They say there’s a first time for everything. Sometimes that first time to do something opens up a glorious new world that you want to revisit. Or, the first time may be the last time.
My first time on a roller coaster made an indelible impression on me. And I’m sure my hindquarters made an indelible impression on the seat of that California coaster.
My boyfriend and I were on a double date, and the guys suggested that we hit the amusement park in Long Beach. We arrived, feasted on hot dogs and cotton candy and strolled through the park. Night on the California coast often brings fog, and it began to roll in as we ambled along, trying to decide what to ride.
The guys suggested the roller coaster. As we neared it, I saw the sign— “The Cyclone Rider - Largest Roller Coaster in the World!” My hot dog did a flipflop over my intestine, but the others seemed game for adventure. I didn’t want to look like a coward, and the hulking structure didn’t really look so bad with the fog obscuring the top of it in the dark.
What part of “Largest,” what part of “Cyclone,” did I not understand?
But off we went, pulling up the first steep incline at a reassuring crawl, though the angle seemed a bit steep. Then we arrived at the apex of the incline, and I looked out over the fog onto what looked like the lights of all Southern California below.
I suddenly realized why we pulled so slowly to the top— because we were very, very high. So that must mean we would have to go very, very low at a very, very fast speed to get down the other side. And before I had a chance to finish saying “I want off!” we were falling vertically into dark, foggy space.
I shut my eyes and prepared for death as we plunged, only to be jolted to the side around a tight curve, pulling G’s into the next freefall.
“Oh, God!” I prayed, “take him, take my stupid boyfriend, not me!” Only 30 seconds into the plunge, I lost all control of my legs, which pounded crazily on the floor of the car as if I were having a seizure. Up, plunge, jolt, lunge, repeat—surely I would die now!
But I didn’t. Suddenly we were level, slowing, pulling into the terminal and I wasn’t dead.
“Cool! Wanna do it again?” Stupid asked. He couldn’t hear my response as I stomped off toward the parking lot. And my first roller coaster ride would be my last.
First novels are like that, if it isn’t too much of a stretched comparison for you. Authors work up their courage, write their first book, and launch it out into the dark, not knowing what will happen to it. Sometimes, it becomes A Time to Kill and sometimes it dries up on the bookstore shelf, and becomes something nobody remembers.
But I’ve run into a couple of excellent first novels lately under my reading lamp.
Stephen Lovely’s great first novel, Irreplaceable, fictionalizes the trauma that occurs in two families when Alex’s wife is killed in an accident and her heart is donated to another woman. He is in agony but can’t refuse his mother-in-law when she insists they meet the organ recipient, a woman about his wife’s age. Through her we get a look into the imperfect future of the one who receives the gift of a heart. It’s a realistic look at a current issue.
The book is well researched and beautifully written, and I got it free from the library!
I bought Zulema Summerfield’s first novel Every Other Weekend for $1.25 at Magee’s Dollar Tree recently. It focuses on a young child’s view of the trauma of trying to blend two families into one after two divorces. Everyone considering that process ought to read this book.
So far, neither author has taken the plunge into another novel. But, unlike me on the roller coaster, I hope they will strap themselves in soon for another terrifying assault on the world of novels.
