I’ve given Niki Alexander a short break while I embark on a new endeavor.
Meanwhile, there is a story that has begged telling for a long time, and my muse, stubborn and insistent, refuses to stay silent and hidden. I’ve entitled the work, The Flawed Dance, which takes place from 1968 through 1970 in Philadelphia. I have dug into my past for a life so far away from my own present life that it must be fiction. While I wouldn’t call this a memoir, per se, it takes from my memories of life back then. I’ve twisted reality into a darker place, a noir mystery. The result is the story of Erin Matthews, early twenties, who can’t seem to stay out of trouble and makes all the wrong decisions that leads her further down a dangerous road from which escape is near impossible as she seeks love, acceptance and redemption.
A funny thing happened to me as I immerged into Erin’s mind and soul. I became embroiled in a love affair that Erin would have jumped into without a second look, as she did with every challenge in her life. If it was beyond the norm, or a little risky, she might have doubts. But if it also had romance, glamour, excitement and passion, Erin would not hesitate. She is a sucker for love, needs it desperately, but will turn away as abruptly and cruelly if the object of her passion turns and bites her.
For several weeks I have become Erin, much older and, I thought, much wiser, though now I have my doubts. You see, I have fallen in love with words. The written word can be very powerful. Letters from an unknown lover, for instance, can arouse the imagination and create a passionate foreplay that could far surpass reality. Words can convey hope and promise. Words can convey a great love and ignores pending disappointment and failure.
I know which road Erin in the past will travel in The Flawed Dance. I am not sure what happens to the Erin in the present. But I will keep you apprised, dear reader, in future installments.