Happy One Year Publiversary, Between Before and After!

It's been one hell of a year, and to celebrate the one year publiversary of Between Before and After, I've put it on sale at Amazon for 99c for the next week.

Thanks for your support during the past year, and if you haven't had a chance to grab the book yet, make sure you do while it's on sale (and tell your friends, too).

Click here to go straight to the Amazon listing :)

~Amanda

Release Week Jitters

It's that time again. Release week.

"Between Before and After" is finally ready to face the world. One week today, and she will no longer be mine, but yours. Be gentle, dear ones. Treat her carefully, for she contains many hours of work and immeasurable chunks of my heart, soul and memories.

I've barely slept the past week, since I sent a bunch of ARC (Advanced Reader Copies) out to bloggers, support people and others who might help me to spread the word. It's a nerve-wracking time. A thousand questions plague me.

Will she be well-received? Will the characters be gripping enough? Will the plot twists and turns make sense and keep you all engaged? Will certain plot points seem real enough to provide the reader with the same deep sense of panic and fear that they gave me when I wrote them? Will writing in my native Kiwi tongue make sense to those outside of New Zealand?

*le sigh*

These are all valid questions, believe me. I suppose the answers will come via the reviews, when they begin to come in. Until then, all I can do is try to convince myself that I did all I can. And try to get some sleep.

2nd June will be here before you know it...

Read the synopsis and find the pre-order links on my website.

Ebook available via Amazon, B&N, iBooks, Smashwords and Kobo from 2 June 2014.

~Amanda

Cover Reveal - Between Before and After

Danny Morris left behind a gun, a tonne of questions and a big hole in the lives of those he loved. What he didn’t leave was a suicide note. 

That was three years ago and on the anniversary of his death, his friends mark his passing by gathering at his parents’ beach house in New Zealand's gorgeous Marlborough Sounds. Danny’s decision may have seemed like the easy way out for him, but there is no doubt about the wreckage he left behind. 

Danny's girlfriend, Kate, holds onto his memory by continuing to live in the house they shared. Desperate to move on with her life, the need to understand why he shut her out holds her back. Her blossoming feelings for Danny’s best friend, Finn, only complicate matters. 

Finding Danny’s body has impacted on Max in ways no one could ever have imagined. Withdrawing from his high-flying lifestyle, he has carved out a much simpler life, moving from town to town as he tries to run from the nightmares he refuses to talk about. A new development, self-medicating with alcohol has him sailing dangerously close to the edge.

Finn is finally ready to admit how he feels about Kate, but the ghost of her relationship with Danny continues to haunt them both. Desperately trying to save Max from himself dredges up long-buried anger and frustration at the situation they now find themselves in. 

Friendship. The word itself conjures up images of trust and love. But what happens when that trust is broken and that love is thrown back in your face?

Five friends. Three days. One shocking discovery that will shake them to the very core. 

This year, everything will change.

 ***

Prologue

The single gunshot sounded like a firecracker. Short, sharp, loud. What followed was a buzzing echo, a kind of post-event hum that seemed to fill the air for several seconds, before it too dwindled away to nothing. 

The sound was completely out of place in the suburban Auckland street. Two young boys playing in the back yard of the house across the road stopped in their tracks, their smiles frozen. 

“Double happys,” one said to the other, his grin widening. “Lucky. It’s not Guy Fawkes for ages yet.”

“Do you think that was Caleb’s house? We should go and see – he might have more!”

The twinkle in his eye told of the hunt for mischief, but the other boy – more sensible - shook his head.

“Mum said we weren’t allowed to go over there today.”

Deflated, his friend backed down. They resumed their play, chasing each other through the sprinkler that fanned cool water out in a wide arc across the lawn.

Inside, the boy’s mother stopped loading up the dishwasher and peered out the kitchen window. Seeing nothing out of place, she quickly dismissed it.

The birdsong resumed and the sun continued to shine. Summer afternoons had a habit of minimalising things. Nothing could be wrong on a day like this, surely? 

Two doors down from the white Victorian villa with the overgrown garden and rickety white picket fence, more children played on the grass verge. They chased each other on their bikes, up and down the footpath, dodging the mature trees planted along the berm. A young couple walked down the opposite side of the street, hand in hand, enjoying the sunshine. A car crawled slowly past before stopping at the intersection on the corner. It waited for a break in the traffic, indicator blinking lazily.

At number forty two, time had stopped. The large, rented villa with the veranda that wrapped itself around the front and one side of the house, looked just the same as always. Except inside, Danny Morris lay on the floor in the living room. His eyes were wide open but devoid of life, and a pool of dark, sticky blood seeped through the worn carpet beneath his head. A gun lay on the floor beside him, his open hand reaching for it, even in death, as if it would solve all his problems.

The decision to end his own life hadn’t been made lightly. The preceding months had seen him spiral down into a depression that he was ill-equipped to handle. A dark fog had descended over him, swallowing him up. Every breath felt as if he was inhaling sand. He was suffocating. He had withdrawn from his friends and family, both afraid they could see it, and convinced they were unable to help him fight it. No one could help him. The darkness that crawled over his soul and dug its hooks into his heart would not release him. He could feel it gaining power. He craved an end to the hopelessness.

The gun had only been in his possession for a couple of days, hidden from sight but ever-present in his mind. He had mulled over his options carefully. Pills were too slow – it was too risky, someone might find him. Slicing his wrists was out for the same reason, as was hanging himself or gassing himself in his car. He didn’t want to have to explain this to anyone – he didn’t think he was capable of it. Explaining required a basic understanding, and he didn’t have that. What he did have was an overwhelming desire for the pain to end.

He had chosen a gun as his weapon of choice for the simple reason that once he pulled that trigger, it was done. There was no changing his mind, no last-minute rescue, no way of stopping the train once it had left the station. No way back.

Quick, painless, final. The perfect solution.

And yet, for all his meticulous planning, he could not have foreseen the one thing that had been completely out of his control. As his finger was poised on the trigger, sweaty and trembling, a face appeared at the window. In that split second between the trigger being fully depressed and the bullet entering his body, their eyes met.

And then it was over.

***

Add to your TBR on Goodreads

Release date: 2 June 2014

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Please help me spread the news by sharing on your Facebook page, your blog or wherever you talk to your friends. Thanks so much :)

I'd love to hear your thoughts on the cover, too!

~Amanda

"Between Before and After" - Teaser

As we get closer and closer to the release date for "Between Before and After" (scheduled for June now, if you missed it), I thought I'd share a teaser with you.  Keep in mind this is an un-edited teaser!  It's from chapter one.  Feedback welcome - hope everyone is looking forward to reading this story as much as I'm looking forward to sharing it with you :)


BETWEEN BEFORE AND AFTER
by Amanda Dick

**Un-edited Teaser**

"The three hour ferry ride across the Cook Strait from Wellington had been fairly smooth, as far as sailings go. Max Lonergan had certainly experienced worse in the almost ten years he had been making this journey. He had spent the time sitting as far away from the many cafes and eateries as possible, trying to distract himself by watching the horizon and reading the newspaper. He couldn’t remember the last time he had read the paper. The big wide world didn’t interest him anymore. Over the past three years, he had withdrawn from it, slowly and surely. The withdrawal was so complete, he didn’t even miss it now. Not the rush-hour traffic or the deadlines, not the planning for upcoming holidays or the latest cellphone, not even the Friday night drinks or the messy weekends that inevitably followed. No more kissing up to his boss, no more schmoozing the secretaries. Now he was on his own schedule. Gone were the suit and tie with matching expensive leather loafers. His corporate attire these days consisted of jeans, work boots, bush-shirts and hi-visibility jackets. Instead of drinks in the boardroom or a swanky cocktail bar, he had drinks in the shearing shed or leaning on the back of the supervisor’s truck. Over the past three years, his whole life had changed. He had changed. His priorities had shifted, his outlook on life had skewed, tilted sideways. The death of someone close to you had a habit of making you reassess how you spent your remaining days on this earth.

Just as he remembered, the paper was full of bad news. Disgusted, he folded it up and set it aside. He ran a hand through his brown hair, roughing it up so that it stood on end just a little bit more. He was overdue for a haircut. His usual short-back-and-sides had somehow morphed into a shaggy, wavy mass. Any kind of length just seemed to add volume. Somehow, over the last few months, a haircut had slipped through the cracks.

The smell of food turned his stomach, and he concentrated on his black coffee instead. Luckily for him, breakfast had never been a necessity. He was used to being up this early, having done a variety of short-term jobs that had altered his body-clock. Sheep shearing, forestry work, fruit picking, kiwifruit pack-houses – all ran on a different schedule to the office-bound nine-to-fivers. That was one of the reasons he had chosen to take the early run, the first ferry bound for Picton. It suited him. A shaft of guilt stung him momentarily. Maybe he should have contacted Kate to find out what ferry she had booked on. If she was flying down from Auckland to catch the afternoon sailing she usually favoured, he didn’t want to be in the position of having to kill time in Wellington waiting for her. Cities were most definitely not within his comfort-zone – not anymore. It was true what they said about feeling lonelier in a crowd.

He had meant to call her and touch base. Hell, he had meant to call all of them, but somehow it always kept falling to the bottom of his To Do list. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure until the day before yesterday that he was going to come this year. Each anniversary seemed to get harder, not easier. With the way he was feeling lately, he had purposefully kept away from everyone, telling himself he wouldn’t be good company. Yet here he was, bobbing up and down in the Cook Strait, in limbo between islands like some kind of metaphor.

His regular life – the one he lived daily – was mostly solitary, and he liked it that way. His old life, the one he had left behind along with the suits and swanky bars, also held his friends. They were the people he loved most in this world and for them, for three days, in exchange for that sense of belonging, he could pretend to be whole."

Hope you enjoyed the glimpse - feel free to share this post!

Amanda

The Birthing Process

Wow, time flies!  Let's see if I can fill you in on what's been happening since I was last here. Well, a lot, to be honest. Most notably, I have been writing/revising/editing (those lines always seem to blur for me) a hell of a lot over the past month. So much so, that I'm nearly at the end of my first major revision/edit of "Between Before and After". Woot! I have about 10,000 words to write, then I'm ready to go back to the beginning and tighten it up, getting it ready for it's visit to my editor in early May.

That means I've been pulling some long hours again. Last night, I got to bed around 1am and I just could NOT sleep. My brain was wide awake, even though my body was exhausted. I am *this* close to finishing this part of the process, and it's exhilarating! As I lay there, counting sheep, I mulled over this journey.

It's very like birthing a baby, this writing business. You can feel this baby/book inside of you and you develop a bond with it, nurture it, love it. You imagine a world where this baby/book is out there, making it's way. You hope it's way will be an easy one, but deep down you suspect it might not be. It doesn't matter. You don't love it any less. If anything, you love it more.

I vividly remember thinking, when I was about six months pregnant with both my kids, that I would miss them when they were born. I would miss that bond, the thing that only the baby and I shared. We had been through so much together (neither pregnancy was easy) and I'd come to rely on feeling it kicking inside me. It let me know that it was hanging in there with me. That it would all be worth it in the end. That I wasn't alone. With my first pregnancy, I expected to feel a sense of loss when the baby came - an emptiness. By the time my second baby came along, I knew better.

There was no hole inside of me. I was so busy getting to know this little person for real, I had no thoughts of loss or emptiness. I just had a bundle of baby goodness in my arms, and a life that was about to get a whole hell of a lot busier and fuller than I could ever have imagined.

Writing a book has many similarities. I got that initial glow, followed by the sickness and sinking feeling (am I ever going to be able to do this story justice?). I also got three quarters of the way through the first edit and realised that I was going to miss these characters when I was done. I began holding on to them tighter, getting less frequent with the teaser excerpts I was sharing, for fear of giving anything away. Now that the release date is so close, I'm reluctant to part with it. I'm not sure I'm ready. I need more time. It's only perfect in my head if I'm the only one who sees it. Once it's out there, in the world, people will be free to rip it apart and I'm not sure I can handle that just yet.

I know I'll get braver. I know, because I've done it once before. I can do this again.

Sometimes, I even look forward to it.

"Between Before and After" - Teaser One

Thanks to those who voted on my Facebook page, here's a teaser from "Between Before and After" for you.  If you missed the synopsis for this, my next book, you can catch it here.

As always, I'd love to hear your feedback (either here or over on my Facebook page).  Keep in mind that this is an unedited teaser as the manuscript is still in Editing Mode - it may change yet. 

Enjoy (if that's even the right word!). 

~ Amanda


BETWEEN BEFORE AND AFTER

DUE FOR RELEASE: 2014

TEASER (unedited version, subject to change)

Max sat on the edge of the small wooden dinghy that was dry-docked in the boat house and stared out across the water. The bay was still, the water not even lapping the shoreline anymore. It was crystal-clear, the mountains on the opposite shore reflected in it. In stark contrast to the peace and tranquillity around him, his mind whirled so much he could barely think straight. The air was thick with the sound of chirping cicadas and it felt like he was hanging onto the last threads of sanity with only one hand, fighting off the incessant cicadas with the other.

He could feel them watching him up at the house. He knew they meant well, but it was nobody’s business how many beers he had or how fast he drank them. A sense of entitlement bolstered him. He took a mouthful from the bottle of beer in his hand, as if proving a point. Shuddering in the afternoon heat, goose bumps rose on his skin. He was hoping the peace and tranquillity of the water’s edge would somehow make things better.

He tried to recall Danny’s face. He tried to remember the sound of his laughter. He fought to remember the simple things but it all seemed hazy and unclear now. The only thing he could recall in crystal clarity was the blood. So much blood. Not red and clear, like in the movies, but dark and sticky.

Breathing heavily, he hunched forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The edge of the wooden dinghy he was sitting on became hard and uncomfortable as he picked at the label on his beer bottle.

"Hey.”

Max almost jumped. He rolled his eyes and shook his head as Gavin peered around the boat house doors that he had pegged open to catch the most of the view.

“Man – you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry.” Gavin shrugged apologetically and walked into the darkened boat house, thick with the stench of damp, settling himself beside Max.

They sat in silence for several uncomfortable minutes.

“I keep forgetting how quiet it is out here.” Gavin mumbled after a while.

“Yeah, if you can get past those bloody cicadas.” Max mumbled, his eyes scanning the horizon as he took another long swallow from his bottle.

“Noisy little buggers.”

They sat awhile longer, the afternoon heat gathering around them, stifling them.

“You think we might take the boat out later? Think it’s still watertight?” Gavin asked suddenly, turning around to scan the boat suspiciously.

Max shrugged, glancing behind him.

“Yeah, maybe. Who knows.”

The silence settled over them once again.

“Here’s the thing - we’re worried about you, dude. Lacey sent me out here to check up on you – she told me to be discreet but I don’t really do discreet, shocker, I know.” Gavin said simply. “So how are you – really? Because you look like crap.”

Max gazed out over the water, sighing. He didn’t even bother to lie and tell him that he was fine. There didn’t seem to be much point.

“Did you ever, y’know, wonder what Danny was thinking about, the second before he pulled the trigger?”

The silence hung between them like a shroud and time stopped for a moment. Even the cicadas seemed to hush.

“Honestly? Yeah. I used to think about it a lot.” Gavin said finally, his voice barely audible.

Max nodded solemnly, glancing around at him. “And?” he prompted, when no further details were forthcoming.

Gavin shrugged. “And, I don’t know - I don’t have a clue.” He paused for a moment, breathing out heavily. “Honestly, I’m not sure I even want to know anymore.”

Max nodded. He understood the sentiment, but somewhere deep inside him, he had really wanted Gavin to say something else. Something reassuring. Something that he could live with.

“I just wish he’d told someone.” Gavin continued quietly. “That might’ve made a difference. Maybe we could’ve helped.”

They sat looking out over the bay as the late afternoon sunlight caught the water, making it sparkle like diamonds bobbing in the deep.

“He didn’t want help.” Max said quietly.

He could feel Gavin’s eyes on him, digging deep inside his brain, trying to dredge up the images from that day.

They’re right there, he said to himself. Right in front of you. Help yourself.

His hands trembling now, he took another long swallow of beer, trying not to choke on it as the memory of that day lodged in his throat.