Month: May 2021

 

I am so excited that WELCOME TO PLANET LARA by Eliza Gordon is available now and that I get to share the news!

If you haven’t yet heard about this wonderful book, be sure to check out all the details below.

This blitz also includes a giveaway for a signed finished copy of WELCOME TO PLANET LARA and a couple eBooks courtesy of Eliza and Rockstar Book Tours. So if you’d like a chance to win, enter in the Rafflecopter at the bottom of this post.

 

About The Book:

Title: WELCOME TO PLANET LARA

Author: Eliza Gordon

Pub. Date: April 8, 2021

Publisher: SGA Books

Pages: 412

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Find it: Goodreads,
Amazon, Kindle, B&N, iBooks,
Kobo, TBD, Bookshop.org 

“There are … stipulations on your inheritance, Ms. Clarke.”

Lara J. Clarke is used to getting her own way. Motherless at ten and raised by her oft-absent
eco-warrior/philanthropist grandfather, she lives the high life afforded by her seemingly bottomless trust fund.

That is, until Grandfather Archibald sheds his mortal coil in a very public manner, and Lara’s privileged life is set adrift, headed for a collision course with the gorgeous, private Thalia Island off the coast of British Columbia. According to the will, Lara will step into the role of Project Administrator, wherein she has one year to fulfill her late grandfather’s dream of a self-sustaining, eco-friendly, family-centered utopia.

The stakes are real: fail, and lose access to the family fortune—forever.

Convinced Thalia Island will be an extension of the heiress lifestyle she’s long led, Lara is surprised to find her new coworkers—and neighbors—aren’t as pliable as the underlings of her former life. Even with the hunky lead engineer Finan Rowleigh showing her the ropes, Lara quickly learns just how unprepared she is to trade her Louboutins for steel-toed Timberlands.

When a series of calamities reveals a sinister element undermining the security of the island and her residents, Lara and Finan must reach beyond their job descriptions to protect Archibald’s precious utopia from those who would do her harm.

And while keeping her late grandfather’s flame alight, Lara finds her own flame burning hot for a charming, kind man who wants nothing from her but her heart.

Praise For WELCOME TO PLANET LARA:

♥
“Eliza Gordon delivers a unique premise, delicious romance, and plenty of intrigue. I loved it and can’t wait for more from Planet Lara!” — Samantha Young, NYT and USA Today bestselling author

♥ “Smart, hilarious, and completely unpredictable,
Welcome to Planet Lara is your next must-read. West Coast Canada Schitt’s Creek meets grown-up Nancy Drew for a riches-to-rags adventure filled with murder, romance, mystery, and a heroine you love to hate–until the moment you realize you just love her.”– Suzy Krause, author of Sorry I Missed You and Valencia & Valentine

♥ “I absolutely loved Welcome to Planet Lara! It made me feel all the feels … what a crazy ride! Eliza, once again, brings her characters
to life with humour, heart and realness. I loved every minute of it and did not want it to end! Cannot wait to find out what Eliza has in store for Lara.”– Brandee Bublé, children’s author (O’Shae the Octopus and Jayde the Jaybird)

♥ “I love it, and I CAN’T WAIT TO READ THE NEXT ONE. The concept is amazing, and the eco-message is so timely and very dear to my heart. [Eliza] has tackled so much, and done it with her usual spunk and zest.”– Stephania Schwartz, author and editor

 

Excerpt:

Chapter One

DEARLY BELOVED

I don’t know why they have pickles on this table. My mom hates pickles. Hated. Past tense. I heard Rupert correct my grandfather when he mentioned my mother the other day—they were talking in Grandfather’s huge office lined with bookshelves and Louis XV Savonnerie carpets and giant windows the housekeepers complain about cleaning when they don’t know anyone’s listening, and Rupert referred to my mother in past tense. I wasn’t supposed to hear their conversation—that’s why the outside door was closed. When it’s closed, I’m not allowed in. But I’m very good at hearing things I’m not supposed to hear because, like that kid in my class who always smells like wet dog says, I’m so scrawny, he could stuff me into his rolling backpack and throw me into the ocean and no one would ever miss me.

I’d like to think that someone would miss me. Only now that we’re speaking of my mother in past tense, I guess that’s one less person who would wonder if I’m floating out to sea, trapped in a rolling backpack covered in dog hair. Also, I’d like to think my English teacher, Mrs. Buck, would be proud of me for understanding the difference between present and past tense, even if her nylons on her beefy thighs scrape together when she walks between our desks and the sound makes me shiver.

Like I was saying, I’m scrawny, so two days ago, I snuck into my grandfather’s office and tucked myself into the antique liquor cabinet—he doesn’t drink so the cabinet is empty and the perfect place for me to hide when I don’t want his bossy housekeeper to find me because her job is to vacuum and change sheets and make Grandfather’s special food but now she keeps trying to hug me and pet my hair and her boobs squish my face and I can’t breathe, so she thinks I’m crying about my dead mom, my mom who’s only alive in the past tense now, but I’m not crying about my dead mom. I haven’t cried yet. I think that makes me the worst kid ever.

Yeah—I mean, yes, since Rupert won’t allow me to say yeah—so I was in the cabinet and I heard Rupert say we needed to refer to my mother, Cordelia Josephine Clarke, in the past tense. “It will be easier for Lara if we don’t give her hope that her mother will be returning.” Rupert—I call him Number Two, like that character in Austin Powers, a movie I wasn’t supposed to watch but did anyway because one of the housekeepers invited me to her daughter Madi’s ninth-birthday sleepover because she felt bad for me that I never get to go to sleepovers. So I went, and Madi is basically my best friend now, but the housekeeper and her husband drink a lot of wine that comes in a box and they play their country music really loud. The biggest difference from the Number Two in the movie and Rupert Bishop is that Rupert doesn’t have an eye patch and he hardly ever laughs or smiles and even if he does smile, he’s like a hundred feet tall so I can’t even see up to his unsmiling face most of the time.

“They didn’t find a body, Rupert. They found the wrecked plane, but no Cordelia. What if she made it? What if someone in that god-awful jungle has her?”

Through the slats in the square cupboard door, I saw Number Two shake his head and look down at his shiny brown loafers. One of these days, I’m going to take a black marker and color the tops of his shoes so he can’t shine them anymore. I’m also going to cut off those stupid tassels and use them as fishing lures.

“Sir, this is the best course. Do not cancel the memorial. Plant the tree, give Lara some closure. Let her move on. She’s only ten. Still young enough to have a satisfactory life wherein her memories will fade, even in the face of this tragedy. It’s not as though she’s spent a lot of time with her mother anyway.”

My grandfather’s face hardened for a minute, that look he gives when he’s about to blow his top, his chin jutting and eyes narrowed.

“Pardon me, sir. I overstepped.” Rupert folded his hands behind his back. He’s not wrong, though. My mother hasn’t been around for a long time. She works a lot, or so she says. When she’s home, it’s all fun, fun, fun, like she’s trying to make up for the next time she leaves a note on my nightstand covered with Xs and Os and smiley faces and promises of trips to zoos and museums and amusement parks and my favorite ice cream shop when she gets home.

Rupert told me once that my mother’s first love was her airplane. And even though she named it Lara, after me, I have always known that Lara the plane was more important to my mom than Lara the human kid.

My grandfather, unlike me, has cried a lot since the men in black suits showed up a week ago and asked for a place to talk privately. Rupert’s comment has made my grandfather cry again. Maybe I will forget coloring his shoes and just drop them all—his entire collection of fancy, tasseled loafers—into the pond in the back with the koi.

Cordelia was my grandfather’s only daughter. His only child, actually.

I am his only granddaughter.

Archibald Magnus Clarke the First, and only, was almost an old man when Cordelia was born. Her mother left her behind, just like Cordelia left me behind.

I haven’t cried yet. Maybe I will later.

But there are pickles on this big stupid table, and Cordelia hated pickles. And everyone in the room—all these faces I’ve never seen before—are looking at me like they’re expecting me to burst into tears at any moment.

Instead, I pick up the plate of pickles of all varieties and whistle once with my fingers tucked into my lips like Madi taught me. Once I’m sure I’ve got the room’s undivided attention, I launch the plate overhand, anticipating the satisfaction that will come when the glass hits the de Gournay papered wall and shatters into a thousand pieces and stinky pickle juice seeps across the bamboo floor and into the fibers of the eighteenth-century Persian rug we’re not supposed to wear our shoes on.

Except at the same moment, this tall, lanky kid steps into the plate’s trajectory and the heavy crystal hits him instead with a dull crack!

Everyone in the spacious, light-filled room gasps. The kid, stunned, looks in my direction, big brown eyes wide, not quite sure what just happened. And then blood spills down the side of his head and he slumps to the floor into the pile of pickles
and juice, followed by grown-ups freaking out and the big-boobed housekeeper barking orders at some other member of the house staff to get the first-aid kit and then Rupert’s bony but well-manicured hand is around my arm and he’s pulling me out of the solarium and forcing me down onto the soft, carpeted steps in the main foyer.

“What on earth possessed you to do that, young lady?”

I look up at him and am surprised when tears sting my eyeballs. I didn’t mean to hit that kid.

“My mother hates pickles. If any of you guys even knew her, you’d know she hates pickles.”

Past tense, Lara. Your mother hated pickles.

Rupert kneels, his joints cracking even though he’s not even that old.

A commotion behind us draws our attention. Two parents huddle around the tall boy who is again on his feet. They pause just long enough for me to look at the kid, a bloody cloth pressed against the left side of his head and face.

“Sorry,” I whisper.

He nods once, and they leave.

Then I start crying, and I don’t stop for a year.

Chapter Two

CUT THE RIBBON ALREADY

The cacophony pouring from the hastily constructed, oversized gazebo is the opposite of music. Maybe no one explained to Grandfather what marching bands are best at: marching. Instead, forty-odd adolescents, sweating under the hot lights in their full blue-and-white regalia, must rush out their Born to Run and Uptown Funk before they’re pushed off the stage, to be replaced with the real reason all these people are crowded into this shoreline park in their finest attire, their Jimmy Choos sinking into the sand, in front of a modest structure that promises the future is just inside its double glass doors.

A giant pair of silver scissors, cast from recycled car parts, sits on an equally giant velvet, bamboo-stuffed pillow atop a 3D-printed, biodegradable table made of cornstarch and wildflower seeds that will be left out in the inevitable spring rain to melt and blossom once the ceremony ends. The bold red ribbon stretched across the structure facade trembles at its proximity to the sharpened blades.

A trumpet misfires. The audio system roars with feedback. The impressive crowd groans and flinches. Dainty, bejeweled hands not holding champagne flutes cover delicate ears against the assault.

Thankfully, the song ends. Lukewarm applause plays the marching band off the gazebo, their noise replaced by the ambient serenade of whale song and falling rain pumped through the surround-sound speakers. It makes me need to pee.

“Canapé? It’s fresh, smoked wild Pacific salmon on artisan rye and topped with dill, all ingredients grown in one of Dr. Clarke’s self-sustaining vertical farms.”

“He grew the fish in one of his skyscrapers?”

The redheaded server looks confused. This information wasn’t included in the script his boss fed him before sending him out with a tray.

“I think the salmon came from the ocean?” His Adam’s apple bobs nervously. I should feel bad. Probably just a college kid trying to make tuition for next semester. Some people have to do that. He has no idea who I am. Or maybe he does, and that’s
why he’s sweating.

“Allergic to salmon,” I lie. “But I will take more bubbly.” He nods and hurries away, forgetting to hand out his canapés to the buffed-and-polished deep pockets around me.

“Do not treat the staff like they’re below you, Lara. You never know how quickly life can change. You might need the charity of others someday.”

Grandfather’s voice in my head worsens the martini headache that’s already trying to push my eyeballs out of their sockets. I wish Canapé Boy would hurry up with that champagne.

I’m supposed to be backstage with Grandfather’s entourage to wave at his adoring crowd and field the accolades that his years of scientific achievement and dedication to the environment and sustainability have birthed. Just waiting for Rupert’s hail, at which time I will slide in behind the crowd. I tried to decline—Dr. Archibald M. Clarke I is a big boy. He doesn’t need me standing up there with
him faking a smile while his offering plate is passed around. But Grandfather did say he thinks this will be his last public shindig, so I will obey, like a good little cyclone is supposed to.

My phone buzzes in my black clutch. It could be Connor texting to find me in the throng, although he wasn’t sure if he’d be wrapped in time to make it. Too bad. The Pacific Ocean looks beautiful from this very expensive patch of real estate. We could sneak off and get sand in our undies and hope that someone records it.

It’s not Connor.

Please join us. Rupert, a.k.a. Number Two, Grandfather’s steward, valet, assistant, his right-hand man in all things. Tall, pinched, British, and annoying.

Yes, sir. 

He doesn’t respond. Rupert tolerates me only because he is paid to do so. The feeling is mutual.

I weave through the crowd, eyes seeing through everyone so no one stops me to ask for anything. Someone is always asking the Clarkes for something. And as I’m here solo tonight—my assistant, Olivia, had some other engagement, and Connor, well, who
knows—I have no one to run interference.

The sky purples as the sun dips a toe behind the horizon. While it’s unseasonably warm for April in Vancouver, the breeze coming off the water will soon see bare-shouldered partygoers pulling on wraps and accepting tuxedo jackets from their dates.

Canapé Boy passes with a tray of champagne, and I slow my momentum to lighten his load by two flutes. The pampered, overdone blond next to me tries, and fails, to furrow her brow. “Do you need both of those?” she asks. She looks like she French-kissed
a beehive.

I drink the first glass in one long pull, and then the second, never taking my eyes off her.

“Aaaahhhhh, Moët. Refreshing,” I say, handing the emptied glasses back to the sweating server.

“Bitch,” she growls.

I eye her augmented cleavage, one brow hiked dismissively. “Did you know the world’s oceans will have more plastic than fish by 2050?” I move on.

With the last body out of my way, I manage the four metal stairs, minding the hem of my dangerously short dress and hoping my calves look gorgeous in these Louboutin stilettos, to squeeze in behind the heavy green, rough-cotton drapery surrounding the stage. Grandfather stands in the center of his small crowd, like the nucleus of a comet, the source of all this light. I don’t like many people, but I adore my grandfather. And he knows it.

“Rupert,” I say, pushing in beside him.

“My Lara Jo is here,” Grandfather says, handing Rupert his custom, hand-carved cane so he can wrap his arms around me. The only hint that Archibald Clarke is ninety-four comes from his bent spine—and it’s only bent because he took a spill on his solar-powered bike in Toulouse on his eighty-eighth birthday, and the spine doc couldn’t do any better than the fusion that gave him the slight hunch. His brain is still sharp as a razor, his eyes as clear as a Caribbean lagoon.

Though there is the little issue of the dodgy pacemaker …

“Hey, old man, how are you tonight?”

He kisses the back of my hand and pinches my cheek. Same thing he’s done every day of my life. We remain with hands clasped—even though his is smaller and thinner than years past, I still feel safest when Archibald Clarke anchors me to shore—as Rupert and the stage manager whisper and nod about getting the next phase underway.

Number Two nods at us both, pats Grandfather’s shoulder, and steps out into the spotlight. The applause rolls over the audience, growing louder, punctuated with whoops and hollers.

“Showtime,” I mutter to Grandfather. He winks, winds my arm through his, and retakes his cane from one of the stage assistants. His face is a mask of friendly calm, and although I am used to eyes on me, this sort of occasion does make me nervous. I’m sure someone will find something to pick apart about my outfit or hair in time for WickedStepsister’s press deadline.

Rupert, center stage, unhooks and grasps the microphone like he’s going to bust into some Michael Bublé. I’m surprised Bublé isn’t here. He lives, like, a half hour away, the only person in the city who might be more famous and beloved than my grandfather.

With a raised, long-fingered hand most suited to piano scales and reprimands, Rupert calms the gathering. A few of his female admirers catcall from the area closest to the stage, followed by laughs. Joke’s on them. Rupert doesn’t have time for love and other nonsense, “and if I did, it wouldn’t involve vagina.”

His words, not mine, and only after an evening of Macallan “borrowed” from my teetotaler grandfather’s collection of gifts he’s never touched. It was one of three occasions in my life I remember Number Two behaving in a manner more akin to a real-live human than obedient robot.

“Welcome, everyone, to this glorious evening of celebration,” he starts. For approximately a million minutes, he extols the many virtues of my grandfather’s esteemed scientific career, his dedication to the people of Earth, his passion for sustainability, even when people have laughed him out of boardrooms for his crazy ideas, how he was Elon Musk before Elon was even a twinkle in his mother’s perfectly lined eye.

“But no one is laughing now, now that we stand on the brink of an unprecedented era, on the precipice of an irreversible tipping point. In answer, Dr. Clarke has gifted us with an invigorating new way to live sustainably and in harmony with Mother Nature and our fellow earthly cohabitants. Searching the stars for new homes is a fool’s errand, not when we have a beautiful home right here, crying for our help.”

I roll my eyes at Rupert’s melodrama and instantly regret it as a renewed surge of pain pings inside my dehydrated skull. I again promise myself I will never drink another martini as long as I live.

“You remember what I told you?” Grandfather leans over and asks under his minty breath.

“About what?”

“Everything.” He winks again. I kiss his cheek. I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I don’t have time to ask for clarification.

“And now, without further ado, I would be so very honored if you would join me in welcoming everyone’s favorite eco-warrior, the son of Gaia herself, Dr. Archibald Magnus Clarke!”

More applause, more whoops. As we walk to center stage, I spy a woman in the front row with tears streaming down her face.

Archibald M. Clarke is happy to take the tall stool Rupert slides behind him. I help him onto it, holding his cane. Under the lights, he looks tired—I know he’s been working around the clock to maintain his myriad projects and make sure they’re all ready to be managed by his crack crew of experts once he “abandons this mortal coil.” He’s tried to rope me into helping, but I won’t hear of him
leaving me, so no, Grandfather, leave me out of it and get back to work.

His speech continues on where Rupert’s left off. I stand next to him, his hand still clasped in mine, my obedient, grateful Clarke smile in place as he introduces me to his “friends.” I nod at the appropriate times, even if I’m mostly just scanning for the nearest champagne fountain. The crowd slurps up Grandfather’s words like that fresh, wild Pacific salmon still making its rounds.

“Enough about me,” Grandfather finally says, the onlookers oohing and aahing and clapping again. “Let us cut this ribbon and welcome our generous visitors to the presentation center for the Nature Tower, Vancouver’s first eco-cooperative, self-sustaining, family-friendly, mixed-use high-rise community!”

The Nature Tower. One of many ongoing Archibald Clarke projects—I cannot possibly keep them all straight, despite long discussions over our last-Sunday-of-the-month family dinners. And by family, I mean Grandfather, me, and Number Two. That’s it. We’re all that’s left of the Clarke clan, a dynasty started in Europe via textile manufacturing and railways during the early days of the Industrial
Revolution and moved to America in the late 1800s to finance inventors and thinkers. The Clarkes are excellent with business, not so excellent with reproduction to secure the family’s lineage. Too busy thinking to make babies.

And Rupert isn’t even a blood relative. He’s just been with Archibald for so long, he’s become a remora, suction-cupped to my grandfather’s flank as they navigate the tempestuous waters of science and discovery.

Either way, I’m usually three sheets to the wind by the time they get heated about the number of hipsters and free-range chickens their high-rises will house.

Rupert steps in with the giant, shiny shears as my grandfather finally releases my sweaty hand. Archibald takes the scissors; the red ribbon before us has stilled. It has accepted its fate.

We begin the count. “Three! Two! One—”

The scissors plunk noisily to the stage floor, followed immediately by my grandfather keeling face-first onto the red-carpet-covered plywood.

Everyone freezes, me included, the only sound the subtle recording of keening whales an  steady rain floating from the speakers.

Followed in short order by shouts and yells that aren’t quite screams but probably could be. I drop to Grandfather’s side, turn him over, grab his hand, and pat his cheeks. “Open your eyes, Archie. Let me see you in there,” I demand.

He obliges, his blue eyes bright as the sunrise. “Take this,” he says, pointing to the sole piece of jewelry I’ve ever seen him wear. “My little cyclone.” He struggles to remove his thick white-gold-and-stone ring as the crowd crushes closer to the stage to see what the hell has just happened.

“Grandfather, keep your ring on. We’re going to get you some help.”

“I love you,” he says, and then his hands flop to his chest and his eyes fixate on something overhead, the light draining from them like an incandescent bulb whose filament has just flamed out.

“Grandfather… Archie!” I yell, patting his face harder, shaking his shoulders. “Wake up! Please wake up!”

Panicked assistants converge from offstage. Rupert pushes me aside to make way for the audience member who has rushed up the gazebo stairs and is initiating CPR …

I lean back on my haunches in my too-short evening dress and watch Rupert and this stranger bounce on my grandfather’s rib cage to attempt to restart the heart I know has finally given up. Memories of my mother’s wake flood into my head, what later became known as The Pickle Incident. Whatever happened to that kid … one of the few things I’ve done that I actually feel guilty about.

I wish I had something to throw right now.

“Lara, move!” Rupert barks as Grandfather is hoisted onto a stretcher. I hop back, numb, legs tingling from crouching, as my last remaining relative is carried behind that heavy green curtain, away from public view. He’s surrounded by so many people, I only catch a brief glimpse of his smiling but bluish face, glazed eyes staring into nothingness.

Another assistant appears next to me, her hand on my arm, her headset making her look like an alien or maybe an astronaut. “Ms. Clarke, Ms. Clarke, do you want to go in the ambulance?”

I look at her, see her mouth moving, but I’m underwater.

The red ribbon dances before us, happily untouched by those menacing, giant silver scissors now left forgotten on the stage.

Inches from the pointy toe of my shoe sits Grandfather’s ring. I bend to pick it up.

Slide it on my middle finger. The dark red stone stares up at me, confused.

It’s still warm.

 

About Eliza Gordon:

A native of Portland, Oregon, Eliza Gordon (a.k.a. Jennifer Sommersby) has lived up and down the West Coast of the United States. Since 2002, home has been a suburb of Vancouver, British Columbia. When not lost in a writing project, Eliza is a copy editor, mom, wife, bibliophile, Superman
freak, and the proud parent of two very spoiled tuxedo cats. Eliza writes stories to help you believe in the Happily Ever After; Jennifer Sommersby writes young adult fiction. Her debut, Sleight, was published in 2018 by HarperCollins Canada, Sky Pony (US), and Prószyński i S-ka (Poland). The sequel, Scheme (called The Undoing in Canada), is out now! Follow Eliza on social media or go to her website at www.elizagordon.com and sign up for her newsletter.

 

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | Eliza’s Newsletter| Tumblr | Pinterest | Goodreads
| Amazon | BookBub

 

Giveaway Details: International

1 winner
will receive a signed finished copy of WELCOME TO PLANET LARA, International.

2 winners
will receive an eBook of WELCOME TO PLANET LARA sent by BookFunnel,
International.

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Being a book blogger for almost 13 years (August 2021 will mark my 13th year) and a book lover for almost all my life, I still get excited about books, book signings, authors, and book events and I love to share them with you as you can see from various past posts I have made about it.

If you know me in real life or even online you will know that I live in Canada, specifically Montreal. Even though we are a hustling bustling major city we don’t have anything really book-related happening here. We don’t get the big named authors like Toronto does, and getting young adult authors into Montreal never happens (not sure if it’s based on the language or what)  so I am always jealous when I hear all these fantastic authors going into Toronto for book signings. Sadly getting to Toronto requires either driving (close to 6hrs), flying (roughly under 2 hours and $$$), or taking the train (roughly 6 hours and less than $200 return).

But now I can actually say that I am happy to be living here in Montreal because due to the hard work of the Jewish Public Library and with help from Sarah Mlynowski Montreal now has a fantastic young adult book festival that happens once a year

Yesterday, May 23th, I attended the 3rd annual MTL YA FEST! virtually. Last year due to Covid-19 they had to cancel the event but over the course of the year, they managed to bring the event back virtually via zoom. It definitely wasn’t the same as being there in person but I am so happy they managed to make it happen virtually.

I definitely missed buying all the books and getting them signed but I do know that Babar Bookstore has a stocked inventory of signed books available so I might have to place an order for a few of them.

Angeline Boulley was the keynote speaker. She is the author of Fire Keepers Daughter. A book that I definitely have to pick up and read asap. Did you know that this is going to be adapted into a movie by Netflix?

During her keynote, she talked about her family, where she came from, what a firekeeper is and what they do. Then she went on to talk about her book and what was her inspiration behind it. It was all based on what would have happened if? How many times have we said I wonder what would have happened if I did this or I did that?

Another thing that she spoke about was dreams. She spoke about an interview she watched about Billy Joel and he said he dreams in music and the first thing he does when he wakes up is to sit at his piano and to try and recreate what he dreamt. Angeline said that she “Dreams in stories” What do you dream in?

After the keynote, you had the choice to visit one of three panels taking place in three meeting rooms. The first panels were Here Comes The Paranormal, Tips of the Trade, and Indigenous Own Voices.  Deciding what to attend is always the hardest part even when it was in person. My only wish was that I wish they would have been able to record all the panels so that you could go back and watch later.

The panel I picked was Here Comes The Paranormal. The authors that were on this were Regina Hansen, Kelly Powell, and JF Dubeau. They spoke about how in the beginning it was all about vampires, werewolves etc, and that it’s now evolved into much more. I agree I remember when it first became a thing it was all about vampires etc. Back then I never read anything because it never interested me. Yes, I do admit to reading paranormal romance but it was shapeshifting that got me. One of the things I took away from this panel was the authors saying “write what you want to read” and that is so true.

 

The next panels were All Debuts are Good Debuts, The Show Must Go On: Sequels and Series, and Writing Process. My only wish here was that I wish they would have put All Debuts are Good Debuts and The Show Must Go on right after each other instead of at the same time. I really wanted to attend that one. I think it would have been perfect to go from debuts to series.

Anyways, I attended All Debuts are Good Debuts with authors Anuradha Rajurkar, Loan Le, Kelly Powell, Sarah Suk, Crystal Maldonada, and Regina Hansen.

This was such a fun panel. Everyone talked briefly about their debut books, the process of writing them, and the excitement of getting them sold. Sarah was telling us the story about how she was at the library writing when she got the call that Made in Korea and how excited she was and then outside the library, she broke down and cried.

Writing a book and getting it sold is not an overnight process and this can take months to years. They also spoke about how long it took them to write their books and even that is not an overnight process. You definitely need a friend or friends to support you in this process. Crystal admitted that she didn’t tell anyone she was writing a book and that her husband was reading and being her sounding board. I think it’s all about the right time right place when it comes to writing a book and selling it.

This was the time of the day where it was super hard to pick what panel to attend because I wanted to be in three places at the same time. The panels were Tough Stuff, Middle-Grade Mania, and Thrillers. All three sounded interesting but in the end, I went with Tough Stuff.

On this panel were authors Courtney Summers, Lindsay Wong, Ashley Shuttleworth, Namina Forna, Angeline Boulley, and Diane Terrana. If I recall I think Namina had a little guest with her. I could see her dog’s head peeking up a few times. It was too cute.

This was such an interesting panel and clearly a subject that needs to be covered more in ya books. YA books have definitely come a long way since I was a young adult. I think the riskiest books I ever read were Judy Blume and V.C Andrews. The topics that are in YA books now were never a thing in the past. It was like it was taboo to write about such things back then. It’s nice to see that authors are taking control and making those tough issues matter today.

As Lindsay said “life is hard, messy and complex” which is so true. We need more books that tackle the tough issues of what is going on in the world today. We don’t need it to be sugar-coated like it was in the past.

The panel also discussed and I completely agree that violence or other things shouldn’t be included in a story or book if it does nothing to a story. I have read so many books over the years where I feel authors add things that just don’t need to be added but add it because they think it’s what they should do or it’s what readers want.

It was at this point I realized how fast the day was going but I was having so much fun listening to all these fantastic authors speak.

The next set of panels were Rainbow Panel, Fantasy, and Contemporary. This was another instance where I wish I could have been in two places at once or wish they were recording the panels because I wanted to take part in the Rainbow one. I decided to go with Contemporary.

The authors on this panel were Crystal Maldonado, Anne-Sophie Jouhanneau, Lynn Painter, Lindsay Wong, Anuradha Rajurkar, and Sarah Suk. I feel like I am repeating myself over and over again but this was another interesting panel to take part in. The authors spoke about all kinds of things such as representation matters, diversity matters, and that YA readers are very passionate about the books. I have to agree ya readers are very passionate about the books they read.

The authors also spoke about how some people criticize YA and it is a less than genre which I have to disagree with, YA is not less than any other genre, YA is important and its evolved so much over the decades and years. So many topics that affect teens are coming to light to let these teens know they aren’t alone in their thoughts and feelings. I wish I had half the books that our out today when I was a teen.

I also disagree when people criticize adults for reading YA. What is wrong with adults reading YA? I think no matter the genre we should be applauding people for reading and not what they are reading. We all need to be less judgemental about it.

I loved that the authors shared what books they loved reading. I might have added a bunch of books to my wishlist after this panel.

The big takeaway from the authors was to write what you want to read and that is so true.

On a totally unrelated side note, I could not help but stare and admire Lynn’s background. Her bookshelves are organized by colour. I know once I get my basement redone I want to do this with my books.

This was another easy panel for me to pick from. The second to last panels of the day was YA Fandom Creators, NaNoWriMo Panel, and O Canada. This is probably a no-brainer but I went with O Canada. I really need to up my Canadian content on my blog and into my reading in general. Canada has so many fantastic writers and not just the big named ones.

The authors talked about all kinds of things but one of the key things was that we need to protect our Canadian culture. If you read books by Canadian authors your will notice that not a lot will say this takes place in Canada even though they go into detail about the location because when you do that you literally could be describing any major city in the USA per se. I know I am always excited to see a book that is literally a Canadian city mentioned.ie Montreal, Toronto, and gee even my small town of Bathurst. I understand publishers are wanting their books to see more American but I think as Canadians we should be vocal that we what our stories to have Canadian backgrounds.

I have to apologize for the really bad photo but I almost completely forgot to take one. This was one of the funniest panels of the day.

So this was another hard one to pick because the last panel of the day was We Need Diverse Books, YA Romance, and Family. Yes, we need more diverse books and I hope that the publishers are working on that.

I decided to join the YA Romance panel because I love YA romance because we all remember our first crush, our first love etc. I remember being a young adult and experiencing all the love and heartbreak. The good relationships and the bad. We went in full speed ahead and sometimes had our hearts broken and we thought the world was going to end.

All the authors could agree that when they read romance they are wanting the romance. They also talked about we need to normalize healthy relationships in books. That characters need communication about what they want and don’t want. Yes, we all love bad boys but bad boys don’t need to be bad in relationships.

Not sure how many of us can say that to this very day we are still in contact with our first crush or first love but I can honestly say that I am and even though those relationships never panned out maybe it was for the best.

I have yet to read any of Aiden’s books but after this panel, I need to read his books. Did you know he does a 50+ page outline on his books? I literally could not stop staring in his background, it was gorgeous. He is so funny. I could not stop laughing during this panel. This was definitely one that should have been recorded.

So with that is the conclusion of this year’s MTL YA Fest. The closing remarks were from Talya who was one of the original organizers and I found out that she has stepped away from organizing this event and had passed the reins onto someone else and she did a fantastic job organizing it this year given the circumstances in the world. The hope is that next year it will be in person again and I have my fingers crossed that it will happen.

I had so much fun attending this and yes it would have been nice to be there in person but being safe is so much better giving what is going on. Had this been done in person I am not sure I would have attended. I am happy they decided to do it virtually because not having any at all would have sucked.

I am sad that I never got to see any of the following authors speak: Liselle Sambury, Erica S, Perl, Chief Mi’sel Joe, Sheila O’Neill, Dhonielle Clayton, Debbie Rigaud, Gordan Korman, Celia S. Perez, June Hur, Tess Sharpe, Kacen Callender, and Tanya Boteju, Hopefully, one day I will get the chance.

Thank you once again MTL YA Fest for hosting and organizing this amazing event. Thanks to all the authors who take part and invited us into their homes,

Until next year.

Gordon Korman is the author of more than ninety books for kids and young adults, most recently WAR STORIES and UNPLUGGED. His writing career began at the age of twelve when his Grade 7 English assignment became his first published novel. 

Now, four decades later, he is a full-time writer and speaker, with over thirty-five million copies of his novels in print in thirty-three languages. Each year he travels extensively, visiting schools and libraries, bringing his trademark humor and adventure styles to readers everywhere. 

 A native Montrealer, he lives with his family in Long Island, New York.   

I am embarrassed to admit that I have never read any of Gordon’s books. I definitely need to work on that this year. Which one(s) should I read?

Perfect for fans of You Should See Me in a Crown and To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, this hilarious and heartfelt Own Voices rom-com from bestselling author Debbie Rigaud is pure Black girl joy.

Simone Thibodeaux is about to switch things up.

Check her life: It’s sealed in a boy-proof container. Her Haitian immigrant parents send Simone to an all-girls high school and enforce strict no-dating rules. As for prom? Simone is allowed to go on one condition: Her parents will select her date (a boy from a nice, Haitian immigrant family, obviously).

Simone is desperate to avoid the setup — especially since she has a serious crush on another boy. It’s time to take action. Simone and her fellow late-bloomer friends make a senior year bucket list of all the wild things they haven’t done yet. Like: going out dancing, skipping class (what), and oh yeah — deciding their own prom destinies.

But as the list takes on a life of its own, things get much messier than Simone expected. Can she figure out which rules are worth breaking and which might save her from heartbreak?

(Release Date June 2021)

“The Princess Diaries meets Meghan and Harry in this swoony rom-com!” — In Touch Magazine

Zora Emerson is not here to play. She’s enrolled in a prestigious summer program and is ready to use what she’s learning to change the world (or at least her corner of New Jersey, for now). Zora’s not expecting to vibe with any of her super-privileged classmates. So she’s shocked to find she’s got chemistry with Owen Whittelsey, who is charming, funny, undeniably cute…and turns out to literally be a prince. As in, his parents are the king and queen of a small European country. What? Suddenly, Zora”s summer is looking a lot more complicated — especially when Owen asks her to be his date at his older brother’s wedding. Can her feelings for Owen, not to mention her sense of self, survive the royal chaos? Debbie Rigaud brings sparkling humor and insight to this empowering romantic comedy that’s all about ruling your own destiny.

(Release Date: July 2019)

Lifelong actor-advocate Alyssa Milano tells the story of a young activist in the making. It’s the first book in an empowering and funny new middle-grade series illustrated by Simpsons illustrator, Eric S. Keyes.

Meet Hope Roberts. She’s 11 years old, and she wants to be an astrophysicist. She loves swimming, Galaxy Girl comic books, and her two rescue dogs.

Hope believes it’s always a good day to champion a cause, defend an underdog, and save the future. And most of all, she believes in dreaming big. That’s why she’s enrolled in all of the advanced classes at her new middle school. She’s smart and confident in her abilities. But though Hope seems super strong on the outside, there’s another side of her, too. She’s just a regular girl trying to survive middle school.

This first book starts with the beginning of sixth grade, and Hope’s BFF Sam made some new friends over the summer. Hope doesn’t know how to handle it. She and Sam have always been inseparable! Then Hope meets her new lab partner, Camila, and they get off on the wrong foot. And even though Camila is great at science, she doesn’t want to join the science club. The club is all boys, and she doesn’t feel welcome.

When Hope hears that, she’s determined to recruit more girls into the science club, including Camila. Hope knows that sometimes changing the world starts small. So now Hope has a mission! Can she turn the science club into a place that’s welcoming for everyone — and make some new friends along the way?

Hope’s relatability, kindness, empathy, and can-do attitude will inspire a generation of do-gooders. This new series is a response to the very palpable feeling that not only can young people save the world — they will!

About the Author:

Debbie Rigaud is the coauthor of Alyssa Milano’s New York Times bestselling Hope series and the author of Truly Madly Royally and Simone Breaks All The Rules. Debbie grew up in East Orange, New Jersey, and started her career writing for entertainment and teen magazines. She now lives with her husband and children in Columbus, Ohio. Find out more at debbierigaud.com.

 

 

 

 

I am excited to read Debbie’s newest book, Simone Breaks all The Rules when it comes out as it sounds really good. Also the I really want to read the Hope Series as that sounds like they might be fun reads. As I am prepping this post I am looking for my copy of Truly Madly Royally. I think it’s time to do a reread of it.

The Books:

About The Author:

Aimee Friedman was born and raised in Queens, New York, in an apartment filled with books and different languages. She wrote her first story at the age of five, and was off and running from there. Aimee wrote all through her years as a student at the Bronx High School of Science and then Vassar College. After graduating from college in 2001, she became a children’s book editor, a job she still does, and loves, to this day! Aimee published her first novel, the New York Times bestseller, South Beach, in 2005, and is now the author of several novels for young adults, including Sea Change and Two Summers. Aimee lives in New York City, where she can usually be found writing in cafes, window-shopping, or searching for the perfect iced latte.

 

 

 

This is Aimee’s second time that she has been at the MTL YA Fest. She was at the very first MTL YA Fest and it was a pleasure to meet her and listen to her speak. I know I need to do a reread of Two Summers and Sea Exchange very soon.

The Books:

A 2018 Pura Belpré Author Honor Book

The First Rule of Punk is a wry and heartfelt exploration of friendship, finding your place, and learning to rock out like no one’s watching.

There are no shortcuts to surviving your first day at a new school—you can’t fix it with duct tape like you would your Chuck Taylors. On Day One, twelve-year-old Malú (María Luisa, if you want to annoy her) inadvertently upsets Posada Middle School’s queen bee, violates the school’s dress code with her punk rock look, and disappoints her college-professor mom in the process. Her dad, who now lives a thousand miles away, says things will get better as long as she remembers the first rule of punk: be yourself.

The real Malú loves rock music, skateboarding, zines, and Soyrizo (hold the cilantro, please). And when she assembles a group of like-minded misfits at school and starts a band, Malú finally begins to feel at home. She”ll do anything to preserve this, which includes standing up to an anti-punk school administration to fight for her right to express herself!

Black and white illustrations and collage art throughout make The First Rule of Punk a perfect pick for fans of books like Roller Girl and online magazines like Rookie.

“Armed with a microphone and a pair of scissors, this book is all about creating something new and awesome in the world. Malú rocks!” –Victoria Jamieson, author and illustrator of the New York Times bestselling and Newbery Honor-winning Roller Girl.

From the award-winning author of The First Rule of Punk comes the story of four kids who form an alternative Scout troop that shakes up their sleepy Florida town.

*”Writing with wry restraint that”s reminiscent of Kate DiCamillo… a beautiful tale.” —Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

When three very different girls find a mysterious invitation to a lavish mansion, the promise of adventure and mischief is too intriguing to pass up. Ofelia Castillo (a budding journalist), Aster Douglas (a bookish foodie), and Cat Garcia (a rule-abiding birdwatcher) meet the kid behind the invite, Lane DiSanti, and it isn”t love at first sight. But they soon bond over a shared mission to get the Floras, their local Scouts, to ditch an outdated tradition. In their quest for justice, independence, and an unforgettable summer, the girls form their own troop and find something they didn”t know they needed: sisterhood.

About The Author:

Celia C. Pérez is the daughter of a Mexican mother and a Cuban father.  Her debut book for young readers, The First Rule of Punk (Viking / Penguin), was a 2018 Pura Belpré Award Honor Book, a 2018 Boston Globe-Horn Book Awards honor book, and a winner of the 2018 Tomás Rivera Mexican American Children’s Book Award. Her second book for young readers, Strange Birds: A Field Guide to Ruffling Feathers (Kokila / Penguin, 2019), is an Association of Library Services to Children Notable Children’s Book and was named to several best-of-the-year lists. She lives with her family in Chicago where, in addition to writing books about lovable weirdos and outsiders, she works as a community college librarian.

 

 

 

One of the things that I absolutely love about the MTL YA Fest is being exposed to new to me authors and their books. I will be checking out these books.

About The Books:

 

About The Author:

Born in a mountain cabin to a punk-rocker mother, Tess Sharpe grew up in rural northern California. She lives deep in the backwoods with a pack of dogs and a growing colony of formerly feral cats. She is the author of Barbed Wire Heart, the critically acclaimed YA novel Far From You and the upcoming Jurassic World prequel, The Evolution of Claire.

She is also the co-editor of Toil & Trouble, a feminist anthology about witches. Her short fiction has been featured in All Out, an anthology edited by Saundra Mitchell.