Welcome to Sortilege Falls
by Libby Heily
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
GENRE: YA Fantasy
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BLURB:
Sixteen-year-old Grape
Merriweather moved to Sortilege Falls expecting a fresh start and new friends.
But things are never quite what they seem in this sleepy Missouri town. Her
math teacher looks like a witch, her school is being stalked by a vampire, and
Grape could swear the town’s garden gnomes are moving. None of that compares to
the small group of teenage models, blessed with otherworldly beauty, who rule
Sortilege Falls. Even the adults are powerless to tell them no. When the models
fall ill from a mysterious disease, all of the town’s secrets start leaking
out. Grape is determined to help her new friends, but searching for the cure
might just get her killed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Excerpt:
GRAPE IS SERENADED BY GRAESON:
Grape is in her backyard at night. Her brother, Brad, has just gone off into the
woods to collect plants–Brad is a huge botany nut. Grape is staring into the distance, trying to
see into the woods when she hears something behind her:
“Fancy meeting you here.”
Grape screamed.
“Calm down,” the vamp kid from school said, his hands raised
in the air like a victim. He had switched his purple shirt for a black one and
slicked his curly hair back as well. “It’s cool. It’s just me,” he said and
reached out to grab her shoulder.
Grape pushed him hard in the chest, making him stumble
backward. “Don’t touch me. What are you doing here?”
He regained his balance and rubbed his chest where she’d
shoved him. “I wanted to see where you lived. That really hurt.”
She slit her eyes at him. “I’m glad it hurt. It was supposed
to.”
“That’s not very nice.”
Grape grabbed the lawn chair and held it above her head.
“Are you a stalker?”
“No.”
“You’re sneaking around my house at night wearing all
black.” She readied herself to swing the lawn chair. It was pretty light and
wouldn’t do much damage so she decided to aim for a vulnerable spot—his face.
“No. I just thought... I don’t know. I thought you looked
nice.”
“Do I look nice now?” She gave the chair a swing, missing
his nose by inches. She hopped back a little and held the chair up high again.
He got one warning shot, that was it. The next swing would break his nose.
“I’m sorry. I thought this would be romantic.” He reached
into his baggy pants pocket and pulled out an iPod with a little set of
speakers attached. “I was going to play a song for you.”
“Totally creepy!”
“No. Really, listen.”
He pressed play and an unholy mix of instruments blasted out
in a tinny blare. He shut it off quickly. “Wrong song. One second.”
“Leave.”
He looked up at her with heartbreak in his eyes. “I just
need one second.”
“Shoo! Go! Off with you!” She shoved the chair at his chest,
driving him backward.
He gave her one last dejected look and walked around the
corner of the house toward the street.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
I was born
during a blizzard. I’m told it was pretty cool but I have no memory of that
time. I grew up in two tiny towns in Virginia and spent most of my twenties
moving around the US. I’ve lived in Virginia, Florida, Missouri, and
Washington. I’ve settled down, for now, in Raleigh, North Carolina.
I’m a writer
and improviser. I studied acting in college but spent more time rewriting lines
than memorizing them. My first play, Fourth Wall, was produced my junior year.
Since then, I’ve written several full length plays, one acts and screenplays. I
started writing fiction in my late twenties. Now, I focus mainly on novels but
still dabble in theater.
Fun facts about
me: There are none. I’m sorry to disappoint you so soon. But, I do love to
read, write, and run. My hubby is my favorite person on earth. Dogs are my
second favorite. All dogs. I love orange juice, especially when it’s mixed with
club soda. Carbonation is better than alcohol. Jaws is my favorite movie.
Everything I’ve said so far is true.
Awards:
Puschcart Prize
Nomination for “Grow Your Own Dad” – Published by Mixer Publishing
Semi-finalist
Eugene O'Neill Playwrights Conference – “STUFF”
Honorable
Mention The Ohio State Newark New Play Contest – “The Last Day”
Contacting
Libby:
Email:
libbyheilyauthor@gmail.com
Snail Mail:
PO Box 58251
Raleigh, NC
27616
Libby on the
Web:
libbyheily.com http://libbyheily.com/
Instagram https://www.instagram.com/libbyheily/
Twitter https://twitter.com/libbyheily
Facebook https://www.facebook.com/libbyheilyauthor/
Amazon
http://www.amazon.com/Libby-Heily/e/B005HBXAOU
Goodreads
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5066866.Libby_Heily
Purchase Links:
Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01FV4DZWE?tag=geolinker-20
Barnes and
Noble
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/welcome-to-sortilege-falls-libby-heily/1123755970?ean=2940153003634
Smashwords https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/634244
LULU https://www.lulu.com/shop/view-cart.ep
Behind the
Scenes Info:
“Welcome to
Sortilege Falls” is my second novel. My first, “Tough Girl” was about an
eleven-year-old who is slowly starving to death and loses herself in an
imaginary world to combat the misery of her life. I wanted to write something
happy after that and WTSF is about as “happy” as my writing gets. The idea was
to come up with a main character whose very name sounds like a smile, thus
Grape Merriweather was born. Stories grow and writers hardly ever end up
writing the book they intended. That is definitely true with WTSF. My “happy”
story grew to encompass the themes of beauty worship, celebrity, as well as
delving into the mysterious relationships between child stars and their
parents. In the beginning of the novel, Grape is new at school and eager to
impress. She was popular back home and has never had trouble making friends.
She spends over an hour the night before trying on outfits and picking the
perfect one for her first day. But she is ignored by students and teachers
alike. Everyone is too caught up with the beyond gorgeous models to bother with
one new student. We discover this weird world along with Grape and I tried to
stay true to her voice. It was very important to me that Grape wasn’t perfect,
that she partially fell under the Models’ spell as well.
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