|This is me. I am not licking anything.|
Pay me no attention. I'm just a little excited about my guest blogger today, the lickably awesome Carrie Harris, author of Bad Taste in Boys!
Silly people! I call her lickable because for a long, long time now I've been wanting to lick her cover.
Wait. That still sounded wrong. Here, I'll show you. Really. It's not nearly as bad as it sounds. (and, why, yes, I did try to start this post with a stock photo of a licking tongue, and NO you do not want to know the kind of images that show up if you happen to Google for photos of licking tongues. So, um, yeah, just trust me on this).
|Don't let her fool you. She morphs into some |
sort of Ninja Zombie.
THIS is the incredibly lickable cover of BAD TASTE IN BOYS:
Oh. My. God. See what I mean? Give me a second. . . no, no, I am not doing that, whatever you think I am doing. Okay, fine, maybe I am. But I'm done now, so carry on.
Anyway, for months now, this licking joke has been going on and I decided as *gift* to Carrie -- because you can just imagine how much she's going to love this -- I would do an homage to her cover. Of course, it's late, and I have like a thousand important things to do tonight, not to mention I haven't showered today, nor put on makeup, or brushed my hair. Oh, and as it turns out, I only had orange dot sprinkles in the house. All of which should have stopped me.
|Trust me, those are all bright orange, and, yes, I am a total idiot.|
Anyway, here's the description of Bad Taste in Boys from Carrie's website:
Someone’s been a very bad zombie. Super-smartie Kate Grable gets to play doctor, helping out her high school football team. Not only will the experience look good on her college apps, she gets to be this close to her quarterback crush, Aaron. Then something disturbing happens. Kate finds out that the coach has given the team steroids. Except . . . the vials she finds don’t exactly contain steroids. Whatever’s in them is turning hot gridiron hunks into mindless, flesh-eating . . . zombies. Unless she finds an antidote, no one is safe. Not Aaron, not Kate’s brother, not her best friend . . . not even Kate . . . It’s scary. It’s twisted. It’s sick. It’s high school.
There. I hear it's great. You know you want to read it in July.
But, of course, that's not why Carrie is here today. SHE'S IN THE ZOMBIE HOTSEAT FOR SOME FEEDBACK! It's from her sequel, Bad Hair Day, already sold to Delacorte! So, say what you will because sticks and stones can't hurt her. Plus, she's a zombie, so even if they could, they couldn't (can you tell I know nothing about zombies?) Also, there's licking in it, so I am a happy camper.
Anyway, you know the rules:
1. Since it's the opening of a book, tell us if it "hooks" you or not. Enough to make you want to keep reading? If yes, why? If no, why not?
2. What else works for you, draws you into the piece, and why?
3. What doesn’t work for you (if something doesn't) and why?
If you want the same feedback, please post your brief excerpt at the end of your comment (and tell us what it is -- e.g. opening to a novel, short story, poem, etc...). Please post no more than 3 paragraphs. If there's more, we may not read it. If you are a student from a particular class, please identify yourself as such because we like to throw smooches and such.
So, without further ado, up for your feedback, the opening of Bad Hair Day by Carrie Harris:
Trey Black lurched up and down the bus loop outside our school, moaning about cranial anatomy. As if I wasn’t annoyed enough already. Our bus was fourteen-and-a-half minutes late. The Future Doctors of America program would be starting without me; watching our future salutatorian act like a complete dipwad only added insult to injury. The students selected for the FDA program were supposed to be the best. Apparently, our school administrators defined “best” as “guy who puts backpack on his head and pretends to be a zombie.”
He staggered over and accidentally grabbed my breasts, one in each hand. And when I say accidentally, I really mean on purpose. I wasn’t sure if he had a see through backpack or an unerring sense of breastal positioning, but either way, it was going to get him into trouble. Like now.
I knocked his hands off my chest, grabbed him by the strap, and yanked him close enough to talk right in his ear. Or right in his backpack, anyway.
“Listen up, dorkwad,” I said in the pleasantest voice possible, which wasn’t very pleasant at all. “I don’t have the time or masochistic tendencies necessary to deal with you. So how about you keep out of my way, and I’ll pay you the same courtesy?”
He ripped the bag off and sneered, which only served to make him more unattractive. Don’t get me wrong; Trey was one of those guys with tousled blond hair and surfer boy good looks. The girls at our school constantly threw themselves at him. I didn’t find him even remotely attractive. Frankly, his infantile tendencies made me want to grab his head and yank really hard in an effort to dislodge it from his backside. No amount of prettiness could compensate for that.
Picking on me was one of his favorite ways to pass the time. On the first day of freshman year, he took one look at my stylicious braid and granny glasses and decided I’d be an easy target. Back then he was right, but now things had changed. He just hadn’t realized it; he was studying in France for a semester when I stopped the zombocalypse.
He leaned toward me, getting right up in my face. I expected one of his stereotypical insults, but he licked me instead. A long, slow lick that started at my jaw line and went flat-tongued all the way up to my hair. I had never been a violent person, but there is only so much random licking a girl can take.
p.s. seriously you guys, that little guy down there *points to last Friday's blog post* is still juggling. Somebody get him some food or a glass of water.