Spotlight & Giveaway: Some of It Was Real by Nan Fischer

Today, HJ is pleased to share with you Nan Fischer’s new release: SOME OF IT WAS REAL

A psychic on the verge of stardom who isn’t sure she believes in herself and a cynical journalist with one last chance at redemption are brought together by secrets from the past that also threaten to tear them apart.

Psychic-medium Sylvie Young starts every show with her origin story, telling the audience how she discovered her abilities. But she leaves out a lot—the plane crash that killed her parents, an estranged adoptive family who tend orchards in rainy Oregon, panic attacks, and the fact that her agent insists she research some clients to ensure success.

After a catastrophic reporting error, Thomas Holmes’s next story at the L.A. Times may be his last, but he’s got a great personal pitch. “Grief vampires” like Sylvie who prey upon the loved ones of the deceased have bankrupted his mother. He’s dead set on using his last-chance article to expose Sylvie as a conniving fraud and resurrect his career.

When Sylvie and Thomas collide, a game of cat and mouse ensues, but the secrets they’re keeping from each other are nothing compared to the mysteries and lies they unearth about Sylvie’s past. Searching for the truth might destroy them both—but it’s the only way to find out what’s real.

Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from Some of It Was Real

Chapter Two
Sylvie
Music flows through the theater’s surround sound—a symphony of instruments that slowly builds. An intricate dance of multicolored laser lights traverse the empty stage then dry-ice vapor rolls across wooden boards and spotlights turn curls of smoke violet, azure and emerald. The smoke dissipates, frenetic lights slow their search; the symphony strikes its crescendo. I walk to the center of the stage just as the last notes fade away, wait for the applause to thin and people to take their seats.
One hand on my dog’s sleek, black head, I start. “Thank you for coming. I’m Sylvie Young and this handsome guy beside me is Moose. I get a bit nervous before each show and he helps with that so I hope you don’t mind him being here?” There are murmurs of encouragement. “Every psychic has an origin story that reveals when and how we first recognized our abilities. That might be when we predicted a grandparent’s passing, delivered a message to the living only the dead could possibly know, or found a lost object, pet or child. We must then choose whether or not to use our gift.” My eyes scan the theater. Almost every seat is taken. “I never planned to be a psychic or stand on a stage. Sometimes where I’ve landed is overwhelming. Truly. But what’s most important is that when someone asks me to connect with those they loved and lost, I will do anything to make that happen.”
I let this promise settle then continue. “My gift appeared when I was 18, living in San Francisco, and had just worked a double waitressing shift, food stains on my T-shirt, the smell of fried food in my hair. On the long walk back to a basement apartment, I stopped in the funky Haight-Ashbury neighborhood to rest on a bench. A few feet away, outside a magic shop named Abracadabra, a young guy read tarot at a rickety metal table. He was flying by the seat of his pants, but he had a gift for weaving stories. After a funny reading, I giggled. The tarot reader laughed, too, we chatted for a bit then he scribbled a sign that read: PSYCHIC $5 on a folded piece of cardboard and dared me to sit in the chair beside him. I took the seat, assumed no one would waste money on me.
“My first customers were sisters. The pregnant one was Bethany. I guessed she was almost nine months along–it wasn’t a psychic thing, it was obvious that she hadn’t seen her feet in awhile.” I wait for knowing laughter to subside then went on.
“Am I having a boy or a girl? Bethany asked.
I rested my hands on the swell beneath the cool silk of her dress. The baby kicked and I jumped, laughed, and the mom-to-be did, too. To give Bethany a good show, I closed my eyes. An instant whooshing sound enveloped me, followed by a river of warmth that flowed around my limbs. The warm water cradled me and I felt my body slowly roll… but then something tugged, stopped me… The next thing I knew, the tarot reader was shaking me really hard. When I opened my eyes Bethany was on her feet, arms wrapped protectively around her belly.”
The audience is quiet, caught in the story’s web. “Why would you scare her like that? Bethany’s sister demanded.
Confused, I followed her pointed finger. Scribbled across the inside of my right forearm were the words: I can’t breathe. I turned to the tarot reader. Did you do that? But his black marker was gripped in my hand and the writing was mine.” Whispers float through the audience. “By then Bethany was crying.” I tip my chin and look into the balcony section. “I should’ve apologized. But when I was little and in trouble, always with my mom, Dad would say that there was a plant that grew inside my belly called a contrary tree. Instead of backpedaling, I said, She can’t breathe.”

Excerpt. ©Nan Fischer. Posted by arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.
 
 

Giveaway: Berkley can offer (1) One finished copy of SOME OF IT WAS REAL to a winner with a valid US shipping address.

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Meet the Author:

Nan Fischer is a two-time Oregon Book Award finalist for her novels, When Elephants Fly and The Speed of Falling Objects. Additional author credits include co- authored sport autobiographies for elite athletes, and a Star Wars trilogy for LucasFilm. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and their Vizsla, Boone.