Title:
Troll Or Derby
Genre/Age
Group: Fantasy / YA
Author:
Red Tash
Release
date: June 2012
Posts
may go live any day between Dec. 9-30, 2012. All giveaway winners
must be submitted by Jan. 3.
Buy
link:
Book
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?
About
the author:
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.
Book
Trailer:
I'd
Love to Change the World
Harlow
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 Tolkien. 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.
**GIVEAWAYS**
(1) eBook copy of TROLL OR DERBY (mobi and epub
formats only). Open International.
ends Dec 20
If the winner doesn't have an e-reader you can download the Kindle app for free on Amazon.com to their computer.
Dear Red, this must be the first time I heard of you but I think this book will be a blast to read! xoxo
ReplyDeletepdf file if possible please... tnx!
anubisnicome(at)yahoo(dot)com