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If you’re not following Debra Anastasia on twitter, then you’re missing out on just how “real” this author is. She’s sweet, fun(ny), and quirky. Simply put? She’s adorkable…and we kind of have a thing for that personality trait in a person. Just sayin’ 😉

For this post, we are focusing on Debra’s book Poughkeepsie and its upcoming sequel Return to Poughkeepsie. Please visit her website to check out her other books and free reads!

Social Media Links for Debra Anastasia

Poughkeepsie got its start as Twilight fanfiction. As with any hot topic, there are divided camps on this subject. However, we will forever be grateful for stumbling into the genre and discovering some very talented authors. We’re proud that so many are now getting well-deserved mainstream attention. It has truly had a domino affect on the industry, as readers like us have renewed our passion for reading and are discovering books/authors we might not have found otherwise.

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When I started reading Poughkeepsie, I expected to love the main characters, Blake and Livia, and I did/do. What I didn’t expect was to also fall in love with Cole and lose my heart to Beckett. What Debra has done with her writing is breathe life into her sub characters. Blake, Cole, and Beckett are like a circle with no beginning and no end. You can’t have one without the other. And you don’t want to. Blake is complicated and psychologically fragile, yet he manages to find his inner strength and maintain his beautiful innocence. Cole is conflicted and forever trying to repay God for his/their sins, yet he is the first to forgive with his beautiful soul. Beckett is fiercely flawed and fiercely protective of those he loves (“He does all the wrong things for all the right reasons.”), yet he hasn’t learned to let love into his beautiful heart.

Poughkeepsie is a love story woven around the journey of three brothers as they struggle to rise above the craptastic cards life dealt them when they were young. There are beautiful moments, and there are brutal moments. And if you count those moments, like Blake counts Livia’s smiles *melts*, they will add up to you desperately wanting to Return to Poughkeepsie.

Return to Poughkeepsie Teaser —

The SUV Beckett stole idled while he made his decision. This part should be easy: he was sufficiently soused. The gun was so powerful they might find bits of his brain a mile down the road. If anyone cared enough to look. Which they wouldn’t.

It was a nice last view, if you got to pick one. The winding road was a snake in a beautiful clump of fall trees.

It was fall again. One full year since he had loved Eve enough to leave.

And yet.

And yet.

And yet she was all he could think about. When he was feeling gracious, he pictured her snuggled in a warm sweater under some lucky fuck’s arm.

And when he was feeling jealous, which was most of the goddamn time, he pictured her naked under some nameless three-pump chump. Being a girlfriend or a wife.

God, please not a wife.

The pistol lay between his legs, the liquor sat in the seat next to him like a true friend.

Do it, you pussy-headed motherfucker.

But the sky was too blue. And his hand kept shaking.

He took another swig from the bottle, mentally listing all the reasons his life was over. First, no Eve. Second, his brothers were far safer without him. Third, he was the only thing he needed to protect his loved ones from anymore.

So was he man enough to take care of the problem? Because he had no doubts he was the problem.

He wanted her; he craved her. All of the loose-assed whores he’d fucked since her smelled like eggs, moaned like tramps, and never, ever dared him to be anything but an asshole.

His brothers were tucked into perfect worlds with perfect girls. Christ, he couldn’t set them up sweeter if he tried. But he hadn’t tried. He’d only made shit worse and crazy dangerous.

Beckett was afraid of the gun. It was more final than time. It wouldn’t erase the pain, and he was afraid that after his body was wasted, the only thing left would be fear. And he fucking despised fear.

The gun had been his tool. His ladder. His friend. His medal of valor. Now it mocked him from between his legs. It was heavy. It pointed away from him.

After clenching and unclenching his hand, he finally touched it. He lifted it and let the safety go. Beckett put the pistol back in his lap, with the muzzle pointed at him this time.

That’s better. To be serious, you have to get serious.

Would death be something he would feel? He was going to Hell—Christ, he’d always been going to Hell. His first memory as a child was hearing the word “Hell.” It had bound him to the place like a rope.

He took another drink.

Here, in the bowels of suburban America, he would be no one. Just a down-on-his-luck bastard. He had no identifying papers with him. He looked at his singed fingertips. No prints to be found. Beckett had yanked out his two fillings with a pair of pliers and thrown them in the trash by the CVS. He was his own best murderer. He could do it better than anyone else.

He could be deep in the fucking woods. No one but a pissing bear would find his body. But he was here, facing the fact that he absolutely hated the thought of being alone. If his soul stayed stuck to his body like Velcro, he wanted to at least be in a grave with some other fuckers.

Maybe I want my brothers to know I’m gone.To say, “Thank you, oh great big brother Beckett. You saved us from your fucking self.” Or maybe I want Whitebread to come with her red, flushed cheeks and sobbing to lay flowers on my grave. That would be okay.

Beckett picked up the gun and set it to his temple.

Do it! Do it! You’re nothing without them. Be gone. Go away.

Beckett’s hand shook, and he could feel the muzzle imprinting a circle right where the bullet would pierce his skin.

He started to sweat, working hard not to piss his fucking pants. He squeezed his eyes shut. He willed his finger to have the guts. Sweat rolled down his face.

“Fuck me!”

Beckett tossed the gun aside.

The shaking overwhelmed him. Teeth chattering, he did go ahead and piss.

Her.

He’d be sending a message to Eve by letting his body be found: See? See what leaving you did? I gave the fuck up.

Beckett looked at the pistol on the floor.

I’m a selfish bastard. That’s why I’m doing this. I don’t want to nut up and do life without her.

Beckett didn’t bother to wipe his face as his shaking turned to sobbing. His breathing made a racket. When he saw himself in the rearview mirror, his whole face was puffy. He leaned his head against the headrest, feeling his warm urine start to cool.

A small tapping noise on his driver’s side window caused him to open one blurry eye. The speedy fluttering was so bizarre. The little bird tapping on his window had mistaken a flower decal for the real thing. It just hovered there like a helicopter, tapping on the window as if it were trying to get his attention.

Another hummingbird came along and tried for the same pretend flower, pecking at the first in anger.

Eve’s right. These things are little assholes.

The two birds decided to get in a birdy pissing match, diving and trying to outmaneuver each other. They tumbled away from the window, out of Beckett’s sight.

Fucking hummingbirds. They couldn’t leave each other’s ass alone? It’s like they wanted a little fight over their flower. Little knights without a queen to defend.

Then it was so obvious, it was almost funny. It was like he had a pair of glasses on his heart: Eve was a hummingbird. So was he. They’d rather fight each-fucking-other than drink from a boring old flower.

Beckett put the stolen SUV in reverse and weaved his way down the winding road. He found himself amazed, considering how drunk he was, when he made it back to his hotel. He left the vehicle sort of where he half-remembered taking it from, somehow stumbled back to his room, and passed out on the bed.

When Beckett woke, his head was cracking open with whatever he had drunk the night before. He knew where he was going.

Today, he was going to win the Big Fucking Humping Pussy Award and go back to Poughkeepsie.

He had no plan beyond that. Maybe stalk the fuck out of Eve.

When I asked Debra if I could have a Beckett teaser for this post (and said I wasn’t above begging), I was thrilled when she quickly agreed. The teaser was everything I had hoped for and more. It ripped my heart out, stomped on it, dusted it off, and then put it back in my chest…beating in rhythm to “I. Can’t. Wait. For. This. Book. Team. Beckett. For. The. Mother. Fucking. Win.”

My Beckett

*** STAY TUNED FOR OUR INTERVIEW WITH DEBRA ANASTASIA AND GIVEAWAYS! ***

We want to give a special shout out to The Girls over at THESUBCLUBbooks for all that they do to promote their love of books and the authors who write them. They are hosting a Spring Giving Event and Debra Anastasia, along with 36 other charitable authors, is participating. You can read more about how you can enter to win author giveaways by donating to their chosen charity here. The extended deadline is May 30th. Good luck!