jueves, 5 de septiembre de 2013

Indie-PostStop – Hope: Don't Fear the Reaper by Michelle Muto


Hello Readers!!!

I'm back, on this Preview the big day of Indie-Credible Author with Michelle Muto.
Well, this post begins when one morning, I went out quickly to the address Siler House,I was distracted with the IPod,singing The Passenger of Iggy Pop, When I met with this signaling:1001939_571053349619386_1709382944_n

The truth, I found it a little curious that I decided to take it, when I realized there was a giant sign that said: Welcome to Netherworld! When  lower me of the motorcycle already I expected a strange character that  said  called Reaper  ... well ... He said would give me  the Tour of the place, I accepted and as he spoke something about heaven and hell, I was distracted reading the story about a girl named Keely Morrison.

Check a little about its history:

Don't Fear the Reaper

by Michelle Muto

As I stood there in the breeze, in the absence of my other self, I understood there 
were lessons I still needed to learn. I knew this with such force, such clarity. I
had a lot to learn about the afterlife, and I had to accept that my past and
present would never again be the same. But, the hardest lesson of all? That there
would always be people in my world who I loved beyond everything else, people I
couldn’t live without, but had to let go of...for now...


Book 1 of the Netherworld series

Published September 23rd 2011 by Dreamscapes, Ink

Grief-stricken by the murder of her twin, Keely Morrison is convinced suicide is her ticket to eternal peace and a chance to reunite with her sister. When Keely succeeds in taking her own life, she discovers death isn’t at all what she expected. Instead, she’s trapped in a netherworld on Earth and her only hope for reconnecting with her sister and navigating the afterlife is a bounty-hunting reaper and a sardonic, possibly unscrupulous, demon. But when the demon offers Keely her greatest temptation—revenge on her sister’s murderer—she must uncover his motives and determine who she can trust. Because, as Keely soon learns, both reaper and demon are keeping secrets and she fears the worst is true—that her every decision will change how, and with whom, she spends eternity.


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While I read more in detail,  I listened  the Reaper was talking to someone else, I think it was a Demon, I decided to pretend I listened and I continued the reading a little more  to find out how Keely Morrison came to this strange place.



(From the Facebook Page of Michelle Muto)

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for they are with me.

I repeated my version of the psalm as I watched the ribbon of blood drift from my wrist. I’d hoped it would be a distraction—something to stop me from wondering what my sister’s dying thoughts had been. Exhaling slowly, I let the emptiness consume me.

Jordan had kept my secrets and I had kept hers. In the end, it came down to just one secret between us that took her life. Now, it would take mine. I should have said something, but nothing I said or did now could bring her back or make anyone understand what she meant to me.

Are you here, Jordan? Are you with me? Tell me about heaven...

I told myself Jordan was gone, never coming back, but her memories continued to haunt me. I had no idea if there even was an afterlife. If God existed, I was convinced he had given up on me. Not once did I sense he’d heard a single one of my prayers. I wasn’t asking for the world—I only wanted to know if my sister was safe and at peace. What was so hard about that?

She should still be here. It wasn’t fair.

I’d been the difficult one—much more than Jordan. For a while, I’d even gotten into drugs. Mom and Dad had worried I’d get Jordan into drugs, too. But I wouldn’t. Not ever. Besides, that part of my life had been over long before Jordan’s death. A small gargoyle tattoo on my left shoulder was all that remained of my previous lifestyle.

Mom and Dad started treating me differently after Jordan’s funeral two months ago. She and I were twins, so I understood how hard it was for them to look at me and not see her. Sometimes, they wouldn’t look at me at all. Mom went to the psychiatrist, but no one asked if I needed to talk to someone about what happened. No one asked if I needed sleeping pills or antidepressants. Yeah, sure. Don’t give the former addict pills of any sort.

Not one person saw the all-consuming suffering that gnawed at my soul. Why couldn’t anyone see? Jordan had been more than my sister—she’d been my Samson, my strength. I would have done anything for her, and yet, I’d failed her. I wasn’t the one who’d killed her, but I might as well have been. How could I ever live with that? My heart had a stillness to it since her death.

I shall fear no evil.

I couldn’t very well recite the first part of Psalm 23 because it said I shall not want, and I did want. I wanted to go back in time. I wanted my sister back. Clearly, goodness and mercy were never going to be part of my life ever again. In my mind, I saw myself walking through the iron gates of hell with demons cackling gleefully all around.

I didn’t want to die. Not really. I was just tired and didn’t know of another way to stop the pain. Doctors removed a bad appendix. Dentists pulled rotten teeth. What was I supposed to do when my very essence hurt, when the cancer I’d come to call depression made every decent memory agonizingly unbearable?

Before I’d gotten down to cutting my wrist (I managed to only cut one), I’d taken a few swigs of Dad’s tequila—the good kind he kept in the basement freezer. I’d used another swig or two to chase down the remainder of Mom’s sleeping pills in the event I failed to hit an artery or vein. Then I’d set the bottle on the ledge of the tub in case I needed further liquid encouragement. Instead of using a knife or a razor, I attached a cutting blade to my Dad’s Dremel. The Dremel was faster, I reasoned. More efficient.

It would have been easier to OD, I suppose. But I felt closer to my sister this way, to suffer as she’d suffered.

I recited the line from Psalms 23 again. It had become my personal mantra.

The words resonated in my parents’ oversized bathroom. I’d chosen theirs because the Jacuzzi tub was larger than the tub in the hall bathroom. Jordan and I used to take bubble baths together in this same tub when we were little.

Innocence felt like a lifetime ago. I searched the bathroom for bubble bath but came up short. Soap might have made the laceration hurt more so it was probably just as well. Besides, the crimson streaming from my wrist like watercolor on silk was oddly mesmerizing.

The loneliness inside proved unrelenting, and the line from the psalms made me feel better. I prayed for the agony inside me to stop. I argued with God. Pleaded. But after all was said and done, I just wanted the darkness to call me home.

I tried not to think of who would find my body or who’d read the note I’d left. I blamed myself not only for failing Jordan, but for failing my parents, too.

My lifeline to this existence continued to bleed out into the warm water. Killing myself had been harder than I’d imagined. I hadn’t anticipated the searing fire racing through my veins. I reached for the tequila with my good arm but couldn’t quite manage. Tears welled in my eyes.

Part of me foolishly felt Jordan was here. The other part feared she wasn’t.

Give me a sign, Sis. Just one.

I imagined seeing my parents at my funeral—their gaunt faces, red-eyed and sleepless. How could I do this to them? Wasn’t the devastation of losing one child enough?

No. Stop. A voice in my head screamed. Don’t do this. Don’t. Please...

I shifted my body, attempted to get my uncooperative legs under me. I could see the phone on my parents’ nightstand. I could make it that far. Had to. The voice was right. I didn’t want to do this. I felt disorientated, dizzy. Darkness crept along the edges of my vision. Focusing became difficult. A sweeping shadow of black caught my attention. Someone stood in the bathroom—not my sister. A man. Had I managed to call 911? I couldn’t remember getting out of the tub. And why’d I get back in? Did I use a towel?

Mom is going to be pissed when she sees the blood I’ve tracked all over the bedroom carpet.

“I’m sorry,” I told the man in black.

“It’s okay, Keely. Don’t be afraid.” Not my father’s voice. It was softer, with a hint of sorrow. Distant. Fleeting. Later, I’d feel embarrassed about this, but for now I was safe from the nothing I’d almost become. My teeth clattered from the chill. My eyelids fluttered in time with my breaths. The tub water had turned the color of port wine. The ribbons, the pretty, red watercolor ribbons were gone.

Dull gray clouded my sight.

A voice whispered to me, and my consciousness floated to the surface again.

“—okay, Keely.”

Cold. So cold.

“I’m right here.”

There was no fear in me as the man bent forward, his face inches from mine. He was my father’s age, and yet strangely older. His eyes were so...blue, almost iridescent. The irises were rimmed in a fine line of black, and the creases etched at the corners reminded me of sunbeams as he gave me a weak smile. The oddly. Dressed. Paramedic. A warm hand reached into the water and cradled mine. My fingers clutched his. I sighed, feeling myself floating, drifting. Light—high and intense exploded before me. No! Too much. Too much! I shuddered and labored to catch my breath, but it wouldn’t come.

Finally, the comfort of darkness rose to greet me.


When I got to the last page, I did not know what to feel ... when you talk about the death of a person (and beyond death) there is a point where you feel respect, not only for the person who was, if not for those who remain, but there is also another feeling, that makes feel you doubt of know  that is in the afterlife. The different nuances of this situation are very well woven into the story, respect, tact, and in a way that breaks somewhat sad and feeling tension that gives life or put it in other words, what was the life of Keely and even more makes you see that both in life and death every decision carries a positive or negative effect on others, you just have to know which way do you think it is right.

I think Keely, the main character manages to make creating very well feelings with their needs and defects which human beings have.
Banning and Daniel are the two paranormal characters present in the story and that will make the contrast between them for what they are will attract your attention, the question is which would you pick of the 2. And do not forget to Jordan, I think we'll know more in future books that point she is and thus the way for Keely.

A story with nostalgic, something that makes  your senses and human feelings join, with characters you're showing the way that might be in the choices you make, but without ceasing to be a fantasy story with a paranormal mixture for young, this is what this book presents, and also shows the sensitive side, human and imagination and talent incredible that Michelle Muto has

But beyond, in an internal battle or rather external , more than anything by the fact As much as I would like to discuss in what reason had the Reaper and accordingly the devil, I could not stay here, Had to arrive to Siler House the September 8, so I escape of this pair, and I started my path again.

But do not worry, if you want to know more about Michelle Muto and her books, I leave the social networks where you can follow her:

Website          Facebook         Twitter

For now do not forget to follow the Indie.Credible Tour and September 8 have a date on this blog.


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1 comentario:

  1. […] allowing us you know about this Little Book That Could.   In my second Stop of the  day called Do not Fear the Reaper I found that our feelings will always be connected to our senses, needs, defects and decisions […]