Pictures
of Dorianna
by Catherine
Stine
Date of Publication: October 23rd 2019
Publisher: Konjur Road Press
Cover Artist: Najla Qamber
Genre: Urban Fantasy, YA
paranormal romance
Tagline: Internet followers,
beauty, power. It all sounded good. Until it transformed into a terrifying
reality Dorianna couldn’t stop. New twist on Dorian Gray with the first-ever
female lead!
BLURB
Internet followers, beauty, power. It all sounded good.
Until it transformed into a
terrifying reality she couldn’t stop.
When her father is jailed, her
mother ships lonely, plain Dorianna to her aunt’s in Brooklyn, NY. There,
Dorianna yearns to build a new identity, but the popular Lacey bullies
her—mostly for getting attention from her ex, Ander.
Ander takes Dorianna to Coney
Island where Wilson, a videographer, creates a stunning compilation of her. She
dreams of being an online sensation, as she’s never even had a birthday party,
and vows she’d give anything to go viral. Wilson claims he’s the Prince of
Darkness and offers her the beauty and fame, even love she’s dreamed of—warning
her that a pledge has its downsides. Dorianna has no idea of how dire those
consequences might be.
She’s thrust into the spotlight,
and an incomprehensible nightmare. Not only is she prettier, she’s gaining
harmful powers of manipulation. When her dark forces grow beyond anything she
can control, she’s desperate but clueless as to how to stop them.
Excerpt:
Wilson taps impatiently on the
keypad. “You want beauty and youth forever, Dorianna? I can give you that.
Power over those mean girls; over a lot of people? It’s yours for a price. Just
say it.” His eyes are golden and black and red all at once, like unearthly
spears, piercing through me. I’m dizzy. I need fresh air now. But I want this
promise more than anything. Ever.
“What’s
the price?” I rasp.
Wilson’s
stare burns into me. “Can’t say exactly. But there always is.” His words are
ice and fire. Flutters of snowflakes pattering silently under my skin that melt
into scorching sparks.
I
follow an irrepressible urge to stand up, and look down on Wilson with his
narrow, feral face and piercings. I need Ander to look at me with that passion.
I need those hater girls put in their place. I need a friend, and for people to
want to be with me all of the time, to never be bored. Only to love me.
It’s
worth any price.
A
powerful force in me breaks loose, as if a flu bug is racing rampant down my
spine.
“Would
you… give your soul?” Wilson’s whisper invades my gut, my brain.
Ander’s
aching gaze from our time at the beach shimmers in front of me. Enticing. I can
almost feel his kiss. Like water. Drink it in. I’ve never wanted anything as
much as I want this. “I’d give anything for power, easy youth and beauty.” My
voice comes from all around me, spreading, gluey on my skin. “Yes, I’d even give
my… soul.”
The
air spirals into a funnel, draining all oxygen from the room with a hiss.
So,
so, soul.
In
an instant, new air swoops in, suffused with rich, delicious minerals. I gulp
it in, openmouthed, so very thirsty. “To be seen and accepted,” I murmur.
Wilson
goes head to head with me. “Forget about just being accepted. How about having
a following of millions, going viral?”
“Really?”
I’m whirling. “Going viral.” Wilson’s promises are golden brands, anointing me,
conferring an otherworldly legitimacy I’ve never, ever felt. How does he manage
to do this?
Ander
returns with the brownies. I luxuriate in the sexy new glint he’s giving me.
“Something feels different in here,” he notes. “It’s colder.” He puts the
brownies down. Who needs sweets when he’s looking at me like this? Is this vow
a real thing? Is it already working?
An
unfamiliar power in me swells with precarious danger and weight as I study
Ander and Wilson. Abruptly, I’m flung out of my body, inexplicably looking down
on them as pitiful peons who will someday worship at my feet.
As
two of the very, very many.
Then,
I’m back inside myself stunned by how I was seeing them. The room seems to rush
with the force of souls washing through, and I flinch when I hear them moaning.
I tell myself it’s only the whir, whir of the hard drives.
Guest post for Catherine Stine Pictures of Dorianna
The Strange Pleasures of Obsessive Dread
Victorian and Contemporary Horror
by Catherine Stine
Edgar Allen Poe, Mary Shelley and Christina Rossetti—these were some of the greatest Victorian masters of horror. They wrote during a time of extreme suppression of the passions. Ironically, this repressive mood inspired a huge outpouring of dark, gritty, evocative literature. Passions manage to burst out of people no matter how buried!
In 1818, Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein, the quintessential misunderstood antihero. He was hideous and committed murderous acts, yet he had a human, breakable heart and sadly, understood how hideous he was. Shelley is credited with being the very first science-fiction author. Quite impressive for the time period when women were trussed in girdles and long, cumbersome skirts, and rarely had jobs much less illustrious careers.
Edgar Allen Poe is another master of mounting dread, with his ticking clocks, ghastly secrets, and moldering corpses in walled up sections of cellars. In his short stories The House of Usher and The Black Cat Poe wrote of an alcoholic’s nightmarish visions that might make even sane men murder cats and move crusty houses to snap to life.
Christina Rossetti’s brilliant poem The Goblin Market is my favorite dark Victorian gem. At first the plump little goblins selling fruits seem spunky and cute, but later, when the young women turn down their offers of treats, they become quite nasty. Many thought that the goblins’ aggressive behavior was a Victorian caution to women against considering sex with strange men! Here are some lines. See what you think:
No longer wagging, purring, but visibly demurring,
Grunting and snarling. One call’d her proud,
Cross-grain’d, uncivil; their tones wax’d loud,
Their looks were evil.
Lashing their tails, they trod and hustled her,
Elbow’d and jostled her, claw’d with their nails,
Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking,
Tore her gown and soil’d her stocking,
Twitch’d her hair out by the roots,
Stamp’d upon her tender feet,
Held her hands and squeez’d their fruits
Against her mouth to make her eat.
So, in Victorian times, people shared a dread of lurid, passionate sex, alcoholic-fueled visions, and creeping lunacy. In my young adult horror, Pictures of Dorianna, I examine a very contemporary anxiety that emerged from social media: the dread of never having enough followers, enough Likes on Instagram, enough people Friending and following your You Tube channel and Pinterest boards. It is also the hollow feeling that comes with sensing that the real problem lies way underneath—a psychological horror of alienation, loneliness, being left out of the party. With Dorianna, the problem also lies in what happens when she actually gets followers—a ton of them—but those rampaging followers have a very different agenda than she ever imagined. Here’s a snippet from Dorianna where she’s talking about her next party, organized online:
I spoon in a hunk of chocolate and let it slide luxuriously down my throat. Lately, I’m so famished. For food, for clothes, for fans. Nothing ever seems to fill me up.
“Can’t wait to hear.” Bailey licks whipped cream off her spoon. “How many RSVPs do we have now?” she asks. The evite went out a week ago.
“This morning we had three hundred sixty-two yeses.”
“Holy Moly!” Bailey’s jaw drops. I study the oozy chocolate blobs floating on her tongue. “How will we cram all those people in my loft?”
“It’s a good problem, right?”
“Uh, yeah, if we had a stadium. Seriously, Mom will freak, and she’s normally very mellow. Where are they all coming from?”
“Mostly from a friend who goes to a school in Fort Greene.”
“Dorianna, we need to shut this thing down—take it offline.”
“We can’t do that.” Five thousand fan page followers and three hundred sixty-two attendees is not enough. No way. I can’t wait until the third event, where I’m going to bust it wide open.
As Simon Cowell of American Idol judge fame said: The ratings come in, you’re happy for five minutes, then the insecure madness comes.
What modern obession or dread do you think would make a good theme for a horror novel?
Author Info
Catherine Stine is a USA Today bestselling author of historical fantasy, sci-fi thrillers, paranormal romance and young adult fiction. Her novels have earned Indie Notable awards and New York Public Library Best Books for Teens. She lives in Manhattan and loves spending time with her beagle, writing about witches and other fabulous creatures, gardening on her deck, and meeting readers at book fests.
Website: http://catherinestine.com/wp/
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