Everything begins TODAY!

entertainmentweekly calls Everything, Everything by nicolayoon “fresh, moving” and Bustle.com raves it’s “vibrant, thrilling…bound to be an instant hit.” 


anonymous asked:

What's the difference between YA and new adult fiction?

Young Adult (YA) is aimed towards the age group of pre-teens, teens, and young adults. So anywhere from say 12-18 years old. Plenty of people read YA books even though they are not young adults. YA isn’t a genre but an age bracket. It’s marketed towards the demographics I mentioned previously but also the characters in YA novels are normally between the ages of 12 and 19 which is why a lot of teens read them because they are able to relate. 

New Adult (NA) is similar to YA in terms of it being marketed and aimed towards certain readers. The age range for New Adult novels are normally between 18-28 years old. NA books normally deal with entering college or the work force. They also have the tendency to be more sexually explicate in content, meaning there is sex in the book. It’s normally more graphic then YA novels but really it all depends on the book. This bracket was created because a lot of readers weren’t able to connect to YA anymore but they also couldn’t relate to a 40 year old divorced mother of two which is often portrayed in Adult novels. 

I hope that clears things up!

Christmas is coming early to Embassy Row!

Yes. The rumors are true! The official pub date of See How They Run is now December 22nd, 2015–almost a full month earlier than expected!

We are that excited to bring you the next Embassy Row novel.

Want a sneak peek? Want to win cool prizes? Easy. Just sign up to be an #AllyAmbassador by visiting EmbassyRowBooks.com and clicking on the Ally Ambassadors tab.

Both books are available for preorder now! And don’t forget to mark your calendars. Winter break just got a lot more exciting!


ps: will this change the release dates in other countries? I honestly do not know yet. Maybe. Maybe not. All the publishers are trying to decide what is best for them. If there is any news, I’ll pass it along.

Night Time Is Our Time - Chapter 1 - Page 1 - Wattpad
"Why do you look so sad today?“ He said. "Maybe it’s because we all fall in love too quickly and get heartbroken too...

This is a story inspired by all my blog posts and it is for all the lovely individuals who asked me to start a book on Wattpad.  Please vote, comment, and share it. Message me on Tumblr or on Wattpad, I would love to hear your thoughts on what I have so far!

Win A Whole New World or Any September YA Series New Release

A Whole New World
by Liz Braswell
Disney Press
Released 9/1/2015

What if Aladdin had never found the lamp? This first book in the A Twisted Tale line will explore a dark and daring version of Disney’s Aladdin. When Jafar steals the Genie’s lamp, he uses his first two wishes to become sultan and the most powerful sorcerer in the world. Agrabah lives in fear, waiting for his third and final wish.To stop the power-mad ruler, Aladdin and the deposed princess Jasmine must unite the people of Agrabah in rebellion. But soon their fight for freedom threatens to tear the kingdom apart in a costly civil war. What happens next? A Street Rat becomes a leader. A princess becomes a revolutionary. And readers will never look at the story of Aladdin in the same way again.

Purchase A Whole New World at Amazon
Purchase A Whole New World at IndieBound
View A Whole New World on Goodreads

If you’d like a chance to win A Whole New World or any of the other new series releases for the month of September, REBLOG AND CLICK HERE AND COMPLETE THE RAFFLECOPTER BEFORE 10/1/15

It’s really stupid, now that Star thinks about it.
It was stupid of her, really, to put Marco in danger like that.
(He insisted, she told herself. Not her fault.)
She needed a certain gem from the underworld and what do you know.
It was located in Tom’s home.
She could have asked him for it. She knows he would have given it to her.
But she didn’t want all those strings attached.
So, she and Marco broke into Tom’s house.
In the underworld.
It was easy getting in, easy picking up the gem.
It was overall very pleasant.
Until Tom suddenly turned around a corner and ran smack into Marco.
Star panicked when she saw the fury in Tom’s eyes.
So she hit him with a fear spell.
Which turned out to be a lust spell.
And Marco shoved her out the nearest window while Tom looked out of it.
Stupid, stupid Marco.
Stupid, stupid Star.
She hears a muffled yelp from her perch in the dead tree beneath the window.
She hears Marco cuss.
She hears silence.
Then she hears a drawn out moan.
She clutches the gem in her hand, deciding, that, yes, Marco would be fine.
As fine as any human would be with a Tom trying to get into their pants.
She runs.
She goes home.
She’ll save Marco later, when she’s done with the gem.
Lust spells could last for days, after all.

She loses time.
Marco’s been gone for a week.
Star is panicky.
Star reaches for the Hell Bell, ready to fight Tom to the death over Marco.
Fortunately, she doesn’t have to.
A rumble in the earth, a crack in the crust, a dark carriage with a dead horse.
Marco steps out.
Marco looks like shit.
Tired, but with a stupid smile on his face.
“You’re okay?!”
Marco nods, and shrugs his jacket off.
“Sorry, I’m so sorry, Marco! How- how long did the spell last..?”
Marco’s breath hitched, “… a day.”
“But you were gone for a-”
“Star, let’s just say Tom’s not going to mess with you anymore.”
Marco groans.
“I need a bath.”
Star looks blankly at him.
Then it clicks.
Her face is as red as Marco’s hoodie.

Your Own Literary Tastes


I seem to hate almost all articles in mainstream media these days.

Ok, this video is almost entirely a response to an article entitled, ‘Get Real. Terry Pratchett is not a literary genius’ written by Jonathan Jones and published in the Guardian. I will quote it extensively as I go along but you might have want to click through and have a quick read first so as to ground yourself in what on earth I’m jibbering about.

This video is not unlike many, many, others that I have made before. It is a continuing cry at the ridiculousness that is the assurance that some literature out there is just better than the rest.

Let’s deconstruct Jones’ argument that Pratchett’s work is unarguably of the ‘ordinary potboilers’ variety and that /his/ life is ‘too short’ for such trash.

It’s always a good start when a writer proclaims that they’re going to decry an author’s entire canon on the back of never having read a single element of it. Yes, this discredits you. No ifs, no buts, literally no legs to stand on.

Jones cites that a flick through though, revealed the prose to be, ‘seemingly very ordinary’. So let’s start by considering the idea that all good literature is /technically/ very good, measured in complex prose or highfalutin poetics. But wait, I’m sure I can name at least one or two works that would be awarded canonical status by even the fustiest of oxford dons, that are written in slang, written in dialect, written completely ignoring conventional concepts of grammar. But if I throw enough syllables in, plumb the depths of the most antiquarian of dictionaries, then it’ll definitely be good writing. That must by why every good poet still writes in the exact, unadulterated style of Keats!

Ok, let’s go on to Jones’ accusation that, ‘A middlebrow cult of the popular is holding literature to ransom’.

This I actually laughed out loud at, because this has definitely never been my experience. It is in fact the exact opposite of my experience. My reading life has felt like bashing my head, over and over, against a brick wall constructed by a cult of the elite. Throughout all my studies I have been looked down on for going anywhere near the edges of the traditional western canon, throughout my reading life I have had numerous comments made against my intelligence for even the idea that I might read something that is not capital “l” Literature. And what are these works that are conclusively better than all else? Why, predominantly white, cis-gendered-male, heterosexual, and Western. Yes, you can definitely name exceptions, but they are, unarguably, the exceptions.

Jones’ definition of ‘genius’ is books that ‘can change your life, your beliefs, your perceptions’ and for him this is limited to the likes of Gunter Grass and Garcia Marquez. And that’s great for him, I’m glad they work for him, I myself quite like Love in the Time of Cholera. But you know what? Personally, Pratchett has had much more of an effect on my life. It’s what Jones’ article unwittingly highlighted for me, more than anything, that Pratchett’s accessibility has had a huge, far-reaching effect on peoples, plural. And why shouldn’t that be considered a type of greatness, a type of genius?

You know what? It’s in 1984, which the majority have read, rather than Proust, which the ivory towers have locked-down, that we find what has informed and shaped a social conscience.

‘Everyone reads trash sometimes, but why are we now pretending, as a culture, that it is the same thing as literature?’

Am I wrong in finding literature to be the most snobby of all art forms? Is that just because I spend most of my time in it? I feel like this kind of thing happens less in music. I mean, who these days proclaims jazz, to be a quintessentially worse genre of music than anything produced by Brahms.

Within Terry Pratchett I found complex considerations of the question of ‘what is a nationality?’ Of gender, of the acceptance of being a strong, worthy female only by taking on masculine traits. Of postmodern Baudrillardian ideas, of story and narrativisation actually being what constructs our realities.

But Jones accuses it of ‘mental laziness’ without considering that this might actually be nothing more than a point of perspective.

If you have been raised in a childhood of Crusoe and a discourse of Dickens, then there is nothing stretching in continuing on into the names touted by Leavis. But there are many other backgrounds out there for which the language and experiences of what is held up to be the ‘The Best Which has Been Thought and Said’ will simply be irrelevant and inaccessible.

I am fed up of seeing the writing that resonates with me, called trash, called fluff, and called unworthy. I paid my dues like many gender and class and racial minorities before me, I did my fancy degree at my lauded university and read these names so people would deign to consider me literate. And I’m glad I have, but mostly because it gives me some experience to stand on in attacking these views and shouting from the rooftops, or in my case bedroom floors of east London, that these works are often not the greatest literature to me not because I myself am lesser - which is the way that articles like this definitely intend to make people feel when this literature doesn’t resonant with them, doesn’t flow for them, doesn’t mean anything to them - but because my priorities and experience lie elsewhere.

Yes, I like some classic literature, but I have learned it doesn’t make me ignorant to love literature that isn’t studied in red brick buildings. Weirdly enough, there’s a reason why there’s no definitive list of what good literature is. Let’s go back to Woolf asking which Shakespeare play is better.

Good literature is entirely a matter of perspective, and often that is socially and history constructed. If a book affects you, that is all that matters. What is one person’s good literature, won’t necessarily be yours. And a book doesn’t have to be technically good, well written, or even conform to conventional grammar, to be the most life changing thing you have ever read.

Weirdly enough, our author finishes his article by mentioning Mansfield Park. I’m a great Jane Austen fan, I’ve sought out even her little unfinished half-works now to the extent where I think I’ve read almost everything by her. And like Jones, I loved Mansfield Park. But I honestly read it in the way our author decries reading. It was completely un-life-altering for me. It was a fun little story, some nice escapism and pretty turns of phrase, but that’s really all I came away from Fanny Price with.

Ultimately we are all different people. And books cannot be objectively categoried as good or bad by any person because books, as they sit there as writing on a page, are half formed things. It is in reading a book that we create a book. And being different people, we will all read the same book slightly differently. One person’s prose will be lazy, another’s over-worked, for a third this style is perfectly representative of the inescapable drudgery of their own particular circumstances.

We need to stop demonising mass market literature and respect the fact that there is something special in a work that can appeal to a huge group of people, for whatever reasons those might be. Accessibility does not instantly equal trash, that is literally the definition of snobbery that Jones looks to distance himself from.

Finally, it is not OK to keep holding these opinions and to keep publishing these articles of restrictive literary greatness. Because the myth that there is this objectively better literature, which happens to be horribly exclusive, means loads of people think literature is not for them. In doing this we are depriving would-be readers of their solace and of complex considerations of the world. We are depriving that world of many writers who don’t chose to study literature at school, who don’t read in their spare time, because these stories they’re told they should read, don’t work for them. Of course, love your own own personal reads, but consider that that love is probably the product of your own personal self. Don’t raise up what you like to read as better than everything else, and in turn put down those people who don’t agree with, what is, entirely, /your/ literary tastes.

Jones, I will finish by reworking your clickbaity turn of phrase and telling you to get real. It’s time we stopped this pretence that elitism is equal to genius.