Read the first chapter of my novel ‘Speak Again Bright Angel’

I am a week away from publishing my first novel Speak Again Bright Angel. If you have read previous posts, this is the culmination of an epic process, and I am beyond excited to present you the beginning of my work.

Speak Again Bright Angel

Chapter 1

Sarah is about to answer, but her laughing words turn into a scream. A pickup truck is crossing the yellow line, slicing into their lane and coming right at them. Next to her, Jonathan shouts “Oh my God!” 

Sarah swerves left, starting to cross the yellow lines, but she can’t because there are oncoming cars. Their horns scar the night.  

Pulling right, her car lurches back into the path of the oncoming headlights. It’s not slowing down, and she jams on the gas pedal, trying to race past it. The lights grow larger, blinding her. At the last moment Sarah’s hand flares out, meeting Jonathan’s hand inches from the windshield. They hold their palms out together as if they can stop the crash. 

*** 

The pickup is coming so fast, its glaring lights growing. Jonathan’s hand meets Sarah’s. Their screams are drowned out by the thunder of impact.  

The echo of the crash overwhelms his senses. He can’t see, can’t feel. For a time, Jonathan is enveloped by darkness.  

Then a voice breaks in, calling for him. It comes from far away. The words are so faint that it takes time for him to recognize who is saying his name. It’s Sarah. 

Her voice comes louder. He still can’t see anything, but now it feels like Sarah is pulling his hand. He wants to go with her, but a force holds him back. It’s like being torn in two, and it makes him feel sick. Then she calls his name again, and her pull strengthens so he can struggle to her.   

For a moment, everything lightens to gray. Then, slowly, it darkens back to night, and he’s out on the road. Headlights cut the darkness. The deafening noise of the crash begins to fade.  

Before he can try to understand what is happening, he senses Sarah behind him. Somehow, he can feel her there without turning around.  

It’s hard to turn to her. There is another force pulling him back to the car. Fighting it, he twists around and sees her. He doesn’t know why she isn’t wearing the hippy costume from the Halloween party they just left. There are no colored bands in her short hair. Instead of a paisley sundress, she’s wearing a white T-shirt and jeans.  

He tries to figure out the change, but then he sees the troubled look on her face. He realized it matches the confusion inside him, an emotion that doesn’t feel like his own. 

  He takes a step towards her. “Sarah. Are you alright?”  

*** 

Sarah sways. Her vision is dim, but Jonathan’s voice helps to clear it. He asks her something, but she is trying to understand what’s happening. How are we on the road? She hears car doors slamming, voices shouting.  

Finally, she turns to him, registering his question. “I don’t know,” she replies. People are running to her car, which is sideways, half on the road and half on the grass. 

“Jonathan, we were in a crash!” Sarah points to her car’s crushed hood. “That’s my car.” She sees confusion on his face, and it is mirrored inside her, different than her own emotion. “What’s happening?”  

“I don’t know. It came at us, the headlights came at us and we crashed.” He shakes his head. “It’s hard to think. Something inside me doesn’t feel right. Like there’s someone else.” Still shaking his head, he asks, “Is that you I can feel? Sarah? You’re so scared,” he said. “I think I can feel it. It’s so bad.” 

“I think I feel it too,” she cries. “You’re confused and scared. How can I feel that?” 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “But your fear is inside me.” 

For a moment she is still, lost in this strange connection to a person she hardly knows. Then the memory of oncoming headlights fills her mind. 

She turns to her car. She looks past the people around it, at the windshield that is a chaotic web of fractured glass. “It’s only cracked,” she said. “How are we out here if it’s only cracked?” 

That’s when someone yells “Sarah!” It’s Kelly’s voice. She’s running to the car. Sarah takes a step, calls, “I’m here!” But her friend stops and pushes into the group of people at the driver’s side. Kelly looks in, then she lifts her left hand to cover her mouth. She reaches out to the window, stopping her hand outside the crumpled doorframe. Kelly’s expression shatters as she screams “Sarah!” 

Fighting panic, Sarah takes a step closer. “Kelly? What’s wrong?” 

Kelly drops her arms, sinking down to her knees. She laces her fingers behind her head, saying “Oh, Sarah, no. Please no.”  

*** 

When Kelly screams, Sarah’s emotions go wild inside Jonathan. Her fear strikes like hammers. He staggers after her, afraid of what Kelly is looking at, dreading what he’ll see.  

The driver’s side of her car is crushed. The metal of the motor shows through the ripped and crumpled hood. The windshield is bowed in, the door folded and broken, and the front tire kicks out sideways. “Oh my God,” he says. There is a still body in the driver’s seat. He knows who it is, but he doesn’t want to believe it.  

Then he hears Terek yell “Jonathan!” His roommate is running to the car, but the black robe of his Death costume catches his boot, and he stumbles. Stopping, he yells “Dammit!” Putting two hands to the collar, Terek rips the cloak down the middle. He steps out of it as it folds down to the road. 

Jonathan yells “I’m here!” but his friend stops on the passenger side, tugging the door open, yelling “Jonathan!” again.  

Through the cracked windshield, he sees Terek bending over a body in shadow. He can’t understand how, but the truth hits him. That’s me in there, he thinks. Am I dead? He feels the force pulling him back to the car. What’s pulling me? 

When Terek leans in, someone puts a hand on his shoulder. “Now don’t move him. You can’t move him.” 

Terek steps back, holding himself with his arms. “No, Jonathan! Please.” 

*** 

Kelly backs away from the car. She is so close when Sarah says, “Kelly?” Still no answer. Sarah reaches out. Her fingers stop when they contact her best friend’s shoulder, but it’s like they’re numb. She feels nothing. 

“Kelly?” she pleads. “Say something. I’m so scared.” 

A distant siren wails. A moment passes and more sirens start up. Sarah steps away from Kelly and turns to her car. 

She needs to see. Dread lengthens each second as she takes the few steps to the driver’s side. Headlights and flashlights cast combatting angled shadows into the tangle of metal. Diamond shards of glass lay on the pavement, sparkling. She steps on them, but there is no crunch.   

When she looks at her body, Sarah can’t tell what is a wound and what is shadow. She can’t separate the blood from the darkness. But there are the bangles she’d worn on her wrists, beads and shells dangling.  The bright blue and pink rubber bands are still twisted into her small, short braids. The ones Kelly wove into her hair just hours before. 

Sarah turns from the car, shaking her head no. The meaning of Kelly’s broken weeping is impossible to deny. “Kelly!” she begs. “Kelly! Help me.” Sarah is close enough to touch her, but stops her hand, terrified of feeling nothing again. Weakness overcomes her and she falls to her knees. 

*** 

The man who stopped Terek is bending over Jonathan’s body in the car. “Your friend’s alive,” he said. Terek heaves a breath. “There’s a pulse, a faint pulse. He’s unconscious.” The man stands, and he shakes his head. His voice drops low. “There’s a lot of blood on him, but I don’t think it’s his.”  

I’m alive. Now he can guess what the pressure is that comes from inside the car. It’s the pull to return to his body. It’s growing stronger, and he can feel himself fighting towards consciousness.  

But his connection with Sarah overwhelms its power. The pain coming from her is unbearable. She is in a madness of uncontrollable grief, yelling Kelly’s name. Wave after wave increases in intensity, and he is torn by it. The pain is staggering, far worse than any emotion he’s ever felt.  

“Sarah!” Fighting against the pull from his body, Jonathan moves to her. 

I would love to hear what you think! I will be posting Chapter 2 in a few days, so stay tuned!

New Year’s Mantra

A few years back I shifted from doing New Year’s resolutions to selecting a type of mantra. I chose a single word to help me improve and give me a mindset for the year to come.

My word this year is “Present.” As in being present in the moment.

I’ve known that I’m supposed to be present for a long time. It’s just been difficult for me to do. This is mainly because I have trained my brain to intellectualize life. As a young person, I escaped into dreams because I didn’t like reality. As I grew older and accepted my life, this transformed to turning events into metaphors, pondering ideas, and fantasizing about my life even while I am living it.

It’s a hard habit to break, partly because I have done it for so long, partly because I enjoy it.

My way of thinking is not to abandon this and replace it with being present. It’s simply to add more being present to my life.

Why? Presence is power. I will notice details that I miss if I was spacing out about something else. I will act in the moment, which is the right time to act.

Presence is the flow. It’s hard to go with the flow on the ground when my head is in the clouds. I will know where I am and see where I’m going.

Presence is professional. I will be a better teacher and colleague if I am in the moment and attentive to the ideas and needs of those around me. I will be more adaptive and creative in my work.

Presence is love. Being present with people let them know on a deep level that I care, that I am not just there for them, but I am there with them. And it is loving myself, being able to enjoy the moments I am in, instead of being in pretend places.

By the way, I distracted myself three time with my phone while I was writing this.

Presence is a work in progress.

Powerlessness is Freedom

Like many people, I feel very triggered by politics and politicians. That’s never been truer than over the past ten years for me.  

I’m not going to reveal my political leanings, because that’s not what this is about. It is about my recognition of my powerlessness. And how facing it has given me a sense of freedom that I have not felt in a very long time.  

As I was stressing my way through the millionth consecutive troubling news cycle, the realization finally hit me: I believed I had power over the politics and policies of our nation and world.  

But like just about everyone else, I don’t. I have my vote, I have my voice, and that is it. The President, my senators and congresshumans, literally anyone who has real political power does not know the thoughts in my head, the frustrations I feel, the stress and unhappiness elicited when something happens that I disagree with. 

Yet, I felt like I did have power. Like the intensity of my emotions and the correctness of my views could somehow make an impact on monumental world decisions.  So my frustration when things didn’t go my way was monumental, to the point where it impacted my mental health.

I guess I experienced the Five Stages of Grief. And I got pretty stuck on Anger, Depression and Bargaining. But each of those stages are steps on the journey, certainly not the destination.

The destination is Acceptance. And that means facing my powerlessness.

Yet when this happened, it opened up power. The power to invest the time, energy and emotion I had been wasting on my political disappointment and focus those on my job, my writing, my family and friends. Instead of unhealthy obsession, I am using my focus and thoughts to enhance my life.

I will never stop being interested in the world around me. But it’s not going to stop me from embracing my world.

Three Waves

The Tanka Tuesday challenge was to use words from this word garden:

I chose wave, two, sail and castle

I wrote three Tankas focused on different meanings of the word “wave”, and included the words “two”, “sail” and “castle” to focus my wavy theme.

1.
Still water sailing
Contemplating smallest waves
Powerful enough
To lift our heavy boat up
Working with the ocean's strength

2.
She is first to wave
The only movement within
The stillest moment
And then we break free, smiling,
Surging, running, embracing.

3.
Thick brick and cold stone
An edifice of power.
A castle's defense
Has no strength to stop the wave
Flowing force of joy and love.

It’s Nice

It’s nice to say nothing 
It’s nice to talk expansively
It’s nice to hunch forward and stare at something intently.

It’s nice to walk slowly
It’s nice to run fast enough to create your own breeze
It’s nice to know the difference between squirrel chitters and bird calls.

It’s nice to love gently
It’s nice to love passionately
It’s nice to have a dog sit on your foot as you pet its head.

Bravery

I held my mother’s hand tightly, and she grasped mine with all the strength of her 88-year-old muscles. We stood on the sidewalk right outside the hairdressing studio. We had been standing there for a while. 

Her grip conveyed her fear: it was the step she needed to make from the sidewalk, over the curb down to the parking lot. My car was parked two feet away, running, the passenger door open for her. 

I told my partially deaf, partially blind old mother that she’d “Done this a million times before.”  

“I know. But I’m scared this time.” 

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This is what you shall do

I read Whitman’s poem last night. Really a worthwhile read.

This is what you shall do:
Love the earth and sun and the animals,
Despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks,
Stand up for the stupid and crazy,
Devote your income and labors to others,
Hate tyrants, argue not concerning God,
Have patience and indulgence toward the people,
Take off your hat to nothing known or unknown,
Or to any man or number of men,
Go freely with powerful uneducated persons,
And with the young and with the mothers of families,
Read these leaves in the open air,
Every season of every year of your life,
Reexamine all you have been told,
At school at church or in any book,
Dismiss whatever insults your own soul,
And your very flesh shall be a great poem,
And have the richest fluency not only in its words,
But in the silent lines of its lips and face,
And between the lashes of your eyes,
And in every motion and joint of your body.