Blurb:
In the Christmas novella
Eight Birds for Christmas, a Holiday funeral sends Laidan into a dormancy of sadness.
Holed up in her mother's lake house with her best friend and her bodyguard,
birds appear one by one as gifts that help her through a time of grieving. Each
birds carries with it a word and a hope that things will begin to look up.
Hurt
from the realization that the rock star life Laidan led had made her selfish,
the birds reveal forgotten memories and glimpses into how she can become a
better person. It will take confronting her past to make peace with her future.
By taking to heart the gifts the birds bring, Laidan begins to realize the true
meaning of Christmas and that there are other ways that she can share her song.
Author:
As a child, Tara Mayoros
moved to Asia with her family where her love of different cultures and travel
began. In college she satisfied her wanderlust by moving back to China, filling
her head with countless stories, and occasionally writing them down.
Years, marriage, children
and many adventures later, she picked up her dusty pen and paper (or laptop)
and realized that writing took her to different worlds and gave her the
experiences that she yearned for. As an author, artist, baker, music teacher,
gardener, and nature lover – she sees the beauty in the process, and the
miracle, of creation. The Rocky Mountains are her home and they call to her
whenever she finds herself in need of inspiration.
Excerpt:
Chapter One
A hush
blanketed the room. The people stood in silence, which had never happened
before. Usually they were as chatty as a flock of seagulls. She glanced around
the room, thoroughly confused. Laidan had grown accustomed to their endless
critiques and ridicule, so this reaction surprised her.
“What,
what’s wrong?” Laidan asked in a small voice. Her hair and makeup team only smiled.
The
fluttering in her chest multiplied and her palms became moist as she wove her
fingers around each other. Laidan thought she had overcome the nerves. She also
thought it strange the different levels of nervousness she could experience in
one single night.
Known
to her fans as Lady Laidan, the past
couple of months left her trailing in the whirlwind wake of airports, stadiums,
and screaming fans. But this year felt different. First of all, the venues were
much larger, the stage set now consisted of fireworks, and of course the number
of fans had multiplied. Now to think — she awaited the stage for the coveted
spot of singing for the White House Christmas program. This both terrified and
excited the world’s newest rising star. She gazed around the dressing room again,
awaiting an answer.
“Stunning!
Glorious! I have never been more proud — ever.” Tom, her fashion designer, had
never been one to dish out compliments. In fact, there had always been an
unsaid war between the two of them about her image. Relief settled as she felt
color return to her face.
“Really,
Laidan, I hope now you won’t refuse to dress this way more often. You should,
you know. Embrace your inner diva. The fans would love it!”
She laughed internally at the thought of
being a diva, but only smiled. The last thing she wanted to be was a dress up
doll. It had always been about the music. That’s what fueled her desire for being
in this crazy industry. Most others, it seemed, loved the pageantry of it all.
But not her, she loved the songwriting, the itchy fingers as she picked through
the chords on her guitar, then seeing how it all came together during her concerts.
It was the process, not the end result that made her happy.
She
could feel the weight of her gown as folds of it fell around her ankles.
Swirling snowflakes stitched with crystals danced on the white silk. She
unhitched her hands and looked down at her jewelry. “Frost and icicles” Tom had
called it when he pitched the idea to her, rather timidly back then. Now, she
didn’t doubt his genius. Diamond rings sparkled on her fingers in the shape of intricate
snowflakes.
“So
this is what it feels like to be a bride, I guess,” she finally said, feeling
the huge smile on her face.
Tom
laughed flamboyantly. “Better. Much better. More like a Snow Queen.” He placed
his hands around her arms. “Turn around, just look at yourself.”
The
vast fabric of her skirt made it hard to make sudden movements, so she slowly turned
around. Her breath caught as she noticed her hair. How had they done that? She
was known for her long dark hair and her hairstyles were often the cover of magazines,
but tonight, Tom had outdone himself.
“Maybe
now you will be more excited about the doll industry contacting you about
fashioning a doll after you.” Tom turned to the others and squealed in delight.
“Can you just imagine!”
Laidan rolled her eyes at their dramatics as
they whispered with excitement to each other. To be polite, she smiled, which
had come easily because, despite the secret panic attacks that overcame her on
stage, she had never been so happy. Reaching up to touch the dark mass of her
updo, her fingers skimmed across the crystal and diamond snowflakes, which
seemed magically attached in her hair. Her fingers followed her neckline down
to the diamonds and crystals that were shaped into delicate patterns and looked
as if they had frozen as they landed on her chest.
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