Simon and Schuster UK is having a
Month of Men Blog Tour. Holla! I'm jumping all over this New Adult bandwagon. If you've not read one yet, do it. See what all the hype is about.
You can see the full tour list {
here}.
You should start with Grounding Quinn by Stephanie Campbell. When I read it I had all these eerie emotions surfacing. It hit maybe a little too close to home. I love books that feel real.
Aren't these covers gorgeous?!
Check out an excerpt for Grounding Quinn by Stephanie Campbell below.
Then go forth and purchase!
Enjoy!
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My mother is totally nuts. I say this with complete certainty, and with the backing of fourteen medical professionals’ opinions. They’ve filled her head – and our medicine cabinet, with enough bottles to make a CVS jealous. Lithium, Darvocet, Prozac, Xanax- they’re all present and accounted for, happy little tablets to curb her unruly moods. So, what did come first, the meds or her major personality defect? If you ask me, I don’t think my mom started off certifiably emo. I think she was unhappy and my dad knew it’d be easier to partially sedate her to keep her quiet than attempt to make her life better. So between him and all the whack job doctors with their happy little concoctions, they’ve made her schizo on their own. But whether it was before or after the pills, my mother’s now bat shit crazy just the same.
I tap my fingers lackadaisically on the heavy walnut door, as I stare in to the overflowing medicine cabinet. Mom’s insanity at least has one perk. There’s a sea of countless bottles seemingly smiling at me, begging me to pick them. I spin the Lazy Susan until I find a winner. Grabbing the dark, amber bottle, I roll the cool glass back and forth in my palm. My parents are too self-absorbed and preoccupied with my younger brother that they’ll never realize that it’s missing.
I chug a mouthful of Tussionex (pre-spiked with hydrocodone for your convenience), savoring its warm, syrupy goodness as it coats my throat and flows down into my stomach. I know that in minutes I’ll
feel blissful and alert. My mother’s flakiness and my dad’s patronization will cease to bother me. Yes, now I’m ready to start my day.
I should be dreading this. Going to summer school is not at all how I envisioned spending the summer before my senior year. I should be off on some drunken Mexican vacation with everyone else in my class, not making up math credits in order to graduate. Too bad I’m galactically inept when it comes to math. I don’t care what anyone thinks, I just can’t wrap my mind around numbers; they taunt me, and laugh at my stupidity. Maybe if I had something else going on, summer school wouldn’t have appealed to me in the least,
but sadly, I do not. My boyfriend Daniel and I broke up the day before he left for Cabo, and my two best friends, Sydney and Tessa, are both out of town, so that helps raise the depression factor a bit.
The halls at school are empty for once, just the way that I like them. Stepping into the deserted administrative office sort of makes me feel like I’ve made a wrong turn and ended up on the sun. Between the bright fluorescent lights, and intense yellow paint job, it wouldn’t be an unrealistic assumption. The cheeriness of the room leaves me grimacing. I’m tempted to set the attendance sheets of the summer school students that I’ve been charged with delivering on the office desk and leave, but I decide against it. With my luck, they’d get overlooked and I wouldn’t get credit for this damn class. I try to be patient and amuse myself by looking at the class panoramic pictures from previous years. Decade’s worth of happy graduates crammed into the school bleachers showing off their commencement attire. I scan the alternating colors of caps and gowns that so creatively spell out our school’s initials, and find my dad in one of the yellowing, framed pictures. He looks so pompous, even at eighteen. It’s nice to see some things never change. I root around in my purse until I find a black permanent marker and scribble out his smug head.
