My contemporary fantasy, Surfacing, made it to the first round of the Amazon Breakthrough Novel contest in 2009. Previously with a small publisher, I've revised it and re-released it on Amazon and Smashwords. I'd love to hear what you think. Thanks for any feedback!
Book blurb
AJ Dillon is trouble. The former lead singer of an indie band has no home, no money and no future. His grandfather is the only relative willing to take another chance on him. AJ arrives in Weeki Wachee, Florida, with his guitar, a few clothes and a bad attitude. The only good thing about Weeki Wachee is the ocean -- the one place AJ feels at home.
Grandpa lines up a job for AJ at Weeki Wachee Springs, where beautiful women perform as mermaids. Grandpa says real mermaids exist, but AJ doesn’t believe – until he meets Cassiopeia. She helps his passion for music resurface. But greedy Chaz finds out about her, and threatens to kill them if AJ doesn't go along with his plan to make a fortune with a real mermaid show. Can AJ save Cassie, even if it means losing her?
Chapter One
AJ stood on the broken concrete step at 217 Shoal Line Boulevard, the salty Gulf air carrying the crash of waves, the piercing cry of a seagull. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Even at six in the evening, the sun beat on him with brutal intensity. He’d forgotten how damn hot Florida could be if you weren’t at a water park, or swimming, or indoors in air conditioning, say, at a movie theater, your fingers working behind a girl’s bra.
He closed his eyes and inhaled. Get it over with. As he raised his hand to knock, the door burst open.
The old man glared at him. “What the hell are you smiling about?”
AJ adjusted the strap of his duffel bag. “Hello, Grandpa.”
“Don’t stand on the porch looking like an idiot. I’m not cooling the outside.”
Some things never changed. His grandfather’s expressions, for instance.
AJ stepped inside the dark bungalow and winced. A pungent smell assaulted his senses, stale air conditioning and mustiness. An old man smell. Though in truth, Grandpa wasn’t so old. Sixty-seven. Dark hair sprinkled with silver with a touch of gray at his short sideburns. Barrel-chested, with a slim waist. Still handsome and virile, according to Mom.
“Now what?” With his downturned mouth, Grandpa looked like a bulldog. But his bark had always been worse than his bite.
“Maybe you should air the place out.” Or clean it. Or maybe get away from it once in awhile.
Grandpa went to the kitchen, separated from the living room by a half-wall. “Put your things in the room at the end of the hall.”
As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, familiar images came into view: the same old couch. The velvet painting of Elvis hanging in the living room over the credenza holding an Elvis figurine, an Elvis music box. On every shelf and tabletop, folk art carvings of mermaids Grandpa had carved since Mom was little.
Yup, some things never changed. In this house, it was still the 1960s.
AJ carried his bag and guitar case down the narrow hallway. He shoved open the door—the wood had swelled, making it stick—and blew through his lips. With the shades drawn, the bedroom had no more light than the rest of the house. The bed, bureau and desk were in the same place they had always been. His memories of this room, unlike the stale of the rest of the house, came back fresh.
From the kitchen, his grandfather yelled, “Don’t mind the mess.”
“No problem.” Yeah, the boxes were new. Grandpa had retired eight months ago (AJ could imagine the local high school kids’ collective sigh of relief as English class became less daunting), and probably alleviated his boredom by packing up old stuff. A lot of it might have been Grandma’s, though AJ had never known her. Boxes overstuffed with clothes and shoes, old photo albums, letters tied into bundles with ribbons. Boxes on the floor, on the bed.
