Flower in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies,
I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower -but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, and all in all,
I should know what God and man is.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Chapter One
Annalise sat in the small patch of grass to the left of the house watching her daughter watch a toad. She sat very still, her knees bent, back straight, palms pressing into the ground, pushing down deep to feel the cool swell of the moist dirt. The too tall grass licked at the back of her calves. Ants crawled up and around the thick blades. A fewested her flesh for greater purchase. Her body lotion proved to be too strong a deterrent. She would not move. Not for the tickling grass or the ants. Not for the cool breeze that she should have a sweater on for. Not for the sun peaking up over the silver maple, beaming directly into her eyes. Not if Willow called to her. She would not move.
“Willow!”
Jaden’s voice rang out to Willow’s spot under her favorite silver maple, trunk size five and three-quarter inches in diameter, recorded on card number three hundred twenty-four. Willow’s deck contained cards on all the species of trees surrounding their house. And all the mushrooms. And grasses. Now her research led her from floral to fauna, starting at the bottom of the animal kingdom with reptiles and amphibians. Willow, pen in one hand and stick in the other, poked at a Northern American toad hunkered down in the shade of a fallen log. She counted the pokes, none touching the toad directly, but rather striking the ground in front of him, and recorded the number of strikes on the card tacked to the silver maple by a bit of chewing gum.
“Willow?” This time as a question.
“Yes,” Willow called back. She made two more strikes at the ground and then shrugged. No defensive toad poison to be seen today. She slipped the Northern American toad card back into her completed card stack and capped her pen. She raced down the hill to Jaden.
 If you want to read the first chapter of Brandi's novel, Tarnished, leave a comment in the 'comments' section of this blog post. In order for your vote to count, you must have an email subscription to the Underground. If Brandi has ten or more votes by next Friday (May l8th) her first chapter will post on Underground Book Reviews. Welcome, Brandi, to the Underground! When I first met Brandi Megan Granett last December in New York City, I felt an immediate connection. Not only did her novel sound captivating, but she was an intriguing person. Although time was limited at the Algonkian Conference to really delve in and get to know another emerging author, I want to introduce Brandi to the Underground as I feel our readers will find her life not only interesting, but a breath of fresh air! Kimberly: When did you start writing? Can you share with us the first thing you ever wrote? Ms. Granett: I remember writing when I was in the third grade. My first short story was published in the elementary school newspaper. I knew then I wanted to be a writer. Kimberly: Will you give us an overview of what your book is about? Ms. Granett: Tarnished, set in the 1960’s, is the story of eleven year old Willow who always dreamed of discovering new things. But she never imagined discovering a magical gift. When holding treasures or trinkets made of silver, Willow’s mind’s eye explodes with the memories linked to the silver. When her mother’s depression takes them from their home in Allegheny Mountains on a trip to her grandmother’s house in the Everglades, Willow learns that she must balance the knowledge her gift reveals with the delicate constitution of her family. Tarnished is told in the alternating voices of Willow, her mother, Annalise, and her grandmother, Julianna. Kimberly: Is there a message in your novel that you wanted to convey to the reader? How did you come up with the idea? Ms. Granett: I began this novel as part of the National Write a Novel in a Month Contest. A poet friend of mine, Gregg Glory asked me to do the competition with him. I was taking a Stats class at the time, and I said no, I was too busy. Then a musician friend from high school, Eric Squindo emailed that he and his girlfriend were selling everything to go live in the woods and write. This lit a fire under me, and I started writing Tarnished as part of NaNoWriMo. (National Write A Novel In A Month Contest) Finishing this novel felt like winning the NYC Marathon. As this was written in a rush, logging 2000 words a day, I’m not sure where the inspiration came from. I just knew I wanted to tell a story with a homeschooled girl in it as I was homeschooling my daughter, Megan, at the time. Each day I would start off at the end of the last sentence and just see where the story took me. The message I want to convey is about the danger of secrets in your family and the danger of letting our past define out future. While revising this book, I found myself looking at Willow, Annalisa, and Julianna as extensions of myself; prior to this revision I would have never thought I wrote about “myself” but these characters clearly work through my own unfinished business. Kimberly: Tell us about you; writing is a tedious career. Do you do anything to release the tension after sitting at your computer for hours?
PROLOGUE
Hidden In Darkness
I’ve been drugged. It’s the only sane explanation for why the floor seems to be pulsing as if it is alive. My head is heavy and I swallow, trying to keep the acid eating at my insides from rising up and singeing my throat.
I peer around the dark room and shudder as the cold creeps through the walls – its tentacles raking across my skin. I attempt to sit up, but the room rocks back and forth like a ship on a violent sea. Slamming myself against the wall, I pray the blow will drive the dizziness away.
As I straighten my body, a piercing pain runs up the length of my arms and I look down to see my wrists tied together with heavy, sharp rope. I begin to twist and turn, trying to release the knot, when a pitying laugh echoes through the room.
“Who’s there?” I cry.
A harsh voice answers. “Don’t move around too much. The drug needs time to wind itself out of your system. Just relax. You’re going to be here a while.”
The creaking of weight shifting in a chair comes from the far end of the room. I turn my body in its direction and hear heavy, thick breathing. Squinting into the shadows, I try to look at the dark figure but the effects of the drug descend again. I press my back against the wall’s sharp exposed stone and urge the pain to overtake the nausea. Once steady again, my eyes sweep the room.
Light trickles in from two small windows etched into the corner of the far wall. Faint outlines of grass outside, press against the glass. I realize I am in a basement. I search the corners for more clues. To my right, I can just make out a pile of old quilts and a wooden spinning wheel. Behind it is the burnt out remnant of an old coal stove.
Fear overrides all my senses as I recognize where I am and know that no one will ever find me. I could scream until the last gasp of air exits my lungs — no one would hear. I could claw against the mortar in the walls, but never dig myself out.
This is the perfect place to store me away. A rancid hole that will keep me hidden in darkness until they can pry the secret from my grasp.
Chapter One
Pushing Boundaries
The third step on the back stairs always gives me away. It creaks and cracks like an old man’s bones making it impossible to move with any stealth inside my century year old home. The decaying wood groans under my weight as I descend the final steps. My boots hit the floor with a distinct thud and I stop waiting to hear my father’s deep, southern drawl.
When there is only silence to greet me, I tiptoe through our small, cramped kitchen easing around the battered farmhouse table that covers most of the room. I reach up and grab my mother’s worn barn jacket off the peg next to the door. My hand slides over the Fray insignia and familiar code just beneath her name. When the tarnished handle of the back door slides into my palm, I begin to relax. I turn the knob anticipating my freedom when his voice booms from behind me.
“Going somewhere?” my father asks.
I jump and then inhale a sharp breath bracing myself for battle. When I turn, I am struck by the ever-increasing gray at his temples and the sharp downturn of his mouth. The war over whether he’ll approve my Creds to cross the boundary has been raging for weeks and it’s taking a toll on both of us.
“Just for a ride. Thought I would go the meadow,” I say hoping it’s enough of an answer to ease out the door without incident.
“Sadie,” he breathes out. “How long are you going to avoid me?”
“Until you change your mind,” I reply sharply.
His face turns hard. The look in his eyes reflect his disappointment in my inability to be the young woman he wants me to be - quiet and compliant. You would think after seventeen years he’d realize those things aren’t woven into my DNA.
“We’ve been through this,” he says pulling down on his dark beard. “The Empire is not an appropriate place for a young woman. Their moral code goes against everything you’ve been taught. The crime rate is rising every day and I can’t in good conscious let you go.”
“How am I supposed to find my way in the world if you hold me prisoner here?” I spit out unable to hold back. “If Mom was alive, she’d let me go.”
My words are like a slap to his face and he flinches as I evoke the memory of my mother. Her death the only thing that links us now in a sad camaraderie of grief.
“You will not speak to me like that,” he says. “You must follow the law and respect my decisions.”
I make every attempt to stay calm, biting my lip to contain my anger, but the wrong words jump from my mouth again before I can catch them. “Why are you treating me like a child?” I shout.
 If you want to read a sample of Amy's writing, vote in the 'comments' section of this blog post. In order for your vote to count, you must have an email subscription to the Underground. If Amy gets ten votes by next Friday (April 27th) we will post her first chapter on Underground Book Reviews. Katie here. I'd like to take a moment to introduce Amy Grossklaus. I first met Amy at the Algonkian Writer's Conference in New York and have since worked with her on Author Salon. Amy is a hard-working mom who is completing her YA Alternate History novel The Defiant. I am very excited to have her here on the Underground. Welcome Amy. Katie: You are currently finalizing your Young Adult Alternate History novel The Defiant. Tell us a little bit about the book. Amy: The Defiant tells the story of seventeen-year-old Sadie James whose southern nation is part of a divided America. Her nation, known as The Fray, has co-existed peacefully with The Empire (The North) and The Glut (The West) since just after the Civil War. But now, rebellion threatens that fragile peace. A group called The Defiant is rallying Fray citizens to fight back against their cruel and corrupt leaders who hold all the power with hopes of uniting America once more. For Sadie, rebellion is only a whispered myth until a series of mysterious and shocking events bring her face-to-face with The Defiant’s leader - someone she knows all too well. Overwhelmed by a deep sense of betrayal, Sadie fights her ties to the rebellion until she and Theo, a young rebel soldier, uncover the sinister truths of her corrupt nation. But before the Fray’s lies can be exposed, Sadie and Theo’s connection to the rebellion is discovered. In a desperate showdown, that will have deadly consequences, Sadie and Theo risk itall to protect those they love and safeguard the future of an entire nation. Katie: Alternate History is an interesting genre. What are some of the challenges of having to rewrite history in a novel like this? Amy: I think the biggest difficulty is making the “what if” scenario believable. It can’t be so over the top that your reader gets caught up in the premise and misses the core of your story. They have to believe that the world you’ve built could have been possible under different circumstances. In order to pull this off, you have to do a lot of historical research so certain real elements can be woven into your idea. Katie: I know you used to work for Ingram Book Group. What did you learn in that job that helps you now in your current pursuit of publication? Amy: I learned that the key to any successful book is getting the buy in from booksellers. A great deal of my time was spent supervising the writing and editing of the “new release” publications that went into the buyer’s hands at the bookstores. It was critical to make every book seem like the next bestseller in just a few lines and that idea taught me how to edit down my own synopsis and pitch.
 Click on the image to learn more Before
He could sense the Soul. Dios’ soul. Coming to a sudden halt, he turned and looked to his left. His eyes traced the faint shape of the far off mountains to the north in the moonlight that trickled between the fast-moving clouds. Telling which one of the many craggy peaks the brief but intense surge of power had come from was impossible, but that did not matter. Not now.
Its location and retrieval had driven him for centuries. There were times where he had wished that it was more identifiable in some way, but that would have made this little game too easy. He understood there was no way to know what form it would take or where it would be hidden. He had resigned himself to look at the arduous task of finding Dios’ soul with a modicum of levity. If he hadn’t, he would have certainly left more than just Fear in his wake.
Yet he had not traveled this far to leave now and search hundreds of miles of unfamiliar territory for the Soul. Not when he was so close to the book. While finding the Soul was his ultimate goal, retrieving the book was his current concern. Within its pages was the exact location of the container that housed the Soul and would lead him directly to it. There was no reason to rush off now, not when the prey he was currently hunting would lead him to an even greater reward in the very near future.
Returning his attentions to the silent, hard-packed dirt roads of the town and making his way toward the book, he turned his thoughts to what had brought him to this remote part of Ayallon. He still could not fathom how it had taken this long to find the book. Humans were resourceful creatures, if fundamentally stupid. Despite his overwhelming lack of faith in them achieving anything great as a race, he had to admit they were crafty and surprisingly adept at deception when they set their minds to it. But it did not matter. He was a Herald, a conduit of a god’s power.
Striding through the darkened streets and narrow alleys, he silently reprimanded himself for his lack of forward thinking. He should have known the book would be here. Not here, specifically, but here in this damned northern wilderness. When it had been discovered at the ruins, word had reached him quickly. Before arrived and secured the book, though, it had been stolen, spirited away into this endless realm of small towns, uneducated fools and a seemingly limitless supply of poorly crafted manuscripts.
Not that any of these humans seemed likely to be literate. He had watched them for three days and the majority of them appeared barely educated enough to count the gold in their pocket.
A sudden surge of anger swept over him. What use could they have for it? he thought. Stupid inbred illiterate fools. They have no idea of the gravity of what they are getting involved in! In that moment, despite knowing the importance of the book, he decided that if the vastness of the multiverse swallowed all books large and small within his next breath, too many would remain for his taste.
His ruminations over, he dissolved into the shadows and his pace quickened. He began to cover entire blocks in a single stride, no longer limited by his human form. He bounded across the town, the deep night aiding his trek, and he soon reached his destination.
The shop was small and set back from the street, the buildings on either side seeming to tower above it as their long shadows stretched across the wide avenue, dwarfing that of the shop. He pulled the cowl of his cloak over his head, protecting himself from the prying eyes of anyone following. He walked up the front steps, skipping the fourth. While he was by no means heavy, he was heavy enough to make that step creak. He reached the landing and turned to look behind him.
The whole town was asleep; if anyone was following him, they were excellently hidden. He sensed no beings in the shadows and saw no one in the light. Good. He glided through the closed front door. The luxury of being me, he thought to himself. Everything is a doorway. Or almost. Stone and metal were as impenetrable to him as they were to mortals, but that did not slow his confident stride or fluster him; as long as humans continued to use wood to hide themselves, he would continue to take advantage of them. He examined his surroundings.
The shop he had entered looked elegant, even in the dark. He could make out baubles and small, purportedly magical items hanging from the ceiling, as well as those displayed on the shelves lining the walls. Crude, unset gems were in display cases glinted in the moonlight reflecting off intricately designed mirrors that were positioned about this main room. He could see a rack of surprisingly well-crafted weapons, including swords, axes and daggers, behind the main counter.
He made his way silently toward the back of the shop. To his right was a partially open door, light bleeding out around its sides. He heard the murmur of hushed voices, but was unable to make out what they were saying. No matter. He opened the door and descended the stairs. He could have dropped through the floor, but he didn’t want the men to die of fright. Not yet. He needed information before they died. He reached the bottom of the stairs without a rustle from his cloak.
The men he sought were huddled around a table, looking at something that was obscured, speaking in low tones with their backs to the newcomer.
“We need to get rid of this now!” one of them said.
“Why would we want to do that after all the trouble that he went through to get it? He gave it to us to protect while he took care of his family,” a gray bearded man hissed.
“It’s cursed!” a young man with a long scar running up his cheek replied. “Ya were a fool ta bring it ‘ere. Now we’ll all die ‘cause of yer greed!”
“Don’t go pointing fingers at me,” the bearded man retorted. “You wanted to do this just as badly as I did. He just had the stomach to steal it. Not like the rest of you.”
“I heard Death himself comes after whoever steals from that man. Mark my words. We will all suffer for your stupidity.” This last comment came from an emaciated man who was standing in the corner, glaring at the bearded man.
“I’m not Death, but almost as good,” the stranger said, looking at the assembled men, a slight grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.
They all sprung up, some grabbing rusty swords, others chipped daggers. “Oy,” the scarred man said. “Oo are you?”
“Who I am is of no concern to you,” the stranger replied coolly. “But if you’re worried about something as trivial as a name, call me Dairamu.” He flicked a piece of dirt from his shoulder. “I see some of you are confused. Let me clarify: I am a Herald, one of the Bringers of the End. You have something of mine. Give it to me.”
No one moved, for reasons varying from fright to defiance.
 If you want to read a sample of Luke's writing, vote in the 'comments' section of this blog post. In order for your vote to count, you must have an email subscription to the Underground. If Luke gets ten votes by next Friday (April 6th) we will post his first chapter on Underground Book Reviews.A few months ago I met Lucas Rosen at the Algonkian Pitch Conference in New York City and immediately we hit it off. We were two of a handful of epic, non-YA fantasy writers present at the conference. I was immediately impressed with his ideas, dedication, and serious approach to his craft. I’m glad he took me up on my offer to appear here in the Underground. Lucas, who goes by Luke, is a twenty-two year old graduate from the University of Massachusetts at Amherst who works in pre-elementary education and coaches basketball on Saturdays. His breakout novel is called Soul of a God, which he is presently marketing. If you are an agent or publisher you can view his profile and query at Author Salon. BRIAN: Luke, tell our readers a little about your book, Soul of a God. LUKE: Soul of a God is the first book in the God Soul Trilogy. The basic plot of Soul of a God revolves around the search for the soul of Dios, the god of creation, which has been lost since the creation of the universe. Our hero is Kaj, a young monk who has spent the first twenty years of his life focused solely on his training and studies. What makes Kaj different from ordinary monks are the mystical tattoos that adorn his body and grant him great magical power. It’s during the final stages of training to master this power that Kaj’s world is ripped apart by tragedy. At the start of the book, he knows nothing about the Soul of Dios, save for the legends and stories that speak of its existence. But as he leaves his home and journeys for answers, the forces of evil begin to present themselves and he realizes that it may not be just a legend. Companions gather about him as peril increases and soon Kaj is forced to face a problem that has been plaguing him since the start of their journey: can he overcome his fear of failure and inadequacy, or will he let the greatest loss in his life come to define who he is? BRIAN: What was you inspiration for this story idea?
 Click here to learn more CHAPTER ONE
Late April, a Wednesday
Lou must really hate herself to be up this early. Or really love Dev. But right now, before her first cup of coffee, she was going with hate. How did Harley do it every morning? Four a.m. worked well as a bedtime, as a harbinger of good memories made, not as a reasonable start time to a day. Lou yawned as she studied Harley between the shiny shelving separating his domain from the rest of the kitchen.
Why couldn't he go to the bathroom for a few minutes? That's all she needed. She could see the amber apothecary bottle on the shelf a few feet away. Lou took a step closer, watching Harley's back. She looked around the quiet kitchen, squinting at the glare of fluorescent lights off stainless steel. The whirr and snick of Harley's mixer kneading bread dough broke the silence. Another step. Another step. She reached her hand toward it. Just a few more inches. Almost there. She would take what she needed then put it right back. He'd never know. Just an inch more.
 If you want to read a sample of Amy's writing, vote in the 'comments' section of this blog post. In order for your vote to count, you must have an email subscription to the Underground. If Amy gets ten votes by next Friday (March 16th) we will post her first chapter on Underground Book Reviews.
While Amy Guertin Reichert delivered her overview at the Algonkian Pitch Conference, I thought Meg Ryan . . . no . . . Cameron Diaz could play Lou with Matthew Mcconaughey cast as Al when the movie rights to The Cake Effectare sold. Who doesn’t appreciate a modern day fairytale where boy meets girl, they fall in love and then the trouble begins? With her contagious smile, Amy is the epitome of someone who just plain enjoys life; whether deep into writing the next chapter of her book or just sitting around ‘shooting the breeze.’ It is with pleasure to introduce this fresh, new author to the Underground. Welcome Amy! Kimberly: Tell us what your book is about. Ms. Reichert: The Cake Effect is about Lou, a talented chef in Milwaukee, struggling to keep her small French restaurant in the black. After one disastrous day in which she loses her fiancé, almost poisons a customer, and destroys a perfectly good coconut cake, she pulls it back together, focusing on her restaurant until it receives a deadly review by a local food critic. Said local food critic, Al, hates Milwaukee. His only goals are to earn enough success to get a column in a "real" city, survive food poisoning from the French restaurant he just reviewed, and escape Milwaukee's erratic weather. To celebrate his brilliantly snarky critique, Al goes to a local pub where he meets the charming and very drunk Lou, the chef he unknowingly just skewered. Not knowing Al's secret identity and needing an escape from her crumbling life, Lou accepts Al's challenge to show him what makes Milwaukee so great, with the agreement they NEVER discuss work. During their non-dates exploring the city's treasures, their friendship and attraction grows along with Al's affection for Milwaukee's unique personality. When Al discovers his review destroyed Lou's restaurant, he scrambles to hide his identity knowing Lou would never forgive him and he'd lose her forever. Kimberly: Did the premise of your book stem from a personal experience? I know you love to cook. Ms. Reichert: It started several years ago while listening to the weather for the Milwaukee area. A common phrase in our area is “Cooler Near the Lake”. I thought that would make a great title for a book (even though I have an even better one now). From there, I started thinking about the type of story (something with a happy ending and love), the characters, etc… I wanted it to be a love story about Milwaukee too. After reading a great book about restaurant criticism called Dining Out, I decided I wanted one of my characters to be a critic. The rest snowballed from there. Kimberly: Since we first met at the conference last December, have you been searching for an agent to represent your work? Ms. Reichert: Absolutely. I’ve revised my manuscript a few times since the conference, the first chapter especially. I’ve queried several agents, and have a list of many more to try. Kimberly: Have you always wanted to be a writer? Ms. Reichert: No, but I’ve always read voraciously and told myself stories. It wasn’t until a few years ago I tried to write them down. Since then, I can’t stop the ideas. I really enjoy the entire process, from sketching out the plot to revising. Kimberly: Do you have a set schedule where you sit down and write ‘x’ amount of time every day? Ms. Reichert: In theory, yes, but in practice I’m not nearly as consistent. I’m researching for Book 2 right now, so I haven’t found that balance between writing and research. I do blog weekly, so that forces me to write something each week. When I was in the midst of writing The Cake Effect, I was very good at working a few hours during the day, then several hours after the kids went to bed. I hope to get back to that schedule soon. Kimberly: Tell us about Amy. Ms. Reichert: I’m a bit of a cliché. I used to work as a technical writer, but quit to stay home with the kids. Now that they are both in school, I’m looking for my next career. I’m fortunate I don’t have to make money at writing and I can focus on becoming better.
 AUTHOR BIO Yvonne Lieblein’s debut novel, The Wheelhouse Café, was inspired by songs and stories her husband, Josh Horton, shared about years he spent as an ocean-going tugboat captain and musician. A musical soundtrack accompanies the book.If you enjoy this chapter, you can find Yvonne Lieblein at http://www.yvonnelieblein.com/
The Wheelhouse Cafe
Prologue - Captain John Raymond
Thursday, May 13, 1993
Sometimes there’s no difference between sea and sky. Gray meets gray at the horizon, a maddening backdrop for an endless tow. On the day Billy died, I was grateful for the bland seascape that surrounded the Alanna Rose as she motored across Long Island Sound, not wanting the sky to give the waves any reason to sparkle.
It didn’t help that I heard about Billy from a faceless voice over the VHF radio. It was the disconnected way I found out about everything out on the tug. Usually, I would imagine every sentence suspended in mid-air before it dissolved into the next one. But that morning, each word landed with a splat on the gray metal floor of the wheelhouse.
I forgot Little Hal was standing nearby until he put his hands on the wheel and nudged me aside, “Is the Billy on the Dacy they’re talking about your friend Billy?”
“Yeah, it’s Billy. Billy Mickelson,” I said, clenching and unclenching my fists to loosen up my cramped hands. How long had I been clutching the wheel like my life depended on it?
Little Hal picked up his plastic New York Mets cup without shifting his eyes and took a big sip of his latest obsession, Fanta Orange. Gray curls sprung out from under the Mets cap that never left his head, and he wore his usual uniform, putty-colored Carhartts and a faded red and black buffalo-check flannel. Little Hal was anything but little. He had a tall, wide, don’t-fuck-with-me build and was a pro at bobbing and weaving to navigate around the Alanna Rose without smacking his head.
In spite of his massive presence, Little Hal still managed to give me space in the wheelhouse. Most of the time I was there alone, but once in awhile someone would come up and annoy the living shit out of me. Little Hal, he knew how to be quiet. He didn’t rush to fill the silence with stories about a girlfriend’s ladybug tattoo or wax poetic about some vodka-induced fiasco.
| |  Click here to learn more about the Emerging Author Series | We are proud to invite Yvonne Lieblein to the Underground for our second Emerging Author post. Yvonne is a writer en route to finding a publisher for The Wheelhouse Café, her novel with a musical soundtrack. She shares poetry via her website, www.theversevault.com, and recently launched a blog, www.yvonnelieblein.com. Today, Yvonne will be conducting a series of interviews with an emerging e-publishing company. At the end of this post, we will include the pitch that Yvonne gave to editors at the Algonkian Pitch Conference. If you enjoy Yvonne's writing and want to read a sample of her novel (and a clip of the soundtrack), please vote for her in the 'comments' section of this blog post. In order for your vote to count, you must have an email subscription to the Underground.
Guest Post by Yvonne Lieblein
“Leap, and the net will appear.”
A neon flash of this John Burroughs quote kept coming to mind as I interviewed Cerro Chato Publishing founder John Nicosia and the authors of his company’s first two releases, Michael Kirkbride {Deep Scratch in the Vinyl – Nov. 2011} and Jason Hefter {Hump Day – Feb. 2012}.
Sure, neon is an unlikely way to envision words of wisdom from a literary naturalist, but the juxtaposition of down-to-earth and modern is apropos when it comes to these three recent additions to the literary landscape. Each has taken a leap, veering off their respective career paths to venture into new territory. And now, fueled by a shared belief that publishers and writers can actually work as a team, they’re creating books for an audience they know exists.
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