Guest Post by Amaleen Ison
All emotions interest me, but none so much as love. From the beginning of time, humans have tried to define love, but it remains elusive because it’s many things to many people. Love for a parent, child, country, or neighbour has a unique quality, different in depth, importance, and longevity. For that very reason, love provides a host of possibilities for a writer, a near endless supply of relationships to explore.
Unsurprisingly, love is at the very heart of my newest release, Remember Me. The story is about a terminally ill girl called Sara who’s desperate to recover her lost memories. She can’t recall anything before her solitary life in a freezing barn in the wilds of Alaska. So when a stranger arrives in the opposite outbuilding, and she starts to feel better, she begins a quest to uncover the truth behind her bizarre situation.
As the tale unravels, we discover the bond between a father and daughter is at the story’s core—a love so strong it transcends death itself.
What sacrifices will a father make to keep his daughter alive? What tortures will a daughter endure to stay in the bosom of her family? These questions drive Remember Me to its conclusion, where love ellipses heartache to provide deliverance.
Catherine Wybourne – Benedictine Nun. “The paradox of love is that it is supremely free yet attaches us with bonds stronger than death. It cannot be bought or sold; there is nothing it cannot face; love is life’s greatest blessing.”
by Amaleen Ison
Sera isn’t living. She’s existing—barely. Bedbound by illness, she has no memory of life before the freezing barn she now calls home. A mournful song haunts her dreams and hints at a past not completely buried—one she’s desperate to uncover. Yet Father’s whirlwind visits to draw blood and administer medication don’t provide answers. He only confirms the one thing she already knows; she’s dying.
A lonely death without ever knowing her past seems inevitable until a sudden, mystifying return to health coincides with the arrival of a boy in the opposite out-building. The inextricable pull to the stranger, and the broken memories that storm her mind when he’s near, warn of a history quite different to any she could have imagined. If she’s to uncover the truth she craves, she’ll have to decide whether knowledge of the past is worth forfeiting her second chance at life.
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What Readers are saying:
“Over all I loved this story and it’s going on my top shelf in my kindle. Of stories that I will read more than once.” -Sheryl Lytle
“There’s some bitter sweetness and the ending will definitely cause you tears, but it’s soooo worth it! Wow!!! Just an amazing job by Amaleen Ison!” – Danielle C. Smiley
About the Author:
Amaleen Ison is a married mother of one. She lives with her family in Hertfordshire, England, along with her cats (Oscar and Winston), guinea pig ( LouLou), and gerbils (Blackberry and Pumpkinseed). She writes Young Adult fantasy stories that meander into a variety of sub-genres.
Is that all? Of course not.
As a child, I lived most of my life in my head. I’d go about my daily routine, but imagine myself in mystical lands populated by the weird and wonderful. My fantasies were always more appealing than the real word.
At twelve years of age, I read a series called The Song of the Lioness Quartet by Tamora Pierce. It was my first foray into YA books, and I gobbled up every word. I couldn’t think of anything else but Alanna’s adventures for months after, and I harassed the school librarian to order (beg, borrow, or steal–I didn’t care) the entire quartet. I’m sure the poor woman grew to hate my daily pestering at the enquiry desk.
Even now, as an adult, I read YA books. The fantasy element is always important, but more so the hodgepodge of emotions that arise from a character’s first time experiences.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Remember Me:
Father snatches the cover away and yanks my bare arm straight. Angry-looking bruises and red track marks riddle my paper-thin skin from wrist to elbow crease. He flicks a spidery-looking vein. “Dammit. Next.” My sluggish movements prove too slow for his liking, and he grabs my other arm. “We’ll give this one a try.”
I turn to Noah. Although younger than Father and not yet graying, his straggly black beard and tired-looking eyes make him appear older. He wears a worried expression and avoids my gaze. Perhaps he pities me, or my condition embarrasses him. Probably both.
The fog of medication descends in my mind and sends its glacial water surging through my veins. The barn wobbles, and my head lolls back on the pillow, giving me a view of the rafters. When it comes, the prick of the needle doesn’t hurt. Only the beautiful, melancholy song that plays constantly in my mind accompanies the odd sense of draining life.
Minutes, hours, days later—I can’t tell—Father holds up a full vial of blood to a shaft of sunlight streaming through the hole in the roof. “Thank you, my angel.” He kisses my forehead and squeezes my hand at the same time. I smile at the show of relief in his eyes, before my heavy lids close.
“She’s sleeping,” he says.
Footsteps draw near.
“She looks worse.” The disembodied comment comes from somewhere near the foot of the bed.
“Her blood isn’t working anymore.” Noah’s voice sounds tight.
“We ought to let her die peacefully.”
Yes, they ought to let me die peacefully.
“No!” Father’s breath comes in heavy gusts. “I won’t give up on her. We’ll capture the other one.”
“We’ll be damned.”
“Too late.” A loud clunk and something metallic skitters across the floor. “We’re already damned.”