Randy Susan Meyers's Blog, page 28
August 30, 2014
August 26, 2014
August 24, 2014
August 22, 2014
August 19, 2014
Were They Okay?
A postcard from Accidents of Marriage, releasing Sept. 2. Read an excerpt here.
August 17, 2014
August 14, 2014
August 12, 2014
Book Trailer: ACCIDENTS OF MARRIAGE
The trailer for Accidents of Marriage, releasing Sept. 2. Read an excerpt here.
Trailer written and designed by Randy Susan Meyers, Nancy MacDonald and Sophie Schmid.
Original music by Cidny Bullens
August 10, 2014
August 7, 2014
Bonus Track: An Epilogue for THE COMFORT OF LIES: “Savannah at 14″
Note: Readers have written, asking what happens to Savannah, who is six years old when “The Comfort of Lies” ends. This epilogue was in the original manuscript—I thought some readers would enjoy seeing how my lovely girl (I adored her every minute of writing the book) made out.
WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD!!!
Don’t read this before reading THE COMFORT OF LIES, unless you like your ends first!
“SAVANNAH AT FOURTEEN”
Tonight, my parents—all six of them—were going to be together for the first time. Half of me felt a weird sort of excitement; the other half was ready to throw up. Worry jangled everywhere in my body, from a fizzy full feeling in my throat to the tips of my fingers. What would it be like, having my real parents (which truly, my adoptive parents are) and my real, but not real, parents (honestly, that’s what my birth parents felt like) plus, what I guess I’d call my sort-of-stepmother and stepfather, all with me at the same time?
There’s no doubt that my life’s complicated.
At the age of five, I met my biological mother and father for the first time. My memories from that day are probably just stories stuck in my head from what Mom and Dad told me, but there’s one crystalized moment that I swear I remember: I’m was on my father Peter’s lap. Tia, my biological mother, handed me a picture showing her when she was hugely pregnant. With me.
There I was.
Right inside.
I wanted to peer through her belly with x-ray eyes and see tiny me floating there.
Afterwards, Mom says I asked about that photograph so often she finally had to ask Tia for a copy.
It’s been on my dresser ever since. I guess at times it was hard for her and Dad to see it, but they never said anything. Sometimes I traced the outline of Tia’s belly, trying to squeeze my mind into a time when we were connected. It’s not like I wanted to live with her, but sometimes it seemed strange that I didn’t. You curled up inside someone for nine months, and then boom, you’re born and given to someone else. And she’s in my live now and has been since I was five.
Did I know? Do babies come into the world recognizing their mothers, knowing their voice, their smell? And if that’s true, do they miss them when they’re given to a new parent? I wonder if I began missing Tia when my mom—Caroline—held me.
I grew up differently than other kids. Maybe everybody feels that way—my mother says we’re all the stars of our own show—but how many kids have a million parents applauding every moment of their lives? There are times it’s great; I probably got more birthday presents than anyone I know—which by the way, drove my mother and father nuts. But sometimes it overwhelmed me to be spinning from parent to parent, trying to be the girl each one wanted.
