I had a moment the other night.
Boomerang, my dark domestic thriller novel, has received positive ARC (Advanced Reader Copy) feedback so far. But as the publication date creeps closer, I started fretting about the novel's sometimes-heavy content.
"Is it too dark?" I asked my husband as we settled into bed for our nightly Netflix fix. "Should I just kill it?"
I knew the answer before he even responded.
NO.
(After watching the first five minutes of Max's "True Detective," I saw it wasn't. Unfortunately, there are a lot of dark stories out there in this big, beautiful world of ours.)
And I want to be authentic.
As I've read and reread Boomerang, I am pleased with my narrative. But it's taken me down a path of paranoia. Yes, the story is anchored around some of our recent societal movements and issues. It's a fictional tale of a heartbroken young widow looking to pick up the pieces of her shattered life after her husband is tragically killed. She thinks it's the worst that can happen to her. But she has no clue her grief is about to exponentially deepen when she stumbles upon a shocking confession from her late spouse — and sets her on a self-destructive path to unveil the truth.
The story is pretty intense. And while I can't personally speak to some of the issues that anchor the book's premise, there's one I can.
Alcohol abuse.
When I began writing Boomerang, I was a drinker. A heavy one. For several years, I drank to numb my own demons and unhappiness. And since I was working full time and could only write on my off hours, that left little time for writing. Because at that point, Happy Hour was my priority when I was off the clock. Especially on the weekends.
I wasn't just an occasional boozer. I had a problem. From my first drink, I drank to get highly buzzed (or drunk).
You'd think slicing my chin and eyebrow open in a drunken haze one Saturday night fifteen years ago (which required a visit to the ER and a plastic surgeon to stitch me up) would stimulate some common sense. Nope. Neither did the pancreatitis that landed me in the hospital overnight several years ago. I just took a five-day break from drinking, then resumed (hoping the anti-alcohol supplements I began taking would "protect" my organs from further damage).
I looked like hell. And felt like it, too. Men I dated told me I drank too much. (And I told them where they could go). It wasn't until my kids asked me — more like begged me — to stop drinking that I finally hit it.
My rock bottom.
One that could have been much, much worse.
I'm grateful I finally got some sense knocked into me to make a change. And I'm proud to say I have been alcohol-free since April 26, 2020. I shudder to think what my life would be like now, had I continued to drink. And wonder if I'd still be alive.
Why am I even going here? Well, there's alcohol abuse in this novel. And at first, my content editor questioned some of it. "So much vomiting!...More vomiting!" were among the content edit notes I recall. So, I trimmed it back.
But I also left some in. Because I know this kind of behavior to be true.
After all, I lived like that for a couple of decades.
I know what excessive drinking looks and feels like. That was my reality for so long, it was my normal. I thought nothing of weekend hangovers and getting sick on a semi-regular basis. To me, it made sense in the novel. With 10 percent of Americans afflicted with alcohol use disorder (AUD), it wasn't too far-fetched that my story's troubled characters turned to booze to quiet the noise in their brains.
I'm not trying to insinuate that all people with any kind of problems or trauma turn into problem drinkers. But some do. I certainly did.
Boomerang is one of those stories.
Yeah, I'm a bit nervous sharing this extremely personal and vulnerable info. But if me baring my soul here inspires even one person to make a change in their life, it's worth it.
Just know this: If you're still breathing, it's not too late to make that change. And put your life on a completely different path.
I did. And so can you.