Prologue - As it Seems

Libby leans back against the heated leather seat, listening to the low hum of the radio while she sits in the warm cocoon of her car. Should I stay or should I go? The frigid November rain has been falling relentlessly since the previous morning and the heavy sheet obscures her surroundings. Littleton, Nantucket, Providence, Bayside, Boston? Squinting her eyes, she scans the parking lot for familiar signs but the buildings and cars are blurred, the colors running together. It’s beautiful, as surreal as an Impressionist painting. She could be anywhere; a different time, another place.

Lifting her digital camera from its case, she removes the lens cap and adjusts the focus to capture the watercolor created by the fat droplets of rain on her windshield. Click, click, click. She takes a dozen photographs and smiles to herself as she reviews them. These are good. I may be able to use these. There’s a new series here…

She returns the camera to it’s case and pulls her wool-lined raincoat close to her body, taking deep breaths in and out, deliberating whether to get out of the car. She’s not afraid of braving the storm outside; it’s the one raging in her head stopping her. I’m safe here, she thinks, leaning her head against the steering wheel. Nothing can hurt me if I stay. She arrived thirty minutes early and has been sitting in the parking lot for over ten. This is her opportunity to escape without being seen. He’ll be here soon and the choice will be much more difficult to make once she sees him.

What am I doing? The past few times they got together were agonizing, both of them pretending to be fine, trying to pick up where they left off before that fateful day. It’s impossible! If there’s one thing she’s learned over the past couple of years…you can’t go back. There is no rewind button. One split second decision is all it takes to change the course of someone’s life.

Everything is different now, their lives unrecognizable from the ones they were living just a few months ago. She’s changed. He’s changed. Holding onto the past can only cause her pain, and that, she does not need! She’s created a good life for herself out of the wreckage. The kids are happy; her career is satisfying. Why would she deliberately put herself in emotional harms way?

Because I love him. But too much has happened. It’s too late.

Knock! Knock! Knock! Libby jumps in her seat, her heart stopping in her chest. Someone is fiddling with the handle on the front passenger side door and she takes a moment before rolling down the window a crack, then breathes a giant sigh of relief when Ginger’s face comes into view.

“Jesus, Libby! Let me in!” Ginger cries, her face wet from the rain, hair sticking to her face.

Libby unlocks the door, quickly clearing the camera case and random papers from the seat to make room for her friend.

“Oh my God!” Ginger says, climbing in. “It’s crazy out there!”

She slams the door shut and Libby hands her the few napkins she finds in the console to dry her face.

“Well?” Ginger asks after a minute. “Are you coming in?”

Libby bites her lip and turns her face away, then shakes her head.

“No,” she whispers.

“C’mon, Lib,” Ginger pleads, resting her hand on Libby’s. “Just one cup of coffee.”

“I can’t do this, Ging. I just can’t…” her voice trails off.

Ginger leans her head back against the seat, her eyes closed.

“I can’t force you, Lib,” she murmurs. “I just wish things were different.”

So do I, Ginger. So do I.

“I’ll call you later,” Ginger sighs and kisses Libby on the cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Libby replies, relief flooding her body.

Ginger climbs out of the car, then races across the parking lot and into the coffee shop. Libby turns the wipers on to watch her go and a minute later, shifts the car into drive. Before she pulls away, she notices a man standing a few feet in front of her, the only person not running for shelter. He’s wearing a raincoat, the hood pulled up covering his hair and most of his face, but it’s unmistakably him.

He raises his hand in greeting and she hesitates, then shakes her head slightly, and lifts hers in farewell. Their eyes lock for a long moment, then he nods and walks away.

Copyright © 2016 Jayne Conway
Plain Jayne Ink
All rights reserved.

Introducing...Ms. Bojangled Nerves

Sitting here on the eve of the Kindle release of As it Seems, an absolute jangled mess of nerves, I ask myself one question: Why do I write? Why publish my thoughts for everyone to read? (Okay, that's two!) The simple answer is: I have something to say and this is how I express myself. But it's not easy, especially for someone who takes criticism to heart. I dread the moment I bump into someone I know has read my book...and they say nothing. Ouch! It stings. I'd rather they said, "nice try" than nothing! 

I can't help but wonder how this novel will be received by readers of my first book. Will they love it or hate it? Will they be disappointed with my sophomore effort? I don't know. I want to say 'and I don't care!' but that would be a lie. In my last blog post, I said 'I wrote this book for me and if my readers like it, that's the icing on the cake.' Well, I want a big ass cake made only with icing, inside and out!

Believe me when I say it's not pleasant to read a nasty review about something I put my heart and soul into. My books are my babies; the characters, my family. Imagine someone criticizing your child in a very public way? Doesn't feel good. Publishing a book is like dropping your little ones off at school for the first time ever, praying the other kids won't pick on them, that they are accepted for who they are. But...we know deep down not everyone will love them as we do. Our hope is the good outweighs the bad. The same goes for my baby, As it Seems. Not everyone will love it. All I can do is set it free and hope for the best.

My new book comes with a few disclaimers: 

One, the setting is primarily in Rhode Island but I created two fictitious towns. Why? Because Rhode Island is a small state and I believe the social underpinnings explored in this book could be Anytown, USA. I'm not pointing fingers, though if you know RI well enough you may have some idea where I got my inspiration. For my New England friends who love to read about home, not all locations are fictitious. A lot happens in Providence, Boston and Nantucket, with a few mentions of Bristol and Newport. 

Two, this book tackles difficult topics such as adultery and depression. An unfortunate fact of life is most people have experienced adultery in one form or another, or know someone who has. The same goes for depression, whether mild and fleeting or severe and lasting. It's been called 'a page turner with plenty of action', but 'could trigger some painful emotions or memories'. You've been warned!

Three, there are intimate scenes in this book. No big surprise to anyone who read my first novel! That said, you will never find gratuitous sex in any of my books. If I include this type of scene, there's a purpose. It's meant to capture an emotion that drives the story forward, whether it's love or hate, desire or despair. According to readers, the scenes depicted in my first book were 'full of love.' In my second book, the emotions are more complex and the reasons for these scenes more complicated as a result. Some are heartwarming, others are not. 

Four, because of the subjects addressed, I don't recommend this book to anyone under 17. Not because the intimate scenes are more graphic than my first novel, but because I don't think teenagers can understand or appreciate the stage of life I've depicted here. This is written from the perspective of people in their forties, not their twenties as in What if I Fly? This isn't about the first flush of love. As it Seems is about what happens once that flush fades and how love grows and changes. 

Disclaimers aside, this story is not doom and gloom, I promise. By the time you reach the last page, you will have a smile on your face, and a warm fuzzy feeling in your heart. 
 

Icing on the Cake

About 18 months ago I was sitting at my desk in a dead end marketing job. The company had just been sold and I knew I was on the chopping block. Before the sale I was bored out of my skull; after the sale I was a zombie, counting the minutes before I could go home each night. A girl can only stare into space for so long. I had to do something so I decided to write a story to pass the time. Before I knew it I had 100 pages and sent them to a friend for her opinion. She finished reading it in record time and asked, "What happens next?" Next? I didn't know. I hadn't written it yet! But I was hooked and in eight weeks I had a 400 page book with a beginning, middle and end! My friend loved the story and encouraged me to "do something with it." So I did. I self-published my very first novel, What if I Fly? in June 2015. 

I honestly didn't think anyone but (maybe) my friends would read it. In my head I had a very specific demographic; women my age from Bristol, Rhode Island who read romance novels. How many could there possibly be? But I had paid an editor and wanted to recoup my expenses, so with a great deal of trepidation, I announced the news to my 350 Facebook friends and posted the link to Amazon (you know...just in case someone wanted to actually buy it). I held my breath and watched in wonder over the following weeks as people purchased my novel. Not just friends and family, but perfect strangers from near and far; men and women, young and old. For some reason, my book appealed to a much broader audience than I ever imaged. 

Despite spending the previous ten years in marketing selling products and services, I had NO CLUE how to sell myself. Fortunately, I didn't have to do much in the beginning. Other than build a website and create a Facebook author page, I let word of mouth do the work for me. I was interviewed by the local paper, my book was a 'featured beach read' on The Rhode Show, I've had readings at libraries and bookstores. The reviews on Amazon and Goodreads are largely positive. The local stores kept selling out and the college kid who works at Barrington Books said, "I've never seen anything like it! People keep coming in asking for your book!" Fabulous! 

The boon lasted about three months and while my first book is still selling, it's at a much...much slower rate. Word of mouth only goes so far! It's time to build my 'author platform' and I'm learning as I go. 

I wrote my second novel over the summer and after two rounds of revisions, it's being released in February. What a different experience this has been! When I wrote my first book, I didn't worry whether people would like it. I wrote it solely for me. Starting my second book, I worried how it would compare to my first, wanting the readers who loved What if I Fly? to love As it Seems. Pressure! I realized rather quickly I had to write this book for myself as well. It taps into some pretty raw experiences and emotions, but I loved writing it as much as the first, and if my readers love it too...well, that's the icing on the cake. 

Anniversary - A Short Story

What if I Fly? I was missing Will and Julia, so I decided to treat myself with a glimpse into their future. It's a short, short story, but I hope you enjoy... (If you haven't read the novel...STOP HERE!!!)

The sunlight filters through the curtains, awakening Julia to another beautiful Tuscan morning. She’s so warm and cozy in their cocoon and squeezes her eyes shut to block out the light. Burrowing beneath the covers, she pulls the comforter up to her ears trying to muffle the sounds of her house coming to life. She would love a few more minutes of semi-consciousness before she begins her day, but the children are in the kitchen, concocting something special for breakfast and the clattering of pans, dishes and silverware forces her to skip the pleasant transition from dreamtime to reality. Opening her eyes, she feels her husband snuggling up behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close. She sighs into him, holding his hand to her chest and lightly kisses each calloused finger.

“Happy Anniversary, Jules,” Will whispers in her ear, and nuzzles her neck, holding her close.

“Sleepy,” she murmurs.

“We have maybe ten minutes,” he says. “I can smell them cooking something.”

His hands wander the length of her body until he finds the hem of her nightgown, then lifts it over her head and quickly sheds his t-shirt and boxers.

“Has it really been ten years?” she asks, rolling onto her back.

Her eyes meet his and her heart skips a beat, the heat spreading throughout her body. She runs her fingers through his thick blond hair, now woven with strands of silver, then along the side of his face. His skin is weathered from working outdoors, the fine lines etched around his sea blue eyes doing nothing to detract from his appearance. At forty-two, her husband is still the most beautiful man she has ever seen.

Will rests his muscular torso against hers, brushing the long, dark brown curls away from her face, then nods with a grin.

“More like twenty, but these have been the best ten,” he replies, his mouth finding hers.

“Mom? Dad?” they are interrupted a moment later by their daughter Mae knocking on their bedroom door. “Breakfast is ready!”

“Okay, sweetheart, just a minute,” Will calls out, and Julia wraps her legs around him, pulling him closer. They don’t have much time and she wants to finish what they started.

“Mommy!” their youngest son Joe bangs on the door. “Daddy! We made pancakes!”

Will freezes and Julia giggles. Her husband was very optimistic this morning, believing the children would grant them the opportunity to make love in peace.

“Hey!” Liam calls from the kitchen. “I told you guys to knock once. Come back here.”

“Ah, we’ve trained him well,” she whispers, shifting her hips beneath him.

Ten minutes later, Will and Julia enter the kitchen in their pajamas and robes, to find their three children waiting patiently, a mason jar filled with flowers from their garden in the center of the rustic wooden table, and three handmade cards propped up around the bouquet. Liam kisses her on the cheek and pulls out a chair, then hugs his father and pours them each a glass of orange juice.

“Look, Mommy, I made the fruit,” Joe beams, pushing the bowl of berries across the table.

“You didn’t make it, Joe,” Mae admonishes with an eye roll. “You washed them and put the fruit in the bowl.”

“I did too make it! Daddy, didn’t we make the fruit?” her five-year-old son insists, his eyes seeking validation. “I helped in the garden and I put water on them and I picked them too!”

Will laughs and rubs Joe’s head, her son’s wavy brown hair sticking out in every direction. Their little boy is such a combination of the two of them. Each of their children has her olive complexion, but Mae is the only one with Julia’s big chocolate brown eyes, while the boys both inherited Will’s beautiful blue eyes.

“That’s true, you did,” Will nods and kisses the top of Joe’s head.

“Only God can make fruit,” Mae insists.

Julia sighs. Her daughter recently made her First Communion and is taking her religious studies quite seriously and literally.

“Maisy,” Liam begins. “God may be the creator of all things, but if we didn’t plant the bush and care for it, the fruit wouldn’t be here. So, thank you God for the seeds, and thank you Joe for growing the fruit.”

Mae’s brow furrows as she digests her brother’s reasoning. Julia can see the wheels inside her eight-year-old daughter’s head spinning as she processes this information. With a smile, Mae nods and picks up a strawberry, inspecting it as if it were something completely new to her. She loves her daughter’s inquisitive spirit, the fire for knowledge and understanding burning inside of her. She’s an extremely bright child and the apple of her father’s eye.

“So there!” Joe shouts and sticks his tongue at his sister.

“Enough,” Liam interjects.

Her eldest son places a stack of pancakes on the table along with a jug of maple syrup, then takes a seat beside Joe and clamps his hand over his little brother’s mouth. A day doesn’t go by without Mae and Joe bickering and Liam is a spectacular mediator between the two. What will they do without Liam when he goes off to college in a couple of years? Parents aren’t supposed to have favorites, but Julia and Liam have a very special bond and she’s dreading the day he leaves home.

Will meets her eyes across the table, the corners of his mouth turning up. His eyes are bright and he’s positively glowing with pride. She recognizes the look, knows exactly what her husband is thinking. We did this, Jules, we created this amazing family. She closes her eyes and blows him a kiss, her heart swelling in her chest. Yes, we did.

“Buon giorno!” their neighbor Angela calls out as she opens the kitchen door.

Angela just celebrated her eighty-third birthday and is part of the family, a grandmother to them all. She is a spry little woman and still walks to town everyday to shop at the market, over five miles round trip. As often as they offer her rides, she declines, insisting these walks are her fountain of youth. She may be onto something! Angela’s hardly aged since they moved in over eight years ago.

Will kisses Angela’s cheek and holds out a chair for her.

“Hello, piccoli angeli!” she cries. Little angels. “Today is a special day, no?”

“È il nostro decimo anniversario,” Will replies, then looks around the table for feedback.

“Spoken like a true Italiano!” Angela smiles, pinching Will’s cheek.

Everyone laughs and Will nods his head and smiles, his cheeks turning pink. Her husband has struggled for years to learn Italian. Everyone else at the table is fluent, and he refuses to give up trying! He understands what is being said, but butchers the pronunciation when he attempts to speak the language. She gives him credit for persevering all these years.

“Ten years,” Angela sighs and holds up her glass of juice. “Grazie Dio! To another fifty!”

“To another fifty,” they all chime in and clink glasses.