With: Allyn Lesley
I hope this post finds everyone well in the New Year. My family and I had enjoyed a quiet holiday.
Quite by chance on Christmas, my in-laws as well as my husband and I gifted our two-year daughter various toys from a popular children’s show. Before these gifts, my daughter would watch this show sporadically with no real interest one way or the other. As my husband helped her rip through the wrapping paper and unscrew the toys tacked down, her expression was of mild interest. All those toys, which included a tent, a mat, doctor’s items, and a doll, were placed to the side for others with lights and sounds.
However, the other day I noticed something curious. Whenever this children’s show came on which featured characters on the toys she was on the fence about, she pointed to her toy chest then back to the television screen. She would begin to cry and repeat her actions if her request was still not understood. Finally, my husband figured out she wanted the toys to play with while the program aired. During this thirty-minute show, my daughter mimics what she sees the main character does with the toys she received for Christmas. It’s something to see in action.
Mimicking starts at such a young age. It’s human nature to do so; many do it to emulate those they admire but there are a few whose mimicking stems from envy. When the latter occurs, one question pops into my head: is imitation the greatest form of flattery?
In my debut romantic suspense, Deeper, which releases the end of January, my antagonist is a master impersonator who mimics others because of greed and jealousy. What are your thoughts on mimicking?
Before I share a snippet from debut, here’s a short trailer just for you.
And now, here’s a look at a part of chapter one from Deeper.
©2015 Allyn Lesley
“It’s my time now.”
No more than thirteen years old, a girl in hand-me downs and ill-fitting shoes stomped down the sidewalk. Everywhere her plain brown eyes landed was brokenness.
The row houses that made up her run-down neighborhood were broken.
The few cars parked along the curb belonging to people who used the vehicles as temporary shelters when they couldn’t afford the rent were broken.
And the neighbors. The neighbors were the worst. Their entire beings were broken. Their minds crumbled by choices they were pushed by life to make. Their physical beings aged prematurely by lack of access to quality food choices. Their psyches irreparably damaged being birthed to parents who were stuck in a generational cycle they didn’t have the tools to break through.
Everyone who lived in this part of town were broken.
And what did brokenness lead to?
Without a backward glance, she ran from the home where just weeks ago she found her parents with their mouths agape, forearms corded off, and needles sticking from their veins.
She ran from her brokenness.
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