Tour & Excerpt: Freedom Road by T.M. Souders

Please welcome T.M. Souders, author of Freedom Road! She’s here today to discuss how she researched playing guitar, tell us a about her novel Freedom Road, and to share an excerpt as part of her BB Book Tour!

My Background With the Guitar & Writing Freedom Road

by T.M. Souders

Freedom Road is about a guitar prodigy. So, for any musically challenged individual like myself, writing music and playing an instrument would be difficult feat. Yet in a recent Amazon review, one reviewer said, “ Souders’ descriptions of the guitar and the music were exquisite and I felt like I could almost hear Sam playing her guitar.” With no knowledge of the guitar, how did I do it you might ask?

Everything put into the book relied on my research. In my novel, the main character has an accident which leaves her with one less finger on her fretting hand. I tried calling local guitar shops for advice and information on what a person would do if they were missing one of their fingers, but honestly, they were of little help. None of the instructors had experience with teaching someone with a missing digit. Most of my knowledge of the guitar and playing came from information I found through tons of research on the internet. When it came to my character, Samantha, playing in some of the more vital scenes in the book, particularly the last scene, I had to figure out a way to “show” her playing through words, which was certainly difficult. I think music, in essence, has so much emotion tied to it, and those who play like the character in my book have so much passion, that I pulled on her emotions for the descriptions of themusic she played.

Luckily, this novel has so much more meaning behind it than just a girl playing a guitar. The book speaks of the effects of a dysfunctional family on a child/teenager. Freedom Road touches on the meaning of friendship, opening up and trusting. The book is about discovering who you are, your strengths, and digging deep to accomplish your dreams. It is about overcoming adversity and is a coming of age novel, where the character’s development and personal growth were the focus of the novel, rather than just being about the music she played.

Nevertheless, I wish I had more personal experience with the guitar. I’ve always been awed by those who play and, frankly, a bit envious. Okay, a lot envious. This particular book, in general, was a struggle for me. It took me three complete rewrites, front to back, to get it right, and that doesn’t include revisions and edits. I have to say I was inspired by my own character though. I now have a beautiful black guitar waiting for me to play it. So far, I’ve only self-taught myself to the extent of Amazing Grace. Now, ifonly I could just stop writing and find the time to take lessons!

Excerpt from Freedom Road

She franticly paced the back end of the room, opening and closing the doors on the bottom of the entertainment unit. With each sharp thwack of the wooden doors, she whispered, “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.” Her gaze darted around the room and the pink robe billowed around her when she walked.

Breaking from my trance, I stepped forward. “Mom? Who are you talking to?”

She jumped. Empty eyes stared at me. “Michael’s here somewhere, but I can’t find him.”

Too afraid of what his expression would be, I didn’t dare look at Laird. Instead, I took another step forward. We were in the thick of things, and there was no turning back. I raised my hands in effort to calm her and let her know I was there to help. All I could do now was damage control—try to de-escalate the situation so Laird and I could leave. Only a couple feet away, the intense scent of alcohol and vomit hit me. I staggered back, my stomach heaving at the stench.

“Everything will be fine. I just need to find him,” my mother said, sweeping her gaze across the room. The lilt to her voice took on a dreamlike quality.

“He’s not here. He’s dead, Mom.”

Her head whipped in my direction. Eyes of steel zoned in on me. “He. Is. Not. That’s what they want me to think.” She trembled with each word.

I ran my hands through my hair and shook my head. “Yes, he is.”

“They told me I’d be fine. They lied. Why couldn’t I have died with him?” Her face crumbled into a mask of anguish, before she fell into a crying heap on the floor.

I closed the gap and went to her. Sobs shook her body so hard, she gasped for air between spasms. “My poor Michael,” she cried.

I wrapped an arm around her and tried to lift, but the alcohol’s effect had relaxed her muscles. She was deadweight. “Mom, come on. Let’s get you upstairs.”

At the sound of my voice, she pushed away from me. Her once vibrant, green eyes clouded over. “You’re not my daughter. I have a son, Michael. Where is he?” Her words slurred into an incoherent string of accusations.

The tops of Laird’s Doc Martins appeared in front of her. My face flamed in embarrassment when I glanced up at him. The softness in his eyes somehow made it worse. “Let me help,” he said. I nodded, unable to say anything.

He scooped her frail body into his arms like an infant. “Michael?” my mother asked. She gazed up at him with an enthusiasm I hadn’t known her capable of. “I knew you weren’t dead. They lied.”

Laird said nothing, keeping his expression placid. He carried her up the stairs, with me leading the way. We passed family pictures on the walls, all from ten years ago, reminders of a past life. At the entrance to her bedroom, I stepped aside and let Laird take her in, watching as he placed her on the bed and covered her with the blue quilt. I turned away and went back to the stairs. Hushed murmurs escaped into the hallway, and within seconds, Laird emerged by my side. I didn’t ask what he said to calm her. I only whispered my thanks. We descended the stairs together and left the house, my change of clothes forgotten.

Once outside, I sucked in a deep breath of fresh air. Unable to put it off any longer, I turned to him, and my voice broke. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear.

Without hesitation, I buried my head in his chest. “Do you still want dinner?” he asked.

I glanced up at him. Concern darkened the blue of his eyes, nothing more. No judgment. No mortification.

“I should probably stay here.” I had lost my appetite. “But can you stay a few more minutes?”

He lowered his face to the top of my head and kissed my hair. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That she said those things to you, about you not being hers. No child should have to hear things like that.”

I shrugged, as if it didn’t affect me. “It’s not the first time she’s said them.”

As always, Laird saw right through me. He placed his fingers under my chin and tilted my face toward his. “She was just drunk. She didn’t mean them.”

“I know.” But what if she did.

A crease formed between his brows. “No you don’t.”

I smoothed the wrinkle in his skin with my finger. “How do you know me so well?” Lowering his lips, he swept them over mine. His kiss smoothed away the ragged edges of her words. I deepened it, parting his lips with my own, never wanting it to end. Emotion flooded out of him and into me. I felt his desire and matched his heat. His hands tangled in my hair, while mine ran over his chest. I needed him. I needed this. And all thoughts of what occurred only moments before left me. Nothing existed except the two of us. Only when a blood curdling scream penetrated the night did we part.

Breathing hard, we stared at each other, unsure of whether we really heard anything at all. But when he closed his eyes and leaned toward me once more, another shrill scream mingled with our heartbeats, shattering the quiet. Our eyes flew open, and we ran for the door.

Thanks T.M., for stopping by today, and sharing the excerpt! I’m also envious of those that can play guitar. I self-taught myself a little bit but I have wussy fingers and didn’t get very far.  Sadly, my guitar is neglected and is now more of a decoration.