Farsighted Blog Stop

At Em's request, here is my review of Farsighted. . .


Okay, Emlyn sucked me in. When she put out the word that she was looking for people to read and review her debut novel, I e-mailed her for details. When she told me it was YA , I hesitated. I don’t read YA.  I thought the genre was for teenagers.  I am not around that age group enough to even know what they like to read.  She convinced me to give it a try.
Poof! Viola! Advance copy of said YA novel! Enter Alex, typical American teenager, except for one thing. . .he’s blind.  Alex, however does not view his blindness as a disability. He’s mainstream in school, and would be just fine except for that pesky school bully.  He’s met two great girls, Simmi and Sharpi. How much better could things get?
Add his mom and dad: she owns a flower shop, his dad, well, he’s suppose to be unemployed. From first read though, I had a sneaking suspicion there was more to dear old dad than what he’s letting on.  His mom? She reminded me of a ‘70s era mom, sans the valium.
Keep stirring and let’s see where this goes. . .mix in a psychic, Miss Teak, whose shop just happens to be next door to Alex’s mom’s flower shop.  Add in runes, the visions Alex is having, a guy named Dax, visions of Simmi dying. . .
What you end up with is a well written story.  Characters that pop off the page and oh yeah, did I mention, there are NO vampires! Perhaps Ms. Chand’s book is the start of a new trend.
I have to give Emlyn credit though. She is a marketing guru. Having the resources of your own firm behind you to market your book is brilliant. She has spent countless hours creating, pitching and marketing Farsighted. The results speak for themselves.  Something the rest of us indie authors only dream of, or have a “vision” of.
Well done Emlyn!


Today I'd like to share an excerpt from Emlyn Chand's hot new paranormal novel, Farsighted:


Dax’s mind forces itself into mine again the following afternoon, while I’m sitting in a cramped bathroom stall, willing my bowels to empty quickly between second and third hour classes.
“Bring in the patient,” a deep echoing voice commands. Someone scuffles out of the room, dragging feet across the floor.
A cautious knock at the door comes a few moments later.
“Dax, this is Dr. Merton,” the female shuffle-walker says. “Let’s try to be a bit kinder than usual, hmm?” The door closes and she walks out, leaving the doctor alone with Dax.
Dax sits in his chair with a thud and presses his fingernails into the wooden seat, creating a sound not unlike nails dragging across a chalkboard.
“Now we both know why you’re here,” Dr. Merton says placidly. “You might as well submit to treatment.”
Dax snorts and grinds his teeth so loudly even I can hear. And for a moment, it feels like I am right inside his head, sitting on top of his brain.
“As a minor, your parents decide whether or not you undergo treatment. Since they’ve already consented, treatment is inevitable. It would be so much easier for us all if you didn’t spit on the nurses when they come to give you your injections, if you swallowed your pills like most of the other patients. If you behaved.”
“I won’t take anything. I’m not crazy,” Dax says calmly—too calmly—as he cracks his neck on either side. “And how do I know you’re not giving me poison instead of medicine? If you don’t trust me, then I don’t trust you.” He snorts again and starts rocking the chair’s four wooden legs from side to side.
“I’ve already explained, we’re giving you the medicine and the therapy to help control the hypomania and the borderline and schizoaffective personality disorders,” the doctor explains in a patient voice.
“I don’t know what any of that means!” Dax is on his feet; his voice is coming from a place over my head. He’s lost his forced calm and is now bordering on panicked. “How can you say you’ve told me, if everything you say is in code language? There’s nothing wrong with me—God damn it!”
The whole room trembles. Books inch off from their shelves and land on the floor.  A picture frame slides down the wall and shatters.
“What’s—what’s going on? An earthquake?” the doctor asks in a feeble voice.
“There’s nothing wrong with me!” Dax thunders.
Lightning strikes a tree, or at least that’s what it sounds like. The electrical charge hanging in the air becomes so overwhelming my hair is practically standing on end. There’s a zipping noise—the sounds of a thousand tiny wood splinters breaking apart. The doc screams girlishly as the door is thrust open; several people rush in.
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Dax enunciates calmly, his temper having retreated suddenly. The room settles to the state it was in just moments ago, before all the rumbling began. The electricity is gone.
I hear Dax arguing with a cluster of people, the sounds of their hands slapping to form vice grips and force him out of the office.
“What happened?” Dr. Merton asks, the sound of his voice rising up above my head. His breathing is so heavy, it interferes with his speech.
“I don’t know,” someone answers. “An earthquake wouldn’t rip your desk in half perfectly down the middle. I just can’t believe it.”
Dax laughs, or maybe he cries, under his breath, and the whole scene disappears, leaving just me and the empty school restroom. The bell must’ve rung meaning everyone else has already made their way to class.
I sit in my stall for a long time, not even worried about missing Algebra. I’m so shaken up by what just happened I can’t even move. Somehow I know deep within my gut Dax was responsible for the scene in the doctor’s office. Earlier, I thought he was getting blamed for Simmi’s death unfairly, but now I know, he’s extremely dangerous. I shudder when I realize he must be “gifted” too.