Monday 28 December 2015

On turning 30...




I've been dreading my Birthday this year for as long as I can remember. My heart constricts and I get a lump in my throat just thinking about it. As I was lying in bed last night however I realized something. I like who I am as I'm going into my 30's. For the first time, I'm ok with me.

My 20's were confusing. I grew up too fast - had my first baby at 19, my second at 23 and got married somewhere in between. My friends were out partying, traveling, finishing school and I thought that that was what I was supposed to be doing too. I finished school, left the country for a vacation - with husband and baby in tow - for the first time and hit up a few clubs along the way as well. I made memories, new friends and ok-ish money.

My friends and I would swap stories ("Remember that time that we got so drunk?"), make more plans to do it again, share pictures of our travels but all the while, it didn't feel right to me.

As I got later into my 20's, we got a little bit classier. Drinking wine and hanging out at Starbucks like the typical white girl was chosen most of the time over clubbing and all-nighters. I'd swallow that red like it was the most delicious thing I'd ever tasted, trying to conceal the grimace I was internally making. I'd order coffee, hot and bitter, drown it in milk and sugar until I could deal with the taste because at this age, I was 'supposed' to like wine and coffee. I went along with my religion. I went to church and would ask for forgiveness when I swore or thought something impure about another human being. I hung the crosses and rosary beads around the house to show everyone that yes, I was a Christian - all the while questioning everything I read about 'God' and the bible, but never voicing my opinions out loud.

I sent my daughter to school because ALL teachers are nice, friendly, loving. I believed those teachers when they told me that "something wasn't right" with her. They tossed around words like A.D.D and autism and so, with a heavy heart, I dragged her from specialist to specialist, trying to get a diagnosis because hey, the teachers had to be right, right? When the doctors looked at me like a crazy person and shook their heads saying, "Your daughter is fine. She's 100% normal", it clicked.

She was normal. Quirky as hell but normal. And I loved her for it. She was and is unapologetically herself. At 10 years old she knows who she is and what she believes and doesn't care about what everyone tells her she is supposed to be.

That was when it started for me.

I thought about all the years I've spent trying to conform. To be what I was 'supposed' to be and I hated it! How many years have I spent trying to lose weight so that I'd look the was I was 'supposed' to? Praying to a God who believes that I'm a sinner simply for having my period and that anyone or thing that comes into contact with me during that time is unclean? Swallowing red wine despite the fact that the mere smell of it makes me nauseous. Even worse was allowing other people to label my child - the one who loves to learn about politics, hasn't scored below 'above average' on a report card since she's started school and sits down with a group of adults and talks to them about current world events, making them feel less than 'normal' - as 'special needs'.

With a week left in my 20's, I am more me than I have been in my entire life. I'm not going to go to a club because my friends are. I HATE clubs! I always have! I'm fat, and fine with it. I do believe in God - absolutely, just not the one that everyone says I'm supposed to believe in. My God wants me to be happy. To live my life the way I want to so long as I'm doing it in a safe manner, and making the world a little better in the process.

Some days I'm a writer. Some days an artist, a mom, a wife, a woman, sister, daughter, napper (Yes, a napper).

I'm not one thing. I don't fit into one mould and I have no intention of ever doing so. And most importantly, as I turn 30, I realize I'm ok with that.




Oh! This reminds me... I have a couple of days left for my Facebook giveaway! I'm drawing on my Birthday (Jan 8th). Click here to check it out. :)

Sunday 27 December 2015

Crazy Canuck New Years Blog Hop & Top 10 reasons why Canadians write better romance novels...

Be sure to enter the Crazy Canuck Blog hop contest after reading this (Details at the end of the list)! You can enter to WIN 17 books for your new devices from 17 CANADIAN AUTHORS! Sorry for shouting. I'm REALLY excited!
 
Without further adieu...
 
  1. It get's REALLY cold here. Rather than bundling up, we prefer to find more exciting ways to stay warm...inside. What's more, after getting hot and steamy, we most certainly do NOT want to venture out and therefore curl up by a nice fire and write about our activities.
  2. The majority of Canada is wilderness - nature at it's finest really. So you could say we are in tune with nature... and what's more natural than - ahem - romance?
  3. Compared to other countries, Canada's population is relatively small. All that wilderness and so few people. The term 'There are plenty of fish in the sea' stands true in the literal sense however, when it comes to finding spouses, not so much. We have to do what we can to hold on to our partners! Being kinky is a survival necessity!
  4. We are known for our beavers. Enough said.
  5. We name town's after... things. Romance is literally everwhere! With places named 'Dildo' (Yes, I'm serious), 'Conception Bay', and 'Cupids', it's hard to escape dirty thoughts when they are literally where you live.
  6. We're lovers, not fighters. No one hates Canada. We don't start wars because we're too busy trying to stay warm.
  7. Our premier looks like he could be Mr. Darcy, or the man you've been reading about. Seriously. He runs our country...
     
  8. We are ALWAY'S polite. It's not as if we are super-human. Everyone get's angry, let's be honest. We just don't show it externally. We save all of our pent up aggression for... writing. Even Canadians have to be naughty now and then.
  9. Our landscape. With places like Lake Louise, Petty Harbour, Niagara Falls and the Rocky Mountains, it's hard not to be inspired!
  10. We are adventurous! With so much wilderness to explore, it's hard to stay indoors (When it's not cold of course). Encounters with grizzly's and mountain lions tend to get your heart racing... and then grateful for the person beside you for protecting you all alone in that forest. Besides that, we were brave enough to try poutine, and then to recommend it. Seriously, have you tried one? It's freaking delicious!
 
 
 
 
I've been so excited to share this with you all! Author Lisa Emma (Mostly Lisa) and I have set up a Crazy Canuck Blog hop! The theme is, 'Fill your new devices with Books from Canadian authors'. The books and author's we have include:


Altering Authority by Ashley Dooley
Dead and Kicking by Lisa Emme
Something in the Air by Marie Landry
Magic Resistant by Veronica DelRosa
The Naughty List by Cori Vidae
Firefly: Ice Born by P.M. Pevato
Thirteen by Shannon Peel
Enemy Within by Marysol James
Questing for a Dream by P.D. Workman
Vice by Rosanna Leo
Lakeshore Secrets by Shannyn Leah
Guarding Midnight by Kacey Hammell
3013:Renegade by Susan Hayes
The Raven Room by Ana Medeiros
Alien Next Door: Complete Series by Jessica E. Subject
Slow Ride Home by Leah Braemel
One Gold Heart by Sadie Haller
 
 
That's SEVENTEEN new books for you! Did I mention that you can WIN these books? Plus two Chapter-Indigo gift cards!
 
The links below will get you to where you need to go to enter. Be sure to click the little froggie and check out the other blogs as well! Good Luck!
  
 
 





Tuesday 1 December 2015

F#@$! I hate promoting!








I know that a lot of authors publish books and then leave it at that. No promoting, no marketing, just laying it all out there and hoping for the best. Some authors do well with this method - if your story is good enough, it will promote itself, right? - others not so much.

I know that promoting works, I've done it and so far, the Authority series has done pretty well however I still haven't had the kind of response I thought I'd have. I worked hard on these books. It was a long process (one that still isn't over yet) and I guess I was hoping that more people would be eager to share it, respond to it and be involved. That isn't the case though.

I'm an anxious person - like, really anxious. I stay awake at night wondering why it isn't doing as good as it should. Am I being a pain in the ass by talking about it so much? Am I following the right steps to ensure it's name gets out there on Instagram, Facebook, Google+, Twitter*DeepBreath*GoodReadsBlogsMyspaceTumblr... *Exhale*. This list goes on forever... I'm not interested in paying to promote on these outlets. I want to do this as cost-effectively as I can even though I know that it would probably help...

The problem is is that with Facebook, you are preaching to your friends, family and old high school nemesis' who are only on there to see if you've gotten fat (I have), addicted to drugs (No, but I'm sure I could this time of year) or have had ugly children ( I win on the baby-making front! They're gorgeous!). If they weren't the first ones to buy your books, they aren't going to. Instagram has a bajillion 'Authors', most of whom have publishers to promote for them and the entire day to sit around and come up with promo pics and contests. I'm a stay at home mom who homeschools my daughter and looks after the neighborhood kids. Cooking, cleaning, eating and sleeping come along at some point and before I know it I'm laying in bed telling my husband, "Not tonight, I'm too tired" and stressing over the fact that I didn't sell a book that day, post 5 pictures on Instagram or update my Fans on Facebook about my new cover reveal for the next series I'm starting. Did I bathe Darius? Does Brooklynn have that play date tomorrow?

I'm exhausted and at the end of my wits. When did writing and my book - the one that I love, fanaticize about and cherish like my child - become a chore? It's easy to get sucked into the Googolplexian (It's a real number) articles on Pinterest (Should I create a board for my books?) about marketing your novels and they all seem so easy when you're reading them but then one article sends you a link to another article and so on and before you know it you're watching a tutorial on how to apply fake eyelashes as a moustache to your cat to accentuate it's ears and wondering what the f$#@ this has to do with promoting.

 My brain cant keep up with it.

I want to go back to a time when I was excited for my books, not filled with anxiety. I want their content to speak for itself and mostly I just want to sit back and write more. I want to stop stressing over whether or not I should go to a writers convention, do a book signing or host another contest.

I guess the real question here is to promote? Or not to promote? Do I leave it all up to faith and trust in the storyline or do I ensure that they are in readers faces, a constant reminder that, "Hey! Here is an amazing book just waiting to be read?"

Sunday 22 November 2015

Chapter one of Altering Authority... Yes, the WHOLE chapter.

I'm a book snob, I admit it. I judge them by their covers and if I'm not hooked by the first couple of chapters, I abandon it like a mama deer and her lame fawn.

There are too many good books out there waiting to be read! I can't waste time forcing myself to finish something that doesn't hold my interest, regardless of how good or bad the writing is. If it doesn't have 'it', it doesn't have it. That's that.

I'm confident that my books have 'it'. There are over a thousand readers all over the world that would agree, which is why, without further ado, I give to you chapter one of the first book in the Authority Series, Altering Authority. Enjoy!



S

he wasn’t  particularly close to her father. His mobster lifestyle kept him busy. Her mother tried desperately to keep her away from the violence that life entailed, but push came to shove and the money was great. How could her mother raise her alone? It wasn’t as if she was going to get a job and pay the bills herself.

            Surprisingly, his death came as a shock. Not at the hands of a drug dealer hell bent on revenge, or one of the customers who’d felt ripped off. He died suddenly with a brain aneurysm, sitting alone at the kitchen table, reading his newspaper on a Sunday morning.

            Tatum had known that he would leave everything to her. She was his only child, and much to the dismay of her mother, she was somewhat more - ungovernable – than her father was. Where he’d have his henchmen do his dirty work, Tatum preferred to handle things herself.

            The drugs and gun dealings were more trouble than she preferred, but the high profits made them more than bearable. With strong connections and repeat customers already built, Tatum used her associates to collect and sell the merchandise. She rarely saw that aspect of the business, just the cash flow.

Her favorite inherited business venture was the strip clubs. She never had to threaten those girls; they knew their place and how to have fun. The real money came from those girls after hours. Tatum didn’t like to consider her new job title as a ‘Madam,’ however, technically that’s what she was. The word sounded so old, carried such a stereotype. She thought of women like Heidi Fleiss and Michelle Braun and didn’t consider herself to be anything like them, aside from their jobs.

 Her business was whores but she was the furthest thing from one of them.

Her father, Bill, was a pimp, even though he didn’t quite fit the clichéd description. His business suits were pristine and expensive. There most certainly were no fur coats in his closet or gold-grills in his jewelry box.

            Three months after Bill’s death, Tatum found herself sitting awkwardly with her mother at the dining room table. The same table her father’s face had smashed onto in death. Since then, it had been uncomfortable around her mother. The older woman was withdrawn, morose. She could see that something was weighing heavily on her mind and she knew it wasn’t her deceased husband. They weren’t close, not the typical man and wife.

 Her mother’s eyes would stare off into nothing, growing glossy. Her usual pristine black hair was in a constant state of mild disarray. Not her normal self. This day in particular it grew more annoying to Tatum than anything.

            “What is it mom?!” she said, a few octaves higher than she knew were necessary. Her mother flinched at the sharpness in her voice.

            She inhaled deeply and looked at her daughter, the words on the tip of her tongue. She made eye contact for a brief second before looking away, wiping a tear from her cheek.

            “You’re not leaving until you spit it out” Tatum said, sipping calmly on her tea, staring intently at her mother, her eye contact unwavering.

            Donna stood clumsily and made her way to the opposite side of the table, the action looking funnier than it should have, considering how polished she was dressed in her beige pant suit and pearls.  She sat in front of her daughter and swallowed hard, the lump not disappearing.

            She hesitated a few minutes more, looking around the large room with its enormous windows facing out onto the dew covered lawn 20 feet or so below. The streams of light slicing through held a constant whirlwind of sparkles. In a house this size, one wouldn’t consider it to be dust.

            Tatum’s glare held up. Donna took a minute to study her features. There was no denying she was her daughter. The same bright eyes, the slim nose. Tatum was more Donna than Donna had ever really noticed. It’s no wonder no one ever questioned her paternity.

            She was sorry more than anything that Tatum had grown up in this life. The drugs, guns, and violence were more than most people could stand; however Tatum seemed to thrive in it, despite Donnas best efforts. How could she not? It was in her blood, more than Tatum even knew. 

            Looking at her now, Donna knew that she couldn’t stop heredity. “I haven’t been honest with you Tatum” she finally spit out. “I don’t even know how to tell you this.”

            Her mother paused, choking on her words. The look in her eyes was of sheer terror. Surely, Tatum thought, her mother wasn’t afraid of her? There had been times when people had crossed Tatum and she’d had to ‘take care’ of them herself, but her mother was kind of off limits. There were boundaries when it came to these types of things.  Offing your mother was one of them.

            “Just say it mom.”

            Donna took another deep breath. “He wasn’t… Not biologically… He wasn’t your real father Tatum.”

            The weight of the words hung in the air for a moment. The only sounds were the waves in the distance on the beach. The hum of the refrigerator. The ticking of the clock.

            “I tried to protect you. I thought this lifestyle was better than the one you would have grown up in if your real father had raised you.”

            Tatum’s face wrinkled in thought, but she couldn’t form a coherent sentence. All she could think was ‘it makes sense.’ She was nothing like Bill. At times, after she’d gotten into the family business, he would look at her as if she were an anomaly. He could call the shots, give the orders, but there was no way he’d be able to put a bullet in someone’s head and not bat an eye about it the way Tatum did. She had none of his characteristics. Not a single thing.

            It dawned on her then. If Donna thought that this was a better lifestyle compared to the one her real father was living, what kind of person was he exactly?

 She knew she’d done horrible things. Abnormal things. It wasn’t a typical day at work to beat someone to death for information about drug lords or rival gangs. But with her lifestyle, it came with the territory. Donna knew this. She wasn’t proud of it, but never really seemed to try to stop Tatum. What was she keeping her from?

            Then, at a rapid pace, the questions flooded in. Was he still alive? In prison? Did she have siblings? Nieces? Nephews? Grandparents that knew about her? Did he know about her?

            “Speak Tatum. Please tell me what you’re thinking” Donna pleaded as she saw the emotions run across Tatum’s face. “I’m sorry” she choked out in a whisper.

            Of all the thoughts swirling around in her head, “Why?” was all she could muster.

            Donna looked at her, thoughtfully. She licked her lips and rubbed them together, the way she normally did when she was about to talk a lot.

            “He’s a good man. We had a short lived fling, nothing serious. He’s involved in some things, Illegal gambling, prostitution... I didn’t think you’d end up taking over all of this” she gestured with her hands around the large room, but implying so much more. “I didn’t think this life would affect you as much if you were raised by Bill. I was wrong though, obviously. You ended up more like him than you did Bill.” She frowned and looked down at her hands. “He lives on the west coast, in San Francisco.”

            “Does he know about me?”

            Donna looked Tatum in the eyes for a moment, as if she were waiting for this question. She shook her head slowly. “He would have been involved if he did.”

Tatum nodded and ran her fingers through her long, curly, dark hair. “Did Bill know?” It would explain his distance from her. Why bother being a father to a child whom you know isn’t actually yours?

            Her mother shook her head and at least had the sensibility to look embarrassed.

“Do you know how to contact him?”

            Donna hesitated a minute before nodding.

            “Find him and tell him… I want a paternity test first.” She stood and walked away then, leaving Donna alone and staring after her.

            She was numb. She didn’t know if she should be mad at her mother or thankful that she had a father again?

            Walking out of the patio and down towards the beach, she heard the rev of her mother’s Audi RS5 Cabriolet leaving the driveway. She wrapped one arm around herself, propping her elbow on it to chew her fingernail as she walked.

            The wind was up, the tide out. Spray from the waves wet her face but it was soothing, almost. A distraction from the tsunami in her brain.

            She knew a slew of gambling rings in San Francisco. She should have asked her mother which one. Had she met her biological father doing a deal? A bunch of them up there bought guns from Bill in the past.

            She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. Noticing the time, she sent a text to Rick, her go-to man, saying she wouldn’t be able to go to the clubs today. Putting the phone back in her pocket, Tatum sat down on a fallen log that had been dragged toward the shoreline as a seat for the fire pit in front of her. She was beginning to regret not grabbing a sweater.

            She couldn’t picture Donna ‘fooling around’. She seemed too uptight to have flings. Tatum herself was a believer in big romantic gestures. She knew the men that were associated with her lifestyle were a different breed, not the type to shout ‘I love you’ from a rooftop, to cry over and fight for their women, and she accepted that, never truly expecting to find ‘the one.’ She’d probably end up like Donna. Settling for whatever was the most convenient. However, the way she saw her mother light up when talking about him, Tatum could see that there was more to it than she was letting on. Perhaps she was even more like Donna than she realized.

            She thought about what this meant for her businesses. Legally, her father – or Bill – had left her everything in his will. If word got out that she wasn’t biologically his, would others try to take it all from her? Was she still entitled to it? Legally, she knew she was, however in her world, the one with prostitutes, drug lords, and gun dealers, things were different.

The first decision she made was to keep this new found knowledge under wraps until she knew what to do about it.

            She wandered aimlessly around the property for a while. Only running into the gardener, who politely tipped his hat to her and went on his way on his ride-on mower.

            When night fell, she climbed into bed, a bowl of cereal in hand. The TV was only a mild distraction. She flipped through the channels, never really settling on one thing. Eventually, she fell asleep, her head pounding with thoughts and questions, but no answers.
©2015, Ashley Dooley, all rights reserved
 
Like what you've read? Get the whole thing here

Let me know what you thought of Tatum and her predicament by connecting with me on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/ArtsyDarlynnBooks/ or on twitter at https://twitter.com/AshesDoo
 
 
 

 

Tuesday 17 November 2015

Newfoundland Fairies...

I'm so excited to finally be able to share this. For years I've been working on a teen fantasy series based on my childhood neighborhood, as well as a few of the legends surrounding it. My sister-in-law and I sat down and came up with the concept and character names and then kind of forgot about it. I'd worked on it in secret over the years in hopes of surprising her for her wedding with a physical copy however that didn't happen. I was a month or so too late but none-the-less, its in the editing stages!

I realize that in this day and age, fairies are about as realistic as vampires, werewolves and zombies - probably even less so considering the fact that you can find shows and movies about the other things and not so much about fairies, however, in my day - which wasn't that long ago, be nice! - we legitimately believed in them.

Being surrounded by woods, Shea Heights was shrouded in mystery, with plenty of room for kids to wander, get lost and draw their own conclusions. Not wanting to constantly be under the watchful eye of our parents and nosey neighbors, we'd retreat to the forests with our coats, sweaters or t-shirts turned inside out or with bread in our pocket - to ward off evil sprites of course - and to do the things that kids and  teenagers do, still hearing our parents and grandparents voices in our head, "Watch out for the fairies". I cant think of a time that we'd ever really sought them out, preferring to trust the adults when they told us stories about their relatives who'd gone missing for days, were pushed into wells or simply disappeared because of the little people.

A couple stories that stand out specifically to me were that of a perfectly healthy boy who'd gone out
for milk at his mothers request only to show up two years later with it in his hands and unable to speak a word. He'd walk past us in the street and we'd glance at him curiously, but always with caution. Another instance was of a young girl heading home from a party down the street from her house during a snow storm. She would continually walk toward the light over her front porch, just barely able to make it out from the blowing snow, but never reaching her destination. When her body was found the next morning, she'd worn a path on her front lawn from walking in circles. Others include aunts and uncles being found naked and stuck in a tree mumbling words about fairies and little people.

Whether or not the stories were told to us to simply scare us from wandering too far from home, the countless Google results that turn up when you type in Newfoundland Fairy Legends suggests other wise. My front lawn in the summer gets 'fairy rings' - mushrooms that grow in a circle - and despite being a fairly logical, educated adult, I still haul my kids back when they attempt to step in the middle.

'Don't let the fairies take you!' I say. ;)

Tuesday 3 November 2015

Ultraxenopia by M.A. Phipps - Review

I LOVE connecting with other authors. It's nice to know that there are other people out there who are going through the same things you are - on a literary level of course. With that being said, M.A. Phipps came across my path through Google+ or Facebook (I cant remember) and charmed me from the start.

I offered to review her book, Ultraxenopia, with very little in the way of expectations. While I loved The Hunger Games, Divergent and The Matched Trilogy, I never really considered post-apocalyptic stories my thing, especially (I cant believe I'm about to say this...) one from an indie author. I'm sorry, but, there are authors out there that just shouldn't. Futuristic stories require a lot of imagination, research and a particular je ne sais quoi.

M.A. Phipps has all of these qualities.

I was hooked from the beginning.

September/ October were probably my busiest months this year. I had three weddings, all of which were in different parts of the country. I had to finish writing, editing, promoting Releasing Authority and then publish it. All of this time I was reading Ultraxenopia and trying everyday my hardest to read more. It hurt to put it down. Wynter had me enamored from the first page. I felt as if I were right there with her. As if I was her because of the authors ability to not only describe the setting and mood, but to make you believe it as well.

With a name like W.A.R., it would be hard not to assume that this girl was badass. At first I was simply waiting for it. I wanted to yell at her to get her shit together and quit flaking out but at the same time, I understood her struggle. When she did get it together, and finally met Ezra, I knew I was going to like her even more. They were a great team and the tension between them... Sigh. I love tension.

Without giving too much away, there is a scene close to the end in a building with the members of PHEONIX and a certain evil doctor that had me wondering if maybe M.A. Phipps had read one of my books. Maybe taken a piece from my mind. Anyone who's read anything from me knows that I love me some bat-shit crazy females, and that's exactly what Wynter is... but in the best way of course.

Lucky for me, I got to read this book in its original glory. CHBB publishing has picked up Ultraxenopia and its series to be re-published in January. I highly recommend that when it comes out, you read it. I cant wait to see what's in store for Wynter and Ezra... My heart hurts.





















You can connect with the author here:





 
 

Thursday 17 September 2015

So you're looking for book recommendations...?


People assume that because I am an author, I love books. I'm brimming with the knowledge of wonderful works of literary art. Well...

They are correct.

MY personal taste in book however is varied. I can enjoy fiction, non fiction, fantasy, historical... Literally (pun intended) any genre. My favorite obviously is romance. I love a good story about a girl and a guy coming together, doing the dirty, and then living happily ever after. I DESPISE books where the main character dies. Especially if said book is one in a trilogy or more. I kind of feel like if they die, it was all for naught. Am I right?

With that being said, here are some of my favorite books.

  • Outlander by Diana Gabaldon

     
I'll be honest. Historical romances aren't really my thing. The long haired, brooding, bare-chested man and the helpless female.

Barf.

Outlander is nothing like that. Jamie is real and vulnerable (And a ginger...yumm). Claire has a filthy mouth and is as stubborn as a mule. This book was pushed on me by many fans of the series. I swear, when I said I hadn't read it, they would be pissed! It was really a matter of life and death that made me read this. I was scared. Another bonus for this book (Besides the men in kilts), is that its now a TV show! My days are ruined. I'm supposed to be homeschooling my daughter but all I want to do, is binge watch the show.

  • The Virgin Cure by Ami McKay
This one doesn't fit the mold either. There is no love interest. Its actually pretty sad now  that I think about it (Don't worry, it has a happy ending!).

It's set in the tenements of lower Manhattan in the year 1871. As a young child, Moth’s father walked out. When she turned twelve, her mother sold her as a servant to a wealthy woman, with no intention of ever seeing her again.
These betrayals lead Moth to the wild, murky world of the Bowery, filled with house-thieves, pickpockets, beggars, sideshow freaks and prostitutes, where eventually she meets Miss Everett, the owner of a brothel simply known as “The Infant School.” Miss Everett caters to gentlemen who pay dearly for companions who are “willing and clean,” and the most desirable of them all are young virgins like Moth.
Through the friendship of Dr. Sadie, a female physician, Moth learns to question and observe the world around her, where her new friends are falling prey to the myth of the “virgin cure”–that deflowering a “fresh maid” can heal the incurable and tainted. She knows the law will not protect her, that polite society ignores her, and still she dreams of answering to no one but herself. There’s a high price for such independence, though, and no one knows that better than a girl from Chrystie Street.

  • The girl you left behind by Jojo Moyes
Swoon. My favorite. I've fallen in love with Jojo Moyes because of this book. If you've read any of my previous posts, you'll already know this. Her characters aren't described as uber sexy, hunky, or gorgeous. They are real.

It takes place in Paris, 1916 (I think I may be lying about my stance on historical romances...). Sophie Lefèvre must keep her family safe while her adored husband, Édouard, fights at the front. When their town falls to the Germans in the midst of World War I, Sophie is forced to serve them every evening at her hotel. From the moment the new Kommandant sets eyes on Sophie’s portrait—painted by her artist husband—a dangerous obsession is born, one that will lead Sophie to make a dark and terrible decision.
Almost a century later, Sophie’s portrait hangs in the home of Liv Halston, a wedding gift from her young husband before his sudden death. After a chance encounter reveals the portrait’s true worth, a battle begins over its troubled history and Liv’s world is turned upside all over again.

  • The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern
In this mesmerizing debut, a competition between two magicians becomes a star-crossed love story.

The circus arrives at night, without warning. No announcements precede it. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not. Within nocturnal black and white striped tents awaits a unique experience, a feast for the senses, where one can get lost in a maze of clouds, meander through a lush garden made of ice, stand awestruck as a tattooed contortionist folds herself into a small glass box, and gaze in wonderment at an illusionist performing impossible feats of magic.

Welcome to Le Cirque des Rêves. Beyond the smoke and mirrors, however, a fierce competition is underway - a contest between two young magicians, Celia and Marco, who have been trained since childhood to compete in "a game," in which each must use their powers of illusion to best the other. Unbeknownst to them, this game is a duel to the death, and the circus is but the stage for a remarkable battle of imagination and will.

Rose and Lissa become enmeshed in forbidden romance, the Academy’s ruthless social scene, and unspeakable nighttime rituals. But they must be careful lest the Strigoi—the world’s fiercest and most dangerous vampires—make Lissa one of them forever.