I am so excited that CHALK HOUSES by Tracy Clark is available now and that I get to share the news!
If you havenât yet heard about this wonderful book by Author Tracy Clark, be sure to check out all the details below.
This blitz also includes a giveaway for a $20 Amazon Gift Card or an eBook of CHALK HOUSES courtesy of Tracy and Rockstar Book Tours. So if youâd like a chance to win, enter in the Rafflecopter at the bottom of this post.
Title: CHALK HOUSES
Author: Tracy Clark
Pub. Date: January 18, 2016
Publisher: Tracy Clark
Pages: 234
Formats: eBook
Everyone has a secret. Now Secret is talking.
Talon Alvarado has one goal - to be nothing like her mother whoâs blown it in about every way. But sometimes you focus so hard on what you donât want that you find yourself careening toward it. Bombarded with history, hurts, and secrets, Talon is struggling to be the person she yearns to be and to live a bigger life than girls like her are supposed to wish for. To climb out, she must dig for strength in the most unlikely place; the rubble of her bruised heart. The misty presence of Secret reveals its role in Talonâs life, showing how the secrets we keep tell our stories. Chalk Houses is a gritty, achingly hopeful story about love being in the places you forgot to look, and about starting over. Even at the end.
Excerpt
I come to you only when invited.
You decide if you want to share your life with me. But a warning⦠Once Iâve entered your door, youâll find it very hard to sweep me out. SECRETS take up space. 1 Empty houses hold their breath, waiting for life to blow back in. I bet you didnât know this. It doesnât mean a house is lifeless when no oneâs home. A house can be lifeless with every chair filled. Iâm not lying when I say thereâs never been a house, hovel, tent, or cave that I havenât occupied, if only for a moment. I am there in drawers and journals, closets and emails. I am there in hearts. Oh, the hearts are my best hiding place. This house was nearly empty but for the girl with her dull hair and crackling eyes. Holding her breath. Waiting. Talon Alvarado, party of one. The sunset was her cue to get the celebration started. She told herself sheâd wait until dark but even that was a stupid deadline. Sheâd been waiting for her mother her whole damn life. Whatâd she expect? Better to resist expectations, really. Expectations were flimsy balloons inside her chest, inflated with hope. And when they popped, they saturated her soul with disappointment. Every time. There would be no balloons for her sixteenth birthday. There would be music, however, and Talon told herself: if you donât play that birthday song by The Beatles on your birthday and hop around the living room like a fool for two minutes and forty-two seconds, then you just donât have adequate mojo. As the sun set, the light in the house faded to darkness like it was on one gigantic dimmer switch. Talon hurried to flick on both the living room lamps and the kitchen light and peered out the window at the black moonless night - the exact shade of loneliness. Morbid thoughts had no business attending her birthday party, but life felt so dark sometimes that Talon struggled to see tomorrow. Unable to find any birthday candles, she went to the dresser in her momâs room to get the bumpy remnant of a melted votive, which she lit with matches from her momâs favorite Basque bar. She carried the candle back to the kitchen and placed it in the middle of the table, then moved to the cupboard to find a saucer. The only clean one was chipped and reminded her of the flaked front tooth of one of her motherâs ex-boyfriendâs. The Hostess Cupcake she bought fit neatly in the saucerâs middle like they were made to go together. The candle flame spat and fizzled, daring her to put it out. Iâm seriously not gonna sing to myself, she thought stubbornly. But Talon did close her eyes before blowing the candle out with a hurricane force of a wish. Someday. After nibbling off the seven squiggles of white icing, Talon ate the waxy chocolate top of her cupcake. The rest flew in the trash but not before she tongued out the crème-filling, duh. While the cupcake served its purpose, her mouth still held the aftertaste of bitterness. As she made a couple of sandwiches, one for dinner and one for school lunch the next day, headlights tracked across the kitchen. She peeked through the dusty, dented aluminum blinds, surprised to see her mom getting out of the car, cradling a big bucket of fried chicken on her hip like a toddler. DB-18, otherwise known as Frank, carried a grocery bag in each hand. No doubt, one bag had beer in it. âTalon! We brought dinner!â her mom, Lisa, yelled from the living room. Talon stepped into the doorway of the kitchen, turkey sandwich in hand. âI hunted and gathered for myself.â Lisaâs smile broke, sliding like loose soil on a hillside. âMom, seriouslyâ¦youâve beenâ¦gone. Why would I think youâd bring home dinner?â They stared, glared, glowered; a familiar language in which theyâd both become fluent. âBut I can use the leftovers for dinner tomorrow. Thanks,â Talon quickly added, then wondered why sheâd thrown her mom a flotation device, especially when sheâd obviously forgotten her birthday. âItâs the thought that counts, right?â said Frank as he put the beer in the fridge. He had that same shaggy-mutt look that came standard in all her motherâs boyfriends. Talon turned her back to him. Canât I ever have mom to myself? Since birth, Talon had felt like one of the satellite moons in Lisaâs planetary orbit. Her childhood was an unreal and treacherous place where the yellow brick road was full of trap doors. She wanted to believe there was a home for her on the other side of the rainbow, where she had a family that really knew her and loved her anyway. She knew what sheâd ask the wizard for: Love. But then âloveâ was just another four-letter word. Under the harsh fluorescent kitchen light, her momâs eyes were fogged and rimmed with red, as if sheâd been crying, or smoking weedâprobably both. âSure you donât want some?â Lisa asked as she and DB-18 seated themselves at the small flea-market table now crowded with unpaid bills, empty glasses, chicken, bland cobs of corn, doughy biscuits, and beer. Talon reached for a drumstick, knowing it was a greasy peace offering after their fight about how there was never enough food in the house. A fly landed on the table next to the chicken and Frank deftly flipped a mason jar over it. âSwift, grasshopper,â Lisa joked, and they giggled all stupid like the kids at school. That fly had to be frustrated, banging itself against the glass. Talon flipped the jar and freed the fly because she couldnât stand the sound. Its droning and tapping was too close to the noise in her own head. Frank shrugged and bit into his extra crispy as Talon hopped onto the counter, mulling over a casual way to ask her mother something important. She had one thing on the brain: the essay contest at school. The theme was Family, which was seriously ironic. âSoooo, thereâs this writing assignment at school about, um, familyâ¦â No one looked up. She swallowed a salty chunk of chicken and forged ahead. ââ¦and since I know nothing about ours, I thought maybe you could help me out?â Talon pinched her knees to stop her jumpy legs from bouncing against the cabinet. Pausing mid-bite, Lisa glanced at Frank, their eyes holding for a split second. The silent, intimate conversation between them made jealousy nip at Talonâs heart. When her mom finally looked at her, Talon hoped a miracle was about to occur, that Lisa was actually going to share something. Usually when she tried to pry info from her mom, the âGreat Wall of Lisaâ rose up, impenetrable. âJust make something up. Iâm sure itâll be more interesting than anything I could tell you. As long as itâs written well, theyâll never know the difference.â Yup, the Great Wall was as sturdy as ever. The genealogy of Secret: Evasion, a close relative of mine. Also related: Lie. Ours is a mad, mad family. Weâd invite you to dinner but chances are, youâre already seated at the table with napkins under your chins. Something sparked inside Talon, as though she had a lighter wedged in her chest, ready to ignite with the slightest friction. âIâm not asking for your entire life story here. Just give me something, anything. In the interest of scholastic achievement?â She wasnât going to give up that easily. Lisa slowly wiped her hands on the stinky moist-towelette and sighed. âOkay. When I was little, I had a pet bunny that I adored.â DB-18 smiled and touched her arm. âYou did? I had a lizard named Private Property.â âWhat? Who names their lizard Private Property?â Mom asked, laughing. âSomeone who doesnât want his four brothers to touch it.â The two stoners tittered and ate, oblivious to Talon still waiting for a real answer. âSeriously? Thatâs it?â âBut Iââ âA bunny? It astounds me how you opened up. Let me just go and get started on my in-depth, revealing essay about my momâs pet rabbit!â âTrust me, Talon, you do not want to hear about your relatives.â Talonâs nostrils flared, bullish. âHereâs whatâs wrong with that statement: A) The words trust me, and B) you donât know what I want!â âI am not going to do this with you right now,â Lisa said, scooting from the table. âYeah, cause clearly itâs on your agenda to do this with me some other time!â âLadiesââ Frank began, holding up a beer and a chicken wing, like heâd been caught in a white-trash stickup. âShut right up, boyfriend.â âHey! Thatâs enough of your mouth!â Lisaâs cheeks were the color of a tomato, her eyes apologetic to Frank. Tossing her half-eaten drumstick into the trash, Talon jumped off the counter and flew to her room, slamming the door with a satisfying thud. Donât I have the right to ask questions? Donât I have the right to answers? Restless, frustrated, a fly in a jar, she flopped herself into the metal fold-up chair at her desk. The computer droned to life and she stared at the blank essay document where she was supposed to *insert brilliance here. Naturally, she decided that writing her best friend an email to bitch about her mom was a better use of her time, only this is what she saw when she opened her email: Dear Talon, You donât know me. Iâm a stranger to you, but thatâs my fault. Family can be like that, hiding from each other as a way to hide from ourselves. Stupid, I know. Iâm done with that. I want us to know each other. I call this a âCircle Journal.â The idea is that it circulates between us while we have a long, overdue conversation. I like the idea of that, donât you? Your mom and I havenât spoken for years. Iâm sure if she knew about this, sheâd try to stop it. But Iâm willing to chance it if it means Iâll get to know you after all this time. I canât believe how much of your life Iâve missed. If you want to write back, and I hope you do, then here are the rulesâ¦THERE ARE NO RULES. You can tell me or ask me anything you want. I promise to do the same. Iâm sure we both have so many questions we want answered. Itâs probably best to keep these emails between us. I figure youâre old enough, you can decide for yourself. Just think about it. Iâd like to know you before itâs too late. Sincerely, Aunt T Who in Hellâs half-acre was Aunt T? And why was she sending some weird, cryptic email? Talon didnât get random e-mails from people she didnât know. She hardly got random emails from people she did know. Aunt T was right, Talon had never heard of her. Not surprising. Mom liked to keep those little nuggets of information to herselfâlike who Talonâs real father was or why they seemed to have no family whatsoeverâso it didnât surprise her that her mom never mentioned a sister. She wondered what her mom did to screw up that relationship, too. The lady said she wanted their communiqué to be private, which stoked Talonâs healthy suspicion. Come to think of it, how did she even know Aunt T was who she said she was? The email couldâve been from anybody. Talon took a deep breath to unclench her stomach. She didnât do vulnerable. As she exhaled, she had to admit, it gave her a rush to think of corresponding with her momâs sister on the sly. Spilling her secrets to a total stranger was not an option, mostly because she didnât spill her secrets. Spill, jab, fling, dangle, or hide. Iâm a multi-functional tool. Mom had secrets, too. Well, who doesnât? If the lady really was her aunt, then maybe sheâd reveal something, anything. In Talonâs quest to be as different from her mother as humanly possible, it would help to have some details - the worst potholes were the ones you didnât see coming. Suddenly the idea of talking with this Aunt T person seemed pretty appealing. But first, verification. Talonâs fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before plunging down. Dear Aunt T, Pardon my suspicious nature, but Iâve learned over the years to be wary of pretty much everybody. How do I know this isnât some prank by a punk at school with no life and nothing better to do than to try and infiltrate mine? How do I know you arenât a nutball stalker with bad intentions? How did you get my email address? I need some kind of proof. Talon
About Tracy:
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She grew up a âValley Girlâ in Southern California but now lives in her home state of Nevada, in a small town at the base of the Sierra Foothills. Her two children teach her the art of distraction and are a continuous source of great dialogue.
Tracy was the recipient of the Society of Childrenâs Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI) Work in Progress Grant. A two-time participant in the prestigious Nevada SCBWI Mentor Program. Tracy is a private pilot, an irredeemable dreamer, and a spicy-chocolate connoisseur.
Giveaway Details:
(1) Winner will receive a $20 Amazon Gift Card, US Only.
(1) Winner will receive an eBook of CHALK HOUSES
Ends on February 9th at Midnight EST!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
1 Comment
Sara Zielinski
2/2/2017 10:21:37 am
Thank you for holding this awesome giveaway.
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