I am so excited that ECRIVAIN by Elizabeth Dunlap is available now and that I get to
share the news!
If you haven’t yet heard about this wonderful book by
Author Elizabeth Dunlap, be sure to check out all the details below.
This blitz also includes a giveaway for a finished
copy of the book and swag, courtesy of Elizabeth 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: ECRIVAIN (Ecrivain
Academy Book 1)
Author: Elizabeth
Dunlap
Pub. Date: July 21, 2019
Publisher: Elizabeth Dunlap
Formats: Paperback, eBook
Pages: 282
Read For Free on KU!
Welcome to Ecrivain Academy.
Here in these storied halls you will be trained to become one of
the greatest writers the world has ever known.
There are poetry battles.
Friends. Enemies.
Is your story a romance?
Or is it something darker?
Explore all Ecrivain has to offer.
That is, if you can survive until graduation.
Excerpt:
ONE
Hit send.
Just hit send.
My finger hovered over the enter key,
and I chewed on my lip in hesitation.
Come on, Calliope, my inner monologue
quipped. Don’t be a coward.
Taking a deep breath, I squeezed my eyes
shut and slammed my finger onto the enter button. My lungs emptied with a very
loud sigh and I peeked one eye out to see if the confirmation screen was up
yet.
It was.
There was no going back now. I’d
officially sent my story away into the electronic wild blue yonder. As scared
as I felt, a swirl of excitement was building in my stomach. I tried to tamper
it down so my hopes wouldn’t build up.
A sip of tea helped quell some anxiety
for now, and I let the warmth of it wash over me like a bath. My fingers
smoothed over the china while my eyes danced from the computer screen to the
paper I’d been putting off to the last minute. One more sip of tea. I closed
the tab with the writing contest and put it from my head so I could focus on
packing up my bag for school.
My phone popped with a text and I laid
out my math book over my desk before tapping my phone screen to see the
message.
Did you send it? The text was from my
best friend, Kathryn. A rush of dread flew up my throat. How had she found out?
Was she spying on me? Did the entire school know? I’d never be able to live
this down. I fumbled, trying to think of a response, and ended up having a
panic attack via text message.
Send what? Did someone say something?
What do you know? Who told you?
Way to play it cool.
She responded within a few seconds and I
could feel her raised eyebrow in the text. Calm down, spaztastic. I asked for a
cookie recipe yesterday, remember? Although I’d be happy to discuss whatever
that was all about.
Nothing, I responded, and quickly sent
her a picture of the recipe.
Thanks, she replied. I’m not forgetting
what you said, though, just in case you were hoping otherwise.
Crap. I groaned and sipped another
mouthful of tea. It didn’t make things better, unfortunately. I was of the
belief that tea could solve almost anything, but it couldn’t solve my big
mouth. Kathryn would be relentless at school until I either told her or made
something up. My eyes went back to my laptop screen where a sheep danced around
on my screensaver.
What was I thinking, entering a writing
contest? I wasn’t a writer. Nothing would change that, not even my stupid story
about a dog and a squirrel being best friends. I’d almost deleted it seven
times since I’d finished it, but something stopped me every time. When I found
a writing contest online, I decided enough was enough, and I’d hear for real
that my writing was garbage so I could stop this fantasy and get back to
everything I was supposed to care about, like boys and makeup.
If I kept sitting there regretting my
decision, I’d be late to school. One last sip emptied my cup, and I grabbed my
bag and headed out the door. Mom drove my brother Penny to school every day
while I took the bus. The sticky, smelly, pressed together bodies bus. The bus
that had already stopped at my house, apparently.
Cursing under my breath, I slipped my
black ankle boots on at the front door and ran to make sure the bus didn’t
leave me behind. It stopped at the stop sign on the end of my block and opened
for me when I kicked the side with my booted foot.
My house was one of the last on the
route, meaning I always had to sit in the undesirable spots on the bus. Today
that happened to be a seat that looked like someone had spilled a soda all over
it. I picked the very edge of the brown leather bench to sit on and hoped the
bus wouldn’t lurch and toss me into the aisle.
As the bus rolled away from my street,
the kids on the bus laughed, chatted to themselves, and beat out tunes on top
of the seats. I bobbed my head along with it, trying to not bring attention to
myself. None of them liked me, a fact I was well aware of. They were under the
impression that I had a superiority complex because my parents were rich. It
wasn’t my fault my parents made me ride the bus. I begged them for a car next
year when I turned sixteen, and they met it with a resounding no. No car for
Calliope. Riding the bus builds character. Wouldn’t want me to be spoiled like
Penny.
My little brother, Penny, was ten years
old, and my parents let him do whatever he wanted with the excuse of ‘boys will
be boys.’ I struggled daily trying to tell myself that I’m supposed to love my
brother, not to mention my parents. What kind of person doesn’t love their
family? The bad kind, that’s what. I was a horrible person for not loving them.
My alternative was that I could at least care about them. Maybe if I did, I
would become a better person. Until then, I deserved to ride the bus like a
loser. I stared down at the dirty bus floor and moped about my lot in life
until the bus lurched and tossed me, not in the aisle, but right into the
sticky seat puddle. My blue jumper was covered in soda, not to mention my hair.
I pulled at my red strands and came away with sticky sugar.
“Aww, is richy rich in a sticky
situation?” someone taunted. The bus erupted in laughter and my face burned
with mortification. I looked up to see a boy wearing a backwards cap, sipping a
soda through a straw and smiling at me with an evil grin. His straw bubbled
like there wasn’t anything left in the cup, because he’d emptied it all over my
seat. Pulling the cup away from his mouth, he shook it at me with a smile full
of sarcastic venom. His friend fist bumped him in victory.
The bus rocked again when the driver
pulled on the breaks as we reached the school, and I fell into the aisle this
time. The dirt from people’s shoes stuck to my sticky arm. Everyone had a good
round of laughter again and left the bus, leaving me behind. Somehow, I got up
off the floor and got my sticky self out onto the sidewalk.
Kathryn was waiting for me as always
with her golden tan and pink haired perfection, but her perfect face turned
sour when she saw me messed up and dirty. She flew to me and fussed over taking
my sticky bag and helping me inside the building, as if I couldn’t on my own.
She snuck me into the girl’s locker room and I took my boots off before I stood
under the showerhead and let the warm water flow over me.
“Those beasts,” she spat, watching me by
the sinks. I ran my fingers through my tangled red hair and shook the droplets
off my face. “They put the soda there on purpose to screw with you. I should
join you today after school and show them what happens when you mess with my
friend.”
“Please don’t,” I pleaded
half-heartedly. She was the only person who cared about me. I couldn’t bear it if
she was bullied too. I used a towel to dry off myself and my clothes as best I
could. The shower room had a washer and dryer, but if I didn’t get going fast,
we would miss first period.
“B. T. Dubs,” she said, pointing a
perfectly manicured finger at me. “We’re going to talk about that freak out you
had via text earlier.”
If I hadn’t just been doused in soda, I
might’ve actually told her the truth, but my mood was ruined. I grabbed my bag
from her and used the towel to try and salvage it without using water. It
worked well enough, so I slung it over my shoulder and walked out without
saying another word to her.
My favorite part of school was free
period. I spent that time every day inside the library, soaking in every book I
could get my hands on. I’ll admit that I was guilty of only choosing what was
new and popular, just so I could add to the conversations at school. I never
read anything older than myself, unless it was a hot topic, like Handmaid’s
Tale or Outlander. I never read classics or non-fiction. I know that’s
practically reader taboo, but I cared more about being able to impress people
than reading about antique people doing antique people things. It was a
conundrum, wanting to stay under the radar and yet be noticed at the same time.
I didn’t care that it was ridiculous.
My current read was about a virtual
world used to escape the doldrums of everyday life. It had been adapted into a
movie and everyone at school was buzzing about plans to go see it. I’d saved
enough allowance to go with Kathryn, and I fully intended to read the book
first so I could be prepared just in case anyone talked to me about it.
Like Blades Sherman.
He was on the football team and he
always dated curvy blondes that actually needed a bra. I knew he’d never notice
me, but my teenage heart didn’t care. I wanted him to suddenly realize that I
was perfect for him. Preferably before prom so he could ask me and I wouldn’t
have to go with Kathryn. I was totally fine bringing a girl, especially one as
pretty as Kathryn, but I wanted Blades like I wanted air, and really nice
shoes.
“Wake up.” Kathryn poked me with a
pencil and looked back down at her book, something with art on the pages. She
was convinced that there had to be at least one book in our library with boobs
in it. It was her daily quest, mostly so she had something to do while I
actually read the books. “Is it boring?” She pointed the pencil at the book in
my hands.
“No. I was just…..” I scratched at my
leg. My skin was becoming increasingly itchy with my still slightly damp
clothes. I could’ve spent free period cleaning them in the girls’ locker room,
but why do that when I could read books? “…daydreaming,” I finished.
“About Blaaaades?” she teased, batting
her eyelashes at me.
“Sssshut up,” I whispered in warning.
She giggled at me and leaned in secretively.
“Tell me, Cals. What’s the thing you
freaked out about earlier? Did you do something rebellious?” Her face lit up in
hope and she grabbed my hand to shake it repeatedly.
“Kind of?”
She squeaked loud enough for the librarian
to shush us, then leaned in closer. “What’d’ja do? Tellmetellmetellme!”
Having to say it out loud to her made it
real, and scary. I couldn’t tell her I’d written a dumb story. She wouldn’t
tease me, but she’d make it a thing. She’d never let me rest until I kept
writing, and I wasn’t ready for that. I didn’t even want that.
Did I?
Before I could answer, Kathryn grabbed
my hand and squeaked again, softer this time so we wouldn’t get in trouble.
Blades had just entered the library with his newest fling, someone I didn’t
know, but I wished I looked like her. Blonde hair. Big boobs. Actual booty. My
envy of her almost distracted me from him, my Blades. My stomach flip-flopped
at the sight of him and my lungs felt compressed inside my chest. I primped my
hair a bit and straightened my sweater.
“Calliope and Blades, sittin’ in a tree,”
Kathryn sang in a whisper. I batted her hands away. She brought her two pointer
fingers together to mimic kissing. “Gonna F.K. with Blades, aww yiss.” Her
abbreviation of ‘first kiss’ didn’t make her mashed together fingers look more
appealing. It also sounded like she was saying a curse word.
I’d just hissed for her to stop when
Blades and his girlfriend came closer. His eyes were busy taking in all the
shelves while the girl approached me with a cynical stare. She adjusted her
very large expensive purse and flipped her hand out in that ‘I want to talk to
your manager’ kind of way.
“Hey, nerd,” she belted out in my
direction. “Where’s the best corner in here to make out?” I was stunned into
silence that she would even ask me anything, not to mention why did she want to
know something like that? Ohh. Right. She scoffed at me when I didn’t answer.
“Oh wait, I’m asking the wrong person, aren’t I? You only kiss your hand.” She
sighed, as if teasing me was boring her. “Where’s the books on Napoleon?”
Kathryn leaned her arm over the back of
her chair and scowled. “Do we look like librarians?”
The blonde girl’s look made it very
clear she absolutely thought we did. “I need to write a stupid paper and I have
no idea who Napoleon is.”
Kathryn shrugged. “French dude. Tried to
take over Europe. Didn’t work out too well.” I found myself trying to catch
Blades’ eyes, but he kept his gaze firmly towards the ceiling. If only he’d
look down, he’d see how cute I looked in my navy blue jumper. It was almost
completely dry now from the shower too.
My mind moved unbidden to thoughts of
finding that quiet corner his girlfriend thought I knew about, only she wasn’t
there, and it was just him and me. Maybe he’d laugh when he felt the dampness
of the jumper and pull me close to him when I told him what had happened. It
would be nice to have someone to save me from bullies. Maybe he’d become my
champion and make sure no one hurt me ever again.
And maybe. He’d give me my first kiss. A
stolen moment between the book stacks when our lips met.
His girlfriend snapped loudly in my face
to wake me up from my daydreams. “Wake up, crazy face. Where’s the stupid
history books, your friend doesn’t know.”
My cheeks flushed and I glanced at
Blades again before looking down at my boots. “Over there,” I said meekly,
pointing. She grabbed Blades’ arm and dragged him away from me.
Daydreaming was something I did every
day. Yes, some of it was about Blades, as was to be expected of teenage girl
hormones. The rest was about other things. How I’d fit in my favorite novels or
tv shows, or what if this had happened in history instead of what actually
happened.
Sometimes I daydreamed about things I
made up and that was how I’d come up with the story about the dog and the
squirrel. I saw someone walking their Labrador retriever across the street from
my science class and watched as it tried desperately to catch a ground
squirrel, even after the rodent had disappeared into its hole in the ground.
Something sparked inside me, and I immediately flipped a few pages away from my
science notes and wrote until the bell rang.
The dog and squirrel had lived in the
same yard for all their lives, and the squirrel was convinced he and the dog
were best friends. The dog had no such preconceptions and tolerated the
squirrel’s antics until one day the squirrel didn’t come out of its tree, and
the dog realized he missed his friend.
I knew the story wasn’t very good, but
writing it made me feel alive, and as I sat in Algebra daydreaming about other
things, I tried to convince myself that I was going to succeed at writing. My
resolve was short-lived because I went home and remembered how life really was.
That was how I felt that day when I
trudged up the stairs and dumped my bag onto my bed before changing out of the
now dry jumper. My skin still had an edge of stick to it, so I walked to the
bathroom to clean up. The large rectangle mirror showed a thin weed-like girl
with freckles and red hair that was neither curly nor straight. I turned to the
side and frowned at my lack of curves. I was still as skinny as I was before
puberty. Shopping in the juniors section while everyone else had moved onto the
women’s section was humiliating, not to mention I was the only fifteen year old
who hadn’t grown proper breasts. A groan escaped my lips and I leaned forward
to scowl at all the freckles that dotted every inch of my skin. I looked like a
Dalmatian.
“If you stare harder, maybe you’ll stop
looking like a turd face,” my little brother squeaked from behind the bathroom
door. I caught his eye in the mirror and the sight of my angry face sent him
off running down the hall. My feet flew out of the bathroom, through the
hallway, down the stairs, and into the living room where he’d hidden behind
something.
“Penny, you are so dead!” I shouted to him
as I bent around looking for his hiding spot.
“Language!” I heard from the kitchen,
right before my mother poked her head out from the archway that separated the
two rooms. She looked at me with pursed lips and wrinkled disapproval. It took
me a few seconds to realize that she was mad at me for saying the word ‘dead.’
I pointed to the couch where Penny was
hiding. “Penny called me a turd face.”
Instead of coming to my defense, because
she never did, Mom sighed heavily. “Calliope, act mature. This doesn’t become
you.” She turned and went back into the kitchen. My mouth curled in anger at
her retreating back. She was so mean sometimes. Why couldn’t she be fun like
Kathryn’s mom? Kathryn’s mom let her do whatever she wanted, while my mom still
insisted I hide my eyes when Aragorn decapitated the Uruk-hai in Lord of the
Rings. Spoiler alert: I’ve seen blood before, Mom.
Seeing that I wasn’t paying attention,
Penny crawled out from the couch and launched himself at my leg. “Alien
attaaaaack!” he screamed. “I’m going to suck your brains out your butt hole!” I
kicked at the leg he was attached to and looked hopefully at the kitchen to see
if Mom would reprimand my brother for saying ‘butt hole,’ but she failed to
appear. Typical.
“Penny,” I growled in annoyance. “Why
are you being such a brat?”
“I’m not a brat! You’re a brat!” he
retorted and stuck his tongue out at me.
“Don’t call your brother a brat,” Dad
ordered from the front door. Him too? Of course, I forgot. It was pick on
Calliope day. Every day was pick on Calliope day.
“Make him get off,” I whined, hoping one
parent would have some sympathy on me.
“It’s time for dinner.”
Mom’s words made Penny fly off of me
faster than a page load. He didn’t bother making sure I was okay, and his
retreat almost knocked me over, slamming me into the edge of the coffee table.
Pain sliced through my leg and I bent to checked the area. No blood. I limped
over to the dining table where Mom had decorated the room like we were being
filmed for HGTV. Flowers in vases, flowers in buckets, flowers in tiny
wheelbarrows, and so. much. burlap.
I sat down in my country style
ladderback chair with weathered paint and watched Penny kick his chair
repeatedly as he swung his feet back and forth. My father, already sitting at
the head of the table, ignored the noise and damage to the chair. I smiled when
Mom came into the room and placed a large dish of roast beef stew on the table.
She didn’t smile back, but that was okay.
“How was work, Dad?” I asked brightly,
picking up my napkin to place in my lap. Yes. Mom made us use actual cloth
napkins, like we were at a restaurant. It’s an understatement to say she tried
my patience sometimes.
My father helped himself to some stew
and diverted my question with one of his own. “Have you finished your paper
that’s due tomorrow?” He was always on top of what I had to do at school.
I sunk into my chair and stared at the
flowers in front of me. “No.”
“Then what, pray tell, was so much more
important than your homework?” he asked me, his tone growing agitated. He
passed the serving spoon to Penny next.
I watched my brother get a very large
serving of the stew and thought about the story contest. Obviously, I couldn’t
tell them about it. What would they even say?
Stop neglecting your studies for
frivolous activities. Probably. Not that I wasn’t a straight A student, because
I was. That didn’t matter to them, though.
When my brother stuck his tongue out at
me and passed the serving spoon to Mom, something snapped inside me. I grasped
at the receding tethers to stop the oncoming flood, but it was too late.
My mouth had a mind of its own and
blurted out the sentence that changed my life.
“I entered a writing contest.”
About Elizabeth:
Elizabeth Dunlap is the author of
several fantasy books, including the Born Vampire series. She's never wanted to
be anything else in her life, except maybe a vampire. She lives in Texas with
her boyfriend, their daughter, and a very sleepy chihuahua named Deyna.
Giveaway
Details:
1
winner will win a finished copy of ECRIVAIN & Swag, US Only.
Ends
August 13th, midnight EST.
