Tuesday, January 16, 2018

Excerpt time!

Still on the fence about whether or not to grab a copy of Here's to Campfires and S'mores?



Check out this excerpt to see if it wets your whistle:

“Whatever.” She rolled her black lined eyes and sucked on her cigarette again. “Go to bed, Molly. This isn’t your business. It’s barely our mom’s business.”
“Not my—” Anger washed over me, and I stomped over to them. “Who the hell do you think you are!?” I pulled their cigarettes out of their mouths, threw them to the ground, and stomped on them. Then I pointed down the embankment. “Get your scrawny little butts down that hill, and into your cabin. Shut up and go to bed. Give your mother a break for once, and act like nice kids, instead of entitled, depressed brats. Do you hear me?”
“Hey! What the…” Erin yowled, staring down at the crushed smokes in anger.
Seth cursed under his breath. “Not cool.”
Erin looked at me with eyes of pure hatred. “You sure have changed, and not for the better.”
Seth’s shoulders slumped and he let the umbrella drop to his side. “Let’s just go.”
Fine.” Erin whipped around and began the trek down the incline. “It’s no wonder Uncle Jamie left you. You’re such a bitch.”
Her words knocked the wind out of me, and I stood there with my mouth open as they left. I heard them bickering back and forth until the sound of a cabin door slamming ripped through the night, and I fell down onto my butt on the hill. I felt my underwear getting soaked with cold rainwater, but didn’t make an attempt to move. Instead, I pulled my knees up to my chest and rested my forehead against them before dissolving into tears.
Erin was right. I was a bitch. I might not be a crazy one, the type who carves her name into the driver’s side door on her ex-husband’s car, or who sends threatening texts to the new girl he’s banging, but I wasn’t a friendly woman anymore. And I hadn’t been for a long, long time. I’d become a crusty, bitter old bitch. April’s emo teenager had hit the nail on the head.
I sobbed as the rain stopped falling, and the leftover drops dripped off of the leaves around me. I no longer felt drunk and blissfully numbed to all the pain I’d been toting around like an overweight purse for eighteen months. My buzz had worn off. Either that, or my run in with April’s surly teens had sobered me up. I was left to sit in the woods with a soaking wet butt, feeling everything I’d attempted to drown away with too many tumblers of vodka.
Minutes passed. I don’t know how many. Maybe ten. Enough that my throat and eyes ached, and I was ninety percent sure I would wake up with a hangover the size of John Goodman’s former body in the morning.
“Molly?”
Startled, I sat up and bumped a fern above my head, which then rained water down on my head. “Great,” I muttered bitterly as a cold droplet rolled down the back collar of my shirt to my bra strap. “Who’s there now? You little punks come back to kick me while I’m down?”
“What?” Jamie emerged through the brush, his blond hair falling in wet scallops across his forehead. “Who are you talking to?”
“Nobody.” I sniffled and put my head back down. “Go away.”

“No.”