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417 pages, Hardcover
First published May 5, 2015
I abandoned my book. I’m not a writer right now. But I am a mom and a wife and a daughter and hopefully a decent person. I am walking down my own mountain as the race, such as it is, continues on above me with great riders in the lead. I’ll get back to it someday. But for now, I’m following my own path. One step at a time.
So there may not be a book from me right on schedule in summer of 2015. And now you know why. I’m not sure if it’s the best idea to share all this on the internet, basically rolling over and showing my soft, tender underside to anyone who peeks in. Admitting your failures is no picnic. But this space, this blog, has always been a safe one for me, and I wanted you, my friends and readers, to know why I might not tweet or blog as much for awhile. I need to rest. I think my book was trying to tell me that: it just took me a long time to listen. I’m listening now.
"Here goes nothing," she said, shaking some in. More steam rose up, followed by another blast as the curry powder hit. She poked at the vegetables with her spoon, folding them over once, then again. "What do you think?"
"It's a change."
"That it is." She tossed in some more cumin, then leaned in close, taking a long sniff, then gestured for me to do the same. Hesitantly, I did. It didn't smell bad or good. Just new. Different.
“Everyone, this is Sydney,” she’d announced the day after our talk when I finally gathered up the courage to accept her invitation to join her and her friends at lunch. “She transferred from Perkins Day, drives a sweet car, and likes root beer YumYums.”
“The first time you came into Seaside,” he said. “You weren’t invisible, not to me. Just so you know.”
"You had on a shirt with mushrooms on it, and your hair was pulled back. Silver earrings. Pepperoni slice. No lollipop."
I just looked at him, confused. Layla was walking toward us now.
"The first time you came into Seaside," he said. "You weren't invisible, not to me. Just so you know.”
“But this isn’t normal,” he replied.“I screwed up, I hurt someone, and I’m doing time for it. When she tries to make it anything else, it just . . . it makes me nuts. This needs to be different, you know? To be hard. Everyone else understands that. But she just doesn’t get it.”