Thanks for participating with Name My Novel! Here’s the first excerpt from the new book. It may seem a bit familiar to longtime readers of the Love Without Traffic blog. Join the Name My Novel Facebook group for details.
Excerpt #1 from Chapter One:
The handsome musician meets my gaze, thus accepting the mission appointed to him by the architect of my life. He’s to survey the site, assess the structure of the existing foundation and take whatever means necessary to prepare the grounds for the blueprint of my destiny.
If I possessed the awareness of this mission, or the manner in which he’ll execute it, I’d return to the safety of my beach chair by the turquoise ocean. Since I do not, I settle onto the couch just in front of the stage and pull my journal from my beach bag. I never feel alone in social environments with my journals, my faithful traveling companions. As the musician announces that this will be his last song, I begin to detail things I already know, as if writing for an audience instead of journaling for myself.
As have most major events in my life, this February adventure began with Mom. I wouldn’t be here if her doctor hadn’t suddenly developed diagnostic abilities and informed her that she has MS – and has for decades. I’m grateful it took so long; the moment she learned of her disease, she became one with it, taking on symptoms she hadn’t yet possessed. Her most recent one is falling.
My fear has forced me past denial, to the realization that she is a mortal being. Someday, she won’t be here. Hopefully that day is very far in the future but it’s time to stop revolving the planet of my life around her axis. This trip to Florida has been my first step in extracting myself from the web of our enmeshment. It’s been so hard, emotionally; I miss her so much! And something tells me I’m not even going to be on my flight home next week.
I glance up at the musician, who is looking right at me again, as if to validate the truth of these words. Chills rush through my spine. I feel the buzz of anticipation as I imagine him approaching and offering to buy me a drink. It’s a vivid scene in the coming attractions of my heart. The giddy feeling is accompanied by a twinge of trepidation, the same feeling I’d have looking down at a black diamond trail as I’m about to ski for the first time in years.
I know something big is going to happen before I head back to New York, because this many stars don’t align without reason. So many intricate details had to fall into place this past month to lead me here to this improbable moment, running into this man for the second time this week! Even today had to roll exactly as it did. The hotel clerk had to let me check in five hours early. I had to leave the beach at the precise moment people were smoking outside the open windows of my room. The manager had to upgrade me to a suite and give me a gift card for this tiki bar to enjoy while they cleaned it.
I look up from my journal to take in my surroundings, but all I see is the musician. I was magnetized by his striking face the other night, but he’s somehow even more attractive today. I have a thing for five o’clock shadows and he wears one better than most. I love his spiked hair, the tips of which are lighter than the rest, and his forearms and biceps, which dance rhythmically as he strums his guitar. His eyes are so green, they look fake.
I’ve been an avid music lover all my life and have been to more live shows than anyone can count, but I’ve never heard someone play quite like this. Nevertheless, there is something deeply familiar about his music. My soul has known it – and him – far longer than since I first laid eyes upon him a few nights ago.
He looks at me again and announces he’s going to play one more song. Everyone cheers. I close my eyes to take him in with a sense I mistakenly presume will be safer than vision. He plays the opening notes of a classic guitar riff, which is somehow even better than the original. The mystifying sound of his guitar vibrates through my heart and electrifies the feelings that are already swirling through it, as if he’s plugged my heart into his amplifier.
I tell my journal about the first time I laid eyes and ears upon him. It humors me, acting surprised as if it wasn’t with me on that fateful day, also.
The other patrons join me in applause as the song and set end. The musician thanks us and wishes us a sacred Sunday with his sexy Latin accent. He puts down his guitar and makes a beeline for me.
I take a deep breath into my heart and let it begin.
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