Where Angels Can’t Follow: Blog Tour Day 3

Welcome to Day 3 of the Where Angels Can’t Follow blog tour with YA Bound Book Tours. (For my poetry people, that means 2 more days until we’re back to verses and agony in ink. I’ve written about 7 this week so far, so I’m ready.)

The first stop of the day is with The Cover Contessa. I have a guest blog post about the origin of Where Angels Can’t Follow there today.

Stop 2 is at I Love Books and Stuff Blog. My favorite Kiah-seeking-revenge quote is featured there.

Stop 3 is at Baroness’ Book Trove. And OMG. Y’all. There’s a full book review there and no spoilers. This rave review is what authors live for. To get the lowdown without the plot secrets visit the link below.

And our final stop of the day is at Have Coffee Need Books. (I love this blog title, and Ali is a great blogger to work with.) Where Angels Can’t Follow is featured here along with my guest post on the origin of the story. https://havecoffeeneedbooks.com/index.php/2020/09/22/guest-post-jessi-kallison-author-of-where-angels-cant-fly/

Thank you for hanging in here with us, and as usual on the blog tour stops, you can enter the giveaway for a copy of my books–Iron Shards, Hell and High Water, and Where Angels Can’t Follow.

Where Angels Can’t Follow: Blog Tour Day 2

Did I mention I published a new book today? 😉 We have a couple of new stops today and chances to enter the giveaway for Iron Shards, Hell and High Water, and Where Angels Can’t Follow.

You can read an excerpt regarding Kiah’s penchant for petty revenge at Ryann Hill’s blog.

Where Angels Can’t Follow is also featured today at Books Charming. I hope you look around if you’re a fellow book addict and find some new reads. https://www.bookscharming.com/2020/09/where-angels-cant-follow-by-jessi-kallison.html

Where Angels Can’t Follow: The Blog Tour

Y’all. Where Angels Can’t Follow will be released tomorrow! This has been a long journey for me. And every time I look over the lines, I am excited to share them with you. I can’t wait for you to meet these hilarious characters who walked into my mind and wouldn’t quit telling their stories.

We’re on our second week of the blog tour, and the lineup was arranged with YA Bound Book Tours. I’m really excited about the new content released in some of today’s posts. Here are today’s stops:

  • Daily Waffle is also featuring Where Angels Can’t Follow today. You can find a teaser scene between Nate and Kiah here, showing her unique ideas on revenge.

    And at all of these stops you can register for a giveaway of my complete works–Iron Shards, Hell and High Water, and Where Angels Can’t Follow. (The copies of Where Angels Can’t Follow are ARCs as it hasn’t been released yet.)

Where Angels Can’t Follow: Blog Tour Day 4

I have been featured in a guest post on Jaime’s World today. I wrote a piece on my Top 5 Favorite Movies. I don’t really watch movies much since my attack, and the exceptions usually involve my children. However, 2020 has not been the year for movie releases, so these should still be relevant. Also, my friends swear I am completely uncultured despite their best efforts. *shrugs* You’ve been warned. There’s not much overlap between what I want to watch and the Oscars winners list. Netflix also thinks I want to watch strong females in leading roles. (Make of those two facts what you will.) I hope you find something new and interesting to occupy your social distancing hours.

Where Angels Can’t Follow: Blog Tour Day 3

Thank you for sticking with me on this blog tour. I hope you find some new YA reader blogs that recommend new favorites. There are two new stops today. The first is at Oh Hey! Books. I did a guest post for them on the Where Angels Can’t Follow playlist. I included songs I simply couldn’t have written the book without, songs that reminded me of New Orleans, and tunes that belonged with certain characters. I hope you find your new song obsession in the mix.


The second stop is at The Book Rookery. They’ve featured Where Angels Can’t Follow and posted the first chapter if you haven’t had a chance to read it yet. You can do so at the link below. (My linking is clumsier than usual. I’m sorry guys. WordPress switched over to a block format that isn’t giving me as many options as I had before.)


And throughout the blog tour, you will be able to enter the giveaway for a copy of Iron Shards, my debut novel.

Where Angels Can’t Follow: Blog Tour Day 2

I did a guest post for TMBA Corbett on my Top 5 Favorite Books. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to narrow that discussion down to only five books, but it was agonizing for me. You can take a look here.

Where Angels Can’t Follow was also featured at Books A-Brewin’. You can check out that page for new YA reading and to see Chapter 1 of Where Angels Can’t Follow if you haven’t gotten to it yet. You can find it here.

And there’s an opportunity to register for the giveaway of Iron Shards at every stop on the tour.

Happy Reading!

Where Angels Can’t Follow: Blog Tour Day 1

I’m excited to announce the first day of the blog tour for Where Angels Can’t Follow. My latest novel will be available on September 22, 2020. (In a little over a week!) I did an interview with Two Chicks on Books. You can read all of the gory details and sign up for the giveaway of my first novel Iron Shards here. http://www.twochicksonbooks.com/2020/09/blog-tour-where-angels-cant-follow-by.html

A second interview is also available on BookHounds. I really liked some of those questions, though I should have added listing the contents of my nightstand makes me cringe, too. And this site loves to know about authors’ pets, too, so you know Odin had to make an appearance. You can also sign up for the Iron Shards giveaway here. https://www.bookhoundsya.net/2020/09/giveaway-interview-where-angels-cant-follow-by-jessi-kallison-jessikallison-rockstarbktours-ends-9-20.html

Hell and High Water: Publication Day

IT’S HERE! Hell and High Water is now available as an ebook and in paperback! I am excited to share my lines with those who need them.

Ebook coverOne of my favorite quotes about art is from Cesar A. Cruz, “Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.” And that’s what I’ve set out to do. Many of my lines will resonate with the abused and the disillusioned. And they might not be comfortable for anyone who hasn’t been through the hell of post traumatic stress disorder or its many symptoms. I published the volume anyway. Soothing those still navigating hell is more important than going along with unwritten social rules regarding mental health and trauma. I’m grinding taboos and mental health stigmas to dust, while utterly failing to hide the past plaguing me. Rather, I’ve opened my doors and invited the rest of the broken inside.

I’ve got the balm for abuse, heartbreak, recovering, and backsliding in verses, served with a pinch of what my Southern ancestors would’ve said. Thank you for joining me on the journey.

You can purchase your copy here.

Iron Spirits: Silver Linings

I’ve begun writing Iron Spirits, the book following my debut novel, Iron Shards. I’m a little bit exhausted today and not sure I will meet my daily writing goal. (The photo is my half-filled coffee mug from my alma mater. Iced lattes are fueling these pages.) I’ve set a breakneck pace–3,000 words a day–to get the latest book out to you guys this fall. You’ve certainly waited long enough. Thanks for hanging in here with me.

Insomnia has not been kind to me these last ten months, and authors don’t actually live charmed lives. (Even if that’s the picture we’d like to paint.) If you’ve looked at my poetry or my posts regarding PTSD, then you’ll know that my struggle persists. Insomnia is a common PTSD symptom; my body thinks it’s always under attack, and that doesn’t do wonders for sleep. I also need a second surgery because my nasal passages are still partially blocked after my nose was broken. And for quite a few reasons, it’s currently on hold.

The silver lining to all of this is that I write amazing traumatized characters. I know the things people do when they’ve seen death, been attacked, gone through an accident. I know what they’ll do immediately after and a month later. So, I’m penning an authentic moody, traumatized teen. But, at times, I don’t even like him much, even if I am certain he’s behaving exactly like he should be. (Think Harry Potter Book 5.)

But he’s on a journey, too, and I’m looking forward to sharing bits of his story in Iron Spirits soon.

Where Angels Can’t Follow: Chapter 2

“When it comes to art, it’s important not to hide the madness.”—Atticus

The forks clinked against the plates as we ate in silence. When my belly’s full of fried veggies and meat, I have to acknowledge that it’s bratty not to change a few light bulbs without feeling put upon. And my guilt deepened as I realized my attention’s been divided between the spiral I sent Kiah into and the angel girl in my mind, none of it on Marge. My eyes drifted to the New Orleans Daily newspaper lying on the table.

Statue Smashers Strike St Louis Number Three

The angels that once perched atop mausoleums for St. Francis’s Abbey and the Milleneaux Family tombs have been sledged off their bases. According to our source, the statues “weren’t just knocked down; they were beaten into dust!” (See p. C7 for rest of story)

Marge followed my gaze and opined, “Can you imagine what sorta lowlife goes ‘round smashing statues on people’s final resting places?” She clucked. “I just don’t know what’s got into people.”

I nodded my agreement and was looking for words when Marge continued, “I saw the old home director at the store today.”

I nod. What’s there to say? No love had been lost between Team Kiah and Nate and the New Orleans Home for Wayward Children. It actually says that on the sign. Kiah and I didn’t start out there, but when we both were placed there, we raised hell until we found our way out.

“How’s she doin’?”

“She asked about you and Kiah. Said she still thinks taking your GEDs and moving out was a mistake.”

“Dead horses we gotta keep beating.”

“Now, speaking of Kiah, don’t you think it’s about time she started acting like a girl? Made some girl friends?”

I tried not to choke on my food as her abrupt subject change left me reeling. She slapped me on the back, and I finally eked out some words, “Oh, no! You’re not dragging me into this! There’s no way I am getting involved in a Kiah—Grace dispute. There’s no winning that one.”

“Well, of course, it can be won. Don’t be ridiculous. You just have to encourage her to go to a few places where she could actually meet the right kind of girls, you know?”

Little did she know, Kiah would love to meet the right kind of girls. Just not that kind. “Uh-huh. I see. My answer is still no. I’m not gonna be responsible for my business partner getting dragged to places that make her miserable.”

Marge looked like she wanted to grab me by my ear and force my cooperation on Operation Cinderella. But we don’t have any fairy godmothers here, just the Hatters and one opinionated teenage girl.

“Well, if you ain’t gonna help with Kiah, let’s talk about the hunk of rock taking up half my garage space.”

The women in my life really know how to press my buttons. I stalled with bites of food.

“What do you want to discuss?” I finally asked.

“Are you gonna move it somewhere else? Are you gonna carve it? If so, what are you carving?” Clearly, the questions had built up while I was gone. “Oh, and did you figure out who delivered it? And why?”

“Whoa. One at a time. I haven’t planned to move it. Do you really need me to? And, yes, I think I am gonna carve it.”

I thought maybe a few answers would suffice, but Marge sat there waiting for the rest of them. She locked her steely, knowing eyes on mine.

“You know darned well that I can outwait you, Nate. And that pie I made earlier’s gonna wait, too, if you don’t answer my questions.”

I know when I’ve been outmaneuvered. Kiah and the Hatters have been working me into whatever plots they’ve had for a year now. And they know about one of my serious weaknesses—food.

Sighing, I answered, “I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m gonna carve an angel of sorts.”

Her smile carved deeper creases around her eyes and mouth, but the light of her approval warmed me already. “An angel! How wonderful! I can’t wait to tell the girls. Ooooh! Something divine in my garage!” She clapped her hands together, before drawing up short. “I have one concern though—she’s gonna be wearing clothes, right? This ain’t gonna be like that poster in your room, is it?”

Here we go again.

“Now, Marge. I already told you. There’s nothing weird about those posters. If anything, there’s something kinda nerdy about them. That naked statue that so offends you is Michelangelo’s David. The others are his work, too. There’s nothing obscene about it. It’s art!” I waved my arms around for emphasis, punctuating the last word in my exasperation.

I still hadn’t answered the question, and she mulishly crossed her arms, waiting for my answer.

“No, she’s not gonna be naked! Christ!” I ducked as Marge swatted at me with the newspaper for taking the Lord’s name in vain. “Ack! Lay off, Marge. Seriously. She’ll have clothes.”

Still clutching the paper, but the tension gone from her brows, she went to grab the chocolate pie as I wondered what kind of clothes she thought should appear on an angel. She’s happy about the clothing situation now, but she doesn’t know that I’ll basically be carving Sarah Connor with wings. The thought of her shock sweetened the chocolate in my mouth even more, and I savored my pie as I thought about the spiky blades protruding like porcupine quills on my angel’s thighs and arms.

I listened to the nuances of working in a new medium in Sculpture 2. Mrs. Carmichael droned about the benefits of working in clay and the disadvantages. I am more of a doer than a listener though, always have been, and I fidgeted with the ball of clay before me. I can’t let it go, pounding the piece between my palms, and my hands are operate independently of my mind, stroking and shaping the ovoid piece into an unusual teardrop. My fingertips pinched the rounded edges, adding rounded steps to the project, and I barely heard Mrs. Carmichael in the background as the other students began rolling their clay.

I should be worried about my instructions, but I find no space for that in my head. I only saw filaments, fibers, details of the wing. I etched the details into the outline I’ve made, the foundation for my project. I scraped with my scalpel and a tiny pick to get each filament, each feather to match the picture in my mind. I should quit. I should apologize for zoning out and find out what’s going on, but I can’t.  I didn’t want to. I wanted to practice, I wanted to see my angel finished. I needed to bring her into my world. I looked up and saw the rest of the students trying to make a basic bowl shape. I could press my clay into a hollow hemisphere. I could have still gone back, but I didn’t. I etched and fluffed the clay ridges until I have a wing. And I never learned to etch or fluff. I am more than inspired. I am driven, compelled to carve. I would say that I’m possessed of a mad angel-sculpting spirit, but who does that? That’s crazier than needing to sculpt. But I couldn’t break the wing beneath my palm. I already love her.

My reverie broke as a classmate bumped into me. The other students were filing out, and Mrs. Carmichael stared at me and my work. “What are you doing?” she asked, kindly demanding some explanation for my deviation.

“I don’t know,” I mumbled, my pulse racing as I was caught. “I just couldn’t get it out of my head.”

She didn’t give me the you’re-a-psycho look I expected though. Instead, she kindly patted my hand and her eyes filled with sympathy. “I know what you mean. I get things in my head, and I can’t sculpt anything else either. It is weird that you chose wings though.”

There it was. An acknowledgement of my inherent oddity.

She looked at me suggestively. “Would you like to see my studio?”

Curious, and more than a little cautious, I nodded my assent and scooped up my books as I cradled the wing. Is she hitting on me? I haven’t gotten any creepy vibes off of this woman before, but Kiah and I have learned the hard way that not every threat exudes violence. I towered over my petite teacher. I shouldn’t feel threatened, but I can’t shake the ominous feeling, that sense of inevitability as defining moments lurk around a corner we can’t glimpse.

We walked across the campus, in a mostly uncomfortable silence, the tension rising. I could practically hear the violins shrieking in my skull, goosebumps warning me that nothing was normal here.

An old brick building’s first floor housed the instructors’ studio, and I was prepared to see abstract pieces, nudes like David, and huge canvases, scribbles of ideas on scraps of paper. Instead, I was surprised by the number of instructors all working at the same time. Don’t y’all take time off? And then I saw the four artists in this room were shaping, sketching, painting—a room crowded with angels.

“Welcome to the Angel Guild,” she joked.

“The Angel Guild?”

“I’m afraid that you know what I mean. You were approached by the Valkyries about getting justice for someone you love, right? And, all of a sudden, you’re fixated on one project. And not just the image, the inspiration, but on how you should do it. What material, what size. You know it all, don’t you? And it’ll culminate in a marble angel.”

I stood there, dumbfounded as she told me parts of my new life story.

“Kind of.”

“And your marble’s been delivered?”

I grew cold with horror as her confounding knowledge chilled me. “Uh-huh.”

She pushed her chunky hipster glasses up the bridge of her nose. “You’d best stick with us. Not everyone will understand what you’re going through.”

I couldn’t believe that she will either. I wanted to ask if her marble pulses, if it’s alive. But I’ve concealed my obsession so far.

“Is this some kind of joke? I didn’t get a ‘Let’s Make a Deal’ offer from a—did you say, ‘valkyrie’?”

I knew my tone was biting, but I don’t like being pranked.

“It’s not a joke. And I’ve never heard of the Inspiration not coming from Valkyrie class angel, a Fury, or one of the Four. You might want to check the skepticism at the door. We are the only ones who will believe you, no matter what, over the coming weeks and months. You can carve here, or wherever you’d like. I just thought you should know that you’re not alone.”

The other sculptors chipped away at the stone. Clink, clink. But they were watching me, too.

The closest one put her chisel down.

“I’m Anna Kemp.” She introduced herself with a pained smile.

“Nate Jacoby.”

And the greeting continued around the room with Paul Stanton, Grant Miller, and Howard Trent, barely allotting time for nods and registering my name. Whatever this place is, I didn’t want to be there. After the clipped hellos from the men, I backed away from the circle of materials ringing the room. I nearly took out an easel with my backward march, but I didn’t belong. Maybe I’m full of the naivete of youth, but I’m not ready to lie down and give in to divine inspiration.

Do you hear that, Muses? I won’t carve just because you say sculpt. Nathaniel Forrest Jacoby is no one’s lapdog.

And I sprinted through the sultry air burning my lungs. I sprinted clear off of campus and didn’t stop in the neutral ground for the streetcar like I planned. I don’t have time to wait, to pause, to reflect. Because I know things I didn’t before. Whether inspiration is divine or not, it’s real, and my angel didn’t spring from my own mind.