Wednesday, December 23, 2015

"Annabeth Neverending" by Leyla Kader Dahm

Annabeth Neverending
by Leyla Kader Dahm

Annabeth Neverending is currently on tour with Bewitching Book Tours. The tour stops here today for a guest post by the author, an excerpt, and a giveaway. Please be sure to visit the other tour stops as well.

At first, teenager Annabeth Prescott thinks she’s found quite a deal when she talks down the price of an ankh pendant she discovers at a flea market. She soon wonders if the bauble is more than she's bargained for when she faints and glimpses images from a past life in ancient Egypt.
The discovery coincides with another new find: Gabriel, a handsome young man who takes an interest in her. When she meets his twin brother C. J. at a Halloween party, she realizes they look exactly like two boys who figure prominently into her memories.
Does C. J. share the heroic qualities held by his past incarnation Sethe, her bodyguard when she was Princess Ana? Does Gabriel possess the same evil powers he wielded as Kha, the black sorcerer who sought her affection?
Love meets the supernatural in this gripping young adult paranormal romance. Readers with an interest in reincarnation, as well as ancient Egypt, will be drawn to its mystical mixture of history and hesitation as Annabeth sways between the two brothers.
Will her reincarnated soulmate win out? Or will Kha finally find the way to her heart?

Chapter One
Mrs. Lansing pulls her SUV into the dusty, unpaved lot, which is located behind two antique malls. I exit and unload her trunk, suppressing a groan as I hoist a heavy cardboard box and set it carefully on the dirt.
I take in the ramshackle affair. I’ve heard that the flea market is a popular meeting place for bargain hunters and collectors, and it looks as strange as its name sounds. There are rows of rickety wooden tables, and it’s surprising that none of them buckle from the sheer number of goods they hold.
“This is the Arundel Flea Market. It’s the hub of Maine’s secondhand economy,” explains my elderly neighbor, who now doubles as my boss and triples as my tour guide.
As we make our way through the helter-skelter maze of booths, the buzz of negotiation can be heard coming from every direction. I drag along the cart of wares, but stop when I’m seized by a sneezing fit, courtesy of free-floating dust and mold. When Mrs. Lansing offers me a handkerchief instead of a Kleenex, I’m made acutely aware of the fact that I’ve entered a new…er, different world.
Mrs. Lansing’s stooped over just low enough that her poor posture has probably cost her a couple of inches, but that doesn’t slow her down. She shuffles toward a vacant table nestled under the welcoming shade of a chalky-white birch tree.
Seeing that she’s claimed a prime spot, I follow her lead by setting out everything from orphan candlesticks to shell cameos to tin wind-up toys. Then, Mrs. Lansing adds a few eccentric items like yellowed tarot cards and an iridescent crystal ball to the collection.
“What’s the deal with this?” I ask while turning over the fortune-telling device.
“It reeks of mystery and the supernatural, which I love. Besides, the weird stuff always sells,” explains Mrs. Lansing, her eyes twinkling.
“So, who usually comes here?”
“Most of the sellers are serious dealers, but there are also everyday folk looking to earn extra cash. Usually by cleaning out their musty attics or basements.”
“I’ve never sold anything before. Not even girl scout cookies,” I admit.
“You’ll get the hang of it. Why don’t we try some role-playing?”
Mrs. Lansing lays down a parchment document with what looks to be a children’s book illustration of an old masted ship. This is something I’ve seen before. Many times. It’s a Mayflower Society certificate.
“My mom’s a member, you know.”
“Now that’s a great angle. The certificate’s going to be passed, in a manner of speaking, from one Pilgrim descendant to another,” states Mrs. Lansing, her voice crackling with wear.
“I’m not a blood descendant. I was adopted, remember?” I gently remind her.
She looks ruffled. Of course, the subject makes everyone feel awkward, especially me.
“Oh, that’s right. I’m so sorry. My mind isn’t the steel trap it once was.”
I shrug it off, not wanting her to feel bad when it’s a common slipup, and we engage in a marathon training session as we try to sell her product that goes on for hours and hours. In addition to the finer points of salesmanship, she fills me in on all the vital information I need to know regarding the current stock and teaches me how to handle the money that comes in.
While learning how to work the old-school cash register, my friend Bernadette, wearing a floppy straw hat and oversized sunglasses, steps up to the stand. She looks over the merchandise, with a mouth that’s either puckered in interest or disgust—I’m not sure which.
“Can I wait on this person I’ve never seen before?”
Mrs. Lansing nods and crosses her arms while standing back to observe my efforts.
“Miss, are you looking for anything in particular?” I ask in my most professional tone.
“Not sure if you noticed…all these things are used but still expensive,” Bernadette states, as though she’d doing me a favor by educating me.
“They’re antiques.”
“In that case, I’ll take none of everything.”
My lips tighten in displeasure.
“You sure about that?” I ask.
Mrs. Lansing chuckles.
“Annabeth Prescott, I’m impressed. Not every new employee cons a friend into acting like a fake customer,” she says with a smile so wide I can see all her dentures.
“You recognized me?” asks Bernadette, sounding genuinely puzzled. She pulls off her hat and glasses, revealing her delicate Asian features.
I sigh, disappointed that my plan failed so wretchedly. I should’ve figured that Bernadette could never fully disguise her…Bernadetteness.
“Shocking, I know. But it does show that you really care about this job, dear,” Mrs. Lansing says, before jotting something in her inventory log.
“Well, I better get back to work. Thanks for coming. Don’t forget to make a purchase before you go,” I say loudly and somewhat pathetically.
“I don’t think so.”
“If you don’t buy something from me, who will?”
“Excellent question,” she agrees.
“Please?” I ask, eyes pleading.
“Begging. Interesting strategy,” Mrs. Lansing says, pretending to mull it over.
“No offense, but I’m heading to the Kittery Outlets. Later!” Bernadette cries as she scurries off.
“Don’t worry. My associate, Gabriel, will help you refine your sales technique. He’s the master.”
I gaze around and notice an elderly army of gray-and-blue hairs surrounds me. I’m the youngest person manning a table by a long shot.
“So he’s…older, huh?” I ask.
“Yes, you could say that. Of course, everyone seems like a baby to me. Now, let me give you some details about this Bakelite phone.”
I scan my surroundings some more and shake my head in hopes of clearing it. My waning attention must be obvious.
“All right, I’ve been doling out a lot of information. Why don’t you take a break? Walk around the market; get an idea of what the others have for sale? We can pick this up when you get back.”
“OK, but when I do, give me your worst piece of merchandise, and I’ll unload it,” I say with false confidence, hoping to salvage things.
“That’s the spirit!”
I peruse the market, and a strange sense of stillness falls. Brass wind chimes break the silence, eerily clinging and clanging as I wind my way through the many stands. I keep passing one table in particular. Though nothing interests me at first, I repeatedly find my way back to it despite myself. It’s as though I’m on autopilot.
I dig in and pick up a broken tassel necklace, which is entangled with several others. While trying to pry them apart, I knock to the ground a box chain holding a pendant. They’re both caked with grime. I bend down and grab the necklace. I look over the charm, which is roughly three inches long and resembles a cross with a loop on top.
My hands tremble. The wind whips through my hair and whistles in my ears. Are the northeastern breezes whispering to buy it?
I give the piece to the table’s merchant, a middle-aged Mainer in a threadbare brown overcoat and scuffed L.L.Bean rain boots. He turns it over in his stubby, chapped fingers.
“How much is this?” I ask nonchalantly, trying to hide just how much I want it.
“Uh, twenty dollars oughta do it,” he says, in a regional accent so thick it sounds like he has a speech impediment.
“Twenty? That’s kind of steep…I really shouldn’t…” I grumble sadly.
I gleefully run toward Mrs. Lansing, hardly able to contain my excitement. But I manage to rein it in. Which is hard because I suspect that I’ve achieved a tiny triumph.
“Wait till you see what I bought!”
“I thought the point of this job was to make money, not spend it,” she replies tauntingly.
“I know, I know. But you’ll be happy to know that I totally haggled. And this seems…special.”
I give over the encrusted ornament to Mrs. Lansing, who offers to clean the piece. She takes out a cloth and some jewelry cleanser and polishes the necklace in a flash.
“This shape is an ankh. It’s an ancient Egyptian symbol.”
“Do you know what it means?” I ask, curiosity seeping in.
“I believe it represents some sort of key.”
Now that it’s been spiffed up, Mrs. Lansing and I admire my find, which sparkles in the muted autumn sun.
“Is it real gold?” I wonder aloud.
“I’d say so. In fact, this is the darkest, most beautiful gold I’ve ever seen. Just enough alloy was added to the precious metal to make it durable while maintaining its warmth of color. What did you pay for this?”
“Ten dollars.”
“Looks like somebody’s a born negotiator,” Mrs. Lansing states, with a hint of pride. “You got quite a bargain, kiddo.”
I take the ankh back into my possession and caress its cool, smooth surface. I feel everything around me go topsy-turvy, upside down and inside out…
I’m enveloped by heat stronger and more intense than any I’ve experienced before. Drops of perspiration tickle my skin as they run underneath my flowing linen gown. I feel arms clasping a chain behind my neck. My hands fly up to find the ankh resting on my collarbone, but I didn’t move them there. It’s as though I’m a mere observer, instead of a participant, when it comes to this body’s actions.
The man who has just bestowed the necklace upon me pulls away, and I’m allowed a good look at him. He’s a hideous fellow with bulging eyes, a hooked nose, and a shock of bright-red hair that peeks out from underneath a black-and-white headdress. His outfit, the way he has about him, makes him seem important. Is he a pharaoh?
He grins, semitoothlessly, and I feel myself smiling in return.
“This is all for you, to commemorate your sixteenth year, your entry into womanhood,” says the probable monarch.
“My gratitude runs as deep as the Nile,” I reply, in a voice that is not my own, in a language that is not my own, and yet I know exactly what I’m saying.
The man, who’s wearing a tunic covered with fringe, motions to a procession of beautiful objects, the likes of which I never could have imagined. Priceless treasures zoom past, carried by servants wearing loose shift dresses and stiff black wigs. Elaborately carved pieces of ivory and ebony furniture, lion and leopard skins, gem-encrusted gold jewelry in the shape of beetles and butterflies, and granite statues of animal-faced men and women are all presented to me individually. Clearly, these are gifts for a very privileged young lady. What I wouldn’t give to own them myself.
Another Egyptian, a young man who is ostensibly a prince, looks to be seething with anger. His arms are crossed, his face set in a scowl. He watches on in disgust as the gifts continue to appear.
“This show of generosity shall stir jealousy in her sisters,” he states venomously.
“I reserve the right to spoil my favorite daughter as I see fit,” replies the suspected ruler.
And now, the last offering, the one with the place of honor at the end of the parade, is finally brought before me.
A boy! Or is he a man?
“This prisoner of war is such a fine specimen, he would be wasted as a lowly house slave. He shall serve as your bodyguard,” announces the intimidating ruler.
“His name is Sethe.”
The captive has shackles on his hands and feet. I can even make out a brand upon his chest. It seems as though it’s still scarring over, which is understandable, since he was not born into slavery. Regardless, he looks like somebody who has done nothing but labor in the sun. His skin is bronzed, and his muscles are impossibly defined. He seems reluctant to look at me.
Finally, his gaze meets mine. I’m at a distance, yet I can still make out the flecks of gold that dapple his hazel eyes. For a blissful moment, I’m lost in them, swimming in their beauty, floating in their comfort.
I come to amid a background of concerned chatter and find myself surrounded by a crowd of curious onlookers…and a strange boy. His muscular arms are holding me tight, making sure I don’t RSVP to the gravel’s invitation. He’s impossibly good looking, with the palest-possible blue eyes and the darkest-possible black hair.
He couldn’t be less like the slave in my…hallucination?…but he’s just as handsome. Not like it’s a contest.
“You passed out. Good thing I was here to catch you,” says my hero, while wagging a pair of thick brows.

Praise for the Book
"I loved how the author Leyla Kader Dahm integrated historically accurate facts into her story. I thought it added a layer of depth to a great young adult romance." ~ Book Briefs
"Fun AND Educational. I LOVED this book! It wove true historical facts about Ancient Egypt into a fun and exciting storyline. It held my attention from start to finish and I felt like I learned a lot from it. READ IT!" ~ Amazon Customer
"Very entertaining. I really enjoyed it. Well written and a good page turner." ~ D. Herubin

Guest Post by the Author
My Inspriation:
Somewhere in Time and My Real-Life Soulmate
I’ve been kicking around the core idea for Annabeth Neverending for years. I can’t tell you how it came to me, exactly - or just when the lightning struck - but I’ve been turning it over in my mind for, well, forever. I’ve always been obsessed with stories that combine time travel and romance (Jack Finney’s Time and Again and Karl Alexander’s Time after Time being prime examples). But for me, the finest member of that subgenre is Richard Matheson’s Bid Time Return, which was adapted into one of the greatest cinematic love stories ever known, Somewhere in Time.

Jane Seymour and Christopher Reeve in Somewhere in Time

Now, Somewhere in Time was released in 1980, and that year, there was a SAG strike. Which means that the film’s stars weren’t allowed to attend the premiere at the movie’s main location, Mackinac Island. So it was just my luck (or was it fate?) that in the year 2000, for the film’s 20th anniversary, Universal decided to stage a special premiere that would finally allow the stars, Christopher Reeve, Jane Seymour, and Christopher Plummer, to celebrate SIT with an audience. In New York City. Which was where I happened to be living at the time.
I had no clue that such an event was occurring until a friend of mine who worked at Talk Magazine generously gave me her invite. She recalled that I was obsessed with SIT and that this was the chance of lifetime for a fan such as myself. My boss, a lit and talent manager, kindly allowed me to leave work early so I could attend. I saw the film for what was probably the 30th time, but this was the first time I watched it with the stars! Obviously, the story got under my skin. The idea that you could meet your soulmate - somebody you connect with so strongly that death isn’t enough to keep you apart - resonated with me.
Though I knew nothing of such things from experience … until a few months later. At work, I often found myself talking to one client for much longer than necessary. I really liked his deep, friendly voice (I’d never met him in person). But we clicked. I was well aware of the fact that Richard, a former writer for The Onion, had grown up in Wisconsin. One day, I asked him what city he was from, and he said, "Waukesha". Well, that seemed crazy, because I’m from Waukesha as well. As it turned out, Richard and I both went to the same high school, the same middle school, and grew up three miles away from each other (but we’d never met because of an age gap). Perfect as it seemed, there was one catch: he lived in LA.
This was long before the days of Skype. So we exchanged pictures, and that’s all we had to go by. He certainly appeared to be very attractive, but it’s hard to tell from a photo. Though at that point, I wouldn’t have cared what he looked like. We talked on the phone constantly, running up insane long-distance bills. Finally, Richard informed me that he was flying to New York City to meet me. This was just before 9-11, when it was possible to actually wait for somebody inside the gate at the airport. Well, that’s where I first met my husband - in person. When he entered the waiting area and took my hand …

Just for Fun
Who is your soulmate? Find out here.

About the Author
Leyla Kader Dahm popped popcorn and dreamt of a career in show business when working in a movie theater while in high school. The small-town Midwestern girl went another route and studied communications at Carroll College and Cornell University, but still found herself drawn to the big screen when a temp agency placed her in a production and development gig at Miramax/Dimension Films.
Dahm went on to work as a script consultant for numerous production companies. She appeared in the acclaimed spoken word show Sit ‘N Spin and had her comedy feature spec, Due North, optioned by Michael Levy Enterprises. She sold her pitch, Survival Instinct, to Nickelodeon Original Movies. Dahm lives with her husband, sitcom writer Richard Dahm, and her children in Los Angeles.

Enter the tour-wide giveaway for a chance to win one of five signed paperback copies of Annabeth Neverending by Leyla Kader Dahm.


Tuesday, December 22, 2015

"The V Girl" by Mya Robarts

The V Girl
by Mya Robarts

The V Girl is currently on tour with Bewitching Book Tours. The tour stops here today for my interview with the author, an excerpt, and a giveaway. Please be sure to visit the other tour stops as well.

In post-apocalyptic North America, rape and sexual slavery are legal. Lila Velez, desperately wants to lose her virginity before the troops visit her town, and can take it away by force. She makes plans to seduce her only friend, Rey, the most attractive man in her town. Lila does not love him, but he is the only man who has shown her true affection, an affection she is willing to take as a substitute of love.
Lila’s coping mechanism to her mother’s violent attack is her secret. A secret that will bring her closer to Aleksey Fürst, a foreign, broody man that she distrusts because his links to the troops and his rough, yet irresistible appearance. He offers Lila an alternative to her plans, a possibility that terrifies her … and tempts her in spite of herself.
All the while Lila will have to find a way to live in the constant company of death, slavery, starvation, sexual abuse and the danger of losing the people she loves the most.
Note: Due to strong language, violent scenes and sexual content, this book is not intended for readers under the age of 18.

Just then I hear sounds above the current noise. Steps on the river beach. I’m barely armed not to mention undressed and unprepared. My razors might keep Starville peeping toms at bay, but they’ll be useless against soldiers.
I hear steps approaching and I wade away. In no time I find myself far from where I left my clothes. My best chance to safely get out of this situation is to avoid a fight. I can remain hidden if I move to the other side of the river behind the rocks. If soldiers see me so vulnerable and naked, I’m doomed.
I need to hurry. I have to head home soon and make sure my dad and siblings are safe.
The steps sound like they come from only one person but I can’t be sure. As they sound closer, I notice they come from my right.
I don’t know what I’m more afraid of: the intruder being an armed soldier or the fact of being caught so exposed.
Trying to not splash attract attention, I put distance between me and the steps. Hiding behind some bushes and rocks, I submerge myself, leaving only my head above the water line.
I stand still. Several minutes pass and I hear nothing. When I consider it safe to leave my hiding place, I swim, splashing as little as I can.
Then I notice something that makes my heart skip a beat.
I’m not the only person here.  There’s someone else treading the water.  I can’t see how many people are around, but I can hear as someone else splashes.
A feel of panic rushes hot through my veins.
I’m surprised no one’s attacked me yet.  Haven’t they seen me? Does the splashing come from Starvillers hiding from the shots as well?
For a moment there’s only silence. Then another shot startles me and I fight my body to keep calm. I swim as fast as I can, not caring about silence anymore. Better to put distance between myself and my possible enemies.  The water and the current make my escape slow. I reach a point where the water is only at my knees and I’m hiding behind a trunk.
Then I see him.
A young man, so tall and built that for a moment, I think he’s Sasquatch minus the fur. The water only covers him around the thighs. No one in Starville, not even Rey, is so big or built. His strong muscles reveal years of military training and hint at the drug use that makes Patriot soldiers so inhumanly tall and big. Wet strands of sandy blond hair run down his broad shoulders. A tattoo on his back tells me he has been in combat and is to be respected. A soldier! Something tells me he’s alone.
My stomach clenches in panic. I’m terrified of Patriot soldiers. They are sadistic giants and killing machines. The tonics they take to build their muscles and stature make them extremely dangerous and violent. And horny.
I lose sight of him for a moment. He emerges in a different spot where the water is deeper. He is so tall, the water covers only up his waist while he’s standing. He must be at least seven feet tall. When he moves I can see his most private areas. Every part of him is enormous.
He’s in the very spot I left my clothes. I could wait for him to go, but what if others come to join him? What if they plan to camp here? I want to go home to check on my dad and the twins. The possibility of being discovered with no one to witness when he rapes me makes the hairs on the back of my neck prick. I won’t wait for the coast to be clear, risking discovery and gang rape.
He doesn’t seem to be in attack mode. The soldier is inclined and rubbing foam around his huge torso. He is bathing! I suspect he has a good reason to be unbothered by the shots. If he’s not startled, it’s likely whoever’s making the racket will take his side.
Suppressing the fear that runs through my veins, I force my mind to remain focused. For a moment, I consider attacking him while he’s so naked and defenseless. I’ve been practicing knife throwing with my rebel group. But I’m still learning and suck at it. I rarely hit the target. Besides, Sasquatch’s nakedness and apparent relaxed behavior are deceiving.  I’m armed while bathing, so he probably is too. What if he alerts his companions?
I don’t stand a chance fighting against a trained unit of steroid-injected soldiers. At this moment my only advantage is my knowledge of the hiding places of this river. And stealth. I can do stealth.
He’s blocking the only way to get my clothes and the safer spot to get out of the river.  There’s a gargantuan rock behind him that reaches not far from where I’m hiding. If I could climb it unseen, I could get back my clothes and escape. The only other option is to swim to the other side, where the current is too strong.
The soldier submerges frequently and emerges several minutes after. I pay attention to the soldier’s face.  He looks extremely sad.  Sadness isn’t an emotion I associate with soldiers.
When he rubs his face with foam and closes his eyes, I silently approach the low part of the current and climb the rock. I’m still naked and holding a knife awkwardly. If I can pass him, I’ll hide on the other side and then dress completely unnoticed.
I put my foot on the base of the rock. The water has made it smooth and slippery. There are few places to put my fingers and climb on. But I manage to climb my way up.
When I’m almost at the top, I toss my knife over the rock to free my hands. From here I can confirm the soldier is by himself.
Sasquatch is back under the water now and hasn’t resurfaced for a while. In spite of the danger, I’m impressed. He has lung capacity.
The higher I climb, the less visible I become to him. He finally emerges to take air, but I hide until he goes back under.
I’m close to my goal when my feet become slippery traitors.
I fall to the water below me.
Butt first. Straight toward the soldier’s head.

Praise for the Book
"The V Girl is about changing your own destiny, fighting for your rights, falling in love in such desperate times and what it means to be human. It's dark, unique and addictive. I demand more, Mya!" ~ Erin Plaice
"The V Girl by Mya Robarts is a riveting debut that explores a unique and at times difficult concept in an entertaining and fast paced read that will tug a your emotions and leave you wanting the next chapter as soon as possible." ~ Rachel @ The Rest Is Still Unwritten
"I found all of the characters to be quite well developed, and Lila was both complex and entertaining. The story is compelling, even though there are scenes that had me cringing, and quite a few surprises along the way." ~ Kitty Smith
"Mya Roberts has written a dark and riveting story. It is a true page turner as the characters and story are so well-written you will find yourself lost in this world she has created. The story-line is very different from the normal dystopian future novels." ~ Sarah Elle
"I could not put this book down. I read it without taking a break, staying up too late to finish it. It was an engrossing, original and at times, heart breaking story." ~ Justirishgirl

Interview with the Author
Mya Robarts joins me today to discuss her book, The V Girl.
Hi Lynda! Thank you for having me. I’ve been a fan of your blog since you hosted my cover reveal.
Thanks, Mya! For what age group do you recommend your book?
At least eighteen years old. The V Girl is a sex driven book that portrays violence and romance in a disturbing manner.
What sparked the idea for this book?
I was doing research for a historical novel and in the process I found thousands of testimonies of mass rape during armed conflicts. Throughout history, women have made provisions during war to avoid rape. In countries that have long histories of armed conflicts, women seem to be expecting sexual assault as part of their life and in a way accepting that there’s no way to stop soldiers when they are determined to commit sexual crimes. I thought that facing that prospect, young girls’ provisions might include having intimacy with a guy of their choice.
So, which comes first? The character's story or the idea for the novel?
Both. Lila Velez didn’t have a name when the idea sparked, but she was a part of the creative process. The idea that a young girl would be curious about sex and determined to have it on her own terms when everything else is out of her control was an idea that I thought deserved a book.
What was the hardest part to write in this book?
Knowing that war-rape is something that is happening around the world as we speak, and giving names, faces, and personalities to the victims of similar cruelty is unnerving. Getting to love the characters and then write their suffering. I like to write to escape from the harshest realities of real life and while writing the book, I was unable to escape that world, that level of darkness, that lack of humanity. The romantic arc was what kept me writing, it gave the book a sense of hope.
How do you hope this book affects its readers?
I want the book to disturb the readers, but at the same time I aimed to convey the idea that love and hope can prevail during the darkest times.
How long did it take you to write this book?
More than a year.
What is your writing routine?
I have ADD so sticking to a routine is extremely difficult for me. There’s no constant when it comes to my writing. There are days when I pay enough attention to create outlines and write entire chapters, but more often than not, I can’t bring myself to stay focused.
How did you get your book published?
At first, the book appeared on a mailing list devoted to arts. It gained some followers who suggested publishing the story on Wattpad, and then my Wattpad readers asked me to publish on the Kindle store.
What advice do you have for someone who would like to become a published writer?
Write for fun and don’t give up. This isn’t a sprint, it’s a marathon. Whether you’re sending query letters to agents or you’re starting the road to self-publishing, you have to feel passionate about your ideas because the road is full of obstacles and the likelihood of failure is way bigger than the likelihood of commercial success. If you write for fun, who is to say that you fail as long as you enjoy it?
Great advice, Mya. What do you like to do when you're not writing?
I love watching movies. I also love to go to contemporary dance performances.
What does your family think of your writing?
They always praise my ideas and say that they’re unique, but they’re my family what else they could say?
I'm sure they mean it! Please tell us a bit about your childhood.
I was a well-behaved girl, but I never paid attention in class. My body was there but my mind was somewhere else. I was constantly losing money, school supplies, and other things because I kept forgetting where I put them, which drove my grade school teachers nuts. Back then ADD wasn’t easily diagnosed and they assumed I wasn’t really trying to concentrate.
Did you like reading when you were a child?
Yes. At 6 years old I could read aloud as if I was an adult. My grandfather’s house was full of books, magazines and comics. I became more interested in reading adult literature, and it wasn’t until many years later that I read Harry Potter and started to get interested in children’s books.
When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?
I was ten years old.
Did your childhood experiences influence your writing?
I was molested on two separate occasions in two places that were supposed to be secure environments: home and school. On both occasions, my attackers were children themselves, eleven and thirteen years old. Those experiences made me doubt the institutions that are supposed to protect young people and the cliché of sexually unaware children. The inability of adults to protect young people is a recurrent theme in my writing.
Sorry to hear that, Mya. I'm glad you were able to take something positive out of the experience. Which writers have influenced you the most?
Do you hear from your readers much? What kinds of things do they say?
They usually ask about Aleksey Fürst, the hero of The V Girl, and came up with a "ship" name: Lileksey. I was so happy when I found out they were so involved with the couple.
What can we look forward to from you in the future?
I’m working on several books set on the second civil war because the social setting is intricate and I didn’t dwell on it when I wrote The V Girl. I hope to publish at least one of these stories in 2016 and, with a little luck, my first contemporary romance will see the light soon.
Thank you for taking the time to stop by today, Mya. Best of luck with your future projects.
Thank you, Lynda. I wish you the best.

About the Author
Mya Robarts is a bookaholic who regrets nothing.
She spent years trying to become a contemporary dance choreographer. Eventually she realized that she enjoyed writing her stories rather than dancing to them.
Robarts is obsessed with books that present damaged characters, swoon-worthy guys, controversial topics and happy endings.

Enter the tour-wide giveaway for a chance to one of two $15 Amazon gift cards (open internationally).