The Fairy Tale Twist (The Ivy Thorn Series #2)

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Ivy has figured out how to keep the pixies away. She's safe! But now there are other things to worry about.

In an effort to protect her unborn brother, Ivy strikes a deal with the creepy little pixie who trapped her before. But when she finds herself in a family of disappearing princesses, Ivy throws the fairy tale on its ear to save the kingdom from a destructive love spell.

Cinderella and Ivy Thorn: How my favorite characters came to be

Coming up with a character is a different experience every time. If you've been following this blog for a long time, you know that Ivy was actually born here, in blog form.

I've told this story before, but basically, Ivy was born when I realized my writing voice was boring, but the way I talk in a casual environment is a lot more fun. So I wanted to bring that out. Ivy Thorn is spunky and sarcastic and basically, she says all those things I'd normally be afraid to say myself (plus the things that just pop out of my mouth before I can stop myself). Ivy is the mouthy side of my personality, with a few tweaks.

Ivy and I are both military brats, but moving around didn't bother me as much as it bothers her. I drew on my  teenage girl-experiences to try to create her relationship with her mom (which, I know, is shameful at times). I tried to draw out all that inexplicable frustration I had at her age.

Ivy hates being told what to do. I probably drew more on my own six-year-old experiences for that. :) I was that kid that did the opposite of what I was told, just to show that I could. (Yes, I was a holy terror.)

But Ivy and I don't make the same decisions, given the same situation. She's more impulsive, where I'm more curious. I'd want to understand the ins and outs of a new situation, but Ivy is more interested in getting out of it (and/or sticking it to the guy making things difficult for her).

One thing I love about Ivy is that she learns and adjusts.If something doesn't work, she tries something else. We'll see a lot of that in book 2, where she's a lot more cautious (seeing as being forward and impulsive made things so difficult for her in book 1). But we can't change who you are. Ivy is still Ivy. She'll manage to get herself in trouble, so no worries.

Then there's Cinderella. Obviously, she came pre-made to some extent. But I made one major change. I've always hated this character for being so spineless. I mean, who just rolls over and accepts servitude? So I made sure MY Cinderella had a higher calling. She was going to be a kick-butt heroine, though just as hard-working, just as lonely, and just as clueless about what was really going on in the palace. She's still lower-middle class, she's still working herself to the bone, but she can throw knives really well.

As I wrote her character, her toughness started to bring out a new weakness--she was distant. She was judgy. And that worked well with Prince Kent's character because he wants to be tough but can't. I seriously love this atch-up because it came so unexpectedly. I mean, I always knew Cinderella would need to wind up with the prince. How could she not? But the WAY they came together was a surprise and just as fun to write as it would be to read (or so I hope).

Chapter 10 of The Fairy Tale Twist (Draft 2)

I've probably (hopefully) had the baby by now, but I went ahead and scheduled this chapter to go up. I thought it would be a good place to end the sample. Hope you've enjoyed the first ten chapters of The Fairy Tale Twist! 

My shoes click against the stone floor while my imagination runs full-speed. Where does this cave lead? Is there something at the end of the tunnel? Are there nasty monsters that can pop out of nowhere and eat unsuspecting girls?

No. There are five other girls ahead of me, still having a good time, from the sound of it. But maybe the monsters are turned-off by the chatter. (I know I am.) I force myself to laugh, warding off anything scary that might be nearby. I sound more like a weeping goat that’s being tickled. Hopefully, the monsters don’t like goats.

I follow the turns of the cave, grateful there aren’t any forks in the path. I can always follow the sounds of the princesses, but I wouldn’t put it past the pixie to mess with my senses. The last fairy tale had an enchanted forest that would keep you lost forever instead of letting you find a way out. I shiver against the warmth of hundreds of candles. This cave isn’t like the forest. It’s not. Just think of something else.

The echoes of voices die down. Are they getting too far ahead? Have they split from the main tunnel? Are they out of the tunnel? Panic rises from my belly. I break into a run, wishing I’d followed them sooner.

My shoes aren’t ideal for an evening jog, but thank goodness I didn’t pick spike heels. I snort a laugh. As if I’d ever be caught wearing spike heels.

I strain to hear anything over my shoes striking the stone below. But I’m not about to slow down. The heat from the candles warms my lungs from the inside. I start to sweat.

Then, suddenly, I’m out in the open. Not out of the cave, but in a vast, open area surrounded by the same stone and the same candles. Like a room within the cave, only the room is bigger than my house and it has a massive lake in it. No, not a lake. A river. It’s about ten feet across and other side are lights, music, and brightly-dressed people. Five colorful dresses and some guys dressed in black. It’s hard to tell, but I think there are—horses? What kind of fairy tale is this?

I look around for a way across the river. A stone bridge is my first choice. Swimming in this dress seems a little impractical. I cross the bridge slowly, trying to take in the scene in front of me without looking like a gaping idiot. The couples all dance to the waltz-like music being played by a quintet of strings. They spin around on an open dance floor surrounded by trees. Except these trees aren’t like anything I’ve ever seen before. They shine and sparkle like they’re made of glowing gems and polished gold. Even the bushes shimmer. But that’s nothing compared to the servers. They hold trays of food and offer them to the dancers between songs. But they’re not your typical bowtie-wearing caterers. What I’d thought were horses are actually centaurs. Bare-chested, shiny-coated centaurs with silver platters of finger food!

I stop at the end of the bridge, the river swirling behind me. This isn’t like anything I expected. I guess fairy tale princesses really know how to throw a party.

While I stand there, slack-jawed and mesmerized by the shiny objects, someone nearby clears their throat. “Princess Ivy?”

I’m not used to being called princess-anything, so unfortunately, I don’t snap out of my stupor right away. I say “unfortunately” because the guy standing in front of me is completely gorgeous. He offers me his hand. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Chapter 9 of The Fairy Tale Twist (Draft 2)

I may not be the most observant person in the world, but I know there was a wall there earlier. Now the garden opens up into a cave, lit with tiny candles that run along a narrow ledge. Like runway lights just above my head. I mean, it’s a cave! Who keeps a cave in their garden?

The stone wall forms a tunnel and the candles snake around the gradual curve of the cave. The girls must be pretty far ahead, but they make enough noise that I’m not worried about getting lost. I just need to follow the giggles.

But is this a smart thing to do? If I knew what fairy tale I’m in, this would be a lot easier. This all seems a little familiar, but something about the scenario feels off. I guess the easiest way to decide what to do is to ask: What would the pixie want me to do?

And then do the opposite.

The pixie wants me to follow my “sisters”. He’s practically dangling a carrot in front of me, just inside the mouth of the cave. He knows I’m curious. And what’s more exciting than a tunnel in a fairy tale?

But I’m not the same girl he trapped over the summer. I can’t afford to be that girl. I’ve changed and this time I’m going to smart about this.

I tug impatiently at my cap sleeves. This would be so much easier if I knew what fairy tale this was! Then I’d know how to stick to the story.

Okay, Ivy. Think this through. The princesses are eloping, so there must be some guys involved. Guys that are nothing like Ferguson, I’m guessing. No girl gets twitterpated over a guy like Ferguson, even if he does have dashing, classic good looks. And we’re all dressed-up like we’re going to a ball, but I’m sure this isn’t Cinderella. No one’s asked me to scrub any chamber pots, thank goodness.

But there must be dancing involved. There were ballet shoes in my closet. Or there’s a party at the very least. Some place for the girls to meet boys. No, there’s no doubt—the fairy tale is happening somewhere in the cave.

My thoughts go back to Ferguson. Poor, stupid, innocent Ferguson. There’s nothing I can do for him from this side. The twins drugged him enough to keep him out for the whole night. My best chance of helping him will probably be in a few hours, once the drug has had some time to wear off. Maybe I can come back here a little early, wake him up, and get him out of here before anyone notices. I’m not sure what the king will do if the prince runs, but it has to be better than the contractually agreed-upon execution he has planned. A particularly loud snort comes from the common room. What an idiot.

I turn back to the cave and take a deep breath. Okay, then. I’ve made my decision. I’m going to a cave party.

Chapter 8 of The Fairy Tale Twist (Draft 2)

All of us stare at Ferguson.

“Um… is he okay?” I look to Faith and expect her to be as shocked as I am. But her face is pink behind her freckles. She’s smiling! A laugh jumps from her, loud and abrupt. The other girl join her. Did I miss something?

Mercy lifts one of Prince Ferguson’s hands and lets it drop back onto the satiny couch. The prince snorts once and rolls to his side, his jaw slack and his breathing deep.

“Is he sleeping?”

My question only makes the princesses laugh harder. Then I notice the goblet. It must have fallen from his hand when he passed out. The tiny bit of remaining liquid slips onto the couch, darkening the pink fabric. I look up at Faith in horror. “You drugged him?”

Faith’s smile widens. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She gives us all a wink. “He just couldn’t keep his eyes open.”

Felicity shifts from one foot to the other. Her fist clenches a bunch of yellow fabric from her dress. “Should one of us stay behind?” He voice is small and barely rises above the talking from the other girls. “I don’t mind keeping an eye on him.”

The twins both roll their eyes. “We gave him more than enough,” says Chastity. “Trust me; he’ll be out all night.”

Faith runs back to the garden door and waves for us to follow her. “Let’s not waste any more time!”

Charity, Chastity, and Mercy hurry after Faith while Felicity follows a bit more slowly. Meanwhile, I’m left with an unconscious guy I don’t like, who’s snoring because he’s been drugged. And now they want to play more dress-up?

My brain tingles like I’ve forgotten something. The king had said something important at dinner. That if the prince couldn’t deliver, he’d be executed! I stare at the now-drooling Ferguson. As much as I dislike this guy, I can’t let the poor idiot die.

I shake Ferguson by the shoulder. His snores get louder.

“Hey! Ferguson! Your Highness…or whatever. You need to wake up.”

The girls’ laughter still bounces around in the garden. How long will they stay in there?

I tap the prince’s hand. Then I slap his hand. Nothing. I consider going out and getting help, but then someone might tell the king that Ferguson’s sleeping on the job.

I see only one more option. Throwing my shoulders back, I take a deep breath and remind myself not to enjoy this. I slap Ferguson across the face. Hard.

He grunts, wrinkles his brow, and turns onto his other side so I can’t reach his face again. Well, I’m out of ideas. Then I see the goblet. I grab the jewel-encrusted cup and run into the garden. There’s an entire pond pull of water to dump on the poor sap. Who can sleep through that?

But I don’t make it to the pond. I don’t make it because I’m too shocked to move. The far wall—the entire wall—of the garden room is gone.

Chapter 7 of The Fairy Tale Twist (Draft 2)

When the king finishes eating, he leaves the dining room without saying anything to us. The musicians leave soon after, clearly disappointed. I guess the king just likes having them there, in case he decides to break into song.

A servant comes in, whispers something to Ferguson, and leads the prince away. Before he leaves, Ferguson stops in the doorway, turns, and gives an elaborate bow, directed at us. Mostly Faith. “Until tonight, your highnesses.” And he leaves.

I’m tempted to follow him. I can’t believe he ignored me that whole time. And why was he falling all over Faith? But none of the other princesses make a move to leave and I don’t want to draw attention to myself. It always ends badly.

The room is empty except for us six girls. The tension dissipates and everyone sinks a little into their chairs. The twins actually start laughing. Faith rolls her eyes. “Oh, that’s enough,” she snaps, but she’s also smiling.

Charity leans forward to grin at the oldest sister. “Guess it’s time to make more pillows.”

Chastity snickers. “Like he needs any more. His castle’s probably overrun with them.”

I give her my best confused look. Chastity’s eyebrows lift in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten Faith’s infamous pillows!”

Part of me wants to pretend. Of course I remember the pillows. Who could forget the pillows? But curiosity wins this one. I shake my head apologetically.

“Oh, Ivy!” Charity cries. But I can tell she’s eager to tell the story. “Remember when Ferguson came last summer?”

I nod. I’m not about to flaunt my ignorance.

“He claimed to be madly in love with Faith.”

Chastity clasps her hands next to her cheek and flutters her eyelashes. “He meant madly in love with the kingdom. How romantic!”

Charity continues. “He kept up the act for an annoyingly long time, didn’t he? Anyway, Faith of course wouldn’t have anything to do with him, but the poor sap didn’t understand simple English.”

Faith smiles softly and tilts her head at a slight angle. “I was sure a solid, monosyllabic ‘no’ would work, but poor Prince Ferguson is severely stupid.”

I think I like these girls.

“Anyway,” says Charity, “Faith, being the brilliant princess she is, asked all the seamstresses in the kingdom to make pillows for the prince as a parting gift.”

Chastity starts laughing. I’m guessing these weren’t ordinary pillows.

“Each one had the word ‘no’ embroidered on it.”

Chastity tries to talk between giggles. “There were—hundreds!”

Charity nods matter-of-factly. “Two whole carriages were assigned the task of delivering the princely gift.” 

She sighs and looks up at the ceiling.­ “I would have given anything to have seen his face when they arrived.”

Faith stands from the table, clearly pleased by the retelling of her tale. “Come, ladies. Let’s prepare ourselves for tonight.”

We all stand and follow her out in the same order we were seated—oldest to youngest. Ahead of me, Felicity seems a bit unsure of something. “What about the prince?”

Faith waves a hand from the front of the line. “I’ll take care of everything.”

Behind me, one of the twins says, “We probably don’t have to do anything. I doubt he’d notice if we just left as usual.”

Faith nods in agreement. “But I’m not taking any chances. Father sent Prince Ferguson for a reason. I doubt the prince is acting without help. And I won’t marry that dolt.”

She leads us down a few corridors. I do my best to memorize the route, but I can’t make my brain focus. There are just too many questions and I can’t ask any of them without looking out of place. These girls think I’m one of them, that I’ve been with them the whole time. If this fairy tale is anything like the last one, I’ll be much better off if they keep on thinking that until the story is over. The pixie wants me to cause trouble. He probably put me in a particularly mysterious tale just so I’d mess up and ask the wrong questions.

I’m not playing that game. Not this time.

The décor around us is incredibly pink and lacy. And familiar. I feel like such an idiot. We’re going right back to where I started, through the hallway of lace and flowers. I’m hopeless.

Up ahead, Faith sighs. “I just hope you all appreciate that I’m staying behind.”

One of the twins groans, then whispers, “As the oldest, she should be the first to elope.”

The other twin giggles, but Faith doesn’t notice. “As the oldest,” she says, “I should be the first to elope.”

Faith leads us into the room with twelve doors—the common room, I’m assuming—and to the far corner. She open the door that leads to the indoor garden and waits in the doorway for each of us to file through. Faith gives each of us a weary smile. “But I want to make sure each of you makes it safely through. That’s what older sisters are for.”

I lean against a marble statue for support. Elope? That must be why the princesses are sneaking off. But all of us? I’m pretty sure I’m not looking to get married any time soon. And Mercy’s way too young.

I turn to find where she’s run off to. I’m suddenly alone on the tile walkway. Each princess has gone to a separate flower bed. Faith’s is full of white roses. Felicity’s has a variety of spring bulbs. The twins both have bright yellow daisies in their flower beds, and Mercy stands in the midst of some intricately-twisted vines of jasmine. Going by age, and how we were seated at dinner, I assume my flower bed is the one between Felicity and Charity. The one with a small pool and water lilies. I try pretending like I know where I’m going and stand next to the smooth stones surrounding my pond.

And we just stand there. The birds flutter around trees, the butterflies dance, and five other girls are standing there, smiling at each other. I wait. Is this how we’re going to elope? What are we doing here?

Then the statue of the girl with the bird on her hand moves. I blink, and at first I think I’m starting to lose my balance, but the statue really is moving. She rotates, her mouth open in silent song and her white marble dress flowing around her delicate ankles. A clicking sound comes from all around us, like we’re inside a giant clock. As the statue turns, the walls behind each princess move. A dozen panels, one at each flower bed, slide away, revealing twelve alcoves. More like walk-in closets, actually.

As soon as the ticking stops, the five princesses hurry into their closets and I’m alone in the garden, wondering what the heck just happened.

There’s a closet open behind me. I doubt there’s anything in there that would interest me. But I can’t resist looking. My feet pull me in.

One side of the closet has a vanity. A cute little ivory-colored bureau with cherubs carved into the sides, a large mirror, and several bottles lined up against the back. Behind the mirror, the wall is plastered with images of large-eyed bunnies and smiling fauns playing with unicorns in an over-the-top mural. It’s nauseating. I turn away before it can have an effect on me.

The other wall is lined with ballgowns—pink and frilly, blue and lacy, purple with beads, red with flouncy sleeves. Yuck. And of course, equally ornate shoes to match, none of which look comfortable. Do they really expect me to wear something from here?

I peek back out into the garden. The princesses are already getting dressed, like five year olds trying on their mother’s clothes. Really? We’re playing dress-up? I think I’ll pass.

Then the girls bounce out of their closets to model their outfits. One of the twins pokes her head in and beams at me. “Come on! Pick a dress and let’s see.”

She disappears and I let out a long breath. The closet of dresses looms in front of me like a sinister rainbow. I’m probably not going to get away with wearing my jeans tonight, am I?

Fine.

I sift through the layers of fabric. There has to be something decent in here. Eventually, I find a cream-colored dress with cap sleeves and lace only around the bodice. I shimmy into it and pick the most ordinary-looking shoes I can find—black with a short heel and a simple beaded design around the toe. At least there aren’t any cameras in the castle. Although, knowing that pixie…

I ignore the bottles on the vanity and step out into the garden. The princesses ooh and aah over each other, and even compliment my outfit, but they’re not as thrilled about my choice as they are with Faith’s dress. It looks like it’s made entirely of pink pearls. Yikes.

Then comes the perfume. Each girl comes out with a different bottle. All at once, as if triggered by some hellish starter gun, they start spraying each other. It’s the weirdest water fight I’ve ever seen. They chase each other and splash drops of overly sweet-smelling liquid on each other. My mouth drops open as I watch in horror, but that’s a mistake. The sweet-smelling clouds turn bitter on my tongue and I gag.

The laughing and screaming suddenly become the least of my problems. The smells of flowers and fruit and who knows what else attack me all at once. I can’t breathe. The fumes sting my eyes and thicken the air. I have to get out.

No one notices as I run for my life. I’m out of the garden just in time. The air in the common room is delightfully breathable. What I just witnessed in there was scarier than any horror movie. No one should ever have to go through that.

I sink into the pink satin cushions of the super-long couch while I catch my breath. But I don’t get a very long break before the double doors at the front of the room open. And in walks Prince Ferguson, eager to be noticed. Then he sees it’s only me. His shoulders deflate. “Oh.”

I smile. “Nice to see you, too.”

Normally, I’d run from him as fast as I ran from the perfume-fight. But I want answers. I point at him. “You. Sit.”

Prince Ferguson seems a bit shocked that I would talk to him like that. I don’t care. I’m not about to put on a show just for him. He sits on the couch, as far from me as possible. Just how I like it.

“What’s going on?” I ask. “Why are you here?”

He stares blankly for a minute. I raise my eyebrows. I’m willing to wait for his brain cells to warm up.

“I’m here to marry one of your sisters.”

I narrow my eyes. “I mean why are you in this fairy tale? You’re supposed to be in Beauty and the Beast.”

I consider what I just said. Maybe that’s not true. I mean, it’s not like he got the girl or anything in that tale. Still, I wait for his answer.

“Fairy tale? Beauty?” Ferguson’s eyes widen. “I remember you! You were Beauty’s plain servant girl!”

I project death at the idiot in front of me.

"Er, well, obviously you’re not a servant girl. Or plain, Princess Ivy. I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you. Obviously your disguise was effective.”

My words seethe through clenched teeth. “I wasn’t wearing a disguise.”

“

Oh please don’t tell anyone how I acted at that castle. I wasn’t myself. After Faith rejected me, I needed to find someone to marry.”

The door to the garden opens behind me. Ferguson throws his attention to the incoming girls like their a lifesaver in the stormy sea. But I’m done talking to him. He’s obviously the same idiot I once knew and he has no idea what’s going on. It’s the one thing we have in common.

A hurricane of colorful dresses whip past me, surrounding Prince Ferguson in clouds of silk and perfume. The prince doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he looks like he won the lottery. Five princesses giggle and flirt with him like he’s suddenly the last living man in the kingdom. I wouldn’t care either way.

Long white fingers grasp the prince’s arms. A hundred questions—about his journey, his kingdom, his latest hunt—bombard him so fast, the prince has to choose which ones to answer. Of course, he always answers Faith’s questions. Not very intelligently, but I give him props for being able to pick out her voice from all the chatter.

I stay on my end of the couch and watch the chaos. At first, it’s entertaining to see them all act like such idiots. But something doesn’t feel right. Weren’t they bashing Ferguson and laughing at him an hour ago? Now they’re throwing themselves at him and offering him a goblet of wine and swooning over his lackluster stories.

“My dear princesses,” chortles the prince. “We do have all evening. Please, one at a time.”

Faith giggles, which really doesn’t match her voice. It’s too high-pitched.

Charity bats her eyelashes at Ferguson. “Isn’t your sword heavy? I can’t imagine carrying it around all the time.”

Ferguson closes his eyes and nods knowingly. “Yes, but one can never be too careful. One never knows when one will meet a damsel in need of aid.”

The prince’s words slur a bit and I have to hide a smile. I guess he’s had a little too much wine.

Mercy gazes up at him with wide eyes, which really accents her girlishness. “You must be very brave, then.”

“Well…” Ferguson nods again. “Of course, one must…” He leans back into the couch. “One must do…what one must…do…”

Ferguson closes his eyes and his head tilts back. The room goes quiet.

Chapter 1 of The Fairy Tale Twist (Draft 2)

To celebrate the home stretch of this pregnancy, I'm going to post some free content! You guys are absolutely wonderful for sticking with me through these brain-dead times, and I want to say thanks. Now, it's not final draft material yet, but every Tuesday (until the baby comes), I'll post a new chapter from The Fairy Tale Twist, Ivy's upcoming sequel to The Fairy Tale Trap.


Feedback and comments are welcome. I'd love to be able to give you all a book that you love.

So here it goes. The current first chapter of The Fairy Tale Twist:

Chapter 1

The parking lot fills with normal kids talking about normal stuff. I walk past a group of girls who, if you asked them about me, they’d give you a blank stare with wide eyes and say, “Who’s Ivy Thorn?” They’re playing a game I used to love: “The worst thing that could ever happen”. Basically, it’s a contest to see whose life sucks the most. Sounds like the winner of this round is a girl who had a bad haircut and a bad breakout right before a school dance. I didn’t even know there’d been a school dance.

As I walk around the circle of girls, I hate them for being such idiots. But I also envy them. I could win that game without even trying. I almost died over the summer. I was kidnapped by a pixie, then chased through the woods by a wild animal. All because the pixie got bored. (Of course, if I ever mention any of that at school, I’ll never make any friends.) I walk past a kid throwing potato chips at his girlfriend. Then again, not having friends might not be so bad.

I walk off school campus and ignore the cars full of happy kids. Can I ever be like that again? It seems unnatural to not be worried about what could be around the corner. Just thinking about a normal life feels wrong. I almost wish I could get swept away into another fairy tale, just to make sure I’m not crazy. But I’d have to be crazy to wish for that.

Fortunately, I think I’m safe from another kidnapping for now. I found out how they get you. I’m proud to say I’ve broken all emotional ties with Dad’s photo. I still love him, but the picture is just a picture. It took weeks to train myself, but I think it worked.

Now, when Dad’s overseas and I start to miss him, I write him a letter, stick it in the mail, and forget about it. When he writes back, I make myself throw his letters away after a day or two. I can’t risk getting attached to them. I’ve seen Mom fish them out of the trash, but it doesn’t matter. They’re just pieces of paper to me.

Besides, I can’t blame Mom. She’s way emotional and hormonal these days. She doesn’t know why I throw away Dad’s letters. She wouldn’t understand. I told my parents about everything that happened to me over the summer—why I disappeared, how I got back, and a few details about what happened to me while I was gone. (But I left out the life-threatening parts and stuck to fairies and enchanted forests.) I’m pretty sure Dad believes me. But Mom said, “I believe you believe it’s real.” Which basically means she believes I’m crazy. I love her anyway, but sometimes I look at her and I just want to shake her until she understands. Sometimes I think it would be easier if I could just get some video of the blasted pixie. I’d try to contact him, but I never want to see that little creeper ever again. I’m not insane.

I walk through the front door and drop my bag on the end table, right next to the teddy bear Dad sent to Mom for her birthday. The one holding a pink heart that says, “I wuv you.” Ugh. My parents are dorks.

Mom’s lying on the couch with her feet propped up, even though her belly sticks out a little. Ever since she found out she was pregnant, Mom has been all about the baby and doing whatever pregnant women do. It’s weird.

She’s my mom and she’s old. She shouldn’t be pregnant. But I’m excited. I always wanted a little brother or sister to play with, a friend who would move every time I did. This baby isn’t exactly going to be a playmate, but it’s still someone I can love and take care of. And I can show this kid that not everyone is like our parents. Some of us are actually pretty normal.

Mom has the laptop open, resting just below her belly. She’s looking at a baby names website. Again. “What do you think of the name Christopher?”

I shrug and plop down into the overstuffed chair next to her. “I don’t hate it.”

“What about Devin?”

I lean over to get a look at the screen she’s looking at. There has to be better names than that. “Mom, these are all boy names.”

Mom turns around and grins at me. When I don’t say anything, she lifts her eyebrows. “Yeah. They are.”

It takes me a minute. I think she’s saying what I think she’s saying. The eyebrows mean she’s saying something. “It’s a boy?”

She nods.

“It’s a boy!” I jump up and do a goofy dance. Then I stop. That was the dance I did for the fairies in the enchanted forest. I try to pretend like I’m just done dancing and try to hold onto my smile. But Mom’s giving me the look. The you’re-not-telling-me-something look.

“Does Dad know?”

Mom’s face softens into a smile. “I called him this morning. He said he’ll be home for the birth!”

I give her my best smile. It’ll be good to have him home that long. It seems like every time we get him back, he has to leave again. I should be thrilled. I am thrilled. But at the same time, an ugly thought worms its way through my head. And I suddenly feel like I might be sick. Before Mom can see what I’m thinking, I head for my room. “That’s great. I think I’ll go write to him.”

I force myself to go slow. Running to my room at a dead sprint probably wouldn’t come off as normal. But my heart pumps a gut-wrenching feeling through my whole body. I have to swallow several times to keep from throwing up. Because even though I’ve made sure I’m safe from the pixie…

…my brother won’t be.

Will You Like My Books?

I think it's high-time I answered this question. My books aren't for everyone, so you shouldn't waste your money if you're not going to like them.

My books are all about a spunky sense of fun. If you like strong, smart heroines (or characters that are so dumb, you laugh at them and wish they'd bite the dust already), you'll probably like my books.

If you like fantasy and magic, but done in a new way, you'll like my books.

You'll like Ivy Thorn (The Fairy Tale Trap, The Fairy Tale Twist) if you're looking for a light, fun read that will keep you rooting for a character in an impossible situation. If you like fairy tales, and modern, relatable characters, Ivy's books are for you. The Ivy Thorn series is quick-paced and funny, with a nice helping of fairy tale magic.

You won't like the Ivy Thorn series if you're looking for great literature with complete grammatical perfection. Also, you should know that the series is written in first-person present, which irks some people (though I have converted a few). If you like stories that take their time and explore various aspects of life, this series isn't for you. Also, you should know that these stories (like fairy tales) don't have many subplots.


Fairy Tales and Zombies (Snow White and Zombies, Cinderella and Zombies) are short novels, with a very different style from Ivy. Since everything takes place in the 16th century, the language is a little more adult. But that's okay, because the themes have more of a grown-up feel to them. These stories have death and zombie slaying with a touch of humor and a dash of fairy dust.
These books are for you if you 1) love zombies 2) Want face-paced action and 3) Want to see a fairy tale in a completely different light.

You won't like my Fairy Tales and Zombies books if you're expecting the constant quick, witty reparte that Ivy brings to the table. There's some humor, and the characters will banter, but that's not the focus of the book. If you hate reading about castles and knights and princesses in ballgowns, you probably won't like these books. (Of course, the princesses will often slay zombies, so that might make things more interesting.)

Breaking Fairy Tales (Blog Tour)

Amy Laurens is a Twitter friend who needs some maternity leave. So today call for a guest post. If you've ever wanted the full story about how I started breaking fairy tales, this is the post.

My main character, Ivy Thorn, was born on my blog. I was suffering from pregnancy brain at the time and didn’t feel like I could write long fiction, so I let Ivy tear apart a few fairy tales.

Of course, Ivy had to put her own spin on things. She’s not the type to sit back and let the fairy tale run its course. The thing I’m most proud of was when (in an early blog draft, not The Fairy Tale Trap) Ivy found herself stuck in the story: Snow White. She suggested that instead of going to all that trouble to kill Snow White, the queen should just use a spell to make Snow White ugly. It just made more sense!

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Can you interview a fictional character? (Blog Tour #17)

Apparently, you can.

My very good friend Robert Marion constructed a fun interview with Ivy herself. Unorthodox? Yes. But why not?

Ivy's Heart (Blog Tour #14)

Danyelle is a rock star. When someone cancelled last minute for this tour, she stepped up and filled a spot that was way earlier than we had originally planned. Her blog features guest posts by characters. Ivy is offering today's guest post on Danyelle's Blog. Here's a sample:

       Like most girls my age, I have a special connection with my dad. Unfortunately, he’s in the military, so he spends a lot of time overseas. I worry about him when he’s away because, you know, anything could happen.

That’s when I bring out my favorite photo. It’s a picture of him when he finished his first-ever marathon. He’s kind of a small guy, and he’s really skinny. We used to joke that just the sight of him would give the Kenyans second thoughts. His clothes are dusty, but he’s got this big goofy grin on his face. Whenever I look at that picture, I imagine that, wherever he is, my dad is happy, with the same goofy grin.

[...]

My story starts with me looking for the picture. It’s gone missing. I don’t know it at the time, but the picture was stolen. Someone took it because they knew how much it meant to me. If I had known the picture held so much power, I would have guarded it more closely.

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Book Review for The Fairy Tale Trap (Blog Tour #13)

Alex has been a follower of this blog for a long time. He's been so great and so supportive. He helped me create Ivy's character, even. So I'm thrilled to have him on this tour. He offered a book review on his blog Eclectically Inspired.

I Wish I Were as Cool as my Characters (Blog Tour #4)

Okay, when I found out I was going to be on Julie A. Lindsey's blog, I was ecstatic. Julie is hilarious and always has something to say on twitter to make me smile. Her blog is refreshing, and her book Death by Chocolate is about to come out (if I'm not mistaken).

Julie let me do a guest post that I lovingly call: I’m Not a Cool Person, but I Write About them in Books (or: I Wish I Were as Cool as my Characters).

A lot of people think that authors write characters based on what the author wishes they could be. Well let me clear things up a bit: That’s completely true.

At least, it’s true for me. Sure, Ivy has her faults. She’s stubborn and impulsive. She gets herself into all kinds of trouble and tends to be a loner. But Ivy is cool. So my guest post today will be all about why Ivy is cooler than I am.

First, I’m the nerdy type. Not the shy, awkward kind of nerdy. The goofy, foot-in-the-mouth type of nerdy. I say things without thinking, then an hour later I realize that what I said wasn’t as funny as I thought. In fact, it could have been flat-out offensive.

Ivy, on the other hand, says offensive things on purpose and wishes she had written them down to use again later.

Read the rest of this post at Julie Lindsey's blog, and enter for a chance to win a free copy of The Fairy Tale Trap.