My sister Julia manipulated my life into a prison to keep me silent about our dirty family secret. Her greed made me a slave and circumstance left me with no way to escape.
Trapped, the only way I could silence the nightmares driving me to insanity was to wrap them in color, hold them with shadow, and stitch them to negative space with line.
But no matter how bright the pigments, no one could see my confession.
Except for Roy Callahan.
I thought he was just another nameless one-night stand in a long line of many.
But I was wrong. Roy could see past the façade of my life and through the veil color over the canvas. He could see what the world couldn’t.
And with him I’d find the courage to tell the truth about the boy.
The boy who kissed me.
The boy who loved me.
The boy whose name I couldn’t remember.
Do you have a deleted scene or new scene you would like to share?
I don’t. I’m sorry. I rarely have scenes I delete or scenes that
I write and keep out. A good thing I guess in some ways :)
Will there be any other books
with these characters in them?
Highly improbable. Not impossible, mind you, but I don’t have
any ideas for a sequel. Right now I have so many books to get out, I don’t even
have time to entertain the idea.
How did you get the idea to write
this story?
The model on the cover is a photo by DW Skinner. When I saw the
photo the story was born. I was very lucky to obtain it for the cover. I don’t
think I would have been satisfied with any thing else, ever.
Of everything that you have
written, which is your favorite book and character?
I have no idea. Usually my “favorite” is whatever I am working
on at that moment. Overall, there are things about every book that is special
to me. I wouldn’t even know how to pick one over the other.
Are you currently working on
anything? If so can you tell a little
about it or give a sample?
I am working (struggling) with finishing a book called In the
Absence of Light. It’s difficult because of the characters and that the story
is a bit softer than what I normally like to write. Don’t get me wrong. It has
some difficult parts, but as a whole it is a true love story that defies the
odds and breaks the molds about certain people. I am horrible at pitching my
stories, and always reluctant to post tidbits until it is finished and put to
bed but I’ll try my best.
Grant Kessler was one of Chicago’s best smugglers, but he was
old school and never shipped drugs, guns or people. After a deal gone wrong,
Grant discovers his lover of three years is an undercover FBI agent trying to
get leverage to force him into an informant for the bureau.
Bitter and broken hearted, Grant decides it’s time to get out.
But Grant can’t set sail for his island paradise just yet. Not
with the FBI watching his every move and looking for evidence they can use to
seize his bank accounts and place him under arrest. To bide his time, Grant
heads a no where town. He buys a house, begins restoring it, and pretty much
creates a picture of a man who has retired young and plans on spending the rest
of his life sitting on a rocking chair front porch.
That was the plan, until Grant meets Morgan, a high functioning
autistic man, who has the remarkable ability to see past light to the reality
underneath. Morgan like no man he’s ever met. Strong willed, passionate, with a
wicked sense of humor.
Grant’s attraction to Morgan is plagued by preconceived ideas
about autistic people. But Morgan doesn’t give up and decides to teach Grant a
lesson in perception.
Unfortunately for Grant and Morgan, the FBI doesn’t give up
either.
Anything extra you would like to
add?
I’m not sure what else to add. I’m a rather boring person to be
honest. I do have plans to try and write a graphic novel. Not sure how that
will pan out as I have very little patience when it comes to art, and I lack a
true graphic artist hand, so I’m going to water color the art and see how that
goes. If it sells well, and doesn’t take me until I’m old an gray to finish it,
I just might do more than one. :)
Other
than that I have two dogs, seven ferrets, four cats, and a perpetual artistic
disaster piled on my desk.
