Hitting the shelves in August 2014, Once Upon a Southern Fairy Tale, will be the first full length novel in the Norma Jeanne Chronicles. There’s a old joke that goes like this: What’s the difference between a Northern and a Southern fairy tale?
A Northern fairy tale begins ‘Once upon a time.’
A Southern fairy tale begins ‘Now y’all ain’t gonna believe this shit.’
I don’t believe in fairy tales. At the age of 5, my mother informed me that I should have been a miscarriage but I was too stubborn a bitch to die. And that was when she was sober. She was worse when drunk, but that was usually not until after lunch. When I was 7 I found her drowned in her own vomit, but thinking that she was sleeping off a particularly bad bender I didn’t realized for 2 days that she had died. When the motel manager came looking for the weeks rent, I remember how he rifled through our meager belongings, pocketed a handful of dollars, the remainder of my mother’s booze, and a pocket watch that I believe belonged to my Grandpa. Only then did he call the cops after threatening me not to say a word. The state swooped in, dropping me in foster care until they located Great Aunt Mathilda.
I’m sure you’d like me to say that I cried for the loss of my mother, but I felt more relieved. I hated her, for even at the age of 7 I craved stability. I was uneducated, so accustomed to chaos and disorder that when I overheard Great Aunt Mathilda tell her neighbor that I was a like a feral cat, I thought my chest would burst with pride. The cat on the Fancy Feast commercial had such pretty fur, and the Meow Mix cats were so cute, I knew that I must be very lucky.
When I learned what feral meant the next day I cried. For the next three days.
But this really isn’t the story of my childhood and how I grew up. This is really the story of a million dollars and my attempt to spend it all in a year.
My name is Norma Jeane.
Now pull up a chair, ‘cuz y’all ain’t gonna believe this shit.
