Pretending Normal, formerly Lies Imitating Life, was a past quarter finalist in Ray Bradbury's New Century New Writer Award contest. It was also a past semi-finalist in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest.
1976 Before-Sara Polokovich wants out of Norwood, Pennsylvania, population 4,582, where the undertaker and the butcher are the same person. All she has to do is earn a scholarship. Just two more years...but until then, she pours over classics to strengthen her comprehension skills, reviews for the SAT, and continues to request college brochures from every school in the northeast.
Sara's just buried her mother, her father drinks too much, and her kid sister won't leave her alone. Why can't her life be normal? Even half-normal? Why does Frank, (she refuses to think of him as her father anymore), spend all of his time in the garage with that damn '57 Chevy? And why does he have to hide bottles all over the house; in the red metal cupboard in the garage, behind the faded orange curtain in the kitchen, under the sink in the bathroom? Why can't anybody talk about what's happening?
As Sara struggles to free herself from a life of dysfunction and disease, she will learn the true depths of a parent's love and the ultimate sacrifice given-- and taken-- in the name of that love. Pretending Normal follows Sara Polokovich's coming of age as she discovers the truths about family with all of its flaws and weaknesses as the bond that holds one to another, in love, loyalty, even death.
Almost two months have passed since I left and came to live here. I only went back to the old house once, to pack up some clothes and a few books. Aunt Irene said not to worry about bringing a lot of things with me. We'd buy what I needed, kind of like taking on a new identity. I know she wants to give me a fresh start, but I can't erase fifteen years with a new bedspread and a different address.
My old life is somewhere deep inside. A closet full of new clothes and a different zip code won't make it go away. Some days I have to look in the mirror, touch my face, speak in my voice, to see that at least I'm in the same body; at least I haven't disappeared altogether.
