Forgive the late posting. This was not the blog post I originally planned today. I wrote a whole 'nother one, then, as they say in THE PULL OF GRAVITY, the best laid plans got in the way.

Okay, maybe they said that somewhere else first before my debut YA. :)

Anyway, not the post I was planning, but we did the official JACK KEROUAC IS DEAD TO ME cover reveal yesterday unexpectedly, so I'm bumping everything to share that here. Now.

Isn't it pretty?!?!

If you want to read the official COVER REVEAL BLOG POST (and why Kelly Hager of KellyVision was the perfect host), you may do so HERE . . . and to read more about the book or preorder (those are good for writers!!!), you may do so here: https://www.amazon.com/Jack-Kerouac-Dead-Me-Novel/dp/125031223X, (although the BEST place to preorder is via your local indie and/or brick and mortar.

Or, heck, preorder through one of my favorite indies -- and endeavors -- THE BRAIN LAIR BOOKSTORE
Anyway, I'm excited about this book I started nearly a decade ago (!!!) and hope you all love it when it arrives on shelves everywhere in April 2020.

Now, without further ado, FRIDAY FEEDBACK. If you haven't been here before, please take a moment to read THE RULES.

My share is a moment in my continuing WIP ("Work in Progress") which right now appears to be adult literary fiction. It is completely unedited or reread. A true first "Vomit Draft." Last week we met Paul at "Twenty Three Years Later." For the moment, this is the first time we meet June.




Twenty years later.June

June Sobel sits at the living room window, across from the piano, and stares out at the patchy lawn. She’s not thinking about the small lump her OBGYN found in her breast yesterday morning, or about the biopsy she has to go in for next week. She’s thinking about Gabriel and the time he explained chord progressions to her, a moment that comes back to her lately, again and again.“Since there are only so many chord progressions to choose from,” he’d told her, “you can’t protect them, or accuse other people of stealing them.” He’d been sitting at the piano, then, absentmindedly fiddling with the last two high-pitched keys, to the point where she’d lost her patience, annoyed at the repetition. It was a Saturday morning and she was enjoying her tea, and it infuriated her the way he’d do that, play nothing at all, or worse, something aggravating just to get on her nerves. After all those lessons, he was more than capable of playing something beautiful.


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See you in the comments!

- gae