Miranda walked in, she looked at me surprised. “Big nosebleed.”
I nodded. “Yeah.” I turned before she could see my eye. “What time do you have to work?” I muttered.
“In an hour.” She started brushing her teeth.
“Okay.” I turned to go.
“Natalie?”
I stopped. “Yeah?”
Miranda finished brushing her teeth and turned around. “Take away the tissue.”
“Why?” I stepped back.
“Your eye looks bruised.”
“It’s not.” I turned to leave.
Miranda stepped in my way. “Natalie, take it off.”
I sighed and took the tissues away from my face. Miranda gasped. “Oh Natalie!”
“You can’t tell!” I insisted.
“What happened?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I can’t talk about it.”
“Natalie, no one is home. It’s just us.” She got out a washcloth and wet it under the faucet. Gently, she cleaned the blood off my face. “Nat?”
“I can’t, Miranda.” I began to cry.
Miranda wrapped her arms around me. I cried on her shoulder. I had forgotten how good it was to have an older sister. “Come on, Natalie, tell me what’s going on.”
I shook my head again. “I can’t.”
She sighed. “Did Josh do this?”
“I can’t…”
“Okay, I won’t push you. I’m going to call in to work.”
“No, Miranda, you don’t have to do that—”
“Natalie, I’m not leaving you like this.” She shook her head.
“I’ll be okay.”
“No, I’m staying home.” She walked out of the bathroom. I followed her to the phone. She called in and then turned to me. “Now, I’m here for the whole day.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I told her.
“Yes, I did,” she said sternly as she patted the bed for me to sit down. I sighed and sat down next to her. “Now, I want you to tell me what’s going on.”
“You don’t understand.” I began to cry again. “I can’t tell you.”
“Natalie, do you trust me?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Then tell me.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Natalie, you’re hurt, you’re alone, please tell me.”
I sighed. “I want to, but—”
“But what? But nothing!” She touched my hand. “Is Josh doing this to you?” I closed my eyes, tears still streaming down my cheeks. “Be honest with me. Did Josh beat you up?” I nodded. “He did?” I nodded again. “Oh Natalie.” She wrapped her arms around me. I put my head on her shoulder and cried.
After a few minutes, I said, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Miranda pulled away and looked at me. “Natalie, you are not responsible for this. It is not your fault!” She wiped away my tears. “Tell me what happened.”
I sighed. “Sophie asked me to go out with her and her two cousins who were here from Italy. I agreed to do it. Josh wasn’t happy, but he said okay. He called this morning and asked to see me…” I paused, dabbing my eyes. “Apparently, he followed me and saw everything, took it wrong, and then he…he hit me.”
“What did he see?”
“We went out to dinner at a nice restaurant and then when they dropped me off, one of the boys kissed my hand.”
“How many times did he hit you?”
“A couple times.”
“Is this the only time this has happened?” she asked. I hesitated. “Natalie, has he hit you before?” I looked down. “Natalie?”
I nodded. “Yeah…but not like this.”
“Oh, Natalie…and you never told anyone?”
“No, Miranda. I love Josh.”
“Still?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “It doesn’t just go away.”
“What are you going to tell Mom and Dad?”
I shook my head. “I can’t tell them.”
“Nat, it’s obvious something happened. You’re bruising up pretty bad.”
“Great.”
“Mom and Dad need to know.”
“No, Miranda!” I stood up. “You can’t tell them. I need to deal with this, not them,” I yelled.
“Oh, and they’re not going to notice?”
“I’ll make something up.”
“You’re going to lie?”
“I have to, Miranda. And you have to keep quiet.”
“You want me to lie?”
“No, just don’t tell.”
“That’s lying, Natalie.”
“Please, Miranda, please don’t tell Mom and Dad,” I begged.
She sighed, “Natalie, you should tell them.”
“No, Miranda…and if you do, I’ll never trust you again,” I threatened. “You have to promise me.”
She shook her head. “Okay, if that’s what you want, but I don’t like it.”
“Thank you.” I left and went to my room.
I lay down on my bed and thought about everything. What was I going to tell everyone? Especially Mom and Dad. I contemplated different stories before finally settling on saying I got in a fight with another girl from school. That was the best thing I could think of.
My face got even worse before Mom and Dad got home. There was no more blood and the swelling went down after I used some ice, but the bruises were getting darker.
I stayed in my room until dinnertime. “Natalie, are you coming?” Mom called up.
Knowing I couldn’t avoid it any longer, I dabbed on a little more make-up and hollered, “Yeah.”
I lingered at the top of the stairs for a few minutes. I dreaded going downstairs. I didn’t want to face anyone. I wanted to stay in my room and get through this myself. But, my parents would never allow me to do something like that, especially not without knowing all the gory details.
I took a deep breath and went downstairs and into the kitchen. Mom was getting something out of the refrigerator. Dad was standing at the table filling his plate. Miranda looked up and watched me as I walked to my chair.
I sat down in my place and began to fix my plate as if nothing had happened. I certainly wasn’t going to bring it up. And at first, neither Mom nor Dad even realized my face was bruised. They were too busy fixing their own plates. Miranda was picking at her food, not really eating it. “Could someone pass me the potatoes, please,” I asked.
“Sure.” Dad handed them over. “What’s on your face?”
Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked over at me. I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure how to tell them. I didn’t like lying to my parents. “Natalie?”
“Yeah Mom?”
“Is that a bruise?”
I looked down. “Yeah.”
“Natalie, what happened?” Dad asked.
“I…uh…I got in a fight.”
Dad put down his fork. “Go on.”
“I was at the park earlier talking with Josh. When we left to go home I bumped into a girl from school, literally. I said I was sorry, but I guess she didn’t believe me. She pushed me and called me names. I got mad so I called her a name back and she hit me,” I lied.
“What girl?” Mom asked.
“Her name’s…Donna. Donna Crum.” I made someone up. I saw Miranda look down at her food.
“Miranda, do you know this girl?” Dad asked.
Miranda looked up at me. I pleaded with my eyes for her not to tell. “No, Dad, I don’t.”
“She’s a new girl,” I added.
“Are you okay, Honey?” Mom asked.
“Yeah, I came home and took care of it.”
“Maybe we should call her parents or the school?” Mom suggested.
“No, Mom, you’ll just make things worse.”
She sighed. “Okay then, I want to look at your face after dinner.”
I nodded. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called her a name.”
“As long as you know that.” Dad picked up his
fork and began eating again.
I sighed, glad that was over. I hated lying, it felt wrong, but how could I tell them? They would be so mad and disappointed. I looked up at Miranda. She was watching me. When I caught her eye she looked back down.
After dinner, Mom took me in the bathroom. She told me to wash my face, so I did. “Used a lot of make-up?”
“Yeah.”
“Does it hurt?”
“A little.”
Mom put some ointment on my cut and examined the bruise. “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”
“I know.”
I went upstairs after Mom was done. Miranda’s door was closed. I wanted to go say thank you, but I wasn’t sure that was a good idea. She seemed so upset. Why did this upset her so much?
Back in my room I sat at my vanity. The bruise was ugly, no doubt about that. How could he do that to me? And why? I didn’t do anything wrong. Or did I? Was going out with Sophie and her cousins so bad? Was I not being the good, loyal girlfriend?
I picked up a picture of Josh and me the night of the dance. He was so handsome. I remembered the way he looked at me in class. How could he be a bad guy? I sighed and looked into the mirror and asked myself again how he could do this to me. What was I going to do?
After crying myself to sleep, I kept waking up every time I would lie on a sore spot. I tried to find a comfortable position, but ended up tossing and turning all night long.
I was awake at sunrise. I watched out the window as the sun came up over the trees. It was so pretty. Why couldn’t life be as beautiful?
Too embarrassed to be with my family or maybe too scared I would let the truth out, I spent most of the weekend in my room.
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*
Michelle Muto
The Magic Within and The Little Book That Could
That’s what I’ve been calling The Book of Lost Souls, the book that started my path to publication. I’ve always loved to write. I’ve always loved the way imagination and words blend on a page, the way they transport a reader to faraway worlds, or right next door, where witches live. From the time I was very young, books were an amazing world to me. There was no greater joy than going to the library with my mother whose love of books knew no measure. When I was very young, my mother read to me every night. As I grew older, we’d talk about the books we were reading.
Even as a young child, I knew I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. But, writing wasn’t what paid the bills. I got a regular job, and life went on, although I still dreamed of writing. My father always told me to believe in myself and to never give up on what I firmly believed in. A few years after his death, I took up writing again. My mother, who was now ill and who had moved in with my husband and me, was happy to read what I wrote, or to set the table in order to give me a few more minutes of writing time.
And so I wrote and edited and revised. But, before the book was ready to send to agents, my mother died. I set the book aside. Writing was too painful, too full of memories.
But, the stories in my head wouldn’t let up, and so after a few years I started writing again. This time, I wrote about a teen witch named Ivy and her life in a small town, and I quickly fell in love with the story and the eclectic group of characters. I think of it as Buffy meets Harry Potter. When I typed the last line, I actually felt a pang of sorrow—I didn’t want to say goodbye. Ivy and her story became The Book of Lost Souls, and after polishing it up, I sent it off to agents. Plenty were interested and requested the full manuscript. Unfortunately, most of them thought the book was too light. Too cute. Too Disney. They offered to read whatever else I had, as long as it was darker. Darker sells! Or so they said.
So, after two revisions for two separate agents that eventually didn’t pan out (they said the book still had a lighthearted feel to it that wouldn’t appeal to publishing houses), I set The Book of Lost Souls aside and started working on an outline for a much darker book.
It was around this time that the economy began to collapse—hard—and I was given the pink slip on Friday the 13th, right after I had completed a project that saved the company $400,000 annually. Say goodbye to eighteen years of loyal service! Suddenly, writing a darker, more dystopian book about the afterlife on top of losing my job seemed too much to take. Still, I recalled my father’s wisdom of believing in myself even when no one else did. I wrote and finished the next book, Don’t Fear the Reaper, in about seven months.
Still unemployed despite literally hundreds of applications, I began to worry we would lose our home or deplete our savings before I found a job. My career in IT was gone—off shored as they call it. I also wondered if I’d ever see any of my books published. I was so close to getting an agent so many times. Agents wrote back: You’re a strong writer. Or, The Book of Lost Souls is a great story and is well-written, but it’s not for me.
Nearly every morning, my inbox was filled with rejection letters from jobs and agents, yet I tried to stay positive. I kept repeating my father’s words to believe, to never give up. For every rejection, I sent out twice as many applications, twice as many query letters. I just tried harder.
I had been querying Reaper for about three months when I got an editorial letter from one of New York’s biggest literary agencies who’d had The Book of Lost Souls for nearly a year. A year! But, the letter was so enthusiastic about the story and my writing that I sat down and made every last revision they suggested. I turned it in and waited. Months went by. In the end, they rejected the story—not because they didn’t love it, but because in the year and change they’d had the manuscript, another client had submitted a proposal for a story about a teen witch. Conflict of interest, they called it.
And that was that. My novel, the book that was finished, was dumped for someone else’s book that hadn’t yet been written. Somewhat angry and depressed, I set The Book of Lost Souls aside. Again. By now, I was at the end of my rope. I was still unemployed and out of unemployment benefits. The only work I could find was the occasional short-term computer job, some tech writing gigs, or dog-sitting. Nothing full-time, and certainly nothing we could count on.
If the near-miss with Super Agency wasn’t enough, I found myself running into similar situations with Don’t Fear the Reaper. Now, agents were saying, Too dark! But, you’re a talented writer and we’d love to see other work. Or, You’re capable of incredibly incisive scenes—the opener is still one of the best things I read all year. And, my personal favorite, In this economy…
It was then that I learned about self-published authors such as Karen McQuestion and Amanda Hocking. I decided to go indie as well, starting with The Book of Lost Souls. What did I have to lose? A lot if I didn’t figure out a way for our household to stop hemorrhaging money. The only problem? I had no idea where to start. I sent an email to Ms. McQuestion, in the hopes she could point me in the right direction. She was so incredibly kind! Not only did she reply, she sent me a wealth of information on self-publishing. Today, she shares all that information on her blog. I’m incredibly grateful to her.
I got a cover I could afford with the help of another indie, Sam Torode. Two editor friends went over my work. Finally, I formatted the book and the rest is history. I uploaded The Book of Lost Souls in early March, and it’s been getting consistently great reviews ever since. As for being too lighthearted? I receive emails all the time from people who love that the book is funny, upbeat, and clean.
Within my first five weeks of self-publishing, I hit three best seller lists on Amazon. Me. An indie author without a publicist or a big agency or publisher behind them. Just me, my computer, my loving husband, and the devotion of two dogs at my feet.
I’ve been asked if there will be a sequel to The Book of Lost Souls. The answer is yes. Two more books, maybe a third. I just haven’t thought that far out yet.
And
the other, darker book? After some revisions, Don’t Fear the Reaper debuted in late September 2011. On its first day, the book reached lucky #13 on Amazon’s Hot New Releases, Children’s Fiction, Spine-Tingling Horror.
I’m only sorry that my parents aren’t here to see this. I took my father’s advice and my mother’s faith and reinvented myself. I still dog-sit and take on small computer jobs and tech writing gigs to help keep us afloat financially. But one day, I hope that my hard work will pay even more of the bills. Until then, I’m at peace with the way things are.
Henry Ford once said, “If you think you can, or you think you can’t, you’re right.” Great advice. And so, The Book of Lost Souls, the book that nearly wasn’t, became the little book that could. I’m a firm believer that hopes and dreams are something to hold onto and fight for. Believe in the magic that is you. Keep your dreams close, and set your imagination free.
I’d like to dedicate my section of this anthology to readers everywhere—words alone cannot express how much I appreciate you believing in me. You’re every bit as much a part of the magic as Ivy herself.
So, thank you, Dear Reader. Sincerely. Because, every author with a story to tell writes with you in mind.
About the Chick
Michelle has always loved storytelling. When she was a child, her favorite stories were of monsters and things that lurked in the dark. Telling stories often frightened her classmates and got her into a lot of trouble with her teachers. They had no sense of humor. As an adult, Michelle traded her love of writing for the corporate life where she was an IT professional. Today, she’s doing what she loves best — writing and storytelling. Michelle grew up in Chicago, but currently lives in NE Georgia with her husband and their two dogs. She loves scary books, funny movies, sports cars, chocolate, dogs, and changes of season.
Find Michelle Online!
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The Book of Lost Souls
Michelle Muto
An Excerpt
Chapter 1
“I don’t know, Ivy. This borders on black magic,” Shayde said. “You are so dead when your mom finds out.”
Indie Chicks: 25 Women 25 Personal Stories Page 72
