Synopsis:
Valentine’s Day.
And my 21st birthday.
Whoop-de-doo.
Just another college day full of classes and more homework
than is humanly possible.
…until Jason, my best-friend-since-kindergarten, shows up to
take me out for the day.
Like old times: the two of us on a wacky adventure, playing
hooky from real life. With his lopsided grin and tickets to a circus full of
misfits and monsters, he introduces me to a whole new world—one full of magic
and mystery—and turns my reality upside down.
Except nothing goes as planned, and we end up running
through the city to find a missing siren before someone brews a love potion
with her blood.
Sirens and love potions, witches and elves, and Valentine
kisses. Nothing will be the same for me again.
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Playing-Hooky-ebook/dp/
B00B2D6EEA
Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/playing-hookyrita-j-webb/1114148410
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17253010-playinghooky
Author Bio:
Leaving the house to go to school, I had schoolbooks
spilling out of one hand, the other holding my place in a Nancy Drew novel, and
bunny slippers still on my feet. My mom was a wee bit upset.
I haven't changed much. Still always have a book (or two) in
my hand or creating stories in my head, and although I don't have any bunny
slippers, I love writing in my jammies and snuggly slipper socks.
When I grow up (maybe a hundred years from now), I'd like to
be a superhero, but for now, saving the day, one page at a time, suits me just
fine.
With my husband TJ (my own cuddly werewolf), I home-school
our three girls, who keep us busy with art, science projects, books to read,
dance classes, and walks about the park.
Blog: http://afantasyfiction.blogspot.com
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/ritawebb
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/ritajwebb
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/RitaJWebb
Excerpt:
Chapter 1
~ EMMA ~
THE ALARM CLOCK hammers ice picks into my
brain. My freshman year of college, I swore I’d never do another eight o’clock
class, but here it is my junior year and I am torturing myself with English Lit
after staying up until three in the morning to finish a paper.
I try to peel my eyes
open, but they’re glued shut. I rub them and squint at the clock, trying to
read the red numbers swimming in circles, but nothing makes sense.
Letting my eyes drift
shut, groping for the right button with my hands, I punch snooze and roll over.
It’s Thursday.
Valentine’s Day.
My twenty-first
birthday.
And all I want is the
pounding headache to go away.
It seems like no time at
all before the alarm goes off again.
“Emma, either get up or
turn it off.” My roommate Maggie—but we all call her Magpie—kicks the thin wall
separating our rooms.
With a groan, I turn off
the alarm, roll out of bed, and pad into our kitchen, still in my cotton
panties and T-shirt. Sleepwalking, I fill the coffee pot with water, scoop one
tablespoon of coffee grinds into the filter—no, two, because Mr. Linden likes
to drone on about eighteenth-century poetry—and hit the start button.
Coffee. Breakfast of
champions. And sleep-deprived college students.
A knock on our apartment
door, and my sister trills a happy, “Good Morning, Emma,” and begins to sing me
Happy Birthday, along with several
embarrassing verses we wrote when she was five and I was seven. It includes
something about monkeys slipping on banana peels.
“Someone shoot her.”
Magpie grumbles from her doorway and slams her door shut.
Still in my skimpy
sleep-clothes, I open the door to find my sister—long, blonde hair curled to
perfection, not a strand out of place, red hair band matching her flouncy short
skirt and the red hearts on her too-cute-for-words tights. Glimmering strands
of silver lace peek through her pink sweater. As always, Angelina’s the image
of vomit-inducing school-girl perfection.
And standing behind her—
Jason.
My best friend from
childhood. The boy—er, man—who should
be ten hours away in Kodiak, Alaska, rather than here in Anchorage.
The man staring at my
naked legs.
And I’m standing here in
my panties and baby-doll T, which clearly shows I’m not wearing a bra,
especially as Alaska is cold in February and the door gapes wide open.
I cross my arms over my
chest to hide my breasts and duck my bottom half behind the door. “Jason, what
are you doing here?”
“To take you out for the
day. It’s your twenty-first birthday. Did you think I’d let you celebrate
without me?” He grins and slips into the room before I can stop him. His eyes
travel up my bare legs (thank goodness I shaved last night) with the ugly wool
knee-high socks, the black T with the pink Batman symbol, and ending with my
short, blonde hair, sticking up in all directions on one side, matted on the
other.
I glance out the door. A
few girls, gawking at the man who is too handsome for his own good, stand out
on the landing and whisper. I grab Angelina’s hand and drag her inside and slam
the door.
“What about
what’s-her-name? Sarah? Sally? Mandy? Whoever your latest thrall is. She really
let you come out and play? I thought she’d have your Valentine’s Day booked.”
“I broke up with her
right after Christmas.” He shrugs.
For the first time in
about ten years, neither of us has a significant other. Once upon a time, when
I was twelve, I decided Jason was the one for me, and I set about trying to get
him to kiss me. He was clueless, and I settled for Mark Jameson, a boy down the
road. Three years later, Mark moved to Ohio somewhere. Or was it Idaho? And I
never heard from him again.
By then, Jason had a
girlfriend, and though he never took her fishing with him or mountain biking
(my role in his life), they went to homecoming together and then to the prom.
And I went out with Troy Simmons up until the middle of our first year of
college when I caught him in another girl’s dorm room where he’d sacked out for
a week.
Troy was so pissed about
the breakup—because I should just forgive and forget the cheating, since it was
my fault because I refused to sleep with him—that he spread rumors about our
supposed sexual escapades.
Whenever I tried to date
since then, the guys I went out with only wanted me to put out, so I’ve been
single ever since. Whenever I consider dating him now, I remind myself of all
the ways we are incompatible. We would fight over everything as we’re both too
stubborn for our own good.
Angelina tucks her hand
through his arm and smiles up at him. “Isn’t he sweet? You have the best
friends.”
Not even a note of
jealousy in her voice, even though she’s had a crush on him ever since third
grade when he put a band-aid on her skinned knee.
My sister Angelina is
too perfect. Straight-A honor student. Mother’s sweetie pie. Father’s angel.
Never snuck out of the house to go partying. Always kept her curfew. Never
broke her leg jumping out of trees while trying to chase squirrels or ramping
bikes on the homemade ramps. Always prissy and clean. Never leaves anything out
of place.
Always the perfect lady
in her cute little outfits.
I can’t hate her for it
because she doesn’t even act superior about it. She’s never been the
goody-goody. Never lectures me on my messy room, sloppy hair, torn jeans, or
skipping classes.
Jason grins. “I’d never
miss your birthday. Remember last year?”
“Ugh! I thought I’d
never thaw out after we went skiing in a blizzard. We were stranded for three
days in that cabin we found in the woods.”
“Aw, come on, you didn’t
even get frostbite. I took care of you.”
“At least I didn’t end
up with any broken limbs. That time.”
“I still can’t believe
we went snow-boarding on East Pillar Mountain Loop. That’s a tough trail, and
then you broke your arm slipping in the parking lot on the way to the truck.”
My muscles were exhausted,
and carrying my board on my shoulder, I wasn’t watching where I was going. I
didn’t see the patch of ice. “Remember when you took me spelunking?”
“I had no idea that bear
was in there.”
“I can’t remember ever
being that scared.”
“But it was fun! Come
on. We can’t break tradition.”
“What are you planning
this time?” Angelina smiles up at him with a glimmer of wistful longing.
“It’s a secret.” He
extricates her hand from his arm and takes a step away from her, and her hand
falls back to her side.
For a moment, her smile
falters, but then she bounces from the room. “See you! Tell me all about it
later. Emma, I’ll tell your professors and coach that you are sick today, and
I’ll collect your notes and assignments.”
“Thanks, Angelina.
You’re a sweetie.”
She gives me her smile,
cheeks dimpling in the cute china-doll way she has, and blows us kisses.
Sometimes I wish she could be a real human being for once—throw a royal temper
tantrum, break a rule, or actually make a mess—but either she keeps all negativity
bundled up deep inside or she really is incapable of baser emotions.
I’m left alone in the
apartment’s tiny entryway with Jason.
“Emma,” he says,
stepping closer, his head leaning down toward me. He is way too close, and I
remember I’m not dressed.
Tall with wide
shoulders, Jason is muscular from hard labor (construction and welding) and
athletic adventures (kayaking and mountain biking). The perpetual scruff movie
stars work hard to perfect shadows his jaw, and his tousled black hair kept
short. He cuts it every week because it grows too fast, like at least a half
inch a day. With the smoky blue eyes and the confident grin he usually wears,
he’d make any girl swoon.
Well, any girl but me.
I’d more likely hit him upside the head with a broom than swoon over him.
“Coffee’s in the
kitchen. I need to get dressed and showered; then we can go for pastries at the
bakery around the corner.” Just off campus, there’s a scrumptious little shop,
but I never have time in the mornings. I turn back to my room but then stop.
“Oh, how do I need to dress for the day?”
“Sure.” He runs his
hands through his hair, but his eyes are too busy following my ass to pay
attention to anything I said.
“Jason.” I snap my
fingers. “Up here. What do I need to wear?”
His gaze shifts to my
face, and he grins, not even having the decency to flush. “Dress warm.”
Good. So we’re going to
have an adventure.
Interview:
1)
Where do you write?
Sometimes in the big blue chair downstairs
(like I am right now while the kids watch Brave), and other times upstairs in
my room on my bed. Either way, I have to have my feet up. Otherwise, I can’t
concentrate. Yeah, I’m weird.
2)
Did you want to be an author when you were younger?
When I was 12, my mom read one of my
stories out loud like every word was a treasure. I thought, “I’m good at this!”
My dad read the same story and sagely said,
“Don’t use the same word twice in a paragraph.” And I thought I may be good,
but I can be better.
That pursuit of getting better, learning
how to build better sentences and select more creative words, is quite
addictive. High school and college, I wrote every spare moment, but I gave it
all up when I started my career as a software tester, got married, and had 3
kids.
Then I was laid off from my job about 5
years ago, and I asked myself, “What do I really want to be when I grow up?”
3)
What inspired you to write?
I finished a good book and didn’t want the
story to end...
You should listen to my husband TJ and I
planning a story. We pull ideas from hundreds of movies, books, TV shows, and
roll-playing games. Doesn’t matter if it’s mystery, paranormal, superheroes, or
sci-fi. To us, all the characters from our favorite books and movies are as
real as the people we meet in the supermarket or at church.
4)
How did you feel when you saw your book in a shop for the first time?
My books are only available online, but I
still can’t believe it’s quite true. Even when my novella DAUGHTER OF THE
GODDESS was #7 on the Amazon Best Seller List for Teen & YA Greek and Roman,
I felt like I had cheated my way there somehow.
5)
What/who inspires you to write?
My children are the reason I keep going. I
want my kids to believe that they can follow their dreams. When I started
writing, my oldest daughter started writing too. She invents stories and
characters because I do. If I stop, I’ll be telling her to give up, that
pursuing your dreams isn’t worth the fight.
My husband TJ is the other reason. He
believes in me more than I believe in myself. And when I struggle with all the
strings you have to manipulate to make a story work, he never lets me think
about quitting. Now he writes with me and works through all those troublesome
plot points with me.
6)
If you could have dinner with anyone in the world who would it be?
I would throw a feast and invite all my
favorite people: Dr. Who, Harry Dresden,
Mercedes Thompson, Kate Daniels, Dr. Horrible, Harry Potter, Samuel Clemens,
Benjamin Franklin, oh, and Parker from Leverage!
7)
Do you think Book covers are important or should you never judge a book by its
cover?
Would you go to an interview dressed in
baggy, holey jeans and a torn, dirty T-shirt?
A picture speaks a 1000 words, and a book
cover makes your first impression on a reader. When I pick up a book, I want to
feel like I’d enjoy being that character for a few days.
8)
Books or ebooks?
Either is fine with me. I just want to get
my hands on good books that I love!
9)
How long does it take you to write a book?
Now that TJ writes with me, we always have
two projects in play that we swap back and forth, and it takes approximately 4 to
5 months for us to get through those 2 projects.
10)
Any tips for people who want to be an author?
1. Never give up. Nobody else can tell the
story that is in your soul.
2. Work hard. Writing isn’t easy. You have
to study your craft, develop your characters, plan your plots and subplots,
slave over every word, sentence, paragraph, scene, and ask yourself tough
questions. And after you’ve done all that, readers will still find holes in
your plots and characters and think your wording sucks.
3. Learn how to edit. An editor sees words
differently than a writer. They see the overused words, the unnecessary words,
the weak words. They see the lack of technique, description, internal thought,
or cohesive plot lines.
4. Get real feedback. Learning how to edit
does not mean you don’t need feedback from beta readers and a real editor.
Getting critiques helps you
5. Think outside the box. Traditional
publishing or self-publishing? Don’t get yourself stuck in the idea that it has
to be one way or the other. If you find yourself beating your had against a
wall, trying to move forward—whether to get published traditionally, find an
agent, or market your self-pubbed book—then maybe you need to try something
new.
11)
What is your favourite book?
Easier to answer with my favorite genre
(paranormal and urban fantasy) or to list my top ten favorite authors (Ilona
Andrews, Jim Butcher, Patricia Brigs, Karen Marie Moning…)!
12)
What is your favourite thing about being an author?
The strange blend between reality and
make-believe!
13)
Are there any new books in the pipeline?
TJ and I are currently working on the
sequels to PLAYING HOOKY, both to be released later this year.
#1.5
Breaking Angelina
#2
Taking Chances
14)
Are there any alternative endings you considered for any of your books?
I try to plan my ending first, but in the
meandering of getting there, I often find a better destination.
Giveaway:
a
Rafflecopter giveaway
I think I would call myself an artist at heart. The way
I cook, the way I write, the way I communicate and make music and tell stories
- even the way I smoke a cigar and savor a good bourbon - always comes with the motivation to
discover or uncover a new aspect of beauty. In each moment, with whatever
medium I have access to - whether it be horses, or holy scriptures or hyperbole
- beauty is what I hope to find, and frequently what I hope to create. Also, I
would call myself a bit of an epic nerd. I love stories with layers of history
and allegory. 
