Category: First chapter

Diane over at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts this meme.

This week I am sharing the intro from a review book I’m reading, The Prophet by Ethan Cross.

Francis Ackerman Jr. stared out the window of the dark copper and white bungalow on Macarthur Boulevard. Across the street, a green sign with yellow letters read Mosswood Playground – Oakland Recreation Department. Children laughed and played while mothers and fathers pushed swings and sat on benches reading paperback novels or fiddling with cell phones. He had never experienced such things as a child. The only games his father had ever played were the kind that scarred the body and soul. The young Ackerman had never been nurtured; he had never been loved. But he had come to accept that. He had found purpose and meaning born from the pain and chaos that had consumed his life.

So I just started this book for a blog tour that I have scheduled in November – and I’m hooked! I’m about 100 pages into it and loving it – but it’s not for the faint of heart, it’s gruesome and I’m not even that far along in reading it – but that’s not stopping me! (I think becoming a mom has made me feel differently about graphic books because that never bothered me in the past.)

Diane over at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts this meme.

This week I am sharing the intro from a review book I’m reading. DiSemblance by Shanae Branham

Orange, gold, and red hues of sunrise shone through the trees as Jason Tanner jogged along the abandoned trail through Knobs Park. He loved moving unseen like a specter through these woods.

I have to be completely honest here, this intro lacks a little in my opinion. However, I cannot stress enough how exciting the book gets if you continue on. I’m about 100 pages in and thoroughly enjoying it!!

So here’s a new-to-me meme. Diane over at Bibliophile by the Sea hosts it I’ve seen this one before but for whatever reason never joined up. But this week I’m reading a book that really sucked me in on the first page.

Donald Ellyson tried to scream, but nothing happened. He had done a lot of reprehensible things in his fifty-five years, but this was not how he had expected to die – his throat sliced and hot blood running down the front of his parka. This was supposed to be the discovery of his life, the one that would legitimize him and land him at the top of the academic heap. But the moment of his greatest triumph had suddenly become the last moment he would ever know. And for what? Did his benefactors actually think he was going to stiff them?