Brandi
Leigh Hall
Author Bio
Brandi
is an Urban Fantasy author, whose novels combine paranormal
elements with real-life issues, strong female characters, and semi-old-fashioned
men, woven together and told from an organic and fresh, first-person
perspective.
Growing
up in a haunted house inspired Brandi's fascination with the paranormal, so it
only made sense she'd write Urban Fantasy for both teens and adults.
Brandi
lives in Central PA with her fur-ball cats (Onyx and Klepto), where she spends
most of her time in sweats attached to her laptops, reading books, appeasing
her sweet tooth, and watching way too much TV for inspiration.
AUTHOR
LINKS
BOOK INFO
Title:
OBSESS
MUCH? (A Neurotic Vampire’s Tale)
Genre:
Quirky
Urban Fantasy
Length:
65K words
Content
Rating: R – 18+
BLURB
Forget
everything you know about therapy—and Vampires—as you step inside the neurotic
world of this
Quirky
Urban Fantasy!
BLOOD IS
MY ANTIDEPRESSANT OF CHOICE—BUT SHE IS THE CURE FOR MY INSANITY.
As if the eviction of my humanity wasn’t
punishment enough, I was forced to go through the after-life battling my
unquenchable-vampire-thirst—and unprecedented contracted neuroses—when a bitter
patient sentenced me to life in mental torment over a century ago. Can’t say my
esteemed colleagues ever received such a gracious gift for their shitty advice.
But hey, that’s just my special breed of good luck, I suppose. Go figure!
To make matters worse, the only drug strong
enough to calm my compulsive behavior comes at a tepid 98.6°. That is, until
the day I almost kill the new girl in town, Sage Bennett. But the second I
breathe in her calming scent, time stands still. And those manic thoughts of
ending my pain vanish. When I’m near her, I no longer hunger for blood, or
perfection. I finally feel human, in ways I never knew when I was alive.
So when Sage turns out to be even nuttier than I
am, my desire to help rides shotgun to everything else in my neurotic, immortal
world. But what if suicidal tendencies aren’t something I can cure with fifty
minutes of therapy—or a pill? And in the end, will I be strong enough to do
whatever it takes to save her?
THERAPY
HAS NEVER BEEN SO TWISTED!
(A modern-day Interview With The Vampire meets
Monk)
Content Rating: R
Yes,
there are a few naughty scenes. But nothing raunchy and overly descriptive.
Just be warned our sexy vamp has a bit of a potty mouth.
LINKS
(Release Sale $3.99 – reg. price $5.99)
iTunes: soon
RELEASE GIVEAWAY
REVIEW BY MICHELE
I have read vampire books in the past, but those are not typically the types of books that I gravitate to. This is not your typical Vampire book. Obsess Much? is a refreshing take on vampires and Conor O'Malley is an all around great character. I absolutely loved his internal monologue, his struggles - it's so much fun to get into a character's head, especially when they have a lot going on in there. He is snarky and quirky and damaged - in more ways than one.One thing that really sticks out about this book (other than several surprises that I did not see coming!!) is the secondary characters. I love well-written secondary characters, and Gertie and Tom are fantastic!I don't want to give anything away, but this was a really enjoyable read. Even if you don't think you'll like a story about a vampire, I urge you to give this book a shot!
4 stars!!
EXCERPT
PSYCHOSIS
Chapter 1
We’re all fucking nuts!
Every. Single. One of us.
That’s the beauty of mental illness. It doesn’t
discriminate. Granted, most folks aren’t therapy-bound or on a cocktail of meds
to dull their anguish. But underneath that facade of normalcy, people carry it
with them every day.
Like the paranoia, constantly making you
second-guess everything you or those around you do.
Or the bottles of antibacterial gel you keep on
your desk—tucked in your bag—or on your counters. Hello, can you say
Germaphobe?
Let’s not forget the chocolate you can’t go a
day without munching down on to soothe stress. I’m sorry, but no matter how you
slice it, addiction is addiction.
And what about the habitual need for perfection
and order? Yes, that’s what we refer to as obsessive compulsive my friend.
Those are just a few of the most popular
examples.
The point is, no matter who you are—or your
status in life—you’ll find one if you dig deeply enough.
It’s in there!
Oh boy, is it ever in there.
And for those lucky enough, perhaps they were
born with a handful of these charming neuroses.
And that’s precisely why I’m here.
Dr. Conor O’Malley, at your service, to help
you ascertain whether it’s clinical, or merely a personality trait driving
those you love to run for the hills.
Let’s be honest. True mental illness, the likes
of which you only see in movies, is often times difficult to diagnose. It seems
like most patients who grace my Belgravia leather sofa are either depressed—suffering from
some latent form of PTSD—or were abused in one-way or another and merely seek a
somewhat healthy way to function.
But
sometimes, on that rare and special occasion, I’m blessed with the truly
delirious and exquisitely insane.
As
messed up as it might sound, I adore the crazy.
They
make me feel like less of a whack-job myself.
Believe
me when I say, I’ve got enough disorders to give any Shrink a full-time job. So
for me—Cracker Barrel isn’t a place you eat—it’s a state-of-mind.
In my
one-hundred-eighteen years of experience, I’ve found most mental health
professionals abhor words like nuts, looney, and crazy. So does that mean I’m a
complete prick if I find them delightful terms of endearment?
Probably!
Hell,
I’ve even been known for nicknaming my patients after types of nuts or candy
bars, like Planters, Macadamia, or Snickers.
Which
brings me to my current head-case.
We’ll
refer to him as Paranoid Personality Disorder - Exhibit A: The Pistachio.
Without
being overt, I glance up from my notepad of incoherent doodles towards the wall
clock for the umpteenth time. Only two minutes remaining. I exhale, the finish line
within my reach.
After
a year of the same nonsense with this kid, I find it hard sometimes to maintain
any semblance of professional composure.
The
longer acne-ridden, seventeen-year-old Jeremy Simpson whines about his pathetic
adolescence, the louder the ticking of the clock becomes. Like a time bomb,
pressing against my Temporal Lobe, ready to go off with each syllable.
I
swear, if my oath didn’t require me to be ethical, there’d be a throw-pillow
over his face—or duct tape stretched across his chapped lips—providing me with
long-awaited silence.
