{"id":1983,"date":"2014-03-14T18:22:39","date_gmt":"2014-03-15T01:22:39","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.lindacollison.com\/?p=1983"},"modified":"2016-05-17T13:10:46","modified_gmt":"2016-05-17T20:10:46","slug":"redfeather-forewords-book-year-finalist","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/madhatdesign.com\/newsite\/redfeather-forewords-book-year-finalist\/","title":{"rendered":"Looking for Redfeather — a Foreword Review’s Book of the Year Finalist"},"content":{"rendered":"

I’m pleased to announce that Foreword Reviews<\/a> has chosen Looking for Redfeather<\/em> as a finalist for the YA Book of the Year 2013 Award!\u00a0 Looking for Redfeather<\/em> is now available through Ingram Spark, for bookstores and libraries.\u00a0 Order it from your local indie bookstore or online from Amazon<\/a> or Barnes & Noble.\u00a0 Read Chapter One here:<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"Looking<\/a><\/p>\n

Looking for Redfeather<\/strong><\/p>\n

a novel by Linda Collison<\/p>\n

copyright 2013 by Linda Collison<\/p>\n

Fiction House, Ltd.<\/p>\n

Chapter One<\/strong><\/p>\n

Ramie left Cheyenne in a hailstorm, tramping up the on-ramp to Interstate 25, right past the No Hitchhiking<\/em> sign, his thumb in the air. A raging, purple sky hurled hailstones and forks of lightening at him, but the boy pulled his hat down and kept on walking.<\/p>\n

Just as suddenly as it had come on, the fury was spent, leaving the air scrubbed clean, smelling of wet dirt and sage. The sun reappeared like nothing had happened and a southbound semi roared by, throwing a rainbow of slush from its wheels. Ramie shivered, his wet shirt clinging to his back.\u00a0\u00a0 Tumbleweeds piled up against a barbed wire fence.\u00a0 A shredded Walmart bag caught on a roadside thistle, how I feel<\/em>.\u00a0 Hail stones, melting, crunching underfoot.\u00a0 His new shoes were rubbing blisters on his toes.<\/p>\n

A driving guitar rhythm filled his head from the MP3 player in his pocket.\u00a0 Go on and save yourself, and take it out on me\u2026<\/em> The thunder of Audioslave <\/em>had matched the wrathful weather, infusing him with fresh anger and purpose, propelling his feet forward, lifting his thumb even as it lifted his heart. Lifting his thumb was like knocking at a door, it felt hopeful, a question (going my way?) and somehow more potent than lifting the finger he was accustomed to. Fuck you<\/em> had become a feeble clich\u00e9, a defensive gesture, a cheap shot in the dark.<\/p>\n

Blue skies now, and fresh-washed chicory.\u00a0 To the west, the Medicine Bow mountains were stark cut-outs on the horizon; a familiar boundary, a fence he was prepared to jump, or break if he had to.\u00a0 Redfeather, had he been in Denver all along?\u00a0 Then again, the name could be a coincidence, but Ramie didn\u2019t care either way.\u00a0 School was out and Cheyenne had become too small to contain him.<\/p>\n

Though he had often imagined his exodus, when it came right down to it, Ramie had left on a whim.\u00a0 So many times he had googled Redfeather — Raymond Redfeather — <\/em>\u00a0his own name, but it wasn\u2019t himself he was looking for.\u00a0 This time he had come up with a lead, a clue, just a hundred miles south and so he had stuffed a change of clothes in his pack, scribbled his mother a note on the back of a late notice, grabbed a fistful of bills from her tip jar and lit out for the highway.<\/p>\n

He was warmed and expanded by his new recklessness.\u00a0 Cornell\u2019s voice and Morello\u2019s thumping guitar drove him, encouraged him, comforted him, gave rhythm to his bones and filled his skull with sound.\u00a0 His own private world spun through the universe like some unnamed comet, a meteorite, a chunk of some asteroid, not yet discovered.<\/p>\n

A car passed him, the brake lights flashed red, a squeal of tires, and a spray of gravel as it veered onto the shoulder.\u00a0 A big land yacht, an old Cadillac?\u00a0 Maryland custom classic car plates EL DOR-60.\u00a0\u00a0 Whoever sees Maryland license plates out here?\u00a0 And where is Maryland anyhow?\u00a0 Somewhere between Rhode Island and Virginia, or maybe Ohio?\u00a0 He remembered the puzzle his mother had gotten him from the thrift store years ago; it had been missing a state, he was pretty sure it was Maryland that had been lost.<\/p>\n

How bizarre that he should catch a ride in this collector\u2019s car, a rich old man\u2019s car, a ride from the past, a champagne-colored Cadillac covered with mud and road tar.\u00a0 His breath came in gulps, he tried to gain control of it as he slouched his way toward the vehicle.\u00a0 Like he was in no particular rush.\u00a0\u00a0 Reaching into his pocket he silenced the MP3.<\/p>\n

The driver lowered the window and grinned.\u00a0 His was a young face, a face that hadn\u2019t seen much sun.\u00a0 Wrap-around shades obscured his eyes.\u00a0 A black felt cowboy hat pulled down over his brow screamed poseur<\/em>.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey dude, where you headed?\u201d the kid said.<\/p>\n

Ramie sized him.\u00a0 He wasn\u2019t very big.\u00a0\u00a0 Unless he had a gun under the seat, Ramie felt sure he could handle him.\u00a0 If it came to that.<\/p>\n

\u201cDenver.\u201d\u00a0 Ramie said with a slight shrug.\u00a0 Like, whatever.\u00a0 He wasn\u2019t begging, he wasn\u2019t desperate.\u00a0 Give me a ride or not, I don\u2019t really care.\u00a0 He put on his punk face, as his mother called it; lowering his eyelids lazily and pulling the corner of his shapely bottom lip into a give-a-shit sneer that said, Go on, fuck with me.\u00a0 I dare you.<\/em>\u00a0 But his fingertips tingled and his heart made itself known to him, shaking the bars of its cage.<\/p>\n

\u201cDenver? What luck!\u00a0 Ha! So am I.\u00a0 Hop in!\u201d The driver, surely no more than sixteen or seventeen, swept a mound of ketchup-stained fast food wrappers and empty Red Bull cans from the passenger\u2019s side of the long front seat onto the floor.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t mind the mess, I\u2019ve been on the road for like, twenty hours straight.\u00a0 Glad you came along, I was getting bored.\u00a0 Hey, you got caught in that hailstorm, didn\u2019t you? You are, like, drenched-ass wet.\u00a0 That was Jesus-freaking awesome!\u00a0 Like being shot at, like being strafed.\u00a0 Insanely loud on the roof of the car, I\u2019m talking incredible.\u201d\u00a0\u00a0 A flood of words, a wave of exuberance nearly as torrential as the cloudburst had been.<\/p>\n

\u201cUh, sorry I\u2019m wet.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo problem-o.\u00a0 Won\u2019t hurt those leather seats, they\u2019re bullet-proof.\u00a0 Throw your shit in the back and hop in.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ramie had never ridden in a Cadillac, he felt like he was in a movie, getting into a limousine, a time machine.\u00a0 He put his guitar in the back as instructed then slid onto the expansive leather seat, the smell of cigarette smoke, cold French fries hitting him.\u00a0 He took off his ball cap and ran his hand through his wild shock of hair.\u00a0 Glanced in the rear view mirror at his reflection, can that be me?<\/em><\/p>\n

Who would have thought it would be so damn easy?\u00a0 The highway had been here his whole life just waiting for him to pack his shit and go stand on the ramp, stick his thumb in the breeze and catch the first carpet ride out of town.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

End of Chapter One…<\/p>\n

Available from Amazon<\/a> and your local independent bookstore<\/p>\n