Win a copy of RESONANCE!

Now that RESONANCE is officially settled in on Kindle, Barnes and Noble, and the iBookstore, I’m thinking I’ll celebrate with an ebook giveaway contest.  To celebrate the characters’–urm–colorful natures, I would like you to read the deleted scene below, and then tell me in the comment section about something you did as an act of rebellion in your younger days.  The three best (decided by me on whatever whim I so choose) will receive an eBook copy of RESONANCE in the file format of their choice: E-Pub (for B&N’s Nook store or iBookstore), or PRC (for Kindle).

It doesn’t have to be a masterful piece of prose, just tell me what you did and I’ll decide if I love it.  That simple.


Spider Flashback Deleted Scene:

Resonance had been a reluctant transfer student dropped in a lions’ den of scholastic and social overachievement, forced to play dead just to survive.  There was a big kid who sat near the back in her mandatory freshman music class, one of those boys who had no doubt started eighth grade normal-sized, but freakishly grew a foot in every direction over the summer.  His broad shoulders were the perfect shelter, forming a jersey-clad wall for her to hide behind, unheard and unseen.  Not even her classmates seemed to realize she was more than another empty chair at the back of the class.  Except him—the one with the mohawk.  He noticed.
It was his pattern to slouch into the room, fling himself into the chair diagonal to hers, and do nothing for the first half an hour.  Then, as regular as clockwork, he would turn and look at her, his eyes searching her face as if to be sure she hadn’t died or turned to stone, his constant sneer deepening enough with what he saw to drive her further into the shadows. A few seconds later, he would turn back around, and finish off the class with another ten minutes of apathy. 
One February afternoon, however, he did more than that.
Outside the classroom window snow drifted down, covering the grass and cars.  Resonance stared hopefully at the defiantly clear blacktop, absently mouthing the words to the week’s song.  Knuckles rapped on her desk.  She started, and looked up into the rabbity face of Mr. Bilke.
“Since you are so intent on the song today, Miss Murphy,” maybe you should grace us with a solo.”
Her heart dropped to her feet.  Her body felt numb, leaden, as every set of eyes in the room—all those gazes she had strived to avoid for so long—fixed on her.  “I– I can’t,” she squeaked.
“You can’t?”
“Why?  Because you haven’t paid attention all year?”  The class snickered.  Fueled by their amusement, Mr. Bilke continued, “Because you hide behind your hair and pretend this class doesn’t exist?  That we don’t exist?”
Resonance prayed she would stop existing.
“I’ll do it.”  All of those burning gazes and curved mouths turned away at the voice. She retreated behind her wall into the soothing shade.  
“Very well, Andrew,” Mr. Bilke said, his tone one of utter astonishment.
“It’s Spider.” The chair ahead and to the right of hers screeched back and the boy with the mohawk curled out of his chair.  He looked back, threw her a conspiratorial wink and strode up to the platform.  Mr. Bilke moved towards his piano. Spider didn’t wait for the music.  He gave the class a cockeyed leer, turned, dropped his shredded jeans and belted out his version of the day’s song, shouting, “It’s-the-age-of-my-hairy-ass,” at the top of his lungs. 
Her teacher and classmates froze. Their paralysis was intoxicating.  For once, Resonance forgot to hide.  She craned her neck for a better look—and laughed.
Fortunately for Spider, Zero Tolerance had not made its way into schools, yet.  Two months later, after his in-school suspension was over, he walked back into the classroom.  Mr. Bilke seethed at his piano.  The students whispered and tittered, re-living the now infamous scene.  Resonance leaned forward and looked him in the eyes, her chin lifted almost defiantly.  The side of his mouth twitched upwards, and her face split into a grin.  He took the chair beside her.

Now it’s your turn. Tell me what you did as a youth to shake up the Establishment. It could win you a novel! I will post the winners next Friday afternoon, so be sure to get your story to me no later than noon (that’s EST for you non-East Coasters out there).

About Avery

I am a roller derbying, dark fantasy author. This blog chronicles my adventures in life, writing and skating. View all posts by Avery

9 responses to “Win a copy of RESONANCE!

  • writtenwyrdd

    Wish I'd seen this earlier, but, actually, I was never rebellious enough to have a story. I was too worried I'd make my single mother's life more difficult than it already was.

  • Janna Qualman

    Love that! Sometimes in my head, when I see a moment I could stand up and say something out of character, or draw uncomfortable attention to myself just for the sake of doing so, I think why not? But the sane, reserved Janna always wins, and the moment passes.I don't have any stories. 😦 I was too self-conscious and concerned with impressing the authorities to rebel. I wanted people to like meI'm starting to rebel a little now, though, at 32. I'm thinking outside the "Janna box." Learning to be spontaneous, go with the moment. Do something that would shock those who know me best.Because that's how I effin' roll.

  • AvDB

    An entry copied from my facebook page:Amy Buckheister Gettinger I have a child who wouldn't go to bed before 3 am on school nights and stayed up all night before school days and kept getting sick. Yeah, yeah, not real rebellion. He was imploding. For me, rebellion is me at 53 telling my 91-year-old mom after she's spent 2.5 years in this county during which I had 2 brain surgeries and the back from hell that I've had enough and she needs to move near another relative. Big woop. Or eating chocolate with chili peppers in it.

  • Christina

    I was fourteen and really wanted to see the top of the Luxor in Vegas, but you had to have a hotel room to get up that high. We decided to use the fire escape, but it was closed off so people like us couldn't get up there.We found a hotel maid who allowed us to slip in, but it didn't go all the way up, so we had to keep finding the fire escapes that would lead to the next three floors. Needless to say, we got halfway up and a cop stopped us. I think my brother got that on tape.

  • AvDB

    Charles — That's also a good way to have a copy!Carol and Jenn — Thanks for stopping by and sharing your stories! You are entered!

  • carol rich

    I used to teach piano at a small music conservatory in Hingham, Massachusetts. One of my more talented 12-year olds, Jonathan, came from a very poor family. His fingernails were ridged with tell-tale signs of vitamin deficiency. He and I developed a special relationship and he thrived through his music. One day the head of the conservatory required all parents whose children received scholarships to fill out a formal aplication. Well, my student's mom was illiterate but too embarrassed to say anything. It was pretty clear that Jonathan's lessons would be cut off if she didn't hand in the paper work. She handed the blank form to me and said, "I can't. Sorry."I had a meeting with the director explaining the situation but he refused to open his heart and demanded that she fill in the app.I put my job on the line that day and said that I would quit if Jonathan didn't get the continued support of the school.Luckily for all of us, they awarded Jonathan a full scholarship! I will never regret having gone the extra mile.

  • Jenn Sommersby

    I was a total goody-two-shoes. Did my work, earned my As, made friends with teachers so they wouldn't call on me when I had that "I don't know" look on my face. It was okay for them to pick on other students because I knew I was safe. I was a brown-noser, and brown-nosers were rarely picked on by teachers. Brown-nosing was a strategy for survival. I was already branded a nerd–why not perpetuate it and save face at the same time? Weird methodology, but it worked.Until my senior year. I was DONE with school, had started hanging out with the drinkers and the party crowd, letting the near-perfect GPA drift a little downward. When the unit on the Vietnam War started, I tuned out. Managed to score my first-ever F on a test. And then I pissed off the teacher, a really great guy, so badly that he dragged me, in my desk, into the hallway for the remainder of one particular class. Maybe it's because I wouldn't stop calling him Skippy (everyone called him that behind his back). I was feeling pretty bad ass then, showing up at school drunk on occasion, skipping classes, snubbing the popular kids who I'd tried so hard to become a part of. I still feel bad about embarrassing Mr. G so much. I messed with his balance that day and taught him that even with the best students (I was at the top of the class and even served as a TA in another of his classes), you can never trust a teenager. Especially one with a mouth like mine.Comparatively speaking, it's not especially rebellious, unless you know me, and then it's just another example of a kid frustrated at home, frustrated at school, who never quite fit in.

  • the walking man

    At 14 I started to write poetry. My old man was sure I was gay and wanted me to play sports. I never wore a uniform of any sports team and in retaliation every time I finished a journal he burned it. I seethed inside but outside I just shrugged and started another. In June of '72 by the time I got home from boot camp at 17 (a month shy of my 18th birthday), he'd burned ten of them which was four years worth of poetry. He finally figured I had manned up being in the military and all. I spent the whole two weeks of leave between duty stations sitting at the dining room table writing poetry (and smoking bud outside)He burned that journal when I left.I never stopped writing but I never kept another piece of writing until 2002. He's been dead for 29 years this year and I have over 4000 pieces of writing waiting for him to come back and put to the flame. (if he could figure how to wipe two hard drives and three memory sticks.)The reason I was in the military at 17 is another story but that involved me kicking the shit out of 3 crackers and isn't as entertaining a memory for me.

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