In case I haven’t been obnoxious enough shouting about this book in all corners of my digital universe…BRED is about to go live or already is depending on where you are and what time you’re reading this!
I’m so in love with this story. And I have to admit, writing it scared the ever-loving crap out of me. At its heart, Bred is a coming-of-age love story inspired by Great Expectations. The Dickens classic happens to be one of my favorite books of all-time. Add this formula up and you get gut-unsettling fear.
But I didn’t want to let intimidation stand in my way. This was a scary thing I wanted to tackle–one that I wanted to slay. And I am so very proud of how BRED came out. It’s a unique story, but classical as well. There are small nods (and a few bigger ones) woven into the story to pay homage, but there’s also a lot of me.
Dark and wonderful. That’s what someone told me after an early read. That small review made my heart feel full, and I hope this story does the same for you.
In case you’re still waiting for it to go live (it will be on Amazon and Free in KU by the way!), here’s a small taste. I wanted to share a short excerpt just to give you an idea of what’s to come.
Enjoy! And if you read on and enjoy Bred, I would love your review.
Find BRED here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07RKK8P4L
Excerpt from BRED by Ginger Scott
(copyright Ginger Scott – 2019)
“Lily, I love watching you play. I really do. And you’re getting so good. You’re better than me now. God, that first day! Remember how I played the piano?”
“I thought you were amazing,” I say, the goofy grin tickling my cheeks.
“You just thought I was cute,” he says with a tilt of his head. Arrogant and adorable. “I was awful. I know, like…six chords.”
He takes my hands, urging me to my knees in front of him as he places my hands on his chest. He spreads my fingers out and looks down.
“You can play Chopin.” He runs his thumbs over my knuckles, and I fan my fingers along his chest, then play what I remember of the most recent piece I’ve tried. I’m not nearly as good as he says, but he seems so convinced and that makes me think maybe I’m better than I say.
My fingers drum along his chest while his hands hover just above them with the occasional light, feather touch.
“What is this called?”
His lashes are like deep flecks of gold as he looks down at his chest. I love looking at him from this angle, the playful tinge on his lips and new stubble aging his young cheeks. He smells like aftershave sometimes when we’re up here on the rooftop. I like it.
“Polonaise-Fantaisie,” I say, drawing the word out with a curl to my tongue. Henry’s face lifts and his eyes glimmer, narrowing on my lips first, then lifting to my gaze.
“Can you play that for real?”
I move my hands to the right along his body for a run, then lift briefly and move back to the center to tap, just as I would on the keys. My teeth grip my top lip and I shrug.
“I’m working on it. I’m not smooth yet, but it’s getting better.”
I keep thrumming my fingers on his body as I stare at him, but eventually his gaze begins to make me flush, so I look back to my hands. His cover mine when I do, flattening them against his chest and bringing them together so he can hold on with his right hand and move his left to my chin.
“I’d like to hear it tomorrow.” His eyes penetrate, and while I know he truly would, I also know that he isn’t thinking about the piano anymore.
