I'm pleased to announce the latest novel by author Renata F. Barcelos, My Sore Hush-a-Bye. Renata is sharing an excerpt with us today as well as links to where you can purchase her book and how you can connect with her online.
My Sore Hush-a-Bye
Renata F. Barcelos
Book Description:
Camille is a young girl stuck in the past. Classic TV shows,
old music, and dresses that never made it into the 21st century.
After her mother left a puzzling note leaving her in the
care of Uncle Bob, she had a rough go of it, not wanting to conform to his
rigorous rules and this new life. But she learned. She learned to love and
accept her sheltered life.
That all starts to change when Camille finally goes to
public school once she reaches her teenage years. She meets a friend who
mysteriously disappears. She has suspicions that Uncle Bob may not be the
perfect man she once thought. She starts thinking about her mother.
Most important of all, she begins to grow up, and that is
what changes everything…
1 – One of the Invisible Kids
To
just stay in, protected—Uncle Bob and I, watching TV and taking care of each
other forever. Life was so much easier when I didn’t have so many things to
sort out, so many people surrounding me. When Uncle Bob was everything and
everyone, when my world was simpler, when I didn’t have to worry about Ashley’s
situation.
But
things are changing and I don’t know for the life of me how to change them back
to the way they were...and moving on the way they are now is so much more
painful than I ever expected.
People
in the outside world are just mean; a lot more than TV prepared me for. Uncle
Bob had told me how things were much better now, how people were more tolerant,
how I don’t have to be afraid. But all I know is that I cannot help but feeling
aghast every day I’m forced to be out here.
I
miss being protected, sheltered. Outside, they see you’re different and you’re
a walking target, no matter what you do. Whoever said to ignore the bullies so
they’ll grow tired of you is either a big liar, or very naïve. They never get
tired. They may choose another victim and let you off the hook for a while, but
they’ll get back to you—usually sooner rather than later.
I
know it’s not personal—they don’t hate me; hate is a strong feeling and
no one has strong feelings for me now…not even Uncle Bob. He was the only
person I thought would never abandon me, would never let me down…not even if I wanted
him to.
Lately,
however, he seems tired of me. My presence seems to be a nuisance to him—I’m
not his precious little girl anymore. I get almost the same treatment at
school. All the boys and girls mostly ignore me—I’m one of the invisible kids,
either ignored or bullied.
That’s
the way things at school are: they only see us—the invisible ones—when they
want to have some fun picking on someone…and I’ve seen them picking on Ashley
sometimes too. She was popular, but not immune to bullies, being in high school
already at such a young age.
She
was smart enough to be here, however, and to make loads of friends older than
she. None of those mean girls, though, who were repeating to the reporters how
much they missed Ashley and wanted her back—they weren’t her friends at all.
It
made me sick.
Literally
sick; I had to excuse myself from Mrs. Richardson’s class and go to the
bathroom, where I puked soundly for more than two full minutes. Every single
thing I had eaten was now floating to the ocean.
I
know for a fact they don’t give a damn about Ashley…she was nothing like them.
She was the only person in that hellhole who spoke to me in a friendly way.
That doesn’t mean we were friends…I’m sure she would never refer to me using
that word. I don’t have friends—acquaintances, maybe, like Ashley, or
colleagues, if they are forced to work with me in some class. No one cares
about me, wants to talk to me, to be with me.
I’m
at school because Uncle Bob made me go…not to be popular, not to be
normal. I don’t have such crazy desires…it would be a lost battle if I tried,
anyway.
I’ve
been out of the world for so long I’m not sure I’d know how to interact
anymore—if an interaction were necessary or possible. All I want is to finish
another day and go back to the safety of Uncle Bob’s house, behind the locked
doors that made me feel so reassured, so secure.
It’s
my first year at school—not at this school, I mean at any school—since I
was seven. It makes me different, which is ammunition to some kids’ cruelty and
others’ oblivion. I’m not popular, I’m not into fashion, makeup, or anything like
that. I don’t really know much about what’s going on in the world right now,
and I’m not sure if I care. I dress differently, and my head is surrounded by
an enormous black mane that I like to let free. I don’t talk much. I don’t have
a Facebook account, Twitter, any of that. In fact, the first time I’ve heard of
those things was at school just the other day. I don’t look like any of them—I
don’t feel like any of them.
I
enjoy studying, reading, and I grew up listening to old songs and watching old
movies and TV shows. When I say old, I mean really old. As in I love
Lucy, The Brady Brunch, Bewitched, I Dream of Jeannie, Gone
With the Wind (my favorite movie), The Wizard of Oz, Casablanca—and
many others that gave me a little light while growing up and made me smile when
everything real was asking me to cry…
Since
the age of seven, the only songs that have made their way into my ears were
from David Bowie, the Beatles, Johnny Cash, and others from the fifties,
sixties, and seventies. And most of all, there was her voice, the woman who
sang to me for all those years, comforting me since that first day with Uncle
Bob, going into my core and caressing my soul from the inside out…Mama Cass.
Her inspiring voice is my safe place, where I can go to escape, ‘cause she
makes all the darkness bearable…she puts light where there was none.
I’d
love nothing more than to see her, to tell her all of it. And yet I will never
be able to do so. Her hair reminds me of my mother’s, I believe. I could be
mixing them together into one person, because I don’t really remember my mother
much. But I remember brushing her hair once—perhaps one of the last memories I
have of her before she left—and I could swear it was just like Mama Cass’ when
I saw hers in a picture.
It’s
not a special mother-daughter moment, this memory that I recall. But we didn’t
have many special moments to remember, anyway. Our life together was more
practical than nurturing.
When
she left I had to find comfort in the past, with TV shows and music from a
different and simpler time. Uncle Bob encouraged me to lose myself completely
in that ancient world—a world closer to his own, considering his age. Even the
clothes he bought, the kind I wanted, were according to this throwback world I
was living in.
Therefore,
my outfits resemble someone from the sixties, maybe the seventies. Like a
hippie, people might say. For me, because of everything that surrounded me
until now, I was absolutely normal, and thought I’d blend in with the crowd by
wearing light or bland colors. However, at my first day at school, I saw the
mocking faces. I looked at them, then at myself, neck to toe, and wanted to
hide.
I
thought about changing my clothes to something more modern the next day, to
look at least a little more like the other girls, and couldn’t
understand why Uncle Bob hadn’t told me anything. Why he’d let me walk out the
door like that. Maybe he didn’t know, I reassured myself. What do men know
about fashion, anyway? He would never do anything to hurt me, right?
It
would be better to look more like one of them, but I realized I’m not like them
in any way—it would have been even more ridiculous had I tried to fit in.
Besides, they would mock and tease me for any and no reason, I was sure. And to
be honest, I find some comfort in my outfit, some much-needed resemblance of my
former, confined life. I don’t think I’d be able to handle so many changes at
the same time. I need to at least recognize the person looking back at me in
the mirror, no matter how sorry I feel for her sometimes.
None
of my fellow students talk to me, but Ashley did. We had some common interests,
and she was a kind girl. Beautiful and nice, which is an extremely rare
combination, as far as I know.
When I first saw her, all I could see was how she was
blonde, beautiful, bright, cheerful, and…so young—everything I’m not, and I
felt my heart shrink at that.
Where
to buy My Sore Hush-a-Bye:
Amazon Kindle & Paperback
Amazon
Smashwords
About the Author:
Renata F. Barcelos lives in Brazil
She watches way too much TV and reads perhaps too many (almost exclusively) mystery novels. Nonetheless, she has somehow convinced herself it's all work - research for her own stories.
She writes for as long as she can remember, and has two published works: Mean: a Psychological Thriller Novelette and My Sore Hush-a-Bye.
She's now working on a novel called Myself in Blue.
She watches way too much TV and reads perhaps too many (almost exclusively) mystery novels. Nonetheless, she has somehow convinced herself it's all work - research for her own stories.
She writes for as long as she can remember, and has two published works: Mean: a Psychological Thriller Novelette and My Sore Hush-a-Bye.
She's now working on a novel called Myself in Blue.
MySore Hush-a-Bye Goodreads Page
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