BLOG BLITZ – Saturday 24 September 2016 – BOOK EXCERPT
The month of September is a special time for me:
my THIRD novel and sequel to
the final in the unsavory heritage series,
Caty held Saundra’s kitchen knife, studying the blade as the glare from the attic bulb glanced harshly in her eyes. She held it against her skin, cool and solid, and drew it across without penetrating her flesh.
She pressed, applied pressure in micro increments till tiny droplets of blood greeted her. Caty closed her eyes and forced the blade deeper.
Cissy, can you hear me?
Caty wasn’t sure she liked the cutting after all. She only drew the blade once, and it was barely more than a paper cut, but it smarted every time she moved, her dress or her shorts rubbing against it. She plied it with triple-antibiotic ointment but it just got rubbed off, and there wasn’t a Band-Aid big enough to cover the whole four inches.
Cissy, how did you stand it?
Caty decided not to try that again, couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to. As connected as she felt to Cissy, and as troubled as she was beginning to be because of it, she did not know the depth of internal torment Cissy had known.
Instead, Caty found her release in her paintings. The dark images of her music matched Cissy’s shadow-scapes, Drown and Avalanche and We’re In This Together. Trees, dead and barren, hills with wildflower stalks beheaded of their colorful blooms. Putting a modern day twist to the theme, Caty drew and painted polluted rivers, cigarette butts and beer cans along the shore, scrawny, skin-and-bone dogs scavenging through piles of refuse, flies storming the carcasses littering roadways.
Caty did not want to attend the family reunion this year. While she longed to learn more of Cissy, to see her in her own element, to uncover more of Cissy’s writings and artwork, Caty didn’t want to see Macy.
It was just a game to Macy, like a real-life movie. And she was growing bored with it. She lived close enough she could continue their investigation any time she wanted, but chose not to.
Instead, Macy chose to direct her investigation to Talon Peters. She studied his sea green eyes, and his short curly brown hair, his angular jaw that showed a days’ stubble every day. At nineteen to Macy’s seventeen, and six-foot-four to Macy’s five-foot-six, he powered over her.
But he was a gentle giant, and a gentleman. He was courting Macy honorably, and quite seriously. Talon had even asked her pa, Eddie, permission to date her.
He was studying Criminal Justice at Tech, taking classes online, and commuting the 100 miles to Roanoke twice a week for labs.
But rather than be happy for her friend, Caty had no patience for Macy’s lack of interest in their joint venture.
Caty approached the reunion with the brakes on, apprehension at all the people she knew would be there, congenial, laughing people. People who would want to talk to her and ask how she was recovering from her accident. Even though the cast was long gone from her arm, and the stem cell treatment they did left her with virtually no scars on her face.
Her hair, though, remained the one evidence of her fall; having had to shave it on the one side, as it grew out she had no choice but to cut it all so it would be even.
I’m sorry, Cissy, about my hair. Caty walked through the meadow as she imagined Cissy had done. I didn’t have a choice.
Caty headed toward the towering rock face several yards ahead. New homes had been built, encroaching on Old Man Darby’s Meadow, but much of it had been declared a park area, and had been preserved as it had been when Cissy walked there.
Come to me.
Caty stopped dead in her tracks. Had Cissy just spoken to her?
Caty’s throat was suddenly dry. She tried to swallow but couldn’t. Her breaths became shallow and gulped, her eyes dilated, her pulse quickened.
Without realizing she was moving, one foot moved, then the other. She was climbing through the twisted branches and shroud of leaves, up the mossy stone steps; she knew the way, knew where she was going. Everything seemed familiar even as her eyes beheld it for the first time.
When she arrived, she knew where she was. Cissy’s cave.
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“I once said I should write down all the story ideas in my head so someone could write them someday. I had no idea at the time that someone was me!
I have been writing since 1995, and began working in earnest on my debut novel, Tessa in 2013. Meanwhile, I cranked out a few dozen poems, and made countless notes for story ideas. I lived with depression for many years, and the inherent feelings of worthlessness and invisibility; I didn’t want to be who I was and struggled with my own identity for many years. My characters face many of these same demons.
I write stories of identity conflict. My characters encounter situations that force the question, “Who am I, really?” For all who have ever wondered who you are or why you’re here, my stories will touch you in a very real—maybe too real—and a very deep way. I know, I write from experience.
Tessa and Clara Bess are available on Amazon, both for Kindle and in print, with the third book in the series, Cissy, coming out in September of this year. I also have several poems included in an anthology, Where Dreams and Visions Live (Anthologies of the Heart Book 1) by Mary Blowers, http://maryblowers.com, as well as a short story, Sarafina’s Light, also in an anthology, Blood Moon, compiled by Mary Blowers. I will also be working on a personal compilation of poetry to be released in 2016 as well.
CISSY LAUNCH PARTY, unsavory heritage series, Tessa, Clara Bess, Cissy, Book Excerpt, One Mother, Two Daughters One Favorite One Not, Where Were the Adoption Papers, #newbooklaunch