Debut Authors Bash: Emily Murdoch

*The 2013 Debut Authors Bash is hosted by YaReads, be sure to follow the rest of the tour here!*

I am absolutely OVERJOYED to be hosting Emily Murdoch for the 2013 Debut Authors Bash! I read If You Find Me back in April and fell completely head over heels in love with the characters, the writing and Carey’s story. It’s a beautiful book and easily one of my all time favorites.

Pages: 256
Published:  March 26th 2013 by St. Martin’s Griffin 
Series: N/A – Standalone
My Rating: 5 Stars 
My Review
What Others Have To Say: Judith | Cassie | Natalie

Amazon | TBD | Kobo | Goodreads

There are some things you can’t leave behind…

A broken-down camper hidden deep in a national forest is the only home fifteen year-old Carey can remember. The trees keep guard over her threadbare existence, with the one bright spot being Carey’s younger sister, Jenessa, who depends on Carey for her very survival. All they have is each other, as their mentally ill mother comes and goes with greater frequency. Until that one fateful day their mother disappears for good, and two strangers arrive. Suddenly, the girls are taken from the woods and thrust into a bright and perplexing new world of high school, clothes and boys.

Now, Carey must face the truth of why her mother abducted her ten years ago, while haunted by a past that won’t let her go… a dark past that hides many a secret, including the reason Jenessa hasn’t spoken a word in over a year. Carey knows she must keep her sister close, and her secrets even closer, or risk watching her new life come crashing down.

 

Thank you so much, Lauren, for sharing your lovely blog space with me and If You Find Me.
It’s an honor to be hosted by you for the 2013 Debut Authors Bash!

Author’s Note: I’d remarked in one of If You Find Me’s US blog tour interviews that I used to smile to myself when writers talked about their characters “talking” to them. Not in the sense of making fun of anyone, because I believe in the “free to be you and me” philosophy of life, and in living a life free from judgmental attitudes as much as humanly possible.

But, I admit it. I used to smile inside. Until I began writing If You Find Me and that very thing happened to me: this seasoned young soul named Carey kept popping up out of nowhere, far from my laptop, to conduct full-on conversations inside my head as I went about my day.
This phenomenon became even more real when, during an afternoon horse feed, in the midst of listening to her secrets, I didn’t pay attention to where I was going — and backed into a prickly pear cactus. (Yeah. Ouch.)
After that, I began paying closer attention, and writing our exchanges down … taking these creative glimmers from the universe and putting them to paper, because, you know … who am I to judge?

On Courage

Me: Hey, kiddo.
It’s been a few months since I’ve seen Carey, and my heart leaps into a grin. Nothing gets past her, either. She acknowledges my warm welcome with a shy grin of her own.
She still looks frailer than the lioness I know coils inside her. And she looks older. Longer, like she’s grown an inch or two.
I motion for her to sit in the chair across from me. The chair is an overstuffed glider, and after settling in, she tucks her hair behind each ear, crosses her legs, and rocks almost imperceptibly.
But I catch her sneaking glances at me, then ducking her head to hide the grin that lingers.
She’s missed me, too.

Me: It’s so good to see you, sweetie.

Carey: Thank you.

Me: You didn’t think I’d forgotten about you, did you?

Carey: I don’t know. I mean, no, not really …
She catches her bottom lip between her teeth.
She isn’t telling me the truth.

Me: It’s okay if you thought that. It won’t hurt my feelings.

Carey: Well … (her eyes are pained, her words, reluctant) … you have a new girl character now.

Me: Who couldn’t make you any less special to me. To all of us.

Carey: Really?
She perks up, her relief palpable. I nod and give her the two-finger girl scout’s honor sign. She giggles at me. She has no idea what I’m doing.

Carey: Do we have to talk about courage as in courage? Can it be courage as in being open and honest, instead?

Me: What do you mean?

Carey: I mean, I reckon talking about private things is courageous, because everybody worries about what everybody else thinks of them. Did you know that? I thought it was just me, but it’s everybody out here, too. And they didn’t even grow up in the Hundred Acre Wood.
She shakes her head in genuine amazement, and I look away, my eyes bright. Her accent, her woods speak, is a ghost of a ghost of itself. It’s hard to let it go … and yet, she appears more zen, less frenetic. Still one hundred percent Carey to the core.

Me: We can approach the topic any way you want.

Carey: Good. Because I reckon I have some things I want to say.

Me: Go right ahead, then. We’re listening.
Her breath catches in her chest before she releases it in one ragged exhale. She’s wearing a pale red ringer t shirt hanging loose over faded levis. And her old boots. Still those favorite old boots.

Carey: People who read your book were asking why I wasn’t in therapy.

Me: I saw that.

Carey: (large eyes brimming) I can’t even talk to Dad or Mel about everything. How could I go from the isolation of the woods into therapy with a stranger? I’m not used to talking to people about private things.

Me: It’s totally understandable.

Carey: I mean, yes, I feel sad, sometimes. Like, really, really black. Like in your Dear Teen Me letter. I know you know what I mean.

Me: Yes, I do. And I know other people understand, also. That’s why they were worried about you not being in some sort of treatment.

Carey: I know … but … you can’t push kids like us, sometimes. Dad and Mel know that. We need to handle it in our own way, at our own pace. And I do have Mrs. Haskell. You know I call her when things feel like they’re going too fast.

Me: I know that, but the readers don’t. That’s in the Epilogue. They haven’t read that far, yet.

Carey: Oh yeah! I forgot!
We both chuckle.

Me: People just care about you and want you and Jenessa to be happy and healthy. To make it through this hard time.
Carey nods, but I can tell her mind has already leapt to another concern.

Me: Out with it, Courageous One.
She sighs deeper than the ocean is blue.

Carey: The way I talk. I feel so ashamed. People say stuff about it. It hurts my feelings.
She wrings her hands, something I’ve never seen her do before, as her falling tears sketch mournful circles into the denim of her jeans. My own eyes fill, but I know better than to give in. I know what she needs, and I have to give it to her. No matter how much it aches to let her go.

Me: You can barely hear your woods accent anymore, did you know that? So much so, I actually find myself missing it. You sound just like the rest of us, now.

Carey: (sniffles) You mean almost like the rest of you.
She isn’t ready to completely let go, either.

Me: Definitely nothing to be ashamed of, though.
She searches my face, her own face relaxing when she sees I mean it.

Carey: I know I talk funny, sometimes. It’s partly because that’s how my Gram talked. I stayed with her when Mama … when my dad was at work and Mama was out searchin’ for drugs. Mama doesn’t have all her teeth. The meth took them. She can’t make good gs. Nessa’s speech therapist says we picked that up from her.

Me: That’s totally understandable.

Carey: I reckon so. Mama once said it was a good thing her knack was for playing violin, not smiling and singing.

Me: Speaking of the violin, can I ask you a question? How did your mom end up playing the violin, anyway?

Carey: She won a contest in the town newspaper when she was nine. A new violin and free lessons. But she came from Gram and Paw, and they were poor folk. Even the music couldn’t help her fit in. That’s what she says, anyway. But I think it’s the drugs and being off her meds that are the real reasons.

Me: I’d have to agree. And she taught you how to play?

Carey: (nods) The violin I have was hers. But Melissa said I could do animal chores to earn my own violin, if I wanted to.

Me: That sounds wonderful.

Carey: Yeah. She is.
Carey smiles full on, and I think of the sunlight breaking through the branches of her beloved trees. This “Margaret” is far from just grieving. She’s a growing, evolving being. She’s the greenest leaves, the kind that grow from the deepest roots. She’s on her way.

Me: Anything else you want to say?

Carey: Just that abused kids can be smart, polite, play instruments, and not freak out in society just because they’ve been hurt.

Me: I agree.

Carey: (Face lights up.) Really?

Me: Definitely.

Carey: Good. Because there’s no shame in –

Me: Just being yourself? BeYOUtiful?
She nods, smiling at me through a storm of fresh tears, and I don’t even ask this time. I just get up, walk over, throw my arms around her, and pull her close. She hugs me back even tighter.

Carey: When you’re done with the new girl character, you’ll be back for the s word.

Me: You think so, huh. The s word?

Carey: Sequel.
I laugh and give her another squeeze.
We know each other all too well.

Thank you so, so much Emily for stopping by my blog today! I loved hearing Carey again and I certainly do hope there is a sequel 😉