Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Malicious Mischief by Marianne Harden

 (*I do not own this book and I haven't read it. The information was sent to me by the author's PR and this is an excerpt from the second chapter.)

I managed to look down. Froze. Zach’s jacket had somehow twisted to the front, leaving my butt out in the open. I started to tug it back into place, spied a huge pool of blood nearby, and keeled over. Splat.

“Isn’t that somethin’, you’re wearing a pink thong.” Cokey Bill’s voice sounded distant. “Doris won’t wear one, on account of her incontinence.”

Dizzily, I struggled to my knees, staggered a little, then righted with a hand to one of the orange boxes for support. “Mr. Oley—we need to get—help. Doris needs—help.”

“Ah, that’s the sweetest thing, you moving over like that. I got a nice view now.”

I lapsed into a moment of stillness, hand to my heart. I had a strong feeling nothing could be done for Doris, so I wanted to give Cokey Bill a moment with his wife.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Daniel Isn't Talking by Marti Leimbach

 My husband saw me at a party and decided he wanted to marry me. That is what he says. I was doing an impression of myself on the back of a motorcycle with my university sweetheart, a young man who loved T S Eliot and Harley Davidsons, and who told me to hand on to him as we swept down Storrow Drive in Boston, the winter wind cutting through our clothes like glass. If I allow myself, I can still remember exactly the warm smell of his leather jacket, how I clung to him, and how in my fear and discomfort I cursed all the way to the ballet.

 we sat on the plush red seat cushions and kissed before Baryshnikov came onstage, the whole of his powerful frame a knot of kinetic energy that leapt as though the stage were a springboard. I always insisted on sitting up front so I could appreciate the strength of the dancers, the tautness of their muscles, the sweat on their skin. My lover of motorcycles and poetry once licked my eyeball so quick I hadn't time to blink, and told me dreamt of crossing a desert with me, of living on nothing but bee pupae and dates. In warm weather he trod across the university campus in bare feet and a four-week

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Out of the Shadows and into the Darkness by Senta Holland

(*strictly meant for audience above 18 years of age)

Bones. Bones, thousands of bones that people shrunk to, over the centuries. Bones so old that they told a different history from the official one taught in schools. Bones softened into dust and bones hardened into stone. Bones sealed into hundreds of urns.
 I saw them, huge deep ochre and dark yellow bulging urns covering the bones, from high up in the new hotel where I stood, naked, my body pressed into the window.

 My Nai pushed me into the glass as if he wanted to force me through and I would fall and be spewed into the swimming pool. Falling, I would spread out my mantle of ash and rain onto the city and join the ancient kings. My body was pale against the dark sky, soft urn for my living bones. I felt his body against mine, skin warmed in the sun, radiating back into the night like the strong red stone.
 Urns sat in gardens, in streets, next to kitchens and bedrooms. Urns like towers, urns inside towers, urns that were towers.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

The Angel's Game by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

Act One
City of The Damned


A writer never forgets the first time he accepted a few coins or a word of praise in exchange for a story. He will never forget the sweet poison of vanity in his blood, and the belief that, if he succeeds in not letting anyone discover his lack of talent, the dream of literature will provide him with a roof over his head, a hot meal at the end of the day, and what he covets the most: his name printed on a miserable piece of paper that surely will outlive him. A writer is condemned to remember that moment, because from then on he is doomed and his soul has a price.

 My first time came one faraway day in December 1917. I was seventeen and worked at The Voice of Industry, a newspaper which had seen better days and now languished in a barn of a building that had once housed a sulphuric acid factory. The walls still oozed the corrosive vapour that ate away at furniture and clothes, sapping the spirits, consuming even the soles of shoes. The newspaper's headquarters rose behind the forest of angels and crosses of the Pueblo Nuevo Cemetery; from afar, its outline merged with the mausoleums silhouetted against the horizon - a skyline stabbed by hundreds of chimneys and factories that wove a perpetual twilight of scarlet and black above Barcelona.

Monday, April 22, 2013

The Coal Miner's Daughter by Loretta Lynn

Here is the first chapter from the book 'The Coal Miner's Daughter' by Loretta Lynn with George Vecsey.

'    About Me And This Book

Well, I look out the window and what do I see?
The breeze is a-blowin' the leaves from the trees
Everything is free - everything but me.......
        - 'I Wanna Be Free' by Loretta Lynn

I bloodied my husband's nose the other night. I didn't know I was doing it - I just woke up at three in the morning, and Doolittle was holding a towel to his nose. He told me I sat straight up, in my sleep, yelling, "Do you see this ring? Do you see this ring?" And I was a-throwing my hands around until my fingers dug around in his nose.

 "Loretta, what in the world were you talking about?" Doo asked me.

 I said I was dreaming about some old guy that tried to make a date with me when I first started singing. I didn't have no ring at the time - we were too poor for that kind of stuff - but now in my dream I was showing that old buzzard I had a ring.

 What does it mean when you carry on in your sleep like that? Someday said it means you've got something on your mind. I said, "I know that." I ain't got much education, but I got some sense.

Monday, February 4, 2013

The Stalker by Mack Tanner

Warning: This is quite a gruesome and gory visualisation.....


THERE WAS NO REASON WHY SHE HAD TO BE THERE before they removed the body and Gomez knew it. All she was supposed to do was take possession of the dead man's passport, inventory the effects, and hold them until the family told her where to send them. Captain Gomez could have easily waited until the scene was cleaned up, then invited her in. Instead, he had called the Embassy and insisted she come immediately to the Fortunata Hotel. The sadistic, chauvinist bastard hadn't given her a hint about what she was going to see either. She had been expecting someone who had died in their sleep, lying on a bed.

 The door to the hotel room was open when she arrived, the room filled with uniformed policemen and investigators dressed in civies. Gomez saw her come in and invited her immediately into the bathroom, then stood there watching, waiting for her reaction. He didn't get the reaction he was hoping for.

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

First Chapter The Bride Stripped Bare by Nikki Gimmell

Author Nikki Gimmell

 Cover pic of The Bride Stripped Bare by Nikki Gimmell

Dear Sir,

 I am taking the liberty of sending you this manuscript, which I am hoping may interest you.

 It was written by my daughter. Twelve months ago she vanished. Her car was found at the top of a cliff in the south of England, yet her body was never recovered. Despite extensive questioning of several people close to her the police concluded it was a case of suicide and closed their file. Others speculate that she may have staged her disappearance. I'm not sure about scenario and the uncertainty of it all, I must admit, has consumed my life.

 She was completing a book at the time of her disappearance. It was in her laptop which the police returned to me. I'm the only person, as far as I know, whom she told about what she'd been working on. It's about a married woman's secret life, and my daughter wished to remain anonymous because she wanted to write with complete candour; she feared she'd only end up censoring herself if her name was attached. She also wanted to protect the people around her, and herself.

Monday, October 8, 2012

Afterwards by Rosamund Lupton First Chapter


I couldn't move, not even a little finger or a flicker of an eye. i couldn't open my mouth to scream.

 i struggled, as hard as i could, to move the huge heavy hulk that my body had become but i was trapped under the hull of a vast ship wrecked on the ocean floor and moving was impossible.

 my eyelids were welded shut. my eardrums broken. my vocal cords snapped off.

 pitch dark and silent and so heavy in there; a mile of black water above me.

 only one thing for it, i said to myself, thinking of you, and i slipped out of the wrecked ship of my body into the black ocean.

 i swam upwards towards the daylight with all my strength.

 not a mile deep after all.

 because i was suddenly in a white room, brightly gleaming, smelling pungently of antiseptic. i heard voices and my name.

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Poor Little Rich Slum And Why It Matters by Rashmi Bansal And Deepak Gandhi: First Chapter

Section 1


We wish they would not exist, but
we cannot wish them away. Sixty
per cent of our city is a slum and it 
all started here, in Dharavi.


"What's the big deal anyway?"

It was six men of Indostan
To learning much inclined,
Who went to see the Elephant
(Though all of them were blind),
That each by observation
Might satisfy his mind.....

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Lady Chatterley's Lover by D.H. Lawrence First Chapter

 'Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take anything tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We've got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.

 This was more or less Constance Chatterley's position. The war had brought the roof down over her head. And she had realised that she must live and learn.

 She married Clifford Chatterley in 1917, when he was home for a month on leave. They had a month's honeymoon. Then he went back to Flanders: to be shipped over to England again six months later, more or less in bits. Constance, his wife, was then twenty-three years old, and he was twenty-nine.

 His hold on life was marvellous. He didn't die, and the bits seemed to grow together again. For two years he remained in the doctor's hands. Then he was pronounced a cure, and could return to life again, with the lower half of his body, from the hips down, paralysed for ever.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

The Devil Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger: First Chapter

 Author Lauren Weisberger

Well, I know most of you have obviously seen the movie, maybe multiple times, and still not got tired of it. Well, who can!! But I still feel that reading the original book on which the movie is based is always a much more interesting option, as it gives you more character and circumstance insight. So here's the first chapter from the book 'The Devil Wears Prada' by Lauren Weisberger.  Enjoy!

'Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes.

 The light hadn't even officially turned green at the intersection of 17th Broadway before an army of overconfident yellow cabs roared past the tiny deathtrap I was attempting to navigate around the city streets. Clutch, gas, shift (neutral to first? Or first to second?), release clutch, I repeated over and over in my head, the mantra offering little comfort and even less direction amid the screeching midday traffic. The little car bucked wildly twice before it lurched forward through the intersection. My heart flip-flopped in my chest. Without warning, the lurching evened out and I began to pick up speed. Lots of speed. I glanced down to confirm visually that I was only in second gear, but the rear end of a cab loomed so large in the windshield that I could do nothing but jam my foot on the brake pedal so hard that my heel snapped off. Shit! Another pair of seven-hundred-dollar shoes sacrificed to my complete and utter lack of grace under pressure: this clocked in as my third such breakage this month. It was almost a relief when the car stalled (I'd obviously forgotten to press the clutch when attempting to brake for my life). I had a few seconds - peaceful seconds if one could overlook the angry honking and varied forms of the word 'fuck' being hurled at me from all directions - to pull of my Manolos and toss them into the passenger seat. There was nowhere to wipe my sweaty hands except for the suede Gucci pants that hugged my thighs and hips so tightly they'd both begun to tingle within minutes of my securing the final button. My fingers left wet streaks across the supple suede that swathed the tops of my now numb thighs. Attempting to drive this $84,000 stick-shift convertible through the obstacle-fraught streets of midtown at lunchtime pretty much demanded that I smoke a cigarette.

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Britney: Inside The Dream by Steve Dennis: First Chapter

'Home Sweet Home

'Kentwood's in my heart. I'm a country girl.'
 - Britney, 1994

 They call it the 'Boon Docks' - the middle of nowhere. It is only when you have stood in the rural remoteness of Kentwood, in the vastness of Lousiana's pinelands, that you begin to understand two things: the very obscurity from which Britney Spears was plucked and the sheer determination required to even get noticed by the show-business radar. Britney might as well have screamed her dreams from the middle of the desert.

 The entertainment world of Los Angeles and New York seem light years away on the country roads and when walking beside the creeks. This region is a flat, sparsely populated landscape of pastures and woodland, broken up by little pockets of hamlet towns, connected by narrow backroads; sandy veins webbing across endless greenery.

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

The Help by Kathryn Stockett: First Chapter

 The book cover (above)
 The movie poster (above)
Author Kathryn Stockett

Here's the first chapter from the much-acclaimed book 'The Help' by Kathryn Stockett.


August 1962

Mae Mobley was born on a early Sunday morning in August 1960. A church baby we like to call it. Taking care a white babies, that's what I do, along with all the cooking and the cleaning. I done raised seventeen kids in my lifetime. I know how to get them babies to sleep, stop crying, and go in the toilet bowl before they mamas even get out of bed in the morning.

 But I ain't never seen a baby yell like Mae Mobley Leefolt. First day I walk in the door, there she be, red-hot and hollering with the colic, fighting that bottle like it's a rotten turnip. Miss Leefolt, she looked terrified at her own child. 'What am I doing wrong? What can't I stop it?'

 It? That was my first hint: something is wrong with this situation.

Friday, April 27, 2012

Blog Hop With Blogaholic Social Network

Here's the April Blog Hop from Blogaholic Social Network. On from the 24th of April till the 01st of May 2012, this fun Blog Hop at BSN is a wonderful way to meet new and interesting bloggers and make more friends on the way.

If you want to participate in the same, here's what you need to do:
1. Follow my blog (by joining the member list on the side panel)
2. Leave a comment in the post here. Please mention your website link so that I can visit and follow you back.
3. Check out the BSN April Shower Blog Hop page by clicking here
4. Grab the BSN Blog Hop code and paste it on your post in your blog to let others know that you're participating.
This month link up to any post!

Once you add your blog, stop by a few other blogs on the list to follow and leave a comment, let them know you are stopping by from BSN so they know you are a new friend and can connect with you on the community as well!

Feel free to:
  • Share this blog hop on Twitter
  • Post about this blog hop on Facebook
  • Place the link up on your own blog! Just grab the code for your blog (the code is located below the linky list) a great way to fill up a post for a day! If you add it to your blog please copy the full post so others know the rules.

- Debolina Raja Gupta

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Marley And Me

Here's the first chapter from the book 'Marley & Me'by John Grogan. 

The Perfect Dog

 In the summer of 1967,  when I was ten years old, my father caved in to my persistent pleas and took me to get my own dog. Together we drove in the family station wagon far into the Michigan countryside to a farm run by a rough-hewn woman and her ancient mother. The farm produced just one commodity - dogs. Dogs of every imaginable size and shape and age and temperament. They had only two things in common: each was a mongrel of unknown and indistinct ancestry, and each was free to a good home. We were at a mutt ranch.

 "Now take your time son," Dad said. "Your decision today is going to be with you for many years to come."

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

The Swimming Pool Library by Alan Hollinghurst

The Swimming Pool Library by Alan Hollinghurst....An awesome read !!!

'I came home on the last train. Opposite me sat a couple of London Transport maintenance men, one small, fifty, decrepit, the other a severely handsome black of about thirty-five. Heavy canvas bags were tilted against their boots, their overalls open above their vests in the stale heat of the Underground. They were about to start work! I looked at them with a kind of swimming, drunken wonder, amazed at the thought of their inverted lives, of how their occupation depended on our travel, but could only be pursued, I saw it now, when we were not traveling. As we went home and sank into unconsciousness gangs of these men, with lamps and blow-lamps, and long-handled ratchet spanners, moved out along the tunnels; and wagons, not made to carry passengers, freakishly functional, rolled slowly and clangorously forwards from sidings unknown to the commuter. Such lonely, invisible work must bring on strange thoughts; the men who walked through every tunnel of the labyrinth, tapping the rails, must feel such reassurance seeing the lights of others at last approaching, voices calling out their friendly, technical patter. The black was looking at his loosely cupped hands: he was very aloof, composed, with an air of massive, scarcely conscious competence - I felt more than respect, a kind of tenderness for him. I imagined his relief at getting home and taking his boots off and going to bed as the day brightened around the curtains and the noise of the streets built up outside. He turned his hands over and I saw the pale gold band of his wedding-ring.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Battle Hymn of The Tiger Mother by Amy Chua

 Here's the first chapter from the book 'Battle Hymn of The Tiger Mother' by Amy Chua. Have heard so much about this one, am quite interested to read it soon. Enjoy! And let me know if you've already read this one...

 'This is a story about a mother, two daughters, and two dogs. It's also about Mozart and Mendelssohn, the piano and the violin, and how we made it to Carnegie Hall.

This was supposed to be a story of how Chinese parents are better at raising kids than Western ones.

 But instead, it's about a bitter clash of cultures, a fleeting taste of glory, and how I was humbled by a thirteen-year-old.

 The Tiger, the living symbol of strength and power, generally inspires fear and respect.

 The Chinese Mother:
 A lot of people wonder how Chinese parents raise such stereotypically successful kids. They wonder what these parents do to produce so many math whizzes and music prodigies, what it's like inside the family, and whether they could do it too. Well, I can tell them, I've done it. Here are some things my daughters, Sophia and Louisa, were never allowed to do:

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Defending A King: His Life And Legacy by Dr. Karen Moriarty

Today I will share with you the first chapter of this biography on the greatest entertainers of our times, Michael Jackson. I generally do not ask my readers to 'definitely read' a book, but this one, you absolutely MUST read!

*This is a complimentary copy sent by the author and BookPleasures.

Here's a look at the first chapter from the book 'Defending A King: His Life And Legacy' by Dr. Karen Moriarty.


I was a seedling (of a fan) before;
now I'm an oak tree
with growing roots and branches.

"Was Michael Jackson really happy?"

I traveled 2240 miles from Ponte Verda Beach, Florida, to the desert of Las Vegas to hear the answer. When I met with Boyd Williams and Baron James for the first time, on Valentine's Day of 2011, I had my first question about Michael Jackson ready for them. I so hoped that these two men would assure me that Michael had overcome the trauma of his 2005 trial to the point of achieving some level of content.

 In truth, I had made this journey not only to seek a truthful, valid answer to this query. I went to interview with the security men who had protected Michael Jackson and his young family during the critical months before his tragic decision to move to Los Angeles to begin preparations for his 'come-back' concerts in London. To most of Michael's fans, he had never really been gone, but the prospect of his renewed performing career excited, and yes, thrilled people everywhere.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

The Wedding by Danielle Steel

Here's the first chapter from the book 'The Wedding' by Danielle Steel.

'The traffic moved along the Santa Monica Freeway at a snail's pace, as Allegra Steinberg lay her head back against the seat of the midnight blue Mercedes 300. At this rate, it was going to take forever.She had nothing particular to do on the way home, but it always seemed such an incredible waste of time just sitting there in traffic.

 She stretched her long legs, sighed, and flicked on the radio, and she smiled as they started playing Bram Morrison's latest single. He was one of her clients at the law firm.She had represented him for over a year. She had a number of important clients. At twenty-nine, four years out of Yale law school,, she was a junior partner at Fisch,Herzog, and Freeman. They were one of the most important firms in LA, and entertainment law was always her passion.

Friday, March 9, 2012

The Blogging Affair by Manu

Here's the first chapter from the book 'The Blogging Affair' by Manu.

'I was in my missus when the phone began to ring. Only I was not able to hear it ringing as I was thinking of someone else. No excuse really - this is just who I am.

 Who was I thinking of? Now give me a second to recall. There's just too many of them good-looking ones out there. Oh yes - I remember now. I was thinking of that little tart who gave me those little looks while my missus was busy trying out yet another lingerie of some sort or other. Lingerie sections do that to you, don't they? You will be standing there looking at all the frilly and lacy undergarments, and all the girls picking and choosing, and it will all seem utterly normal until suddenly....wham! It happens! You start putting the lace and the girls together, and before you realize what's happened, you'll be engulfed by visions of negligee clad beauties surrounding you with the grandeur of their scantiness.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Beyond Molasses Creek by Nicole Seitz

Here is the first chapter from the book 'Beyond Molasses Creek' by Nicole Seitz. Please note that this is a complimentary reading copy sent by the author and the BookSneeze Team and not a purchased copy.

Beginning of chapter one:



WHEN I WAS A GIRL, I WOULD LIE ON THE BANKS OF Molasses Creek with soft green grass beneath my back and look up into the sky, dreaming of being there. In my upside-down world, the clouds were pieces of land that I would hop to and the vast blue sky was the river, the ocean that would beckon to transport me far, far away. That vast blue sky has taken me to all sorts of foreign lands since then. Sometimes the most foreign place is home.

 I'll be flying in just a few minutes, cloud-hopping back to a city I never thought I'd see again.

Monday, February 13, 2012

Must Love Dogs by Claire Cook

Here is the first chapter from the book 'Must Love Dogs' by author Claire Cook. Enjoy!

'I decided to listen to my family and get back out there. "There's life after divorce, Sarah," my father proclaimed, not that he'd ever been divorced.

 "The longer you wait, the harder it'll be" was my sister Carol's little gem, as if she had some gem of knowing whether or not that was true.

 After months of ignoring them, responding to a personal ad in the newspaper seemed the most detached way to give in. I wouldn't have to sit in a restaurant with a friend of a friend of one of my brothers, probably Michael's, but maybe Johny's or Billy Jr.'s, pretending to enjoy a meal I was too nervous to taste. I needn't endure even a phone conversation with someone my sister Christine had talked into calling me. My prospect and I would quietly connect on paper or we wouldn't.

  HONEST, HOPELESSLY ROMANTIC, old-fashioned gentleman seeks lady friend who enjoys elegant dining, dancing and the slow bloom of affection. WM, n/s, young, 50s, widower, loves dogs, children and long meandering bicycle rides.

Friday, February 10, 2012

Between Shades of Gray by Ruta Sepetys

Here is the First Chapter from the book 'Between Shades of Gray' by Ruta Sepetys.



Thinking back, the signs were there - family photos burned in the fireplace, Mother sewing her best silver and jewelry into the lining of her coat late at night, and Papa not returning from work. My younger brother, Jonas, was asking questions, too, but perhaps I refused to acknowledge the signs. Only later did I realize that Mother and Father intended we escape. We did not escape.

We were taken.