#to go to the barnes and noble opening in a town near us next month + to a open house at our states observatory. and other ppl were actually

[paeonie-s]

genuinely so emo abt the fact that i have friends who want to do stuff w me now omg

[gershwinn]

Lili Reinhart Never Had a Backup Plan

A fan favorite on the wildly popular teen soap Riverdale, Lili Reinhart has major movie stardom in her sights. And if you ask nicely, she just might read your horoscope.

Refreshingly, Reinhart is not vegan, gluten-free, keto, or on a macrobiotic diet. She is a self-described picky eater and considers this a treat. "No one wants to go [here] with me," she says, excitedly, when we sit down. Though Reinhart is dressed unfussily, in a faded black tee, Topshop denim jacket, jeans, thin hoop earrings, and a taupe baseball cap pulled over her buttery blonde hair, she is promptly approached by a woman at the next table. There's a lot the cap isn't hiding. Off-screen, Reinhart's eyes look as wide, upturned, and full-lashed as a Disney princess's; her clear, milky complexion is dotted youthfully with freckles; and her dimples seem to take turns showing off: a slight divot in her chin, then twin creases that show up on either side of her face when she's amused.

The woman leans over and asks Reinhart if she is on TV. Reinhart's lips tighten, and a wince flickers at her eyes, but she gives a polite smile and nods slowly. The woman plows on. Her son is a big fan, she says, motioning to a grinning boy beside her. He's an aspiring actor, and they're in town from Texas to give it a try. Reinhart relaxes a bit. She asks what part of Texas they are from, sincerely congratulates the boy on his endeavors, and turns to resume our interview. Reinhart says this moment — and others like it — is more full circle than she would care to admit.

"It's funny. I went to this Cheesecake Factory with my mom when I was, like, 15," she says. "We had flown in for an audition. I was sitting at the table over there, and I remember I got the email that I didn't get the part." Also around that time, Reinhart recalls spotting Zac Efron in a doctor's-office waiting room and surreptitiously snapping a photo of the actor. "I feel so gross about it now," she says. "It is flattering, but it also makes you feel like a zoo animal. Even when I'm sitting in the cast greenroom, if [someone is] holding their phone up like this, I'm like, ‘What are you doing?' I've become very paranoid."

I ask what she thinks about that F-word: fame. She changes the subject. "Cute boots," she remarks. I am flattered and launch into a monologue about how much I love Primark, specifically the one in Madrid, before realizing what she's done and ask her once more to talk. About. Fame. "It's so weird," she says, finally. "I don't really think about it until I'm around people. I don't think about it until I see young women, because those are the people that recognize me. Then all of a sudden, I become very aware."

True to her word, I notice Reinhart physically tenses up every time a teenage girl — or worse, a group of teenage girls — nears us. But when she's not on high alert for high schoolers, Reinhart is unguarded to a degree I would not expect from any stranger, much less one whose privacy is under constant scrutiny. For starters, she texts me directly, rather than having an assistant or manager handle our communication (standard for most celebrities).

Later that night, we decide on a meeting location for the next day. "As long as we go somewhere with eggs, I'm happy," she texts, before we settle on Dialog Cafe in West Hollywood and push back the time — neither of us feels like showing up before 9 a.m. Reinhart has an ease and openness in conversation that makes talking to her feel more like a slumber party than an interview. She volunteers thoughts on cute babies (just her goddaughter, for now), romantic love (something she prefers to fall into rarely, and fiercely), taking a spouse's surname (she favors hyphenation), and being the "grandma" of her friend group.

"When I get drunk, my friends act like it's a national holiday," Reinhart says. She offers up snippets from her camera roll and Instagram direct messages: photos of the hot-air balloon ride her boyfriend, Cole Sprouse, took her on for her birthday, and a dog she wishes were up for adoption — a shaggy shelter pup with no eyes. And just when I think I couldn't feel any more like the real-life Veronica to her Betty, she asks me if I want to go shopping.

Reinhart leads us by memory through a sprawling Barnes & Noble, up to two flights of escalators, then over to the left and back toward the windows, until we end up in the self-improvement section. Reinhart used to come here with friends, back when she first moved to L.A., and spend time poring over books like The Secret Language of Your Name. She tells me the provenance of her given name: Daniel and Amy Reinhart of Cleveland fell in love, got married, and named their second daughter after the actor Lili Taylor. There wasn't any special connection. "They just liked the spelling of her name. It's the French spelling."

Reinhart drags a dictionary-thick tome from the shelf. "This is a book that I own," she says, handing it to me. It's as weighty as a textbook — it has to be, because it guarantees deep and profound knowledge about absolutely everyone, based on their date of birth. She helps me look up mine, which is hilariously titled the Day of Sensual Charisma. Hers is September 13, which the book has ordained the Day of Passionate Care. She reads the entry aloud. "Resilient determination. That sounds about right," she says. "This part is very true: ‘They may face great obstacles to their success, but not for a moment will the outcome be in doubt for them.' I always knew this is what I was going to do. I never had a plan B." It might be difficult to imagine what the aforementioned "great obstacles" have been, considering the fact that she had landed her role on Riverdale by the age of 19.

But being young and female in just about any work environment can have its dark side. Reinhart was 16 when an adult work associate attempted to force himself on her. "I felt physically pinned down to the ground while someone dry humped me, basically," she says. She has spoken publicly about the assault before — but in retrospect, she believes those statements were premature. "I think I shared my story…before I had really understood it," Reinhart says. "I kept thinking of it as something physical, but it was more so a psychological abuse...that spanned a couple of months. I went along with it and was trying to get his approval because we were working together…. I wanted my work environment to be easy."

She was also a minor at the time, being exploited by someone in a position of power. It's clearly difficult for Reinhart to recount. When trying to recall details — how long it went on, whether verbal abuse was involved — she speaks evenly, but frequently pauses and tells me that that time in her life is "blurry" or that she's "locked it away." "What makes me hopeful is people like [Supergirl and Glee actor] Melissa Benoist sharing her story of domestic abuse with the world, because I think she helped a lot of people by doing that. When people come forward about a sexual abuse experience or physical abuse or them struggling with a disorder, they're encouraging other people to not suffer in silence."

Another personal obstacle Reinhart has been vocal about is mental health. She recently read an article she can't get out of her head, about a child under the age of 10 who ended his life after being severely bullied. "Now more than ever, we need to be bringing the idea of mental health into schools and teaching it," Reinhart says. "It's about communicating clearly." She recalls experiencing crippling anxiety when she was growing up. "I felt very alone. But I was not being bullied, which made it really hard for my parents to understand," Reinhart says.

Her high school experience couldn't have been more different from that of Betty Cooper, who drifts easily between cheerleading, running the school newspaper, and solving mysteries, with a cadre of unusually attractive friends by her side. "I went through a semester when I didn't have any friends in my lunch period, and I didn't want to sit in a huge cafeteria by myself, so I would find classrooms to go sit in alone, or spend time in the bathroom, just chilling," she recalls.

By the time Reinhart began working (she supported herself as a waitress and a Pier 1 sales associate before she landed Riverdale), she was just trying to get through the week without having a panic attack.

Now that time in her life is growing distant. And she'll get to go to prom for the first time, on this season of the show. "Three and a half years ago, I had no money. I didn't have a love in my life like I do now. I didn't have any sort of confidence that I was on the right track, and now I have those things," Reinhart says. And her momentum shows no signs of stopping. The week after our interview, she filmed her first commercial for CoverGirl, which recently signed her as one of its faces. A forthcoming collection of her poetry, Swimming Lessons, will hit bookstores this May.

Pay, or equal pay, has been an issue and probably will continue to be. But Reinhart is prepared. "Cami [Mendes, who plays Veronica] and I have had to deal with that from Riverdale," Reinhart says.

"Going into projects in the future, I'm much more aware of it. So is my lawyer." She's also learned from the experiences of women like Michelle Williams and Taraji P. Henson. "I was taking notes," she says. "Taraji Henson had said something like, when she renegotiated for Empire, she knew her value to the show. She knew what that value was, and she demanded it." Reinhart pauses, choosing her words, sounding more sure of herself with each sentence: "I do know the value that I bring as someone who attracts an audience. And I'm not going to accept less than what I think I'm worth. And it's okay to fight for what I'm worth."

Source: Allure

[mostlysignssomeportents]

#1yrago Touring, complete: what gear survived four months of hard-wearing book-tour?

I had the last official stop of my book tour for my novel Walkaway on Saturday, when I gave a talk and signing at Defcon in Las Vegas. It was the conclusion of four months of near-continuous touring, starting with three weeks of pre-release events; then six weeks of one-city-per-day travel through the US, Canada and the UK, then two months of weekly or twice-weekly events at book fairs, festivals and conferences around the USA.

Now I'm touring complete. There's one more event on Aug 10 -- a kind of victory lap presentation at my local library here in Burbank -- and then a trickle of events over the next six months, but that's more like my normal baseline of public appearances, a very different experience to the kind of thing I did from April until last weekend.

It's been nine years since my first book tour -- the Little Brother tour -- and as always, there were new facts on the ground to adapt to, as well as hard-won wisdom that saw me through.

Here's some new stuff: indie bookstores are doing better than they have in years, and they're expanding into lots of live events, which are better-planned and better organized than ever. In many cities, there is one thriving indie and three or four suburban Barnes & Nobles, and these have changed, too: seeing as they are the only game in town, these B&Ns attract some stellar booksellers who intimately understand marketing and also really, really care about books. Also: all the indie bookstores have devoted substantial floorspace to embroidered socks. I'm calling it: we are at peak funny-sock.

Here's some stuff that's still the same: "Never pass up a chance to take water or make water." That is hard-won, important touring advice, passed from serious traveler to serious traveler as gospel. Airports are worse than they've ever been...and it's easier to buy your way out of the hardship, between TSA Precheck and Clear, which require that you give up a ton of personal information (which I'd already given up when I applied for my Green Card, so I went ahead, and it was so, so worth it -- so much so that I presume that anyone who has the wherewithal will buy their way into these programs and cease to do anything to mitigate the traveling woes of the general public -- watch for travel to get waaaay worse for normals who only fly a couple times per year).

I've been changing out my travel gear for years, trying to find the optimal combination of flexibility and comfort. I check a bag, and my suitcase was not lost once on this tour (it's happened before, though, and had to catch up with me a city or two down the road). The suitcase was severely damaged, and more than once (more on that below).

Here's the gear that survived this trip, stuff that will stay with me on upcoming trips.

Coffee

This goes first. Life it too short for shitty coffee.

I use an Aeropress (but you knew that). I've stopped carrying around a hand-grinder. I have only so many duty-cycles left in my wrist tendons and then I will cease to be a writer. I'm not wasting them on a hand-grinder. Now I grind my coffee before I leave and put the coffee in a Ziploc Easy Open Tab quart-sized freezer bag (I keep a stash of these in my suitcase and resupply at coffee shops when I run out, having them grind for me; this means I can't buy Blue Bottle coffee since they, alone among coffee shops, will not grind their retail beans, boo) (I also bring along a handful of gallon-sized bags for various purposes). I've tried a lot of sealing bags, and Ziploc's easy opens are the only ones I can reliably seal well.

I heat water in the remarkably great Useful UH-TP147 Electric Collapsible Travel Kettle, a silicone collapsing kettle that has a thermostat that keeps water at near-boil so long as it's plugged in and on. It's multi-voltage and worked great in the UK, and it collapses down really small. The only downside: it looks weird enough on an X-ray that it is a very reliable predictor of having your bags searched by the TSA after you check them.

I am utterly dependent on the Orikaso folding cup to use with my Aeropress on the road. The majority of hotels supply paper cups, or glasses that are too narrow for the Aeropress. Carrying a rigid cup that decomposes into a thin sheet of plastic the size of a sheet of printer-paper spares me the awkwardness of holding the body of the Aeropress with one hand while pushing down on the plunger with the other to keep from squashing the paper cup.

For emergencies, I carried a stash of GO CUBES Energy Chews, a "neutraceutical" whose manufacturer makes a lot of extravagant claims for them. I think those claims are silly, but these are basically gummy-chews made from cold brew coffee (and stuff) and they work very fast and well, but did give me jitters (which were preferable to caffeine withdrawal).

Toiletries

I carried my favorite shampoo, conditioner, soap and a supply of generic woolite in a set of four Innerneed silicone tubes (which I kept in a ziploc). I've used a  lot of different silicone tubes and these are my current favorites -- they have a locking mechanism that keeps the hard plastic lid more firmly in place on the silicone body of the tube, even when it's lubricated with slippery soaps, preventing the kinds of catastrophic breaches you get when the whole lid assembly just pops off the tube and everything comes pouring out.

I swapped out my old generic pharmacy rotary electric toothbrush for the Violife Slim Sonic Toothbrush, which is a AAA-battery-powered equivalent to one of those unwieldy, induction-charged Braun ultrasonic toothbrushes that my dentist wants me to use. It performs just as well as the Braun on my sink at home.

I suffer from really terrible, untreatable chronic pain and can't sleep or sit for any length of time without serious pain. I am absolutely reliant on my hot water bottle, with a knit sleeve. For my money, these are the best comfort items you can travel with -- I get them filled with boiling water by the flight attendants before take off and refill them hourly. At bedtime, I fill them from my collapsible kettle. The only downside: it's really easy to leave these behind in the bedclothes when you depart at 4AM.

I carried all my toiletries in Eagle Creek's Pack-It Wallaby Toiletry Organizer. It came highly recommended and after hard use, I see why: it has the best zippers I've ever had on a toilet bag, stores an incredible amount of stuff and still rolls up tight, and did a great job of containing one tube-of-goo breach that could have wrecked everything else.

Clothes

Before the tour, I did a bunch of reading on the best travel underwear and decided to try Uniqlo's Airism Low Rise Boxer Briefs -- they were so comfortable and so easy to wash out in the sink (and so quick drying!) that I threw away all my other underwear when I got home and ordered a half-dozen more pairs. I traveled with three pairs of these, which crumpled small enough that I could fit them all in a pants pocket (should I have a need to do so?) and I rinsed the day's underwear in the sink every night and hung them to dry, chucking them in the bag in the morning, dry and clean.

You might already know that I love the look of Volante's jackets and coats, so it won't surprise you to learn that I lived in an Augment hoodie for the first half of the tour (when the weather was cool), switching to a lighter-weight Peregrine for the second half, when things warmed up.

I started the tour with three different pairs of pants in my suitcase, but left two behind on a resupply stop at home, because I was only ever wearing my Betabrand Off-the-Grid pants, which have enough stretchiness in them to do some basic yoga in, have huge pockets that somehow don't bulge much even when overfilled, and a neat little discreet mid-thigh side pocket good for keeping boarding passes in. My complaint: these were not colorfast at all: they were basically gray by the time I got home, even though I only ever hand-washed them in hotel sinks with generic woolite.

I always travel with pajamas: when you're on long flights, you can change into them for comfort; they give you a way to interact with hotel staff from your room early in the morning or late at night without having to get dressed or put a towel around your waist. I've been buying deadstock vintage men's pajamas from Etsy all year, because they look awesome and are more comfortable than anything you'll get in stores today.

I've been using REI's Sea to Summit compression sacks as laundry bags for ages: there's no problem with wrinkling your dirty laundry, right? Compression sacks are sorcerous reminders of just how much space there is between molecules.

I lived in Native Jeffersons: basically a kid's croc shoe, but molded to look like a low-rise Converse All-Star. Super comfortable, and I could rinse them in the hotel sink every night and leave them upside-down against the wall and slip into them in the morning.

Comfort items

I traveled with a Stanley Adventure Flask that I filled with Jefferson's Reserve Pritchard Hill Cabernet Cask Finished, 15-year-old bourbon that's finished with a couple years of rest in old cabernet casks. Yum.

I always keep a couple dozen catering-sized sachets of Tabasco in my suitcase and handful in my carry-on. They don't seem to show up as liquids on TSA X-rays so you can keep them in your bag, and I've never had one burst in a bag. They make everything super-delicious (or at least bearable) and they are way more space-efficient than those cute, tiny, single-use Tabasco bottles.

Swimming

Swimming is the only way I can stay sane on tour. It keeps my chronic pain under control and burns some of the empty airplane-peanut and minibar calories.

I swim with an underwater MP3 player. After trying a lot of models, I settled on the Exeze players, which are only available for sale in the UK. However, I've since discovered that virtually the same players are sold under other brand names in the USA: one model I've tried and liked is the Aerb.

The reason I swim with an MP3 player is so that I can listen to audiobooks. I get through a couple novels per month this way. Audible's proprietary DRM format isn't compatible with MP3 players, so forget about getting your swimming audiobooks that way. Instead, try Downpour and Libro.fm, both of whom sell thousands of DRM-free audiobooks. Audiobooks and swimming are a magic combination. I couldn't make it through the tour without them.

Gadgets

I got my Calyx hotspot just over a year ago. It offers anonymous, unfiltered, unshaped, unlimited 4G/LTE wifi through Sprint's network, and supports the nonprofit good works of Calyx, who provide anonymity and privacy services to whistleblowers, journalists and many others. They are the good guys and this is a great product at a stellar price: $100 for the hotspot and $400/year for unlimited mobile broadband.

I continue to use X-series Thinkpads. I'm currently on the X270 and it runs Ubuntu very well. I didn't need any service on this tour, but I have on other tours, and I'm serene in the knowledge that the extended on-site next-day hardware replacement warranty (about $75/year!) guarantees that no matter what, I won't be without my computer for more than a day. My X270 took a lot of hard knocks on this tour and survived unscathed. My sole complaint: they screwed up the keyboards with the X230 (or so) and still haven't made a new chiclet keyboard that's half as good as the original Thinkpad keyboard. Please, Lenovo, bring my beloved keyboard back!

I use a Google Pixel phone and it's...not terrible. Everything about it works fine, but it has unbelievably shitty battery life. That is a killer on tour. The Alclap case solved that problem...for two weeks, and then it stopped working. I ordered two more, both of which were duds out of the box. The Scosche Magic Mount was more awkward to use, but also longer-lasting (it died last weekend, thanks to fraying in the wire that connected it to the phone).

Luggage

You know all those suitcases that come with ten-year warranties? They're all designed to have a ten-year duty-cycle...assuming that you travel once or twice a year. In decades of hard travel, I've yet to buy a suitcase that can live up to the punishment of daily flying.

So now I buy suitcases based on how easy they are to get warranty service on. I had heard great things about Rimowa, and I loved the look of their cases, so I bit the bullet and sprang for one (they're extremely pricey). I quickly discovered that their much-vaunted service was terrible -- in London, anyway. My options were mailing the case to Germany, or taking it to a service center on Euston Road where they were rude, deceptive, and all-around awful. I was ready to swap the case for another manufacturer when I moved from London to LA two years ago.

But in LA, the whole story is different. Rimowa's service here is handled by a place out in Beverley Hills called Coco's Leather and they're pretty good at fixing stuff (there's sometimes a week turnaround, but I've found that if I call them after messengering the busted case out to them, they can often turn it around in a day).

I needed it. My Rimowa case was seriously damaged three times on tour: twice it had wheels ripped off (the whole wheel assembly, including the riveted-on bracket, torn right out of the aluminum!) by Southwest's baggage handlers in San Diego. Another time, AA baggage handlers destroyed the latches.

I'm sticking with Riwoma for now. Every luggage expert I've spoken to says that there's just not anything that will survive the kind of punishment I put my bags through, so I'm buying based on warranties, and between Coco's Leather and Rimowa's long-lasting warranties, I can live with this situation.

I've gone through a lot of luggage tags over the years and have yet to have one last more than a few flights before it's torn off in the hold, caught in some grinding system. Now I use the TUFFTAAG Travel ID Bag Tag, made of hard-wearing aluminum with braided steel cables. Dozens of flights later, the tags are bent and battered, but still intact and still attached to my case -- that's a first.

https://boingboing.net/2017/08/02/hard-won-wisdom.html

[illbefinealonereads]

Blog tour day! Today, I present to you an excerpt from Day Zero by Kelly deVos, the first book in a duology. Keep scrolling to read more about the book!

DAY ZERO Author: Kelly deVos ISBN:  978-1335008480 Publication Date: November 12th 2019 Publisher: Inkyard Press

Don’t miss the exhilarating new novel from the author of Fat Girl on a Plane, featuring a fierce, bold heroine who will fight for her family and do whatever it takes to survive. Fans of Susan Beth Pfeffer’s Life As We Knew It series and Rick Yancey’s The 5th Wave series will cheer for this fast-paced, near-future thrill ride. If you’re going through hell…keep going. Seventeen-year-old coder Jinx Marshall grew up spending weekends drilling with her paranoid dad for a doomsday she’s sure will never come. She’s an expert on self-heating meal rations, Krav Maga and extracting water from a barrel cactus. Now that her parents are divorced, she’s ready to relax. Her big plans include making it to level 99 in her favorite MMORPG and spending the weekend with her new hunky stepbrother, Toby. But all that disaster training comes in handy when an explosion traps her in a burning building. Stuck leading her headstrong stepsister, MacKenna, and her precocious little brother, Charles, to safety, Jinx gets them out alive only to discover the explosion is part of a pattern of violence erupting all over the country. Even worse, Jinx’s dad stands accused of triggering the chaos. In a desperate attempt to evade paramilitary forces and vigilantes, Jinx and her siblings find Toby and make a break for Mexico. With seemingly the whole world working against them, they’ve got to get along and search for the truth about the attacks—and about each other. But if they can survive, will there be anything left worth surviving for?

Buy Links:  Harlequin | Indiebound | Amazon | Book Depository | Barnes & Noble | Books-A-Million | Target | Google | iBooks | Kobo

KELLY DEVOS is from Gilbert, Arizona, where she lives with her high school sweetheart husband, amazing teen daughter and superhero dog, Cocoa. She holds a B.A. in Creative Writing from Arizona State University. When not reading or writing, Kelly can typically be found with a mocha in hand, bingeing the latest TV shows and adding to her ever-growing sticker collection. Her debut novel, Fat Girl on a Plane, named one of the "50 Best Summer Reads of All Time" by Reader's Digest magazine, is available now from HarperCollins. Kelly's work has been featured in the New York Times as well as on Salon, Vulture and Bustle.

Social Links: Author Website | Twitter: @kdevosauthor | Facebook: @kellydevosbooks | Instagram: @kellydevos | Goodreads

Excerpt:

 Dr. Doomsday’s Guide to Ultimate Survival

Rule One: Always be prepared.

I exhale in relief when Makeeba pulls the car into the Halliwell’s Market parking lot. The store is one of the only places in town with Extra Jolt soda, and I have to buy it myself because Mom won’t keep any in the house.

She thinks too much caffeine rots your brain or something. Halliwell’s is a low squat brown building that sits across the street from the mall and is next door to the town’s only skyscraper.

The First Federal Building was supposed to be the first piece of a suburban business district designed to rival the hip boroughs of New York. The mayor announced the construction of a movie theater, an apartment complex and an indoor aquarium. But the New Depression hit and the other buildings never materialized.

The First Federal Building alone soars toward the clouds, an ugly glass rectangle visible from every neighborhood, surrounded by the old town shops that have been there forever. Most of the stores are empty.

We park in front of the market.

Our car nestles in the long shadow of the giant bank building. Charles gets out and stands on the sidewalk in front of the car. Makeeba opens her door. She hesitates again. “Listen, I know you might not want to hear this or believe it. But my book report wasn’t about hurting you or getting revenge. I’m trying to get you to see what’s really happening here. That Carver’s election is the start of something really bad. We could use you at the rally. You’re one of the few people who understands Dr. Doomsday’s work. You could explain whathe did. How he helped Carver cheat to win.”

“I’ve been planning this raid for months,” I say. My stomach churns, sending uncomfortable flutters through my in-sides. I don’t know what it would mean to talk about my father’s work. What I really want to do is pretend it doesn’t exist. Pretend the world is normal and whole.

I reassure myself with the reminder that there’s no way Makeeba is going to the rally either.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Charles give us a small wave. Before Makeeba can say anything else, I get out and grab my backpack.

Inside Halliwell’s, I pick up a blue basket from the stack near the door. The small market is busy and full of other people shopping after school or work. The smell of pine cleaner hits me as we pass the checkout stations. They are super serious about germs and always cleaning between customers.

We come to the produce section, and I leave Makeeba and Charles at the Click N’Go rack checking out the seed packets that my brother collects. Dad got Charles hooked on this computerized gardening that uses an e-tablet and a series of tiny indoor lights to create the ideal indoor planter box. Each week, they release a new set of exclusive seeds. Their genetic modifications are controversial.

All the soda is in large coolers that line one of the walls of the market. They keep the strange stuff in the corner. Expensive root beers. Ramune imported from Japan. And! Extra! Jolt!

I put a few bottles of strawberry in my basket. I snag some grape too. For a second, I consider buying a couple of bottles of doughnut flavor. But that sounds like too much, even for me. The chips are in the next aisle. I load up on cheese puffs and spicy nacho crisps.

They keep the Click N’Grow kiosk in the store’s tiny produce section between small tables of apples and bananas. Charles has selected several handfuls of seed packets. My brother dumps them in my basket.

Makeeba grimaces at the top packet. “I still don’t like that first one. It’s pretty. But still. It’s…carnivorous.”

Charles smiles. “It’s a new kind of pitcher plant. Like the Cobra Lily.” He points to the picture on the front of the seed packet. “Look at the blue flowers. That’s new.”

“It eats other plants,” Makeeba says.

“You eat plants.”

“But I don’t eat people,” Makeeba says. “There’s got to be some kind of natural law that says you shouldn’t eat your own kind.”

Charles giggles.

My brother’s gaze lands on my selection of soda and chips. “Can I get some snacks too?”

Crap.

I usually don’t buy unhealthy snacks when I’m with my brother. I smuggle them in my backpack and have a special hiding space in my desk.

“What’s your number?” I ask him.

My brother has type 1 diabetes, and he’s supposed to check his blood sugar after meals. He can have starchy or sugary snacks only when his glucose level is good, and usually only on special occasions.

Charles pretends he can’t hear me. That’s not a good sign.

“Charles, what’s your number?”

He still doesn’t look at me. “I forgot my monitor today.” “Well, I have mine.” I kneel down and dig around for the spare glucometer I keep in the front pocket of my backpack. By the time I get it out, Makeeba has already pulled Charles out of his blazer and rolled up the sleeve of his blue dress shirt. I wave the device over the small white sensor disk attached to my brother’s upper arm.

After a few seconds, the glucometer beeps and a number displays on the screen.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

“Charles! What did you eat today?”

My brother’s face turns red. “They were having breakfast-for-lunch day at school. Everyone else was having pancakes. Why can’t I have pancakes?”

I sigh. Something about his puckered up little face keeps me from reminding him that if he eats too much sugar he could die. “You know what Mom said. If you eat something you’re not supposed to, you have to get a pass and go to the nurse for your meds.”

My brother’s shoulders slump. “No one else has to go to the nurse.”

Charles is on the verge of tears and frowns even more deeply at the sight of my basket full of junk food.

“Look,” I say. “There are plenty of healthy snacks we can eat. I’ll put this stuff back.”

“That’s right,” Makeeba says, giving Charles’s hand a squeeze. “We can get some popcorn. Yogurt. Um, I saw some really delicious-looking fresh pears back there.”

“And they have the cheese cubes you like,” I add.

We go around the store replacing the cheese puffs and soda with healthy stuff. I hesitate when I have to put back the Extra Jolt but I really don’t want to have to make my brother feel bad because I can drink sugary stuff and he can’t.We pay for the healthy snacks and the seed packets.

I grab the bags and move toward the market’s sliding doors. I end up ahead of them, waiting outside by the car and facing the store. The shopping center behind Halliwell’s is mostly empty. The shoe store went out of business last year. Strauss Stationers, where everyone used to buy their fancy wedding invitations, closed the two years before that. The fish ’n’chips drive-through is doing okay and has a little crowd in front of the take-out window. Way off in the distance, Saba’s is still open, because in Arizona, cowboy boots and hats aren’t considered optional.

I watch Makeeba and Charles step out of the double doors and into the parking lot. Two little dimples appear on Makeeba’s cheeks when she smiles. Her long braids bounce up and down. Charles has a looseness to his walk. His arms dangle.

There’s a low rumble, like thunder from a storm that couldn’t possibly exist on this perfectly sunny day.

Something’s wrong.

In the reflection of the market’s high, shiny windows, Isee something happening in the bank building next door. Some kind of fire burning in the lower levels. A pain builds in my chest and I force air into my lungs. My vision blurs at the edges. It’s panic, and there isn’t much time before it overtakes me.

The muscles in my legs tense and I take off at a sprint, grabbing Makeeba and Charles as I pass. I haul them along with me twenty feet or so into the store. We clear the door and run past a man and a woman frozen at the sight of what’s going on across the street.

I desperately want to look back.

But I don’t.

A scream.

A low, loud boom.

My ears ring.

The lights in the store go off.

I’ve got Makeeba by the strap of her maxidress and Charles by the neck. We feel our way in the dim light. The three of us crouch and huddle together behind a cash counter. A few feet in front of us, the cashier who checked us out two minutes ago is sitting on the floor hugging her knees.

We’re going to die.

Charles’s mouth is wide-open. His lips move. He pulls at the sleeve of my T-shirt.

I can’t hear anything.

It takes everything I’ve got to force myself to move.

Slowly.

Slowly.

Leaning forward. Pressing my face into the plywood of the store counter, I peek around the corner using one eye to see out the glass door. My eyelashes brush against the roughwood, and I grip the edge to steady myself. I take in the smell of wood glue with each breath.

Hail falls in the parking lot. I realize it’s glass.

My stomach twists into a hard knot.

It’s raining glass.

That’s the last thing I see before a wave of dust rolls over the building.

Leaving us in darkness.

 Excerpted from Day Zero by Kelly deVos, Copyright ©2019 by Kelly deVos. Published by Inkyard Press.

[blogwritetheworld]

The Write Place: Jobs and Internships for Young Writers

Looking for the right advice on pursuing the writer’s life? You’ve come to the write place!

by Lisa Hiton

VOCATION VOCATION VOCATION

The world of literature contains more than just a writer at a desk, cracking away at the next great novel. From publishing, to literary magazines, to journalism, and beyond, there are all kinds of jobs and internships you can seek out. And you don’t have to wait until you finish high school to get started! These are positions that are perfect for part-time, intern, or extracurricular time commitments. With a bit of passion and ambition, you can get started in the world of literature now!

JOBS FOR BOOKWORMS

One passion all writers must cultivate is a love of reading. If we don’t consider ourselves great readers, how will we ever expect a stranger to dive into our own works?! And as we say over at Reading Like a Writer, what better study of writing is there than in the books we most love? So for those of you writers who are avid readers, there are plenty of jobs and internships that you can take on to keep that reading muscle flexing!

Bookstores

Bookstores are the dream environment for those of us who love to read. When things are going slow at the store, you can be browsing through the pages of new books. When the store is busy, you can chat about books with patrons who need advice or who are purchasing books you love. These encounters with patrons and new books keep writers reading the latest and greatest in all genres!

If you’re lucky enough to live near an independent bookstore, your opportunities may be even broader than simple sales transactions. Independent bookstores tend to host readings with local writers or writers with new books coming out. You could work or intern with the events coordinator and learn what it takes to reach out to writers, set up a reading, get patrons to attend, and to sell those books. So be it a Barnes & Noble or a Literati, either way, the discount on books for your work will be well worth it!

Libraries

Libraries are some of the most important spaces in societies. They hold the words of all time, of all of human existence. And most importantly, they give the public access to such knowledge. Libraries are magical. The smell of the aged pages brings us all a nostalgia for books we have read and will read. They also serve as community meeting spaces. With books and space that are free for all, libraries are democratic in nature. Working or interning at a library can get us back to our early roots of reading and writing.

Approaching your local town, city, or school library can be intimidating. Libraries don’t always post internships or job openings. But especially if you are a regular at your favorite library, talking to a librarian can lead to a great part time opportunity. Maybe you can even pitch an internship? You can spend time shadowing a librarian and learning about archives and the Dewey Decimal system. Perhaps your library isn’t very tech savvy; perhaps you can suggest a social media internship or an events internship. You can help the library choose books for all ages each month and promote them on their twitter or Instagram accounts. You can help plan book clubs or reading events with local teachers and writers. The ideas are endless. And so are the aisles and aisles of books!

JOBS IN THE FIELD

Okay, so maybe sitting indoors reading all day is not your idea of a dream job. Perhaps you’re someone who likes to go out and observe, meet people, and conduct interviews. Jobs and internships in reporting or journalism may better suit your personality. Reading people and reading situations is a similar muscle to reading books. So if you prefer to be in more thrilling real-life situations, then these jobs might be for you!

Reporting

If the urgency of deadlines, conducting interviews, research, and gathering information together sounds thrilling to you, looking for a part-time reporting job may be just your ticket into the world of journalism. Whether there’s a school event, a big game, or a person in your town worth profiling, taking on the role of a reporter can help you think about a career in writing!

Approaching your local newspaper or school paper is a great place to start. Even if they don’t think they need an intern or a part-time writer, most editors can be convinced with a great pitch! Find an event or a lead that only you know about and bring it to them. Offer to hang out in their offices and help out with administrative tasks just so you can see what a real newsroom is like.

Editorial-Eyes-Ing

Publications are like theater productions: time-sensitive projects involving many people cast to perform specific tasks. Thus, there are many jobs and internships to be had at publishing and editorial houses. While we may not all live a hop-skip from the likes of Condé Naste and the world of The Devil Wears Prada, we can reach out to our local institutions to get a taste of editorial life!

Yearbooks

Many middle schools and high schools still print yearbooks. A yearbook requires a huge team of people to bring the pages of a year in your school’s life into one book. From photography, to writing, to layout, to coordinating photos of events and different school groups, a whole lot goes into yearbook production.

Literary Magazines

Whether you start your own or your school already has a literary magazine, there are all kinds of editorial positions available to help you learn what it takes to help writers get published. From working with writers to make their pieces sharper, to proofreading, to layout, to printing, there are many tasks that can teach you what goes into editing and publishing great works, let alone working on a magazine! Full of deadlines, fast-paced decisions, and hard work, interning part-time at your school’s literary magazine is a great foray into the world of magazines.

News/Newspaper

From broadcast to print, many schools have student-run news organizations. Just getting your foot in the door can lead you to all kinds of jobs in writing and editing. Maybe you’re just learning the basics of reporting, but after a few years on the job, you can be editor-in-chief, plugging away at your letter from the editor just before deadline. Vetting writers, doling out assignments, editing articles, and bringing the news to your school community requires a lot of writing and editing!

Arts Administration

Your school may have a theater department, choir, or other performing arts group. When they put on a show, even for parents, they may want to have a playbill—a small token of the students and faculty involved in the production. Reaching out to teachers in charge of arts planning can lead to a great internship within your own school or larger community! You can learn the skills of layout, font, cover art, graphic design, print, and distribution, just from helping make one playbill.

So, dear writers, think about what internships and part-time jobs may help you keep your reading and writing practices up to pace. It’s hard to balance things with homework, school activities, and family obligations. But the extra effort to keep that part of you that’s a writer writing can help all of your other responsibilities fall into place!

About Lisa

Lisa Hiton is an editorial associate at Write the World. She writes two series on our blog: The Write Place where she comments on life as a writer, and Reading like a Writer where she recommends books about writing in different genres. She’s also the interviews editor of Cosmonauts Avenue and the poetry editor of the Adroit Journal.

[bookloveravenue]

Moonlight Seduction by Jennifer L. Armentrout

Release date: June 26, 2018

The de Vincent brothers are back—and so is the intrigue that surrounds them—in New York Times bestselling author Jennifer L. Armentrout’s sizzling new novel...

Nicolette Bresson never thought she’d return to the de Vincents’ bayou compound. It’s where her parents work, where Nikki grew up... and where she got her heart broken by Gabriel de Vincent himself. Yet here she is, filling in for her sick mother. Avoiding Gabe should be easy, especially when so much of Nikki’s time is spent trying not to be stabbed in the back by the malicious hangers-on who frequent the mansion. But escaping memories of Gabe, much less his smoking-hot presence, is harder than expected—especially since he seems determined to be in Nikki’s space as much as possible.

Gabriel spent years beating himself up over his last encounter with Nikki. He’d wanted her then, but for reasons that were bad for both of them. Things have now changed. Gabe sees more than a girl he’s known forever; he sees a smart, talented, and heartbreakingly beautiful woman... one who’s being stalked from the shadows. Now, Gabe will do anything to keep Nikki safe—and to stop the de Vincent curse from striking again.

GOODREADS: http://bit.ly/MoonlightSeductionJLA-GR

AMAZON: http://amzn.to/2BycJEF

BARNES & NOBLE: http://bit.ly/MoonlightSeductionJLA-BN

BOOK DEPOSITORY: http://bit.ly/MoonlightSeductionJLA-BookDepository

Preorder Moonlight Seduction and receive a bonus story!

RULES/INFO:

·      Preorder an ebook or print copy of Moonlight Seduction by Jennifer L. Armentrout and get an exclusive de Vincent bonus story sent via email!

·      Open Internationally

·      You must upload a copy of their preorder receipt of Moonlight Seduction to be eligible.

·      The de Vincent bonus story will be emailed after the release Moonlight Seduction (6/26/18)

PREORDER CAMPAIGN LINK: http://bit.ly/MOONLIGHTSEDUCTIONS-PREORDEROFFER

Check out the first chapter of Moonlight Seduction here!

Chapter 1

Six years later . . .

It took every ounce of self-control for Gabriel de Vincent to stand back and do nothing. Just stand there and watch him being led away, but that’s what he had to do, because that’s what he’d promised and Gabe tried to be a man of his word.

Sometimes he failed at that. Failed at that in ways that haunted him late at night, but he wouldn’t go back on this.

He’d promised them three uninterrupted months.
That’s what he was going to give them.
His jaw ached from how hard he was clenching it as the Rothchilds walked back into the restaurant. He didn’t take his eyes off them, not until he couldn’t see them anymore. Only then did he look at the slip of paper.

Looking down at the drawing of puppy on a piece of blue construction paper, he felt the worst mix of emotions. Sadness. Pride. Helplessness. Hope. Fury that he’d never tasted before. He had no idea how one person could feel all of that at once, but he did.

A wry smile tugged at his lips. There was definitely talent in the drawing. Real skill. The de Vincent knack for the arts was still kicking around it seemed.

His gaze flickered over what was written in a blockish handwriting. He’d already read in three times, but couldn’t bear to read it a fourth time. Not right now. He didn’t want to fold the paper and created creases in it, so he was careful as he carried it back to where he was parked.

“Gabriel de Vincent.”

Frowning at the vaguely familiar voice, he turned around. A man stepped out from behind a truck. Dark, square sunglasses shielded half the man’s face, but Gabe recognized him.

He sighed. “Ross Haid. To what do I owe the honor of seeing you in Baton Rouge?”

The reporter for the Advocate gave one of what Gabe assumed was a trademark half grin; the kind that probably got him into a places and events he sure as hell didn’t belong in. “Headquarters are here. You know that.”

“Yeah, but you work out of the New Orleans office, Ross.”

He shrugged a shoulder as he neared Gabe. “I had to come up to headquarters. Heard through the grapevine that a de Vincent was in town.”

“Uh-huh.” Not for one second did Gabe believe that. “And you just happen to hear that I was at this restaurant?”

The smile kicked up a notch as he ran a hand over his blond hair. “Nah. Seeing you here was just luck.”

Bullshit. Ross had been sniffing after his family for about two months now, trying to get to one of them when they were out at dinner or at an event, showing up at nearly every damn function one of them was attending. But back home, in New Orleans, Ross had trouble getting near them. Well, he had troubled getting to the one he really wanted to talk to which was Gabe’s older brother.

Didn’t require any leap of logic to figure out what was going on. Somehow Ross had heard that Gabe was here, and that’s why Ross conveniently ended up here. Normally he could tolerate Ross’ incessant questioning. Hell, he sort of liked the guy, appreciated his determination, but not when Ross was here and something he didn’t want a reporter finding out mere feet away.

Lowering his sunglasses, Ross eyed Gabe’s ride. “Nice car. Is it one of the new Porsche 911s?”

Gabe raised his brows.

“Family business must be going well. Then again, the family business is always going strong, isn’t it? The de Vincents are old money. The one percent of the one percent.” Gabe’s family was one of the oldest, linked all the way back to the days the great state of Louisiana was being created. Now they owned the most profitable oil refineries in the Gulf, coveted real estate all around the world, tech firms, and once his older brother married, they’d be in control of the one of the largest shipping industries in the world. So, yeah, the de Vincents were wealthy, but the car and nearly everything Gabe owned, he bought it with the money he worked for. Not the money he was born with.

“Some say that your family has so much money, that the de Vincents are above the law.” Ross straightened his sunglasses. “Seems that way.”

Gabe really didn’t have time for this. “Whatever you want to say, can you stop beating around the damn bush and get to it? I’m planning to head home sometime in the next year.”

The reporter’s smile faded. “Since you’re here and I’m here, and it’s damn hard to talk to you all any other time. I want to chat about your father’s death.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“I don’t believe it was a suicide,” Ross continued. “And I find it also convenient that Chief Cobbs, who openly and publicly wanted your father’s death investigated as a homicide ended up dead in a freak car accident.”

“Is that right?”

Frustration hummed off Ross about as loud as the damn locusts. “Is that all you got to say to me about this?”

“Pretty much.” Gabe grinned then. “That and you have an overactive imagination, but I’m sure you’ve heard that before.”

“I don’t think my imagination is nearly vast enough to compete with all the things the de Vincents have had their hands in.”

Probably not.

“Okay, I won’t ask you about your father or the chief.” Ross shifted his weight as Gabe opened his driver’s door. “Also heard some interesting rumors about some of the staff at the de Vincent compound.”

“I’m started to feel like you might be stalking us.” Gabe placed the drawing facedown on the passenger’s seat. “If you want to talk about staffing, then you need to have a chat with Dev.”

“Devlin won’t make time to talk to me.”
“That doesn’t sound like my problem.”
“It seems like it is now.”
Gabe laughed, but the sound was without humor as he reached inside, grabbing his sunglasses off the visor. “Trust me, Ross, this isn’t my problem.”

“You may not think so now, but that’ll change.” A muscle twitched along the man’s jaw. “I plan to blow the roof of every single damn secret the de Vincents have been keeping for years. I’m going to do a story that not even your family can pay to keep quiet.”

Shaking his head, Gabe slipped his sunglasses on. “I like you, Ross. You know I’ve never had a problem with you. So, I just want to get that out of the way. But you have got to come up with some better material, because that was cliché as shit.” He rested his hand on the frame of the car door. “You’ve got to know you’re not the first reporter to come around thinking they’re somehow going to dig some skeletons out of our closets and expose us for whatever the hell you think we are. You’re not going to be the last to fail.”

“I don’t fail,” Ross said. “Not ever.”
“Everyone fails.” Gabe climbed in behind the wheel.
“Except the de Vincents?”
“You said it, not me.” Gabe looked up at the reporter. “Some unasked for advice? I’d find another story to investigate.”
“Is there where you’re going to tell me to be careful?” He sounded oddly gleeful by the prospect. “Warn me off? Because people who mess with the de Vincents end up missing or worse?”

Gabe smirked as he hit the ignition key. “Doesn’t sound like I need to tell you that. Seems like you already know what happens.”

Nikki stood in the center of the quiet and sterile kitchen of the de Vincent mansion, telling herself that she was not the same little idiot that almost drowned herself out in the pool six years ago.

She sure as hell wasn’t the same idiot who had spent years making an utter fool out of herself, chasing after a grown man. An act, which resulted in one of the worst ideas she’d ever had in the history of bad ideas.

And Nikki had a remarkable history of making not the brightest of all decisions. Her dad said she had a bit of wild streak in her, taking after Pappy, but Nikki liked to blame the de Vincents for the recklessness. They had this really bizarre talent of making everyone around them stick one toe into Recklessville.

Her mother claimed that most of Nikki’s bad decisions came from having a good heart.

Nikki had the habit of picking up strays—stray cats, dogs, a lizard here and there, even a snake, and humans, too. She was a bleeding heart, hating to see anyone she cared about in pain and she was oftentimes a bit overly affected by the troubles of strangers.

It was why she avoided the TV around the holidays, because they always played those heart-wrenching videos of freezing animals or children left to starve in war-torn countries. She hated everything about New Year’s Eve because of that and spent the week between Christmas and the first of January moping around.

There was a lot of Nikki that was the same as she was the last time she walked through this house. She still got emotionally invested in animals that didn’t belong to her—that was why she volunteered at the local animal shelter. She still couldn’t turn away from someone who needed help, and she still found herself in weird situations but reckless? Wild?

Not anymore.

Not since the last time she’d been in the house, right before she left for college. That had been four years ago and now she was back, and nothing and everything had changed.

“You okay, hon?” her father asked.

Turning to find her father standing just inside the large kitchen, she pulled herself out of her thoughts and smiled widely for him. Goodness, her dad was starting to look his age, and that scared her—truly terrified her. Her parents had her late in life, but she was only twenty-two, and she wanted another fifty years or so with them.

Nikki knew that wasn’t going to happen.
Especially now.
She forced those thoughts from her head. “Yes. I’m just . . . it’s weird being in here after being gone so long. The kitchen is different.”
“It was remodeled a few years back,” he replied. The mansion was constantly being remodeled it seemed. After all, how many times had this place caught fire since it was built? Nikki had lost count. Her father drew in a deep breath, and the lines around his mouth became more pronounced. He looked so tired. “I don’t know if I’ve said this to you or not, but thank you.”

She waved him off. “You don’t need to thank me, Dad.”

“Yeah, I do.” He walked over to where she stood. “You went away to college to do something better than this—better than cooking dinners and running a household. To become something better.”

Offended on his behalf, she crossed her arms and met his weary gaze. “There’s nothing wrong with cooking dinners and running a household. It’s good, honest work. Wok that put me through college. Right, Dad?”

“We take great pride in our job. Don’t get me wrong, but what your mother and I did all these years was so you could do something else.” He sighed. “So, it means a lot that you would come home to help us out, Nicolette.”

Only her dad and mom called her by her full name. Everyone else called her Nikki. Everyone except a certain de Vincent who shall remained nameless. He and only he called her Nic.

Her parents had worked for the de Vincents, one of the wealthiest families in the States and possibly the world, since long before she was born. It was weird growing up in this house, being privy to a lot of strange stuff—things the public has no idea about and would probably pay a large sum of money to learn. And personally? It was like she had a foot in two different worlds, one absurdly wealthy and the other middle working class.

Her father was basically a butler, except she always had a small suspicion that her father had . . . taken care of things for the de Vincents that no normal butler did. Her mother ran the day-to-day functions of the house and prepared the dinners. Both her parents loved working for the family and she knew both had planned to continue to the day they died, but her mom . . . .

Nikki’s chest squeezed painfully. Her mom was not well and it had happened so fast, coming out of nowhere. The dreaded C word.

“Honestly, this is perfect. I got my degree and this will give me time to figure things out.” In other words, figure out what the hell she wanted to really do with her life. Get to work or go for her master’s? She wasn’t sure yet. “And I want to be here while Mom is going through everything.”

“I know.” His smile wobbled a little as he brushed a strand of blondish-brown hair out of her face.

“We could’ve hired someone else to step in while your mother—”

“No, you couldn’t have.” She laughed at the mere thought of that. “I know how weird the de Vincents are. I know how protective you two are of them. I know how to keep my mouth shut and not see what I’m not supposed to. And you two don’t have to worry about someone new not keeping their mouth shut and not seeing what they’re not supposed to.”

Her dad arched a brow. “A lot of things have changed, honey.”

She snorted as she took in the white marble countertops with gray veining. Mom had filled her in on some of those changes during one of her chemo treatments. After all, what else did they have to talk about while she was being pumped full of poison that would hopefully kill only the cancer cells building in her lung?

Things in the de Vincent mansion that had changed.

For starters, the patriarch of the family, one Lawrence de Vincent, had hung himself a few months back. An act that had shocked her because she figured that man would’ve outlived a nuclear bomb. And Lucian de Vincent apparently had a live-in girlfriend and they were about to move into their own place. That was even more insane, the idea of Lucian settling down.

The Lucian she remembered put the play in player. He’d been an incorrigible flirt, leaving a string of broken hearts across the state of Louisiana and beyond.

She hadn’t met his girlfriend yet since they were away on some kind of trip; the rich rarely seemed to have much of a schedule. She just hoped whoever his girlfriend was, she was nice and nothing like Devlin’s fiancé.

Nikki might not have been around the de Vincents in four years, but she remembered Sabrina Harrington and her brother Parker.

Sabrina had just begun seeing Devlin the year before Nikki had left for college and that had been a year’s worth of snide comments and rather impressive disdainful looks. Nikki could deal with Sabrina though. If she was the same woman as she was before, she could be as mean as a cornered rattlesnake, but Nikki normally didn’t even register on her scale of people to pay attention to.

Parker though?

Nikki suppressed a shudder, not wanting to worry her father who was watching her like a hawk.

Parker had often stared at her the way she’d wanted Gabe to look at her, especially when she had grown brave enough to move from a one-piece bathing suit to a two-piece.

And Parker . . . he had done more than look.

She drew in a deep breath. She wasn’t going to think about Parker. He wasn’t worth a single thought.

What happened to Lawrence, and Lucian’s new romance weren’t the only things her mom had told her. She filled Nikki in on the whole sister reappearing and then disappearing again thing. Something that she knew the general public had no idea had even happened. She didn’t know the details around it, but Nikki knew that in typical de Vincent fashion, it had to the most drama-llama-est thing possible.

And she also knew better than to ask questions about it.
Her father stepped back. “The boys are all out.”
Thank God and baby Jesus.
“Devlin should be back this evening for dinner. He likes dinner to be ready at six. I believe Ms. Harrington will be joining him.”
Well, thanking God and baby Jesus lasted all of five seconds. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and make a gagging sound. “Okay.”
“Gabriel is still in Baton Rouge, or at least, that’s the last I heard,” her father continued, ticking off the brothers’ schedules while she wondered what Gabe was doing in Baton Rouge. Not that she cared. She totally didn’t care whatsoever, but she wondered if it had anything to do with his woodworking business.

The man was talented with his hands.
Really talented.
Her cheeks flushed as an unwanted memory of how his calloused palms felt pierced her straight through the chest. Nope. Not going there. Absolutely not.
There were examples of Gabe’s skill all around the house—the furniture, chair rails, and trim, even in the kitchen. All of the woodwork was designed and created by Gabe. As a little girl, she’d been fascinated with the idea of picking up a piece of wood and turning it into something that was truly a work of art. That fascination had turned into quite the hobby for Nikki.

It had started one long, fall afternoon when she was ten and she’d found Gabe outside, whittling away on a piece of wood. Out of boredom, she’d asked him to show her how he did it. Instead of shooing her off, Gabe had given her small scrapes of wood and showed her how to use a chisel.

She’d gotten pretty good at it, but she hadn’t picked up a chisel in over four years. Nikki refocused on what her dad was telling her.
“We’re a little understaffed right now,” her dad continued. “So there’s a lot of dusting in your near future. Devlin is very much like his father.”

Great.

That was not a compliment in her book.
“Is it the ghosts?” She half joked. “Scaring off the staff?”
Her father shot her a look, but she knew damn well that her parents believed this

house was haunted. Hell, they wouldn’t even come here at night unless it was a dire emergency. None of the staff would and everyone in town knew the legends about the land the de Vincent mansion sat on. And who hadn’t heard about the de Vincent curse more than a time or two?

Being in this house as much as she had been in the past, she had seen some weird things and heard some stuff that couldn’t be explained. Plus she grew up within minutes of New Orleans. She was a believer, but unlike her friend Rosie, whom she met in college, she wasn’t obsessed with all things paranormal. Nikki operated on the whole if- you-don’t-acknowledge-ghosts-they-can’t-bother-you theory and so far it had worked so far wonderfully.

Then again, Nikki had only come here at night once in her life, and that had not turned out well at all. So maybe ignoring ghosts didn’t work, because she liked to think

she was possessed by one of ghosts that supposedly wandered the halls, and that was what provoked her to do what she’d done that night.

Nikki was well aware of how the house was run because she’d spent most of her summer vacations in the house watching her mom, so she got to work pretty quickly once her father left her.

First thing first was tracking down what staff they did have at the house. Understaffed her butt! The only staff they had left was her dad; the landscaper who was constantly mowing grass it seemed or re-mulching; the de Vincent driver; and Mrs. Kneely, an older woman who’d done the laundry services since Nikki was a little girl.

Beverly Kneely actually owed her own laundry business and only came to the house three times a week to take care of the linens and clothing.

According to Bev, whom she found in the large mudroom at the back of the house, packing up clothing that needed to be dry-cleaned, over the last couple of months, nearly everyone had quit.

“So, let me get this straight.” Nikki smoothed back a few strands that had escaped the knot she’d pulled her hair up in. “The waiters are gone, as are the maids?”

Bev’s buxom chest heaved as she nodded. “It’s just been your parents for the last three months. I think all that work was wearing poor Livie down.”

Anger flashed through Nikki. Hadn’t the de Vincents noticed how thin and tired her mom had been getting? How quickly she got out of breath? “Why didn’t the de Vincents hire someone to help?”

“Your father tried, but no one around here wants to come close to this place, not after what happened.”

She frowned. “You’re talking about Lawrence? What he did?”

Bev tied up the bags. “Not like that wasn’t bad enough, but that wasn’t the straw the broke the camel’s back around here.”

Nikki had no idea what she was talking about. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve been updated on all the crazy. What else happened?”

Looking around the room, Bev arched her brows as she headed toward the side door. “Walls got ears. You know that. You want to know what’s been going on here, you ask your father or one of the boys.”

Her lips pursed. She was so not asking the boys.

Bev stopped at the door and looked back. “I don’t think Devlin is going to be happy when he sees what you’re wearing.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” It was jeans and a black tee shirt. No way was she going to dress like her mom or her dad. Her willingness to help her parents did not extend to wearing uniforms.

She looked down at herself and saw the hole just below the knee.
Nikki sighed.
Devlin was probably going to have a problem with the hole, but what Nikki wanted to

know was what the hell had happened in this house to drive almost all the staff away?
It had to be something.
Not just because the de Vincents paid extraordinarily well, but also because her father hadn’t told her.
And that meant it was something really bad.

Moonlight Seduction is out June 26th, 2018!

Jennifer L. Armentrout Bio: 

# 1 New York Times and # 1 International Bestselling author Jennifer lives in Martinsburg, West Virginia. All the rumors you’ve heard about her state aren’t true. When she’s not hard at work writing. she spends her time reading, watching really bad zombie movies, pretending to write, hanging out with her husband and her Jack Russell Loki. In early 2015, Jennifer was diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa, a group of rare genetic disorders that involve a breakdown and death of cells in the retina, eventually resulting in loss of vision, among other complications. Due to this diagnosis, educating people on the varying degrees of blindness has become of passion of hers, right alongside writing, which she plans to do as long as she can.

Her dreams of becoming an author started in algebra class, where she spent most of her time writing short stories….which explains her dismal grades in math. Jennifer writes young adult paranormal, science fiction, fantasy, and contemporary romance.

She is published with Spencer Hill Press, Entangled Teen and Brazen, Disney/Hyperion and Harlequin Teen. Her Wicked Series has been optioned by PassionFlix. Jennifer has won numerous awards, including the 2013 Reviewers Choice Award for Wait for You, the 2015 Editor’s Pick for Fall With Me, and the 2014/2015 Moerser-Jugendbuch- Jury award for Obsidian. Her young adult romantic suspense novel DON’T LOOK BACK was a 2014 nominated Best in Young Adult Fiction by YALSA. Her adult romantic suspense novel TILL DEATH was a Amazon Editor’s Pick and iBook Book of the Month. Her young adult contemporary THE PROBLEM WITH FOREVER is a 2017 RITA Award Winner in Young Adult Fiction. She also writes Adult and New Adult contemporary and paranormal romance under the name J. Lynn. She is published by Entangled Brazen and HarperCollins.

She is the owner of ApollyCon and The Origin Event, the successful annual events that features over a hundred bestselling authors in Young Adult, New Adult, and Adult Fiction, panels, parties, and more. She is also the creator and sole financier of the annual Write Your Way To RT Book Convention, a contest that gives aspiring authors a chance to win a fully paid trip to RT Book Reviews.

[harliebooks]

Prancing Around with Sleeping Beauty (a Storybook Valley novel #2) by Stacy Juba! @stacy_juba @stacyjuba

  Do you love sweet romance novels that make you laugh? Then you'll want to check out Stacy Juba's brand new chick lit novel, Prancing Around With Sleeping Beauty, the second book in the Storybook Valley series. The book was released March 5, and while it's a follow-up to the popular Fooling Around With Cinderella, both novels can also be read as stand-alones. Come discover Storybook Valley, a fictional theme park in the Catskills of New York. If you love small town romance with humorous characters, theme parks, fairy tale fun, and amazing love stories, then Storybook Valley will be your new favorite series.

This Sleeping Beauty isn’t sure she wants to wake up… Dance instructor Rory Callahan likes to play it safe. When she meets Kyle, he’s impulsive, persistent, and her exact opposite. He’s pushing her to tango way past her comfort zone and keeping Rory on her toes more than twenty years of dance teachers ever had. Unfortunately, he’s the grandson of her family’s archrival and she doesn’t want to disappoint them. After all, her parents imagine her as a proper princess - hence her namesake Aurora, AKA Sleeping Beauty. Complicating matters, Rory’s also dealing with a surgeon boyfriend who’s perfect for her (sort of), an obnoxious boss, and desperate dance moms. Kyle wants to change her whole life, but Rory doesn’t like the stakes. After all, princesses are the ones who get the happy endings. . .aren’t they? Amazon Barnes & Noble iBooks Kobo   Excerpt: Twilight had descended over the strip mall which also contained a pizza place, children’s art studio, New Age shop, bakery, and a consignment store with identical brick facades. A long sidewalk connected the storefronts. Rory’s phone chirped and she scanned a text as she strolled through the parking lot. A message from her older brother Jake, who lived in Maine. Happy 25th. What new rose crap did you get this year? Instead of making her chuckle, his joke elicited a sigh. She missed Jake and his toddler Quinn, but he never came home anymore thanks to a stupid fight with their parents. They went ballistic after he got a girl pregnant and accused him of ruining his life. Jake and the mother broke up, not surprising since she was a total flake, but he got an apartment a couple blocks away from her to be near his daughter. His absence meant he couldn’t take over the theme park, leaving room for Dylan to step forward. Heading toward her car, she replied: Don’t know yet. I’m on my— Augh! Rory stumbled over something and toppled to the ground, her phone sailing through the air. Her right hand slammed against the pavement, and pain seared through her. Sitting up, she glared at the object that had blocked her path. A spiky creature in a plastic carrier glared back at her. Rory blinked. She could accept a black cat crossing her path, but she owed her unceremonious spill to a needle-infested rodent? “Who leaves a porcupine in the middle of the parking lot?” she demanded. “Who trips over a huge animal carrier? Oh, right, someone who’s texting while walking.” A brown-haired guy in a khaki zookeeper uniform and boots loomed over her. She stiffened at his words until she noticed the dimples sprinkled with cinnamon freckles. He wasn’t mad, just amused. “And it’s not a porcupine. It’s a hedgehog.” “What’s the difference? It was still in the middle of the parking lot.” He crouched beside her. “For starters, hedgehogs have shorter quills that can’t easily come off their bodies, while a porcupine’s quills can easily detach themselves. On average a hedgehog has 7,000 quills while a porcupine has approximately 30,000. And a porcupine can grow to triple the size, between 25-and-36 inches.” “It was a rhetorical question.” Rory risked a glance at her throbbing hand and winced. Blood dripped down her finger. “I’ll admit that you’re worse off than Turbo. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll get the first aid kit.” Mr. Porcupine Expert disappeared into a green van so garish, it almost distracted Rory from her pain. Painted animal heads peered out of big circles and orange letters proclaimed the monstrosity a Zoo Mobile—with paw prints forming the double ‘o’ in zoo. It wouldn’t surprise Rory if a white rabbit in a waistcoat popped out from the Day-Glo monstrosity, muttering about being late . . . for a tea party at her house using Wendy’s bumpy placemats. She groaned, deciphering the smaller words beneath the paw prints. ‘Duke’s Animal World.’ She’d always considered her family’s rivalry with Duke Thorne a bit ridiculous, but now Rory related to her granddad’s agitation. Thanks to sprawling over one of Duke’s stupid hedgehogs, she might have sprained her finger. Shifting position, Rory glowered through the cage at the spiky black ball that had caused all the trouble. It huffed and puffed, quills poking outward, a breathing pincushion. My . . . she hadn’t realized hedgehogs had such tiny eyes. And what a cute button nose. This little guy—Turbo?—seemed skittish. “Hey, there, Turbo,” she murmured. “Guess it was my fault, too. Did I scare you?” “He’ll be okay.” The dimpled zookeeper reappeared with her cell phone, along with a toolbox-sized red first aid kit. He unlatched the kit, opened a box of gauze pads, and bent beside her. “Let’s apply pressure to stop the bleeding.” “I can do it.” Rory squashed the pad against the cut, her cheeks heating, whether from his boyish good looks, or the mortification of falling over a hedgehog, she didn’t know. She hoped he couldn’t detect her blush under the lampposts’ dim glow. She rested her wrist on her knee. “What are you and Turbo doing here, anyway?” “The art studio had a zoo night. The kids decorated animal statues and then I did a presentation. I was just about to load my last animal, Turbo, into the van when you went flying.” He jerked his thumb toward the Zoo Mobile. “I’ve also got a red-eyed tree frog, bearded dragon, chinchilla, and domestic rabbit.” “Is it a white rabbit?” Rory muttered. Mr. Porcupine Expert elevated a brow. “Not this time. What’s your story? What were you doing here?” “I’m an instructor at the dance studio. We were having an open house. I got a text, and apparently, I wasn’t watching where I was going.” Rory battled the temptation to peek under the gauze. “Let me get this straight. You’re a dancer? I thought dancers were graceful.” His brown eyes crinkled with amusement. Their shade reminded her of a caramel latte, warm and inviting. “I am graceful! This was an isolated incident.” “Uh-huh. I’m Kyle, by the way. And you’re . . .?” “Rory.” “How about I make it up to you with free zoo tickets? You can come meet Turbo’s parents. I’m sure they’ll forgive you if I explain that you’re a dancer with two left feet.” He wore such a deadpan expression that Rory almost laughed. His dry comic delivery must enliven his presentations. Her grandmother Lois, Storybook Valley’s self-appointed entertainment director, would remark that Kyle had charisma. Rory might enjoy touring the zoo with him, but her granddad would lock her in with the lions if she ventured onto his rival’s property. Growing up, she had never been allowed to visit Duke’s. “Thanks, but that’s okay. As I was telling Turbo here, it was my fault. I should have been more aware of my surroundings.” She peered into the cage. Was it her imagination, or did Turbo look calmer now in Kyle’s presence? His quills had relaxed, laying down and pointing toward the back. Kyle picked up the animal carrier and straightened to his full height. “How about I show you my passengers while you’re applying pressure? The least I can do is keep you entertained during your misery.” After a hesitation, Rory climbed to her feet and trailed him to the Zoo Mobile. With her left hand, she finished a clumsily misspelled text to Jake, omitting mention of the accident. Otherwise, her brothers would ask her for the next month if she had tripped over any hedgehogs lately. She leaned against the van as Kyle slid the bearded dragon’s carrier out the side door and positioned Turbo’s cage in its place. Over the next ten minutes, he explained how many bearded dragon species existed (nine) and what they ate (insects). If Rory ever appeared on a TV game show, she hoped they quizzed her on bearded dragons, porcupines, and hedgehogs. Kyle discussed animals the same way Brad talked about robotic-assisted surgery. She wondered if Kyle had a college degree. Her guess was no. After all, how much schooling did it take to drive a Zoo Mobile? Once you memorized the spiel and learned how to care for the animals, what else was there to learn? As an employee that far down the company ladder, Kyle probably wasn’t aware of the Callahan feud. After the bearded dragon lecture, Rory washed her cut and rubbed in bacitracin ointment. Kyle unwrapped a large Band-Aid, but instead of extending it to her, he pressed the patch over her skin. As their fingers touched, a shivery sensation whispered down Rory’s spine. I am not attracted to the zoo guy. Buy it on: Amazon Barnes & Noble iBooks Kobo  

Ever wondered what those cheerful theme park princesses are really thinking? When twenty-five-year-old Jaine Andersen proposes a new marketing role to the local amusement park, general manager Dylan Callahan charms her into filling Cinderella’s glass slippers for the summer. Her reign transforms Jaine’s ordinary life into chaos that would bewilder a fairy godmother. Secretly dating her bad boy boss, running wedding errands for her ungrateful sisters, and defending herself from the park’s resident villain means Jaine needs lots more than a comfy pair of shoes to restore order in her kingdom... Check out the Storybook Valley series at these retailers: Amazon Barnes & Noble iBookstore Kobo And if you discover that you love the Storybook Valley books, be sure to join Stacy's street team, the Storybook Valley Sweethearts, on Facebook for book launch activities and exclusive sneak peeks. Members will get to hear the latest Storybook Valley news before anyone else, and even read excerpts of works-in-progress and give input on cover design.       Read the full article

[christinaepilzauthor-blog]

Oh, the places you'll go! A History of Tourism

By Jude Knight The privileged English tourists of the late nineteenth century reached further than ever before, but they were not the first to travel for education and entertainment. Tourism is probably as old as civilisation; it is certainly as old as writing. As soon as social structures produces a class with money to spare and time on their hands, the rich have travelled as a leisure activity, and some places and times have opened the opportunities to those merely comfortably placed. Tourism's ancient roots Privileged groups of Egyptians, Persians, Greeks, Chinese, and Harappans went up into the mountains for the summer, or up the river to see the newest edifice (my goodness, Cheops, take a look at the size of that pyramid), or to a famous temple to gawk at the statues and paintings, and leave an offering for the local God.

Letters of request from one king to another, requesting passage for a traveller, began at least in Babylon, and were applied intermittently from that time, eventually becoming passports. Romans set up their own summer beach resorts, which became so crowded with the hoi polloi that the really rich took over private islands, where they could relax in peace. And with Roman roads stretching to the edges of Empire, possible destinations were limited only by the travellers' pocket, imagination, and sense of adventure. Pilgrimage for fun and (spiritual) profit In medieval times, tourism took another guise. Scholars and journeymen travelled for education (and undoubtedly took in a little entertainment along the way. Pilgrims travelled for the education of their souls, and we have Chaucer's word for it that some of them found it very entertaining. A wealthy English pilgrim might choose to visit Rome or the Holy Land, but even the comfortably circumstanced could find an abbey or a holy well that boasted the relic of a saint.

The Grand Tour From the sixteenth to the eighteenth century, young English noblemen took the Grand Tour, an educational journey between being recognised as a man and being expected to behave like one. Their sisters' travel was usually much more curtailed, but they might enjoy a journey from England to Paris to attend court, refresh their wardrobes, and acquire a little foreign polish at French entertainments. In seventeenth century France, Louis XIV required travellers to have a letter of request or passe port (literally, to pass through a port) and a visa given by his own government. Soon most of Europe had followed suit, and the age of queueing at the border had begun. Tourism takes off War closed much of the Continent at the end of the eighteenth century, but Napoleon's final defeat opened it again. The English flooded out across Europe, in a tourist boom that gathered pace and continued until the First World War. From England alone, the volume of travel grew from 10,000 in 1814 to 250,000 in 1860, to one million in 1911. So great was the temporary migration of pleasure seekers that the passport system was abandoned in the mid-1860s, and not reinstituted until 1914 (as a temporary measure, but they kept it after the war). By the middle of the nineteenth century, steam engines had opened the world, near and far, facilitated by entrepreneurs like the original Thomas Cook. If you were middle class, you could go near, so the super-rich needed to go far.

The rich go far, far, away And New Zealand was as far as you could get: a one-way trip for working people, but a six month pleasure cruise for tourists. By the 1880s, the British Medical Journal was endorsing sea voyages as a cure for whatever ailed you, and steamships made travel easier, safer, and more certain. Travel agencies in England would extoll the sights, and travel guides in New Zealand would take you to see them. Most people would manage to fit in the hot lakes of Rotorua, the cold lakes of Queenstown, and the glacier landscapes of the Southern Alps. In the words of one English traveller, James Froude:

"We could stand on the brim and gaze as through an opening in the earth into an azure infinity beyond. Down and down, and fainter and softer as they receded, the white crystals projected from the rocky walls over the abyss, till they seemed to dissolve not into darkness but into light. The hue of the water was something which I had never seen, and shall never again see on this side of eternity. Not violet…turquoise…sapphire. Comparison could only soil such inimitable purity. The only colour I ever saw in sky or on earth in the least resembling the aspect of the extraordinary pool was the flame of burning sulphur."

Volcanic theme parks have one disadvantage The town of Rotorua was built by the government in the early 1880s, to accommodate tourists (mostly English and German) coming to see the hot pools and the world-famed Pink and White Terraces, hillsides with cascading silica sheets grown over millenia from limestone deposits in the ever-seeping thermal water.

Up to thirty tourists a day arrived to stay at one of the four Ohinemutu hotels (Ohinemutu was the Ngati Whakaue town next to which Rotorua had been built), having travelled overland from Auckland or Tauranga. Another four hour trip would take them to the Maori village of Te Wairoa, and from there they would be taken by canoe to the terraces. Until the night of the volcanic eruption that is the background for my novella Forged in Fire in this year's Bluestocking Belles' anthology. On 10 June, 1886, Mt Tarawera erupted, utterly destroying the terraces and burying nine villages, including Te Wairoa. The descriptions given by my fictional English tourists are drawn  directly from those of witnesses who survived that terrible night. Thermal activity is only fun until someone gets hurt. Sources: Gyr, Ueli. The history of tourism: Structures on the Path to Modernity. Retrieved from http://ieg-ego.eu/en/threads/europe-on-the-road/the-history-of-tourism/ueli-gyr-the-history-of-tourism The Rosbifs arrive. A review of The Smell of the Continent: The British Discover Europe, by Richard Mullen and James Munson. Retrieved from http://www.economist.com/node/13940943 History of Passports, from http://www.cic.gc.ca/english/games/teachers-corner/history-passports.asp Various articles about tourism in New Zealand, from https://www.nzgeo.com/stories/maori-tourism/, https://nzhistory.govt.nz/keyword/tourism, and https://teara.govt.nz/ Quote from James Froud, https://teara.govt.nz/en/visitors-opinions-about-new-zealand/page-2 Images: Women travelling: Assyrian women travelling by ox cart Lydgatepilgrims: Pilgrims on the road, attributed to Gerard Hornbout. C. 1516 to 1523 Steamer: The P&O Paddle Steamer William Facwett Pink and White Terraces: The beautiful Pink and White Terraces, painted by JC Hoyte in the 1870s

~~~~~~~~~~

Jude Knight's writing goal is to transport readers to another time, another place, where they can enjoy adventure and romance, thrill to trials and challenges, uncover secrets and solve mysteries, delight in a happy ending, and return from their virtual holiday refreshed and ready for anything. She writes historical novels, novellas, and short stories, mostly set in the early 19th Century. She writes strong determined heroines, heroes who can appreciate a clever capable woman, villains you'll love to loathe, and all with a leavening of humour. Website and blog: http://judeknightauthor.com/ Buy links for Never Too Late Amazon: US: amzn.to/2y6oBg7 AU: http://amzn.to/2fycyAx BR: http://amzn.to/2wjyWkm CA: http://amzn.to/2yFvxxS DE: http://amzn.to/2xA0Udb ES: http://amzn.to/2yFIgk4 FR: http://amzn.to/2yF7gbg IN: http://amzn.to/2fzQkhv IT: http://amzn.to/2xzPPbW JP: http://amzn.to/2xK5yqS MX: http://amzn.to/2xJTlCK NL: http://amzn.to/2hvRYkV UK: http://amzn.to/2fyBesx iBooks: http://apple.co/2yY4gXC Kobo: http://bit.ly/2fK7vJR Smashwords: http://bit.ly/2xDMQkb Barnes and Noble: http://bit.ly/2y0DPjd

Hat Tip To: English Historical Fiction Authors

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Touring, complete: what gear survived four months of hard-wearing book-tour?

I had the last official stop of my book tour for my novel Walkaway on Saturday, when I gave a talk and signing at Defcon in Las Vegas. It was the conclusion of four months of near-continuous touring, starting with three weeks of pre-release events; then six weeks of one-city-per-day travel through the US, Canada and the UK, then two months of weekly or twice-weekly events at book fairs, festivals and conferences around the USA.

Now I'm touring complete. There's one more event on Aug 10 -- a kind of victory lap presentation at my local library here in Burbank -- and then a trickle of events over the next six months, but that's more like my normal baseline of public appearances, a very different experience to the kind of thing I did from April until last weekend.

It's been nine years since my first book tour -- the Little Brother tour -- and as always, there were new facts on the ground to adapt to, as well as hard-won wisdom that saw me through.

Here's some new stuff: indie bookstores are doing better than they have in years, and they're expanding into lots of live events, which are better-planned and better organized than ever. In many cities, there is one thriving indie and three or four suburban Barnes & Nobles, and these have changed, too: seeing as they are the only game in town, these B&Ns attract some stellar booksellers who intimately understand marketing and also really, really care about books. Also: all the indie bookstores have devoted substantial floorspace to embroidered socks. I'm calling it: we are at peak funny-sock.

Here's some stuff that's still the same: "Never pass up a chance to take water or make water." That is hard-won, important touring advice, passed from serious traveler to serious traveler as gospel. Airports are worse than they've ever been...and it's easier to buy your way out of the hardship, between TSA Precheck and Clear, which require that you give up a ton of personal information (which I'd already given up when I applied for my Green Card, so I went ahead, and it was so, so worth it -- so much so that I presume that anyone who has the wherewithal will buy their way into these programs and cease to do anything to mitigate the traveling woes of the general public -- watch for travel to get waaaay worse for normals who only fly a couple times per year).

I've been changing out my travel gear for years, trying to find the optimal combination of flexibility and comfort. I check a bag, and my suitcase was not lost once on this tour (it's happened before, though, and had to catch up with me a city or two down the road). The suitcase was severely damaged, and more than once (more on that below).

Here's the gear that survived this trip, stuff that will stay with me on upcoming trips.

Coffee

This goes first. Life it too short for shitty coffee.

I use an Aeropress (but you knew that). I've stopped carrying around a hand-grinder. I have only so many duty-cycles left in my wrist tendons and then I will cease to be a writer. I'm not wasting them on a hand-grinder. Now I grind my coffee before I leave and put the coffee in a Ziploc Easy Open Tab quart-sized freezer bag (I keep a stash of these in my suitcase and resupply at coffee shops when I run out, having them grind for me; this means I can't buy Blue Bottle coffee since they, alone among coffee shops, will not grind their retail beans, boo) (I also bring along a handful of gallon-sized bags for various purposes). I've tried a lot of sealing bags, and Ziploc's easy opens are the only ones I can reliably seal well.

I heat water in the remarkably great Useful UH-TP147 Electric Collapsible Travel Kettle, a silicone collapsing kettle that has a thermostat that keeps water at near-boil so long as it's plugged in and on. It's multi-voltage and worked great in the UK, and it collapses down really small. The only downside: it looks weird enough on an X-ray that it is a very reliable predictor of having your bags searched by the TSA after you check them.

I am utterly dependent on the Orikaso folding cup to use with my Aeropress on the road. The majority of hotels supply paper cups, or glasses that are too narrow for the Aeropress. Carrying a rigid cup that decomposes into a thin sheet of plastic the size of a sheet of printer-paper spares me the awkwardness of holding the body of the Aeropress with one hand while pushing down on the plunger with the other to keep from squashing the paper cup.

For emergencies, I carried a stash of GO CUBES Energy Chews, a "neutraceutical" whose manufacturer makes a lot of extravagant claims for them. I think those claims are silly, but these are basically gummy-chews made from cold brew coffee (and stuff) and they work very fast and well, but did give me jitters (which were preferable to caffeine withdrawal).

Toiletries

I carried my favorite shampoo, conditioner, soap and a supply of generic woolite in a set of four Innerneed silicone tubes (which I kept in a ziploc). I've used a lot of different silicone tubes and these are my current favorites -- they have a locking mechanism that keeps the hard plastic lid more firmly in place on the silicone body of the tube, even when it's lubricated with slippery soaps, preventing the kinds of catastrophic breaches you get when the whole lid assembly just pops off the tube and everything comes pouring out.

I swapped out my old generic pharmacy rotary electric toothbrush for the Violife Slim Sonic Toothbrush, which is a AAA-battery-powered equivalent to one of those unwieldy, induction-charged Braun ultrasonic toothbrushes that my dentist wants me to use. It performs just as well as the Braun on my sink at home.

I suffer from really terrible, untreatable chronic pain and can't sleep or sit for any length of time without serious pain. I am absolutely reliant on my hot water bottle, with a knit sleeve. For my money, these are the best comfort items you can travel with -- I get them filled with boiling water by the flight attendants before take off and refill them hourly. At bedtime, I fill them from my collapsible kettle. The only downside: it's really easy to leave these behind in the bedclothes when you depart at 4AM.

I carried all my toiletries in Eagle Creek's Pack-It Wallaby Toiletry Organizer. It came highly recommended and after hard use, I see why: it has the best zippers I've ever had on a toilet bag, stores an incredible amount of stuff and still rolls up tight, and did a great job of containing one tube-of-goo breach that could have wrecked everything else.

Clothes

Before the tour, I did a bunch of reading on the best travel underwear and decided to try Uniqlo's Airism Low Rise Boxer Briefs -- they were so comfortable and so easy to wash out in the sink (and so quick drying!) that I threw away all my other underwear when I got home and ordered a half-dozen more pairs. I traveled with three pairs of these, which crumpled small enough that I could fit them all in a pants pocket (should I have a need to do so?) and I rinsed the day's underwear in the sink every night and hung them to dry, chucking them in the bag in the morning, dry and clean.

You might already know that I love the look of Volante's jackets and coats, so it won't surprise you to learn that I lived in an Augment hoodie for the first half of the tour (when the weather was cool), switching to a lighter-weight Peregrine for the second half, when things warmed up.

I started the tour with three different pairs of pants in my suitcase, but left two behind on a resupply stop at home, because I was only ever wearing my Betabrand Off-the-Grid pants, which have enough stretchiness in them to do some basic yoga in, have huge pockets that somehow don't bulge much even when overfilled, and a neat little discreet mid-thigh side pocket good for keeping boarding passes in. My complaint: these were not colorfast at all: they were basically gray by the time I got home, even though I only ever hand-washed them in hotel sinks with generic woolite.

I always travel with pajamas: when you're on long flights, you can change into them for comfort; they give you a way to interact with hotel staff from your room early in the morning or late at night without having to get dressed or put a towel around your waist. I've been buying deadstock vintage men's pajamas from Etsy all year, because they look awesome and are more comfortable than anything you'll get in stores today.

I've been using REI's Sea to Summit compression sacks as laundry bags for ages: there's no problem with wrinkling your dirty laundry, right? Compression sacks are sorcerous reminders of just how much space there is between molecules.

I lived in Native Jeffersons: basically a kid's croc shoe, but molded to look like a low-rise Converse All-Star. Super comfortable, and I could rinse them in the hotel sink every night and leave them upside-down against the wall and slip into them in the morning.

Comfort items

I traveled with a Stanley Adventure Flask that I filled with Jefferson's Reserve Pritchard Hill Cabernet Cask Finished, 15-year-old bourbon that's finished with a couple years of rest in old cabernet casks. Yum.

I always keep a couple dozen catering-sized sachets of Tabasco in my suitcase and handful in my carry-on. They don't seem to show up as liquids on TSA X-rays so you can keep them in your bag, and I've never had one burst in a bag. They make everything super-delicious (or at least bearable) and they are way more space-efficient than those cute, tiny, single-use Tabasco bottles.

Swimming

Swimming is the only way I can stay sane on tour. It keeps my chronic pain under control and burns some of the empty airplane-peanut and minibar calories.

I swim with an underwater MP3 player. After trying a lot of models, I settled on the Exeze players, which are only available for sale in the UK. However, I've since discovered that virtually the same players are sold under other brand names in the USA: one model I've tried and liked is the Aerb.

The reason I swim with an MP3 player is so that I can listen to audiobooks. I get through a couple novels per month this way. Audible's proprietary DRM format isn't compatible with MP3 players, so forget about getting your swimming audiobooks that way. Instead, try Downpour and Libro.fm, both of whom sell thousands of DRM-free audiobooks. Audiobooks and swimming are a magic combination. I couldn't make it through the tour without them.

Gadgets

I got my Calyx hotspot just over a year ago. It offers anonymous, unfiltered, unshaped, unlimited 4G/LTE wifi through Sprint's network, and supports the nonprofit good works of Calyx, who provide anonymity and privacy services to whistleblowers, journalists and many others. They are the good guys and this is a great product at a stellar price: $100 for the hotspot and $400/year for unlimited mobile broadband.

I continue to use X-series Thinkpads. I'm currently on the X270 and it runs Ubuntu very well. I didn't need any service on this tour, but I have on other tours, and I'm serene in the knowledge that the extended on-site next-day hardware replacement warranty (about $75/year!) guarantees that no matter what, I won't be without my computer for more than a day. My X270 took a lot of hard knocks on this tour and survived unscathed. My sole complaint: they screwed up the keyboards with the X230 (or so) and still haven't made a new chiclet keyboard that's half as good as the original Thinkpad keyboard. Please, Lenovo, bring my beloved keyboard back!

I use a Google Pixel phone and it's...not terrible. Everything about it works fine, but it has unbelievably shitty battery life. That is a killer on tour. The Alclap case solved that problem...for two weeks, and then it stopped working. I ordered two more, both of which were duds out of the box. The Scosche Magic Mount was more awkward to use, but also longer-lasting (it died last weekend, thanks to fraying in the wire that connected it to the phone).

Luggage

You know all those suitcases that come with ten-year warranties? They're all designed to have a ten-year duty-cycle...assuming that you travel once or twice a year. In decades of hard travel, I've yet to buy a suitcase that can live up to the punishment of daily flying.

So now I buy suitcases based on how easy they are to get warranty service on. I had heard great things about Rimowa, and I loved the look of their cases, so I bit the bullet and sprang for one (they're extremely pricey). I quickly discovered that their much-vaunted service was terrible -- in London, anyway. My options were mailing the case to Germany, or taking it to a service center on Euston Road where they were rude, deceptive, and all-around awful. I was ready to swap the case for another manufacturer when I moved from London to LA two years ago.

But in LA, the whole story is different. Rimowa's service here is handled by a place out in Beverley Hills called Coco's Leather and they're pretty good at fixing stuff (there's sometimes a week turnaround, but I've found that if I call them after messengering the busted case out to them, they can often turn it around in a day).

I needed it. My Rimowa case was seriously damaged three times on tour: twice it had wheels ripped off (the whole wheel assembly, including the riveted-on bracket, torn right out of the aluminum!) by Southwest's baggage handlers in San Diego. Another time, AA baggage handlers destroyed the latches.

I'm sticking with Riwoma for now. Every luggage expert I've spoken to says that there's just not anything that will survive the kind of punishment I put my bags through, so I'm buying based on warranties, and between Coco's Leather and Rimowa's long-lasting warranties, I can live with this situation.

I've gone through a lot of luggage tags over the years anhd have yet to have one last more than a few flights before it's torn off in the hold, caught in some grinding system. Now I use the TUFFTAAG Travel ID Bag Tag, made of hard-wearing aluminum with braided steel cables. Dozens of flights later, the tags are bent and battered, but still intact and still attached to my case -- that's a first.

https://boingboing.net/2017/08/02/hard-won-wisdom.html

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Touring, complete: what gear survived four months of hard-wearing book-tour?

I had the last official stop of my book tour for my novel Walkaway on Saturday, when I gave a talk and signing at Defcon in Las Vegas. It was the conclusion of four months of near-continuous touring, starting with three weeks of pre-release events; then six weeks of one-city-per-day travel through the US, Canada and the UK, then two months of weekly or twice-weekly events at book fairs, festivals and conferences around the USA.

Now I'm touring complete. There's one more event on Aug 10 -- a kind of victory lap presentation at my local library here in Burbank -- and then a trickle of events over the next six months, but that's more like my normal baseline of public appearances, a very different experience to the kind of thing I did from April until last weekend.

It's been nine years since my first book tour -- the Little Brother tour -- and as always, there were new facts on the ground to adapt to, as well as hard-won wisdom that saw me through.

Here's some new stuff: indie bookstores are doing better than they have in years, and they're expanding into lots of live events, which are better-planned and better organized than ever. In many cities, there is one thriving indie and three or four suburban Barnes & Nobles, and these have changed, too: seeing as they are the only game in town, these B&Ns attract some stellar booksellers who intimately understand marketing and also really, really care about books. Also: all the indie bookstores have devoted substantial floorspace to embroidered socks. I'm calling it: we are at peak funny-sock.

Here's some stuff that's still the same: "Never pass up a chance to take water or make water." That is hard-won, important touring advice, passed from serious traveler to serious traveler as gospel. Airports are worse than they've ever been...and it's easier to buy your way out of the hardship, between TSA Precheck and Clear, which require that you give up a ton of personal information (which I'd already given up when I applied for my Green Card, so I went ahead, and it was so, so worth it -- so much so that I presume that anyone who has the wherewithal will buy their way into these programs and cease to do anything to mitigate the traveling woes of the general public -- watch for travel to get waaaay worse for normals who only fly a couple times per year).

I've been changing out my travel gear for years, trying to find the optimal combination of flexibility and comfort. I check a bag, and my suitcase was not lost once on this tour (it's happened before, though, and had to catch up with me a city or two down the road). The suitcase was severely damaged, and more than once (more on that below).

Here's the gear that survived this trip, stuff that will stay with me on upcoming trips.

Coffee

This goes first. Life it too short for shitty coffee.

I use an Aeropress (but you knew that). I've stopped carrying around a hand-grinder. I have only so many duty-cycles left in my wrist tendons and then I will cease to be a writer. I'm not wasting them on a hand-grinder. Now I grind my coffee before I leave and put the coffee in a Ziploc Easy Open Tab quart-sized freezer bag (I keep a stash of these in my suitcase and resupply at coffee shops when I run out, having them grind for me; this means I can't buy Blue Bottle coffee since they, alone among coffee shops, will not grind their retail beans, boo) (I also bring along a handful of gallon-sized bags for various purposes). I've tried a lot of sealing bags, and Ziploc's easy opens are the only ones I can reliably seal well.

I heat water in the remarkably great Useful UH-TP147 Electric Collapsible Travel Kettle, a silicone collapsing kettle that has a thermostat that keeps water at near-boil so long as it's plugged in and on. It's multi-voltage and worked great in the UK, and it collapses down really small. The only downside: it looks weird enough on an X-ray that it is a very reliable predictor of having your bags searched by the TSA after you check them.

I am utterly dependent on the Orikaso folding cup to use with my Aeropress on the road. The majority of hotels supply paper cups, or glasses that are too narrow for the Aeropress. Carrying a rigid cup that decomposes into a thin sheet of plastic the size of a sheet of printer-paper spares me the awkwardness of holding the body of the Aeropress with one hand while pushing down on the plunger with the other to keep from squashing the paper cup.

For emergencies, I carried a stash of GO CUBES Energy Chews, a "neutraceutical" whose manufacturer makes a lot of extravagant claims for them. I think those claims are silly, but these are basically gummy-chews made from cold brew coffee (and stuff) and they work very fast and well, but did give me jitters (which were preferable to caffeine withdrawal).

Toiletries

I carried my favorite shampoo, conditioner, soap and a supply of generic woolite in a set of four Innerneed silicone tubes (which I kept in a ziploc). I've used a lot of different silicone tubes and these are my current favorites -- they have a locking mechanism that keeps the hard plastic lid more firmly in place on the silicone body of the tube, even when it's lubricated with slippery soaps, preventing the kinds of catastrophic breaches you get when the whole lid assembly just pops off the tube and everything comes pouring out.

I swapped out my old generic pharmacy rotary electric toothbrush for the Violife Slim Sonic Toothbrush, which is a AAA-battery-powered equivalent to one of those unwieldy, induction-charged Braun ultrasonic toothbrushes that my dentist wants me to use. It performs just as well as the Braun on my sink at home.

I suffer from really terrible, untreatable chronic pain and can't sleep or sit for any length of time without serious pain. I am absolutely reliant on my hot water bottle, with a knit sleeve. For my money, these are the best comfort items you can travel with -- I get them filled with boiling water by the flight attendants before take off and refill them hourly. At bedtime, I fill them from my collapsible kettle. The only downside: it's really easy to leave these behind in the bedclothes when you depart at 4AM.

I carried all my toiletries in Eagle Creek's Pack-It Wallaby Toiletry Organizer. It came highly recommended and after hard use, I see why: it has the best zippers I've ever had on a toilet bag, stores an incredible amount of stuff and still rolls up tight, and did a great job of containing one tube-of-goo breach that could have wrecked everything else.

Clothes

Before the tour, I did a bunch of reading on the best travel underwear and decided to try Uniqlo's Airism Low Rise Boxer Briefs -- they were so comfortable and so easy to wash out in the sink (and so quick drying!) that I threw away all my other underwear when I got home and ordered a half-dozen more pairs. I traveled with three pairs of these, which crumpled small enough that I could fit them all in a pants pocket (should I have a need to do so?) and I rinsed the day's underwear in the sink every night and hung them to dry, chucking them in the bag in the morning, dry and clean.

You might already know that I love the look of Volante's jackets and coats, so it won't surprise you to learn that I lived in an Augment hoodie for the first half of the tour (when the weather was cool), switching to a lighter-weight Peregrinefor the second half, when things warmed up.

I started the tour with three different pairs of pants in my suitcase, but left two behind on a resupply stop at home, because I was only ever wearing my Betabrand Off-the-Grid pants, which have enough stretchiness in them to do some basic yoga in, have huge pockets that somehow don't bulge much even when overfilled, and a neat little discreet mid-thigh side pocket good for keeping boarding passes in. My complaint: these were not colorfast at all: they were basically gray by the time I got home, even though I only ever hand-washed them in hotel sinks with generic woolite.

I always travel with pajamas: when you're on long flights, you can change into them for comfort; they give you a way to interact with hotel staff from your room early in the morning or late at night without having to get dressed or put a towel around your waist. I've been buying deadstock vintage men's pajamas from Etsy all year, because they look awesome and are more comfortable than anything you'll get in stores today.

I've been using REI's Sea to Summit compression sacks as laundry bags for ages: there's no problem with wrinkling your dirty laundry, right? Compression sacks are sorcerous reminders of just how much space there is between molecules.

I lived in Native Jeffersons: basically a kid's croc shoe, but molded to look like a low-rise Converse All-Star. Super comfortable, and I could rinse them in the hotel sink every night and leave them upside-down against the wall and slip into them in the morning.

Comfort items

I traveled with a Stanley Adventure Flask that I filled with Jefferson's Reserve Pritchard Hill Cabernet Cask Finished, 15-year-old bourbon that's finished with a couple years of rest in old cabernet casks. Yum.

I always keep a couple dozen catering-sized sachets of Tabasco in my suitcase and handful in my carry-on. They don't seem to show up as liquids on TSA X-rays so you can keep them in your bag, and I've never had one burst in a bag. They make everything super-delicious (or at least bearable) and they are way more space-efficient than those cute, tiny, single-use Tabasco bottles.

Swimming

Swimming is the only way I can stay sane on tour. It keeps my chronic pain under control and burns some of the empty airplane-peanut and minibar calories.

I swim with an underwater MP3 player. After trying a lot of models, I settled on the Exeze players, which are only available for sale in the UK. However, I've since discovered that virtually the same players are sold under other brand names in the USA: one model I've tried and liked is the Aerb.

The reason I swim with an MP3 player is so that I can listen to audiobooks. I get through a couple novels per month this way. Audible's proprietary DRM format isn't compatible with MP3 players, so forget about getting your swimming audiobooks that way. Instead, try Downpour and Libro.fm, both of whom sell thousands of DRM-free audiobooks. Audiobooks and swimming are a magic combination. I couldn't make it through the tour without them.

Gadgets

I got my Calyx hotspot just over a year ago. It offers anonymous, unfiltered, unshaped, unlimited 4G/LTE wifi through Sprint's network, and supports the nonprofit good works of Calyx, who provide anonymity and privacy services to whistleblowers, journalists and many others. They are the good guys and this is a great product at a stellar price: $100 for the hotspot and $400/year for unlimited mobile broadband.

I continue to use X-series Thinkpads. I'm currently on the X270 and it runs Ubuntu very well. I didn't need any service on this tour, but I have on other tours, and I'm serene in the knowledge that the extended on-site next-day hardware replacement warranty (about $75/year!) guarantees that no matter what, I won't be without my computer for more than a day. My X270 took a lot of hard knocks on this tour and survived unscathed. My sole complaint: they screwed up the keyboards with the X230 (or so) and still haven't made a new chiclet keyboard that's half as good as the original Thinkpad keyboard. Please, Lenovo, bring my beloved keyboard back!

I use a Google Pixel phone and it's...not terrible. Everything about it works fine, but it has unbelievably shitty battery life. That is a killer on tour. The Alclap case solved that problem...for two weeks, and then it stopped working. I ordered two more, both of which were duds out of the box. The Scosche Magic Mount was more awkward to use, but also longer-lasting (it died last weekend, thanks to fraying in the wire that connected it to the phone).

Luggage

You know all those suitcases that come with ten-year warranties? They're all designed to have a ten-year duty-cycle...assuming that you travel once or twice a year. In decades of hard travel, I've yet to buy a suitcase that can live up to the punishment of daily flying.

So now I buy suitcases based on how easy they are to get warranty service on. I had heard great things about Rimowa, and I loved the look of their cases, so I bit the bullet and sprang for one (they're extremely pricey). I quickly discovered that their much-vaunted service was terrible -- in London, anyway. My options were mailing the case to Germany, or taking it to a service center on Euston Road where they were rude, deceptive, and all-around awful. I was ready to swap the case for another manufacturer when I moved from London to LA two years ago.

But in LA, the whole story is different. Rimowa's service here is handled by a place out in Beverley Hills called Coco's Leather and they're pretty good at fixing stuff (there's sometimes a week turnaround, but I've found that if I call them after messengering the busted case out to them, they can often turn it around in a day).

I needed it. My Rimowa case was seriously damaged three times on tour: twice it had wheels ripped off (the whole wheel assembly, including the riveted-on bracket, torn right out of the aluminum!) by Southwest's baggage handlers in San Diego. Another time, AA baggage handlers destroyed the latches.

I'm sticking with Riwoma for now. Every luggage expert I've spoken to says that there's just not anything that will survive the kind of punishment I put my bags through, so I'm buying based on warranties, and between Coco's Leather and Rimowa's long-lasting warranties, I can live with this situation.

I've gone through a lot of luggage tags over the years and have yet to have one last more than a few flights before it's torn off in the hold, caught in some grinding system. Now I use the TUFFTAAG Travel ID Bag Tag, made of hard-wearing aluminum with braided steel cables. Dozens of flights later, the tags are bent and battered, but still intact and still attached to my case -- that's a first.

https://boingboing.net/2017/08/02/hard-won-wisdom.html