Sue A. Maynard's Blog, page 2

For quite awhile now, I've been toying with the idea of bringing together more of my creative endeavors into one place.  I intended for this to be solely a blog about writing, but I've encountered a few problems with that model.  One is that I find it hard to find time to write, let alone come up with a blog post about the process, on any sort of regular basis.  Another is that I don't usually wish to share my ideas and drafts before they are formed better in my mind and - preferably - on published paper.  But then looking back on the process and trying to come up with something to say about it all after the fact isn't the easiest thing, either.  By then I will have moved on to some other project or two, as well!

And speaking of other projects, I've got a lot more on the go lately than just writing my next amazing novel.  All of which is what brought me to the decision I've now made - to join together all of my little side projects into one incredibly well-rounded blog.  A place I can pull together all of my ideas and wonderings and exciting pieces of news, in a reader-friendly venue, so that it can all be shared with as many of you as possible, and maybe even pick up a follower or two along the way!

So sit back and take a look at what all is coming up for your reading, viewing and listening pleasure from now on, after the jump below!  :)


Where to begin?!  I'll start with one of my biggest projects, which also happens to be one of my newest:  The Mind Reels blog and podcast.  Co-created with our showrunner, Timothy D. Rideout, The Mind Reels is our way of delving more into the things we love most: television, movies, books, conventions, etc.  All of the pop and indie culture areas that have grabbed our attention and our hearts, as well as the people involved with creating them.  We just got started in October 2011, but already our little site is climbing up the charts, and is eclectic enough that it literally covers something for everyone along the way.  Yet at its core, the site is - very disctinctly - us, and we're both learning and growing so much from the experience that I can only imagine it gets even better from here!

Another huge side project has been the starting of my own little store on Etsy, Conjoined Soul Geekery.  Started just over a year ago in December 2010, CSG is where I let my not-so-inner geek all hang out, in the form of handcrafted, one-of-a-kind goods.  At the moment, my focus has been on fridge magnet poetry sets based in the universes of Firefly and Serenity, and the Hunger Games book trilogy.  The Browncoat set comes packaged in a wee Chinese noodle box container, while the Hunger Games set is wrapped up in a small silver parachute.  Each set contains over 500 words and phrases recognizable to fans, and - so far - loved the world over!  The sets have been selling almost faster than I can make them, so I haven't had much time to branch out yet, but you can be sure that I will!  The ideas aren't near run out yet!  ;)


One that I have been working on (and it's taking forever) is clay candle holders.  Handmade in the style of the Circle of Friends candle holders, these ones are created for Browncoats everywhere:


They are highly detailed and made of sturdy Sculpey and Fimo oven-bake clay, hardened only once all of the details have been put into place.  The ring in the centre even glows in the dark!  Like I said, though, these are taking a really long time to make, so they won't be selling regularly until I get better (and faster) at making them.  But they're on their way!  :)

Finally, I have a few CafePress stores, some of which I've linked to on the homepage of this blog, because they have products related to Carving The Light and Ebon Black and the Seven Dryads.  But I have other things on the go there, as well.  I hope to soon pull them all together into one store that has several different lines, but for now, there is one sweet design I want to share!  It's in honour of the original miniseries, V, which aired in 1983, and starred (among others) Marc Singer as camera man-turned-rebel hero, Mike Donovan.  This particular design is devoted to him. 

As with everything else, there is even more to come, but only once I finally get some time to work on it all!

In other writerly news, I do have a new project in mind, but it's much darker than I'd ever intended to go with my writing, so we'll see.  I have spoken about it out loud, but I have yet to actually make notes for it.  It's still churning in my brain, for now.  And, in case you haven't heard, a slightly revised version of Carving The Light has made it into Round Two of the ABNA contest again this year!  I ran out of time before submissions began, but my general aim was to make the beginning stronger and hopefully more exciting, to draw in potential readers.  I also altered the timeline to make everyone younger, but now that I've had more time to think about it, I am not sure I like it that way, so I may change it back later.  I'd like to work on the beginning more, as well as the overall manuscript, before I'd consider re-issuing it yet again, however.  One thing at a time, I guess!

So there you have it.  Hopefully there will be more regular posts coming from now on.  Feel free to check out this blog and all of my side ventures, and I'll make a point of updating everything a lot more often!

Until soon,

SAM

Now you can follow a couple of your favourite characters from Carving The Light and Ebon Black and the Seven Dryads on Twitter!

Look for the Collins sisters' loyal dog, Trick at @TrickTheDog, and follow Ebon's favourite Dryad, Pam, at @PamDryad.

And spread the word so they both get more followers!  At the very least, it's a fun waste of time!  ;)

Until soon,

SAM

Both of my books are available electronically for FREE at an Amazon near you, but only for this long weekend!  After Monday, February 20, 2012, both will skyrocket in price up to a whopping $0.99 each!  :)

So download your free copies of each today, and tell everyone you know to do the same!

Spread the word, spread the love.  Below are links to the books on Amazon.com, but both are available at Amazon sites around the world, so you can use whichever one you have a regular account with!

SAM

Carving The Light

Ebon Black and the Seven Dryads 

Enter for a chance to win a free illustrated edition of Ebon Black and the Seven Dryads, complete with one of YOUR illustrations!!!

Here's how you do it:

Start by reading a copy of the book - it's available in paperback (most online sites like Amazon and B&N have it available to order) for SRP $6.99USD, and also as an e-book (available on most sites like Amazon, Smashwords, iTunes, etc) for SRP $1.49USD.

Then, choose one or more of your favourite scenes from the story, and create a picture for it.  You can draw, paint, sketch, take a photograph - whatever you like.  This is your chance to help bring the story alive, so feel free to go nuts with it!

Once you have an illustration-y sort of creation, scan it, and email it to [email protected], along with helpful things like your name, age, email address, and a brief description of the scene being depicted.  You will receive a confirmation email to let you know that your entry has been received, though it won't be an instant auto-response.  It could take 1-2 business days to appear in your inbox, so make sure that you keep PamDsPlace on your safe list to keep it out of your junk folder!  :)

AND you can enter more than once - there's no limit to the number of entries you can submit - but please try to send each picture in separately.  That way, we can be sure that each attachment has been received properly on this end!

So there you have it!  There will be more details and "small print" in the coming months - including an end date for the contest (but not until the middle of 2012 at least, so there is time), but for now, those are the basics!  Feel free to post comments and questions as we go along.  I look forward to seeing what everyone comes up with!  :)

Do you like reading books?  Do you like free e-books?  Would you have any interest in reading free books and then reviewing them, or interviewing the author(s), or blogging about the experience, or any and all of the aforementioned this November?

If you answered YES to any of those vague questions, you need to check out Adopt An Indie Author Month!


The event is now closed to authors submitting their books, because there was a rush of late entries in October, but I was lucky enough to land a spot for my first novel, Carving The Light.  You can view my adoption page here.  :)

For the complete list of books up for adoption for November, start here, and work your way through the categories that interest you most.

Up for grabs are a whole WHACK of free e-books for you to read and interact with in the manner (or manners) with which you feel most comfortable.  And - did I mention that they are FREE?!

All of them have been published independently or via small press channels, and this fabulous idea is another way for us "little folk" to get the word out about our literary babies!

From the website:

November 2011: 'Adopt an Indie' month
Many people feel there is still a stigma surrounding self-published/small-press books but how many readers actually mind where the book is coming from?

This experience is about bringing authors, readers and book bloggers together to dispel some of the indie myths and show that if you're missing indie, you're missing out.

What will people get?

Readers will be able to talk to published authors and learn about their experiences Authors will be able to find out what really matters to readers and if they really care about the 'indie/SP/small press' labels Bloggers can share their take – do they see traditional books as higher quality? Does the publisher even matter?
In addition, as part of the 'Adopt an Indie' theme, readers will be able to read and review one book from a selection available in order to see first hand the quality that is on offer. In effect, they will 'adopt' that indie and be able to ask more detailed questions about their work and get more of an insight into the indie world.

What can I expect?

Live chat/Q&A sessions Readers interviewing authors Authors sharing their experiences and advice Bloggers sharing their perspective on the changing book market Guest posts Novel excerpts Review copies (ebooks)
Okay, what's the catch?

There isn't one! All I ask is that you:

Spread the word far and wide Commit to the month: you're not expected to be part of every interview, guest post, Q&A etc but I'd love you to follow the 'Adopt an Indie' month from start to finish Be open-minded: of course I won't ban people who don't like indie/self-publishing/small presses – everyone has the right to an opinion! However, do be willing to listen to everyone's opinions and share the discussion. Have fun! Everyone has the same thing in common: they love words!
If you are interested in being a Reader, you can fill out your book requests here.

Bloggers, fill out this form, and you will be contacted soon regarding the part you will be able to play in all of this!  Additionally, I'd imagine the links and exposure will only drive even more traffic to your blog, so it couldn't hurt, right?

So head on over and adopt an indie author today!  There are baby books up for adoption, all awaiting your notice and attention!

Adopt An Indie Month - November 2011

Welcome to the official virtual book launch of a brand new fairytale, Ebon Black and the Seven Dryads!!!  Come on in, have a seat, grab a drink (or maybe an apple - that never hurt anyone, right?), and settle in for a spell!

There's much to do and enjoy - tell your friends!  :)



Change your status to one of the following, or something of your own creation:

Who's The Richest Of Them All? Find out here! http://amzn.com/1463768753

Ebon Black and the Seven Dryads World Tour 2011 http://amzn.com/1463768753

Check out this fun new twist on a classic tale: http://amzn.com/1463768753

I'll never look at trees the same way again! http://amzn.com/1463768753

Can YOU name all 7? http://amzn.com/1463768753

My friend wrote a fairytale that could turn the whole genre upsidedown! http://amzn.com/1463768753

What's a Dryad? http://amzn.com/1463768753

I wanna visit Pam's Place! http://amzn.com/1463768753

Joc, Weepy, Cranky, Glitzy, Nerdy, Needy and Pam http://amzn.com/1463768753


Facebook Character Scavenger Hunt!!!
Search Facebook for each character's page - there are 13 in all! Some of them may require a little deductive reasoning and searching (the Amazon.com search inside feature might help, too, as well as the Ebon Black Word Search), but all of them have more information than you could ever want to know, so have fun! And don't forget to "like" each character as you locate them! You can even comment on their walls, and add to their lists of favourite movies, etc, as inspiration strikes!


Amazon Blitz!!!

This is where a few minutes from each of you can make all the difference in the world!  Please go to your local Amazon page (you must have an account that you have used to purchase items in the past), and find the Ebon Black book page.  There is also a Kindle page linked if you are on Amazon.com, so you can go from one to the other with ease.

Once there, I need you to do a few things.  Click the "Like" buttom at the top near the title.  Then scroll down to where the Tags section is.  If you are on Amazon.com or .ca, you will see some tags on there already.  Agree with them by clicking the check box next to each one, and/or add your own.  You can check up to 15 total, so go nuts!  This helps Ebon sit higher in searches when people are looking for books with specific tags, subjects, etc.

Finally, IF there are any (positive) reviews on the page, PLEASE click the "Yes" it was helpful button under each review.  When people care enough to take the time to write and post even a small blurb about my books, I at least want to reward them with positivity in return, and increase their reviewer standings in the process.

So there you have it - a few quick and easy things that you can do to help Ebon's visibility online, without even having to buy the book!  ;)

If you ARE actually willing and able to purchase the book online, please try to do it through Amazon.com, and on the 10th, if possible. This will increase the book's sales ranking for the day, and place it higher up on the ladder in searches than it would be normally. It works whether you purchase the Kindle/e-book version for $1.49, or the paperback for $6.99. If you live in the US, grab a couple of friends and aim for the free shipping option. If you live in Canada (or anywhere else), grab a few friends and split the shipping cost. It will be faster and cheaper than waiting to get a copy from me in person, and it will help me out a great deal! I also promise to sign as many as possible once the shipment arrives! ;)




Search Engine Challenge!!!

While the official mini book launch is on September 10th, word has already been spreading about this new twist on a classic tale! Bring up your favourite search engine and see how many references, links, images, etc that you can find related to Ebon Black and the Seven Dryads, and post them here for the rest of us to follow! It's amazing how many different places are already taking notice! Go ahead - see how many YOU can find!


CONTEST ANNOUNCEMENT!!!
 
Create your own illustrations for your favourite scenes in Ebon Black and the Seven Dryads, and email them to [email protected]. You could win a chance to have your name and artwork included in the first anniversary full-colour Kids' Edition of the book! As well, each winner will receive a free copy of the anniversary edition when it comes out! So start reading, and get your drawings ready, because it's never too soon! Keep an eye on http://suemaynard.blogspot.com for more details as they become available.
 
Ebon Black Word Search!!!

There are 47 words related to the book hidden in the Ebon Black Word Search. Print it off at home, or save and open in your computer's Paint program to check them all off the list! How many can YOU find?  
 

Ebon Black and the Seven Dryads has officially been unleashed upon the world!   

In this new twist on a classic tale, a young boy (Ebon Black) must contend with an evil stepfather who wants to kill him to keep Ebon from becoming The Richest Of Them All!  Losing his memory after the attempt on his life, Ebon is rescued by seven lovely Dryads:  Joc, Weepy, Cranky, Glitzy, Nerdy, Needy and Pam.  Together, they race to find a way to get Ebon back home safely in time to claim his rightful place in society.

Now you can join in the fun by changing your status on Twitter, Facebook, etc to something announcing the arrival of this brand new book, launching today!!!  Search for Ebon-related pages on Facebook for even MORE fun!  See after the jump for status update ideas, and help spread the word!


CHANGE YOUR STATUS!!!


Who's The Richest Of Them All? Find out here! http://amzn.com/1463768753



Ebon Black and the Seven Dryads World Tour 2011 http://amzn.com/1463768753


Check out this fun new twist on a classic tale: http://amzn.com/1463768753


I'll never look at trees the same way again! http://amzn.com/1463768753


Can YOU name all 7? http://amzn.com/1463768753


My friend wrote a fairytale that could turn the whole genre upsidedown! http://amzn.com/1463768753


What's a Dryad? http://amzn.com/1463768753


I wanna visit Pam's Place! http://amzn.com/1463768753


Joc, Weepy, Cranky, Glitzy, Nerdy, Needy and Pam http://amzn.com/1463768753

There are 7 (!) SIGNED copies of Ebon Black and the Seven Dryads being given away as part of the Goodreads First Reads program!  Contest ends September 30th, so head on over to http://www.goodreads.com/ and enter now!!!

Additionally, there is a direct link on this blog's main page, or you can just click 'n' go here!  :)

One week from today I will be selling and signing copies of my new book for kids, Ebon Black and the Seven Dryads!  I will be in person all day at Wordstock in Collingwood, ON, but I'm also organizing a virtual launch online to coincide with the in-person event!  There will be some goodies here, and a bunch more on my Facebook page.  There is currently a giveaway happening over at Goodreads, as well.

My hope is that people will interact with the Amazon page, this blog, and the Facebook page...and maybe even buy the book (which is available for the Kindle and as an e-book, as well)!  ;)

I plan to blitz the world with Ebon all at once, and hope to gain some notice, while giving people like YOU a chance to have a little fun in support!

There's even a word search - in the shape of a happy face, no less!

A contest will then be underway, in which people will be able to create their own artwork for the book, submit it to a special email address, and have a shot at winning a free copy of the 1st anniversary Kids' Edition, which will have the winners' full colour illustrations included, as well as their names in the credits!

It's a bit of a different approach, and my hope is that readers will get as excited about the possibilites as I am!

So keep an eye out here and on Facebook, for more and more information and goodness will become available as we approach September 10th!

Hope to see you there!

Until soon,

S.A.M.

PS

 

Announcing the In Leah's Wake Social Media Whirlwind Tour—WooHoo! [image error] As part of this special promotional extravaganza sponsored by Novel Publicity, the price of the In Leah's Wake Kindle edition has dropped to just 99 cents this week.

What's more, by purchasing this fantastic book at an incredibly low price, you can enter to win many awesome prizes, including a Kindle, 5 autographed copies of the book, and multiple Amazon gift cards (1 for $100, 3 for $25, 5 for $10, and 10 for $5 – 19 in all)! Be sure to enter before the end of the day on Friday, August 26th, so you don't miss out.


To win the prizes:Purchase your copy of In Leah's Wake for just 99 cents
Fill-out the form on the author's site to enter for prizes
Visit today's featured event; you may win an autographed copy of the book!
And I can win $100 too if you vote for my blog over on the author's website. The blog host that gets the most votes in this traffic-breaker polls wins, so please cast yours right after purchasing In Leah's Wake and entering the contests!


The featured events include:Monday, Blogaganza on Novel Publicity! We're kicking-off on the Novel Publicity Free Advice blog. We'll ask the writer 5 fun and random questions to get everyone talking. Leave a comment or question in response to the post, and you may win an autographed copy of In Leah's Wake. Don't forget to visit the author's blog to enter for the other prizes!

Tuesday, Twitter chat with the author! Tweet with us between 4 and 5 PM Eastern Time, using the hashtag #emlyn. We'll be talking with the author about her favorite books and best writing advice. Bring your questions about In Leah's Wake and don't forget to use #emlyn or to follow Terri @tglong. By joining in the tweet chat at the designated time, you may win an autographed copy of In Leah's Wake. Don't forget to visit the author's blog to enter for the other prizes!

Wednesday, Google+ video chat with the author! Join our hangout between 12 and 3 PM Eastern Time to talk with the author and us via video chat. We'll be gabbing about great books including In Leah's Wake and about writing. Did you know that Terri is a creative writing instructor at Boston College? She's got tons of good advice for aspiring writers. By joining in the Google+ video chat at the designated time, you may win an autographed copy of In Leah's Wake. Don't forget to visit the author's blog to enter for the other prizes!

Thursday, Facebook interview with the author! Stop by Novel Publicity's Facebook page and ask Terri questions. She's chosen three of her favorite topics to talk about:  writing, parenting, and gourmet cooking. Of course, you're welcome to ask about In Leah's Wake too. Leave a comment or question as part of the thread, and you may win an autographed copy of In Leah's Wake. Don't forget tolike Terri's Facebook page or to visit her blog to enter for the other prizes!

Friday, Fun & games based on the book! We want to close this whirlwind social media tour with a gigantic bang, which is why we've set-up two interactive book-themed features on the author's blog. You can take the official Facebook quiz to find out which In Leah's Wake character is most like you and learn how that character ties into the story. Then try out our crossroads story game. Throughout the course of the narrative, you'll have several decisions to make. What you choose will affect the outcome of the story. Play as either rebellious teenager Leah or the trampled peacemaker and mother Zoe. Leave a comment or question on any of Terri's blog entries, and you may win an autographed copy of In Leah's Wake. Don't forget to check out the other give-away contests while you're on Terri's blog!

About In Leah's Wake:  The Tyler family had the perfect life – until sixteen-year-old Leah decided she didn't want to be perfect anymore. While Zoe and Will fight to save their daughter from destroying her brilliant future, Leah's younger sister, Justine, must cope with the damage her out-of-control sibling leaves in her wake. Will this family survive? What happens when love just isn't enough? Jodi Picoult fans will love this beautifully written and absorbing novel.






An excerpt from In Leah's WakeThe prologue and first chapter



". . . little heart of mine, believe me, everyone is really responsible to all men for all men and for everything. I don't know how to explain it to you, but I feel it is so, painfully even. And how is it we went on living, getting angry and not knowing?"
Fyodor DostoevskyThe Grand InquisitorPrologue

March

Justine strikes a pose before the full-length mirror hanging on her closet door. Chin up, hands by her sides. She draws a breath. "My dear. . ." she begins, and stops mid-sentence. Wrinkles her nose. She's got it all wrong. She's too—Too stiff. Too grownup. Toosomething.

She rakes her fingers over her short dark hair, sweeping the bangs out of her eyes, tugs at the hem of her pink baby-doll pajamas. She's scheduled to deliver the candidates' address at her Confirmation Mass this afternoon. When she learned, six months ago, that she had been selected speaker, Justine was ecstatic. Now, the very idea of standing in front of the whole congregation, telling hundreds, maybe thousands, of people how she's learned from her own family what it means to be part of God's larger family makes her sick to her stomach.

She has no choice. She made a commitment.

She folds her hands primly, setting them at chest height on her imaginary podium, glances at her cheat sheet, rolls her lower face into a smile, and begins again. "My fellow Confirmation candidates," she says this time. Justine crumples the paper, tosses it onto her bed. My fellow Confirmation candidates. What a dork. She sounds about twenty, instead of thirteen.

She screws up her face. "I can't do this," she says, wagging a finger at the girl watching her from the mirror. She would feel like a hypocrite.



Justine plods to the bathroom, pees, pads back to her bedroom. The forecasters are predicting snow, starting later today. A dismal gray stratus hangs over her skylight. Her room is dark, the air raw. Her sister's blue and gold Cortland High sweatshirt lies in a heap at the foot of her bed. Justine pulls the sweatshirt over her head, retrieves the balled-up paper. With the back of her hand, she flattens it out, and returns to the mirror to practice.

As always, on first glance, the girl in the mirror takes Justine by surprise. She's grown two inches since Christmas, isn't chubby anymore, her belly flat, the clavicle bones visible now at the base of her throat. She pushes her bangs out of her pale, darkly fringed eyes. With her fingertips, she touches her cheeks. Her features have matured, her nose long and straight, like her mother's, her cheekbones defined. She curls and uncurls her toes. She wears a size six shoe, a size and a half smaller than Leah. Her toes are long and slim, the nails painted blue.

Justine crushes the sheet of paper, tosses it in the trash, strolls to her window, raises the honeycomb shade. Spring feels a long way away, the yard empty, the trees bare. A rush of cold air streams in, under the sash. The air smells of snow. Justine presses her hand against the cool glass, the way she and her sister used to do on the windshield of their father's car, when they were small. Stop, their father would scold. You're making a mess. She smiles, remembering how Leah loved egging him on. She pulls her hand away from the glass, watches her prints disappear.

Justine wishes, sometimes, that she could disappear, too. Poof, just like the handprint.

Poof, just like her sister.



Chapter One:  Just Do It



September

Zoe and Will Tyler sat at the dining room table, playing poker. The table, a nineteenth-century, hand-carved mahogany, faced the bay window overlooking their sprawling front yard. Husband and wife sat facing one another, a bowl of Tostitos and a half-empty bottle of port positioned between them. Their favorite Van Morrison disc—Tupelo Honey—spun on the player in the family room, the music drifting out of speakers built into the dining room walls.

Dog, their old yellow Lab, lay on a ratty pink baby blanket, under the window.

Zoe plucked the Queen of Hearts from the outside of her hand, and tucked it center. She was holding a straight. If she laid it down, she would win the hand, third in a row, and her husband would quit. If she didn't, she would be cheating herself.

The moon was full tonight, its light casting a ghostly shadow across the yard. The full moon made Zoe anxious. For one of her internships in grad school, she'd worked on the psych ward at City Hospital, in Boston. On nights when the moon was full, the floor erupted, the patients noisy, agitated. Zoe's superiors had pooh-poohed the lunar effect, chalked it up to irrationality, superstition. But Zoe had witnessed the flaring tempers, seen the commotion with her own two eyes, and found the effect impossible to deny—and nearly all the nurses concurred.

"Full moon," she said. "I hadn't noticed. No wonder I had trouble sleeping last night."

Will set his empty glass on the table. With his fingers, he drummed an impatient tattoo. "You planning to take your turn any time soon? Be nice if we ended this game before midnight."

"For Pete's sake, Will." Her husband had the attention span of a titmouse. He reminded her of Mick, a six year-old ADD patient she counseled—sweet kid, when he wasn't ransacking her office, tossing the sand out of the turtle-shaped box, tweaking her African violets.

"What's so funny?" he asked, sulking.

She shook her head—nothing, Mick—and forced a straight face.

"You're laughing at me."

"Don't be silly. Why would I be laughing at you?"

He peered at his reflection in the window. Smirking, he finger-combed his baby-fine hair, pale, graying at the temples, carving a mini-pyramid at his crown.

"Nice do. Could use a little more gel," she said, feeling mean-spirited the instant the words slipped out of her mouth. The poor guy was exhausted. He'd spent the week in California, on business, had flown into Logan this morning, on the red-eye. Though he had yet to fill her in on the details, it was obvious to her that his trip had not gone well. "Sorry," she said. "Just kidding." She fanned out her cards, hesitated for an instant, and laid down the straight.

"Congratulations." Scowling, he pushed away from the table. "You win again."

"Way to go, grumpy. Quit."

"I'm getting water," he said, tamping his hair. "Want some?"

Dog lifted her head, her gaze following Will to the door, yawned, and settled back down.

Her husband stomped across the kitchen, his footfall moving in the direction of the family room. The music stopped abruptly, and the opening chords of a Robbie Robertson tune belted out of the speakers. Zoe loved Robbie Robertson, "Showdown at Big Sky" one of her favorite songs. That didn't mean that the entire state of Massachusetts wanted to hear it.

"Will," she said, gesturing from the kitchen. "Turn it down. You'll wake Justine."

She waited a few seconds, caught his eye, gestured again. The third time was the charm.

Exasperated, she returned to the dining room, bundled the cards, put them away in the sideboard, and gathered the dishes. The toilet flushed in the half-bath off the back hall. Seconds later, she heard her husband rattling around the kitchen, slamming the cabinet doors. Last spring, Will had won a major contract for his company, North American Construction. Since then, he'd been back and forth nonstop to the West Coast, spending two weeks a month in San Francisco, servicing the client. Zoe hadn't minded his traveling, at first. Over the past two years, with the glut of office and manufacturing space in the northeast, construction starts had dropped, and his sales had taken a serious hit, his commissions steadily dwindling. To compensate, initially they'd relied on their savings. In January, they'd remortgaged the house. When the California job arose, Will had jumped on the opportunity. He had no choice, especially with Leah headed to college next year. But the situation, lately, was brutal. Will hated traveling, hated flying, hated living out of a suitcase. And he resented missing Leah's soccer games. Last November, as a sophomore, their daughter had been named Player of the Year on theBoston Globe All-Scholastic team. A week later, in his year-end summary, the sports reporter from the Cortland Gazette had called Leah the "best soccer player in the state." The head coaches from the top colleges in the area—Harvard, Dartmouth, Boston College, BU—had sent congratulatory letters, expressing their interest. Will wanted to be home to guide her, meet the prospective coaches, help her sort through her options. Zoe didn't blame her husband a bit. But it didn't seem to occur to Will that his traveling disrupted her life, too. Last year, she'd developed a motivational seminar, called "Success Skills for Women on the Move." Now that the girls were practically grown, the workshops were her babies. The extra workload at home, added to the demands of her fulltime job at the counseling center, left her with no time for marketing or promotion, and the workshops had stagnated. Zoe understood her husband's frustration. It irked her when he minimized hers.

Will appeared in the doorway, a few minutes later, empty-handed. Will was tall, a hair shy of six-one. He'd played football in college, and, at forty-five, still had the broad shoulders and narrow waist of an athlete. Amazing, really: after eighteen years of marriage, she still found him achingly sexy. Crow's feet creased the corners of his intelligent blue eyes and fine lines etched his cheekbones, giving his boyish features a look of intensity and purpose, qualities Zoe had recognized from the start but that only now, as he was aging, showed on his face.

After work, he'd changed into a pair of stonewashed jeans and a gray sweatshirt, worn soft, the words "Harvard Soccer Camp" screened in maroon lettering across the chest. Absently, he pushed up his sleeves, and peered around the room as though looking for something. "Zoe—" Normally, he called her Honey or Zo.

"I put the cards away." She thumbed the sideboard. "You quit, remember?"

"Do you have any idea what time it is?"

She glanced at the cuckoo clock on the far wall. "Ten past eleven. So?"

"Where's Leah?"

At the football game, with Cissy. "They've been going every week. Did you forget?"

"She ought to be home by now."

"She's only ten minutes late." Their daughter was a junior in high school. They'd agreed, before school started this year, to extend her weekend curfew to eleven. "She'll be here soon."

Will stalked to the window, grumbling. Dog rose, and pressed her nose to the glass.

Their driveway, half the length of a soccer field, sloped down from the cul-de-sac, arced around the lawn, and straightened, ending in a turnaround at the foot of their three-car garage. In summer, the oak and birch trees bordering the property obscured their view. Now that most of the leaves had fallen, the headlights were visible as vehicles entered the circle.

"She has a game in the morning." Will stretched his neck . His upper back had been bothering him lately, residual pain from an old football injury he'd suffered in college.

Zoe came up behind him, pushing Dog's blanket aside with her foot, and squeezed his shoulders. "You're tight."

He dropped his chin. "From sleeping on the plane. Got to get one of those donut pillows."

"You know Leah. She has no sense of time. I'll bet they stopped for something to eat."

"I can't see why Hillary won't set a curfew. Every other coach has one."

"Relax, Will. It's not that late. You're blowing this out of proportion. Don't you think?"

A flash of headlights caught their attention. An SUV entered the cul-de-sac, rounded the circle, its lights sweeping over the drive and across their lawn, and headed down the street.

Bending, Will ruffled Dog's ears. "Reardon's coming tomorrow, specifically to watch her. She plays like crap when she's tired."

The Harvard coach. She should have known. "So she doesn't go to Harvard," she said, a tired remark, fully aware of the comeback her words would elicit, "she'll go someplace else."

"There is no place else."

No place that would give her the opportunities, the connections… blah, blah, blah. They'd been over this a million times. If their daughter had the slightest aspiration of going to Harvard, Zoe would do everything in her power to support her. As far as she could tell, the name Harvard had never graced Leah's wish-list. It was a moot point, anyway. For the last two terms, Leah's grades had been dropping. If she did apply for admission, she would probably be denied.

"Reardon has pull," he offered, a weak rebuttal in Zoe's opinion. "He's been talking to Hillary about her. She can't afford to blow this opportunity."

Opportunity? What opportunity? "Face it, Will. She doesn't want to go to Harvard."

"If she plays her cards right, she can probably get a boat."

Zoe opened her mouth, ready to blast him. He'd received a full football scholarship from Penn State, and dropped out of college. Was that what he wanted? A college drop-out in a couple years? Noticing the purple rings under his eyes, she held back. "You're exhausted." His plane had barely touched ground at Logan Airport when he was ordered to NAC's corporate office in Waltham, for a marketing meeting. He hadn't had time to stop home to change his clothes, never mind take a short nap. "Why don't you go to bed? I'll wait up."

The look he returned implied that she'd lost it. "You think I could sleep?"

"For all we know, they had a flat."

"She would have called."

"So call her." Duh.

"I did. I got voice mail."

Shoot. "You know Leah. Her battery probably died." She was grasping at straws. Leah was sixteen years old. That phone was her lifeline. Still, it could be true. It was possible. Right?



Leah had totally lost track of time. She and Todd had been hanging out at the water tower for hours, perched on the hood of Todd's Jeep, drinking Vodka and OJ, admiring the beautiful night. This place was perfect, the most perfect place in the universe, maybe. Big sky, lots of trees. From here, they could see the whole town, just about—the river, the railroad tracks. An orchard. In the valley, lights began to blink out. Leaning back on her elbows, she gazed up at the heavens. "Look," she said, mesmerized by the inky black sky, the billions and billions of stars. "The Big Dipper." As she stared into space, time fell away, the past merging seamlessly with the future, this moment, up here, with Todd, the only reality there ever was or ever could be.

Todd took her hand, drawing her close, so close she could smell the spicy deodorant under his armpits. Just being with Todd Corbett made her feel dizzy all over. Todd was, by far, the most beautiful boy she had ever laid eyes on. His hair was long on top, short on the sides. He had full lips, and the most fabulous blue eyes, like, like crystals or something. A Romanesque nose, the exact nose she'd once told Cissy she'd die for, only now that she'd seen it on Todd, she realized that that particular nose was meant for a boy. Best of all, he had this incredible aura, all purple and blue, like James Dean or Curt Cobain.

She curled her legs under her, laid her head on Todd's chest.



They met at a party, the Friday before school started. Todd had been on tour for the past two years, working as a roadie for a heavy metal band called "Cobra." Leah knew he was back—that was all anybody was talking about—had recognized him instantly, from all the descriptions.

She couldn't believe her luck. Todd Corbett! And alone! She'd heard he was hot. He was even better looking in person. Looking back, she couldn't believe she'd been so brazen. She left Cissy in the lurch, sashayed right over to him, took a seat beside him, on the living room floor.

The movie he was watching was stupid. People clopping across a field like zombies, their arms outstretched. They reminded her of herself and Justine when they were little, playing blind. Even the makeup looked phony.

"What are you watching?" she asked.

"Night of the Living Dead. Flick's a classic. Hey, haven't I seen you someplace before?"

Maybe, though she couldn't imagine where. Todd couldn't possibly have remembered her from high school. She was only a freshman when he dropped out.

"Leah Tyler, right? You're that soccer chick."



The wind swished through the trees. Leah shivered and Todd shrugged out of his worn leather bomber, draped his jacket over her shoulders. He reached into the pocket of his jeans, retrieved a small plastic bag half-full of weed, began rolling a joint. He licked the edge of the paper, lit the joint, inhaling deeply, and handed it to her, the smell rich and exotic and sweet.

Leah had never smoked marijuana until she met Todd. She used to be scared, which was dumb: weed was totally harmless. (The first few times she smoked, she had to admit, she'd been disappointed.) She pulled, her chest searing, struggled to hold the ice-hot smoke in her lungs.

Suddenly, she was coughing, waving her arms.

"You OK, babe?" Todd rescued the joint. With the other hand, he patted her back.

Once she was breathing easily again, he laughed, a sweet laugh that left her feeling dignified, rather than cheesy or stupid. He pinched the joint between his index finger and thumb, took a hit to demonstrate, and brought it to her lips, holding it for her. "That's it, babe. Good."

They smoked the joint to its stub, and he showed her how to fashion a roach clip from twigs. Afterward, he offered to drive her home. "Don't want you getting in trouble or nothing."

"That's OK," Leah said dreamily. "I don't have to go yet."

Todd hopped off the hood of the Jeep, pulled a flannel blanket from the back of the truck, and spread the blanket on the grass, under a giant oak tree. Leah watched him smooth it out, his hands dancing, the whole world intensely colored, brilliantly alive. She heard the lonely trill of a cricket, calling from deep in the valley, smelled the damp autumn earth, felt the cool blue breeze on her face. Todd was gliding toward her now, floating on air. He scooped her into his arms, lifting her from the hood of his Jeep, and laid her on the blanket. And kissed her.



At eleven thirty, Zoe dialed Leah's cell phone again. When Leah didn't pick up, she tried Cissy, both times reaching voice mail. "I don't believe those two," Zoe said, infuriated. "I'll bet they changed their ringers. The little devils probably know it's us."

"That's your daughter for you," Will huffed.

"She's my daughter now?"

By eleven forty-five, Zoe was chewing her cuticles. And Will was pacing.

"This is it," Will announced. "I'm calling the cops."

"You can't be serious. What do you plan to tell them?"

He opened his cell phone. "I can't sit here, doing nothing." He glared at the screen.

"You can't call the cops. She's forty-five minutes late. They'll think we're crazy."

He clicked his cell shut, dug his keys out of his pocket. "Fine. I'll find her myself."

Find her? Where on earth did he plan to look?

"I'll start at the high school."

"The game was over hours ago."

"I'll drive by the Hanson's." He headed for the garage, Dog at his heels.

"And do what?" Cissy's mom, a nurse, worked the early shift at St. John's. Judi was probably in bed by now. He would frighten her if he knocked on the door. "Will? Answer me."

He swiveled to face her. "Look for the car," he snapped, and ushered Dog out the door.

Zoe stood in the mudroom, at a loss, staring blankly at the door her husband had closed. The house, she realized when she came to, was an icebox. She rooted through the hall closet, found a fleece jacket of Will's, and pulled it on, kicked off her shoes, the ceramic tile cool under her bare feet, went to the bathroom, crossed the hall to the laundry, tossed a load of clean clothes into the dryer, and wandered back to the kitchen. She poured a glass of water, gathered the dishes they'd left on the dining room table, and emptied the uneaten chips into the compactor. She loaded the dishwasher. After she finished washing the counter, she flung the rag into the sink, and grabbed the cordless phone, so she would have a phone handy if Will or Leah tried to call.

A family portrait, commissioned last year, hung over the stone fireplace in the family room. For the photograph, the four of them had dressed in blue; their blue period, they'd joked when the photographer showed them the proofs. In the photo, Zoe is sitting on a stool, leaning toward the camera, Will standing behind her, flanked by the girls. Looking at the portrait, you'd never guess how hard it had been for the photographer to capture the shot, the kids squabbling, Will impatient, Zoe frustrated, both parents clenching their teeth. Restless, Zoe stepped down into the family room, sank into the oversized chair next to the fireplace, and curled her legs under her, clutching the phone.

Waiting, she tried to think positive thoughts. Leah's responsible. She can handle herself. If the girls had been in a car accident, the police would have contacted them by now. As usual, her effort to avoid negative thoughts conjured them up. Something wasn't right. Leah had been late a few times before, never like this. A half hour was one thing. Zoe often lost track of time herself. She would be at her office, transcribing her notes, look up, notice the clock, and realize she was supposed to have picked up one of the girls—at school, at the mall, at a friend's—fifteen, twenty minutes before. She would rush around her office in a tizzy, collecting her folders and purse, cursing herself for being a neglectful mother, and drive like a madwoman to her destination. But an hour? She checked her watch. And fifteen minutes? This wasn't like Leah.

She wondered if she had missed something. A signal. A hint. This morning, Leah, out of bed by seven, had moseyed into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. Spotting the sauce pan on the front burner, she'd whined about having to eat oatmeal again. But she always whined when Zoe made oatmeal, which on certain days she found "revolting," on others "disgusting" or "gross." Zoe set the bowl in front of her. "Quit bellyaching," she said. "Oatmeal is good for you."

They were running late. So the girls wouldn't have to rush to catch the bus, Zoe offered to drive them to school. Justine rode shotgun, while Leah dozed in the backseat. At two, Leah called Zoe at work to remind her that she and Cissy planned to go to the game. She was headed directly home after practice, Leah had said; she would fix dinner. At six thirty, when Zoe opened the back door, she smelled Leah's spicy, cumin-laced chili. On the island counter, Zoe found place settings for her, for Will, for Justine, three glasses filled with ice water and lemon. Justine was upstairs in her room, doing her geometry homework. Leah had already left for the game.

Zoe closed her eyes, breathing deeply, attempting to center herself, and, counting backward from ten. . . eight, seven, six. . . summoned an image of her daughter. Leah's face materialized, and her body slowly came into focus. Directing her energy outward, Zoe enclosed her daughter in a protective circle of light. Be safe, baby, she whispered. Be safe.



Will drove along country roads canopied by the boughs of towering oak trees, the winding streets bordered by stone walls erected in the late 1700's, by the farmers who'd settled the town. In those days, the stone walls served as boundary markers, the average farm occupying fifty acres of land, most of it orchards. It was a hard life, Will thought, working eighteen hours a day, building walls, cultivating the land. He reached for Dog, on the passenger seat, ruffled her ears. "What do you say, Girl?" Dog cocked her head. "Was life harder then? Or harder today?"

The Hansons lived a mile outside the center, on a corner lot in a modest sub-division, built in the late-eighties, a neighborhood of center-entry colonials, garrisons, expanded Capes, set on cramped one-acre lots. Will slowed as they approached the Hanson's newly remodeled Salt Box, he and Dog rubber-necking together. Onion lamps flanked the entrance and the garage doors; matching pole lights lined the drive. The house was dark, the driveway empty. Will turned left, onto the adjacent street, hoping to find a light on in the back of the house, in which case he would knock on the door. Nothing, not even a porch lamp. Frustrated, he rounded the block, passed by the front of the property again, in case he had somehow managed to miss Cissy's car the first time, and headed for the high school, on the off-chance that the girls were still there.

The parking lot was dark when Will pulled in, the lights extinguished hours ago. He pulled down the sloping driveway behind the school, passing the rubberized track, where the soccer players practiced their sprints. He swung by the service entrance, then by the gym, doubled back, and circled the deserted lot, scanning the playing fields. At the ticket booth by football stadium, he parked, and just sat, thinking, Dog curled beside him on the passenger seat.

They'd had no idea, he and Zoe, how easy they'd had it when the girls were young. In their eyes, every little thing seemed like a crisis. They would glance at the window, catch three- year-old Leah zooming down the drive on her Big-Wheel, her legs outstretched, little hands reaching for the sky. In a panic, they would tear out of the house, always an instant too late, too far from their daughter to do anything except cross their fingers and watch. "Leah—" Will would holler, his stomach churning, "hold on." And Zoe would cover her eyes, both parents envisioning the worst, the Big-Wheel rocketing off course, crashing into a tree. Later, the rope swing he'd hung by their deck replaced the Big-Wheel as the most obvious threat. They'd worried about random accidents, obsessed over tragedies they watched on News Center 5 or read about in the Globe: that the girls would fall into the hidden shaft of a well or drown in a neighbor's backyard pool, that a stranger would kidnap one of their daughters when she was outside playing or taking a walk. It was tough being a parent, the welfare of their children utterly dependent on them, yet as long as they were vigilant, as long as they did their job, kept a trained eye on their daughters, their children would be safe. Now that she was older, they had no way of keeping tabs on their daughter. Once the car she was riding in rolled out of the drive, her fate was out of their hands. She could be anywhere, doing anything, with anyone. They had no way to protect her.

"What do you say, girl?" he said finally. "Doesn't look like she's here, does it?"

In a last ditch effort, he took another run by the Hanson's place.



Zoe had fallen asleep clutching the portable phone, her head resting on the wing of her chair. He brushed a curl out of her face, touched her shoulder gently, so he wouldn't startle her.

His wife blinked up at him. "Did you find her?"

He shook his head, dejected.

Dog nuzzled Zoe's leg. Yawning, she scratched the dog's head. "What time is it?"

"Close to one."

"My God." She pulled herself to an upright position. "What do you think is going on?"

Hard to say at this point, he told her. "She didn't call, did she?"

Zoe shook her head in alarm. "You don't think anything's happened, do you?"

"We'd have heard by now."

"I'm worried, Will. This isn't like her."

Will rubbed his neck, squeezing the trapezius muscles, hoping to release some of the tension. "I don't know where else to look. Figured it'd be stupid to keep driving in circles."

His wife attempted to stifle a yawn.

"You look beat," he said. "Why don't you go to bed? I'll wait up."

"You're as tired as I am."

"Go. I can sleep in. You've got to get up in the morning."

"Maybe I should," she said, shifting position. "Have to be up at six. Had to—" She paused, her glazed eyes fixed on the palladium window at the far end of the room. "Sorry." She blinked. "I had to shift my schedule around. Workshop Sunday. Wake me when she comes in? You won't forget?"

"I won't forget."

Will helped his wife out of her chair, walked her to the front staircase, kissed her, and told her to sleep well. From the foot of the staircase, he watched her climb the stairs and wander down the hall to their bedroom. When she closed the door, he went to the kitchen, filled a glass with spring water, brought the glass to the living room, sat on his leather recliner by the window, adjusted the back, and put up his feet. Dog lay on the floor, next to his chair. In ten minutes, she was snoring. He plucked an old issue of Sports Illustrated out of the pleated leather pocket on the side of his chair, flipped through. Unable to focus, he tossed it on the floor.

On the windowsill, in front of an eight-by-ten studio portrait of the girls, taken when Justine was a toddler, sat a framed snapshot of Leah. He picked up the photo. They'd been in Cortland for about a year when he snapped the shot. Leah was not quite seven, the youngest child on the under-ten team. Her uniform was two sizes too big, her baggie blue T-shirt skimming the hem of her shorts. The team was in the midst of a game, Leah racing to the net, blond ponytail flying, the ball jouncing in front of her, her tiny face focused, intense.

His daughter was an exceptional player, fast, agile, fiercely competitive, the best player from Massachusetts ever, some coaches said. Since she was a child, Will had been grooming her, encouraging her, fostering her talent. Youth soccer, traveling teams. Scholarship to Harvard—that was their plan. They'd practiced, strategized, prepared. Through the rain, the snow, he'd been right there with her. All in service to the crimson uniform she would one day wear. That was her dream, wasn't it? She hoped to play pro. But Harvard first. Time and again, they'd discussed the importance of a good education, the one thing in life that can never be taken away.

Will pushed her, he knew. He wanted the best for his kids. He would do whatever it took to help them succeed, prevent them from repeating the mistakes he'd made. In the spring of his junior year, he'd left Penn State, surrendering a full scholarship, trading his education for a long shot at a music career. In one hour, the time it took to inform his dean he was quitting, walk to the registrar's office and sign a couple of forms, he'd managed to screw up his life. Look at him: forty-five-years-old, stuck in a dead-end job, kissing the asses of people who ought to be working for him. He refused to sit back, watch Leah throw her life away. Kids needed guidance, a motivational coach to push them, keep them focused, drive them when they didn't feel like practicing, pump them up when they lost confidence, spur them on when they wanted to quit.

Will closed his eyes. God help him. Tell him he hadn't pushed her away.