I have a dream to write a book someday. I have pasted the first chapter below. Please read it and be honest - Would you want to read a book that started like this? Constructive criticism is what I need.
If it sucks, say so, really.
It was a typical summer day in Southern California – sunny and warm without a cloud in the sky. Up and down the street of our average, middle class neighborhood of rancher style houses in Huntington Beach there were children playing outside. They were everywhere - running around, playing tag and riding their bikes without helmets on. This was when children played outside – all day long - coming inside only after their mothers dragged them into the house when it got too dark.
My brothers and I were no exception and today we were playing on our front lawn. “Tag! You’re it”, Paul laughed as he brushed past me with his hand out. I giggled and sped up to catch Alan who was hiding behind the big palm tree. I chased him around and around until I got dizzy and stopped. Alan was still running around the tree and crashed right into me. “Tag! You’re It” I giggled as I ran away. “That’s not fair! You didn’t catch me”, Alan was trying not to laugh, but Paul and I were laughing hysterically.
Paul and Alan are fraternal twins and couldn’t be more different. Paul is quieter and calm– a type B personality. Alan on the other hand was Type A all the way- louder and more temperamental. While we had our typical sibling fights, we got a long very well and I loved them both the same.
We are practically triplets. After I was born on September 25, 1966, my mom became pregnant again six weeks later. My brothers were born 10 ˝ months later on August 9, 1967. I can only imagine what that was like for my mother as I wasn’t even out of diapers yet. So every year from August 9 to September 25 my brothers and I are the same age. In late August of 1971 were we all four years old.
As we continued to laugh and play, our dad came barging out of the house and made a beeline for his truck in the driveway. “Daddy, Daddy? Where are you going”? I asked as I ran up to him as he slammed the door shut. The window was open and he looked down at me. “I have to leave for a while, honey.” I looked back up at him. “Ok, Daddy. Bye!”
My dad didn’t come back that day. Or the next. I actually wouldn’t see him again for several years. Soon after my dad left, my mom couldn’t afford to live in that average, middle class neighborhood and we were forced to move into a more affordable lower class neighborhood in another part of the city. And just like that, my life would be forever changed, for better and worse.