ISBN: 978-1-936558-20-9 * eISBN: 978-1-936558-21-6 * Paperback $16.95 * E-book $9.99 * Publication: October 4, 2011
No Story to Tell is not a story I intended to write. Finding myself at life’s midway point and teetering on the bridge between “what I’ve done” and “what do I do now?” I, naively, took a night school writing class.
Our first assignment was to create two characters and a conflict and write a paragraph. Talk about the possessed pen! My paragraph swept me away on an incredible voyage of self-discovery, unapologetically consuming huge swaths of my life and earning me the moniker of hermit from my family and friends.
The result of that paragraph was the birth of this novel. It is a story of colorful characters who walked onto my page and casually introduced themselves. The twists and turns of the plot were a continual surprise to me and I began to realize that no matter what these characters were about to do next ... I was sure to be the last one to know! If ever there were a humble scribe, I am surely she.
To those of us who have ever struggled to believe, those who have lost their way in the dark forest of self-doubt, this novel belongs to you.
Victoria Lackey, our protagonist, is alive. Sort of. She eats, she breathes, she walks forward through life. Yes, she is alive ... if life can be defined as simply the pale veneer of existence.
Once an extraordinarily promising dancer, she now finds herself mired down in a joyless marriage, tending to a heart full of secrets, her dream of being a dancer buried deep within her – until Elliot, a newcomer to the small, gritty town of Hinckly and a sensual artist, recognizes the dancer’s spirit within her:
“You have a great walk by the way. You a dancer?”
“Yes! Well, no. Not anymore. But I used to be when I was younger.”
“Yeah. I could see it in your walk.”
“Really?”
“Really. I used to go out with a dancer.”
A rogue wave of emotion crashed over her and she looked away quickly. It had been a long time since she had thought of herself as a dancer, a dream she thought she’d buried long ago. Now, the thin ache rising inside her was so raw, so tender and tremulous that it was obvious that although she may have buried her dream, it had been buried alive. Taking a deep breath she marched her mother’s words out before her and paraded them through her mind. “No use dragging up things you can’t change.”
“Well, I’m not a dancer anymore. It was just something I did for a while as a kid.”
“What do you mean you’re not a dancer anymore? Of course you are.”
Victoria frowned as she looked over at him. “Well, not really. I haven’t danced for years.”
“Oh. So what you mean then is that you don’t dance anymore.”
“Right. That’s what I said.”
“No. You said you weren’t a dancer.”
“Oh. Well, same thing.”
“Uh uhh. Not at all. You’ll always be a dancer whether you dance or not. The same as a poet is still a poet whether or not he writes down his thoughts and a painter is no less a painter even without his canvas. You’ll always be a dancer because that’s how you interpret the world. To dance is just your outward expression of that interpretation. Right? So, do you teach?”
“No.”
“Really? That’s a shame. Never thought of opening your own studio?”
The suggestion surprised her and she quickly denied it. But the accuracy of it left her private thoughts feeling naked and exposed. Opening her own studio had long ago been her most consuming passion. But Bobby would hear nothing of it, her plans vaporizing like soap bubbles as they met his irritated resistance.
Elliot’s words confused her. She no longer felt like a dancer and yet she’d thrilled to hear he’d seen signs of those qualities still evident in her. That he so readily believed her capable of having her own studio. For a brief moment she almost allowed herself to believe it. But, as she let her mind drift deeper she couldn’t find even the shadow of a dancer. Really, she couldn’t find anyone at all.
Questions began to flood through her mind about this man who with one look was able to identify a part of her she had long ago forgotten about herself. She cast a casual glance his way. He was better looking than she’d first thought, his bright face enhanced by strong, prominent cheekbones and lively blue eyes that sparkled with an unruly freedom that seemed swept into being by the sun, surf, and waves. He was a transplant in Hinckly, there was no mistaking that, as conspicuous as a sea shell on the forest floor.
With Elliot’s attentions sparking the flame of desire within her, Victoria begins to receive a series of mysterious, anonymous telephone calls:
Static answered her back as she pressed the hard smoothness of the receiver against her cheek listening intently for any identifiable sound, then abruptly the noise quit.
“Oh there, that's better,” she offered, but still her words were met with a strange silence. “Hello? Hello, can you hear me now?”
Motionless, she listened carefully. The line was not dead. A thin breath was lightly perceptible on the other end as someone held their receiver close, listening to her. Annoyance closed over her. Stupid kids and their stupid pranks. She again went to disconnect and again, just before she severed the connection, a muffled voice emanated into the room. Raising the phone once more to her ear, she tried again.
“Look, can I –”
A gravely voice, thick with disguise cut her off along with the renewed static and she had to listen intently to decipher the words spoken.
“What? What did you say?” She was answered by a soft click.
Electricity sizzled through her as she set the telephone back in place and sat staring at it. Her mind reeled in a dizzy attempt to understand what had just transpired. Who would do such a thing? Say such a thing? What sort of silly prank was that, to phone someone in the middle of the day and say such a thing? She raised herself slowly onto a chair and sat stiffly staring at the demure black box which suddenly seemed to possess gargantuan proportions. She did not move, did not blink, the silence pounding in her head. She waited, terrified it might ring again. Terrified it might not.
As Victoria begins to blossom, her insecure and volatile husband Bobby determines to keep her stomped down, leading to an inevitable eruption of conflict between them”
“Hey, Bobby. Come on now. Let her go. I think she’s made it pretty clear she’d rather not ride with you right now.”
“That so?” Bobby snarled back in surprise. He was not used to being openly challenged on his own turf. “So, just what the hell you planning to do about it, huh?”
“Not planning on doing anything about it, okay? She has her own car here. Why not just let her drive that home?”
“Cause it ain’t safe. She ain’t even bloody ’sposed to be driving it yet, that’s why!” he hollered violently.
Victoria avoided Elliot’s eyes.
“Well, look. Why don’t I give her a ride home, then? If you don’t mind.”
“Mind! Why the hell should I mind?” Bobby blustered, fear boiling up alongside the rage filling his mind.
“Hey, Vic. That what you want to do? You want to get a ride home with this here guy, huh?” His thumb bruised hard into the bones of her wrist and she bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry out. Then suddenly, he let her go. For one fragile breath freedom bloomed within her then perished just as quickly.
Buried beneath a lifetime of secrets, trapped in a vicious little town just awaiting its next scandal, Victoria faces an impossible task. Can she defy Fate, who has written her future and foretold her past? And is Fate, for any of us, truly a conquerable enemy?
“A highly imaginative, sensuously rich first novel, which holds one’s interest all the way.”
– New York Times bestselling author DM Thomas
“This was a ‘no holds barred’ kind of read with a delicate touch that I definitely recommend!”
“I found myself questioning my life numerous times while reading this book. The small town of Hinckly is full of quirky people and small town secrets. There are plenty of twists and turns that you don't see coming and that keeps the story moving and interesting. It was not what I was expecting but it is still
an enjoyable read.”
“Victoria may have thought she had No Story To Tell, but it was KJ Steele that did have a story to tell. A good one.”
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