It is August FIRST, time for the FIRST Blog
Tour! (Join our alliance! Click the button!) The FIRST day of every month
we will feature an author and his/her latest book's FIRST chapter!
Today's feature
author is:
author is:
and her
book:
NavPress Publishing Group (July 15, 2008)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Lisa Samson is the author of twenty books,including the Christy Award-winning Songbird. Apples of
Gold was her first novel for teens
These days, she's working on Quaker Summer,
volunteering at Kentucky Refugee Ministries, raising children and trying
to be supportive of a husband in seminary. (Trying . . . some days she's
downright awful. It's a good thing he's such a fabulous cook!) She can
tell you one thing, it's never dull around there.
Other
Novels by Lisa:
Hollywood Nobody, Finding Hollywood Nobody, Straight Up, Club Sandwich, Songbird, Tiger Lillie, The Church Ladies, Women's Intuition: A Novel, Songbird, The Living End
Visit her at her website.
Product
Details
List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 195 pages
Publisher: NavPress Publishing Group (July 15, 2008)
Language:
English
ISBN-10: 1600062210
ISBN-13: 978-1600062216
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Monday, April 30, 6:00
a.m.
My eyes open. Yes, yes, yes. The greatest man
in the entire world
is brewing coffee right here in the
TrailMama.
“Dad.”
“Morning, Scotty. The big day.”
“Yep.”
“And this time, you won't have to
drive.”
I throw back the covers on my loft bed and slip
down to the dinette of our RV. My dad sleeps on the dinette bed. He's
usually got it turned back into our kitchen table by 5:00 a.m. What can I
say? The guy may be just as much in love with cheese as I am, but
honestly? Our body clocks are about as different as Liam Neeson and Seth
Green.
You know what I mean?
And we have lots
of differences.
For one, he's totally a nonfiction
person and I'm fiction all the way. For two, he has no fashion sense
whatsoever. And for three, he has way more hope for people at the outset than
I do. Man, do I have a lot to learn on that front.
He
hands me a mug and I sip the dark liquid. I was roasting coffee beans
for a while there, but Dad took the mantle upon himself and he does a
better job.
Starbucks Schmarbucks.
He hands
me another mug and I head to the back of the TrailMama to wake up
Charley. My grandmother looks so sweet in the morning, her frosted,
silver-blonde hair fanned out on the pillow. You know, she could pass for an
aging mermaid. A really short one, true.
I
wave the mug as close as I can to her nose without fear of her rearing
up, knocking the mug and burning her face. “Charley . . .” I singsong.
“Time to get a move on. Time to get back on the road.”
And boy is this a switch!
All I can say is, your life can
be going one way for years and years and then, snap-snap-snap-in-a-Z,
it looks like it had major plastic surgery.
Only in
reverse. Imagine life just getting more and more real. I like it.
Charley opens her eyes. “Hey, baby. You brought me coffee. You get
groovier every day.”
She's a hippie. What can I say?
And she started drinking coffee again when I ran away last
fall in Texas. I mean, I didn't really run away. I went somewhere with
a perfectly good reason for not telling anyone, and I was planning to
return as soon as my mission was done.
She scootches up
to a sitting position, hair still in a cloud, takes the mug and, with
that dazzling smile still on her face (think Kate Hudson) sips the
coffee. She sighs.
“I know,” I say. “How did we make it so
long without him?”
“Now that he's with us, I don't know.
But somehow we did, didn't we, baby? It may not have always been
graceful and smooth, but we made it together.”
I rub her
shoulder. “Yeah. I guess you could say we pretty much did.”
The engine hums its movin'-on song. “Dad's ready to pull out. Let's hit
it.”
“Scotland, here we come.”
Scotland?
Well, sort of.
An hour later
This has been a great school year. In addition to the online
courses I'm taking through Indiana University High School, Dad's been
teaching me and man, is he smart. I'm sure most sixteen-(almost
seventeen)-year-olds think their fathers are the smartest guys in the world, but
in my case it happens to be true.
Okay, even I have to
admit he probably won't win the Nobel Prize for physics or anything,
but he's street smart and there's no replacing that sort of thing. Big
plus: he knows high school math. We're both living under the radar. And
he's taken our faux last name. Dawn. He's now Ezra Fitzgerald Dawn.
After Ezra Pound, one of F. Scott Fitzgerald's Lost Generation friends.
I'm just lovin' that.
“Your mom would have
loved the name change, Scotty.”
He told me about his life
as an FBI agent, some of the cases he worked on, and well, I'd like to
tell you he had a life like Sydney Bristow's in Alias, but he probably
spent most of his time on com-puter work and sitting around on his
butt waiting for someone to make a move. The FBI, apparently, prefers to
trick people more than corner them in showdowns and shootouts. The
Robertsman case was his first time undercover in the field and we know how
terribly that worked out for him. And me. And Charley. And Babette, my
mother.
I pull out my math book and sit in the passenger
seat of the TrailMama. “Ready for some 'rithmetic, Dad?”
“You bet.” He turns to me and smiles. His smile still makes my heart
warm up like a griddle ready to make smiley-face pan-cakes. I flip on my
book light.
It's still dark and we're headed to
Asheville, North Carolina for Charley's latest shoot. A film about
Bonnie Prince Charlie called Charlie's Lament. How ironic is that? The
director, Bartholomew (don't dare call him Bart) Evans, is a real jerk. I'm
not going to be hanging around the set much even though Liam Neeson is
Lord George Murray, the voice of reason Prince Charlie refused to
listen to. But hey, that's my history lesson. We're still on math.
I finish up the last lesson in geometry . . . finally! Honestly,
I still don't understand it without a mammoth amount of help, but the
workbook's filled and that's a good thing.
There.
I set down my pen. “Finished!”
Dad gives a nod
as he continues to look out the windshield. You might guess, despite
the tattoos, piercings, and his gleaming bald head, he's a very careful
driver. And he won't let me drive like Charley did.
“So .
. . driver's license then, right?”
He's been holding
that over my head so I'd finish the math course.
“You know
it. After the film, we'll request your new birth certificate and go
from there.”
“What state are we supposedly from?” The FBI
has given us a new identity, official papers and all that.
“Wyoming.”
“Are you kidding me? Wyoming? Why?”
“Think about it, honey. Who's from Wyoming?”
“Lots of
people?”
“Know any of them?”
“Uh. No.”
“See?”
“Okay, Wyoming it is, then.”
“You realize you'll only have my beat-up old black truck to drive
around.” The same truck we're towing behind the TrailMama.
“I'll take it.”
So here's the thing. The rest of the
entire world thinks my father was shot in the chest and killed when he
was outed by a branch of the mob he was after. This mob was financing
James Robertsman's campaign for governor of Maryland.
The
guy's running for president of the United States now.
I
kid you not.
Wish I was kidding.
We thought
he was after us for several years because Charley knew too much. But
then last fall, we found out the guy chasing me was my father, and
Robertsman is most likely cocky enough to think he took care of everything
he needed. I say that's quite all right. Although, I have to admit, the
fact that a dirtbag like that guy may end up in the Oval Office sickens
me to no end.
Thanks to that guy, we had been running
in fear from my own father.
The thing is, I could be
really mad about all those wasted years, and a portion of me feels that
way. But we've been given another chance, and I'll be darned if I throw
away these days being angry. There's too much to be thankful for.
Don't get me wrong. I still have my surly days. I don't want
Dad and Charley to think they have it as easy as all that!
Okay, time to blog.
Hollywood Nobody: April 30
Let's cut to the chase, Nobodies!
Today's Seth News: It's official. Seth Haas and Karissa
Bonano are officially each other's exclusive main squeeze. The two were
seen coming out of a popular LA tattoo parlor with each other's names on
the inside of their forearms. How cliché. And pass the barf bag.
Today's Violette Dillinger Report: Violette
has broken up with Joe Mason of Sweet Margaret. She wanted you all to
know that long-distance romances are hard for any couple, but
espe-cially for people as young as she is. “Joe needed to live his life. I'm on
the road a lot. It wasn't fair to either of us.” Sounds like she's
definitely not on the road to Britney. I'm just sayin'.
Today's Rave: Mandy Moore. The girl can really sing! And
her latest album is filled with good songs. The bubble gum days of
insipid teen heartbreak are over. She's finally come into her own. (Wish some
others would follow her example, but I won't hold my breath. And man,
are we on the theme of bratty stars today or what? Well, there are just
so many of them from which to choose!)
Today's
Rant: Crazy expensive celebrity weddings. What? If they spend
more, will they be more likely to stay together? I have no idea. Mariah
Carey's $25,000 dress pales in comparison to Catherine Zeta-Jones's
$100,000 gown. What are those things made of?
Today's Quote: “Dream as if you'll live forever, live as if you'll
die today.” James Dean
a.m.
My eyes open. Yes, yes, yes. The greatest man
in the entire world
is brewing coffee right here in the
TrailMama.
“Dad.”
“Morning, Scotty. The big day.”
“Yep.”
“And this time, you won't have to
drive.”
I throw back the covers on my loft bed and slip
down to the dinette of our RV. My dad sleeps on the dinette bed. He's
usually got it turned back into our kitchen table by 5:00 a.m. What can I
say? The guy may be just as much in love with cheese as I am, but
honestly? Our body clocks are about as different as Liam Neeson and Seth
Green.
You know what I mean?
And we have lots
of differences.
For one, he's totally a nonfiction
person and I'm fiction all the way. For two, he has no fashion sense
whatsoever. And for three, he has way more hope for people at the outset than
I do. Man, do I have a lot to learn on that front.
He
hands me a mug and I sip the dark liquid. I was roasting coffee beans
for a while there, but Dad took the mantle upon himself and he does a
better job.
Starbucks Schmarbucks.
He hands
me another mug and I head to the back of the TrailMama to wake up
Charley. My grandmother looks so sweet in the morning, her frosted,
silver-blonde hair fanned out on the pillow. You know, she could pass for an
aging mermaid. A really short one, true.
I
wave the mug as close as I can to her nose without fear of her rearing
up, knocking the mug and burning her face. “Charley . . .” I singsong.
“Time to get a move on. Time to get back on the road.”
And boy is this a switch!
All I can say is, your life can
be going one way for years and years and then, snap-snap-snap-in-a-Z,
it looks like it had major plastic surgery.
Only in
reverse. Imagine life just getting more and more real. I like it.
Charley opens her eyes. “Hey, baby. You brought me coffee. You get
groovier every day.”
She's a hippie. What can I say?
And she started drinking coffee again when I ran away last
fall in Texas. I mean, I didn't really run away. I went somewhere with
a perfectly good reason for not telling anyone, and I was planning to
return as soon as my mission was done.
She scootches up
to a sitting position, hair still in a cloud, takes the mug and, with
that dazzling smile still on her face (think Kate Hudson) sips the
coffee. She sighs.
“I know,” I say. “How did we make it so
long without him?”
“Now that he's with us, I don't know.
But somehow we did, didn't we, baby? It may not have always been
graceful and smooth, but we made it together.”
I rub her
shoulder. “Yeah. I guess you could say we pretty much did.”
The engine hums its movin'-on song. “Dad's ready to pull out. Let's hit
it.”
“Scotland, here we come.”
Scotland?
Well, sort of.
An hour later
This has been a great school year. In addition to the online
courses I'm taking through Indiana University High School, Dad's been
teaching me and man, is he smart. I'm sure most sixteen-(almost
seventeen)-year-olds think their fathers are the smartest guys in the world, but
in my case it happens to be true.
Okay, even I have to
admit he probably won't win the Nobel Prize for physics or anything,
but he's street smart and there's no replacing that sort of thing. Big
plus: he knows high school math. We're both living under the radar. And
he's taken our faux last name. Dawn. He's now Ezra Fitzgerald Dawn.
After Ezra Pound, one of F. Scott Fitzgerald's Lost Generation friends.
I'm just lovin' that.
“Your mom would have
loved the name change, Scotty.”
He told me about his life
as an FBI agent, some of the cases he worked on, and well, I'd like to
tell you he had a life like Sydney Bristow's in Alias, but he probably
spent most of his time on com-puter work and sitting around on his
butt waiting for someone to make a move. The FBI, apparently, prefers to
trick people more than corner them in showdowns and shootouts. The
Robertsman case was his first time undercover in the field and we know how
terribly that worked out for him. And me. And Charley. And Babette, my
mother.
I pull out my math book and sit in the passenger
seat of the TrailMama. “Ready for some 'rithmetic, Dad?”
“You bet.” He turns to me and smiles. His smile still makes my heart
warm up like a griddle ready to make smiley-face pan-cakes. I flip on my
book light.
It's still dark and we're headed to
Asheville, North Carolina for Charley's latest shoot. A film about
Bonnie Prince Charlie called Charlie's Lament. How ironic is that? The
director, Bartholomew (don't dare call him Bart) Evans, is a real jerk. I'm
not going to be hanging around the set much even though Liam Neeson is
Lord George Murray, the voice of reason Prince Charlie refused to
listen to. But hey, that's my history lesson. We're still on math.
I finish up the last lesson in geometry . . . finally! Honestly,
I still don't understand it without a mammoth amount of help, but the
workbook's filled and that's a good thing.
There.
I set down my pen. “Finished!”
Dad gives a nod
as he continues to look out the windshield. You might guess, despite
the tattoos, piercings, and his gleaming bald head, he's a very careful
driver. And he won't let me drive like Charley did.
“So .
. . driver's license then, right?”
He's been holding
that over my head so I'd finish the math course.
“You know
it. After the film, we'll request your new birth certificate and go
from there.”
“What state are we supposedly from?” The FBI
has given us a new identity, official papers and all that.
“Wyoming.”
“Are you kidding me? Wyoming? Why?”
“Think about it, honey. Who's from Wyoming?”
“Lots of
people?”
“Know any of them?”
“Uh. No.”
“See?”
“Okay, Wyoming it is, then.”
“You realize you'll only have my beat-up old black truck to drive
around.” The same truck we're towing behind the TrailMama.
“I'll take it.”
So here's the thing. The rest of the
entire world thinks my father was shot in the chest and killed when he
was outed by a branch of the mob he was after. This mob was financing
James Robertsman's campaign for governor of Maryland.
The
guy's running for president of the United States now.
I
kid you not.
Wish I was kidding.
We thought
he was after us for several years because Charley knew too much. But
then last fall, we found out the guy chasing me was my father, and
Robertsman is most likely cocky enough to think he took care of everything
he needed. I say that's quite all right. Although, I have to admit, the
fact that a dirtbag like that guy may end up in the Oval Office sickens
me to no end.
Thanks to that guy, we had been running
in fear from my own father.
The thing is, I could be
really mad about all those wasted years, and a portion of me feels that
way. But we've been given another chance, and I'll be darned if I throw
away these days being angry. There's too much to be thankful for.
Don't get me wrong. I still have my surly days. I don't want
Dad and Charley to think they have it as easy as all that!
Okay, time to blog.
Hollywood Nobody: April 30
Let's cut to the chase, Nobodies!
Today's Seth News: It's official. Seth Haas and Karissa
Bonano are officially each other's exclusive main squeeze. The two were
seen coming out of a popular LA tattoo parlor with each other's names on
the inside of their forearms. How cliché. And pass the barf bag.
Today's Violette Dillinger Report: Violette
has broken up with Joe Mason of Sweet Margaret. She wanted you all to
know that long-distance romances are hard for any couple, but
espe-cially for people as young as she is. “Joe needed to live his life. I'm on
the road a lot. It wasn't fair to either of us.” Sounds like she's
definitely not on the road to Britney. I'm just sayin'.
Today's Rave: Mandy Moore. The girl can really sing! And
her latest album is filled with good songs. The bubble gum days of
insipid teen heartbreak are over. She's finally come into her own. (Wish some
others would follow her example, but I won't hold my breath. And man,
are we on the theme of bratty stars today or what? Well, there are just
so many of them from which to choose!)
Today's
Rant: Crazy expensive celebrity weddings. What? If they spend
more, will they be more likely to stay together? I have no idea. Mariah
Carey's $25,000 dress pales in comparison to Catherine Zeta-Jones's
$100,000 gown. What are those things made of?
Today's Quote: “Dream as if you'll live forever, live as if you'll
die today.” James Dean
My Review: I loved the third book in this series just as much as the first.Lisa Samson has lots of one liners some of which left me laughing. The dialogue, unique plot, and characters work together to make this book pop. I highly recommend this whole series for YA and adult.
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