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296 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 26, 2019
I rowed harder. I let the current yank me, I felt the pull of the river like a strong man reached out to hug me. I saw animals on the riverbank, two deer with black eyes bowing their heads, solemn as angels, and an owl swooped low over us. That could be a good sign, an owl over open water, or a bad one, depending on who it was scrying the omens. Pop always said life isn't so much what happens as who tells the better story about it later.
One way or the other, this would be a heck of a story to tell. Now it was up to me to make sure it had a happy ending, a boy and his pop back together, all the low-down scoundrels vanquished, nothing but glad tidings to sing and happy times to tell about.
Well, here's to all that, I thought, and downriver I rowed.
We stayed dead still, Tally holding my hand, the two of us crouched and quiet in the bottom of the boat. The tree swaddled us with its moss, big limbs draped around us like a giant wretched mother’s arms, bony and gaunt, bugs crawling all over them. The water was grayer and murkier here, it swirled in a baby little whirlpool that kept bumping the skiff into the trees. The trees were something else too, bark, carved on by human hands, symbols and scratch marks like how you figure a witch’s spell book looks. Above us dangled bones clacking together like wind chimes, another daisy chain of digit bones, jawless skulls wedged between branches and in the knots of trees, gaping at us, all those empty eye sockets watching. (pg. 25)
Have you ever looked at a painting or heard a song or just been somewhere beautiful--maybe an old creaky house or a sunlit field or in front of a wild oak tree, just as the moon was rising--and felt like, yes, this is me this is me exactly, I could be looking in a mirror of my dreams? Have you ever felt anything like that at all in your life? If not, well, take it from old Buddy here--you ain't been looking hard enough. It's out there for you, the feeling of recognizing yourself in something else, and when you find it, oh it will feel so good deep inside of you. It'll change you forever.
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"You know how the best stories are all about the Rambling Duke, or the Mountebank, or any old adventurer who takes off down the Wayward River?"
"Yeah," I said. "So?"
"There are other stories, Buddy," she said. "Of folks who maybe aren't quite so free, who can't just pack up and run after any adventure that comes their way. Their stories might not seem as exciting, and they might take place somewhere regular and boring. But that doesn't mean these folks haven't sacrificed and loved and lost and fought battles just as hard as someone out on the road. It doesn't make their stories any less powerful, important, or real. It doesn't make their stories mean any less."