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Torn Asunder by Alana Terry

Torn Asunder is the newest suspense novel from award-winning author Alana Terry. Torn Asunder is the story of Hannah and Simon, two North Korean refugees who sneak back into their country to serve as underground missionaries. In this world of spies, secret police, and informants, Simon and Hannah learn that staying together won’t just compromise their ministry. It could cost them both their lives.
Torn Asunder launches today for just 99 cents, and all book sale proceeds today support the work of Liberty in North Korea, an organization that runs an underground railroad for North Korean refugees. You can get the paperback or the ebook for 99 cents for a limited time only. And remember the best news ~ Your purchase will help save a North Korean refugee!
Excerpt from Torn Asunder:

Simon gritted his teeth. His head felt like it was sinking. The general kept his voice level and pleasant as he slipped the device over Simon’s pinky. “Now, you just tell me who you delivered your Bibles to, and I’ll let you leave here with everything intact.”Simon tried to swallow. His whole jaw was swollen from his scuffle in the woods. He shut his eyes and hoped the general couldn’t feel him tremble.

General Sin chuckled to himself. “Silly me. I forgot.” He slid the device off Simon’s finger. “This kind of tool won’t work on a big, strong man like you.” He strode over to Hannah and yanked her hand before Simon could even cry out. He jammed her ring finger into the opening.

Simon struggled against his iron restraints. “Let her go!”

Hannah sucked in her breath. General Sin still glared at Simon. “This is your last chance. Give me the names, and I’ll release her unharmed.”

Simon’s field of vision blurred over. He wanted to scream. The metal from his handcuffs sliced open his wrists. He pictured himself breaking free and tackling the general to the ground.

“Better talk.” General Sin yawned. “I hate getting my uniform messy.”

Hannah’s hand trembled, but she didn’t make a noise.

“Three …”

Simon clenched his jaw, unable to tear his face away from Hannah’s wide, terrified eyes.

“Two …”

Want more? Buy Torn Asunder on amazon now. And remember, all book sales today will be donated directly to Liberty in North Korea, a group committed to seeing North Koreans achieve their freedom in THIS GENERATION.

Want to help spread the word? See below to click and tweet, or share this image on your timeline. Then be sure to scroll down to enter the giveaway for a chance to win a $100 gift card, surprise grab bag ($60 retail), great CD from Cherie Norquay, and free prizes to everyone who enters! And don’t forget to leave a comment and tell us what you think of Hannah and Simon and those like them who sneak into hostile mission fields to share the gospel.

Post by Alana Terry.

Are you on twitter? Just click to tweet ~

Tweet: Buy a book. Save a refugee. Torn Asunder by Alana Terry. All proceeds today to @libertyinNK. #99cents #suspense

Tweet: New release Torn Asunder, Christian #suspense set in #NorthKorea. All proceeds today donated to @libertyinNK #99cents

Or copy and paste into an email or Facebook status: Torn Asunder is a new Christian suspense novel by Alana Terry about two North Koreans who serve as undercover missionaries. It’s on sale for only 99 cents, and all book proceeds today will be donated to Liberty in North Korea’s underground railroad for North Korean refugees.

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Elena_Alexandrina_Bednarik_-_Zâna_apelorHi! So, um, been perusing what I have for Troy and… Yeah. The First Draft is officially demoted to Notes. Mostly because I can’t find many of my notes. I’ll get it all together soonishly, though, and start posting actual story. In the meantime, I have another Faerie Blood character exercise.

Harsha, the MC of Faerie Blood, is a workaholic and shrewd investor, and thus rich, but that felt like a stretch to some people. So, I thought to myself, what could a young lady with an affinity for math do to earn a few extra hundred thousand  bucks?  I was writing by hand when I did these exercises, and this short backstory was supposed to be two pages, tops. It ended up being twenty-three pages, plus a four page scene sketch of a very brief romance that kind of, sort of resulted from it. :-P

WIPpet Wednesday is hosted by the marvelous K.L. Schwengel and anyone with a work in progress is welcome to join. The only rule is: relate your snippet to the date.

WIPpet math: 19 paragraphs. 17 for the date + 2 that are so short, they don’t count. No context.

With these words, they waved goodbye, Ella running off to take her place in the chorus line and Harsha off to another casino for her usual late night activities. She pegged a small one this evening. She ran more risk of being identified if she were caught, but less of being caught in the first place. She bought a drink for show, one of the pricey, drunk-in-one-sip numbers. Pretending to stumble, she spilled half the drink before she sidled up to a blackjack table.

The dealer, a bored-looking young man, probably a struggling student like herself, flipped the cards out with the usual skill and absolutely no flair. Such dealers, she learned early on, tended to be slow to mark suspicious behavior if their customers displayed the right balance of interest in the cards and in themselves.

Harsha put on a smile and slid into a chair. “Hit me a few times, will you, Baby?”

The man huffed an I’m-not-buying-it laugh, but he gave her a lopsided smile of amusement and dealt the cards. With careful attention to the dealer’s mood, Harsha proceeded to count cards and flirt, being sure to lose now and then, working her way up to $200 profit.

“I know you.”

Harsha’s stomach flipped and her heart skipped a beat. She took a sip of her cocktail, the first of the night, to give herself a moment to get her fear under control. I just took two losses and I’m only up to $146. They can’t have pegged me yet. Can they?

With the smile she used on the rare occassions she found it useful to be seductive, she turned toward the voice. Without thinking, she squawked and jumped out of her seat, her heart racing.

The customer with the bloodshot eyes grinned at her breasts. He leaned forward to address them. “You work at Lucky Ducks.” With slow movements, never looking away from her chest, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of cash, and slammed it onto the table. “Deal.”

 I thought he lost everything at my table. Harsha picked up her drink and made to leave.

“You’re $54 short.”

Harsha froze, along with the blood in her veins. She feigned confusion. “What do you mean?”

The man tapped the table. “Stay. Finish playing.” His eyes popped up to meet hers without a hint of alcoholic haze, then dropped back to her breasts with the same look of brainless fascination he plagued her with during her shift.

Hands trembling, Harsha took another sip of her drink and reseated herself. The dealer glanced between her and the man a few times before his eyes settled on Harsha. “Everything okay?”

“Probably not.”

“Fine,” the not-so-drunk man answered, with a thump on the table. “Deal.”

“I can call security if you like,” the dealer offered.

“The last thing she wants is security. Deal.”

The dealer raised his brows at Harsha and mouthed, “Are you sure?”

Harsha felt as sure about this as she felt about swimming with sharks. She ignored her racing heart and forced herself to take steady, even breaths. “Deal.”


Banner by all! I wasn’t going to WIPpet this week, and I’m so late I doubt many of you will find me, but here I am after all.

I’ve been working a lot on making the main character of Faerie Blood a bit more appealing to the readers. As an exercise recommended by a thus-far-wonderful ebook, the title of which I shall pass on if, when I finish it, I deem it worthy, I wrote a scene from an alternative POV in which two characters are discussing the MC. I kind of like it and would like to know what you think.

WIPpet Wednesday, on the very off chance you haven’t heard of it yet, is a weekly blog hop in which the various members post snippets of their works in progress. The only rule is to relate the snippet to the date somehow (usually with convoluted math, though other methods are allowed as well) and show general obeisance to our Grand Mistress, K.L. Schwengel. My math this week goes… um… um… It took me about ten minutes to type this? Maybe?  Warning: It’s over 700 words. *cringe* Sorry. When I started writing, I thought it would be closer to 200.

Blake plopped onto the couch next to Jason. “So. Heard from her yet?”

Jason passed on of the game controllers to Blake. “Nah. The camp she’s at is in the middle of nowhere. I don’t think we’ll hear from her for a while.”

Blake nodded understanding. Harsha’s quest for a cure often put her in strange and, as her most recent attempt proved, dangerous situations. He didn’t like it, but what could he do? Their relationship bordered on mere friendship. Try as he might to deepen the bond, Harsha refused to cooperate. “Think she’ll be okay?”

Jason lifted one shoulder and let it drop. He wielded his on-screen character to trounce Blake’s.

Blake cursed, pretending he disliked losing. In truth, Jason’s casual dismissal of Harsha’s safety angered him. “You’re not worried?”

Jason pressed his lips together and moved his head toward the screen, eyes forward as if nothing but the game mattered. His fingers flew over the buttons, pommeling Blake’s character with a series of digital kicks and punches.

Blake watched the man-boy brother of his not-quite girlfriend with growing frustration, wondering if he cared about her at all, or if he just sponged off her. Jason stared at the screen and deployed his character with deadly force, his shoulders hunched. He defeated Blake yet again. Livid, not because of the game, but because of Jason’s complacency, Blake dropped the controller in his lap. “I’m tired of this. Let’s see what’s in the fridge.”

Jason shouted an obscene profanity and threw his controller across the room, where it smashed against the wall, bounced back, and landed in pieces. He turned his face to the window, shoulders quivering and chest heaving.

Blake, fearing Harsha’s blame if she came home to find her brother dead because of a temper tantrum, picked up his controller. “Hey, man. It’s okay if you want to keep playing. I just thought you might be hungry.”

“She’s so stubborn.” Jason’s words sounded flat, as if he forced them under a steamroller before letting them pass through his teeth. “No matter what, she gets what she wants, even if it hurts the people around her.”

Blake’s estimation of Jason went up by several points. It seemed the reserved, dependent little brother felt more than passing gratitude for his sister after all.

“She’s always been like that. You know she got me to go on a diet with her once?” Jason turned to face Blake. “Me. An elimination diet, no less.”

Blake raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Wow.”


Blake harbored no illusions regarding the incredible influence Harsha exerted on him. If she asked him for a sample of black coral, he’d kill himself free-diving to get it for her if need be. He assumed his wild disregard for his own desires stemmed from the infatuation he strove, but never managed, to keep in check. Maybe Jason felt the brotherly equivalent of that infatuation.

“The thing is, even when we were little, she never bullied or manipulated to get her way. She just… I dunno. It takes everything I’ve got to tell her, ‘no.’ She just says, “Hey! Let’s do this!” and then it’s like I can’t resist. Sometimes I even think it was my idea to begin with and she just put words to it.”

Blake nodded, remembering several of his own examples of just such a phenomenon. “What is it? What makes everyone around her want to do whatever she wants like that? I’d say her innocence, or something like that, but it’s not.”

“No. Not innocence. She’s seen stuff. Bad stuff. Did she ever tell you about Vegas?”

“She keeps me out.”

“It’s sure not innocence that makes people follow her. I think…” Jason fiddled with one of his nails, bit it, and spit out the clipping. “I think it’s because she still hopes, even though she knows the world is crap. You look at her and you want to be part of it, whatever she’s doing, because it makes you feel like maybe things aren’t as bad as they look, or like, even if they are, you can make it better somehow.”

Blake stared out the window with Jason. Harsha’s brother was right. You looked at Harsha and all you wanted was to make it better, whatever It was, no matter the cost. All he ever wanted anymore, aside from Harsha herself, was to make Harsha’s world better.


Selene and Endymion by Nicolas Poussin, circa 1630, slightly cropped.






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