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Singing 
in a
Lost Voice
 a novel
By Helen Black 
 
 
Prologue
I left Tulsa in a cloud of butterflies
. At the time, and for yearsafterward, I viewed that as mere whimsical coincidence. Only recently has it come hometo me that it was actually in the nature of a blessing. From where I’m sitting now—yes, Ican see that clearly. The prospect of departure was daunting. To leave this place, whereI’d just regained my footing, found my voice, and traipse off into the unknown, wasproving to be so difficult I literally couldn’t bring myself to say goodbye. I hemmed andhawed, I prevaricated about the actual date of departure, pretended to each friend I’d see
 
them one last time again. And to others, to the people who mattered most—Dee, mycounselor from the women’s shelter; Hal, my noble lawyer; Jeff, my Cherokee medicineman—to none of them could I even utter the word. So this is what I think. I think myancestors saw this and stepped in to help me. They’d done it before, the last time beingmy divorce trial when the man who’d abused me claimed the opposite in front of the judge. They blew out the lights to short-circuit his rant. I stayed cool, and preservedcustody. And the day I left Tulsa—well, there I stood, in Dana’s front yard, my armsaround her, frozen at yet another invisible boundary. Unable to budge. So this time,marshaling forces as a legion of butterflies, my ancestors streamed around me at themoment of departure to carry me over that painful threshold on a tide of beauty.Our concrete transportation was an old milk delivery truck with a top speed of fifty miles an hour. This was good because it reduced the possibility that a state trooperwould pull us over and examine Max and Max’s international driver’s license. Thelicense was valid and Max was valid, but I’d noticed that while women and children wereenchanted by Max, men tended to regard him with suspicion. The disorderly black curls,paint-splattered pants of a particular shade of marine blue ubiquitous in northern Europebut unfamiliar here, and the heavily-accented English: they didn’t quite know how toplace him. They became uneasy and often, therefore, aggressive. But I’d needed amoving van and the truck was Max’s brilliant idea after he’d heard how much a rentalwould cost.“You cannot do that!” he pronounced in manly fashion, and tromped across thestreet from his apartment to negotiate with the caretaker at the Borden truck parking lot, abalding pony-tailed guy in a Confederate tee shirt who could sometimes be seen moving
of 00

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Helen Winslow Black

Okay so I burned the chocolate chip cookies last night but did Swoosh HAVE to say “you know they use pure carbon to cool nuclear reactors”? That's it! Going back into my writing cave! To work on wedding scene for sequel, AND next issue of MDO (I'm a two-fisted writer), a meditation on the craft of writing fiction..thought it advisable... lest people start thinking I don't have a serious bone in my

reply07 / 22 / 2011
Helen Winslow Black

Speaking of roads....using my artistic license (ha!) to overhaul outline "Seven Blackbirds" sequel...rereading the prologue...something tells me that milk truck is going to take a sharp left turn!

reply07 / 22 / 2011
Helen Winslow Black

Okay I couldn't resist. I added an illustration of a Divco milk truck to this. A little warm-up to get back to the sequel, sidelined until the census job was over and my kids were out of school....let's see...I last left Kim sitting on a bench on Baltimore's Inner Harbor...must remember what I was up to there.

reply07 / 22 / 2011
Helen Winslow Black

Connecting with fellow Scribes jump-started the introduction to my sequel....read from this at SF's Litquake last October...tons of fun at the Elbo Room on Valencia Singing in a Lost Voice, Prologue

reply07 / 22 / 2011
Michael Madison

Thanks for your novel, Helen. Greetings.

reply07 / 22 / 2011
Helen Winslow Black

I'll be posting another excerpt soon from "Singing In A Lost Voice," the sequel to "Seven Blackbirds"...so I thought I'd put up the prologue again for context. At the end of it, two women who've found their soul sister say goodbye and let each other go, in "a perfect storm of butterflies." Now THAT'S true love.

reply02 / 01 / 2011
Helen Winslow Black

Okay so I burned the chocolate chip cookies last night but did Swoosh HAVE to say “you know they use pure carbon to cool nuclear reactors”? That's it! Going back into my writing cave! To work on wedding scene for sequel, AND next issue of MDO (I'm a two-fisted writer), a meditation on the craft of writing fiction..thought it advisable... lest people start thinking I don't have a serious bone in my

reply11 / 09 / 2010
Helen Winslow Black

body. And this is why I'm unsuccessful at twittering (don't know how to count spaces)

11 / 09 / 2010
Helen Winslow Black

Speaking of roads....using my artistic license (ha!) to overhaul outline "Seven Blackbirds" sequel...rereading the prologue...something tells me that milk truck is going to take a sharp left turn!

reply11 / 02 / 2010
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