Friday, March 27, 2015

Susan Griscom - New Release

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I'm happy to say that A Gypsy's Kiss is almost ready for publication. The release date is May 20th and it is available now for PREORDER. Links below. I hope you enjoy this except.




Amazon     iTunes      B&N       Kobo       Smashwords

I will have paperbacks available at all the signings this summer. 
On The Border Book Bash in San Diego, CA  on May 30, 2015. 
ARC NOLA July 29, 2015 New Orleans, LA
InD'Scribe Conference, September 16-19, 2015 Palm Springs, CA 


Excerpt of A Gypsy's Kiss

The past three weeks had been hell for me. Every game, every practice I’d kept looking into the stands, hoping—wishing—to see Breena, but she was never there. I’d thought about going to her apartment to try and talk to her, but it wouldn’t have been fair to either of us—especially to her—and very selfish on my part. Just because I wanted to see her beautiful face was no reason to put her in danger. I sat at my computer, intending to do some studying, but I decided to take another stab at searching the Internet for April Gavan instead. I’d given up the search after about a week of dead ends. I wasn’t a detective, and I had no clue how to go about finding someone who didn’t want to be found. This time, I put in an L instead of Leah, but nothing showed up. Overwhelmed with disappointment, I went to the next page and scrolled down the list with no results. I continued on to the next page and then the next, slowly scrutinizing every new result until finally, down toward the bottom of the page, I saw an April L. Gavan. In fact, two of them. I opened the first one, a Twitter link, and the picture of the woman displayed looked to be around twenty with long, blonde hair. Not a possibility. The next one was from Whitepages and had no picture. I clicked on it. There wasn’t much detail. Not even an age, but there was an address in Livermore, California, just an hour away from where I’d grown up. Well, it looked like I was going to be taking a little vacay.

I booked a flight and reserved a rental car. I’d need to clear the time off with my coach, but I was sure he’d understand once I told him that I was searching for my real mother. I glanced at the clock. Shit. Where had the time gone? I had a game in less than an hour, and I hadn’t even started on any studying. I hopped in the shower to clear my head for the game.

Home games were always more exciting as the crimson and gold colors dominated the stands. As I skated around the rink during warm-up, I couldn’t help but glance up at the seats behind our bench every time I skated by; still hoping to see Breena’s smiling face. But I knew better. I didn’t expect to see her there now. Not after all this time. 

A quarter in to the third period, we were down one goal. I hadn’t been into the game at all. I’d even missed an easy shot on goal, and the puck had gone just right of the net. On top of that, I was doing horribly in the faceoff circle. The puck soared across the ice toward me. I tracked it this time. I wasn’t in the mood to play games, and I didn’t want to lose this one. It might be cheating, but I figured I’d just be making up for the crap way I’d played the first two periods. I owed my team my best. As I took control of the puck and headed down toward the opposing team’s goal, I got checked in the side and slammed into the boards with a jolt. The asswipe jammed his elbow into my lower back, causing me to become completely incapacitated for a few seconds, and forcing me to my knees. The ref hadn’t seen the elbow shot, so there was no penalty. I eyed the jerk, number four, and swore under my breath. As I skated toward the bench to take a sorely needed break, the coach saw me and sent in Dexter Green to take my place. That’s when I saw Breena sitting in the seat behind the bench. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of her. I was glad she was there. I was stupid to think I’d be able to go without seeing her again. I sent her a smile, and she gave me a timid smile back.
After my brief recuperation period, I went back into the game. A few minutes later, the ref blew his whistle for icing against the other team. That meant there would be a face-off. I skated to the spot on the ice where the referee held the puck. I had to face-off with the asswipe who’d elbowed me in the back, number four. Part of the fun of hockey was the violence, and learning to navigate through the complex systems and labyrinths of physical contact while still adhering to the code. An unwritten set of rules that had been handed down from generation to generation. The code picked up where the rulebook left off.

With my stick down on the ice and ready, number four put his stick down. The puck fell, and I got to it, sending it over to Tex, who took it down the ice. I skated to the corner and Tex shot the puck over to me. Number four came at me again, his gloved hand on his stick right at the level of my balls. I pivoted to my right, and he got me in the hip. This time, I dropped my stick and slung out a punch. When a player challenges another, that player must answer the call and stand up for his team. Number four was doing his best to show me up. Fights can turn the tide of the game and create momentum. This fight would be more than just my retaliation, it would also spark some energy for the team. Something we needed if we were going to win this game.

His first punch struck me on the left side of my jaw. Next thing I knew, our gloves were off and I’d sent out a punch to his face, my knuckles colliding with the side of his mouth. His helmet flew off. I took another punch to the face, which almost sent me to the ice as my own helmet rolled away, but I managed to stay up on my skates and got in a few more slugs before we were doing the fighter hug, my fist still pounding into his neck and chin. The battle was eventually stopped by the refs, and both number four and I headed to the penalty box. We each had five minutes to sit and brood. At least the teams were evenly numbered and there wouldn’t be any power play by the other team. I turned to glance at Breena. She looked worried. She needn’t worry about me, and I didn’t want her to worry, but it made me feel excellent that she might be concerned. It had been a hockey fight. Nothing more. It happened all the time. I sent her my best cocky grin, and she rolled her eyes. 

A Gypsy's Kiss Copyright © 2015 Susan Griscom

Thanks for reading.





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