Pages

Welcome to YA author Steve Whibley



Steven Whibley is a writer, a father, a husband, a brother, an uncle, and an avid traveler. He has worked as a lifeguard, an English teacher, and a tradesman but prefers writing to all those. He has lived in Japan, explored the ruins of Tikal, Angkor Wat, and Cappadocia, and swum with sharks in Belize. Next to family and writing, travel is his biggest passion and he think anyone who can do it, should.


Find Steve online:
 


GLIMPSE (The Dean Curse Chronicles, Book #1)

Save them, Dean. Save them all....
Dean Curse avoids attention the way his best friend Colin avoids common sense. Which is why he isn’t happy about being Abbotsford’s latest local hero – having saved the life of a stranger, he is now front page news. Dean’s reason for avoiding the limelight? Ever since his heroic act, he’s been having terrifying visions of people dying and they’re freaking him out so badly his psychologist father just might have him committed. Dean wants nothing more than to lay low and let life get back to normal.
​But when Dean’s visions start to come true, and people really start dying, he has to race against the clock – literally – to figure out what’s happening. Is this power of premonition a curse? Or is Dean gifted with the ability to save people from horrible fates? The answer will be the difference between life and death.​

Read an Excerpt:
Fifteen minutes later and only ten minutes before the first bell at school rang, Becky was still locked in the bathroom trying to tame her hair.
“Snails move faster,” I grumbled.
Mom shrugged helplessly. I knew my sister, and I knew she was going to stay locked in the bathroom until I’d be late even with a ride from my mom. The only way I wasn’t going to be late was if I walked—or ran, as the situation required. I threw my bag over my shoulder and headed out the door. Outside, the sky was clear and the air balmy with the first real heat of June. Summer vacation wasn’t far off, I remembered with a smile, and then I sped down the street.
I stopped running a block away from the school, slowing to catch my breath. I checked my watch. Five minutes before the first buzzer! There was no way I could make it unless I took a detour. I ducked through an alley behind a strip mall.
And froze.
Two men, one roughly the size of a giant ape and the other tall and lanky, were stomping on a large mound of garbage heaped up against a rusted chain-link fence. It wasn’t until I heard the garbage moan that I realized they were kicking a man who was crumpled on the ground and grunting with each strike.
My instincts told me to run, but my feet wouldn’t listen. Instead, I did something else—something really, really stupid. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet. It was blue and had the Detroit Red Wings logo on the front. It looked nothing like a cell phone, but I held it to my ear and yelled, “I’m calling the cops!”
The two men spun and glared down the alley at me. Probably only a second or two passed, but even that felt too long—I tensed and wondered if they’d come after me next. Instead, they tore off in the opposite direction.
I slowly walked to the man on the ground. His filthy clothes were torn to ribbons and soaked in blood, and he was covered in garbage that had no doubt come from the overturned bin a couple feet away. A brown leather bag dangled from his shoulder. He rolled onto his back. Blood cascaded from a gash above his right eye and his nose was at an unnatural angle to the rest of his face.
My stomach lurched at the stench of him. I swallowed back a mouthful of puke and helped him sit up against the fence.
“What’s going on back here?” a nervous voice yelled from the end of the alley.
A skinny kid wearing an orange convenience store uniform gaped at us. He had a baseball bat in his hand but looked far too scared to use it.
“Call an ambulance!” I shouted. “And the police.”
The beaten man coughed, spraying my Green Day T-shirt with specks of blood. He opened his mouth and tried to speak but only managed to mouth a word that I couldn’t make out.
“Don’t try to talk,” I said. Sirens sounded in the distance. “You’re going to be—”
His eyes suddenly widened to the size of doorknobs. He grabbed my shirt and pulled me close. I could feel his breath on my ear as he rasped a single word.
Glimpse.
And then his eyes closed and his head drooped. “Hey!” I yelled. But it was no use. He was unconscious. Only the sound of breath gurgling in his chest remained. And as for me…I didn’t know it yet, but after that I’d never be the same.

Buy the books

Direct from website: http://www.stevenwhibley.com

No comments:

Post a Comment