My Early Work: THE RABBIT WHO WOULDN’T HOP

This is just for kicks. Mom found it in a box while cleaning out old stuff to pack and move. I’m tentatively considering rewriting it as an adult. It could be a fun challenge for a blog post, but I haven’t decided. For now, it’s simply amusing.

Translation (exactly as written, errors included):

The Rabbit who wouldn’t hop. 

Once there was a little rabbit named Pizza. Pizza was 10 weeks old. and she had never hopped.

Her frinds always said it was fun. But she always said in her snaught voice, I’m positive it’s not fun hopping’s for babies and I’m not a baby so I refuse to hop.

One day she got hopalongidise (hop-along-itis) she had to hop 5 times a day for a week. When her mom told her this she got red in the face. And said in her not so snaughty voice I’m positive it’s not fun hoppings for babies and I’m not a baby so I refuse to hop. Then her mom yelled at her and said you get up this instant and hop 5 times

So she crowled out of bed and hopped five times. She liked it so she did it every day.

the end
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Excerpt From: In The Rearview by Maria Ann Green

Title: In the Rearview
Author: Maria Ann Green
Genre: YA Contemporary 
Release date: August 19th
Main Character: Meagan

Heartbreak, Healing, Hope

Get it today on: Kindle & Nook
EXCERPT: 
Meagan stared down at her desk. Her focus moved beyond the assignment in front of her without actually seeing what she was looking toward. There were lines, spaces of white, and blobs of writing, but nothing seemed important enough to consider closely. Truthfully she didn’t care.
She didn’t feel the need to focus.
Her gaze slowly moved up to the front of the classroom, and again she fixated on a point past what was before her. She did not concentrate on the teacher. There was a face, a moving mouth, but she didn’t connect it with the sounds struggling slowly, like sticky sludge past her ears. She didn’t hear the instructions being uttered; each word fell on deaf ears as she mindlessly doodled.
Twisting her hair around her finger, she thought about how nice it would be to be at home, in bed, with the curtains closed instead of in this loud and hyper school. It seemed her classmates had recently started caring too much about what was going on around them. There was too much drama, too much noise, too much concern jumping all around her. It was all so taxing.

It was such a bother.
Meagan, in contrast, was usually in a world of her own. Her head felt fuzzy most of the time, and unless she used a lot of energy, most conversations sounded muffled, like there was cotton in her ears. She didn’t feel the need to engage anymore. Her desire to try so hard just to do what had once come easily had dwindled to nothing. At first she’d tried, but not now. Not anymore. It had become too difficult to care.
And that was her biggest problem. Meagan didn’t care much about any of these changes. She was fine walking through school without any effort. Her feet felt a little heavier as each day passed, and her head felt a little more under pressure of a crushing fog that numbed her, but she pushed through it all. She didn’t mind neglecting what used to bring her excitement. In fact, it was just easier not to give a crap.
Everything was distinctly lackluster these days.


LINKS TO CHECK OUT: 
WEBSITE   
TWITTER       
AUTHOR BIO:   And so she wrote
Maria Green currently lives in Minnesota, despite its bitter winters, with her husband. She graduated with a degree in Psychology and a minor in English. When she isn’t writing, Maria loves to read with a cup of strong coffee or a glass of sweet wine, craft, and spend time with her family. This is her first published novel. 

AUTHOR GIVEAWAY: 
*The How: Anyone who buys my book, IN THE REARVIEW, in any e-version the first week it’s out, August 19th – 26th, and sends me an email verification (screen shot your purchase confirmation, forward the confirmation email, take a picture of your computer screen – honestly whatever works) will be entered into the drawing to win a pretty cool set of prizes. Send the emails to: magauthorgiveaway@gmail.com

*The Who: There will be THREE winners.

*The What: If you win there are a few things you will be getting. First, you will receive a gifted copy of my next published book in any e-version that you prefer. Second, because there is poetry in this book, I will write you poem that is specifically for you. The winner can feel free to provide personal information or likes to make the poem more specialized, but that is not required by any means. Third, I will name a character after each winner in my next book. I cannot guarantee that the character will live, or be a good guy, but the winners will get to be a character in a manuscript of mine. Fourth, and finally, each winner will get a mention, by name, in my next acknowledgments page. Fans are so essential. I really do appreciate everyone who is willing to spend their hard earned money on me and my little book, so this one is the most important piece to me for my giveaway. 

*Giveaway package: Don’t forget that the giveaway package entries can be sent through August 26th.
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First 550 Of The New WIP: Bloodbound

With moving, packing, job hunting, and editing the latest WIP, I’ve been a horrible blogger lately. Sorry people! You’re getting a lot of book reviews, because I’ve been reading a ton (escapism, stress relief, research, supporting writing friends).
However, that gets boring fast on a blog that’s supposed to be about writing, so instead I’m going to post the first 550-ish words of my latest WIP (once I calm my racing heart and stop wanting to puke). It’s part of my attempt to conquer those 5 thoughts that cripple a writer: http://bawilsonwrites.blogspot.com/2014/07/5-thoughts-that-cripple-writer.html 
If you have thoughts or feedback, please let me know! I’m editing at the moment anyway, so now is a great time to make changes. No need for niceties. I like harsh truths when it comes to how to improve my work.  So feel free to be honest, and let me know what you think:
Bloodbound by B.A. Wilson
YA Space Fantasy/Sci-Fi Blend
2 Male POVs
DRAFT (currently editing)
I slide my thumbs down the back of Sylie’s thighs as Mika’s fingers slip under my shirt from behind, snaking their way up my chest. All my muscles tighten at the shock of her cool hands on my over-heated skin. Blood rushes to my face and other unmentionable areas.
I stumble, knocking over a mop in the dark, dingy janitor’s closet.
Girl giggles. Ugh. Relentless girl giggles. So grating and obnoxious. What happened to real laughter, the deep, zexy kind?
Mika pops her chin over my shoulder, grinning, so I drop a kiss on her cheek, followed by one on Sylie’s smooth, pale neck.
More giggles.
Even raging hormones from being wrapped up between gorgeous, twin Jeppa Leaders is not enough to stop the feeling of nausea that washes through my system after each and every giggle.
“I’ve never done it with a quex boy before,” Sylie says, bitting her bottom lip as she presses her petite frame against my bulk.
Stout. That’s what Aven says I am. He follows it up with muscled and athletic to make me feel better, because I know stout is not a word people use when discussing someone attractive.
Which I’m not.
But still.
“I’m not quex,” I say and press her back against the shelf of cleaning supplies. I bury my face in her straight, blonde locks which smell like Ehalla fruit. It’s citrusy but clouded by the bitter, unnatural undertone of the chemicals. “I like girls.”
“Liar,” Mika says, giggling again as she presses herself up against my back, the tips of her long, slender fingers sliding down under the waistband of my navy, school issued slacks.
Fuzz me.
My whole body quakes and tightens. I want to speak but have no words.
So I do what I’m best at.
Hands first, then mouth.
I put all my energy and focus into changing the giggling into pleading, moaning, possibly even screaming my name.
See? I’ve got plans and dreams. I pause for a second, imagining the school counselor’s face as I graphically describe my goals to her at our next meeting, and I can’t help grinning.
“He sure seems mocs,” Sylie says, breathless and flushed. “Maybe it’s true.”
Potentially her declaration is influenced by my thumbs, which are moving back up her thighs beneath her short, fitted Jeppa skirt. I don’t comment, just keep my hands and mouth busy. Persuasive.
Aven always says I’m at my best when I shut up. That works for me. Mouths have better uses than talking.
“No way,” Mika protests, and I turn to face her, dropping a kiss where her neck meets her shoulder. She gasps and splutters when I pull off her Jeppa tank and trail more kisses over her delicate skin, rubbing my thumbs beneath the white lace edge of her bra. Her breathless soprano whisper rings out in the tiny space. “I’ve read the book on bloodbound half-breeds. He has to be quex. They allare.”
No,I think, as I continue my work. Not all. Only 99%.
Yep. I’m a 1% anomaly.
A minority.
A defier of statistics.
An abnormality.
But I don’t care.
“Maybe it’s wrong,” Sylie says, pulling my shirt up from behind.
It’s not. I believe the statistics. I live them. The book is not wrong.
I’m wrong. Unexpected. A disappointment.
And I don’t care.
Do I?
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