When a woman loses everything she loves, moving forward doesn’t just happen, it’s a choice.
In a society that rewards ambition and ladder climbing, Emily is homeless. Her ambition is dead.
Dan’s daughter is missing. Emily ran away a year ago after he stumbled into the living room drunk for the last time. Now sober, he spends his days trying to turn that wrong around. Dan can’t stop.
David is losing his home, and his shoe store is barely hanging on, while the market is crashing. His own life is a mess, but the woman he picks up on the side of the road is a great distraction. Emily is beautiful, captivating, and worse off than himself. He takes her to dinner and then on a camping trip. He can’t get enough until he realizes her secrets may be more than he can take.
A women’s fiction about how one lives in a world that continues to turn, without the ambition to go on.
This is Emily’s story. Moving forward is optional.
I’m currently reading this book, A Madness of Sunshine, and I can’t help but feel it’s really lacking in, well, madness. I don’t think that’s the author’s fault, I think it’s this current chaotic world we’re all living in.
At the moment, shortly after I wake up in the morning, I feel a bit like I’ve stepped into a world that’s spinning off its axels. Emotions are firing on all cylinders. I might have a deadly virus, I might not. We can’t walk out of our doors and feel completely safe from this invisible killer.
We’re wearing masks, gloves, and avoiding our friends. We’ve given up sports and school. Our world has gone crazy.
Now, on top of that, we’ve begun rioting and demanding a complete reorganization of our justice system in America. Police stations are quite literally being set on fire. And we’re uncomfortably aware that a percentage of our police have been killing us and filling up for profit prisons with us, without thorough burdens of proof. And there’s a racial bias.
So yeah, when I open a book that’s titled with the word “madness,” what’s inside doesn’t really stack up against reality currently. And that’s where my mind as a writer is right now.
How do we write a book that keeps a reader turning pages, hanging on to every word, when they turn on their phones and televisions to a real life world of chaos? I prefer my chaos in the pages, but let’s be honest writers, we’re going to need to step our game up if we intend to keep our readers engaged! Because life is dishing out some serious competition right about now.
To say we were #skint that summer was an understatement. My mom was working part time at Arby’s while my brother and I were knock-kneed dirty kids that spent our time fighting over the stray cat that hung around on the apartment porch. My brother was allergic, and I was in love. He threw rocks to chase the stray away. I chased the stray to bathe her in flea covered cuddles.
Fleas didn’t bother me. I was always covered in bites and bruises. We trampled the bushes in every skinny strip of land that wasn’t paved. Danced with chiggers, ticks, and ants.
The love between a stray, black cat, and a poor kid, who was too much time for any human, is one that stays with you.
It stays with you through the drunk days of college, the bill collecting days of early adulthood, it pushes you right through to the moment you’re in your late thirties and realize things aren’t so skint anymore.
It may be that all of my dreams haven’t come true, and other people sneer at my idea of success because to them I’ve not made it. I have no legacy, no ladder, or fans cheering my name. But I have a warm home and a dog on my lap that gets fed every day, and I know where I came from. I remember being a stray. Every. Single. Day.