Novels by Tracy Shawn

Floating Underwater 

Release Date: September 10, 2021
Synopsis:

Part psychological fiction and part mystical fiction with a dash of magical realism, Floating Underwater follows a woman’s astonishing journey through the extraordinary and, ultimately, to her own self-actualization and power.

Fearful that her lifelong premonitions not only predict the future but can also change its very course, Paloma Leary is devastated when her latest vision foretelling a third miscarriage comes true.

Falling into a mystifying world of increasingly bizarre phenomena, including a psychic connection with her mysterious neighbor, out-of-body experiences, and visits from her long-dead mother, Paloma grows desperate for answers. She is also desperate to start a family. But when a life-changing vision reveals a tragic secret from the past, Paloma learns to accept her gifts and embraces a far different future than she ever could have imagined.

A Note from the Author:

 Floating Underwater was inspired by my own personal history, past work experience, and sheer imagination. Having suffered through two miscarriages myself, I wanted to write about how a character deals with that particular loss. Motivated from my past work as an intern at a psychiatric center, I also wanted to explore what it’s like for a daughter when her beloved mother has severe schizophrenia. I added in the narrative element of magical realism and otherworldly events because I believe loss and grief can make our day-to-day reality too difficult to bear without the hope that something magical is just beyond this realm. I created these extraordinary experiences for my protagonist, readers, and for myself to help us all feel as if everything in this crazy, upside-down world (and beyond!) will somehow, someday be okay.

Praise for Floating Underwater:

“The author delivers spot-on dialogue, believable and enchanting characters, and surprising twists. It’s easy to imagine the novel as a talked-about book club selection (in fact, there’s a list of questions at the book’s conclusion).” – STARRED REVIEW, BlueInk Review by Reviewer Patricia Moosbrugger

“One woman’s mystical journey to move forward while confronting a troubled, mysterious past. Beautifully written; an ethereal, eloquent pleasure.”  – Marlene Adelstein, author of USA Today bestseller Sophie Last Seen

“In Tracy Shawn’s novel, Floating Underwater, Paloma must allow herself to be submerged into the warmth of mysticism, feminism, friendship, and love… The women in this novel represent different forms of strength … The writing is stunning… This book will remind you to listen to the wind when it speaks and to look for what’s floating beneath the surface of the water.” – 5 Stars, Reviewed by Jenna Swartz, San Francisco Book Review

Excerpt from Floating Underwater:

(from Chapter 1)

Paloma smiled at Reed as she clenched the sides of her chair. They sat at their usual spot—a small table outside their favorite deli. Pedestrians slogged by through an unseasonably humid June. A heatwave had intruded on the small town of Sunflower Beach; even the window-box geraniums were wilting in defeat. Paloma doubted they’d survive the summer.

She directed her attention back to her husband. She had to tell him. But she kept her mouth shut as she caught sight of a small bird flitting by and out of view so quickly it could have been her imagination. She swallowed down the murky taste of dread. Maybe it would be better for Reed not to get his hopes up. But he had a right to know—and besides, she wanted him to know.

He cocked his head, grinning. “What is it?”

“I’ve got some good news.” She reached over and held his hand, knowing he had already guessed.

“We’re pregnant,” he said.

She laughed and nodded in confirmation.

“Honey, that’s great.” He squeezed her hand and smiled as if loss were never an issue. “This time will be different. I just know it.” He got up to hug her. She stood and received his embrace, the glow of his positivity radiating through her body. “I hope so.” She sat back down, wishing she could catch sight of the bird again. She didn’t tell him how two days earlier, as she was mindlessly driving to work, one of her visions had struck. With both hands fixed on the steering wheel, she had managed to pull off the road. She’d tried to will the image away, yet it grew even more vivid. A corpse of a baby sparrow floated down a creek. With its thumb-sized frame and bruised eyelids, it looked like it had plummeted to its death before it even had a chance to breathe. She waded in and scooped it out of the water, but its translucent form had slipped through her cupped hands. She watched, paralyzed, as it tumbled toward the waiting mouth of the ocean—lifeless, distant, gone.

When the vision ended, she had eased her car back onto the street, shutting out the message. But, as before, she could not forget it, even here with Reed. Especially here with Reed. “Of course it’s going to be okay,” he said. “Wait just a minute.”

He went into the deli and walked up to the counter.

Paloma held her stomach as she watched her husband point to a row of Russian tea cakes. He beamed at droopy-eyed Manny behind the counter, who never changed his just-give-me-your-order expression. With Reed’s tall, robust frame constrained inside his Oxford shirt and his brown, grey- flecked curls brushing his collar, her husband’s bouncing-on-his-toes earnestness made her want to cry. Even though his optimism could be annoying, it also saddened her in its naïve vulnerability.

He returned and handed Paloma a crisp white bag with two conjoined butter stains already seeping through. “Just a little treat to enjoy later,” Reed said, “for my wife—and baby.” He flashed his big-toothed grin as though nothing bad would ever happen again.

Paloma opened the bag and inhaled the sugary aroma.

Reed chuckled as he folded his large body back into his chair and leaned in, eagerness lighting up his face. “When’s the due date?”

For some reason, she couldn’t remember. She knew the date marked something else, something that made her nervous. “The doctor says I’m due…” She stopped and took a sip of ice water, trying to shake off the apprehension.

“If we count the months from your last period, wouldn’t it be around April?” Reed drew closer, the lunch-crowd noise closing in around them.

She nodded, her memory jogged. “The baby is due April twenty-first.” As soon as she said it, she remembered: April 21 was her mother’s birthday. Paloma gagged; the smell of a pastrami sandwich the ponytailed guy at the next table was wolfing down eliciting sudden nausea.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Just feeling queasy.” She picked up a napkin and wiped her forehead. “I guess my hormones are kicking in.”

Reed’s eyebrows shot up. “They are? That’s a good thing. You never felt any morning sickness before.” He beamed at her, his conviction reeling her in.

“You’re right.” Maybe her vision of the dead sparrow was about something else—or maybe it meant nothing at all.

“Sure I am,” Reed said with utter finality.

Manny’s impatient voice burst through an open window as he called out their number and rang the counter’s bell five times in a row—then, impatiently, five more times. Reed stood up and raced back into the deli. But as he brought back his tuna on rye and her turkey sandwich, he gripped the bright orange tray like a little kid who was afraid everything might crash to the ground at the slightest misstep.

Paloma held her sweaty glass to her forehead. “Thank you.” She ignored the foreboding that sank into her gut.

Reed bit into his sandwich and chewed with gusto. Paloma watched him, envious of—but also heartened by—his ability to believe in the future. She reminded herself that happiness was not going to turn into tragedy the second she allowed herself to trust it. Noticing a dab of tuna on Reed’s chin, she smiled as she reached over to wipe it off.

“Don’t worry.” Reed winked. “Our kid can’t ever be as sloppy as I am.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that. Your messy gene runs pretty deep.”

She had missed their silly bantering. They hadn’t been this playful with each other since the last pregnancy, but his jokes and her bursts of laughter had dissipated over time. She wagered, though, that most couples eventually lose sight of what first brought them together.

Reed patted her hand. “It is going to work out this time, Paloma…”

Paloma smiled, then took a bite of her sandwich. Maybe Reed was right; everything would be okay—the future did not have to be defined by the past.

And then, out of the corner of her eye, Paloma saw her. Bone-thin Serena raced across the street and planted herself next to the bumper of a parked car. In her ragged skirt and barely there T-shirt, Serena could be mistaken for one of Sunflower Beach’s many homeless people, who tucked themselves into alleys, behind bushes dotting the hillsides, and around trash-strewn paths by the railroad tracks. Yet the bedraggled Serena lived with her family, who tried their best to care for her in their own, private way. Serena stared at Paloma with her mismatched eyes, one blue and the other an unnatural shade of milky green. Slowly, Serena shook her head as her gaze misted over with what looked to be pity. Even though she had followed Paloma around ever since she’d moved into town, when she was in sixth grade and Paloma in fifth, Paloma’s heart raced now, and the nausea returned.

Reed leaned away and averted his face from Serena’s scrutiny. “She’s been showing up even more, you know.”

“I know,” Paloma whispered. “I think she’s trying to tell me something.” Paloma shoved her plate away. Eating would be impossible now.

“She’s not trying to tell you anything.” Reed sighed. “She’s just more unhinged than usual.”

Paloma dared to look again. Serena pinned her down with those unnerving eyes, and then her mouth suddenly twisted into a grimace. Not knowing what else to do, Paloma waved. Serena turned abruptly. Passersby shook their heads and stared as she skipped barefoot down the street. Paloma watched the last coiled ends of Serena’s long, tangled hair as it floated out of view.

Also by Tracy Shawn:

The Grace of Crows, Second Edition

 

 

 

Synopsis:

“The Grace of Crows” is the story of Saylor Crawmore, a woman tormented by anxiety. Saylor tries every cure from self-help books and therapy to medication. Nothing has worked. Desperate for an answer, she must also navigate the ongoing rip current between the troubled generations of her family.

Saylor discovers her childhood friend, Billy, homeless and ignored since his teens living under a pier in Malibu. This encounter sparks Saylor’s journey to gain insight into her strange fears and the power to overcome her severe anxiety. Armed with her new awareness, Saylor summons the courage to help her family.

Book Excerpt:

Saylor felt the drink muffling her thoughts; she also sensed someone eyeing her. Perched on a barstool, a woman about the same age as her mother stared at her. Even in the dim lighting, Saylor noticed the overstretched effect of repeated plastic surgeries. Still, the smiling woman looked beautiful. Saylor smiled back, even though a wary kind of familiarity made her rash sting.

She held her hand against her neck and watched the doll-like woman walk toward her. The woman wore a long crochet skirt, a silky white top with flowing, diaphanous sleeves, and Victorian lace-up boots, a Stevie Nicks getup that reminded Saylor of parties her parents used to throw. Though the woman had to be in her mid-seventies, she still managed to pull off the hippie-cool style that not only took a fair amount of fashion sense, but also a good amount of cash.

Without a word, she slid into the booth next to Saylor, setting down her glass of red wine. “Saylor?” The woman tilted her head. “Saylor Leoni?”

“I’m Saylor Crawmore now.” Saylor hadn’t heard her maiden name in so long that it seemed as if she would be a liar in not correcting her. “How do I know you?”

“So little Saylor is now a grownup,” the woman said.

Saylor finally knew who she was. The breathy voice hadn’t changed much through three decades: now she could match the light green eyes and striking cheekbones with the past. It was Billy Underwood’s mother. The Billy who haunted her thoughts and made her feel—even after all this time—as if she’d lost something important. “You’re Faith Underwood.” Saylor blinked, trying to remember exactly why Faith had disappeared so many years ago. “I can’t believe you recognized me; I was only fifteen the last time I saw you.” It had been at her father’s funeral, and Saylor remembered thinking how weird it was that her mother’s peripheral friend, Faith Underwood, was crying harder than Saylor was.

“I knew right away who you were,” Faith said. “You’re the exact image of your teenage self—just over thirty-five years older!” She laughed, clasping a thin hand on Saylor’s forearm. All at once, Saylor felt like the dumpy, frizzy-haired girl who everyone always exclaimed was the spitting image of her short, coarse-faced Italian father—and who looked nothing at all like her tall and elegant Swedish mother.

Faith leaned closer. “Some things never change, do they?”

Saylor inhaled Faith’s expensive, powdery-linen perfume and sour wine-breath, remembering how Faith and her mother had been friends for a time, Faith and her husband, Cliff, sometimes-guests at her parents’ house. And when all of them were busy in the living room drinking sangria and smoking pot, Saylor and the Underwoods’ son, Billy, sat in her room listening to records and consuming the Fritos and 7Up that Billy had smuggled in his backpack.

Saylor eyed Faith. “How is Billy?”

“Billy?”

“Yes, your son, Billy.” Saylor pictured him singing along with her to Jackson Browne’s “Doctor My Eyes.” Her patient Billy, with his pitch-perfect tone, never once made fun of her when he accompanied her out-of-tune enthusiasm. Then Saylor saw Faith press her wineglass against her lips, and suddenly remembered why Faith had disappeared. Soon after her father’s funeral, Faith had supposedly gone to some meditation retreat in Bali, leaving fifteen-year-old Billy in care of the often-absent Cliff. The Breakers Point gossip was that Faith had really ended up living with some wealthy Frenchman. Regardless, she was supposed to return from Bali after a month, but never came back at all.

“Billy always had a soft spot in his heart for you,” Faith said, glancing down at her myriad of chunky-chic tiger’s eye, amber and agate rings.

“When was the last time you saw him?” Saylor could tell her questions were making Faith uncomfortable, but the tequila made her bolder than usual.

“It’s been a while…” Faith stopped and Saylor wondered if it could have possibly been since Billy was fifteen.

“How long?” The need to know what had happened to him grabbed Saylor so hard that she didn’t have time to worry about how Faith would take her incessant questioning.

Faith drained the last of her wine. “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” she said. “I don’t have to explain myself to anyone. I waited till Billy was a teenager before I left, and he did have his father.”

Saylor nodded in embarrassment: Who was she to judge Faith Underwood? No matter how closed-off the woman acted, maybe she’d been going through her own emotional turmoil. “I’m sorry, Faith. I didn’t mean to—”

“You should know that he’s not the same boy you remember.” Faith’s voice faltered. “When I got back into the country, I looked up Cliff and he told me that Billy ran away before his eighteenth birthday.” With a challenging stare, Faith continued, “Cliff said he had gone crazy.”

“Crazy?”

“Yes, that happens sometimes,” Faith said. “And unless you have a loved one that has gone through something like this, you’ll never understand.” She glanced at her thin Bvlgari watch and slid out of the booth. “I have friends I need to meet upstairs.”.”

“Wait,” Saylor said, trying to break through Faith’s guarded smile “Do you have any idea where he could be now?”

“Cliff mentioned…” Faith looked up at the ceiling as if searching for an answer. “Cliff told me that he was living under Breakers Cove Pier.”

Saylor’s throat went dry, but maybe she had misunderstood. “Living under the pier?”

“It’s exactly how it sounds, Saylor.” Faith shook her head. “And, no, he refuses to get any kind of help.”

“Do you think he’s still there?”

“From what I understand, he’s not exactly someone you want to visit.”

Saylor saw Faith’s mouth twitch and, although she felt sorry for her, she needed to stress how important this was to her. “I don’t care what kind of state he’s in, I still want to see him.”

But Faith only gave her a cool nod goodbye, acting as if she couldn’t hear. Saylor watched her glide away, wanting to chase her down to try to get a real answer, but knowing Faith didn’t want to provide it.

Faith disappeared up the stairs and Saylor pushed the rest of her drink aside.

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© 2014, Tracy Shawn