Just today one of my favorite authors, Elizabeth Reyes, emailed all her bloggers and told us about an article online about someone plagiarizing Easy by Tammara Webber which is another book I ADORE. What I didn't realize was that Amazingly Broken was that book. I was horrified. I loved Amazingly Broken, and while I had noticed similarities between it and Beautiful Disaster and never even thought of Easy.
I am thoroughly outraged right now. This author took the work of some very popular authors and tried to make it her own just so she could get the popularity she wanted. That is wrong, and sadly once this is all figured out this won't be the last time it happens.
I am currently in the midst of writing my own book and it is hard to come up with your own ideas sometimes but you can't someone else's work. I know if someone took my work I would be very upset. If I get stuck while writing or think of something to write that has already been written I immediately stop writing and take a break.
We are all taught starting in elementary school that plagiarizing is wrong, and you will feel the consequences of it.
Here's the evidence:
That is all from Amazingly Broken. Here is Easy:
The hoodie joined the cap, and his t-shirt fell back into place. Picking up the sketchbook and pencil, he turned to me, and I noted that the ink on his forearms continued over his biceps and under the short sleeves of his shirt.
“Where do you want me?” More breathless than I’d intended, my question seemed a brazen proposition. Wow. Could I be any more obvious? Maybe I should just come out and ask him if he wanted to be my Kennedy-rebound, no strings attached.
My insides went liquid from his ghost of a smile—the one that was becoming more and more familiar. “On the bed?” he said, his voice gruff.
Oh, God. “Okay.” I moved to perch on the edge of the mattress as he swept the hoodie and the cap to the floor. My heart was pounding, waiting.
He peered at me, head angling to the side. “Um. You look really uneasy. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
We don’t have to do what? I thought, wishing I could ask him if using me as a model was a pretense, and telling him that if so, it was a pretense he didn’t need to maintain. I looked him in the eye. “I want to.”
He stuck the pencil over his ear, looking unconvinced. “Mmm. What position would be the most comfortable for you?”
I couldn’t say aloud the answers that popped into my head at that question, but the flush that spread across my face like wildfire gave me away. He caught his lower lip in his teeth, and I was sure it was to contain a laugh. Most comfortable position? What about with my head stuck under a pillow?
He glanced around my room and went to sit on the floor, against the wall, facing the foot of my bed. Knees up, pad on his thighs, he was just as I imagined him in class the other day. Except he was in my room, not his own.
“Lie down on your stomach and rest your head on your arms, facing me.”
I did as he told me. “Like this?”
He nodded, eyeing me as if absorbing details or searching for flaws. Coming onto his knees, he moved close enough to fan his fingers through my hair and let it fall over my shoulder. “Perfect,” he murmured, scooting back to his position against the wall, a few feet away.
I stared at him as he sketched, his eyes moving back and forth from my face to the pad. At some point, his gaze began to move over the rest of me. As if his fingertips skimmed over my shoulders and down my back, my breath caught in my throat and I shut my eyes.
“Falling asleep?” His voice was soft. Near.
I opened my eyes to find him on his knees next to me, sitting back on his heels. My heart picked up the pace again at his nearness. “No.”
He’d left the pad and pencil on the floor behind him. “Are you… done?”
He shook his head slightly. “No. I’d like to do another, if you don’t mind.” At my nod, he said, “Turn onto your back.”
I rolled over slowly, afraid he’d be able to see my heart hammering through my thin sweater. He grabbed the pad and pencil from the floor and stood. Staring down, he let his eyes roam over me, and I felt vulnerable, but not in danger. I knew so little about him, but there was one thing I felt unequivocally: safe.
“I’m going to arrange you, if that’s okay?”
I swallowed. “Uh… sure.” My hands were clutched to my ribcage, my shoulders hunched almost to my ears. What, this isn’t how you want me positioned? I barely contained the nervous twitter that bubbled up at the thought.
His fingers encircled the wrist nearest him, and he brought my arm over my head, bent it as though it had been thrown back. Taking the opposite hand, he splayed my fingers over my abdomen, sat back, stared at me a moment, and then moved it, too, over my head, crossing my wrists, as though I was bound. I struggled to breathe normally. Impossible. “I’m going to move your leg,” he said, his eyes on mine, waiting for my nod. His hands on my knee, he angled it out, leaving it flush against the mattress.
He picked up the pad and turned the page. “Now tilt your face toward me a bit—chin down—that’s good. And shut your eyes.” I fought to remain relaxed, knowing that as long as I heard the scratch of his pencil across the page, he wasn’t going to touch me. I lay unmoving, eyes closed, listening to the rasp of lead on paper, broken by the soft brush of his finger, smearing a line or a shadow.
From the laptop on my desk, my inbox dinged, and my eyes flashed open. Without thinking, I rose to my elbows. Landon? But there was no way I could check.
Lucas was watching me closely. “Do you need to check that?”
Landon had ignored my email all afternoon, when in the past he’d answered so promptly that I was probably spoiled. But Lucas was sitting in my room. On my bed. I lay back, returned my arms to their prior position, and I shook my head. I didn’t close my eyes this time, and he didn’t ask me to.
He returned to sketching, concentrating on my hands a long while, and then my face. He stared into my eyes, back and forth between that intense examination and his drawing. When he stared at my mouth for long moments—drawing, staring, drawing, staring—I wanted to reach up, grab his t-shirt, and pull him down to me. My hands clenched involuntarily and his gaze flicked there and back.
Eyes blazing, he looked down at me. “Jacqueline?”
I blinked. “Yes?”
“The night we met—I’m not like that guy.” His jaw was rigid.
This isn't the only passage there are many more. I really can't grasp the fact that Jordin Williams plagiarized off of two ladies who worked hard to get their books to be popular and published. If you want to publish a book make sure it's YOUR work. Not someone else's edited work.
Everyone please help us get the book off the charts. The sad thing about this is that it is selling like crazy! It is number 58 of the US charts. We really need to get Tammara Webber and Jamie McGuire the justice they deserve.
To read more about the scandal click here.
Here are the book's links:
I have taken down all my reviews, just to let you guys know. Please do the same so we can stop her.
Thanks so much guys!