little too loud and smiling with a little too much. Then he remembers who I am and snaps his gaze to someone else.

But he’s not looking away now.  

Katie McGarry Bio:

Katie McGarry was a teenager during the age of grunge and boy bands and remembers those years as the best and worst of her life. She is a lover of music, happy endings, reality television, and is a secret University of Kentucky basketball fan. Katie is the author of full length YA novels, PUSHING THE LIMITS, DARE YOU TO, CRASH INTO YOU, TAKE ME ON, BREAKING THE RULES, and NOWHERE BUT HERE and the e-novellas, CROSSING THE LINE and RED AT NIGHT. Her debut YA novel, PUSHING THE LIMITS was a 2012 Goodreads Choice Finalist for YA Fiction, a RT Magazine's 2012 Reviewer's Choice Awards Nominee for Young Adult Contemporary Novel, a double Rita Finalist, and a 2013 YALSA Top Ten Teen Pick. DARE YOU TO was also a Goodreads Choice Finalist for YA Fiction and won RT Magazine’s Reviewer’s Choice Best Book Award for Young Adult Contemporary fiction in 2013.

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