Boy: A Journey

Everyone knew about Jay's hidden transgender past -- except his son. Now that his father is gone, Luke must seek the truth to understand the man he thought he knew.

Luke may never have been close to his father, but he feels like he knew him. Jay was a frustrating parent – always urging Luke to go to mortuary school, disapproving of his Broadway aspirations, and favoring his other children. He even had the audacity to die mid-argument, forcing additional guilt on Luke for never meeting his expectations.

However, Luke’s assumptions about Jay are thrown into turmoil at the funeral when an enigmatic stranger, Tom, expresses gratitude that Jay finally shared his past with his children. When Luke can’t hide his confusion, Tom realizes his mistake and bolts. Riddled with questions, Luke confronts his family. He is shocked to discover that everyone guards the truth that Jay was a transgender man who’d been raised as a female. Practiced at keeping his father’s secrets, they’re unwilling to reveal anything further at Luke’s demand. Devastated by Jay’s lack of trust in him, Luke feels forced to abandon the family who deceived him although leaving them behind won’t answer his questions.

To discover the reason his father hid his gender identity, Luke seeks the only other person with answers, Tom. In Luke’s eyes, he is owed an explanation, even if it’s a difficult one. However, Tom harbors a deep protective devotion to Jay, a loyalty he feels the truth would betray. Additionally, as a man suffering with terminal cancer, he has no desire to drudge up painful memories by playing Luke’s Virgil. Luke must earn his trust before the secret past of both men dies with Tom.

Boy: A Journey Blog Tour

#1 Line Wed/Other Events graphics

One of my favorite days of the week is Wednesday! Each week, the Twitter writing community comes together and posts lines from their manuscripts to a theme. Below are graphics I created w/lines from Boy: A Journey

BOY: A JOURNEY and Music

Music is very interwoven throughout Boy: A Journey. Below are a few of the performances that inspired the novel and are described within it, as well as the playlist that I listened to while writing it.

Boy was seven years in the think tank, and it would still be there today if it weren't for hearing this song and watching this performance.

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"What Tom played was familiar - Cavalleria Rusticana's 'Intermezzo'. It was one of his father's favorite pieces of music, one that Jay played over and over."

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Such an amazing pianist and solo:

"He loved how the first slow, dissonant measures skyrocketed into a lightening fast, invigorating tempo. It was both enjoyable to watch and to listen to."

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Other inspirational media

I'm drawn to certain images when I write. Click on or hover above the photos below for the lines these pictures inspired.

It’d been the first week of June, before the weather had gotten too hot to be outside, let alone in a hooded sweatshirt. And the graves were still freshly decorated with orange, yellow, and red mums from Memorial Day, which made Jay happy.

Luke stood before the floor to ceiling windows that comprised the two walls of Tom’s living room. They were one of the reasons Tom had selected the condo. He could sit at his piano and feel he was playing to the entire city.

Tom put on his favorite sweater and blue jeans. He sat in the cold sunshine on his balcony, surveying the Salt Lake City landscape while he made himself eat a granola bar. He pretended the granola bar was a steak and didn’t taste like mouthfuls of nickels.

“That’s great. Seriously. You can put it on your mantle and turn it every day, so no one will ever know who’s in there. It’ll drive people crazy,” Tom had commented when Luke found the urn online.

Tom leaned over the rim with his hammer and rubber mute. He touched the keys he’d identified as being out of tune and brought them back in line one by one.

“You were his dream, his ‘green light.’” Tom curled his middle and pointer fingers twice without raising his hands. “Once he had you, he’d accomplished everything he set out to do. He had everything he ever wanted. That’s the man you knew."

Excerpt one - Chapter 1
POV: Luke

Luke wasn’t sure he caught the comment. The car door shut, and Jay walked across the parking lot. And as if it were a dream, Luke watched the Honda Civic collide with his father.

The metal bumper hit Jay’s calf and knocked his legs from under him. He flipped into the air, and his body crashed onto the car—torso slammed against the sleek hood and his head smashed into the windshield. The car swerved a little, and Luke heard the screech of brakes and smelled hot rubber. The speed and force of the stop ripped his father out of the windshield and sent him flying forward. His body skidded a few inches on the blacktop before he was at rest—a crumple of blood and glass in front of the car.

Luke shoved open the van door and ran to kneel beside his father’s twisted body. Although he knew he could make the injuries worse, he pulled Jay’s head into his lap. He smoothed the hair and glass from his face, trying to find him somewhere in the blood. When he called his name there was no response.

Then he felt a wet spot on his jeans and thought he’d pissed his pants.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!

Luke curved his hand under Jay’s head, his fingers moving through his matted hair, until they were stuck. Sunk in a crevice. And he felt something solid, like hard gelatin left open in the fridge for a couple of weeks. He ripped his hand out. Blood dribbled from the ends of his fingers. He hadn’t pissed his pants. But he wanted to.

Oh, my God! Oh, my God! He looked at his father, who still hadn’t opened his eyes or moved. What he could see of his skin through the blood was losing color. Luke pressed his hands to Jay’s face, willing that living tinge not to fade. No! Please stay! Stay with me, Dad, please!

Luke heard sirens in the distance, but he knew they were too late. More of the syrupy blood saturated his jeans. No one could lose that much and pull through. No one could survive having their skull open, their brain exposed. He sat on the asphalt of the parking lot, caressing his father’s hair, and watched him die.

Excerpt Two - Chapter 7
POV: Tom

Tom leaned his elbow on the counter, the winning grin on his face. It exhilarated him to have this confidence back. To not feel like a wretched, diseased piece of shit. He could barely believe he’d had the courage to say more than two words to Luke yesterday. Then to ask him out to breakfast? And now he was badgering a waitress with the casual ease that’d been disappearing from him for months.

“The patio is closed, sir,” she repeated, but he could tell from the curves at the corners of her mouth that his case wasn’t lost.

“What if I told you I was dying? Would that change your mind?”

“If you told me you were dying, I wouldn’t believe you. You don’t look like you’re dying. You don’t act it.”

What a marvelous compliment.

“I’m on these extraordinary meds. But I really am dying, I assure you.”

“Of what?”

“The big C.” Tom watched her amusement fade, and he almost regretted being a pest. “No, don’t worry. There’s nothing you can do, so why worry? And I mean about the cancer. I still want to have breakfast outside. You can worry about that.”

“What type?” From her expression it was clear that she knew someone else who had it too. Or had had it. Everyone did. This common ground bode well for his request.

“Pancreatic. And I’m sorry for your loss. It’s a shit-ass way to go.” He covered his mouth with his hand and smirked. “I apologize. I’m just feeling really good this morning.”

“It’s okay.”

The waitress pulled a set of keys from her apron and grabbed a spray bottle and towel from a shelf on her way to the patio doors. Since the sun was only beginning to creep over the horizon, she flipped on a bay of lights to illuminate the patio.

“It is a shit-ass way to go, but I’m glad you’re feeling good this morning, sir.”

excerpt Three - Chapter 8
pov: Ginger

 “Do you want to see him one more time?”

“No,” Ginger answered quickly, images of the purple face skidding through his brain.

“Do you want to put him in?”

“No.”

“Do you want to close the door?”

“No.”

“Do you—”

“Dad.” He’d touched Jay’s arm. “I know what you’re doing. It’s appreciated. But please, you handle it, and let me stand here. That’s all I feel I can do.”

Ginger had watched him push the cardboard box inside the crematorium and place the metal chip with the number on its inner ledge.

Just a number.

The door lowered, and Jay adjusted the machine’s dials before he looked to Ginger. His finger hovered over the button. Waiting.

Ginger nodded and the machine rumbled to life. Jay stood by his side in silence, his hand on his shoulder as they listened to the breathing dragon.

I could’ve stood shoulder to shoulder with him someday. Instead, he’s in there. Burning. And I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t be nonchalant and fake like I don’t care. He felt the heat behind his eyes. He didn’t live. He didn’t breathe. He might as well have never been. How can you be attached to what was only a fucking figment of your imagination?

“You can love something sooner than it exists. Even when it doesn’t exist anymore. And it’s okay if people don’t understand that. Fuck people,” Jay said.

Ginger remembered that Jay had embraced him. And he’d felt better that someone had understood, and given him the empathy he hadn’t received from Beau. Thanks to Jay, the last time Ginger had seen his unnamed son had been in the arms of his grandfather.

And what will I do now that you’re not here? Ginger bit the knuckle of his first finger. If it happens again, and I have to do it myself? I could barely take care of you.