Mary Ellen Bramwell

Welcome to Uncaged! Your newest book, In Search of Sisters will release on April 15th. Can you tell readers more about this book and what inspired it?

The book is about the need we all have to connect with other people. It focuses on one woman, Mira, and her discovery of herself through connecting with others. I grew up with three older brothers and have sought surrogate sisters my whole life. But, honestly, I’d never thought of writing such a book until I considered a trip to Europe. The thought of people everywhere each living their lives, having ups and downs, needs and concerns struck me. We are more alike than we are different. Could I connect (in a book) with all those other humans?

Where do you find your inspiration for the next novel?

I jot down ideas when they come – on a walk, in the shower, from a dream. I’d love to say I have a formula for coming up with the next book, but the truth is the ideas come to me whenever they feel like it.

What do you have coming up next that you can tell us about?

I’m really excited to have a sequel to my first book, The Apple of My Eye, coming out in October 2021. It takes place a dozen years later and follows the lives of a mother and her teenage son. Titled The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far, It’s rich with real-life struggles.

What are you looking forward to doing when the pandemic is over that you haven’t been able to do?

Traveling and spending more time with my family. Once the fear of contracting or spreading the virus is diminished, I think the real joy will come from having choices again.

What was the first book that made you laugh and/or cry?

Where the Red Fern Grows made me cry. But, honestly, the first book that brought me joy was Go, Dog, Go. I loved the words and the pictures. Clearly, I’ve been reading books since I was small.

What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

I love playing games – board games, card games, strategy games, cooperative games. I’m always on the lookout for a new game. Also, I find putting together jigsaw puzzles a great way to unwind. Both games and puzzles are things I do with my family, which makes them even better. And baking! Who could forget baking!

How many hours a day do you write? On average, how long does it take to write a full novel?

I probably write eight or nine hours a day, six days a week, but this can vary. When I have a burst of ideas, I might write so much, so fast that I get burned out after four hours yet have been more productive than most days. My last two novels took about six months each (a much faster rate than the first three).

Do you prefer ebooks, audiobooks or physical books? Are you reading anything now?

I prefer physical books, but I will read ebooks. I just finished reading Poet X, I’m currently reading an advance copy of Landscape of a Marriage, and I have a rereading of Tess of the d’Urbervilles lined up next.

| FEATURE AUTHOR | What would you like to say to fans, and where can they follow you?

Above all, I hope my readers find hope within my books and that they know they can find hope in their lives.

Enjoy an excerpt from In Search of Sisters

In Search of Sisters Mary Ellen Bramwell Contemporary Releases April 15

Mesmerized, Mira watched the two women. They had a bond, a history, a connection that couldn’t be broken by distance or time. They would always be sisters. Only Mira didn’t have that. Maybe sisters fought or held grudges, but maybe they listened, cried when you cried, laughed when you laughed. Maybe they made difficult times bearable. Warren couldn’t understand that—nor her desperate need for those sister-like bonds. But he could encourage her to go searching for them.

Embarking on a daunting trip alone, Mira meets Kailani, a young girl with a troubling homelife, Cordelia, energetic but haunted, Dylan, Aissa and others. But how can she get to know anyone when she doesn’t know herself? And once she does, might they need her more than she needs them?

Chapter 2

Mira moved through security faster than she’d expected. Usually that was a good thing, but not for Mira, not today. Warren had kissed her when she entered the cordoned-off security line, but he hadn’t left. Time was adding up in parking fees, but he didn’t budge from his spot. Turning every few minutes to see if he was still there, she often caught him off guard, and he would quickly exchange his forlorn, lost expression with a huge grin. Then he’d run a hand through his rusty-brown hair in that characteristic, nervous habit of his. He was too far away to hear her voice above the airport noise, but she texted him, “Don’t worry. I’m coming back.” “I know,” he texted back. “But seeing your face always lights my world.” She couldn’t turn to look anymore. The tears pooling in the corners of her eyes would flood her face, and he’d see them, even from a distance. She couldn’t do that to him, and it was not an emotion she wanted to admit to herself. As discreetly as possible, she wiped them away, put on a brave face, and turned one last time. He was still standing there, getting harder to see through the crush of people, but he was still there. Standing on tiptoes to be above the heads of those around her, she mouthed, “I love you.” He answered by blowing a kiss then running his hand through his hair once again. It had been a whirlwind month filled with more emotions than she thought possible. Once she’d recovered from her fever and been able to form a coherent sentence, Warren sat down at her bedside and said, “We need to talk.” “About what?” Mira said, although she knew playing dumb wouldn’t work. “What happened to you? You disappeared inside yourself, and I don’t even know why.” Mira sat up on the bed, touching the hand of this man she loved more than life itself. He was her everything. But in ways she didn’t understand, that wasn’t enough. Without realizing it, she laid her free hand on her flat belly. “Do you remember that day in the park?” He nodded. She didn’t need to clarify further. “I know we both want children.” “Yes, but we’ve barely scratched the surface of that, babe. We haven’t started infertility treatments yet, but we’re saving for them. We have lots of options still. The doctor said—” She gently lifted a hand, covering his lips. “I know. I know. Just listen to me for a minute, because it isn’t

Excerpt

about that, or not exactly about that.” She slowly lowered her hand, waiting to see if he was ready to listen instead of talk. His mouth remained closed, and he stayed still, allowing her to continue. “As I said, I know we both want children, but I realized it hits you differently than it does me. It never leaves me. I listen to my body every day. Am I feeling ill, tired, … different? That day in the park … It wasn’t the last straw, but it was a straw nonetheless. Yes, the sight of the children was a reminder, but I saw your face. The hurt it caused you was fleeting. It passed.” “But you know I want—” “Please, Warren, let me finish. I’m not angry with you. I’m not even disappointed. It’s not about a baby, not really. That’s simply a context. There’s plenty of time still for children. I know there are things we can do that we haven’t begun to tap yet, things we’ve talked about with the doctor, and like you said, we’re saving for them. But I don’t think you understand how this hits me. It says that something is wrong with me, or us. It says I’ve somehow failed.” He opened his mouth, surely to contradict her, but Mira again gently put a hand on his lips. “I’m not saying my thinking is correct or even rational. It’s just my thinking. You are the kindest, sweetest man I have ever met.” She took a deep breath before fully diving in. “You just don’t understand how this rips me up inside, and I don’t think there’s anything you can do about it.” “What are you saying? I don’t understand.” “Exactly.” Then she blurted out what she’d been holding in since that day. “I wish I had a sister.” “A sister?” He furrowed his brow, becoming more confused by the moment. “Warren, I need to be able to talk about things with another female, someone who deals with the same hormones that I do, someone who can see it from my perspective. I need that connection to make this connection,” she indicated the two of them, “function how it should.” When he said nothing, she continued. “The baby thing isn’t the real problem, Warren. It’s that I’ve been shutting up emotions that are fighting to come out. I know you would listen to them, happily even, and comfort me and encourage me, but you will never fully understand them.” He sheepishly said, “How about a good therapist?” Mira laughed. “Yes, that would work on some level. But the long-term issue would still exist. I need connections that I’m not paying for.” He was hurt, but she couldn’t stop until he understood this need, this longing. “I haven’t told you what brought on the fever or why I left the car.” “No, you haven’t. I just assumed … I mean, you know?” She could hear the hurt in his voice that she hadn’t shared this with him yet. “I barely figured it out myself. I knew what triggered it, but I didn’t know why. Lying in bed recovering from a fever gives one time to process things. I think it finally makes sense to me.” She had been fidgeting, staring more at her hands than at Warren, but she forced herself to look up into his eyes. “Warren, I saw two women who were obviously sisters. They were walking in unison, and their mouths were moving so much it was impossible to tell which one was talking at any given moment. They had each other, and they could talk about anything. I need that. I saw those sisters a few days after our walk in the park. It made me realize I need another female to talk to, someone who sees the world through the same set of glasses I do. “You,” she reached for his hand, “you are the best thing that ever happened to me. I can talk to you and tell you anything and everything, but some things just don’t register. It’s like I don’t understand your fascination with all things sports, or belching, or the humor in bodily emanations. I appreciate that you appreciate those things.” She stopped when she saw his raised eyebrows and had to laugh. “Okay, maybe appreciate is the wrong word, but you get my point. They just don’t mean the same thing to me. It’s like a chick flick doesn’t hit you the way it does me. There is, after all, a reason they call it a chick flick.” He shrugged slightly. “I suppose I can see what you’re getting at. But all kinds of women don’t have sisters, and they don’t … they don’t …” “Fall apart?” He nodded. “I know. And it’s not as if I can suddenly have sisters. That ship sailed

| FEATURE AUTHOR |

a long time ago. I have a brother, whom I love, but it’s not the same. Maybe it wouldn’t matter so much if my mom was still alive, but she isn’t, so I’ll never know.

“Warren, I’m not sure what to do at this point. I just know I need a healthy outlet for what I feel. I need someone who understands how different things affect me without having to explain them. Women need other women. Most of the people in my office are men. You’re a man, obviously. I’m missing something that will make me whole, but I don’t know what to do about it.” She’d started to cry at that moment. She hadn’t wanted to, but the ache for what was missing was more than she could hold in.

Warren was quiet for a long time. He didn’t try to wipe away her tears as he often did. He let them flow. But he held tightly to her hands, never taking his eyes off her. Eventually his tears joined hers and they touched their foreheads together, silently weeping in unison. “Mira.” The sound was so quiet yet bright that she wasn’t sure she’d heard it. “Mira,” now brighter and stronger, “I know what to do.” She pulled back to look at him. “What? What can you do?” “No, I mean, I know what you can do. Write, babe. Just write. Quit your job, or take a leave of absence, and write!” “How will that help?” But she was beginning to understand why it would. “You’ve been writing for as long as I’ve known you, until recently anyway. Your emotions, your feelings, they spill out onto the page. I know the page doesn’t speak back, but it helps you understand them.” She paused, considering his words. “Why do you think you haven’t written much lately?” “Well, I haven’t had much to—” His raised eyebrow stopped her. “No,” she finally said, “it’s not the lack of material to write about, is it? I suppose the feelings are just too raw. It’s easier to bury them than acknowledge them.” “Mira, consider something for me. I have an idea, but you need to promise me you’ll think about it, not reject it out of hand.” “What is it?” she said, but Warren raised his eyebrows. It wasn’t enough. “All right, I promise.” He squeezed her hands. “Babe, I want you to go away somewhere. Meet people. Meet other women. Talk to them, and write about it. Write about them. Write about your feelings and their feelings. Fill a book. Maybe you’ll publish it, maybe you won’t. But write a book full of feelings and thoughts, a book that you’ll always have—filled with sisters you can visit within its pages anytime you want, for the rest of your life.” “But—”

“You promised.”

“Okay, but let me ask how in the world we’d pay for such a thing. We can live on your salary, but how would we pay for a trip, especially for the length of time you’re implying?”

“Our baby savings, the savings for infertility treatments. I know that’s one of the issues we’ve just been talking about. But—”

“But … I’ll need those other voices, other women, even more when I’m a mom,” she finished before he had a chance to. “First things first.” “Yes. We can keep saving. It will delay it but not stop it.”

It made sense, maybe the first thing that had made sense in a long time.

“But, babe, you have to promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“That you’ll call me every day you’re gone, or text me, or message me, or something. You’re my everything, and I will miss you more than I can say.” And this time, she was wiping away his tears as well as her own.

This is Roxy. We adopted her from the SPCA. Nobody had chosen her for a month, presumably because she was a Rottweiler mix, but as soon as she came up and licked, licked, licked my hand, I could tell how gentle she was. She would never hurt me or my children, and I said, this is the one. She has grown up with our children, and we love her very much. She helps save our sanity during the pandemic, and I will love Roxy forever.

Bonus: A fictional Roxy plays a pivotal role in HUMAN REMAINS (Hope Sze #5). You can see the real Roxy in the book trailer https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=QCoqpfaX-k4

LIZ arNOLD & ronen & ruby D.a. HENNEMaN & bubba

I don’t have a pet of my own but I do share a stray my daughter adopted, who made himself at home pretty quickly. Bubba is about a year old and loves to pretend he is pouncing on prey from behind anything nonmoving object he can find. He likes belly rubs and walks outside, which we now do with a harness since he is being acclimated to the indoors. He’s spoiled and tolerates all sorts of embarrassments as you can see from his photo. For a feral cat, he is pretty chill, and we love having him around.

SHaNE wILSON & Ivy

This is Ivy! We rescued her a few years ago. She is named after Poison Ivy from the Batman comics, but she is so far from villainous it’s ridiculous. She is timid and shy and prefers whining to barking. She likes to wear sweaters and lay on heating pads, probably because I keep the apartment too cold. She wants to always be in someone’s lap, but she will settle for a wadded-up blanket next to me if I’m working.