Hi, to all you Blogger Book Fair participants! My name is Lara Schiffbauer, and I'd like to thank Zrinka for hosting me today.
There are so many people who help a book come to fruition, and many of the most important people are those who encourage the author to see the process through, such as parents, spouses, friends, and even children.
When it came time to publish Finding Meara, while I have so many "encouragers" who lifted me up when I thought I wouldn't make it, there was only one person to whom I wanted to formally dedicate the book - my sister, Dyan. When we were in high school we co-wrote stories about Duran Duran and a screenplay about the X-Files. She always encouraged me to create, express myself, and take risks, which are all traits a writer needs to have.
My sister had Multiple Sclerosis and died from complications of the disease in January of 2001 at the age of 32. Although she wasn't even around when I began writing "seriously," she is always an inspiration and part of my daily writing life. I hope that, wherever she may be now, she is proud of the role she played in bringing Finding Meara to life.
To keep her safe, twenty-six-year-old Hazel Michelli's parents never told her she was adopted, or that her birthplace was in an alternative land where magic and monsters exist. She found out the truth the day a ferocious winged creature stole her from her Denver apartment and delivered her to Lucian, the sadistic Lifeforce magician who happens to be Hazel’s biological father.
“Dysfunctional family” takes on new meaning when she learns Lucian must sacrifice a daughter to maintain immortality and take over the Realm. When Hazel’s younger half-sister disappears just days before the Rite, Lucian moves Hazel to the top of the sacrificial short list.
Afraid, yet compelled to protect her four-year-old half-sister, Hazel races between both worlds, searching for Meara while being hunted by Lucian. Their lives, and the future of the Realm, leave her no room for failure.
Sweat trickled down my neck. I snatched for the coffee table, but missed. Now what? No other furniture was in reach. I shoved myself into a sitting position and hammered my free heel into the man’s hand. He flicked his wrist, and in a blink, I lay at his feet.
The whole room skidded sideways.
The man’s hat had fallen off. The skin on his bald head was grayish-green with the waxy sheen of day old death. Bulky knots protruded from above his shoulder blades, and his arms reached to his knees.
He wasn’t a man at all.
Sound interesting? Here is where you can snag a copy!