So, you’ve asked what I’m writing. Well, I’m not going to tell … not exactly. But I thought I’d give you a hint. The title is Looking For Me.
Imagine a farm tucked up against the mountains that surround the mysterious and beautiful Red River Gorge in Kentucky …
Imagine simple, uncomplicated lives: acres of corn ripening in the sun, laundry flapping on the line, a plain silver mailbox stained with a bit of rust. A working farm where stacks of cord-wood stand five feet high and dandelions dot the shady front lawn.
There is a young boy …
And his older sister …
They share their dreams in a secret place …
The boy dreams of a red-tailed hawk …
The girl dreams of old furniture and of one day owning her own shop …
They are children. They believe.
They grow up.
Some of their dreams come true …
Some don’t …
That is the way life is.
But things happen …
Secret things.
And nobody will ever be the same …
Or will they?
The title of my new novel is Looking For Me.
It will be published by Pamela Dorman Books, Viking/Penguin in early 2013
My little brother was so wonderstruck by the world around him that never once did I hear him cry. He’d sit in that old buggy with his eyes wide and his ears pricked sharp as a deer. It seemed to me that nature spoke to him more plainly than any human voice. There were times I’d watch how he turned his head, how his eyes would focus. He was aware in a way that I clearly saw but didn’t understand—as if the wind moving through the leaves and the subtle change in a blackbird’s song told him the truth of things.
One day I was bouncing Josh on my knees and accidentally banged his head on the kitchen table. I hugged him real tight and told him I was sorry. His eyes filled with tears and I thought for sure he’d wail, but he blinked them away and smiled at me. I could hardly believe it.
Momma said she’d never heard of a baby that didn’t cry. She was worried something wrong with him. But Grammy said no, that she should thank her lucky stars. Momma looked away and said she didn’t have any of those.
The first clearly spoken words to leave my little brother’s lips came during the summer he was 2-years-old. He was in a playpen under the maple tree, chewing on a soggy cracker. When he saw me walking across the lawn with a basket of tomatoes, he stood on his tiptoes and squealed, “Teddi!” Then he pointed to the woods and giggled when he said, “Mr. Owl—hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo!”
Then one night when I wasn’t paying attention, he wrote five words on a piece of paper that shattered my heart.
Though I love featuring interesting folks here in the Brava and Bravo section of my blog, I’ve found that I can no longer keep up with the time it requires. Writing full-time is taking all the energy I have, and many things have had to give. Sadly, the upkeep of this category is one of them. There are many fascinating profiles here, so please cruise through and enjoy!
