Available in the US on June 6th and the rest of the world on June 7th, I’m announcing my new book: “Twisted -Flashbacks”. Twisted is a brand new series that focuses on Sam. Flashbacks is the first book of the new series. Stay tuned for links and how to get your copy!
Sam represents the best and worst of us all. She’s the product of her past, present and what she sees as her future. Sam is a survivor, a victim and sometimes even a bit of a predator. She’s dark, troubled and on a one-way trip to self-destruction. Haunted by her demons, she struggles to live her life as best she can.
As you get to know Sam, things will come out about her life that are surprising and often times troubling. You will no doubt find yourself loving her and hating her, all at the same time. You may find that things about her remind you of yourself, making her a little harder to swallow at times? Some things about her will make you feel mournful for the childhood, family and friends that she has lost.
Ultimately, I hope that you will find some way to connect with Sam, whether it is love or hate. Through Sam, I hope to open some people’s eyes to show that we are all one in this world together. We all have the same hurts, struggles, pains and fears. We all have a dark side and we all cry eventually.
Taps played in the background as the seven Marines lifted their guns to the air to fire the first round of the 21 gun salute. Ka-Pow! The rifles made her jump and she looked around to see the reaction of everyone else around. There were people crying, mothers holding children in their laps, and others holding hands. Men had their heads down and their shoulders visibly heaved as they were overcome with emotion. Crack! The second volley seemed even more thunderous than the preceding one and now she could hear crying in the background. People now hugged each other in a show of support. She could hear the commands being given to the rifle squad as they once more took aim into the baby blue sky and let rip. Boom! The final, thunderous round of gunfire made its intrusion into the clear September day. Sam looked around once more and watched the people all around her. There were middle-aged women, children, young men … she didn’t know any of them. She didn’t want to.
Sam stood in the background like a shadow, trying not to be seen or noticed. She felt as though she was inside a bubble and the world was simply going on around her, as if she didn’t exist. “Wouldn’t life just be easier then”, she mused. She waited for the crowd to disperse. As soon as everyone had disappeared from the tent, she walked towards the casket which was draped in an American flag and covered with flowers. She stood for a moment, just staring at the finish of the casket. One tiny part of the corner of the casket was left bare, left uncovered in flag, flowers or adornment. In this corner, she realized that she could see her own reflection as she stood there. She looked completely out of place.
She realized that this tiny little piece of this box, that held what was once a life, was a direct representation of the tiny piece she’d had in that life. He was her father. He’d helped to create her. He had sex with her mother, created her and then walked out of both of their lives. He’d never been there. He was a stranger. She hated him, she loved him, she felt like she needed him … but he was gone. He had never taken the time to try to get to know her or to even look for her and now he never would. Yes, right now she hated him. Now, he’d abandoned her not just once, but twice. She laid the black rose she’d brought on top of the casket. She’d carefully picked it out. It was in sharp contrast to the red roses and the carnations with their banners that read Rest In Peace. Sam didn’t want him to rest in peace. No, she hoped he’d be tormented in some kind of hell to make up for what he’d done to her. She dropped the flower without touching the coffin and turned around to walk away, she had an appointment to get ready for.
She made her way back to her old mustang and got in. As she fired-up the engine and drove away, she began to do what she always did so well. The wall was already being built, one brick at a time. Mortar was her pain and the bricks were the events of her life as they unfolded. She built the walls meticulously and steadily, one day at a time, one brick at a time, with enough mortar to last a lifetime.