About The Author: Heather Ashle has been reading fantasy novels for as long as she can remember and writing them about half as long. She has two degrees in English from Oakland University and currently lives in southeast Michigan. When she isn’t writing, she continues to immerse herself in the world of fantasy through reading, theater, music, movies, and events like Renaissance Festivals and Witches’ Bazaars. She also likes to work her magic in the kitchen, embarking on new recipes with the fresh herbs from her potted garden. Her favorite charity is the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation, and she has participated in medical studies for the CF community almost continuously for the past eight years.
Title: A Transfer of Realms: Book 2 of the Realm Riders Series Genre: Epic Fantasy Book Synopsis: D’Erenelle is dying. Deadly swarms of soul-sucking Narxon infiltrate the realm. Rhoswen of Stanburh, D’Erenelle’s yet-untethered Heir-Rider-in-hiding, must soon reveal herself and lead the Realm Rider forces to the sanctuary of another realm. Yet, in a desperate act to retain power, her uncle, King Badrick, engenders a plan that defies centuries of Realm Cycle precedent and threatens to expose Rhoswen before her dragon is even born. As Descents increase and more Rider forces fall to the Narxon, Badrick begins fracturing alliances to home in on the Heir Rider’s identity—and he seems to be fixating on those closest to Rhoswen. Political division in the Exchange reveals secrets that were supposed to remain buried. As a Transfer, Emmelyn Darrow can’t technically participate in the G’Ambit. But with the help of a Datist accomplice, she exploits the underground gambling ring to expose the wayward thinking her boss and other anti-realmers propagate. As her bets publicly unravel the Exchange’s mysteries, more and more members find themselves inexorably linked by the organization’s weavings. Those who want such knowledge to remain obscured will do anything to thwart Emmelyn’s plans... and punish her for her meddling. With enemies around every corner, both heroines seek to uncover the truths that will propel their plans into the future—whether they can remain at the helm or not. In A Transfer of Realms, book two of the Realm Riders Series, Heather Ashle’s tangled web of worlds and the memorable characters who inhabit them will send you racing to solve the mysteries surrounding imperfect heroes and tormented villains. But the real question is: which is which? Find The Book: https://amzn.to/3NAd8u1 Find Heather’s Website: https://heatherashle.com/ Spotify: https://tinyurl.com/76ex2bpc YouTube: https://youtu.be/P9yOpYDKtA4
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Novels written by Indie Authors are some of my favorites because these writers take risks with their books, trying out unique narration styles, formatting presentations, and topics that one usually doesn't find in traditionally published works. Trad houses thrive on what sells. They're a bit more conservative, giving readers what they have already demonstrated they enjoy. Indie Authors thrive on pushing limits, ripping open envelopes, and playing with new approaches. Indies give readers the opportunity to fall in love with something they might never have indulged by taking the "safer" reading path. I discovered Indie Author, Vera West, at the Muskegon Art Fair this summer. It was my first encounter with her, and we had a lively discussion about books, craft, and story diversity. She's done something wonderful with her novel, Plucked, and it's worth sharing. Vera's distinct viewpoint on writing a coming of age tale is to present the entire story in verse... like a long, free-form poem. You might compare her book to spoken word performances heard at a poetry slam, but with a slower, more thoughtful pace. The concept of writing a novel this way was intriguing to me. Sure, there are epic poems out there... really old ones, like Dante's The Divine Comedy, Homer's The Odyssey, and Virgil's The Aeneid... that use this technique. Still, this is my first time encountering the style in a contemporary story. Am I living under a rock? Quite possibly. A quick Google search brought me more contemporary works written this way. I need to expand my TBR. Nevertheless, I was impressed with Vera's use of this uncommon formatting option in her novel, Plucked. Her use of character perspective and her very precise vocabulary choices, not only in dialogue - which helped to understand each moment of the story on an intimate level - but also in narration - was excellent and fit well with the Young Adult genre. I was extremely impressed with her very conscious choices in where to break lines, stanzas, and chapters. Her breaks were deliberate, and these decisions made the emotion of the story stronger. When a reader is forced into a hard stop at the end of a line, the specific meaning of the line, not to mention the individual words, have more contextual impact because they aren't run so closely together to form a scene. This book entices contemplative thought because of the nature of pausing more often as you read. Each line of this story came to me as a separate moment, and I felt I did a deeper dive into the story because of this required slower pace. At first, I was concerned that this format would make the book feel stilted, but I found it to be a very comfortable read. The more thoughtful timing didn't force me to lose interest. In fact the opposite was true. Because I was more thoughtful as I took in the words from the page, I felt my interest in these characters and their story was heightened. Yes, I read the book in segments, but I never felt disconnected from the tale when I picked it back up. I didn't need to re-read the last few chapters to remember where I was. The story was vivid and held my imagination extremely well. Vera's characters were people I cared about and rooted for, and the emotion of the story was exceptionally relatable. I felt a little voyeuristic at times because there were moments I felt like I was reading a teenager's journal. I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing. I think having the opportunity to eavesdrop on the internal thoughts and dreams of these characters made the story better. It made the story more transparent, hiding next to nothing. If you would like to indulge in a different sort of novel reading experience, I highly recommend Plucked. It's a refreshing read that will pleasantly stick with you for some time. The Book Club Play presented by The Inspired Acting Company (a 501c3) in Walled Lake, Michigan, ( https://www.inspiredacting.org/ ) was tremendously entertaining. The writing was exceptional. The cast and crew are certainly seasoned professionals... or if they're not, they fake it well! The pacing was wonderful, and the performers seamlessly slipped into their roles. Suspension of disbelief was well achieved within the first five minutes. I was impressed with the cast's playfulness with each other. I felt like these people knew and respected each other well; both as characters and as a company. The direction was well done, and the blocking appropriately used the set to include the entire audience. The designer's use of a single set played well with this script. The lighting and interlude music perfectly enhanced each scene's mood, and the use of the digital picture frame on the set wall not only as set decoration, but as a scene transition tool was an added delight. Overall, it was an extraordinary performance. The Book Club Play is a fun voyeuristic experience of the shenanigans of a six-member book club who are being filmed for a reality-show style documentary as they select, read, and discuss various books… just as any book club might, sans camera. The story introduces us to the characters who, while gaining greater understanding of the books they select, also learn more about each other and themselves. It’s a delightful comedy, with several laugh-out-loud moments, tempered well with just as many introspective moments, making for a well-balanced show. As an author and book lover, I was impressed by the playwright’s ability to sneak in references to 31 different books, either by title, plot, or character, and in some cases, all three. These literary landmarks made this show highly relatable and engaging for me. Most especially, the added book club questions on the back page of the program helped me feel a part of the discussion, even after the house lights came up. I would not have imagined that a theatre company could create a positive theater-going experience in a space anchoring a strip mall (with plenty of free parking), but The Inspired Acting Company does it masterfully. The space is incredibly well-designed. I don't think there’s a bad seat in the house. I enjoyed the intimacy of the theatre. Fewer seats in the house allowed me to focus on the play, rather than become distracted by a large crowd. The cushioned chairs were comfortable. The thrust stage design enticed the audience to feel closer to the show. The actors used the stage space with a relaxed style that removed barriers to audience engagement. I appreciated the use of a more subdued sound system; hearing the actors voices more naturally rather than pumped through an overpowering speaker system made me feel a part of the performance rather than feeling disconnected at a distance. The cast, crew, director, and producer should be praised for creating a theatre company that is technically and artistically well-conceived, and a truly joyful experience. I highly recommend that you visit The Inspired Acting Company for one of their upcoming plays. I promise, you'll have a great time! To learn more about the shows in their 2024/2025 season, visit their website at https://www.inspiredacting.org/ Or follow them on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/TheInspiredActingCompany Or call them directly at (248) 863-9953.
About The Author: Lisa Jacovsky is a Psychology professor at Union College of NJ and SNHU. Lisa began writing short stories when she was seven years old. Writing is a passion for her and one of the many things she enjoys. She is currently the author of the award-winning first four books in the Let's Talk! Series, Rascal Cat Brothers, Purrrfect As I Am, and Spooky Ooky Dance Party. Lisa lives in New Jersey, where she enjoys spending time with family and friends, traveling, and working on her next books. Keep up with her on social media to see what is coming next.
Title: Mischievous Cat Brothers Genre: Children’s Book Synopsis: In the next chapter of the "Cat Brothers" series, Snowball takes the spotlight, sharing tales of playful antics and pranks he shares with his sibling, Midnight. Whether he's mistaking his owner's foot for a mouse or watching Midnight comically attempt to fit into a box, their home is always filled with laughter and mischief. Dive into the delightful escapades of Midnight and Snowball in this enchanting sequel! Find The Book: https://amzn.to/3MzhW2k Visit Lisa’s Website: https://diverseinkbooks.my.canva.site/ YouTube: https://youtu.be/fb5ubUtoYOQ Spotify: https://tinyurl.com/2usdwvxc About The Author: Jean Davis writes an array of speculative fiction, including short stories, a space opera series, stand-alone novels and a children's picture book about her chickens. When taking a break from fictional people, she spends time with her musical husband, a small flock of ducks and chickens, and an attention-craving terrier. Occasionally, she ventures outside her home in West Michigan to play in her flower garden, visit the local breweries, and eat gluttonous amounts of sushi.
Her published works include the Narvan Space Opera Series, Frayed, an urban fantasy, Kay-Kay The Littlest Chicken, a children’s picture book, Spindelkin, a fantasy fairytale, Not Another Bard’s Tale, a fantasy parody, the science fiction novel, Dreams of Stars and Lies, a speculative short story collection, Destiny Pills and Space Wizards, The Last God, a science fiction romance, a fantasy novel, Sahmara, and A Broken Race, a dystopian fiction novel. Title: Everyone Dies Genre: Horror Short Stories Book Synopsis: Death lurks in the choices we make. Alex is awarded the best birthday present ever, a full exclusive weekend pass to the Spindle, a space station high above the Earth. There, everyone is healthy, the food is real, and there are even living trees. Being one of the chosen will set him and his family up for life, but in winning he may lose everything. Fray Farm is up for sale but the current occupants are very particular about who the new owner will be. They have no intentions of leaving. Long-term ownership only, no kids, cats are optional. Fate landed Ashleigh in a thankless job. At thirty, she's nowhere close to what she'd envisioned. She never saw herself in a dungeon-like basement at any age, but no one ever said fate was good at do-overs. Otherworldly creatures, the not-so-dearly departed, fellow man, and creations of our own demise patiently wait while we bumble through life, thinking we are in control. The end is always near. Find The Book Here: https://amzn.to/3XO2aHn Follow Jean Davis’ Website Here: www.jeandavisauthor.com YouTube: https://youtu.be/BxcAhRn3hZA Spotify: https://tinyurl.com/58yn3mz6
About The Author: Martin L. Shoemaker is a programmer who writes on the side… or maybe it’s the other way around. He told stories to imaginary friends and learned to type on his brother’s manual typewriter even though he couldn’t reach the keys. (He types with the keyboard in his lap still today.) He couldn’t imagine any career but writing fiction… until his algebra teacher said, “This is a program. You should write one of these.”
Fast forward 30 years of programming, writing, and teaching. He was named an MVP by Microsoft for his work with the developer community. He wrote fiction, but he gave up on submitting until his brother-in-law read a chapter and said, “That’s not a chapter. That’s a story. Send it in.” It won second place in the Baen Memorial Writing Contest and earned him lunch with Buzz Aldrin. Programming never did that! Martin hasn’t stopped writing (or programming) since. Today he writes field diagnostic software for big truck transmissions, and continues writing fiction as well. His work has appeared in Analog Science Fiction & Fact, Galaxy’s Edge, Digital Science Fiction, Forever Magazine, Writers of the Future, and numerous anthologies including Year’s Best Military and Adventure SF 4, Man-Kzin Wars XV, The Jim Baen Memorial Award: The First Decade, Little Green Men—Attack!, More Human Than Human: Stories of Androids, Robots, and Manufactured Humanity, Avatar Dreams, and Weird World War III. His Nebula-nominated Clarkesworld story, “Today I Am Paul” explores the logical consequences of a medical care android with empathy, able to understand how its actions affect its patient’s emotional state. It appeared in four different year’s best anthologies and eight international editions. He expanded that story into his debut novel, Today I Am Carey (published by Baen Books in March 2019), in which the android learns more about humanity through life with its human family. His novel The Last Dance was published by 47North in November 2019, and was the number one science fiction eBook on Amazon during October’s prerelease. The sequel, The Last Campaign was published in October 2020. Title: Ulla: Martian Song, Book 1 Genre: Science Fiction Book Synopsis: H.G. Wells was wrong. But then, so was everyone else... Once Eugene Hardy was a trailblazer, with a promising future studying law. But the world outside his small town was cold and unforgiving. By 1907 he has returned home, teaching music at local schools and at his church. His life is quiet now, settled. Then he encounters the circus train; and he meets the Martian... The tragedy of London sweeps the world, threatening Martian refugees who never hurt anyone, but who cannot speak for themselves. Suddenly Eugene must stand for individual justice over collective guilt. Only this pacifist musician can protect the last free Martians. Follow Martin’s Website: https://shoemaker.space/ Find The Book: https://amzn.to/3ABu8g1 YouTube: https://youtu.be/BuWEdXVdnag Spotify: https://tinyurl.com/mvxz55k7
About The Author: Rich Nelson is a retired college instructor and social worker. He was formerly a columnist for the West Michigan newspaper The Norton/Lakeshore Examiner. He has contributed essays to the publications of the American Humanist Association, the International Buster Keaton Society, and the Gay and Lesbian Review.
Rich lives in Muskegon, Michigan, along the shores of Lake Michigan. He dabbles in photography, kayaks Michigan rivers, hikes the plentiful woods and dunes of his native state, and loves summer afternoons at the beach. Formerly a runner, he completed the Chicago and New York City Marathons. His favorite travel destinations have included New York, Paris, Venice, and Maui. Title: The Tender Man – My Father’s Story Genre: Biography Book Synopsis: "My father nearly died of malaria in the jungles of World War II New Guinea." This is the opening sentence of This Tender Man - My Father's Story, the journey of an ordinary man thrown into war and forever affected by its cruel aftermath. It is a story of a Midwestern boy lovingly raised by Swedish immigrants, an adolescent coming of age during the early years of the Great Depression, a young adult whose innocence is shattered by war in the tropics of the South Pacific, a man selflessly committed to family and community in his post-war years, though haunted by the demons of war that followed him home, and a hellish descent into Alzheimer's in his final years. He carried throughout his life the characteristics of the "Greatest Generation" - service, hard work, and humility. Follow Rich: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0BZN7FRS1/about Find The Book: https://amzn.to/3YYBvIw YouTube: https://youtu.be/izVo9nvk3J0 Spotify: https://tinyurl.com/3phe2yrd
About The Author: Australian Jennifer Raines writes sensuous contemporary romances set mainly, but not exclusively, in Australia – think Malta, Finland, and New Zealand. A dreamer and an optimist, her stories are a delicious cocktail of passion, mutual respect and loyalty because she still believes in happily-ever-afters.
Jennifer is a member of Romance Writers of Australia. Three times a finalist in the Emerald competition, including in 2017 (Lela’s Choice under its working name Common Cause), 2018 (Taylor’s Law) and 2022 (Quinn, by design). She’s a member of Romance Writers of New Zealand, winning the Pacific Hearts competition twice, including in 2019 with Grace Under Fire, the sequel to Taylor’s Law. She’s also a member of Romance Writers of America and has been a finalist in chapter competitions in 2019, 2020 and 2021 (Taylor’s Law). Jennifer values competitions for the constructive, honest, not always comfortable feedback they provide. In 2023 Taylor’s Law placed second in the Romance Writers of New Zealand Koru Awards for Best First Book. Jennifer lives in inner-city Sydney, Australia, with the requisite number of partners (1) and animals (2). Her desk overlooks a park which nourishes her soul when she raises her head from her keyboard. She gets some of her best ideas during long yin yoga poses or walking – anywhere. While Jennifer adores historical romance, she chose to write contemporary because she thought (wrongly) it needed less research while she was holding down a full-time job. Title: Masquerade – Choosing Family Book 1 Genre: Contemporary Romance Book Synopsis: Money won’t bring LIAM QUINN’S father back, but it’ll save his mother’s home. A high-paying law partnership is in his sights. To win it, he needs to successfully land a project. Problem is the project requires absolute confidentiality, and he’s just discovered his estranged identical twin is appearing life size on a billboard across the city. The second catch is a return to environmental law. His earlier career imploded after his lover was revealed as a mining company spy. Researcher and soon-to-be-published romance author KATE TURNER needs a disguise. Maybe more than one. Her famous playwright father despises ‘trashy’ novels. Her ex-boyfriend mocked her ‘dirty little secret’, then stalked her when she left him. Her identical twin coaxes her into appearing on a billboard to prove she can be notorious and anonymous at the same time. No one connects the billboard model to the dowdy researcher Kate has become, and no one knows about her author pseudonym and second disguise as Ms. Sexy Romance. Kate and Liam’s lives collide when she’s hired as Liam’s research assistant. Liam’s boss laughs off the billboard. Having doubles is the perfect cover for confidential field work. A masquerade, a road trip, a steamy attraction, the sudden appearance of Liam’s old lover, and Ms. Sexy Romance’s unexpected arrival in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Liam and Kate discover the steps they took to protect their hearts might break them. Follow Jennifer’s Website: https://www.jenniferrainesauthor.com Find The Book: https://amzn.to/4dCIDiq YouTube: https://youtu.be/-4DjcxR_H6I Spotify: https://tinyurl.com/24sys9h5 About The Author: Heather Ashle has been reading fantasy novels for as long as she can remember and writing them about half as long. She has two degrees in English from Oakland University and currently lives in southeast Michigan. When she isn’t writing, she continues to immerse herself in the world of fantasy through reading, theater, music, movies, and events like Renaissance Festivals and Witches’ Bazaars. She also likes to work her magic in the kitchen, embarking on new recipes with the fresh herbs from her potted garden. Her favorite charity is the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation, and she has participated in medical studies for the CF community almost continuously for the past eight years.
Title: An Heir of Realms: Book 1 of the Realm Riders Series Genre: Epic Fantasy Book Synopsis: Realm-devouring parasites threaten all existence. The Exchange is desperate to destroy them. But could their radical plans endanger the realms, too? Soul-sucking parasites are overwhelming the realms. Rhoswen of Stanburh is of age to train as a Realm Rider—a defender of the realms. Riders and their dragons work together to burn away infiltrating Narxon as they swarm in through tears in a realm’s fabric. But it’s not an easy battle: the mere touch of the smoky, dragon-like adversaries can reduce the lively winged beasts—and their Riders—to ash. Becoming a Realm Rider is Rhoswen’s dream, but she carries far more responsibility than flying a dragon. Her destiny will pit her against her uncle, Badrick, the king of her realm, who has scorned Rhoswen since before her birth. Misconceptions about the Narxon are proving as destructive as the parasites themselves. In the Exchange, the waystation between all realms, new recruit Emmelyn is fighting her own battle to save the realms. Her foe is not only the Narxon but also the insidious G’Ambit, a gambling ring with members more intent on lining their pockets than protecting the realms… or even their own lives. Emmelyn must convince the higher-ups in the Exchange that the threat is real, starting with her own boss, an avid gambler who despises her tactics. Both novice heroines must win their respective battles before war can be waged on the Narxon. But are Rhoswen and Emmelyn too far behind to stand a chance? In An Heir of Realms, book one of the Realm Riders Series, Heather Ashle’s tangled web of worlds and the memorable characters who inhabit them will leave you racing to solve the mysteries surrounding imperfect heroes and tormented villains. But the real question is: which is which? Find The Book: https://amzn.to/4dEv4OZ Find Heather’s Website: https://heatherashle.com/ Spotify: https://tinyurl.com/3f7bccru YouTube: https://youtu.be/Lge85XSV8cQ Reader Advisory: Mature language, imagery, mention of suicide Tired footsteps bounced off the steel stairway as they filed into the room with the rhythmic beat of a chain gang. It was the basement of a local church. The sign above the door read, “multi-purpose room.” She wondered what other purposes it served aside from offering morsels of unrealized hope to the emotional vagrants who now timidly approached the refreshment table. A carafe of stale coffee, with an aroma that reminded her of her father’s anger in childhood, and rock-hard bagels sat in tempted poses next to a stack of paper napkins and Styrofoam cups. She passed on the tainted nectar everyone else clamored for, and instead, grabbed a bottle of water from the iced cooler on the floor. Gradually, as though one false step might bring down the building, they moved to the circle of chairs, standing in awkward silence, waiting for someone with the courage, to sit first. What the hell. She sat, took a sip of water, and placed the bottle on the floor near the leg of her chair. The others took her lead and gingerly sat, carefully cradling steaming cups of security and rings of petrified confidence. “Welcome,” a white-collared man sang as he entered the room and sat in the only empty chair left in the circle. “I am so glad you all decided to come today. I want you to know that this is a safe space, and anything you share here today will not leave these walls. As you may have noticed, we don’t do the nametag thing, and you aren’t required to announce your name, profession, or any other personal details about yourselves… unless you want to.” He flashed a warm smile to the group, and took a sip from a bottle of water, which then landed gently on the floor. “Who would like to start?” There was an exceptionally long, oppressive silence. Cups moved from laps to lips. Some set their cups on the floor at their feet while they pulled small bites from their bagels. Hesitation hung in the space like branches from a willow tree, hovering in a gentle madness. “Anyone?” nudged the coordinator. A man in a tailored suit with mismatched socks pulled his cup from his mouth. His eyes fell to the floor as he studied the painted lines of a shuffleboard court, where they remained until he stopped speaking. “After we separated, I used to get excited about buying a house. It’s part of why I became a real estate agent. Every morning, I would get out of bed, take the dog outside, feed him, and then spend the next two hours drinking several cups of coffee, searching real estate websites, certain I would find my dream home.” As he continued, his shoulders got lost a little more into the fabric of his jacket. “I never wanted anything ostentatious, just something simple, small and manageable, brick construction – because long-term quality of life with zero maintenance is what’s most important. My house would have a yard for dogs to run in, a deck big enough for a barbeque grill, and a table big enough so my friends didn’t feel crowded… but they’d crowd around it anyway, just for fun.” A small smirk escaped his lips as he took another sip of the stale courage. “Never found it though, doubt I ever will. Not even with all the houses I show other people every week. Now, I just stare out the window, listening for the thunder, watching the rain turn to hail, if I’m lucky.” He let out a defeated sigh. “As I watch the storm, I imagine that the next gigantic gust of wind could rip the roof off the apartment building, decimating every brick and shingle; and I quietly curse myself for choosing to live on the first floor. But the storms never last long enough, and the damned rainbow always peeks its way through in the end. So, I just wait for the next one. But it’s all wasted time. Maybe it makes more sense to move to Kansas… go tornado hunting.” He sank back into his chair, straightened his tie on his chest, and worked hard to evaporate into the background. “Thank you for sharing,” said clergy man. The others in the circle nodded with averted eyes, grateful real estate guy removed the burden of going first. “That was a courageous start to tonight’s meeting. Who would like to share next?” “It was suffocating,” a woman in a pair of beige heels, tweed skirt, and white blouse whispered. Her hair was pulled back in a tortoiseshell comb clip, showing off small silver infinity hoops dangling from her ears. “My job never gives me any personal space, or privacy. I used to fantasize about the idea of living alone like a crack addict craves the next high.” She looked around the room, searching for sympathetic female eyes. Two sets looked back at her with gentle, silent encouragement. A third pair seemed to gaze right past her. “Not just daydreams… serious fantasies, you know, like sex on satin sheets kinds of fantasies.” One of the men snickered, hiding behind averted eyes. Juvenile. “Go on,” comforted clergy man. “That idea of living every day without the frustration of someone else interfering with my time and energy… without any negative requirements of me... that burden… lifted.” She let go a wistful sigh, as if seeing an Adonis wraith. “I imagined life after my divorce perfectly… no more arguments, no more silent treatment, plenty of time and energy to grow my career, read thousands of books, sleep when I was tired, eat when I was hungry, and work out so much that I’d be in the kind of health my doctor planned for me. I’d have the confidence to file arrest warrants on my weaknesses and jail them for life.” Her voice became bolder, and her shoulders became stronger, but her eyes never connected with another living soul. Instead, she described the scene as she imagined it, as she watched it floating somewhere in the rafters. The two supportive women in the room followed her gaze, imagining it, too. “I’d find clarity in long moments of meditation. I’d banish the smallest parts of me, the most inconsequential pieces that could never fend for themselves… off to emotional boot camp… toughen them up… get them ready to take on the real world of possibility. Finally, I’d find eternal happiness.” She slumped back into her chair, her eyes once again staring into the putrid liquid coagulating inside the Styrofoam reservoir in her lap. “Now… I’m lonelier than I’ve ever been in my entire life, and I struggle with the simple day-to-day stuff, like eating and sleeping. I miss him, horribly. I cry in the shower… ugly cry. I let the weakness stretch out it’s kinks for those twenty minutes each day because if I don’t curtail it somehow, the loneliness and the solitude I was stupid enough to choose would turn me inside out… and some days, I have zero control, and it still does… turn me inside out. Fantasies aren’t truth… that’s why they call them that.” The supportive women turned their now tear-filled eyes into their own cups, searching for some reflection of a better ending, but knowing the pain of her failed fantasy. They’d had the same dream, or some version of it. And it failed for them, too. One of them was the next to speak. She was young, far too young, to be so horribly haunted. The woman wore a denim jacket, jeans with holes at the knees, muted teal sneakers, and a t-shirt proclaiming her devotion to The Eagles’ 2015 Farewell Tour… she doesn’t look that old. Her voice cracked just a little. Although she tried to mask it with her stage persona’s strength, she wasn’t as successful at pretending with this group. “The life of an exotic dancer isn’t easy, but I make it work… I guess. The money is good, and the hours are short. I work mostly late at night, when not much else is going on, anyway. I get to sleep in, subscribe to as many streaming services as I like. There are no heavy emotional commitments, and plenty of batteries to do what needs to be done.” The same juvenile snickered again and caught the eyes of everyone in the room this time. They would protect her from the sleaze, albeit silently. “Please go on, Miss; and let’s keep our opinions to ourselves, please. This is a safe space for everyone, remember?” chided the facilitator as he folded his hands in his lap and nodded his encouragement to the young woman. She inhaled slowly, and tried to pick up where she left off, punching her fists into the pockets of her jacket. “When that doesn’t work, there’s always brandy,” she quipped. “For four hours a day, I get to listen to music I enjoy, move around brainlessly in spandex and sparkles, and take a break from the reality of the existential crisis that lives deep inside life. It’s clear, I’ll never be more than this; I can accept that… but why? What’s the point? The lack of empty tables every night proves I’m not the only one asking the question.” She took another breath. “Still, I think I’d like to have that conversation every day with someone else… maybe find some different answers, or at the very least, we could find holes in the crisis big enough to climb out of it together. I think I’d like to try that, at least. And I’d like to try it with the person who used to be my person… again.” The room was quiet for a while. A few people took the opportunity to either throw away their trash or refill their cups. The paster, or priest, or whoever he was, allowed it without commentary. He understood that sometimes, people needed to take a break. When it was clear the meeting wasn’t over yet, the group mingled back to the circle of chairs. A few more moments of silence eavesdropped on the group. At last, a quiet, gentle, middle-aged man leaned in, forearms resting on his knees, hands clasped one over the other. He looked around the room. Expectant faces returned his glances. Although he was attractive… a simple beard, casual clothes, and a baseball cap with a faded logo… there wasn’t anything particularly exceptional about him. Still, he commanded their attention without being overbearing about it. Simple curiosity, maybe… “It’s interesting, don’t you think, where punishment finds us? It beats us up in the dark alleys that we defiantly walk because we aren’t smart enough to recognize that weakness is an armor, of sorts.” He paused, slightly bewildered by the circle’s attention. “No matter how many self-defense courses you take… no matter how proficient you become with your concealed carry permit… you eventually come to realize that Goliath fell not because he wasn’t strong enough to subdue the onslaught. It’s because David had people around him who constantly reminded him of the mistakes he made whenever he started thinking he had a handle on life.” The man sat back and shrugged his shoulders. “In the end, giants are always defeated because of a case of an over-active ego, not because their sword is rusty, or their combat skills are out of date. Still, we convince ourselves that being the giant is somehow better.” He shook his head in frustration. “It’s enough to mess with your head and make you do stupid stuff. Stuff you can never take back, and never repair. So, you end up screwed forever.” The circle nodded in agreement and connectivity. It was clear all of them felt exactly the same way but had no clue how to change any of it. It was, after all, why they’d found themselves together, drinking swill in a basement shuffleboard court. “That’s when the Suicide Hotline is a good resource…” the twelve-step crusader, chimed in. “For those moments when you feel like you are too weak, too alone, too egotistical, or feeling suffocated. It’s not a replacement for this group, but certainly, it’s a good place to turn… when you’re in the middle of a crisis, overwhelmed and maybe need a bit of compassion...” Every eye turned to their feet. No one wanted to think about that. Until that moment, she’d sat quietly, only half-listening, with her back against the metal folding chair, hands interlaced on her head. She noticed the rhythm of her heartbeat gently rocking her forward and back. Imperceptible to the others, and nearly so to her. She held her breath to make sure that’s really where the movement was coming from, and not some errant fault line tremor. It seemed impossible that she could feel it. During the last several months, she’d struggled to recognize that she even had a heart, let alone notice it beating. Huh; that’s different. It prompted her to speak. She drew herself back into the room. Her deep sigh echoed loudly off the cinderblock walls. “He’s got something, there…” The circle raised their heads in surprise. “Seriously. I was on that website the other day. They have all the information you could ever need. They even have a complete step-by-step organizational chart of what to do and in what order.” She ticked each item off on her fingers as she spoke. “You know, join a support group, slowly pull out of social engagements, write a will, write goodbye letters to the people you care about, find new housing for your pets, find a great vacation spot to… it’s like a blueprint. It’s really helpful.” Her face was filled with encouragement, as if she’d found the missing piece to their collective puzzle… that edge piece everyone searched for. “Um,” stammered the crusader. “That’s not what I meant…” His voice disappeared into the rafters. “And, if you do it just right, no one will be the wiser until it’s too late; so you’ll be able to finish your list uninterrupted. After all, who really cares? I mean, they all say they’ll be there – but what will they do, really? These are the same people who never warned you how horrible this would be, remember?” Her face was painted in a scowl of exasperation. No one returned any answers. She made eye contact with each person who’d spoken earlier. They didn’t realize she’d been paying attention; and truth be told, neither did she. “What, help you find a house where you feel comfortable and safe… discuss the existential questions that plague your sleep… fill the gaps of your alone time with something meaningful… enjoy sex without the expectation of performance anxiety… simply hold on to you while you cry yourself out without judgement or condescension?” She glanced around the circle again, waiting for an answer. None came. “Nope. They all talk a good game, but really, nothing ever happens. You’ll be surprised; really… that site’s got it all planned out for you. It’s practically idiot-proof.” “Ah, I think you misunderstood my suggestion…” the crusader tried again. “That’s not what its meant for…” His words were lost in the information dump now buzzing through the group. “The bonus,” she continued, holding up a finger, “when you’re gone, people will say some really endearing things about you and get a dopamine boost for their trouble. But you won’t hear any of it, so… no guilt.” She coddled a slight pause as she surveyed the circle again. She laced her hands back on top of her head, waiting for the movement she could no longer feel. “Really,” she shrugged, “it’s a win-win.” “She’s right!” real estate guy exclaimed. “I just pulled up the website on my phone.” The others pulled out their phones, wiggled their thumbs, and stared at their screens in a choreographed movement Bob Fosse would be proud of. “It’s all here, pretty simple. Thanks, this is really helpful.” Real estate guy stood and headed for the door, dropping his coffee cup in the trash on the way out. “But… that’s not what…” The crusader had lost them. He stood and watched helplessly as the circle disbanded and quickly marched out of the room, staring at their phones, excitedly whispering to each other as they compared notes about who had done what on the list so far. “You’re right,” she said over her shoulder as she collected her water bottle and followed them out the door. “It’s a really great resource.” |
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