MY NAME IS ON A BOOK.
In Your Roots, Secrets Lie
On Monday, I introduced you to the main character of Order of Seven, Devi Bennett, in a way that I hope was both mental and visceral. If you missed it, go here.
Eighteen-year-old Devi Bennett is surrounded by mysteries: her unknown heritage, a recurring dream about an African tribal ceremony, an inexplicable attachment to a certain tree and a psychic ability she’ll never understand—unless she finds her biological parents.
“My older brother, Nodin, remembers more than me.
But I have something he doesn’t.
I have the dream.”
Things take a shocking turn when she meets Baron, an intense and alluring energy healer.
“My mouth finds the warmth of his skin,
the salted-caramel taste of him an elixir.”
Baron receives prophetic dreams which all seem connected to her.
“Two days ago I didn’t even know this man.
Now his absence is an earthquake.”
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“It will crawl under your skin and consume you. Let it. This is the kind of possession you want.”
I said I was going to reveal something huge this week. Something saturated in my blood, sweat, and tears. Something I held secret for a long time. Too long. Something that exposes me and makes me more vulnerable than I’ve ever been.
And I will.
But first, I need you to go on a little ride with me. From the neurons firing in your brain to the marrow in your bones, I need you to comprehend the gravity of what I’m about to tell you.
Imagine yourself as eighteen again. No, really. Think about that time in your life. All the uncertainties. The feelings of trepidation and excitement mixed with insecurity and fear. The angst. Hormones charging through your veins like bulls, twisting and turning your emotions on a dime. The yearning to find yourself and understand who you are.
What if on top of all that you also had…
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I must say the coolest thing about being an author is knowing other authors. First and foremost, I’m a reader and a fan of writers. And when I say I’m a fan, I mean embarrassingly so. Like, I would stand in line to meet an author before I’d go to a concert, and that claim is not even a little bit exaggerated. Authors are my rockstars.