Tag Archives: YA series

An Interview with Christine Grabowski, Author of DICKENSEN ACADEMY

12 Wednesday Sep 2018

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I’m excited to have fellow young adult author Christine Grabowski with me today!  She lives in Washington State, one of my favorite places on earth.  We’re celebrating the release of her debut novel, Dickensen Academy.  So without further ado, let’s start the interview!

At what age did you write your first story? Age 44 (I had a lot of false starts as a kid.)

Which genre was the first to hook you? Middle grade, contemporary, e.g. think Judy Blume

What’s your favorite part of the writing process? Brainstorming? Research? Outlining? Writing? Editing? Editing. The blank page terrifies me, afraid I might not have any more ideas in my head.

I love editing too and do a whole lot of it before sending manuscripts to my editors! What are you working on now? A fairy-tale reimagining, loosely based on Sleeping Beauty. It is a YA contemporary suspense.

Ooh…that sounds intriguing! Of all the settings you’ve used (or created!) for your books, which is your favorite? The secluded evergreen forest surrounding the academy. It was almost like a character with its own changing personality. In some scenes, including cross country practices and the romantic walks with Ben, the focus was on its beauty. I’d describe how the sunlight danced through the trees or the whimsical nature of a chipmunk. In other scenes, the forest took on a creepier tone such as when Autumn and her friends examined the perimeter fence, and when she and Ben were caught in the forest after dark. To quote Autumn’s thoughts, “The setting sun cast long shadows from the tall evergreen trees. Here I was in a beautiful prison, trapped outside too. The surrounding forest hid an enormous, secure fence…”

Love it! I feel the same way about the setting in my Guardians of Erin series. Have you ever dreamed about a character you created? Yes. I dreamed that I was on the campus and was hanging out with a group of students. That’s when I felt Dickensen Academy had truly become a real place to me.

Wonderful! If you could have a conversation with anyone—dead or alive—who would it be? My grandmother

If you could travel to any time and place, when and where would that be? I’d go back to the ’80s and raise my kids with limited technology.

I’m trying to do that now with my kids! If you could step inside any book or series and live there for a week, which would you choose? I’d love to go to Hogwarts. I have no desire to fight Voldemort but would love to learn a few spells and fly around on a broomstick.

I’d be right there with you! Now, it’s time to learn some of your favorites.

Sound: A Mourning Dove

Eye color: Blue

Foreign language (whether or not you speak it!): French

Song: “I Will Survive”

Book: Gone with the Wind

Movie: Titanic

TV show: Grey’s Anatomy

Cuisine: Mexican

Cookie: Chocolate Chip

US location: Maui

Foreign location: Paris

And finally, list your preference from the following choices:

Tea or coffee? Coffee

Cake or pie? Cake

Halloween or Christmas? Christmas

Nancy Drew or Sherlock Holmes? Nancy Drew

Jane Austen or the Brontë sisters? Jane Austen

A mortal, vampire, ghost, or fae for a lover? Vampire

English gent, Scottish highlander, European count, or all-American guy? All-American guy

Thanks so much for joining me today, Christine! And now, here’s the scoop on Dickensen Academy:

Dickensen Academy isn’t a typical boarding school. The faculty is hiding an unbelievable secret within their fine arts program. When Autumn Mattison receives an invitation to attend the high school, she yearns to escape her overbearing father yet remains reluctant to leave her mother and brother. Her doubts fade away when a vivid dream convinces her she belongs there.

Away from home, Autumn discovers a unique school environment that awakens her creative potential, and her new friends become like a second family. However, as she uncovers more about the dark side of the school and struggles with its curriculum, she questions whether Dickensen Academy is truly where she belongs.

When tragedy strikes, Autumn must learn to believe in her own power and stand up to her greatest fear or risk having her memories destroyed to protect the school’s secrets. Caught between secrets and dreams, can she find her true self?

Here’s a peek inside the pages:

“I feel like there’s something big we don’t know about. Something those students were protecting. I mean, really, why are we here?”

I thought it was just me who was confused. “Well…the recruiters said we’re creative and focused.”

“Yeah, that’s what Principal Locke said too.”

“And we have the right personality.”

Ben looked up at the sky, sighed then turned toward the forest. “What did he say…something about how it will soon become clear why we’re here, and there’s some ultimate purpose for our creativity?”

“I know. That whole creativity part was a bit bizarre.”

He shrugged. “It seems everyone is going with the flow. But I have so many questions.” Then he touched my arm to stop me, so I turned toward him. “I’m thinking they’re isolating us for some special reason,” he admitted in an embarrassed tone.

I tried not to laugh—he was acting paranoid. But I didn’t know Ben well. Maybe he was joking, trying to freak me out. Or was he hitting on me? The flutter in my chest moved to my stomach. I was already anxious about being away from home and whether or not I could hack the academics. I didn’t need to obsess about anything else. But I still had to know about Ben’s dream.

“So…I also had a dream about Dickensen before I accepted the offer.”

Ben’s head snapped toward me. “You did?”

A bit more about Christine:

Dickensen Academy is Christine’s debut YA novel. After graduating from the University of Washington, she earned her MBA at the University at Albany. She honed her technical writing skills in marketing and consulting but attributes the creative part of the process to her passion for reading.

When she isn’t reading or writing, Christine can often be found running, skiing, or hiking. She lives in Newcastle, Washington, with her supportive husband, two avid teen readers, and their energetic wheaten terriers.

Where you can find her and her books:

Amazon
https://www.amazon.com/dickensen-academy-map-success/dp/B07G71747S

https://amzn.to/2P0qMGC

Barnes & Noble
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dickensen-academy-christine-grabowski/1129315140?ean=9781509221233

The Wild Rose Press
https://catalog.thewildrosepress.com/all-titles/6044-dickensen-academy.html

Goodreads
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/41065431-dickensen-academy

A Holiday Gift for One Reader

13 Wednesday Dec 2017

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Hi, all!  I’m doing another giveaway on Goodreads.  This time, it’s a signed copy of my young adult paranormal fantasy, The Cauldron Stirred.  It’s the first book in my Guardians of Erin series, which takes place on the beautiful Emerald Isle.  I’m currently writing the second book, The Stone Awakened.  There will be four books in all.

If you love Ireland as much as I do, you might want to check it out.  The giveaway runs through December 28, 2017, so be sure to enter.  Good luck!

Phantasmic Friday ~ Week Three

20 Friday Oct 2017

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Welcome back to Phantasmic Friday! Here in Salem, Massachusetts, “Haunted Happenings”–our month-long celebration of Halloween–is in full swing. I doubt Salem’s founder, Roger Conant (pictured above, in front of the Salem Witch Museum) would approve, but those of us who love Halloween and/or the paranormal have a lot of fun! In that spirit, let’s journey back to my college years for today’s true story.

As an undergraduate, I studied one semester in London. I dove into life in that venerable city and bonded right away with my two roommates. We and our fellow students lived in a Victorian hotel in South Kensington, which also provided classrooms and a baptism-by-fire acquaintance with English plumbing.

The bathroom adjoining our room was a boon, but it was also the lair of the “toilet monster.” Out of the blue, said toilet emitted thunderous, tortured gurgles that begged our attention day and night. During the day, the toilet monster was harmless; at worst, a disturber of the peace. At night, it creeped out the roommate who slept closest to it and often wrenched me from my dreams. Or perhaps there was another culprit.

Once awake, I sat up in bed and squinted into the darkness. Someone unseen watched us. The presence was male, and I sensed he’d lived in an earlier time, closer to when the hotel was built. Sometimes he stood in our room, most often at the foot of my bed or near the bathroom; other times, he lurked just outside the door. His location was as clear to me as if I’d seen it.

Halfway through the semester, another student—who had no idea what I’d experienced and whose room was directly across the hall from ours— shared his own encounter. He woke in the middle of the night to find a 19th-century soldier standing at the foot of his bed, staring at him.

I was certain our neighbor saw what I’d repeatedly sensed. Intrigued, I researched the street where we lived. A few doors down, in 1926, one of England’s first paranormal investigators established the National Library of Psychical Research, where mediums were scientifically tested during numerous séances. Closer still was the home of a 19th-century lieutenant colonel who died under suspicious circumstances.

Did activities in the ghost hunter’s lab become a beacon for stray souls? Was the soldier one of them? Perhaps it was he who wandered the halls—and our rooms—as we slept.

In my YA paranormal fantasy, The Cauldron Stirred, the protagonist’s father is a paranormal investigator (in this century, though!). His family joins in the hunt for Irish ghosts in the ruins of a medieval castle and on the shores of Lough Leane. The story’s climax occurs on Halloween to boot!  🙂 If that sounds like something “up your alley,” check it out!

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Phantasmic Friday ~ Week One

06 Friday Oct 2017

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October has arrived!  It’s my favorite month for so many reasons:  the glory of autumn, the magic of Halloween, my wedding anniversary, etc.  I could go on and on but instead, I’m instituting “Phantasmic Friday” for the entire month.  Over the next four Fridays, I’ll share brushes with the supernatural I’ve been fortunate to experience.  One occurred when I was six years old.

On the night in question, I woke with a start. I lay nestled against a white, life-size teddy bear, so my vision was limited to a patch of faux fur illuminated by the nightlight’s glow. I couldn’t see a change in my world, but I could sense it.

Something was off.

The next instant, I heard confirmation. Slow footsteps clunked down the hall toward my bedroom, crossed the threshold, approached my bed, and halted beside it.

My ears pricked up. Every hair stood on end. Somehow, I knew the presence was an adult male; I also knew it wasn’t my father. I lay still as a board, feigning sleep, hoping the man would go away. Yet he remained poised at the left side of my bed.

Swallowed by a deafening silence—and partly, by my stifling, stuffed bear—I began to sweat. I waited for another movement, another sound, anything to help me gauge my visitor’s intent.

Nearly ten minutes of stress, heat, and uncertainty reigned before action’s inevitable coup. It was my bed and my room. I would confront the man and stake my claim. Will and courage surged within me, and I flung myself up and around to face…

Nothing. Diddly-squat.

I scanned the room, analyzing storybooks, dolls, and the familiar landscape of furniture. I frowned, for the atmosphere was still thick with something other than Florida’s trademark humidity.  Beyond the open door stretched the dim hallway.

“Is anyone there?” I called.

Dead silence. (Pun intended.)

At length, the air thinned. I shrugged and snuggled back under the covers and into the bear. I took a deep breath and expelled it with a smile.

Tired and craving sleep, my eyes closed. Then they shot open. Distinct, measured footfalls tracked out the door and disappeared down the hall.

Now, years later, I understand the event better. In the field of paranormal investigation, there are two types of haunting: intelligent and residual. With an intelligent haunting, the entity is aware of your presence and may try to communicate. A residual haunting is more like a recording—of energy and event—which replays itself again and again, and the entity involved is unaware it has company.

My first ghostly encounter seems to fall under the second category. The unexpected footsteps sounded like hard-soled shoes tramping on wood. Our house, built in the 1940s, did have wooden floors, but they were carpeted at the time of the event. The previous owners of the house were an elderly couple who preferred separate bedrooms, and guess which one used mine: the man. (I knew none of this at the time, though.)

He and I shared the same space in different times and should’ve been oblivious to one another. But could it be, when conditions are just right, two such individuals can perceive one another’s presence?

If linear time is an illusion, as many believe it to be, this type of awareness might occur more often than we suspect. Who knows? I might even have sensed a man who would occupy my bedroom in the future. In any case, I know what I felt and heard, and from that point on, my interest in the supernatural was as fervent as it was fixed.

If you’re as drawn to the paranormal as I (and/or it’s drawn to you!) you might enjoy The Cauldron Stirred, the first book in my Guardians of Erin series. I’m currently writing Book Two, The Stone Awakened. Happy October, everyone!

 

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I’m a guest on Sorchia’s Universe!

26 Tuesday Sep 2017

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Today, author Sorchia DuBois is hosting me on her magnificent blog, Sorchia’s Universe.  “Novel Magic” is the focus, and I’m talking about the inspiration for my latest novel, The Cauldron Stirred, and my love affair with Ireland.  There’s also an excerpt (featured nowhere else) which hints at the magic and mystery to be found within the pages of this first Guardians of Erin book and the three to come.

Join us if you have a moment.  Here’s the link:  https://wp.me/p6fSsM-YD

See you there!

Impetus Toward Ireland

22 Saturday Jul 2017

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One night in the summer before my senior year of high school, I kicked off my bedcovers with a vengeance. I snatched my glasses from the nightstand and glared at the ticking clock.

1:00 a.m. and all was NOT well.

I’d fidgeted for almost two hours, and sleep remained a stranger. Rolling my eyes, I abandoned my bed, then slunk through the house and out the back door.

Humidity hugged my skin like a second aura. With a sigh, I pushed up the sleeves of my nightgown and scanned the backyard. Spanish moss dangled from the oak trees. Moonlight touched the pool. Frogs croaked their hardest, but the sharp drone of crickets stole the show.

“Why am I so restless?” I asked aloud. “How can you yearn for something you can’t even name?”

As though sharing a private joke, the stars above winked.

The night held no answers; the mosquitoes showed no mercy. So I stole back into the house to worship the miracle of air conditioning and find something to read.

In the living room, I searched the shelves until my gaze locked on a book I’d never seen: Ireland – A Picture Book to Remember Her By. I grabbed it and settled on the velvet couch.

From the moment I opened the book, I changed. Waves of emotion rushed over me: love, sorrow, and strangest of all, homesickness. Gratitude flooded my heart and mind, for this was what I’d sought. I turned each page with reverence, melding my being with the images thereon.

It was crazy. I was born and raised in blazingly hot, equatorial Florida, about as far from Ireland and its blissfully cool climate as you can get. Before that night, I’d never considered the Emerald Isle. Not once. Now my whole life seemed to have led me to the discovery that I was somehow linked to that distant land.

Desire and will swelled within me, and I squeezed the book to my chest. I knew what I must do.

I jumped up and raced to my sleeping parents’ bedroom. “Mom! Dad!”

My father grunted, but my mother bolted upright in bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to tell you my decision. I’m going to Ireland.”

She squinted. “What, tonight?”

“No, but soon. I have to go.”

Dad rolled over. A rumble of complaint sounded, either from his throat or his stomach.

Mom glanced at the clock, then sank back onto her pillow. “Fine. But let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?”

When morning arrived, I did more than talk. Truth be told, I ate far too many donuts, but I must’ve burned off the calories during my impassioned plea. It was Ireland or bust! My unsuspecting parents didn’t know what to make of my new obsession, but Dad informed me my great-grandfather had emigrated from Ireland in 1914. How this fact escaped my notice for 17 years is beyond me, but now that I knew of my Irish heritage, I was unstoppable.

My grandfather had the address of our Irish cousins in County Kilkenny, and I obtained it faster than you can say Éirinn go Brách. Soon after, I became pen pals with one of the cousins, and we exchanged letters, photos, and even a phone call over the next 10 months.

My enthusiasm for Ireland was contagious, and by senior graduation, three round-trip plane tickets waited on my parents’ desk. The Three Musketeers—Mom, Dad, and I—were bound for Shannon Airport.

Excitement forbade sleep on the long flight over, so after we’d shuffled through customs, traded dollars for pounds, and procured our rental car, we drove straight to our bed-and-breakfast in the village of Bunratty and took a nap. When I awoke hours later, Mom informed me I’d spoken Irish in my sleep.

My instincts implored me to pay attention. From the moment I stepped foot on Irish soil, I felt I’d come home. This was no shallow sentiment; it was a gut reaction, a reunion with a piece of my soul.

Ireland’s landscape was as gorgeous as its people were gracious, but my response to its beauty seemed greatest in Killarney. There, while bouncing in the back of a jaunting car, I became one with my surroundings. The cool wind caressed my cheeks and whipped my long, blonde hair into a wild mass which would’ve made any banshee proud. Low-hanging, purple clouds harmonized with rippling lakes, and the gentle slope of mountains accompanied them. Flowering bushes, rustling trees, and fertile soil moist with promise completed the symphony. Each note had perfect pitch. Every phrase was pure magic.

When our driver reined in his horse, my parents jumped from the carriage, eager to tour Muckross House. I shared their enthusiasm but was so caught up in nature’s melody I didn’t want the ride to end. Still, history summoned me, so I followed their lead and strode toward the house.

Abruptly, I hesitated. The lake to my right seemed familiar. The adjacent parkland beckoned, but I had to resist its pull. With our jam-packed schedule, an amble through the woods was out of the question.

Years later, I would explore those woods and discover a surprising piece to add to my life’s puzzle. Once again that night, Mom heard me speaking Irish in my sleep.

In my latest release, The Cauldron Stirred, seventeen-year-old Ashling Donoghue has a similar experience. And she not only visits Killarney, but gets to live there. Ah, the magic of fiction!

Amazon https://amzn.com/B072C1CG5D

Barnes & Noble https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-cauldron-s…/1126456384…

The Wild Rose Press https://catalog.thewildrosepress.com/…/5134-the-cauldron-st…

The Guardians of Erin series is born!

21 Friday Jul 2017

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Today’s the day!  It’s the worldwide release of The Cauldron Stirred (Guardians of Erin, Book One).  A big thanks to everyone at The Wild Rose Press–especially my editor, Nicole D’Arienzo, cover artist, RJ Morris, and marketing director, Lisa Dawn–for all their efforts.

I hope you’ll check it out.  Here’s the blurb:

Ashling Donoghue never dreamed moving to Ireland would rock her perception of reality and plunge her into a mystery that brings legend to life.

At seventeen, she’s never had a boyfriend, but she feels an immediate connection to Aengus Breasal, the son of the wealthy Irishman who’s invited her family to stay at his Killarney estate.  For the first time in her life, a guy she likes seems attracted to her.

But Aengus is secretive, with good reason.  He and his family are the Tuatha Dé Danann, ageless, mythical guardians adept at shifting between this reality and the magical dimension known as the Otherworld.  Evil forces from that world threaten the Breasals, the Donoghues, and all of Ireland.  Ashling must open her heart, face her fears, and embrace a destiny greater than she could ever have imagined.

Here’s an excerpt:

The night air was deliciously cool. Moonlight and darkness held equal sway over the backyard thanks to the shifting clouds. I dashed across the lawn and halted in the exact spot where Aengus had stood. Panting, I looked around, willing some kind of clue to materialize.

The ruins in front of me darkened as large, heavy clouds swallowed the moon whole. The wind tugged at my long, loose hair and pajamas. Tiny raindrops spattered on my nose and cheeks. I turned my palms to the sky, and cold rain pelted them.

“Great.” Intending to return to the house, I swiveled around.

I gasped. My right hand flew to my chest. “Aengus?!”

The man himself stood an arm’s length in front of me. “Why are you here?”

“You scared the crap out of me!”

“Whisht!”

“What?”

“Shush!”

Pop!

The strident sound came from the ruins. I whirled around and stared at the dark keep.
Aengus grabbed me from behind. He pulled me to him and wrapped his arms around me. I reveled in the feel of his taut body, of his warm flesh against mine.

Suddenly, everything changed. The rain stopped. The wind died. The entire landscape was bathed in the soft hue of twilight. Breasal Castle looked brand spanking new, just as it had during the bizarre dream in which I brought Aengus to the cottage. But this time, I knew I was awake.

Dumbfounded, I gawked at the medieval magnificence before me. I had no idea what had happened and no desire to pull away from his embrace.

His lips brushed my right ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “This way.”

His right arm released me, and his left slid down to my waist. Maintaining body contact the entire time, he steered me toward the stand of oaks on our right.

Once sheltered by the trees, he turned us around so we faced the castle.

“Are we hiding?” I whispered.

“We are.”

“Why? And what just happened?”

“I can’t say.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.”

Until that moment, I’d forgotten I wore pajamas. Now I was acutely aware of it. Satin was pleasing to the touch, but something told me my attire had nothing to do with his grip on me.

I looked up at him. “Not that I mind, but why are you holding me so close?”

His hand tightened on my waist. “It’s necessary.”

“I don’t suppose you can explain that, either.”

With his gaze locked on the castle, he shook his head. He pressed his right forefinger against his mouth in a silencing gesture. Then he pointed up at the keep.

High on the battlements, the black-haired woman from my dream—and from Branna’s painting—paced back and forth. Her hair whipped about her pale face and slender frame.

She paused beside a gap in the crenelated wall and glared down at the fairy mound. Her colorless lips curled into a sneer. Then her human form morphed into a dark shadow, which fragmented into what seemed a million black particles. They swarmed into the air and shot across the twilit sky, disappearing into the distance.

I took a deep breath. “So she’s real.”

He nodded. “She’s real, to be sure. Come.” With his arm still hooked around me, he led me out of the woods and toward the fairy mound.

Available on Amazon at https://amzn.com/B072C1CG5D and other online retailers.