Writing

The Wives of Sunset – The Pie

The Pie

Her bare foot made contact with the yellow plastic blade. Grasping for the railing, she watched the toy bulldozer escape the crush of her toes and tumble down the stairs. The cherry pie wobbled in her palm. She executed a clumsy jump over the last few steps in an attempt to keep herself upright, but her head slammed into the drop ceiling. A screeching pain brought her to her knees.

The pie flew through the air. Jessie watched it land upside down on the tile floor of the basement, ruby-colored juice flowing over scattered bits of dog hair and dust.

“Damnit.”

Jessie rubbed her head, feeling the gunk of three-days worth of dry shampoo in her red hair.

“Mama!!!” Two little voices floated down the stairs. Why were they awake this early? She sighed as she heaved herself up off the floor. Four black paws came scrambling down the stairs, canine eyes popping at the sight of a free dessert. Jessie rolled her eyes to stop the tears as she watched the dog lap up the twenty-dollar pie. Serves me right for buying it, she thought. If I were better at this, I would’ve made one.

The calls from the living room were becoming more insistent. Shoulders slumped, Jessie made her way up from the basement to get the paper towels and the dish soap. God, she was sick of cleaning.

The children were curled up in the corner of the couch, faces shining the early morning sunrise. Despite the pie, she smiled. The kids were so cute. They had sat like this since they were toddlers, never touching, but right beside each other.

“Mama! Mom!” It was always a demand.

Jessie forced her voice to be soft. “What’s up, loves?”

“Can you hand me the remote? Please.”

“It’s my turn!” Benny’s little voice piped in indignation. “She’s been watching Mermaid Millie forever and I woke up first!” Jessie lifted the remote from the coffee table she had refinished last summer. The trendy ebony paint was chipping along the sides and there was a line of Sharpie across the carefully refinished top. She covered the Sharpie mark with a coaster.

“Avonlea, how many have you watched?” she asked, longing for this negotiation to end so she could pour a cup of coffee.

“What??” her daughter protested. “He just got here and I was watching it!”

“That wasn’t my question,” Jessie said, holding the remote close to her chest.

“She’s watched one million of them and the whale guy is scary!” Benny whined.

“Avonlea.” Warning lay in Jessie’s tone.

“It’s not fair.” Nine-year-old Avonlea glared at her brother with the venom of a teenager.

“Life isn’t fair,” Jessie said through clenched teeth. “Here Benny.” Jessie proffered the remote. “Avonlea, he can watch a show, and then you can watch another Mermaid show. But I need your help after that.”

“But MOM!!” The little frenemies united in protest.
“Enough! I can’t take it!” Her tone startled them both and the look in their eyes piled onto her guilt. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just dropped that pie we bought and I need to go clean it up. And I guess figure out something for dessert…”

“It’s okay,” Benny said soothingly. “We don’t like pie.”

“Sorry Mama,” said Avonlea. “Maybe we can have Oreos.”

“We can’t bring Oreos to the block party,” Jessie muttered. She heard the neighbor’s rooster crow and sighed. She could strangle that stupid bird. It wasn’t even eight a.m. and she had already failed.

The Wives of Sunset

The Blurb…

Life looks good in the storybook town of Oakville. People bike, walk their dogs, and enjoy beautifully-manicured lives with their families. A perfect balance between urban and country living, people flock to this neighborhood where every house has treed backyard and walkability to the picturesque downtown.

Jessie, Marissa, Tig and Anna find themselves living on Sunset Street with their families in tow. On the outside, they lead similar lives: trying to balance work, home, family, and keeping up appearances. But when an accident during the annual summer block party causes a minor tragedy, the veneer begins to crack. Friendships are threatened as masks come off, and the polite peace that reigns over the neighborhood is disrupted when the truths that lie behind closed doors are revealed.

Witty and authentic, “The Wives of Sunset” reveals a slice of the American experience in 2019. As the four women struggle to meet the astronomical expectations of a “perfect American life,” they expose the deep fault lines just beneath the surface. “The Wives of Sunset” is a story of friendship and cultures, of confronting the truth and letting it bind, rather divide us.

“The Wives of Sunset” will be published for free in serial form on this blog. Please watch for my first published novel “A Ripple of Stones,” soon to be available wherever you buy your books.

“The Wives of Sunset” is a work of fiction. None of the characters are based on actual people, and any resemblance is purely coincidental.

Summertime

It’s almost upon us.

In Michigan, the trees have burst into full bloom and color has saturated the landscape. That nearly-forgotten brush of heat strokes our bare shoulders when we step into the sunlight.

Our kids are holding impromptu baseball games in backyards, racing through the twilight on bikes, begging to delay bedtime just ten minutes more.

Students are torrents of emotion, finishing those last lessons and holding tight to the community they’ve built with their teachers over the last nine months, even as their words say they can’t WAIT for school to be over.

As parents, we look forward to time with our babies, big and small. Our stress begins to melt as we look at calendars that aren’t packed with events from dawn til dusk. Some of us look forward to a bit of travel, some of us prepare that pool bag, and some of us look longingly at weeks of camp ahead. Regardless of our family plans, we are all about to transition. It’s summer: we’re supposed to feel excitement and relief! And yet, trepidation hides in the shadows.

Summertime can be driven by the things that make you happy.

Read On

IMDb For Books

Volume 1

The good husband had a brilliant thought this week: what if there was an IMDb for books?

You know when you finish a movie or – le gasp – a TV series and you’re in denial that it’s actually over, so you hop onto IMDb to read all the trivia?

Would this not be so much fun???

Wouldn’t it be cool to know if Harry Potter’s name was originally Steve? Or if J.R.R. Tolkien’s famous ring was based on toe-ring his wife bought on their honeymoon? Or, what if the publisher of “Little Women” had really pressured Ms. Alcott to change her title to “Dutiful Girls” but she was a pioneering feminist who said “No, these characters are strong, independent women, even if they are young?”

I visited the Gone With the Wind Museum with one of my best friends and found out that Margaret Mitchell broke her leg, got bored sitting around and was like, “Eh, maybe I’ll write a book.”

Are you kidding me????

Read On

Red Flags

You know what’s fun about editing your novel? Reading through the passages you wrote months ago, especially all the character development and sweet meet-cutes.

You know what’s less fun? Realizing that the Love Interest’s flaws would completely scare the Main Character away based on small but integral incidents that influence her internal journey written in the beginning of the book. Incidents you completely forgot that you wrote.

A believable Love Interest has to have flaws. These flaws inevitably create conflict and shape major drama throughout the romantic story arc. Love Interest’s flaws might be forgivable to you, the author, but it’s really super great when you realize that these flaws are not at all forgivable to Main Character.

We’re getting close to Valentine’s Day. I don’t know where you are on your romantic journey, but I feel pretty confident that we all have one or two “what the **** was I thinking?!?” experiences. Because I need a new flaw for my Love Interest (or a new character history for my Main Character…)I made this little poll.

(side note – I learned how to embed a poll INTO the website. And GIFs -did you notice??? I’m basically Steve Jobs now.)

In honor of Love Interest’s Flaws, and those relationship flaws we’d rather forget, I invite you to participate!

Which Red Flag trait in a potential romantic partner would absolutely send you running for the hills? All responses anonymous – dig some love-based fury out of your heart and throw it on the blog. Have fun and as always, THANK YOU FOR READING!!

I Just Decided To

The worst last words are, ” I wish I would’ve…”

These things we plan for When: when we have time, when we have money, when we retire… what are they?

During the minimalist ritual of Throwing Out The Stuff, I discovered an old notebook, buried deep in a box. It is truly a beautiful object. My dad brought it back from a business trip to India years ago. The textured sepia cover features an inset picture painted on hand-crafted paper. A lady dances by a stream, her crimson sari waving in the breeze. You have to look closely to see all the little details; the cover almost begging to be opened.

Inside, I found my younger self, scrawled in purple ink. I had even given my little book a title: “Random Words.”

I was so deep at fifteen.

Settling myself on the cold cement floor of the basement storage room, I leafed through more pages. Pencil sketches of wide-brimmed trees, lakes with rivers leading into the horizon, a portrait of a friend. Each drawing accompanied a poem I had written. The purple scrawl told of maiden heartbreak, the tribulations of adolescence. Death, who came for a friend much too soon.

The illustrations I had drawn were rough, but the words… my words, even teeming as they were with teenage angst… They held truth.

“It was gnawing at me from Someday, aching to be created.”

Read On

Creative Spaces

Virginia Woolf said “A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.” J.K. Rowling recently got trolled on Twitter as an elitist for mentioning her writing room in her little Scottish castle. Let me tell you, if “The Ripple of Stones”

A. gets published,

B. I turn it into a series,

C. Hollywood options it for a blockbuster franchise and

D. It become a cultural phenomenon with its very own theme park,

I too will have myself a writing room in a castle in Scotland. Y’all can come visit.

Read On

The Road Home

I gazed out of the car window, trying not to sigh audibly. The landscape was dismal and gray, no semblance of sun. When we left Atlanta that morning, the airplane rose gracefully over fields of fuchsia crepe myrtle and creamy silk magnolia blooms winking among the dark waxy leaves. Spring arrives early in the South, waltzing beautifully in after short, mild winters.

But I was no longer in the South. I was home. In Michigan.

…in March.

Everything was weary, from the clouded sky to the dead ground to the haggard, frustrated face of the puffer-coat swathed woman who had snapped at my children as we shivered in the cold, awaiting my husband’s arrival.

The drive to my husband’s hometown, what was to be our new hometown, was mercifully brief. I looked up at the gray trees and tried to imagine them as they would be in Michigan spring, two months hence. Delicate green and yellow leaves, flecked birch bark, the distinct sweetness of fragile Michigan warmth in the air. A bit of white on the dormant trees caught my eye and I smiled. Perhaps it had snowed. Our young kids would love the snow. Sledding, skiing, building snowmen; these were their inheritance. Maybe this would all be ok.

“I laid down a life-long shackle: fear.”

Read On

Writing

The Pie

The Blurb…

Volume 1

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