The nerves I had going into sending out the ARCs (advanced reader copies) were out of this world. It’s so scary knowing that you’re asking for honest reviews of your book child from people who read as many books a year as I do, or more. 😂 Because I really respect these reviewers and I know they’re going to tell the truth, because their reputation depends on it.
So, the elation I felt when @outsidewithbooks messaged me and told me she truly loved it, was some of the best feel goods I’ve ever had.
Head to my Amazon Author Page to pre-order Moving Forward Optional for your Kindle today!!! ❤️🥳💕🥳❤️ .. The Kindle pub date is set for October 13th 2020 and you can pre-order any time between now and then! .. I’m so excited to set this baby free and I hope you all love it!! ❤️🥰📚 .. .. .. ..
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.
We didn’t call her by her name. They labeled her by things we couldn’t attain. It wasn’t even our idea. They told us it was Beauty. Reduced her to her looks and curse. Sad little#Aurora The princess We never knew. A trope for our insecurities.#vss365
The last time I saw Angelina, her hair was a tangled mess of brown strands that roughly resembled two braids on either side of her head. The smear of a sticky orange sugar glaze lining her mouth was all that was left of the sweet treat she’d bought from the musical van that cruised down our street hours before.
I think about that van often now, I wonder if the skinny unshaven man behind the wheel noticed the way my daughter’s eyes shined. If he too saw the way her cheeks were touched with cherry, as if by an angel’s soft pinch of grace. I wonder if his van served more than just the purpose of alluring children with its siren like song.
This morning I walked the streets of our neighborhood, like I do every morning, like she did that summer day in June, and I noticed house number 2607, the one with the blue shutters and peeling white siding, had their curtains open. The thing about that house is, they never have their curtains open. I’ve told the police this, but they say that means nothing. They can’t get a search warrant for every house that keeps their curtains closed. I’ve thought about walking straight into their house, when the garage opens, or the man is outside mowing the lawn.
But a part of me knows I’ve gone a bit crazy. I comprehend time stopped for me on June 19, 2012. The police tell me, my husband says, the death certificate proves, my baby was killed, two houses down from mine, by a dog that’d escaped its yard. But I don’t understand how that can be true. I’d never seen a dog at that house. I sit here and stare at her little shoes, and I think she can’t really be completely gone. She’s got to be out there. Somewhere. Waiting for me to bring her home.
I know I’m going to die here, with his hands tight around my neck. The smell of the musty old room is juxtaposed to his brilliant white, perfectly straight, smile that dances playfully across his handsome face. Part of me always knew he was a psychopath, and I wonder now, why my desperation for his love dug so deep into my bones. A part of me surrenders to the knowledge sparking under the pressure in my brain, he was never capable of loving me.
There’s pleasure in his eyes, a thrill of curiosity, as each of my breaths struggle harder to penetrate his grasp. I would have thought I’d be scared, in this moment, had I seen it coming. But the irony is, I’ve wanted to die without him. During the months he disappeared and wouldn’t call. Crying out helplessly to God in my room.
So now that it’s his hands I’m at the mercy of, I realize there’s no happy ending. And I’ve given in. There’s a strange sense of peace in knowing I’ve been waiting only for him to save me and it’s him that’s killing me.
Just as my eyes close, his hands release. A rush of fresh, unrestricted air, fills my lungs as I gasp. Surprised again. He laughs. And God, it’s such a beautiful laugh.