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My good friend and boss at Novel Publicity has recently released book 2 of the Farsighted series.  Her cover art is BEAUTIFUL, and Emlyn does an amazing job writing a first person blind character in Farsighted.  In Open Heart, she tackles the difficult teen issues of bulimia and body image.  There are YA books, and there are books that appeal to YA readers.  I never understood the difference until I was introduced to Farsighted, a YA series filled with teen issues that is captivating for adults as well.

With smart and driven female characters, I enjoyed book 1, and will be starting book 2 in the next few days.  Join me in reading this series!  Following are blurbs and an excerpt should you need extra convincing.

Farsighted Blurb

Alex Kosmitoras’s life has never been easy. The only other student who will talk to him is the school bully, his parents are dead broke and insanely overprotective, and to complicate matters even more, he’s blind. Just when he thinks he’ll never have a shot at a normal life, an enticing new girl comes to their small Midwest town all the way from India. Simmi is smart, nice, and actually wants to be friends with Alex. Plus she smells like an Almond Joy bar. Sophomore year might not be so bad after all.

Unfortunately, Alex is in store for another new arrival—an unexpected and often embarrassing ability to “see” the future. Try as he may, Alex is unable to ignore his visions, especially when they suggest Simmi is in mortal danger. With the help of the mysterious psychic next door and friends who come bearing gifts of their own, Alex embarks on his journey to change the future.

Open Heart Blurb

Simmi Shergill’s life is a mess. Her powers of psychic feeling are on the fritz, and Grandon Township’s sudden population boom has brought quite a few unsavory characters to town. She also looks like an over-blown balloon in her size 14 pants, but not even starving herself seems to be working as a diet plan. Well, at least her boyfriend, Alex, loves her so much he’d do anything for her. Last summer he even risked his life to protect her from the mysterious boy everyone was convinced wanted to kill her.

The problem is, she’s not so sure she feels the same way. Is Alex really the man of her dreams? And why can’t she stop fixating on her would-be killer, Dax? Whenever he’s around, part of her wants to run screaming in the other direction while the other part longs to run into his embrace, no matter who she’d hurt or what she’d risk.

Simmi’s loyalty is on the line. Who will she choose—the blind seer who loves her, or the charming telekinetic with “bad idea” written all over him? Emotions run high as the tension mounts in book two of the Farsighted series.


I’ve done it twice now, twice in the same day. Starving myself was painful and risky. Eventually, Mummy, Shapri, or somebody else would have noticed. Besides, throwing up is far simpler, safer, and only hurts for a second. I can eat whatever I want and gorging makes me feel good, which is why I’m such a deplorable blimp in the first place.

I wake up the next morning and all the comfort I obtained yesterday has disappeared. My skin covers me like a hollow container; my gut contracts in pain, wanting something, anything, to make it full. My feet carry me away from bed, while my mind screams, “No, no!” My body doesn’t listen; it just moves forward like a zombie. This is more than just needing food. Something else is missing, something my body craves desperately. If only I could figure out what I need to be full, maybe I could stop myself.

No one else is awake yet, leaving me alone with the well-stocked kitchen. I grab a bag of Lay’s potato chips, a container of sour cream, and a king-sized Twix and steal away to my bedroom. Click, the door locks behind me. No one will ever know. I tear into the wrappers. My mind has resigned to the inevitability of what I’m about to do, what I’ll keep doing, probably forever. I slide fistfuls of food down my throat, hardly bothering to chew. Maybe I’ll get lucky and choke.

I finish my meal and my stomach churns, going from hollow to overflowing in a matter of seconds. The food claws at my throat, desperate to escape.

What ugly thing lives inside me? I am still debating this question when my body springs to action. I kneel at the toilet and grasp the cool porcelain between the outstretched fingers of my left hand. My right hand reaches down my throat, finds the tender part on my neck, and pushes.

Acid stings my skin, but I don’t care. Everything comes back out—smooth, jagged, white, brown, yellow. The colors and textures swirl together in the clear water, a hideous portrait of how I look inside.

There, that’s the part of me that’s ugly. If I get it all out, the ugliness will leave, too.

My knees tremble as I rise and go about my morning routine. By the time I’m sitting at my bureau and working my hair into a side braid, strength has returned to my limbs, and for the first time in weeks, I can’t sense my stomach. There’s no pain, no emptiness, no discomfort. This could work for me. I can lose these excess kilos and become beautiful, someone worthy of Alex, someone I can love.