The Anatomical Shape of a Heart Blog Tour: Review + Giveaway

The Anatomical Shape of a Heart by Jenn Bennett

Release Date: November 3, 2015

Publisher: Feiwel & Friends
Rated: YA 14+
Format: eGalley
Source: NetGalley
Buy: AmazonThe Book DepositoryB&N ● iTunes ● Kobo
Goodreads ● Website

Artist Beatrix Adams knows exactly how she's spending the summer before her senior year. Determined to follow in Leonardo da Vinci’s footsteps, she's ready to tackle the one thing that will give her an advantage in a museum-sponsored scholarship contest: drawing actual cadavers. But when she tries to sneak her way into the hospital’s Willed Body program and misses the last metro train home, she meets a boy who turns her summer plans upside down.

Jack is charming, wildly attractive . . . and possibly one of San Francisco’s most notorious graffiti artists. On midnight buses and city rooftops, Beatrix begins to see who Jack really is—and tries to uncover what he’s hiding that leaves him so wounded. But will these secrets come back to haunt him? Or will the skeletons in Beatrix’s own family’s closet tear them apart?

It’s been a while since I’ve read a cute young adult contemporary romance, and The Anatomical Shape of a Heart hit the spot. There have been a few recent books here and there that portray their lead heroines as ones undeterred by death, bodies, etc. but this is the first one I’ve ever seen about a girl interested in anatomical art. Jenn Bennett artfully (pun intended) explores anatomy, graffiti and love in her first YA novel.

We need more strong heroines like Bex. The young adult category of books is filled with wonderful and fantastic young women, for sure, but something about Bex’s character made her stand out. It was probably the fact that she tells it like it is, or that she’s comfortable in her own skin, or, and this is like the first time I’ve ever seen it in YA, she’s actually more experiences in some *areas* than Jack. Speaking of...major swoon-worthy feels throughout the book. Bennett has created yet another beautiful on the inside-and-outside male character that has eternally ruined real guys for me. The chemistry between these two characters was super intense in the best way possible, from the super-smooth flirtations at the start to the amazing relationship that develops later in the story.

Generally with contemporary novels something happens out of the blue that either adds a rich subplot to the story, or just feels like filler-material that doesn’t work and seems to drag on. Thankfully with this book it was the former rather than the latter. There’s quite a few underlying details that surface halfway through the book that makes things a lot more interesting. However, what I feel could have been worked on better were the secondary characters. We do get to know more about Heath and Bex’s mom, but what about Jack’s friends, for example? They barely have a role in this story and it would have been definitely a lot more interesting to find out more about them.

All in all, The Anatomical Shape of a Heart was a fun and sweet contemporary that featured interesting expressions of art. Jenn Bennett is a fabulous writer, and from the quick quips that had me smiling to the more serious tones in the novel, this book was a success from start to finish. I hope she does write more for a young adult audience–she’s clearly excelling at it!

If you like this, try...

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Jenn Bennett is an artist and RITA-nominated author of the Arcadia Bell urban fantasy series (Kindling the Moon) and the Roaring Twenties romance series, including Bitter Spirits, which was chosen as one of Publishers Weekly Best Books of 2014 and winner of RT Book Reviews Paranormal Romance Book of the Year, and Grave Phantoms—which was awarded RT's May Seal of Excellence for 2015. The Anatomical Shape of a Heart, (aka Night Owls in the U.K.) is her first YA contemporary romance. She lives near Atlanta with one husband and two evil pugs. Visit her at

Website ● Facebook ● Twitter ● Goodreads ● Tumblr ● Instagram ● Pinterest

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The last train wasn’t coming. It was almost midnight, and for the better part of an hour I’d been clutching my art portfolio and what was left of my pride at the university hospital Muni stop alongside a handful of premed students, an elderly Chinese woman wielding an umbrella like a weapon, a chatty panhandler named Will (who lived in the hospital parking garage), and an enthusiastic drunk street preacher who either wanted to warn us about a fiery apocalypse or sell us ringside tickets—maybe both. “A two-car N-Judah train broke down in Sunset Tunnel,” one of the medical students read off his phone. “Looks like we’re stuck riding an Owl.” A collective groan passed through the group. The dreaded all-nighter Owl bus. After hours, when light-rail train service ends in San Francisco and most of the city is sleeping, Owl buses take over the surface routes. I’d ridden an Owl only once, right before summer break started. My older brother, Heath, had mistakenly tried to cheer me up with tickets to a sing-along of The Little Mermaid (glow sticks, shell bras) at the Castro Theatre, and after a midnight dinner at a greasy spoon, we’d missed our regular train. Owl buses are slower, dirtier, and filled with people leaving parties, clubs, and closed bars—automatically upping the chance of encountering fistfights and projectile vomit. Riding an Owl when Heath was with me was one thing; risking it alone was another, especially when no one knew where I was. Yeah, I know. Not the brightest idea in the world, but I didn’t have cab money on me. I chewed a hangnail and stared up at the fog clinging to the streetlight, hoping I didn’t look as anxious as I felt. Just for the record, I’m not supposed to take mass transit after 10:00 p.m. That’s my mom’s scientific cutoff for avoiding violent crime. It’s not arbitrary. She’s an RN and works graveyard at the ER right across the street three or four times a week (where she was at that very moment), so she knows exactly when the gunshot victims start wheeling in. And even though Heath has the same curfew, I’m plenty aware that my Victim Odds are higher because I’m small and female and not quite eighteen. So, sure, I might be a statistical easy target, but I don’t usually prowl the city after midnight, giving my precious teenage life the middle finger. I mean, it’s not like I was taking that big of a risk. It wasn’t a bad part of town, and I’d been riding Muni since I was a kid. I also had pepper spray and an itchy trigger finger. Besides, I was sneaking around for a good reason: to show my illustrations to the professor who runs the anatomy department and convince her to give me access to the Willed Body Program. At least, that was the original plan. But after waiting hours for someone who never showed, the whole thing was looking more like a stupid waste of time. As the med students bet on the arrival time of the Owl bus, Panhandler Will gave me a little wave and made his way over. Fine by me. I’d feel safer with a familiar face between the drunken preacher and me; he was making me nervous when he breathed fire in my direction. “Hey, man,” Will said as he approached. Man? Before I could answer, he’d shuffled on by as if he hadn’t even seen me. Wow. Snubbed by a homeless guy. My night was getting better and better. “What up, Willy?” a male voice answered cheerfully. “Pretty late for you to be working.” “Hospital rent-a-cops are making the rounds. Just waiting for them to clear out.” Curiosity got the better of me, so I turned around to see who’d snagged Will’s attention—some shadowy guy leaning against a telephone pole. Will was blocking my view, so I couldn’t make him out all that well, but the two of them chatted for a moment before Will even noticed me. “Sad Girl,” he said with a toothy grin. That’s what he calls me, because he thinks I’m depressed. I’m not, by the way. I’m just pleasantly dour and serious, but it’s hard to explain the difference to someone who sleeps in a cardboard lean-to. “How’s it going?” “Not that great,” I said. “I don’t have anything tonight.” Sometimes I give him my change, but if I had any cash, I’d be in a taxi headed home by now. “No worries. Your old lady treated me to dinner on her way in to work earlier.” That didn’t surprise me. Maybe it was the nurse in her, but Mom had a thing about feeding everyone in her line of sight and was practically obsessed with leftovers; if it was larger than a grain of rice, it was either stored in the fridge, packed as part of someone’s lunch, or distributed to neighbors, coworkers—and now, apparently, the ever-popular Panhandler Will, who had spotted someone else he knew and was already heading over to greet them, leaving me stranded with his shadowy friend. Anyone had to be better than the street preacher. But it wasn’t just anyone. It was a boy. A boy about my age. A really hot boy about my age. Loose-limbed and slim, he slouched against the telephone pole, pushing away an unruly slash of dark hair that fell over one eye. He was dressed from head to toe in black, as if he’d landed a starring role in some Italian caper movie and was ready to break into a bank: jeans, snug jacket, knit hat pulled low. Tight black gloves covered his hands, and a scuffed backpack (probably filled with explosive devices for the bank safe) sat on the sidewalk against his leg. It wasn’t until the preacher started up again that I realized I’d been staring. Together, along with the umbrella-wielding woman, we listened to the preacher’s mumbled lines about salvation and light and something I couldn’t hear and WHORES AND BEASTS AND FLAMES. Holy fire and brimstone, dude. My eardrums! I gripped my portfolio tighter, but a second later his tirade died down and he leaned against the back of the bus stop as if he might fall asleep. “Doesn’t look like much of a runner,” the boy noted in a conspiratorial tone. Had he moved closer? Because, wow, he was tall. Most people were, from my petite, low-slung vantage point, but he must’ve had a good foot on me. “I think you can take him if he tries to swipe your case. Artwork?” I glanced down at my portfolio as if I’d never seen it before. “Artwork, yes.” He didn’t ask me why I was carrying artwork around a medical campus. He just squinted thoughtfully and said, “Hold on, let me guess. No still life or landscape. Your skeptical eyes say postmodern, but your boots say”—his gaze swept down my black skirt and the knee-high gray leather covering my calves—“savvy logo design.” “My boots say ‘stood up for a meeting with the director of the anatomy lab.’ Dr. Sheridan was supposed to meet me after her last lecture.” It ran from 7:00 to 9:00 p.m., and after it was over, I’d waited and waited, watching a dwindling number of grad students exit the building. And even when she finally called to apologize at eleven and claimed she’d had a family emergency, I got the distinct feeling she was too proud to admit she’d forgotten. “And my artwork isn’t postmodern,” I added. “I draw bodies.” “Bodies?” “Anatomy.” That’s my thing. I’m not one of those cool, creative kids in my art class who make skirts out of trash bags and paint in crazy colors. Not anymore, at least. For the past couple of years, I’ve limited myself to pencil and black ink, and I only draw bodies—old or young, male or female, it makes no difference to me. I like the way bones and skin move, and I like seeing how all the chambers in a heart fit together. And right now, my anatomy-obsessed mind was appreciating the way my new acquaintance fit together, too. He was a walking figure study in beautiful lines and lean muscle, with miles of dark lashes, and cheekbones that looked strong enough to hold up his entire body. “I’m the person who actually enjoyed dissecting the frog in ninth-grade biology,” I clarified. Not to sound tragic, but that particular piece of trivia had never won me crowds of friends, so I’m not sure why I was tossing it on the table. I think I was just juiced up on a fizzy boy-candy rush. He made a low whistling noise. “We had fetal pigs, but I got to opt out and do mine on the computer. Philosophical reasons.” He said this like he wanted me to ask what those reasons were, and I took the bait. “Let’s see, squeamish about dead frogs—” “Philosophically opposed,” he corrected. “Vegetarian,” I guessed. “A really bad one, but yes.” He pointed to his coat collar. Pinned there was a small button that read BE HERE NOW. I shook my head, confused. “It’s my philosophical excuse. Zen.” “You’re a Buddhist?” “A really bad one,” he repeated. The corners of his mouth curled into an almost-smile. “By the way, how long ago was it that you dissected this frog? Four years? Two years…?” “Are you trying to guess my age?” He smiled all the way this time, and one attractive dimple deepened in the hollow of his left cheek. “Hey, if you’re in college, I’m totally fine with that. I dig older girls.” Me? College? I let out a high-pitched, neurotic laugh. What the hell was the matter with me? Thankfully, the bad muffler on a van turning the corner muted my hyena cackle. After it passed, I gestured toward him with the pepper spray canister attached to my keychain. “Why is a vegetarian Buddhist dressed like a jewel thief?” “Jewel thief?” He peered down at himself. “Too much black?” “Not if you’re planning a heist. Then it’s the perfect amount, especially if you have a Hamburglar mask in your pocket.” “Damn,” he said, patting his jacket. “Knew I forgot something.” The sidewalk rumbled beneath my boot heels. I glanced up to see the digital N-OWL sign on the windshield of the bus that was pulling over to our stop. Cool white light glowed from the windows. “Miracles of miracles,” the boy murmured. “The Owl actually arrived.” I stood on tiptoes to see what I’d be dealing with. Looked like some seats were filled, but it wasn’t sardine-packed. Yet. A line was already forming at the curb, so I rushed to outpace the medical students and the drunken preacher. Was the boy getting on, too? Not wanting to appear obvious, I resisted the urge to turn around and, instead, dug out my monthly pass. One swipe over the reader at the door and I was inside, hoping I wasn’t alone. 

Copyright © 2015 by Jenn Bennett

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Check out more of Jenn Bennetts Pinterest Board for The Anatomical Shape of a Heart HERE!

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Giveaway time!
Enter to win...

A SIGNED copy of The Anatomical Shape of a Heart!

US Only
Enter via the rafflecopter below:

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Click on the button above or on the tour banner at the top of the post to follow the rest of the tour!

Thank you so much to FFBC Blog Tours for having me along!

We Are All Made of Molecules Blog Tour: Review + Giveaway

We Are All Made of Molecules by Susin Nielsen

Release Date: May 12, 2015
Publisher: Wendy Lamb Books
Rated: YA 14+
Format: Hardcover
Source: Publisher
Buy: Amazon The Book Depository
Goodreads Website

“There’s so much to love about this story . . . but what grabbed me the most is the humor.”
—Christopher Paul Curtis, winner of the Newbery Medal

Thirteen-year-old Stewart is academically brilliant but socially clueless.

Fourteen-year-old Ashley is the undisputed “It” girl in her class, but her grades stink.

Their worlds are about to collide when Stewart and his dad move in with Ashley and her mom.  Stewart is trying to be 89.9 percent happy about it, but Ashley is 110 percent horrified, especially when “Spewart,” the freakazoid brainiac, transfers into her ninth-grade class. She already has to hide the real reason her dad moved out, and Spewart better not tell anyone the truth about her parents’ divorce.

They are complete opposites, but they have one thing in common: they—like everyone else—are made of molecules.

A laugh-out-loud novel that will also have you wiping tears from your eyes, WE ARE ALL MADE OF MOLECULES is wonderfully entertaining.

I hadnt really heard of Susin Nielsen’s latest novel until I got the offer to join the blog tour. I was aware of Nielsen’s other novels, but I’d never been lucky enough to get my hands on a copy to read...until now. We Are All made of Molecules was a fantastic read: it had the right amount of heart and the right amount of hilarity to make this one of the best books I’ve read this year.

Most of what made me fall in love with this book was one of the two narrators–Stewart. I don’t think I’ve ever loved a character as much as I love Stewart. This character, this beautiful, creative and goofy character, stole my heart from the start. I really enjoy learning from books and through his character I felt a whole lot smarter coming out of Nielsen’s book. Ashley’s character on the other hand...well, it’s a whole other deal. I like that her character got to grow, but at the start she’s absolutely AWFUL, and it’s obvious that she’s supposed to come off this way. You do feel little pangs of sympathy for her now and then, but otherwise the way she treats Stewart, while somewhat reasonable for her situation, totally had me hating on her for the most part.

Although the characters are a little younger, I definitely think that this is a young adult book due to the content. There were quite a few issues that were brought up during the course of the story: homophobia, bullying, and sexual consent, just to name a few. I thought the story dealt with these topics in such a great way–there aren’t too many books out there that do this.

I am insanely in LOVE with this book. Head-over-heels in love. All it took was a few pages to get sucked into this absolutely gorgeous story. We Are All Made of Molecules was a beautiful novel that moved me so much. I seriously cant wait to pick up more of Susin Nielsen’s books, because if they are all this captivating and this hilarious then I’m bound to fall in love once more.

If you like this, try...

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Susin got her start feeding cast and crew on the popular television series, Degrassi Junior High. They hated her food, but they saw a spark in her writing. Nielsen went on to pen sixteen episodes of the hit TV show. Since then, Nielsen has written for over 20 Canadian TV series. Her first young adult novel, Word Nerd, was published in 2008 to critical acclaim. It won multiple Young Readers’ Choice Awards, as did her second novel, Dear George Clooney: Please Marry My Mom. Her third novel, The Reluctant Journal of Henry K. Larsen, was published in August 2012. It went on to win the Governor General’s Literary Award, the Ruth and Sylvia Schwartz Award, the Canadian Library Association’s Children’s Book of the Year Award, and a number of Young Readers’ Choice Awards. Author Wally Lamb named it his top YA pick for 2012 in his “First Annual Wally Awards,” and recently Rolling Stone magazine put it at #27 in their list of “Top 40 Best YA Novels.” 
Her books have been translated into multiple languages. Susin’s new novel, We Are All Made of Molecules, will be published in Canada, the US and the UK in Spring of 2015. She lives in Vancouver with her family and two naughty cats.

Website Facebook  Twitter Goodreads

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Giveaway time!
Since Random House sent me two copies, you can enter to win...

A copy of We Are All Made of Molecules!

But first, some rules:
  • This giveaway is open internationally.
  • You must be 13+ to enter.
  • I am not responsible for any lost/damaged packages.
  • This giveaway will end on the 18th of November at 11:59 pm.
  • I won’t use your information other than to send you the package...I swear!
  • You must reply to the email within 72 hours or another winner shall be chosen.
Enter via the rafflecopter below!

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Thank you so much to Colton Cox at Random House Children’s Books for having me on this blog tour and for sending me copies of the book for review and a giveaway!

Cover Reveal + Interview + Giveaway: Don’t Get Caught by Kurt Dinan

Hey guys! Today, I’m super excited to share the cover for Don’t Get Caught by Kurt Dinan! But before I get to the cover, here’s what it’s all about:

17-year-old Max Cobb is sick of being “Just Max”—the kind of guy whose resume boasts a measly 2.5 GPA and a deep love of heist films. So when an invitation appears in his locker to join the anonymous, untraceable, epic prank-pulling Chaos Club, Max jumps at the opportunity to leave “Just Max” in the dust.

Except that the invite is really a set-up, and Max—plus the 4 other kids who received similar invitations—are apprehended by school security for defacing the water tower.  This time, Max has had enough. Time for Heist Rule #7:

Always Get Payback.

Let the prank war begin...

I LOVE heist films (Ocean’s Eleven, anyone?!) and this one sounds absolutely fabulous. Here’s a bit about the author, Kurt Dinan:


Kurt Dinan is a high school English teacher. He’s had several short stories published, including one in 2010’s The Year’s Best Dark Fantasy and Horror. He lives in Cincinnati, Ohio, with his wife, three young sons, and baby girl. Don’t Get Caught is his first novel.

WebsiteTwitter Goodreads

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Interview with Kurt Dinan
(by Sourcebooks)

Describe your book in 140 characters or less?

A high school nobody recruits a crew of misfits for heists and pranks to get revenge on the mysterious Chaos Club. #DontGetCaught

How did you come up with the idea for Don’t Get Caught?

Look, who hasn’t wanted to rob a bank?  Or at least hasn’t thought about it?  I can’t be the only one, right?  Right? So, I suppose Don’t Get Caught is my way of robbing a bank without risking actual jail time because, let me make this clear, I would not do well in prison.  I love capers, heists, and schemes, and while the crew in this novel aren’t robbing banks, they are satisfying my criminal thoughts by doing the teenage equivalent of bank robbery--wrecking havoc in their high school.

Tell us about the main character.

Max is a high school nobody, a kid who’s smart enough and nice enough to get by, but who doesn’t really fit in anywhere.  So basically, he’s me at sixteen.  But what Max has that I certainly didn’t have is a genius-level ability to scheme and a newly discovered gift for leading misfits.  He’s underestimated by everyone, a fact that works to his advantage when he decides it’s time to write his name in the wet cement of the universe by destroying a forty-year-old secret society.

Did your class in high school pull any memorable pranks? Or is there one you wish you had pulled?

My prank life didn’t begin until college when I helped mastermind a promotion for a fake campus concert that almost led to my arrest.  But in my final year of high school, the six-hundred members of my senior class were crowded onto bleachers for an all-class picture.  I look at that picture now and see an opportunity for chaos.  I mean, how much would it have cost to hire an airplane to drop a hundred gallons of water at the precise moment the picture was taken?  Or to organize a group of kids to all wear neon shirts and arrange themselves into something profane within the crowd?  It’s missed opportunities like this that keep me up at night.

What books formed your thinking or reflected who you were as a child and teen reader?

I read a lot of early Stephen King probably before I was old enough, and then through high school it was mostly comic books and classics.  I do specifically remember reading Helter Skelter during my junior year, dragging that non-fiction monster around with me for a month or so.  Looking back on it now, that’s probably all of the evidence needed to explain why I didn’t have a girlfriend in high school.

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I may not be a fan of heights, but I especially hate ladders. I always think the rung I’m on is going to break away and send me plummeting. So climbing the water tower ladder in the dark, the rungs sticky for some reason, only worries me more. But despite that, I’d be lying if I didn’t say how awesome this was. The higher I climb, the harder my heart pounds from the adrenaline. I feel like a jewel thief scaling a skyscraper at midnight on his way to stealing the Hope Diamond.

Up ahead in the darkness, Wheeler goes into a mock newscaster’s voice announcing, “Five Asheville High School students fell to their deaths last evening when—”

“Shut up,” Malone says.

The climb takes only two minutes but feels like an hour when the ladder ends at the base of a metal grating no more than four feet wide. If a strong wind blows, a waist-high railing is all that’s there to keep me from hurtling to my death.

“Wow, this is higher than I thought,” Ellie says, looking out over the lights of the town.

Malone, recording everything with her phone, says, “I wish I had my climbing gear. I’d love to repel off this.”

“What was it Jesus said, Ellie?” Wheeler says. “‘I think I can see my house from up here’?”

And me, I want down. And not just down, but to roll in the grass and kiss the earth. Then, as I’m about to wuss out, Ellie’s hand is in mine and she’s leading me along the platform.

“Come on,” she says. “Let’s look for the next clue.”

Her hand is soft and warm, and if the platform gives away right now, I can die a happy man.

“You get to open the next envelope if there is one,” Ellie says. “Or maybe it’ll be like in the movies, and there’ll be a cell phone that rings and—”

My foot kicks something metal sending it clanking and skittering across the platform before dropping into the night.

From the other side of the tower Malone says, “What was that?”

I look down at my feet and see four more of what I’ve just booted—spray paint cans.

And in one horrifying moment, I realize why the rungs were sticky when we climbed.

Red paint covers my hands.

Oh shit.

I lean back for a better view of the water tower to see what’s been spray-painted there. The wet paint trails down from certain letters like red teardrops.

Double shit.

Heist Rule #5: When in doubt, run.

But we don’t get that chance.

Suddenly, the water tower lights blaze to life illuminating the newly painted message for the entire town to see.

Assville High School, Home of the Golden Showers.

Both Malone and Wheeler say, “Shit.”

Ellie says, “Wow.”

Adleta says nothing.

And then a voice booms from a bullhorn below where red-and-blue lights flash in the parking lot.

“This is the police. Come down immediately.”

So much for Don’t get caught.

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Okay... I think I’ve made you all wait for a really long time now. HERE’S THE COVER!

April 2016 ● Goodreads


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But wait! THATS NOT ALL!
Time for a giveaway!!!

Enter to win...

An Advanced Copy of Don’t Get Caught!

Please read the Terms & Conditions in the Rafflecopter.
Enter via the Rafflecopter below:

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Thank you so much to Kathryn Lynch at Sourcebooks for contacting me about this cover reveal!

Cover Reveal: Spark by Holly Schindler

Hey everyone! I’m super excited today because I’m going be sharing with you the cover for Holly Schindler’s upcoming YA novel, Spark. Before I get to revealing the cover, here’s a little bit about it:

When the right hearts come to the Avery Theater—at the right time—the magic will return. The Avery will come back from the dead.

Or so Quin’s great-grandmother predicted many years ago on Verona, Missouri’s most tragic night, when Nick and Emma, two star-crossed teenage lovers, died on the stage. It was the night that the Avery’s marquee lights went out forever.

It sounds like urban legend, but one that high school senior Quin is now starting to believe, especially when her best friend, Cass, and their classmate Dylan step onto the stage and sparks fly. It seems that magic can still unfold at the old Avery Theater and a happier ending can still be had—one that will align the stars and revive not only the decrepit theater, but also the decaying town. However, it hinges on one thing—that Quin gets the story right this time around.

Holly Schindler brings the magic of the theater to life in this tale of family ties, fate, love, and one girl’s quest to rewrite history.

“In my hometown, the restoration of a former movie theater on the town square provided the genesis for my new YA novel, SPARK. Who among us hasn’t dreamed of seeing their name in blazing neon across a gigantic marquee? Let me invite you to dim the lights and draw back the velvet curtains—let your imagination run wild as you enter my fictional Avery Theater, where literally anything goes…” 
—Holly Schindler

Holly Schindler is the author of three previous YA novels: PLAYING HURT as well as the critically acclaimed FERAL (starred PW review) and A BLUE SO DARK (starred Booklist review, ForeWord Book of the Year silver medal, IPPY gold medal). A writer of books for all ages, Schindler’s MG, THE JUNCTION OF SUNSHINE AND LUCKY, has made the master list for children’s book awards in Illinois, South Carolina, and Alabama. She is also a hybrid author, having independently released comedic women’s fiction (FIFTH AVENUE FIDOS) and the forthcoming PLAY IT AGAIN, her adult follow-up to her YA PLAYING HURT. She can be reached through her author site:, and hosts special sneak peeks and giveaways for subscribers of her newsletter:

Okay I think I’ve made you guys wait enough... HERE’S THE COVER!

Isn’t it absolutely gorgeous?! I can’t wait to read Spark–I really loved Holly Schindler’s novel Feral (check out my review here), so this one is definitely a must-read for me.

Spark “Premieres” May 17, 2016, but you can buy your “tickets” now.

Amazon ● B&N ● IndieBound  Goodreads