Hi, Emily! Can you tell our readers a bit about yourself?

I am so pleased to be on The Nerd Daily as a self proclaimed nerd myself. I’ve always been a bit of a book nerd, binge reading the likes of The Boxcar Children, The Babysitter’s Club, Nancy Drew and anything by RL Stine from the time I got a library card. Now I’m lucky enough to be on my ninth year of writing stories for a living. I also perform improv on a local house team and indulge in singing karaoke as often as possible. I’m also the mom to four growing kids and the cat mom to one adorable kitten.

When did you first discover your love for writing and stories?

I have always been a daydreamer which I think is really the origin of my passion for writing. I also am obsessed with stories. I love books, movies, TV shows, true crime, documentaries, non-fiction and most of all—real life stories from people I meet. I started writing down the stories in my mind when I ran a writer’s workshop with my students when I was an elementary school teacher. I thought it was only fair to participate in the same exercises I gave my students, and it opened up a new outlet for my creativity. It was something I did in private for many, many years, but through the encouragement of a small writer’s group in my area and some online writer friends, I slowly found the confidence to share my work.

Quick lightning round! Tell us:

• The first book you ever remember reading: My dad used to read to us at night, and the first books I remember him sharing were The Chronicles of Narnia. The first book I remember reading all on my own was Marvin K Mooney Will You Please Go Now By Dr. Seuss.
• The one that made you want to become an author: Delirium By Lauren Oliver
• The one that you can’t stop thinking about: Blood Orange Night By Melissa Bond

When We Chased the Light is the companion novel to When We Were Enemies, and it’s out October 22nd! If you could only describe it in five words, what would they be?

Old Hollywood, Forbidden Love, Murder

What can readers expect?

When We Chased The Light is a book about the real human struggles that are often just out of frame in lives lived in the public eye. It asks the question–when everyone knows your name can anyone truly know who you are? Vivian Snow has Antonio Trombello, a trusted friend and confidant, an Italian POW and priest she met while working at a POW camp during WWII. The one man who knows everything about her, including the truth behind what happened to her now missing husband, and has sworn to help keep her secrets safe.

Where did the inspiration for When We Chased the Light come from?

I found out a few years ago my grandmother worked in a POW camp in Clinton, Mississippi, during WWII and became friends with an Italian priest imprisoned there. They kept in touch via his hand-drawn postcards until he passed away some years later. It was a beautiful story of friendship and platonic love, and it stuck in my mind and heart. I wanted to know more—so of course—I decided to write my own story!! The postcards in When We Chased The Light are inspired by their communique, though the story is unique.

Were there any moments or characters you really enjoyed writing or exploring?

I truly loved writing this novel. The relationship between Trombello and Vivian really spoke to me, and their shared moments were my favorite. Also, as a huge history buff, I loved diving into the SIX DECADES worth of research that needed to be done to make this book realistic and fully actualized. I learned SO much about every time period and would listen to music from the era I was writing about as I worked to help inspire me.

Did you always envision there would be a companion novel to When We Were Enemies?

I didn’t intend to have a companion novel at all! It wasn’t until I wrote all of When We Were Enemies that I felt a deep desire to write the rest of Vivian’s story. It only seemed fair to her and the other characters, who only had the beginning of their stories told. I started writing her story, knowing I needed to tell it, even if no one else wanted to read it. I feel so lucky I’ve had the opportunity to share it!

What’s next for you?

I’m in the middle of writing a new book. I’ll have some news to share soon!!! If you want to keep up with updates, then follow me on any or all of the social media sites.

Lastly, what books have you enjoyed so far this year and are there any that you can’t wait to get your hands on?

I just finished Dearest, a horror novel by Jacquie Walters. It’s her debut, and I loved every squishy, creepy minute of it. A perfect Halloween read!

Will you be picking up When We Chased The Light?Tell us in the comments below!

The post Q&A: Emily Bleeker, Author of ‘When We Chased The Light’ appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and the second chapter of Emily Bleeker’s When We Were Enemies, which is out now.

Camera-shy Elise Branson is different from the other women in her matriline. Her mother is an award-winning actress. Her late grandmother, Vivian Snow, is a beloved Hollywood icon. But when Elise’s upcoming wedding coincides with a documentary being made about Vivian, Elise can’t escape the camera’s gaze. And even in death, neither can her grandmother.

It’s 1943 when Vivian, a small-town Indiana girl, lends her home front support to the war effort. As a translator in the nearby Italian POW camp, she’s invaluable. As a celebrated singer for the USO, she lifts men’s spirits and falls in love with a soldier. But behind this all-American love story is a shocking secret—one vital to keep buried if Vivian is to achieve the fame and fortune she covets.

For Elise and Vivian, what’s hidden—and what’s exposed—threatens to unravel their lives. The heart-wrenching choices they must make will change them both forever.

Chapter 2
Vivian
Monday, April 26th, 1943 Camp Atterbury

The sun sits low in the eastern sky. I fight off a shiver as the chilled morning air hits my bare calves. I wish I had one intact pair of nylons to make a good impression on my first day and to protect my feet from the inevitable blisters. As I walk down the dirt path towards the front gates of Camp Atterbury, a fine spattering of mud collects on the black leather of my new heels. Well, new-to-me. My friend Mary found them in the charity bin at the USO and put them aside for me. I should feel guilty about taking something meant for the poor, but with mom still locked away and dad’s broken foot, we’re closer to poor than we’ve ever been.

If I were singing in a real club in Indianapolis or even Chicago, I’d make more than a dollar a weekend. And then I’d have enough money to pay for mom’s doctors and dad could cut down on his hours at the factory and Aria could have a normal childhood full of bobby socks and school dances.

Stop it, Vivian, I chastise myself. There’s no room in my life for fantasy or big dreams. I’m nineteen, almost twenty, and I’m the only hope for keeping my family together. Mother lost herself in her sphere of dreams and fantasy and look where that got her—locked away in Mount Mercy Sanitarium. So instead of voice lessons with experienced teachers and trips to the city for auditions, I got my secretarial training from Marian University and applied for a real job at Camp Atterbury.

After two interviews with the help of Charlie, the handsome married officer I dance with at the USO most Friday nights, one typing test, and a few toothy smiles, I got the job working the switchboard at the front office for Camp Atterbury. I say front office, but I don’t even know where the office is located, never having stepped foot on base.

The bus dropped me off on the side of the road in front of buildings protected by not only a fence but a front gate and guardhouse and a sign with large lettering above it that says:

Main Entrance
Camp Atterbury
Internment Camp

I shiver, not only from the cold but from a sudden dread that runs through me at the sight of the gates, white posts with chain-link and barbed wire. This is a camp for prisoners of war captured in the European theater. And this is where I’m going to work.

Every part of my body tells me to turn around and leave. I suppose it’s more necessity than courage that keeps me moving toward the front gate. Around the perimeter stand impressive lookout towers as tall as the bank in downtown Edinburgh. I can see uniformed men inside, milling about with big rifles slung around their arms. They’re watching me watch them. I swallow and square my shoulders to look more professional.

My tweed suit coat and tailored skirt are a bit tattered but nice enough for a desk job, at least that’s what Mary said. I smooth my hair, my fingers getting tangled, the wind and moisture in the air making it a mess.

Feeling eyes on me not only from above but also from the guardhouse, I walk up to the gate. The top half of the door swings open before I touch it. Inside, stand two uniformed young men.

“Can I help you, Miss?” the taller one asks. I’m pretty sure he’s the more senior of the two.

“Yes. I…I’m here for the new secretarial position,” I say, shoulders so straight I might throw out my back.

“You’re the new secretary?” The young soldier, who I’m certain I’ve seen at the dance hall at least once, looks me up and down. He gives me a little knowing grin like he knows what I look like in my garter belt.

“Yes…yes. I am.” My voice quivers slightly, making me feel weak but the private seems to like my timidity. “I’m Vivian….”

“Vivian Santini?” he pronounces it Sane-tie-nye.

I nod. I’ve learned to accept any pronunciation that comes close to the correct San-tee- nee.

“Yes—you’re on the list.” A tall, smooth-faced soldier exits the guardhouse from a side door, and waves to his partner. The white gate covered in barbed wire pulls back slowly, barely wide enough for me to slip through. On the other side I’m faced with another loftier set of gates.

The shorter of the two guards crosses to the locking mechanism and rolls back the barrier. I search his waist for a gun. I don’t like the idea of being surrounded by weapons. Papà has one gun. My little sister Aria found his old rabbit pistol under his pillow within a week of President Roosevelt declaring war. We tried to convince him it wasn’t a safe place to store a loaded weapon, but Papà insisted he needed it close at hand in case we’re invaded by I Tedeschi—the Germans. I guess he forgot his own countrymen are also on the wrong side of the conflict. He refused to give the pistol up, even though living in central Indiana, it’s pretty unlikely we’ll see any fighting. But I understand the overwhelming desire to protect our family. He does it with a gun—I do it by providing an income.

I Tedeschi aside, the only other way I can imagine my father pulling a gun on a man is if he caught one trying to woo Aria or me, which keeps me from inviting any gentlemen callers into our home. Not that I’ve had time for a love life between work, Papà, Aria, and school.

“That way,” the taller guard gestures toward a long, white gravel drive and the other man, Talbot I think his name is, ushers me in the right direction. The buildings on this side of the road are gray, unlike the white barracks across the street that house the American servicemen. I wonder if the different colors are symbolic. A large office building sits inside the barbed wire barrier. Behind it is another fence topped with razor sharp wire, the last defense against a potential prisoner revolt.

As I follow Talbot, the other soldier watches me walk away. I think I feel the men in the tower doing so as well. This attention from men—it’s new to me. I’d always been a dowdy, quiet girl in high school and went to an all-girls college.

When I’m on stage it’s different. I feel bulletproof under those lights. But here I feel the weight of their gazes.

I keep my heels out of the mud the best I can. It’s been a wet spring and the clouds rolling in signal another storm on the horizon. The deep rumble of thunder in the distance vibrates through my midsection and I breath in the pre-storm scent. Aria will be a mess when I get home tonight, covered head to toe in dirt from her garden, I’m sure of it.

Talbot walks ahead, opens the door to the building and waits for me to step inside. It’s warm and the air is thick with a heavy, manly smell. A desk sits behind a window with a door immediately to the right, and a sitting area with chairs to the left. A young woman works behind the glass and Talbot gives her the same sickly grin he’d given me at the gate.

“Hey, Judy—is Gammell in?”

The girl has a plain face and a sweetly curled bob and she responds with an innocence I find comforting. Her soft brown eyes are friendly and a welcome escape from Talbot’s obvious glances.

“No—he’s at the fields. Should be back shortly. Wanna wait?” She talks to him so casually, they must know one another. I have a sudden shock of worry for the girl. Then a flash of gold on her left hand catches my attention.

She’s married. Thank heavens. Talbot looks me over again and then back at Judy and shrugs.

“I don’t mind staying, you know, for a little bit, “ Talbot says, and points to the chairs lining the walls by the front door. I take one of the seats but stay perched on the edge of the cushion, afraid of looking lazy if the Lieutenant Colonel walks in. I cross my legs, one over the other, at first. But when I notice Talbot watching, I quickly change my position, crossing at my ankles instead, tugging at the hem of my skirt.

Judy raises her eyebrow and seems to catch on to Talbot’s interest. She sits up tall, as if her spine is a puzzle clicking into place.

“Sarah had fun last night,” she says in a lowered voice but loud enough I can hear. “We should do it again sometime. How about Friday? At the hall?”

“This girl sings down there on Fridays. I’ve seen her lots of times.” Talbot looks at me and back at Judy, ignoring the question about poor Sarah.

“She does?” Judy squints through the glass and laughs. “Oh, by golly, yes! I remember you. Sorry, dear, what’s your name?”

“Vivian,” I say, a warm blush on my cheeks. I’m proud of my work on stage at the USO, but I hadn’t planned to tell anyone at my new job about my stage persona.

“Yes! Vivian Snow,” Judy says the name like she’s reading it off a marquee outside a theater. Goosebumps break out on my legs and arms.

“Snow? I thought it was Santino…something or other.

“Snow is my stage name.” I sound shy, like little Vivian Santini, who hid behind her mother’s skirts on the first day of school and was too nervous to sing the solo in the first grade Christmas concert.

“Ah. Cause your real name makes you sound like an immigrant,” Talbot says, matter of fact like he knows the ins and outs of such things. I switch my ankles to keep my outrage from being obvious. This is why I use a stage name. I’ve always been judged for being Italian. Both of my parents with accents. Wearing funny clothes. Living in a family with old-fashioned values. I have to hide so many things from my dad. My stage name is only one of them.

Judy seems to sense my uneasiness and leans across her desk to speak to me directly.

“Well, Vivian, that’s no matter. I’m star-struck here. What brings you to Camp Atterbury? Are you doing a show for the boys?”

Before I can answer, Talbot intervenes.

“Nah. She’s just a secretary.”

Judy gasps in exaggerated offense, “Gary! JUST a secretary? Excuse me?”

“Well, you know what I mean….”

As Talbot and Judy debate, I sink back and stare at the door, wishing I could walk out.

It’s not that I don’t want to work here. Judy seems fine but Talbot…there’s something about him that makes my skin crawl.

Just then, the door swings open like I’d willed it to happen. A uniformed soldier stomps in with mud on his boots that spills onto tiled floor. Following behind him are three men in dark blue uniforms with the letters PW painted on their sleeves, pants, and worn leather boots.

The first two men enter loudly, shouting and wrestling against their restraints. The noisy one is short, not much taller than me, but fills out his button-up shirt with muscle, not fat. The second man is taller, about Talbot’s height, but slim and looks to be swimming in his oversized uniform. Both are covered in dirt. It’s on their faces, clothing and hair, and I smell sweat even though the morning has been crisp. A third man enters slowly, his whole countenance a stark contrast to the first two prisoners.

He’s a touch above average height but not towering. He’s slender but not gaunt and he looks fit—as though he could run a few laps around a track without losing his breath. He has thick dark hair without a single silver strand giving any clues to his age. His eyes are dark, warm, and friendly. And though he seems tidier than the other two men, he’s just as muddy.

Agitation buzzes between the first two prisoners. But the third seems composed, collected, cooperative, resigned to the restraints around his wrists, focused on the conflict in front of him.

“E Tutta colpa tua,” the short man spits under his breath at the tall one. This is all your fault. The words come through in my mind as clear as if I’d heard them in English.

Italian. The only language spoken in my home for most of my life, at least until my mother went into the hospital.

“Quante volte te lo devo dire? Chiudi la bocca,” the taller one grumbles back. How many times do I have to tell you? Shut your mouth! The strong language puts me on edge.

“Quante volte ti ho detto di smettere di toccare le mie cose?” the shorter man responds. How many times have I told you to stop touching my things?

The tension is building, both men clenching their fists like they long to punctuate their words with action. The guards seem oblivious as they chat with Judy and stare at the door like they’re waiting for someone else. I scootch even closer to the edge of my seat, wondering if I should alert them that the men look like they’re about to fight.

“Adesso Basta.” That’s enough, now. The quiet man still standing in the entrance mumbles in a calm but authoritarian way. Perhaps he’s their commander?

“So che hai fatto la foto. Restituiscilo.” I know you took the picture. Give it back. The shorter man continues without acknowledging the third man.

“Non ce l’ho! Hai una testa dura.” I don’t have it! You’re stubborn.

Testa dura—literally meaning having a hard head. My father calls my sister that when he catches her wearing her gardening trousers to school or reading her books late into the night.

The calm man interjects again.

“Non ricominciare, Romano. Ti imploro. Te l’ho detto, troverai la tua foto.” Don’t start this again, Romano. I implore you. I told you, we’ll find your picture.

The short man, Romano , takes a deep breath. He wipes his sweaty brow with his bound hands, and finally gives in.

“Mi dispiace. Mi dispiace. Mi fido di te.” I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I trust you. He sounds repentant at first but then adds with a touch of hotness, “Lui, non tanto. Ma tu, Trombello? Con la mia vita.” Him, not so much. But you, Trombello? With my life.

As Romano makes a partial bow to the calm one, Trombello, the tall man fires back, “Nessuno vuole vedere la tua ragazza grassa, comunque.” Nobody wants to see your fat girlfriend, anyway.

“Bononcini! Basta!” Trombello chastises when Romano leaps forward, his hand in a fist. In that half a second, Trombello jumps into action, grabbing hefty Romano by the front of his collared shirt, holding him back while also straight-arming Bononcini who looks ready for the fight.

“Madonna Mia!” I squeal, and jump to my feet, seeing the flow of the fight heading in my direction. At the sound of my shout, Trombello, with his hands already full—quite literally—

whips his head over his shoulder. We lock eyes for a brief, almost imperceptible moment and I can see the confusion in them.

I cover my mouth, surprised at my linguistic slip, but my moment of impropriety had its effect. In Trombello’s hesitation, Romano ‘s fist finds Trombello’s jaw and a crack that sounds like a dried-out branch breaking slices through the air, louder than the thunder. I recoil and close my eyes, expecting blood.

I hear a rush of loud aggressive voices, speaking in English and the frenzied shuffling of feet from the hall. In that bedlam, the door to the office squeaks open and the bitter, damp wind touches my cheek.

“What the hell is going on here? Get these men under control and out of here. You’ve got to be shitting me. Whose idea was this?”

My eyes open at the sound of the deep, authoritarian voice. The scene has changed drastically. Guards hold back Romano and Bononcini. Trombello lies face down on the tiled floor, his mouth bloodied and Talbot’s muddy boot on his back. A thick, middle-aged officer stands by the open front door, not seeming to notice the deluge of rain and cold air rushing in.

This must be Lieutenant Colonel Gammell. The boys I’ve danced with say he’s strict, fastidious, and quick-tempered. I can see why. If he were a Loony Toons cartoon character, he’d have steam coming from his ears.

His outraged masculine voice makes my chest tighten and my shoulders stiffen. My father’s temper has the same effect on me. I try to be small and silent like I am when my father has an outburst. All of the men in the room begin speaking at the same time, starting up the conflict again.

Keeping myself hunched over, I glance around for an escape route but all I can see are the outraged faces of angry men and all I can hear are raised voices in two different languages, combining into a cacophony of confusion and commotion. There’s no escape.

I close my eyes again, and try to disappear, hide inside my mind while they fight in front of me. There’s nothing I can do. Because, in this world of war, one nineteen-year-old girl is meaningless.

And just like inside my father’s house and inside Edinburgh, Indiana—I’m stuck.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘When We Were Enemies’ by Emily Bleeker appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Read on to discover our picks and tell us in the comments below if you will be checking any of them out!

Good Luck With That by Kristan Higgins
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Emerson, Georgia, and Marley have been best friends ever since they met at a weight-loss camp as teens. When Emerson tragically passes away, she leaves one final wish for her best friends: to conquer the fears they still carry as adults. For Marley, it’s coming to terms with the survivor’s guilt she’s carried around since her twin sister’s death. For Georgia, it’s about learning to stop trying to live up to her mother’s and brother’s ridiculous standards, and learning to accept the love her ex-husband has tried to give her. But as Marley and Georgia grow stronger, the real meaning of Emerson’s dying wish becomes truly clear: more than anything, she wanted her friends to love themselves.

Rust and Stardust by T. Greenwood
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Camden, NJ, 1948. When 11 year-old Sally Horner steals a notebook from the local Woolworth’s, she has no way of knowing that 52 year-old Frank LaSalle, fresh out of prison, is watching her, preparing to make his move. Accosting her outside the store, Frank convinces Sally that he’s an FBI agent who can have her arrested in a minute—unless she does as he says. This chilling novel traces the next two harrowing years as Frank mentally and physically assaults Sally while the two of them travel westward from Camden to San Jose, forever altering not only her life, but the lives of her family, friends, and those she meets along the way.

Goodbye, Paris by Anstey Harris
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Jojo Moyes meets Eleanor Oliphant in Goodbye, Paris, an utterly charming novel that proves that sometimes you have to break your heart to make it whole. Filled with lovable, quirky characters, this poignant novel explores the realities of relationships and heartbreak and shows that when it comes to love, there’s more than one way to find happiness.

Becoming Belle by Nuala O’Connor
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A witty and inherently feminist novel about passion and marriage, based on a true story of an unstoppable woman ahead of her time in Victorian London. In 1887, Isabel Bilton is the eldest of three daughters of a middle-class military family, growing up in a small garrison town. By 1891 she is the Countess of Clancarty, dubbed “the peasant countess” by the press, and a member of the Irish aristocracy. Becoming Belle is the story of the four years in between, of Belle’s rapid ascent and the people that tried to tear her down.

Our House by Louise Candlish
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When Fiona Lawson comes home to find strangers moving into her house, she’s sure there’s been a mistake. She and her estranged husband, Bram, have a modern co-parenting arrangement: bird’s nest custody, where each parent spends a few nights a week with their two sons at the prized family home to maintain stability for their children. But the system built to protect their family ends up putting them in terrible jeopardy. In a domino effect of crimes and misdemeanors, the nest comes tumbling down. Now Bram has disappeared and so have Fiona’s children.

Bitter Orange by Claire Fuller
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From the attic of Lyntons, a dilapidated English country mansion, Frances Jellico sees them—Cara first: dark and beautiful, then Peter: striking and serious. The couple is spending the summer of 1969 in the rooms below hers. Beneath a floorboard in her bathroom, she finds a peephole that gives her access to her neighbours’ private lives. To Frances’ surprise, Cara and Peter are keen to get to know her. But as the hot summer rolls lazily on, it becomes clear that not everything is right between Cara and Peter. The stories that Cara tells don’t quite add up, and as Frances becomes increasingly entangled in the lives of the glamorous, hedonistic couple, the boundaries between truth and lies, right and wrong, begin to blur.

The Drama Teacher by Koren Zailckas
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Gracie Mueller is a proud mother of two and devoted wife, living with her husband Randy in upstate New York, her life complicated by the usual stressors and tedium. But Gracie, underneath all that’s marked her life as average, has a lot to hide about where she’s from, who she is, and who she’s been. And when Randy’s failing career as a real estate agent makes finances tight, their home goes into foreclosure, and Gracie feels she has no choice but to return to the creatively illegal and high-stakes lifestyle of her past in order to keep all that she’s worked so hard to have.

The Waiting Room by Emily Bleeker
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Ever since her husband’s death collided with the birth of her daughter, postpartum depression has taken hold of Veronica Shelton. Her emotional state is whispering lies in Veronica’s ear: You’re a bad mother. Your baby would be better off without you. After all, the break-in at her house happened. The disturbing sketches she found in her studio are real. So is the fear for her daughter’s safety—especially when Veronica comes home to a cold, silent nursery and a missing baby. As she turns from victim into primary suspect, Veronica realises that only she can find her daughter. Authorities aren’t helping. They’re only watching.

With You Always by Rena Olsen
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In the wake of a painful breakup and struggling to prove herself at work, Julia feels adrift. When Bryce blows into her life, he seems like the perfect anchor. Together they embark on a path guided by the principles of his family and their church, each step a paving stone leading to happily ever after. But this is no fairy tale. Step by step, one small concession leading to another, Julia is slowly isolated from her job, her friends, and her family, until she comes to find that her dream come true is a cage. Then one day everything changes…and Julia is faced with no choice but to find a way out.

Housegirl by Michael Donkor
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Three adolescents—two Ghanaian “housegirls” and the daughter of newly wealthy immigrants—struggle to come to terms with themselves and the secrets they have kept from each other in this powerful debut novel. A universal and unexpectedly funny coming-of-age story that explores friendship and family, shame and forgiveness, Michael Donkor’s Hold is a powerfully evocative debut novel whose characters will stay with you even as you try to let them go.

The Masterpiece by Fiona Davis
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In her latest captivating novel, nationally bestselling author Fiona Davis takes readers into the glamorous lost art school within Grand Central Terminal, where two very different women, fifty years apart, strive to make their mark on a world set against them.

Ohio by Stephen Markley
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The debut of a major talent; a lyrical and emotional novel set in an archetypal small town in northeastern Ohio—a region ravaged by the Great Recession, an opioid crisis, and the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan—depicting one feverish, fateful summer night in 2013 when four former classmates converge on their hometown, each with a mission, all haunted by the ghosts of their shared histories.

Check out our other August book picks on our Goodreads list!

Any other releases you’re excited to read this month? Tell us in the comments below!

The post August Book Releases: Fiction appeared first on The Nerd Daily.