Sunday, June 24, 2012

Waiting On Hope by T.M. Souders: Interview & Excerpt

Romantic Women's Fiction


Ten years ago, Lexie Dodson fled her home in rural Ohio, leaving behind a heartbroken brother and abandoning a devastated fiance. While chasing her desire of a fast-paced life in the city, and the obscurity of urban life, she is shaken to her very core by an act of violence that leaves her betrayed, broken, and pregnant - and with nowhere to go but home.

Seeking refuge and facing gut-wrenching decisions, she is confronted not only with the past she left behind, but also with a love that never died - a love waiting for something to stoke the flames.

She stepped to the ledge of the balcony, welcoming death—and the mercy it offered.
     Three more steps and she would be free. One. Two.
     The sudden bang on the door made Lexie jump. She stood, her toes curling over the cool, rough, concrete, only inches from the edge of descent.
     Gripping the chair next to her, she tried to concentrate. She raised her arms straight out from her sides like an airplane. The morning air, cool on her skin, wrapped around her in a soft caress. She visualized the jump, the slap of wind on her face and in her hair. She didn’t flinch from the thought of the agony of impact, which may come before the blessed numbness. After all, she was no stranger to pain.
     Opening her eyes, she glanced down at her feet. Without a railing, the unguarded slab of stone made for easy access to the waiting street below. She straightened her toes, no longer supported by the balcony.
     The banging on the door persisted, making it hard for her to think. She tried to ignore the interruption, but the caller’s persistence made blocking out the sound impossible. Behind the pounding she heard a voice—one she recognized.
     “Lexie, open up. Let me in. What the hell are you doing out there? You’re going to get yourself killed. Lex?” Sienna continued to call through the door.
     Lexie glanced from the inside of her apartment back to the street below. Traffic loomed, along with the occasional pedestrian. She cursed Sienna for interfering. Why did she show up now?
     All she needed was one more step, but the insistent banging outside her door thumped in the background of her mind, jarring the still thoughts of death from where they perched. She would have to wait. With Sienna right outside, plunging off the balcony was not an option. Enough agony would be caused to those she left behind, without any of them having to witness her demise. When the time came, however, she would leap at the chance to end the world in which only a fog of pain enveloped her.
     She stepped off the balcony, into her apartment. Despite the sound of Sienna’s voice, she peered through the peep hole, confirming her visitor’s identity. She unlocked the chain bolt and three dead bolts she installed after “the incident” two months ago—the effort on her part, a fruitless one. She knew all-too-well you couldn’t lock the devil out. He seldom arrived undisguised.
     Sienna didn’t wait for Lexie to open the door. The second the dead bolt snapped, she threw the door open, rocking Lexie on her feet where she stood. She took inventory, looking around Lexie’s apartment, her gaze hovering over the barrage of locks. Raising one golden brow, she narrowed her eyes at Lexie, who remained silent.
     “What’s going on Lex? You’re not returning any of my calls. And what’s with the horror movie locks?” Sienna asked. Her forehead wrinkled into a dozen lines.
     Lexie shrugged. She hadn’t told Sienna what happened yet, and even when she did, she couldn’t tell her the whole truth. The facts for her would be too devastating. Then again, she probably deserved more credit than Lexie gave her…
     Nevertheless, letting Sienna in on the events of the last two months was the right thing to do. After all, Lexie’s affinity for lying was weak, and besides, Sienna had an ability to see straight through a person, to cut through the crap.
     Sienna stood, arms crossed in front of her chest, her platinum hair pulled back from her face, waiting for a response, for some enlightenment to explain Lexie’s recent behavior.
     “Um. They’re just a precaution,” Lexie said.
     “Precaution? Lex, you’re scaring me. I’ve been calling you for two months, without so much as a reply. You’ve skipped out on all our Friday girls’ nights. You stood me up at the photography convention on Sunday, the one you begged me to attend with you. And this morning, I called Pittsburgh Magazine, only to find out that you haven’t been at work in over a month, that you’re taking some time off for personal reasons.”
     Sienna continued to talk, following Lexie from the foyer to the couch in her living room.
     Lexie tried to make herself comfortable, but found it impossible—a notion inexplicably apparent in her life as of late. She fidgeted on the white sofa, which seemed to signal to her a glaring beacon of purity—suddenly out of place in the room.
     Lexie sighed, fanning her hands out in front of her, trying to find the words. “I’m just…I’m going through something right now.”
     After a moment’s silence, Sienna said, “And you can’t tell me? Since when do we keep secrets from each other?”
     The pain in Sienna’s rich chocolate eyes was palpable, a confirmation of sorts of why her own pain, her own shame, should be kept to herself. How did she find the words? Part of her wanted to say it. She envisioned opening her mouth and letting them flow, forming her lips around the vowels, I was raped. The thought alone, stung like venom on the tip of her tongue.
     “I…I….” Lexie tilted her head back. She gazed at the ceiling, the tiny vein-like cracks in the otherwise smooth plaster. Why couldn’t she say it? She willed the words from her mind, but still they would not come.
     She looked back at Sienna, the hurt in her eyes latched onto the lacerations of her soul, bringing with them a new burden. Not only did she carry her own shame, but also guilt for the anguish imposed on Sienna by her silence.
     Lexie said the only thing she could, a poor substitution for the truth. “Listen, I’m going through something right now that I can’t talk about. I just can’t…” Her voice cracked slightly. She managed to suppress a sob before continuing. “I need a little time. Please.”
     “Do you promise me you’re going to be okay? You’re scaring the hell out of me, girl. I mean, blowing me off is one thing, but your job? You haven’t taken so much as a sick day in the ten years since I met you.”
     “I swear.”
     She couldn’t bring herself to mutter the words, I promise. Promises were for a groom on his wedding day, vowing to be faithful in good times and bad. For mothers who tucked their kids into bed at night, assuring them safety was inexplicably theirs—that no monsters hid beneath the covers. Well, she knew all about monsters—not only did they exist, but they were all around us. She knew all about promises too. By definition, they were impossible to keep. Because among the assurance belies a certainty, which carries with it the measure of impossibility, because a promise is a guarantee. What was the saying her mother always used to say? In life, there are no guarantees.

Plotter or Pantser? Why?

I HAVE to at least make a preliminary outline of my plot. They’re usually not very detailed, but if I don’t, I feel lost and get anxious when I sit down to write. Anxiety + writing are not a good combo. 

What book are you reading now?

Wild Rose by Jennifer Donnelly. It’s the third book in a sort-of series, which I loved. I’m not very far in yet, but I hope it is as good as the first two! 

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

Ha! The first thing I remember wanting to be was a fashion designer. My parents bought me this large sketchbook where I used to draw dresses. Needless to say they were awful. I can only imagine my parents used to look at those and prayed I’d find something else I wanted, lol. 

What do you do to unwind and relax?

Honestly? Drink wine (I love going wine tasting, and I live near a lot of vineyards so this works for me), read, and garden. 

Do you have a milestone birthday coming up? If so, how are you approaching it?

I did. I just turned 30, and I approached it bummed to be unable to say I’m in my twenties anymore, but hoping that the thirties will be ten times better. 

At what point in your life did you realize you wanted to be a writer?

Though I was a psychology major, my senior year in college I realized it was what I really wanted. Too bad I hadn’t realized earlier because I could’ve changed my major and really done something about it, lol. I went on to write on and off the next handful of years, but it wasn’t until after I gave birth to my first child that I became determined to make it a reality. 

How do you react to a bad review of your book?

Each one is like a stab in the heart, but you have to shrug it off and move on because a thick skin is required in this business. I remind myself of all the people (who left reviews and just ones I spoke to) who loved it. 

Describe what it’s like to be an author in three words.

Difficult. Rewarding. Challenging.

T.M. Souders was born in Johnstown, PA and grew up in the suburbs outside of Pittsburgh. She graduated in 2004, from Youngstown State University, with a degree in Psychology and minor in Women’s Studies. She is the author of bestselling women’s fiction novel, Waiting on Hope, as well as the novelette Dashing Through The Snow. She is the founder of The Cheap Kindle Daily, a site dedicated to introducing readers to new, affordable, ebooks. Her young adult novel, Freedom Road, is due to be released later this year. She currently lives in rural Ohio with her husband and children.

One Kindle formatted copy of Waiting on Hope
Ends July 14, 2012

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