Funky Memories: Walking the Path to Broken Melody

Today was neon day on campus, channeling the 70s vibe. That isn't easy for me. I don't care to remember much of my childhood. I'd rather prefer the memories that start at seventeen - my last year of high school in Mrs. Clark's advanced writing course. My classmate was literally Paul Feig, comedy writer and director famed for "Bridesmaids," "The Heat," "Spy," "Ghostbusters," His writing was original and funny. Mine was darker, more heartbreak, less laughing.

A lot has changed since the seventies, and a lot has not. What has lasted is the internal drive we all have to hear stories, uplift each other, and revel in the small moments that make up our life.

Since the seventies, I've realized I wasn't just a freak or geek. I was both, and neither. Now, in my throwback neon, I channel those memories.

The sounds, the scents, the feelings—all resurface as part of Terri's story from pain to empowerment:

The blare of music assaulted Terri’s ears as she navigated the cracked driveway, crushing fallen brown petals from the neglected rose bush underfoot. In the foyer, a dusty tin soldier stood guard-6 feet tall, immobile, unblinking, immune to pain. The sharp scent of Clorox stung her nostrils. A clean house was always a dangerous sign.

She closed the door and gingerly removed her dirty tennis shoes, wincing as she exposed her big left toe. Still tender from yesterday’s stumble during her health ethics debate about suicide, the right to die and mortal sin. Touching the scab tenderly, delaying the inevitable, she took a few steps toward the tiny half-bathroom.

This was an excerpt from my latest novel Broken Melody, coming out this Fall! If you haven’t already, sign up for my newsletter, to receive monthly updates on Broken Melody and to be entered to win a signed copy of the book.