Category: BLOODY MARY

dead RingeR…

I am finally finished with my second book. A short novella, quick, sweet and to the point. dead ringer cover  I held off for a while trying to decide if it needed more. More dialogue, more transition, more background or character depth. Ultimately, I could have taken another six months “puffing it up” but I liked the raw, fast pace of this downward spiral. A trail into madness.

Natasha, a successful girl-next-door type finds her doppelganger in a blogger she discovers by chance. Completely swept off her feet by this woman who’s life is much bigger and far more glamorous than her own. She soon becomes obsessed with Eden, this blogger who seems to have it all. The lifestyle, money, superhot boyfriend, and all the attention she could want.

But what about the attention she isn’t counting on? What happens when this look-at-me generation forgets to look over their shoulders? When they post that uber-cute picture hoping to impress strangers and gain another follower? What if that’s exactly what happens? Do we want strangers knowing all of the minute little details of our lives? What happens when we leave the doors open offering them just a little peek?

Can anybody blame Natasha for following the trail of breadcrumbs left before her? Or for what happens when she slowly slips into insanity far too delicious to miss out on? It just may make you think twice before posting that picture.

Bloody Mary TEASER….

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CHAPTER ONE – DEFLATED

My earliest memories were of standing on a sidewalk in the bright afternoon sun, watching the bank of windows above me. I anxiously searched for her face anticipating a chance to wave to my mother. This would be one of many times my father would drop me off on the East sidewalk, nearest the psych ward, as children under twelve were not permitted inside.

If I were lucky, she would be feeling well enough to come with him to the window to blow me a kiss. However, if she had just had shock treatments, or was having a particularly bad day, the windows would remain empty, my father would return with the car, sigh deeply as he opened my door and we would ride home together shedding silent tears.

I was far too young to understand why she was not with us, or why she was different from all the moms in our neighborhood. The ones who would make spaghettios for dinner and buy ding dongs and go to PTA meetings.

We lived in the heart of suburbia, and my father seemed as normal as the next guy, getting up and leaving for work each day, tucking me in each night. Yet at the time I didn’t realize exactly how unusual it was to have a bathtub full of blood and an ambulance in my driveway on any given night.