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Just wanted to say thank you to CLP Blog Tours for letting me participate in this Blog Tour, and to the Author: Tenaya Jayne, for sharing a wonderful Guest Post!
Book Description Via Goodreads
When seventeen-year-old Dulcee Elders' mother embarks on a road trip from their home in California, Dulcee knows something odd is about to happen. Her suspicions are confirmed when they arrive at Uncle Jack's house outside of Durango, Colorado. Without another word, Dulcee's mother is gone, and Dulcee faces life with her reclusive and wealthy uncle in a looming rural mansion.
Dulcee has suffered from insomnia ever since her father died more than ten years ago. But once at home at Uncle Jack's, inexplicably Dulcee now can sleep; sleep brings not only strange and intricate dreams, but a dream lover. For now, Vincent Sands is only the silhouette of a man, but when Uncle Jack leaves town for business, Dulcee's dream world and reality collide. Once she is alone, the silhouette is no longer content to remain only in her dreams.
When Dulcee is asleep, Vincent can give her anything she wants, even the ability to talk to her dead father. Inevitably, Vincent must leave when Uncle Jack returns. Dulcee experiences the high price of loving Vincent-an addiction rivaling that of any hard-core drug. Desperate to bridge the gap between them, Dulcee faces a crucial decision that carries irreversible consequences.
Patricia Verell had not cried in years. She held people at a distance, and trained herself not to care much for them. For a woman, she was decidedly emotionless. However, on this night, she most certainly did cry. It was after hours at the hospital, the halls were quiet, and the mentally disturbed were all tucked safely in bed. She cloistered herself behind the door that bore her name and title, and sat hunched over her desk, trying to heal herself. The tears running from her eyes collected at the tip of her nose before they fell onto the notebook in front of her. Everything she had been so proud of was turning into a throbbing pain inside her head.
Patricia looked around her office, trying to figure out why she suddenly hated it. It was a nice office on all accounts, the best furniture, a large window, a whole wall of bookshelves. But the walls—the walls were oppressing. Covered with large frames of degrees and awards, her name was plastered everywhere. But could theses gilded pieces of paper tell her who she really was? Could anyone? She was known to her friends as Pat, and to everyone else as Dr. Verell. Since she only had two friends, it seemed to her that she had no real first name at all. This was not why she was crying.
Down the hall and through the corridor was a long row of identical doors, heavy steel doors with little reinforced glass windows. Capsulated behind the third door on the right side, was a seventeen-year-old girl, Dulcee Elders. Dulcee was crying, also. The two women were connected in ways that neither one understood. Even the reason why they were both crying was connected. One cried because she had lost the other because she had found. They were both in a prison and were about to battle over the means of escape. It seemed to Dr. Verell that she had the upper hand, the power of a doctor over a patient. But Dulcee’s madness was the vehicle that she longed to climb into, and go for a ride. Dr. Verell was riddled with weakness, weak with wanting, weak with jealousy. She had found the very thing she wanted, but it already belonged to someone else.
The day Dulcee was committed a battered notebook was confiscated from her. Every page was filled with the girl’s writing. When Dr. Verell was assigned to Dulcee’s case, the notebook had been given to her. After reading it, she asked Dulcee what it was.
"My autobiography," Dulcee had answered plainly.
It was not an autobiography, however. It was not a diary or a journal. It was the intricate hallucinations of a schizophrenic with post-traumatic stress.
It was a love story.
Dr. Verell was nonplused with the hurdle before her. How was she to give Dulcee the best therapy when she was a case like no other? At first, Dr. Verell had been diligent, caring, but jealousy crept in, and her concern had vanished. It vanished not only for Dulcee, but for her other patients as well. The quality of her work was disintegrating. All she cared about was the notebook. Dulcee’s fantasies had fueled some of her own, but these fantasies were only giving her frustration.
Dr. Verell wiped her eyes, looking down at the notebook, now spattered with tears. On the cover, Dulcee had drawn a heart with the name Vincent written inside it. She slowly traced each letter with her fingertip…longing, such terrible longing. She sighed heavily before opening the cover, once again to be swept up into Dulcee’s fantasy.
Guest Post By: Tenaya Jayne
What inspires me to write? Inspiration is a multi-faceted jewel. I've been blessed or cursed by an overactive imagination. That was what my mom always called it when I was a child. She didn't know the half of it. I get overloaded with ideas and images. As a child, I would imagine things so vividly, it bordered on hallucination. A number of writers will tell you they are inspired by their dreams. You can lump me in with that lot. I am only getting started writing out things I've seen in my dreams. Sometimes I get whole plotlines from a night's sleep, other times I might only get a single moment. When I get writer's block, I will eat spicy food right before bed in an attempt to conjure fresh ideas.
I have a strong background in acting and I apply some techniques of the stage to my stories. It is just another way to tell a story after all. I'm not the first author to say it, but the story really does play like a movie in my head. Sometimes I have to yell at my cast like an angry director. Yes, I'm sure you've suspected it before and I'll confirm it, writers are crazy. It's a fun kind of crazy. I wouldn't trade it for anything.
Also like many other authors, I'm very moved by music. I have no musical talent but I'm thankful others do. I love how music can manipulate how I feel. When I was writing Blue Aspen, the group that had the most influence over me was Cranes. Their song, K56 is the musical embodiment of the mood of Blue Aspen. Every time I listen to that song, I envision Dulcee in her blue nightgown, walking barefoot through the snow, toward the blue aspen.
Inspiration comes strongest from real life. Everyone has issues. Like it or not, when you write your issues show through your words. As Hemmingway said, "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at the typewriter and bleed." You can't fake your readers. I've seen authors try to pretend they have issues they don't. Your readers know.
I have lots of favorite authors but the ones who inspire my own writing are Meredith Ann Pierce, Tanith Lee, Angela Carter, Ray Bradbury, and Patrick Suskind.
I hope all of you enjoy reading Blue Aspen. Many thanks to Marissa for having me on her awesome blog today. Happy reading adventures!
Hello. My name’s Tenaya and I’m an addict. I mean author. When I was growing up, writing was just something I played at from time to time. I knew I wanted to be a writer, but I was one of those people who could never finish anything. When my eldest son was diagnosed with Autism, I began to write seriously. Writing became a necessity for me in the midst of my heartbreak. It was either that or take up drinking. I ‘m thankful I chose writing as my escape because I discovered it truly is my thing. I want to be swept away when I read. That’s what I want my books to do for you. The main goal of my writing is to entertain you. I want to help you escape everyday life for a little while. I hope you enjoy my stories as much as I enjoy sharing them with you!
I have a wonderful husband and two beautiful sons. I’m an advocate for Autism awareness, and women trapped in abusive relationships. I try to always look on the bright side and help others do so too. I’ve lived many places but I currently reside in Missouri. I love reading, indie and foreign films, gardening, and moody music.
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