It’s National Psychic Week!

That means that we have great books

*with a psychic twist*

on sale!

Don’t miss out! The sale ends August 5th!

*sale is for ebook only*

The Manicurist by Phyllis Schieber – $0.99

A magical novel of secrets revealed and a family in turmoil, searching together for new beginnings.

Tessa and Walter have, by all appearances, the perfect marriage. And they seem to be ideal parents for their somewhat rebellious teenage daughter, Regina. Without warning, however, their comfortable lives are thrown into turmoil when a disturbing customer comes into the salon where Tessa works as a manicurist.

Suddenly, Tessa’s world is turned upside down as revelations come to light about the mother she thought had abandoned her in childhood and the second sight that she so guardedly seeks to keep from others.

The Challenge by Susan Kearney – $0.99

Book 1 of The Rystani Warrior Series

Domination. Desire. Destiny.

He rules a future in which women are helpless, obedient, and always willing. She comes from a past in which a woman’s strength, brains, and courage are unquestioned. The challenge between them is timeless.

Secret Service agent Tessa Camen took a bullet meant for the president. She regains consciousness three hundred years in the future on a spaceship, naked in the arms of Kahn, a fierce warlord from the planet Rystan. He’s been expecting her. Tessa was whisked forward in time because her fighting abilities include a psychic talent like none other. Only she can defeat an enemy who threatens Earth. The fate of her home hangs in the balance. Once again, she’s called on to serve and protect her nation.

In Kahn’s world, women are meant to be ruled but also protected. He can seduce Tessa, but can he own her heart and mind? Can he put aside his beliefs about women to help her train for a brutal intergalactic test, The Challenge? If she loses, so does Earth.

Tessa and Kahn are caught in a war of wills set in a future where survival is a skill, power is an aphrodisiac, and love is a challenge that could destroy everything they cherish.

The Lightning Charmer by Kathryn Magendie – $1.99

He brought down the sky for her.

The spell was cast when they were children. That bond cannot be broken.

In the deep hollows and high ridges of the ancient Appalachian mountains, a legacy of stunning magic will change their lives forever.

Laura is caught between the modern and the mystical, struggling to lead a normal life in New York despite a powerful psychic connection to her childhood home in North Carolina—and to the mysterious stranger who calls her name. She’s a synesthete—someone who mentally “sees” and “tastes” splashes of color connected to people, emotions, and things. She’s struggled against the distracting ability all her life; now the effects have grown stronger. She returns home to the mountains, desperate to resolve the obsessive pull of their mysteries.

But life in her mountain community is far from peaceful. An arsonist has the town on edge, and she discovers Ayron, scarred and tormented, an irresistible recluse who rarely leaves the forest. As her childhood memories of him surface, the facade of her ordinary world begins to fade. The knots she’s tied around her heart and her beliefs start unraveling. Ayron has never forgotten her or the meaning of their astonishing bond. If his kind is to survive in modern times, he and Laura must face the consequences of falling in love.

Nothing But Trouble by Trish Jensen – $0.99

He’s gorgeous, rich, sexy, super nice, and head-over-heels for her. So what’s the problem?

Her psychic best friend predicts that Laura Tanner is due to meet a prince—the man of her dreams. Not a likely scenario for a hard-working bar owner who’s better at karate-chopping rowdy patrons than hobnobbing with the silver-spoon crowd. When Ivy League lawyer Brandon Prince (a prince!) strolls into her bar, Laura admits he’s hard to resist. Brandon quickly realizes that this lovely, funny, take-no-prisoners woman is the special someone he’s always wanted.

Brandon is an expert at wooing women, and even a tough cookie like Laura can’t help but fall under his spell. Before she knows what’s happening, he’s lured her on a romantic adventure filled with laughter and desire. Dazzled, she begins to believe that she really can have this prince of a man as her own.

One problem: Brandon’s powerful mother is used to women chasing his family fortune, and she’ll do whatever it takes to keep yet another money-grubbing female out of his life. If a man is everything you’ve ever wanted, how can he also be nothing but trouble?

Raging Spirits by Angel Smits – $0.99

Can she break the spell that haunts him?

Clarissa Elgin’s psychic powers have brought her trouble before. This time, her vision shows her a handsome man dying in her arms after being shot in a robbery. The stranger whispers the name Rachel as his killer. She also envisions an embezzlement scheme at a bank where she soon spots the man in real life. David Lorde, a bank vice president, is skeptical when she visits his office to warn him about the future.

Another vision shows her a lovers’ quarrel between David and Rachel—his wife. He suspected her of marrying him for his money and prestige. A shot rings out. Did he kill Rachel?

Clarissa can’t get David out of her mind. As she falls in love with him, she deduces that somehow his late wife’s spirit has cast a spell over him. But an even more sinister evil is behind Rachel’s power. . .

Clarissa must risk her life to save him.

In addition to our amazing sale, we asked our intern, Cody, to write a post for National Psychic Week! He did not disappoint…

Psychic powers have long fascinated me. I am on the fence about whether I think people can actually have psychic abilities. I want to believe they can, but I’ll need a piece of hard proof in front of me before I will completely go out on that limb. That being said, psychics have indisputably had a hand in solving various murders and missing persons cases over the years. They continue to be able to tell us things about people who have passed away that seemingly they should not know if their powers were fake. Cases upon cases of psychic occurrences have been documented, but without being able to actually enter the mind of the psychic, no one has been able to explain or completely validate whether or not psychics are real.

Perhaps the most interesting psychic of all time was Nostradamus. He wrote over a thousand quatrains (a four line block) about events he believed would happen in the future. The poetic nature of his prophesies makes it difficult to pinpoint specific events. However, looking at his writings in hindsight, there are countless events that he might have predicted. One of his most famous predictions was about the coming of Hitler. He wrote:

“From the depths of the West of Europe,
A young child will be born of poor people,
He who by his tongue will seduce a great troop;
His fame will increase towards the realm of the East.

           Beasts ferocious with hunger will cross the rivers,
           The greater part of the battlefield will be against Hister.
           Into a cage of iron will the great one be drawn,
           When the child of Germany observes nothing.”

Many people have interpreted, and with good reason, this to be a direct reference to Hitler. He only missed calling out Hitler specifically by one letter. Also, the two quatrains almost perfectly describe Hitler’s upbringing as well as the political landscape during WWII concerning the Allied and Axis forces.

Nostradamus’s predictions don’t stop there. He also predicted the Great Fire of London in 1666 and possibly the terror attacks of 9/11 in New York City. He spoke of the terror attacks by referring to the “great new city” where the “sky will burn at 45 degrees.”  Most scholars believe that Nostradamus’s “45 degrees” is in reference to the city’s location, near the 45 degree line of latitude.            

All of that being said, I think we need to take Nostradamus’s prophecies with a grain of salt. The vast majority of his writings are very imprecise and can seemingly only be understood after an event has happened. However, I still believe there is some validity to the psychic argument. Nostradamus, while vague, clearly had a grasp on something a little bit deeper than a basic understanding of the universe. Whether that means he was a genius at deception or a true psychic, only time and more research will tell, but the possibility of a person having a psychic connection to their surroundings continues to fascinate millions of people. I cannot discount the fact that there are people who can discern information in ways that most cannot explain. This phenomenon will remain capable of captivating us for many generations to come.

Check out more of Nostradamus’s predictions:

http://read.bi/2w7z6M2

You can also get your own copy of Nostradamus’s Prophecies here:

 http://amzn.to/2f9zcyC

Happy Reading!

No Pot of Gold at This End

by Kathryn Magendie

Lots of supernatural magic happens in the Smoky Mountains. And if some of it is unbelievable to you and you and you,  well, there’s no way to prove that, now is there? We can hide more deeds in and among these mysterious mountains than city dwellers can (and I say “dwellers” as if it’s not spelled and pronounced that way, as if I am saying “fellers” all mountain south way).

But there are some things that need no proving. You must believe them! For in believing them, you can take away a piece of the magic for yourself—you can look for what you must find.

I once was hiking along a ridge-top when I saw a rainbow arcing across the sky, touching the next ridge-top over from where I was. There was something different about this rainbow, something more solid though it undulated, sparkly, and it was beckoning to me. I was mesmerized, hypnotized, and didn’t even think to consider the distance I’d have to trek to find the end of that strange rainbow.

But in the way that magic happens, when the earth aligns just so with the moon, and the stars although unseen bare their sparkled supernatural gifts, with only a few long running steps I soon arrived at my destin(y)ation.

When I tell this story, seeing as it happened on March 17, St. Patrick’s Day, people will ask, “Did you find a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? A leprechaun?” I just shake my head. Seriously? A pot of gold? A leprechaun? Those kinds of things are for other legends and other fairytales in other lands. Not for here. Not for me. And they will then ask, “What did you find, Kathryn?”

“I found,” I then say, “a cup spilling over with brilliant color that washed into the cup and over its sides, and down the mountain . . .” . . . on it flowed, as if a creek where many colors of paint were spilled. I didn’t hesitate, but threw off my clothes and dived in. The water-colors were warm against my skin, and when I lifted my hand, it was red, green, purple, blue, yellow, orange—and all the colors among and between those. Glancing down at my body, it was just as my hand appeared. My hair streamed out behind me, brilliant golden silver.

I then drank some of the water, unafraid, for the rainbow whispered promises to me—“It is good; it is good; it is so very good, dear one.” And it was. I tasted sweetness, a sweetness that entered my body and then spilled out from my pores. I sweated colors, and then, quite suddenly, because it was so very lovely, I began to cry. I sat upon the grass tinted by the colors, my feet emerged in brilliance, and I cried for everything I ever lost and gained and would lose and gain again. My tears fell upon the grass in gemstones of emerald, ruby, sapphire. I did not pluck them from the ground for my gain, for they belonged to the rainbow.

The waters then rose up and washed around me, hugging me, and I knew the rainbow would soon have to leave. The cup tipped and spilled all of its wonder and I lay upon the ground and let the colors wash me clean. I saw my life before and ever since. But I could not see what was to come, and that was okay, for the rainbow eased my worry.

Soon, the cup was empty, the water-colors rising up out of it and back into the rainbow, and then, as if it had never been there at all (but it was! I saw it!), the cup and the rainbow disappeared. I mourned it for a moment, until I saw something glimmer in the grass—one perfect tear still held there, garnet—deep blooded red. I touched it and it melted into my skin becoming a part of my blood that raced through my veins. I smiled, rose, and hiked back down the mountain.

I would never be the same.

When I tell this story, people think it is a metaphor, that I have some grand reason for telling it, some purpose.

That is up to the listener. I only know what I experienced that March 17 in a year that is secret to everyone but me—perhaps it is this year, and I simply saw the future. Perhaps it was a hundred years ago, and I saw a past.

I long to hike up to the ridge-top once more, to see a rainbow, where I would not look for pots of gold or leprechauns, but instead for the beckoning. I long to search until I find it again—though, I know in that knowing way, it happens only once in a lifetime, in ten-thousand life-times. I know that now comes the time that I must leave it behind and never ever will I ever see it again.

Check out Kathryn Magendie’s novel – THE LIGHTNING CHARMER – today on Amazon!

Just click the link! 

Christmas Lists: Then and Now(—Are we thinking of the giver?)

By Kathryn Magendie

At various stages of Kid-dom, my Christmas list would read something like this:

Real Candy, with chocolate – not that hard stuff, or fruit

Baby Doll with a Stroller

Pretend, but really works, Spinning Wheel with Yarn

Barbie

Bike – a new one would be nice, but used is fine, too

Pack of Old Maid Playing Cards

Parcheesi

Checkers

Horse – not a pony, but a Real Horse, preferably a black stallion that rears up and paws the air

Books  – connect the dot, puzzle books, Black Beauty, Black Stallion books, Call of the Wild – any book about dogs or horses or wolves

A pair of black and a pair of white shiny vinyl knee-high boots

Blacklight and Poster

And, with the exception of the horse (dang), at one time or another, I received those gifts. Thing is, all of those gifts are tangible. One can go out to the store and purchase the item, wrap it up, and put it under the tree—again, with the exception of the horse, but that didn’t stop me from racing to the window every Christmas and checking to see if a horse was tied up in our suburban front yard. Yeah. Hope springs and all that.  But the list is simple enough, although at various times in my life we were pretty danged poor, so those items weren’t easy to come by. Somehow, though, my mom always found a way to have presents under the tree for us. And the magical wonderful thing about that is this: whether we had asked for a certain item or knew it was best not to ask because times were hard, it didn’t matter, because once we dived under the tree and began unwrapping, we thought how everything we received was just what we wanted no matter what our list, spoken, written, or just dreamt, was—we were happy, even with the sack of fruit and hard danged ole candy.

Fast forward to my Older-dom, the post-published author phase of my life, and the list reads something like this:

New York Times Best-seller

Win a Literary Award

Number 1 (again please!) on Kindle

People to love me and love my books and think I am AWESOME!

Yeah, yeah: Love and peace and health and all that jazz, etc etc etc.

Write a book that goes viral

Oprah saying “and a Magendie book for YOU, and a Magendie book for YOU, and a Magendie book for YOUUUUUUUUU!”

Book to movie

Do you see the difference in those two lists? Other than the obvious, of course. In the second list, the items aren’t tangible; one can’t go to the store and buy them; someone can’t place these things under the tree where I’ll rip them open, happy-shiny paper flying willy-nilly, the givers grinning their fool heads off because they’ve made someone joyful. The gift wishes in the second list are Hah-Uge and for all but a few, could be almost unattainable. With a list like that, one could be forever unhappy at Christmas, forever feeling slighted, forever just a little bit sad. One could sit there among the twinkly lights feeling sorry for oneself while all the others are ripping open their packages with glee.

So this Christmas, I think I’ll alter my thinking. I think I’ll make me up another list. One that makes someone else happy in the giving. One that GMR, or my friends, or family members can happily and sneakily purchase, wrap up, and place under the tree, anticipating my reaction. For when year after year I say, “Oh, all I want is (above list),” I take away something magical and wonderful from Christmas. I take away someone else’s joy of giving.

And you? What about you? What is on your Christmas List this year? And is it similar to my second list? And if so, want to join me in hoping for something tangible, something wrap-able, something we can tear into on Christmas morning with joy and abandon? All the rest is dreams—and dreams can be dreamt any old other time. Christmas is for plain old greedy want of material thangs—just say’n! Yeah!

Merry Christmas, all y’allses!

Kat Magendie, author, Publishing Editor of Rose & Thorn, is the author of The Graces Trilogy (Tender Graces, Secret Graces, Family Graces), Sweetie, and of the novella Petey in The Firefly Dance. Her next novel, The Lightning Charmer, will be released fall 2013.

BY KATHRYN MAGENDIE

ME AND CHARLIE SHEEN

Kat Magendie is the Amazon.com bestselling author of TENDER GRACES, SECRET GRACES, SWEETIE and a contributor to the upcoming anthology, THE FIREFLY DANCE. Visit her at www.kathrynmagendie.com 

I’ve just dragged my poor tired bulging bloodshot eyes over more articles than I can ever mention here (my brain hurts); although I don’t need to mention them because chances are pretty durn good you’ve read them or someone has forwarded them to you or shared them on twitter or Facebook or you know someone who knows someone who knows.

Yup, this old girl just lifted her heavy head from hours of reading about ebooks and ereaders and eauthors gone wild, traditional versus “indie” publishing and how the two are facing off in a battle the likes we haven’t seen since Luke battled the dark side *cue laser sounds here,* writers who are selling their books for fewer than three buckeroos (and sometimes ninety-nine centerinees) and becoming thousandaires and sometimes, GASP, millionaires.

I read about “everyday ordinary people” who suddenly went “viral,” and I don’t mean only writers, but just about anyone who can put together a pretty decent YouTube video and watch it race across the airwaves; and I read about the discovery of gifted and talented homeless people and the rush to exploit them, er um, I mean make-the-homeless person-and-not-the-discoverer-famous.

I’ve watched Charlie Sheen in fascinated wide-eyed open-mouthed wonder as he does the equivalent of what self-published authors are doing (see epic battle mentioned above)—“Aw, to heckles with you guys, I’m going this alone and I’ll make wads of cash doing it, too! I don’t need you anymore;” then there’s the finger raising and all—I won’t show you any cussing or finger-raising because my momma will read this, but you know, dontcha?

Thing is folks, I could sit here minute after hour after day after month after year and read up on how these people are making themselves Famous and Rich and Well-Known, and still I won’t be able to figure out how they’ve done it. If I could, I’d package it up in a cute little tube with a little stopper and sell it for ninety-nine cents. Just sayin’.

Seems everywhere I go I am confronted by news and images of someone who is suddenly viral and suddenly famous and suddenly millionaires and suddenly everywhere and all over—sometimes they stay that way and sometimes they disappear in a poof of magical sprinkles that rain down upon the heads of no one who notices anymore. And added to those voices are the thousands of others joining in the chorus who attempt to become virally rich and famous, and underneath those are the ones who are trying to figure out how they can eat a piece of the magical pie (as I admit I did this morning), and it’s this loud cacophony of voices and screams and, “LOOK AT ME’s,” and “ME ME ME HERE I AM MAKE ME FAMOUS ME! WHY NOT ME?”

I’m exhausted. I’m over-stimulated. I’m fascinated. I’m discombublated. I want a vodka and about sixty-three hundred million hours of quiet in my little mountain cove where I stay mostly reclusive (and isn’t it somehow against the law for a reclusive like me to become viral and famous and find sudden Bieber-like status? I need to look that up, later, yes later I will).

What it really comes down to in my little pea-headed brain this morning, other than I wasted a lot of time online when I should instead do what I do—write my books, is the need to separate my thoughts about making lots and pots of money and many sprinkles and tinkles of fame OR just do what I do and do it the best I can and let the pennies and accolades fall where they may. I mean, what is my responsibility here? What is my purpose? If I don’t try to find the formula, or the formula find me, to become Rich and Famous and Viral, am I somehow lacking? Am I considered unsuccessful? Am I a fool for not jumping on the Viral Bandwagon (if that were even possible, for again, becoming “viral” is somehow magical!). Or, is my modest success, just, well, okay. Is Okay okay anymore these days?

The thought of it all sends me back to bed and under the covers, so I can drown out the noise of all the “ME ME ME!” but also so I can drown out my own voice of, “Why isn’t it YOU YOU YOU? What’s wrong with YOU; why aren’t YOU rich and famous. WHAT ARE YOU DOING WRONG, WOMAN?” And even though I tell myself I’m being ridiculous, still the little pricked thoughts prick, the little pricks they are. My un-viral success feels un-successful. Whaaa?

I suppose until I become Viral, I could just keep writing my books the best I can write them. They’ll be out there floating around in all the madness, adding my own tired-arse little voice to the crowd. But they’re my words and characters. I created them. I breathed life into those words and characters. I did something right, right? Right? Please tell me I did something. Right?

Is the Novelist Work Not Valued, or Under Valued?

(Originally posted on Kat’s blog, at http://bit.ly/hMskPr)

Kat Magendie is a poet, novelist and Co-Publish of The Rose and Thorn literary magazine. She’s written three novels published by Bell Bridge, with a fourth on the way. Her TENDER GRACES was a 2010 bestseller in ebook at Kindle. Be sure to view her “Reading Nekkid” video at the end of this column.

And now, here’s Kat’s

Gentle Rant:

It’s not magic . . .

How much do you pay for a haircut? Let’s say your stylist cuts your hair in about 30ish minutes, and you return to have it re-cut every 4-10 weeks depending on you. 

What about going out to dinner? Or to lunch? Or a Supreme Latte with extra supreme? Keeping in mind that once you eat/drink, it’s gone, and to have that experience again, you must buy more food/drink by opening up your wallet again and again and again.

Do you like manicures/pedicures? Do you like massages? Do you have a personal trainer? Is there something you collect? 

And of all those things, and the et ceteras not mentioned, that you purchase and enjoy, do you ever expect to get them for free, or for the Service Provider to do their work for deep discounts because, just because?

Of course you don’t.

So why is it when authors talk about money they feel uncomfortable, as if they are embarrassed to even consider the idea of making money from Their Craft? 

Is a writer’s work not considered Work? 

A stylist cuts our hair and we shell  out the money knowing that we’ll have to return to have it cut again and again and again for the same results we hope, but do we ask the stylist to give us a cut rate? Do we ask the stylist to cut our hair for free? We’d not dream of doing that—because we Value the Service.

Somehow being a novelist isn’t Valued as a Service. You can buy a book from Amazon, or your favorite bookseller, or an e-reader, (and many times at discounts), and you

can enjoy that book and the feeling it gives you as many times as you want. You can lend your book (and one day, or now, e-reader books if I understand right) to a friend or relative and the author receives no royalty on that. 

You can sell your book to someone and the author receives no royalty on that. The author receives his/her one-time royalty when a book is purchased and that one-time royalty is a very small percentage of what the book sells for. Very small. On e-readers, authors make a bit more percentage because over-head costs aren’t as great. 

But what if in some alternate universe an author made most every dime of their book’s cost, which they never would by the way, are they somehow unworthy of it?

An author takes months (some longer) writing their book, then they must rewrite and rewrite, then they may go through rejection and uncertainty, then when they have that contract, their work is not done—more editing, more waiting, more stress. When the book is published, their work begins again: marketing, promotion, personal events, etc etc etc—and many things the author pays for out of their own pockets. Then they must then create more work, and the cycle begins again. 

Through all of this, the author does not know if his/her book will be loved or hated or ignored or somewhere in between; he she does not know if it will sell well or will not sell well. 

It won’t matter how hard the author worked, how much money he/she spent, he/she never knows what his/her paycheck will be. And, all the while, he/she must cringe in a corner while people tell him/her that they don’t want to spend money on books, or they want to spend very little money on books, and why should they have to spend money on books?

Anyone who goes into the Novelist business to make money should not go into the novelist business. There are simply too many unknowns. There is a lot of work, a lot of stress, a lot of rejection, and there’s a lot of feeling that your work is Not Of Value—imagine going to work every day and doing the best danged job you can and your boss quibbles with you over your salary and makes you feel as if you should be giving your work away for free or whatever he decides that day to pay you based on whatever he’s feeling that day about you compared to some other worker, because your work is Not Valued. 

In matters of art and the heart, it’s hard to place monetary values, but frankly, we have to. Novelists have to make a living, too, and for the Novelist to feel guilty for hoping his/her works sells so that he/she can pay the bills or contribute to the household makes this business seem as if it’s more a Hobby than Real Live Work.

Is it because unlike the stylist or the restaurant worker or the oil tycoon or the actor/actress or the football player or the ice cream man we can do our work in our pajamas tucked in our little houses? You can’t see us working? It looks like lots-o-fun? It’s “easy” or “anyone can do it” – well, even the person who digs a hole gets a paycheck, and just about all of us can dig a hole, right?

What is it that separates the Novelist’s work from everyone else’s work? What is it about matters of art and the heart that makes the Work not valued?

Or is it because the writer, the novelist, does not teach people to value his/her work? Did we start it all by being apologetic about what we do or for wanting our work to Sell like a Product. 

Do we not value our own work? Is it because many times we readily admit we’d do it all for free because we love it so much? It’s all we ever wanted to do? We are begging someone anyone to just read our work and love us, please please please just love us?

What do you think?

Kat creates wonderfully fun  videos! Take a look!

A big blog welcome to Kat Magendie, bestselling author of TENDER GRACES, SECRET GRACES and now SWEETIE.  Her books are lyrical, evocative Southern lit-fiction.  The Kindle edition of  SWEETIE is currently perched high on the literary fiction bestseller list at Amazon.com.  And now, here’s Kat:

She held out her hope like rose.

Teen Bullies, Outcasts, Prejudice and SWEETIE

 Whenever Bellebooks/Bell Bridge Books sends my novels out to the world (bless you BBs!), something hidden is always revealed—because of my readers. You’d think I’d know all the inside and outside and in the nooks and crannies of my work, but this is not the case. Readers will see what has not occurred to me or has not been revealed to me, and then they will open my eyes wider and brighter.

 I knew SWEETIE’s themes of belonging, place/displacement, home, friendship, loyalty, and family—topics I return to time and again. But what I never thought was that Sweetie would help readers with their own painful memories of childhood/adolescent angst, loneliness, being bullied, and those awful feelings that one is a misfit in a world of Those Who Fit. As sophisticated as we think we have become, we still have problems with compartmentalizing on the “playground,” in schools, in social networking, in neighborhoods, at work, and sometimes even within families.

Narrator Melissa remembers torment by the Circle Girls (Beatrice and Deidra were the head Circle Girls. They picked the girls to be The Circle, and the ones to be inside of it. It was never good to have their attention until you knew which one . . .) as she says, “What society of children could resist tormenting the walking cliché from daytime movies?—I was always the awkward new girl in town. One would hope I brought that cliché to the limit, somehow growing to be beautiful and showing them all, but I was at best unremarkable, average . . . .” And Sweetie says, “Not nothing average about you, Miss-Lissa,” because she sees deep into the full burning heart of Melissa.

The bestselling first book in The Graces series

Kathryn

There is a troubled boy who, along with his Posse, bullies Sweetie and Melissa. But it is again Sweetie, with her wonderful insight, who understands T.J.’s bullying behavior, “Nobody deserves to be treated like a dirty worm under a dirty foot by they’s own kin. T. J.’s mean but his daddy’s a long-sight meaner. Guess his daddy teaches him how to be.” Sweetie, who is scarred and strange and mis-fitting sees the world with wonder and generosity—we could all use a Sweetie in our lives.

A humbling but incredibly cool thing is mail I receive from teachers and from parents. Teachers have said how through the years children like Melissa and Sweetie have come to their classroom, and the Sweetie novel not only resonates with their experiences, but with the teacher’s own memories of childhood awkwardness, friendship, with their own mothers and fathers, with fitting in and filling out, and even first crushes.

And mothers pass my book(s) on to their daughters to read to inspire discussion about just how hard it is to be a kid, an adolescent/pre-teen/teenager, no matter if it is the 1960s, 70s, or 2011—we all have been 11, 12, 13, and we all have searched to find Identity without being Different—oh to celebrate our differences!

What more could an author hope for than to have teachers, mothers, fathers, and other readers relay to her how her books promote discussion—to those who remember a time when they felt as if they’d never fit in, or never rise above a bully’s harsh words and taunting, or felt ugly or weird or fat or scared or skinny or . . . just different. (Melissa: “I think it would be great never to feel pain.” Sweetie: “I reckon that’s what most would think.”) We do rise above it, things do become better, we grow up and out and beyond—we learn empathy, a great gift. As Melissa says, we are beautiful biological wonders; scientific anomalies. No one can take away our joy if we only believe in the magic of our own beautiful Selves.

When I write a book, I never set out to teach a lesson, or write something that will promote discussion. I just write what the character experiences, digging deep into the core, the heart of the character, peeling away layers (except those that must remain). I listen and I relay. It is you all, you readers, who take my work to the highest level, opening up my world and their world to even greater possibilities.

Thank you for reading with such care. Thank you for telling me your stories. Thank you for your trust. And in return, I promise to do the best I can—to write my stories with a full and burning heart. As Sweetie says, “All a person can do is give it all they’s got. Right?” Right, Sweetie . . . that’s right.

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Kat lives in Maggie Valley, North Carolina, in a little cove at Killian Knob with two dogs, a ghost dog, a GMR (Good Man Roger, her husband,) a mysterious shadowman, and many wild critters. She is co-editor/publisher of the Rose & Thorn. Visit her at kathyrnmagendie.com, follow her on twitter @katmagendie, on Facebook, or  her blog www.tendergraces.blogspot.com.