Happy Release Day, Katie French! #infiniteinkauthors #TheBreeders

Congratulations to Katie French on her newest release! At long last, we have it: the fifth book in The Breeders series…THE BARRIERS!

Book Five in the best-selling young adult dystopian series, The Breeders

THE BARRIERS

Riley hasn't seen her boyfriend Clay or her nine-year-old brother Ethan for two months. Between violent road gangs and ongoing clashes between the Breeders and the Free Colonies, are they even still alive? But Riley will never stop looking. Her search takes her to Kirtland Air Force Base, where she finds the remains of a battle and one glimmer of hope: rumors of the boys heading toward the Free Colonies and a man who can help her get there. The only catch? He nearly murders Riley the first time they meet.

Meanwhile, Clay, Ethan, and Betsy struggle to steer clear of bandits, thieves, and slavers. Their water is gone, along with Clay’s memory and Ethan's patience for Betsy, who only makes things worse by trying to convince Clay they're in love. With Clay's mind muddy, it’s up to Ethan to keep them alive long enough for Riley to find them.

The route back together is paved with trials—and how many more have to pay for their freedom with their lives?

THE BARRIER joins a wildly popular YA Dystopian series that, to date, has sold over 50,000 copies and has received more than 400 four and five star reviews! It’s also a firm placement in the Top Ten in Free Kindle Teen & Young Adult Science Fiction Dystopian Romance.

Need more convincing? Here’s a taste of the opening pages…

THE BARRIERS: The Breeders #5 by Katie French

Beetle drove up the cracked road as fast as the depleted solar car would go. Subject Seven was gaining on him.

He’d seen flashes of Seven in the rearview, racing along the roadside behind him, ducking in and out of debris, cactus, and brush. He’d stunned it, that much he knew for sure. Zapped it good from six feet away with his Taser, a killer shot by anyone’s standards, but it had recovered so quickly. It was then Beetle realized he never should have come alone, or this late in the day. Now, with no sun to charge the solar car and no juice in the batteries, he was a few minutes away from having to run.

And that would be a problem.

He’d tracked the damn thing all afternoon. The crumbled city was a veritable labyrinth of places for it to hide. Every collapsed building hid dark basements and closets. Each alleyway had piles of bricks and trash, perfect hiding spots for a being as disgusting and ruthless as the one he was tracking. Then he’d found the lair. Both terrified and excited, Beetle had waded through nests of shredded fabrics, dirty sweaters, blue jeans, and kids’ blankets, all culled from the abandoned storefronts and dragged into the basement of one of the collapsed buildings on Main Street. But Subject Seven wasn’t in the nest. Satellite technology wasn’t what it used to be. That could explain the error in Dr. Washington’s calculations, but as he climbed through chunks of the abandoned town the thing called home, he had a feeling Seven was setting him up.

The damn thing knew he was coming and had laid a false trail. One he followed until it nearly took his head off.

It was smarter than they thought. And more brutal.

They’d jumped him in an alley, Subjects Seven and Eight working in tandem. He hadn’t even considered Eight could be a threat. He’d nearly had his head separated from his body before he was able to get the Taser in his hands and zap them both. Once they were on their backs, he’d given Seven a swift kick, not that he would tell anyone. Then he’d grabbed Eight and ran.

Now he glanced in the backseat at the mound beneath the blanket. Eight—unconscious and safe. If he brought Subject Eight back, he’d receive a hero’s welcome. Dr. Washington could continue her experiments and “set the world straight again.” And if he failed? He didn’t know who he was more afraid of—the other doctors or Subject Seven.

His foot pressed the acceleration pedal to the floor, but the car continued to creep along, lurching like a drunk toward home. Only minutes left until the juice ran out. Until he was stranded.

“Come on, you bastard,” he said through gritted teeth. He pressed his foot down until it hurt, but the car continued to slow.

“Oh God,” he breathed, his fingers trembling as he glanced into the rearview. Where was Seven?

The solar car meant safety, a solid steel-alloy frame with giant all-terrain tires. What would he do when it finally died? How in the hell did he think he’d get away on foot carrying the nearly seventy-pound cargo? He couldn’t leave Eight behind. Dr. Washington would banish him to the desert.

The Taser should’ve laid Subject Seven out longer. Beetle thought a zap that powerful might’ve killed the thing. That one error might mean the end of his life.

The car slammed to a stop. Beetle’s chest rammed into the steering wheel, shooting pain up his sternum. Eight rolled off the seat and banged into him from behind. He hoped it was okay. He pressed the accelerator once more, but nothing happened. His wheels were stuck, and the car’s battery was almost dead.

“Sonofabitch!” he screamed, pounding the steering wheel until it hurt. Why wasn’t he paying attention to the road? Goddamn it, he was not going to die. He was not!

Glancing out the windows and seeing nothing but buttes and scraggly cactus, Beetle swung open the door and stepped out. The concrete in front of him had fallen away, tumbling into a broken pile on the bottom of a three-foot crevice that cut jaggedly across the road. It had probably been created by those earthquakes they’d felt a few months ago. His front wheel had gotten lodged in the crack. If he had seen it, he probably could’ve dodged it, but he was preoccupied with looking in the rearview. He leaned down and considered his predicament. The tire dangled into the open space, and the car was resting on its frame. If the batteries weren’t on their last legs, he could gun it in reverse and probably get free, but the car had given up the ghost.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” he yelled, and then regretted it, swinging around to look for Seven. So far, nothing. Dear Christman Jesus, he had to hurry.

God, how far was he from the base? In the distance, he could see the dip in the road that led home. Why had Dr. Washington sent him alone? Why wasn’t the team watching on the satellite and sending help? Maybe they were watching and didn’t care. This could all be part of Washington’s plan. To see what Subject Seven would do when provoked. As sweat poured down Beetle’s face, he decided to hell with Subject Eight. To hell with Dr. Washington. He didn’t want to be torn to pieces and left on the pavement for birds to pick at his guts.

He heard heavy breathing behind him. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck.

From his periphery, he saw the huge shape just before it clobbered him.

He fell hard. His head jarred against the pavement with a smack that radiated through his body.

Blackness.

When he came to, everything was blurry, fuzzy shapes in brown, yellow, and green. He couldn’t remember… Subject Seven. When he turned, pain shot up into his head sharp enough for his consciousness to fade. He blinked his eyes into focus.

Subject Seven was tearing the solar car apart in a frenzy. Beetle heard the creak of complaining metal as the door was bent back.

“Ssstop,” Beetle slurred. Where was the Taser? His trembling hands crept down his sides, searching for pockets that seemed miles away. The pulsing pain at the back of his skull threatened to end him, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Dr. Washington’s greatest achievement. And her worst.

“Don’t take it,” he managed.

Subject Seven turned and pounced.

Beetle’s breath chuffed away as Seven slammed both hands into his chest. He gulped for oxygen, but there was none to be found. His eyes opened to see Seven’s face above his, evaluating, calculating.

There was no mercy in that gaze.

The last thing he felt was the blow to his skull.

Need more? Grab your free copy of Book One and stop don’t stop reading when you hit THE BARRIERS.

About Katie French

Katie French is an Amazon best-selling author in Young Adult dystopian romance. Her book, The Breeders, has had nearly 50,000 downloads and counting and was a semi-finalist in the 2014 Kindle Book Awards. It's currently free on Amazon. She also has a kids’ series starting with Portia Parrott and the Great Kitten Rescue for ages 5-9.

She works as a high school English teacher, a job that she loves even when it exhausts her. In her free time she writes manically, reads great books, and takes care of her two beautiful and crazy children. She aspires to spend as much time in yoga pants as possible. You can join her mailing list at www.katiefrenchbooks.com and receive two free full-length novels. Contact her at katie@katiefrenchbooks.com.

Writing Makes Me Feel Like a Time Lord

I'm working on a new short story…kind of a "prequel" to Bleeding Hearts. I don't have any intention of turning it into a novel, though. This is one short story that is going to stay short. *grin*

It's funny…I feel a bit like Doctor Who when I'm writing in the Demimonde series--that's because I don't just try to imagine where the story is going. I also have to figure out where it's been.

Where did Sophie come from? What shaped her current mindset and emotional health? I know many of those answers because the story is told from her point of view. She tells us a lot about herself in those books.

But what about the other characters?

For me, this is the best part about writing a series. I don't just write the stories--I also write the history books that brought them all to the doorstep of the very first book. Like Doctor Who, I see the past, the present, and the future--all at the same time. Many people might assume that writing a series entails following a string of events with the strict progression of cause to effect but actually, from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly... timey-wimey... stuff.

And, considering the longevity of my demivampires, that means there is potential for a lot of backstories. (Knowing my inability to keep short stories on the short side, I have been compiling notes on a true prequel, but that's another story altogether.)

This Demimonde short story "The Scent of Hope" will be available in a sneak peek in a future newsletter. You can be one of the first ones to read it when you sign up for the newsletter using the form on the right side…because it's my way of saying THANK YOU for all your support.

 

Can't see the sign-up form on your mobile? Click here to go right to the form. 

 

And because I am now thoroughly stuck in Doctor Who mode, I might just have to go watch one of my favorite clips of the Doctor and Donna...em, I mean Mr. Logan and Lauren Cooper. (You're welcome *mwah*)

BLOOD RUSH: Book Two of the Demimonde

The second installment to my series is complete and safely in the hands of the editor.

Second books are like middle children. Of course we want them; we are so much in love with our first-borns that we are eager to spawn another creation of wonder. But, like middle children, second books have a personality of their own. They have different moods, different ideas about their destinies. We find out quickly enough that they are not clones of their older siblings—they are unique individuals.

My first book--Bleeding Hearts--was born in a moment of passion, an urge to write, to create, to express. My second book was planned, a calculated decision to continue the story and round out the protagonist’s world. Of course, I didn’t expect the story to take on a mind of its own.

It’s a pleasant surprise, actually. While writing the first book, I developed as a writer. There are so many fantastic resources out there for writers and one day I’ll have to make a list of the library I’ve amassed; not only books, but blogs and websites, communities, and on-line workshops. But it was passion that drove the writing.

Coming up on the sequel, I had a clearer idea of plot set-up, structure, character development—in short, the technical aspects of the novel. I labored over the first chapter, the inciting incident, the three-act story arc, the first page, the first ten lines. And slowly it dawned on me—while I was ensuring myself no major revisions would be necessary, passion wasn’t first and foremost my driving force. This book was officially (gasp!) work.

Middle children shouldn’t be labeled as laborious. When I was doing final edits last month, I needed to understand my novel for the individual story it is, not for the expectations I’d placed upon it. So with this in mind, I returned to my first job as a writer—which is a reader—and read it straight through without stopping to edit. (Difficult task indeed.)

By stepping back and looking through the eyes of a reader, I saw the story for what it truly was—saw the themes, the messages, the journey of the characters and the conflicts that filled their lives. I reacquainted myself with them, remembered who they were and why I wanted to bring them to life. And during the reading, the spark of passion ignited, unfurled, and reminded me how much fun it is to be a writer.

It renewed me.

I ran the draft through a bit of a test—pulled out the Writer’s Digest Yearbook edition of Novel Writing and “workshopped” a few of the articles, making notes and comparisons. I opened Donald Maass' Writing the Breakthrough Novel Workbook and read through several exercises. I combined my eagerness to write with the skills I've learned and hope to continue creating stories that will captivate readers.

Coupled with my rediscovered passion, I am ready to jump back in and continue the series with the same eagerness that I felt while writing the first book. Of course, it doesn’t hurt to have a little incentive—now that I finished the second, I can finally, guiltlessly, write the third.

Let’s just take life one WIP at a time.