Friday, 31 July 2015

JOIN THE AGE OF AMY


behindthefunzonebanner2

About the Book

behind_the_fun_zone_coverTitle: The Age of Amy: Behind the Fun Zone
Author: Bruce Edwards
Genre: YA Fiction
Are you a Jimmiehead, or are you still using one of those old-fashioned smartphones?
Jimmies are tiny microchips, that when painlessly implanted into your brain, magically transform your eyes and ears into the ultimate hands-free device. No more fumbling with fragile phones, loose earbuds, or clumsy controllers. Watch movies without looking at a screen. Take photos through your eyes. Text with your brain waves.
Everyone wants a Jimmie—except 16-year-old Amy, who detests technology in any form. But when thousands of teenage Jimmieheads mysteriously vanish, only she can save them. Immune to Jimmie’s influence, Amy embarks on a quest to find the missing teens, ultimately revealing an ominous connection to a spooky, old amusement park that’s been dark for 50 years!


Author Bio

bruce_edwardsAward-winning author Bruce Edwards is a former Hollywood film animator, and brings the whimsy of a character artist to his stories. A music major in college, he is also an accomplished musician and composer. His other creative endeavors include a stint as a puppeteer and performing magic at Disneyland. Bruce’s thought-provoking books for young adults are never short on fun, fantasy, and imagination.




Links

AUTHOR LINKS
PURCHASE LINKS

Book Excerpts

-- EXCERPT #1 --
Chapter 1
THE LAKE
Fred was afraid of water. Even boating over a surface as smooth as glass, his fear of capsizing kept him on edge. There wasn’t a ripple in the calm waters of Summit Lake, yet he gripped the sides of our paddle boat firmly with both hands.
“Maybe we should put on these life jackets, Amy,” said Fred, as we pedaled leisurely to the middle of the tranquil lake.
“Relax,” I said. “This boat’s as sound as the Queen Mary. Still, you do know how to swim, don’t you?”
“What am I, an infant?” Fred looked down into the cold, dark, and very deep water. “Of course I can s-swim.”
Fred was also terrified of snakes, fearful of spiders, and afraid of heights. Odd, because his ancestors were known for performing fearless acts of bravery. His father rescued a family of five from a burning building just before it collapsed; his grandfather dove into an icy river to save a drowning baby; his great-grandfather fought for the European Resistance in World War II. For sure, Fred wasn’t living up to those proud standards, but he was the kindest, sincerest, and most trustworthy person I ever met.
Fred was my close high school friend. I should be calling him my boyfriend, but I hate using that word. The mere sound of it suggests that your friend is just a “boy,” and therefore something less than manly. Partner is a popular substitute. Some women like to use the term significant other, but that’s just plain silly.
There was another reason why boyfriend didn’t fit Fred’s description. For sure, a 16-year-old girl like me couldn’t ask for a more devoted pal, but he was a little funny when it came to intimacy. A girl likes to be romanced by a boy before she considers him a true soulmate. Fred was like Pinocchio, the little wooden boy who only becomes real after demonstrating his love for Geppetto. Fred had to prove himself worthy of my affections before being a real companion to me.
Poor little woodenhead. All he needed was a cricket on his shoulder to give him self-confidence, and directions to find the courage of his forefathers.

No comments:

Post a Comment

We are eager to hear what you have to say. Please leave a comment and wait for approval.