Sunday, 3 August 2014

Forget Me Not by Stacey Nash Book Blitz and Giveaway!



About Book One:
Forget Me Not by Stacey Nash
Genre: YA/Fantasy/Speculative Fiction
Published August 1st, 2014

Anamae is drawn into a world which shatters everything she knew to be true.
Since her mother vanished nine years ago, Anamae and her father have shared a quiet life. But when Anamae discovers a brooch identical to her mother’s favorite pendant, she unknowingly invites a slew of trouble into their world. They’re not just jewellery, they’re part of a highly developed technology capable of cloaking the human form. Triggering the jewellery’s power attracts the attention of a secret society determined to confiscate the device – and silence everyone who is aware of its existence. Anamae knows too much, and now she’s Enemy Number One.
She’s forced to leave her father behind when she’s taken in by a group determined to keep her safe. Here Anamae searches for answers about this hidden world. With her father kidnapped and her own life on the line, Anamae must decide if saving her dad is worth risking her new friends’ lives. No matter what she does, somebody is going to get hurt.

About Book Two:
Remember Me by Stacey Nash
Genre: YA/Fantasy/Speculative Fiction
Published October 1st, 2014

When all is lost, she must remember…

Anamae Gilbert managed to thwart The Collective and rescue her father, even though his mind is now a shell. Determined to stop Councilor Manvyke hurting her family again, she’s training to become an active resistance member and enjoying a growing romance. But things never sail along smoothly – Manvyke wants retribution. And Anamae’s name is high on his list.

After a blow to the head, she awakes in an unfamiliar location. Anamae can’t remember the last few weeks and she can’t believe the fascinating new technology she’s seeing. She’s the new kid at school and weapons training comes with ease, but something feels off. Why does the other new kid’s smile make her heart ache?

And why does she get the feeling these people are deadly?

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Excerpt : 

It’s not getting any easier to tell my mother what’s happened, what she’s missed,
what’s been going on in my life. It’s not getting any easier to survive each day without her. 
It’s not getting any easier to think of her and not cry. Elbow on my writing desk and chin 
cupped in my hand, I stare at the yellow notepaper. The lines across it are as empty as my 
pounding head. The spot where the tip of my favorite pen touches is marked by a growing 
dot, evidence that there are no right words.

It’s sure as heck not getting any easier.
Hoping to find inspiration, I glance at the photo waiting to be slipped into the 
envelope with this letter. Normally I put aside a nature shot for her, but this one’s a ‘selfie’ of 
me and Will. His sandy hair looks kind of messy the way it falls into his bright eyes, and his 
arm, resting over my shoulders so naturally, pulls us close together. Our grins say more than 
words ever can.

Twirling the pen between my fingers, I gaze out the window at the soft autumn 
afternoon and daydream about what to write. A distant clang like metal against metal sounds 
from outside. Will must be at it again. I shoot up, lean over the desk, and raise the window, 
letting a rush of warm air brush my face. His jean clad legs stick out from under the hood of a beat-up car parked in their yard.

That car is like a full time job, he works on it so often now. He backs out and hoists a 
motor, or something, onto his shoulder, lifting like it weighs no more than his kid sister. He 
looks up, catches me watching him, and grins. I wave and, with a sigh, plonk back into the 
chair, dropping my gaze to the blank sheet in front of me. I really want to write her.
For nine years I’ve been writing these letters and placing them in my top drawer with 
a photo. It’s become a yearly tradition. At least if we ever find Mom, she’ll know what my 
life’s been like.

Nothing comes to me. None of the thoughts ambling through my mind are quite right, 
so I drop the pen, pinch my lips together, and tap my fingers on the desk in a sharp rhythm 
that cuts through my aching head. I need the right words.
I last saw her on an ordinary March school day the year I was eight. She packed my 
lunch, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and waved goodbye. I climbed into the bus. As she stood 
on the curb, she didn’t look happy or sad, scared or frightened—just the same as any other 

Heaviness squeezes my chest and makes each inhalation of breath hurt. I’ve played 
that day back in my mind over and over, analyzed every detail: her wave, her smile, her 
words, her haunted look. Did she know it was goodbye?
Not knowing leaves a complete emptiness inside me. Knowing if she’s alive or 
dead, or why she hasn’t come back would make it so much easier. Especially since Dad 
barely mentions her anymore, and no matter how many times I turn her photos around, they 
continue to spin and face the wall. I guess it’s just too hard for him.

I shake my head in an effort to expel the memories, but it’s no use. The lines on the 
paper blur, my eyes slide shut, and it hurts too much. I can’t do this right now. Grabbing my 
camera off the desk, I slam the window shut and run down the stairs, shouting to Dad, “I’ll be 
back for dinner.”

“Wait. Can you grab milk?”

He walks out of the kitchen, a five dollar bill pinched between his fingers. I pluck it 
from his outstretched hand and turn to leave, but his hand closes over my shoulder, spinning 
me around. “Everything okay?”
I close my eyes and expel a long breath. He won’t want to hear it, so there’s no point 
sharing. “I miss her, too.”

About the Author:
Stacey Nash writes adventure filled stories for Young Adults in the Science Fiction and Fantasy genres. When her head isn’t stuck in a fictional world, she calls the Hunter Valley of New South Wales home. It is an area nestled between mountains and vineyards, full of history and culture that all comes together to create an abundance of writing inspiration. Stacey loves nothing more than writing when inspiration strikes.
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