Anticipation. That's the title of a great song, the jingle for an ancient advertisement, and a marketing tool for authors. Oh, and anticipation makes good food better too. What more could you ask of a word?
You already know the classic song (thanks, Carly Simon!), and if you're of a…ummm…certain age, you probably remember the ketchup commercial too. (Sorry if the jingle is now an earwig! Confess—you're humming, aren't you?)
We tried anticipation as an author marketing tool by offering our young adult novel, Walled In, for pre-order a few weeks before the actual publication date. Results were mixed, probably because we're not the best marketers in the world. Still, we're always ready to try new techniques, and we'll repeat the pre-order experiment with our next release.
As far as making good food better—our barbecue pulled pork recipe is DEFINITELY worth waiting for! Put all the ingredients together, then grab a good book to read while you're anticipating the meal to come.
While you're eagerly awaiting your delicious lunch, we invite you to enjoy an excerpt from our young adult novel, Walled In.
1 ½ cups barbecue sauce, divided
1 cup water
1 onion, chopped (or a similar amount of frozen chopped onions)
1 tsp. garlic, chopped
3 ½ pound pork roast (a shoulder cut works well)
Mix ketchup, ½ cup barbecue sauce, and water in a small bowl. Stir in the onions and garlic.
Set pork roast in the crock pot and pour sauce mixture over it, coating the meat well. The liquid should almost cover the meat. Add more if necessary. Cook on low for 10-12 hours.
Remove the pork roast from the crock-pot, let cool, and shred with a fork. Set aside.
Empty the liquid from the crock-pot. Put the pulled pork back into the crock-pot, add the remaining barbecue sauce, and mix well.
Cook on low for two more hours; then reduce setting to warm until ready to serve.
Serve on buns.
Tips and Tricks
Crock pots are ideal for tenderizing less expensive cuts of meat. The longer the cooking time, the more tender the meat becomes.
Feel free to add more sauce to the first cooking; meat cooked in liquid is moister.
For an added crunch, serve chips of your choice as a side dish.
If you want to serve the pulled pork for lunch, set up the crock pot to cook overnight.
Seventeen year old Vandy Spencer lives like a princess. Sheltered by her wealthy family, she happily makes plans to spend a before-college gap summer with her gorgeous boyfriend.
Then her dad is accused of financial fraud. The victims of her dad’s swindle vow revenge, and her dad flees.
As accusations and innuendos pile up, Vandy retreats to a hermit-like existence in her childhood tree house and struggles to separate reality from lies. Was her perfect life truly so perfect? Did she ever really know her father?
When family secrets come to light, revealing an unimaginable betrayal, Vandy learns to appreciate the simple richness of sincerity and truth.
A branch cracked behind me and leaves rustled. I scrambled to my feet.
Stenny had come after me! He really did love me, enough to follow me, and…
Pete Hawthorn stepped out of the woods, holding a flashlight. The backglow lit his face, which was drawn into the frown he wore lately whenever he saw me, and his mouth turned down into a scowl. "Don't you have any sense at all, Dandy-Vandy?"
I should have known Stenny wouldn't traipse through the woods searching for me. Running through the dark wasn't his style. He'd use his phone.
My own phone, tucked in the pocket of my shorts, burst into the first bars of Boyfriend. I ignored the noise and poked a finger at Pete's chest. "Quit calling me that. Don't you have better things to do than skulk around the woods in the dark? Like maybe going to work?"
"I took the night off." He peered at me. "Why are you crying?"
"None of your business!" Then, as his words sank in, I asked, "Why'd you take the night off? Is Gus okay?"
"Gramps is the same as he always is." Pete slid the button on the flashlight and the bulb dimmed. "I stayed home because we heard the news about your dad. We're going to help, in whatever way we can." His voice barely carried across the small space between us, the words and tone sincere.
"That means a lot. Thanks. Tell Gus thanks too."
"Yeah." Pete turned the flashlight on bright again and waved it in a searching arc. "Where's the jerk-off? He leave you alone out here?"
My gratitude evaporated like dew off grass. I planted my hands on my hips as my phone played Boyfriend again. "Stenny's not a jerk-off, and he's probably at the tree house, where I left him."
"How nice to know he'll stay where you tell him to. At least you won't need to put a leash on him when the two of you are wandering around France." Pete narrowed his eyes. "The woods are really dark, Dandy-Vandy, in case you haven't noticed. Do you have a flashlight? Or am I gonna have to walk you home?"
I didn't need him to babysit me. I opened my mouth to say so, and then reconsidered as the sounds of the night surged around me. He was right. The darkness crackled with noises I hadn't paid much attention to during my rush to get away from the hurt of Stenny's doubt. The air seemed ominous too, full of a sickly-sweet odor, a combination of gasoline, motor oil, and damp dirt. The mix stunk the way I imagined zombies – or worse, vampires – would.
"Thanks, Pete. That's a good idea."
"I have them occasionally." He gestured with the flashlight. "The path's this way."
We strode along single file without speaking. The dry leaves crackled beneath our feet and the occasional haunting cry of a bird shredded the air.
"Nightingale," Pete said.
We reached the end of the path, coming out of the woods behind a row of bushes fencing Kingsway's open lawn. A line of solar lights illuminated the back yard, glowing against the pool cabana and the house's white walls beyond – big, ornate…and home.
I smiled despite my worries. "I love how pretty our house is at night."
Pete shut the flashlight off. "I'll send you pictures while you're enjoying your European adventure with the jerk-off."
I was turning to him when a man carrying a portable video camera dashed across the lawn. I gasped. "He's headed for the house! I have to warn Dad."
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