Tuesday, August 29, 2017

"I Believe in Butterflies" by Marian L. Thomas

INTERVIEW and EXCERPT
I Believe in Butterflies
by Marian L. Thomas

I Believe in Butterflies by Marian L. Thomas

Author Marian L. Thomas joins me today for an interview and to share an excerpt from her latest novel, I Believe in Butterflies.
For another book by this author, please check out my blog post on Blue Butterfly.

Description
I Believe in Butterflies is a resonating story told through the insightful voices of three women navigating life and love.
Seventy-six-year-old Emma Lee Baker has lived a seemingly ordinary life near the banks of Thomas Bay, but a shocking discovery turns her ordinary life into something altogether extraordinary.
Honour Blue Baker is the polar opposite of her gentile mother. There are only two things in life she fears: her past and the idea of falling in love. Those fears come full circle when she returns to Barrow County to visit her mother, never knowing that her journey home will become a journey of a lifetime.
Twenty-three-year-old Lorraine has hedged her bets on three things: love, butterflies, and the fact that she's a white woman. When she discovers that her long-held beliefs are nothing more than fallacies, all she's held dear is shattered. The hard truths force her to seek out a fresh start - far from the life she thought she knew - but that new life will not be without its share of perils.


Book Video


Excerpt
Prologue
         I’m about to take my last breath.
         I suppose not everybody gets to write down their last thoughts before they die. But since you know I always got to get the last word; I’m writing this down for you baby girl. I reckon that’s something. In the end, I figure we all still trying to find something to leave behind, something that reminds folks that we once walked the good ground and took a deep breath for seventy or eighty years. I ain’t gonna lie; my last thoughts are probably something one wishes they could keep locked up inside them. Shoot, you probably wondering why I’m telling it. Heck, I reckon right about now, you’re wondering why I don’t just take it with me. I don’t know really. I guess I just felt like my bones are tired of trying to find the right, forgiving water to stop the hurt.
         As my daddy used to say, “Truth, let the heart speak it.”
         I know I quote from him a lot. But that’s what good hand-me-down wisdom does for you. I hope I handed some down to you that you can use.
         I pray I’m going to give you something to keep in that beautiful heart of yours.
         Anywho, I was supposed to be telling you something, so I reckon I better get on with it.
         My truth.
         I didn’t believe you at first. I didn’t believe the truth that dripped from the lips of my child. But I need you to know baby girl…I need you to know that in the end, I believed everything and I was sorry.

One
Emma Lee Baker
         Some people say that I’m crazy. A crazy ole black woman with nothing better to do than stand on the bridge during the heat of the day and stare at the fish that swim by in the crisp blue water.
         I ain’t crazy. I just like staring at freedom.
         I like looking at the fish swimming from one end of the river, clear up to the other. Ain’t nobody worried about what color they are or if they be big fish or small fish. Ain’t nobody worried about any of those things when it comes to the fish.
         Folks been fishing in that water for years and my fish ain’t never lost their freedom.
I reckon that if God gave them fish their freedom, then that’s how it was meant to be for all people.
         He didn’t make them better than he made us.
         Anywho, as for little ole me, it seems folks around here tend to take notice of my coming and going. I reckon it’s my fault. I mean, if I hadn’t been standing on that bridge that day, I might not have seen it. The dead body that is.
         It was a female. A young girl. I reckon that she was no more than fourteen or so. Her blond hair was wrapped around her neck like it was the thing that choked the poor life out of her.
At first, I stared at her for a good while. It might have been a few hours. I guess I just got carried away. Wondering how long she’d been in the water with my fish. It wasn’t until Ms. Mary came up to see if I was finally going to jump in and end my crazy ole life, that I realized I ought to say something.
         Ms. Mary started screaming when she saw it. Typical for white women. Always dramatic. Black folks around here been seeing dead bodies for centuries.
         Anywho, next thing I knew, the Sheriff and the rest of our small police department come raging down the dirt road, blocking all the traffic that by then, had done multiplied on the Thompson Mill Bridge.
         Word carries fast around here—Barrow County, Georgia. It doesn’t matter which side of the Seaboard Air Line Railroad you rest ya head on.
Jimmy, our Sheriff—started asking me questions, once his dirty little boots hit the pavement. Questions that I didn’t have the answers to. I told him that I didn’t know anything. That I just saw the body, I didn’t put it there.
         He told me to go home and to not leave town.
         Jimmy is not different from his daddy; they’re both short, stocky, and almost bald. I think that’s the reason Jimmy always walking around town with a hat on. Jimmy loves himself some spotlight. Always trying to get himself in the papers with a big grin on his face and his hands on his gun.  I believe he loves to turn them sirens on just so he has a reason to drive like he ain’t got no sense.
         He ain’t got none, truth be told, but still, he talks to me like I ain’t got none either. I always liked Jimmy, he got a kind heart and I been knowing him since he was a baby. However, there are plenty of times I want to tell him that just because I am twice his age—seventy-six, that doesn’t mean I can’t put thoughts together. I ain’t never said this to his face, ‘cause even at seventy-six, I know that they could still take my old butt to jail and then, my daughter who lives in Chicago would have to come and bail my butt out. I reckon it would take her about three days or so to do it, but eventually, her conscience would kick her in the rear, and she’d pick up that fancy car she drives and come see about her mama.
         Yes, three days ought to do it.
         She and I don’t speak much. She thinks her bridges done got to high and mighty to come back to her roots. The truth is—on the day she crossed over from the black side of the railroad tracks and walked a couple of miles to board the only train we got, I never wanted her to come back. Just call. We get along so much better on the phone for the one or two minutes we manage to have a conversation.
         Honour is a smart girl, so I could never understand why she went off and got a fancy college degree only to open some high and mighty hair salon all the way up in Chicago. They don’t even have sweet tea in Chicago. I make a mean pitcher of sweet tea. Everyone in town will swear to it.
         My child would too. She just done forgot what her mama’s tea feels like running down her throat, that’s all.  It’s like, as soon as she finished high school, she had her bags and the real sense her daddy, and I tried to instill in her, rearing to go.
         Her salon was in the papers a lot ‘cause some of them celebrities you see on the television like to sit in her chair.
         The local paper here wrote a story about her. It made the front page. It seems it was headline news that a black girl from Barrow County made something of herself in the big city of Chicago. I still have that article. In fact, I have every article about her that has even been written.
         I named her Honour and Jean, my husband, gave her the middle name—Blue because it’s his favorite color. We fought about it for most of the time I was pregnant with her, but, once that child was born, I didn’t see any point.
         It was a rough pregnancy. One that nearly ended me since the doctors say I got small hips, but she came into the world as Honour Blue Baker, forty-one years ago. I remember when the doc slapped her on the butt to get her to cry, she gave him an ‘how dare ya kind of look.’
         Only my child would never say ‘ya’ in her life.
         She still just as strong-minded today as she was then. It was inherited, she got it honestly from my Jean.
         I came from a long line of cooks, maids, babysitters, shoe shiners, and a generation that believed in birthing babies like they were going to get money for doing so. I could never understand why they kept pumping out their children when they knew good and well that they were poor. But I reckon that if my mother had of stopped, I wouldn’t be here today. I was her last.
         She gave her last breath just to so I could take my own.
         As for me, I only had one child. Honour came just when I thought my ovaries had gone dry. I was plum shocked, to be honest with ya. I had come to reckon that I just didn’t get the blessing all the other women in my family got. In fact, Jean and I had gotten mighty use to it being just he and I, after years of trying. But low and behold, at thirty-five, I delivered a healthy baby girl with a lush of wavy black hair.  I remember Jean hollering and carrying on like he done won some money or something. He bonded with her the moment she reached out and grabbed his finger. Not too many daddies like that nowadays. Shame, though, since little girls need a father they can hold hands with.
[Want more? Click below to read another excerpt.]


Praise for the Book
"Ms. Thomas took me on a bittersweet journey of faith, hope, and love that endures in spite of all the barriers we put in its way. This novel is truly encouraging and heartfelt, and I felt the love through the pages." ~ Lauren Stafford, Seattle Book Review
"Not too often have I experienced reading a novel that fearlessly exposes the realities of race, unconditional love, pain, trust, infidelity, and forgiveness, all combined into one very realistic and relatable plot. It is amazing how words put on a page can be crafted in such a way as to reveal to the reader the dialect, cultural norms, and behavior of the characters. The journey the plot took into the past also gave the reader an opportunity to construct images of each character in order to reveal what the author was trying to portray about these characters later in the text. Author Marian L. Thomas was not afraid to touch on the sensitive subjects of damaged relationships, sexual assault, violence, and loss. I Believe in Butterflies comes highly recommended. You will definitely not be disappointed." ~ Sandra Price Blyden, San Francisco Book Review
"As bridges between the past and future are formed, readers will be swept along in the rising tide of emotion and discovery framed by a powerful saga of black lives and family ties, transformed by truth." ~ D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review
"This book had the soul of our grandmother's stories, and you can recognize the wistfulness of wanting to change back time, to get back some years ... to not have life be full of regrets. Thomas took me on a journey that these three women take, and I believe I am all the wiser for it. I could read the insecurities of my youth through Lorraine. In Honour's words, I could see a life full of regrets. And in Emma Lee's wisdom and brashness, I saw a mama who wanted to protect her child from the world." ~ Leila Tualla, Author of Love Defined


Interview with the Author
Author Marian L. Thomas joins me today to discuss her new book, I Believe in Butterflies.
For what age group do you recommend your book?
It's best suited to women aged 25 to 60.
What sparked the idea for this book?
I wanted to write a book where the characters cross generations. I think that’s important. Most women will tell you that they were molded by older women, women their age, and even those from a younger generation. As women, we learn from each other.
So, which comes first? The character's story of the idea for the novel?
Each character's story starts the writing process for me. The idea of the book starts to take shape once I have the character in my mind.
What was the hardest part to write in this book?
The story of Honour Blue Baker was tough to write. Her story is so real, raw, and honest. It's the story of so many women.
How do you hope this book affects its readers?
I hope that readers will get caught up in the journey of each woman. Sometimes, we forget that life is a journey. It’s a discovery. We learn from the things that we have gone through. We learn courage, strength, and we gain wisdom.
What is your writing routine?
I have a small nook in my bedroom that transforms into my writing space once a year. For the past four years or so, I've started writing my novels in November. It has now become a tradition.
What advice do you have for someone who would like to become a published writer?
Take inspiration from life. It can provide a new character daily.
What does your family think of your writing?
My family are my biggest supporters. From my husband to my mother. They encourage and support me.
Please tell us a bit about your childhood.
I grew up in a suburb of Chicago, called Oak Park. I went to a private elementary school and later attended Oak Park River Forest High School. My fondest memory is learning to jump double-dutch.
Did you like to read when you were a child?
I loved reading books. But I really enjoyed art as a child. It wasn't until my high school years that the idea of writing a book took over.
So when did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?
My second year in high school, I was in the library walking up a flight of steps, when I got this crazy idea for a fiction book that told the life of a jazz singer. That night, I began writing my first manuscript.
What can we look forward to from you in the future?
In November, I will be working on my next book, The Caged Butterfly. The story is centered around a woman who began secretly bleaching her skin when she was eight years old. It will be a story about learning to love yourself, overcoming your fears, facing struggles, and finding strength in forgiveness.
Anything else you would like to add?
I Believe in Butterflies is not a typical story of three women. It is more than that; it is an unparalleled story of three women on a journey of hope, courage, and love.
Thanks for stopping by today, Marian. Best of luck with your upcoming project.


About the Author
Award-Winning Author and Speaker, Marian L. Thomas, has penned five engaging novels to date. Her books have been seen on national television stations such as the Oprah Winfrey Network, Ovation, and the A&E Network. She has been featured in print magazines, newspapers and a guest on local, national and online radio stations. She spent most of her teen years in Oak Park, Illinois, but now resides in a suburb of Atlanta with her husband. She enjoys a good bag of popcorn, a plate full of pasta, and a grape pop.



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