Hyperion Keats by Molly Zenk
Published by: Highland Press
Release Date: December 4th, 2013
Synopsis:
Three modern teens, a 200-year-old diary, a literary mystery to solve.
Twelve-year-old Hyperion Frances Keats,
great-great grand niece of poet John Keats, hates tip-toeing around her
older sister's “medical diagnosis”. Why is Isabella so determined to
turn her back on what makes her unique in a sea of wannabes? Is
popularity more important than the truth?
The
sisters and boy-next-door Will find themselves in the middle of a
mystery after discovering a 200-year-old diary written by the girl who
inspired the sonnet “To A Lady Seen For A Moment At Vauxhall.” The
teens aren't the only ones after the answers found in the pages from the
past, though. The LBT Brotherhood – a secret society dedicated to
preserving the Romantic Poets three creeds of love, beauty, and truth –
want the secrets contained in the diary to remain lost to time and will
stop at nothing to silence Hyperion, Isabella, and Will forever.
Giveaway!
Grand Prize: Autographed Paperbacks of Hyperion Keats, Chasing Byron, and Hearts Affections.
Runners Up: (2nd, 3rd, and 4th place) Hyperion Keats e-book
Rafflecopter Link:
Giveaway Rules:
-Giveaway begins December 4th and will end December 18th 11:59 EST. The winner will be announced by email.
-Open to U.S. residents only
-We are not responsible for items lost in the mail & have the right to disqualify anyone, at any time.
-Personal
information given by the applicant in the giveaway will never be
shared. All information is deleted once the giveaway ends.
Excerpt:
I
barely crack the door open before Neighbor Boy launches into a spiel
that may or may not be rehearsed—I can't really tell because he's
talking too fast for me to guess one way or the other. “Hi, I'm not a
stalker or anything so don't get freaked out, okay? But I saw the
historical marker in your front yard and had a couple of quick questions
if you, uh, don't mind me, uh, asking. You don't mind me asking stuff,
do you? I can go away if you do.” He blinks nervously a ton of times in
anticipation of me either saying yes and waiting for his couple of
supposedly quick questions or no and slamming the door in his face. Why
would I say no? He's the prettiest boy I've ever seen up close. Even if
boys don't like to be called pretty, with his huge blue eyes and unruly,
anime character hair, that's the only word that comes to mind. Pretty.
My heart does this funny little fluttery jump like I've run a mile in
under five minutes and I'm positive my palms are too sweaty to shut the
door. Even if I wanted to, shutting the door means he'd go away and
there's no way I'm letting that happen. Especially not on my birthday.
“Go ahead. Ask your questions,” I whisper because I seriously doubt I can say it louder even if I wanted to right now.
“Great.”
He flashes a lopsided grin that makes my heart fluttering turn into a
hammering. “Is this really the George Keats House? Like the real George
Keats, brother to the poet John Keats’ house, and you actually live
here-live here and not keep it up like a museum or something? Do I have
to buy admission because I'm, like, standing on your yard?”
“Um, yes, yes, no, and no,” I field his jumbled together questions in order.
“Really?
Are you like direct descendants or did you just buy the house from
someone else and decided the historical marker was a cool trick to
attract fan boys like me?”
His
rapid fire, excited delivery is getting easier to understand. For a
second, I think about Isabella by the window seat with her natural light
waiting to make her good first impression, and about how Mom always
tells me not to talk to strangers because she reads way too much of
Nancy Grace's child snatching Headline News blog, but it's like my mouth
is on auto-pilot as my heart ratchets away in my chest and I answer
anything Neighbor Boy asks. “Direct,” I say. “Or Dad is, which makes us
too. Mom was just a Romantic Poets fan girl who lucked out by meeting
Dad in some college class and marrying in. They both teach at the
university. British Lit.”
Neighbor
Boy pushes his sandy blond hair out of his face with one long-fingered
hand and, I think, even if I don't like to do manual labor on my
birthday, I got the better deal by agreeing to open the front door.
While Isabella is hanging out in the kitchen imaging what he's like, I
don't have to imagine. I know.
About the Author:
Molly
Zenk was born in Minnesota, grew up in Florida, lived briefly in
Tennessee, before finally settling in Colorado. She graduated from
Flagler College in St. Augustine, FL with degrees in Secondary
Education, English, and Creative Writing. She spent six years using
those degrees teaching High School English, Poetry, and Creative Writing
before going on “hiatus” to focus on being a stay-at-home/work-at-home
Mom. Molly is married to a Mathematician/Software Engineer who
complains about there not being enough “math” or info about him in her
author bio. They live in Arvada, CO with their young daughters, one
dog, and one cat.
Website: http://www.freewebs.com/mollyzenk
Facebook: www.facebook.com/AuthorMollyZenk
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