We grew up listening to our mothers voice. Most nights she would read us to bed, wrapped in blankets and warm with tea. She does the best voices, and would often stay in character even after she had set the book down. My mother also taught me how to read and write. Along with music, reading and writing were the fundamental building blocks of my childhood and family.
I always knew my mom would write a book, because writing is what she does, what she has always done. When I close my eyes I can see her handwriting, filling notebooks. A kind of half cursive of rounded, connected letters. Sometimes she would share stories of her life, always uncensored snippets of memories that would leave us curled in laughter, or silent with eyes full of questions and sorrow. Other times, there were stories of her imagination with shocking twists and turns, that would leave me frightened and asking for more.
The first time she shared 'The Visitors' with us, I was maybe 12 or 13. She left my siblings and I on a hook, for the next 10 years because she really only had the few beginning chapters and then set it down. I've been haunted by the story since, always waiting, hoping that she would one day go back to it.
Last year, she picked it up again and determinedly saw it to it's end with a vengeance that is rare to see in any craft, let alone the isolating frustrations of writing.
So without further ado, it is with great pleasure that I announce the newly self published book, 'The Visitors' written by my beloved mother. I had the guilty satisfaction of reading it through twice, thats right, I finished it and turned it around for another cover to cover late night read, before it was fully edited and released to the public.
I also had the privilege of holding the first bound copies that arrived in the mail during my recent visit to LA. For being such a satisfyingly quick read, I was surprised when I felt the weight of the book in full. It is no small thing to write a book. It is days and months and hours and the cramp of writing and typing, and tired eyes from the repetition of reading and re-reading. It is a practice and dedication to no one but oneself.
So thank you Mama, for your craft.
I love your words.
To order a copy of 'The Visitors' today, and to gain access to more of my mama's short stories, check out her site here ---> http://www.cawittman.com
It is the year 1984. Sara Deureaux lives with her deeply religious, elderly parents in a rural area of Maui. Discouraged from building friendships in school, Sara leads a private and old-fashioned life. When the family receives an odd letter that announces the impending arrival of four mysterious, young cousins, Sara's life soon turns tumultuous. Trying to make sense of these peculiar children she forms a tenuous friendship with an unlikely pair: Jenny a newcomer to the island and Sunami, a tomboyish, local girl. As they uncover clues about the children, a chilling truth begins to take shape. An insidious terror is sweeping through the valley where the girls live, threatening the lives of the community. In a race to discover the truth about who Sara's cousins really are and the secrets of her dark past, the girls realize to their horror that time is running out.
My talented and beautiful mother.
LA is my humbling ground with all of it's sprawl and smog. Regardless, it has become a meeting place for my family. And with every visit it get harder and harder to leave them without the knowing of our next shared time.
Mekila cracking open his copy of 'The Visitors'.