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Troll or Derby by Red Tash
January 1st, 2013Tour DetailsHeroines With Heart 0 Comments

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General Information To Include in a Blog Post

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Below is information that anyone who is participating in the blog tour can use on their websites and in their blog posts. It’s completely optional to include the information and available primarily for your convenience.

Heroines With Heart blurb (if you want to include something about the tour):

Heroines With Heart is a massive blog tour that runs throughout 2013, that features books with strong female protagonists. We have authors from several different genres, including young adult, mystery/thriller/suspense, romance, sci-fi/fantasy, and Christian fiction. We are also giving away fun digital prizes and sharing new and noteworthy books throughout the year. Want updates?

Red Tash’s blurb (if you want to include something in your post about her):

Red Tash is a journalist-turned-novelist of dark fantasy for readers of all ages. Monsters, SciFi, wizards, trolls, fairies, and roller derby lightly sautéed in a Southern/Midwestern sauce hand-canned from her mama’s recipes await you in her pantry of readerly delights. Y’all come, anytime. Also, visit her at http://redtash.com/.

Images:

Author Image Download Link: http://27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lu5wlvk73l1r0fw3ho1_400.jpg

Troll or Derby Cover Image Download Link: http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m4bwhmfBRW1qb43yw.jpg

Troll or Derby Description:

In Troll Or Derby, fifteen-year-old Roller Deb is singled out by town bullies for both her skates, and for being different. When her popular homecoming queen of a sister is kidnapped by a scuzzy drug dealer, Deb must flee the trailer park in which she’s grown up, and rescue her. Along the way, Deb becomes enmeshed in the magical realm of trolls and fairies, and the blood-thirsty version of roller derby at which these beings excel. But spending too much time among the fairies comes with a price. Will Deb choose to save her sister, with the aid of a mysterious troll? Or will she be lost to the lures of roller derby, and this magical new realm, forever?

Linky List Code:

This is how we keep track of links for the tour.

Step 1: Add the code to your blog post. (Note: Free blogs at WordPress.com do not allow javascript, period. This script will not work. You just need to put a link to http://heroineswithheart.com/attendees/ instead.)



You can also grab the code here: http://www.linkytools.com/get_bloghop_code.aspx?id=180021&type=basic

Step 2: When you post about Seeds of Discovery, come back to this page and add your link to the tour. Your link will show up across all the pages on the January tour. That’s it!

Contest Information:

The contest takes place from January 1st-31st in conjunction with the Heroines With Heart blog tour. All the contest information is contained in the widget, so just add it to the end of your blog post.

The code is here:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

You can also find the code here: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/share-code/NDU0NTI3OTUzNDRlNzNlMWE1MDc3YWMxNTc4NWQ4OjM=/ and find instructions to add it to your WordPress or Blogger blog here:http://www.rafflecopter.com/questions/#install

It’s recommended that you include the contest embed code in your blog post as that’s what gets people excited!

Links to Purchase the Book:

Ebook is currently exclusive to Amazon: http://smarturl.it/trollorderby

Honest Review Option

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This option is a larger commitment, but if you are planning to read the books anyway, honest review posts are typically large traffic drivers. The other benefit to the review option is that reviews can be cross-posted to Amazon which gives you more entries into the Kindle Fire drawing pool. If you choose this option, you’ll receive an ecopy of the book for the Kindle and Nook platforms so you can read the ebook online or on a ereader, iPad, or smart phone.

Review Copies of the Book

If you’ve signed up for the review option of the tour, we will email you your digital review copy.

You can also contact heroineswithheart@gmail.com to request a digital copy for the ereader of your choice.

Review Prompts:

Just in case you aren’t sure what to say in your review, you can just finish these sentences to get started:

  • One of the things I liked/didn’t like about the book was…
  • I liked /didn’t like ________ because he/she was…
  • Troll or Derby is good for anyone who…

Excerpt Option

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This option is for bloggers who want to participate but don’t have time to create content for the blog tour. Copy and paste the information on the page and load it into your blog. All you have to to do is hit publish! This is truly a two-minute-or-less option.

You can excerpt anything you want from the free ebook available for download at Amazon.com! Keep in mind that many readers do not appreciate spoilers, so try to leave those out for best results. Below, you’ll find several excerpts that may be suitable if you do not want to go digging for one. Feel free to copy+paste from below.

Excerpt #1 (from Deb’s perspective):

Meth fires are blue, the hottest kind of flame. I’d heard it before, probably from Derek, but now I was seeing it firsthand. Lucky me.

A sickly smell hung on the air. The remains of chemicals, plastic, and pharmaceutical ingredients brutalized my lungs, but I couldn’t back away. I wouldn’t—no matter what.

The trailer crackled with flame, and Gennifer was inside. Tall, eerie tongues of fire licked the outer walls–ten feet high, at least. I had no idea flames could reach that size.

Plasticine, sticky smoke—brown and thick—engulfed me as I neared the trailer. I didn’t know where to look for my sister, but I was sure she was inside. A moan, then a scream—I could hear her through the thin aluminum walls.

The trailer was melting into sludge and toxic smoke, and it cracked and popped on a warping metal frame. I didn’t know if I should try and run through the fire at the kitchen end of the mess, where a gaping hole belched sickening fire. Maybe I could try to get Gennifer to open or break a window and climb out from the other side. I wondered if she’d have it in her to bleed a little, to save her own life.

The window was way too high for me to reach.

“Open the window, Gennifer! Climb out!”

She was never right when she was doing the drugs Dave gave her—could she even understand what I was saying? Could she hear me?

I thought maybe I could pitch something hard enough into the glass to break her out. I ran to the woods, looking for a log or branch I could ram through the window. Everything was too rotten to be of any use—sticks and limbs crumbled in my shaking hands. Gennifer’s screams were getting louder, higher pitched. Was she on fire? Why wouldn’t she help herself?

If only I had a crowbar.

Then I saw them—tools. The trailer was up on blocks, with no underpinning.  Of course Dave would be too cheap to finish out his rustic rural meth lab.  I crawled beneath, the leaky septic line christening me as I stooped, groping for the abandoned tools. I hoped the mobile home wouldn’t collapse on top of me before I could crawl back out, but it wasn’t sounding so good.

Dave and his gang of junkie slaves had been working beneath the trailer, and sure enough, they’d been too distracted, dumb, or high to put away a set of screwdrivers, some ratchets, and a really, really heavy wrench.

It’s no crowbar, but it’ll have to do.

Liquid shit dripped on me, but I didn’t have time to care. My sister was screaming her head off in a burning trailer and I was reasonably certain she was out of her mind on drugs.

I flung the wrench at the window, but it didn’t break. I tried again, and again, but only managed to crack the damned glass, and Gennifer still hadn’t appeared at the window to save herself.

There was only one thing to do. I grabbed the wrench and ran to the kitchen end of the trailer.  I took a deep breath of fresh air, then I hurled myself through the cloud of fumes. The fire and smoke obscured everything, and I shut my eyes against the sting of chemicals. For a moment, I thought I saw the shapes of blue and orange dancers in the flames.

I braced myself for the heat, but I didn’t feel it. Pops and hisses all around me sounded like whispers or cackles. The fire was eating through the trailer, and I felt the floor giving out with every step. I wouldn’t let it take Gennifer—I wouldn’t let it consume me, either.

The hallway was short, and the door Gennifer was locked behind very thin. Her screams were so loud, there was no point trying to yell to her that I was coming in, especially if it meant inhaling more smoke.

I swung at the handle, holding the wrench like a baseball bat. The brass knob fell to the floor, a chunk of splintered wood still clinging to it. I kicked the bedroom door in, and Gennifer stopped screaming long enough to pass out.

Lovely. Now I’ll have to carry her.

She wore a black bra and jeans, and her skin was burning with fever. I put my hands under her armpits and lugged her over my shoulder. She had at least 75 pounds on me, so I should have crumpled under her, I suppose. Instead, I stumbled into the door frame as I carried her across the spongy floor of the burning trailer.

The heat touched my hair—I could hear it sizzle, could smell it burning, even—but I felt nothing but determination as I carried my sister out of that meth lab.

With Gennifer still on my back, I jumped. She fell hard on top of me, and I was just pushing her off, struggling for breath, when the trailer collapsed onto the ground. The sound of sirens in the distance was no surprise—the smoke was so black and thick that farmers in the vicinity surely could tell this was no typical trash fire. I pulled my sister as far away from the flames as I could and watched for the EMTs to roll up.

Gennifer groaned, and her eyes flickered open for a sec. She met my gaze and frowned. She closed her eyes again and drew a deep breath.

“I’m going to kill that son of a bitch,” I said.

“Dave didn’t do it,” she said. Her words were slurred. She reached up to rub her eyes, lazily, as if waking up from a nap.

“Yeah, right, Gennifer. He’s such a saint, locking you in a burning trailer and all.”

I didn’t see the point of arguing with her, though. I let it drop.

Something sticky and hot dripped too close to my eyes, and I reached to wipe it off. Please don’t let it be crap from the sewer line. I pulled my hand away, and it was covered in blood. Even better. I won’t think of that now—nope, not at all.

The fire truck roared up the gravel driveway.  Guys in black rubber suits jumped off the truck–someone put a face mask on Gennifer and asked me if there was anyone still inside.

I shook my head no, and then I fell through trees, air, sky, into the black. I felt my head hitting the hard ground near where my backpack lay, could hear the EMTs shouting, and then—nothing.

Excerpt #2 (from Harlow’s perspective):

I want you to understand something.  I didn’t rise up out of the ground fully grown, I wasn’t the bastard child of an angry god, and I didn’t become this way because I was cursed.  My skin’s not green and I won’t turn to stone in the sunlight.

When I was young, I had a mother, and she was a troll.  I had a mother and a father who were both trolls, in fact–and we were a family.  Yes, I had a family.  Just like you.

Scared yet?

Almost everything I know about humans, I’ve learned from their trash.  Redbook and Woman’s Day show up at my doorstep more than any other source, I reckon.  It may not be a perfect picture of what your life is like, but I’m betting I’ve got a more accurate view of your lifestyle than you have of mine, at least for the time being.

For starters, there’s a shopping mall full of differences between troll family life, and how human families live.  Trolls, for instance, do not typically invest a lot of emotion into their own young–often don’t even raise them.  They especially don’t socialize with their relatives for special occasions.  You won’t see us breaking out the patio umbrellas and the ice chests full of soda for a family barbecue.  A special occasion in troll culture is when the villagers rise up and try to corral one of us in a cave, or something like that.  At least, that’s how it used to be.  That’s what my mom told me.  I remember that.

I remember a lot more now than I did, when this adventure started—but I’ll get to that.

Best I can tell, my nuclear family was more like a human family than a troll one.  The extended family, as you English would call it, was a mess.  A big, illegal, drug-running, slaving mess.  But I’ll get to that.  This is my part of the story and I want to begin in the beginning.  I’m not a storyteller.  It’s not my profession.  Bear with me while I sort this out, okay?

Sure, you’re going to think what you want about trolls.  I mean, you’ve seen movies, you’ve read Rowling and Tolkein.  I’m telling you that the real-live working-class trolls of the Midwest are nothing like you’ve been told.  We’re capable of great violence, sure, and I’ll concede that our proclivity is largely toward evil, but let’s face it—a lot of that comes down to breeding and culture.

In our world, might most definitely makes right.  That’s the fundamental law of troll culture, although most trolls would forego the flowery wording and just express it with a grunt and blow to the head.

Trolls as a species, though, are capable of great love.  I know, because I’ve experienced it.  You don’t live with something like that and ever forget.  If you do, you’re a fool, anyway.

My parents weren’t totally solitary like so many other trolls are.  They even had a very close friendship with a fairy family called the Wheelers.  If we’d celebrated holidays, the Wheelers were the ones we’d have invited over for a Fourth of July cookout.  We didn’t do that a lot, that I can recall.  We did raid sinkholes filled with garbage on a few occasions, though.  Good times.

The Wheelers were not just fairies, they were Protectors.  Fleet of foot and quick of mind, their instincts were so well-tuned as to be mistaken for psychic powers, by most.  According to my mother, in the old days humans and fairies alike worshiped or feared the breed of fairy the Wheelers were.  Their massive black wings shimmering in air above a crowd of would-be foes were beautiful and awesome—I remember that, too.  Sometimes.  The memories come and go, unless I’m looking at Deb.  Then I can’t forget.

Anyway, these two particular Wheelers, Marnie and Mannox, were so powerful and strong, everyone lived in fear of them.  Everyone but my folks, and me, I guess.  The Wheelers were my fairy godparents.  I don’t remember much about them, but I remember that.

Trying to remember is a full-time job.  I’ve visited the library in Bloomington, and even picked through the local bookstore in Bedrock, curious about what the old days used to be like.  Maybe there’d be a book there, or something.  I read in a muddy copy of Psychology Today once that some therapists use fairy tales to trigger vital memories in their patients—and I used to get these blank spots, this fogginess.

Anyway, my point is, among the children’s stories and the romantic teen fiction, and even in a lot of the comic books, there’s some truth.  Mostly fiction, but if you look hard enough, you can see through the tall tales, and find the common thread within.  I’ve always been good at that sort of thing.  Figuring stuff out.

The one thing I wish I’d figured out sooner was what to do about my uncle Jag.

Why?  Well, for starters, my uncle killed my parents, and my fairy godparents.  It was immediately after the bonding ceremony between their baby daughter and me.  The Wheelers had pledged to protect my parents, and by extension, me.  My parents were to protect Deb, and I was, by extension . . .

Well, I jump ahead of myself.  I told you I’m not good with stories.

I should start with an introduction, shouldn’t I?

My name is Harlow Saarkenner.  I am an American Troll living in rural Indiana, and this is the story of how I met a kick-ass rollergirl, rejoined a rock band, and lived happily ever after.

In a landfill.  Did I mention that?

But there’s more.  Stay tuned.  I’m just going to tell it like it happened, best I can.  Deb will fill in the rest.

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