The Last Merry Go Round Book Tour & Giveaway

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The Last Merry Go Round by C.L. Charlesworth Genre: Women’s Contemporary Fiction

When fear underlines the answer, Y E S becomes a trap with ominous consequences. There are three letters when put together that can change your life—they can either bring happiness or sadness. The letters spell the word Y – E – S. When spoken lovingly, Y E S means everything. When fear underlies the answer, Y E S becomes a trap with ominous consequences. For Diane Fletcher, a commitment to Y E S has left her dangling on a tightrope between sanity and insanity. Despite children she loves, and an opulent lifestyle, saying yes to twenty-eight years of marriage with Richard has brought very little happiness. Too many secrets permeate Diane and Richard’s relationship. Guilt, alcohol, and sedatives are Diane’s safety net when she falls. Regular visits to a psychiatrist have done little more than put Diane back on the tightrope. Richard has other coping mechanisms. He is devoted, and at the same time, severe, ambitious, callous, and vindictive. How different Diane and Richard have grown together. Raw emotions, unthinkable actions, and an explosive secret threaten any pretense for their marriage. The Last Merry Go Round peels back the skin of a volatile marriage with dark secrets, revealing what happens to the family when the secrets explode. Add to Goodreads Amazon * B&N

Who am I? I have the gift of imagination and that has been a beacon all my life. I’m fortunate to be able to take a blank piece of paper and create a page turning story that evokes a wide array of human drama. I’m inspired by the simplest–to the most complex challenge a person can face, and with that, derive empathy for my characters. I would best describe myself as a “back porch storyteller”– writing that grabs you from the first sentence. I have written two books (so far): The Last Merry Go Round and The Ears That Have Eyes. Each book takes a human challenge and hurls the characters against the wall. Whether or not they survive— depends on them. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Amazon * Goodreads

The Beginning –
The Normal Life

FIRST THOUGHT TODAY: the coffee is cold. And I can say with full honesty, sitting across the table from
Richard, in our twenty-eight years of marriage, the word yes has brought me little happiness. I know and
believe from all I’ve come to accept; the longer I stare at the kitchen’s cracked plastered wall in need of
repair; this image symbolizes our love and marriage. The light in a once romantic and naive sixteen-year-
old falls dimmer and dimmer. Oblivion paints a foregone conclusion. If only Richard cared to listen. But
this isn’t the morning. He’s too happy. His shaven face energizes and re-energizes the more he talks. The
patient wife doesn’t interrupt. A dutiful smile passes from her face to his. Richard is who I am, and what I
am is lost between the beginning and the end of his sentences.
*

“All my time invested courting Jared Longview will finally pay off.” My husband holds out his empty
coffee cup—minus the word, please, a foreign word.
The obedient wife pushes away from the table. She moves unenthusiastically to the coffee maker.
Silence is necessary while pouring his drink. She listens, trying to remember it all because a test will
come. It always does.
“Father can no longer deny my abilities.” The husband’s grin changes into broad laughter. “Damn. My
portfolio will be quite substantial from this deal.”
The refreshed coffee in front of him goes unnoticed. The wife wishes for that, thank you. She’s a fool.
Richard’s consumption lay with Richard and money—lots of it. The Wall Street Journal, a preoccupation
must, with breakfast, now has his attention. Fist pounds on the table means the stocks are up. Grunts and
curses are losses.
The cussing appears minimal. “There’s nothing crucial today. I get to keep the cars,” he chuckles in
the wife’s direction, “and you, my dear Diane . . . get to do what you do to look good for me.”

My appropriate cue: a cute upward turn of my mouth, plus several affectionate strokes to his arms. Yes.
I’m a well-trained wife. A pinched smile and hot second-glances settle into my husband as he turns the
paper’s next page. Apple slices and black coffee satisfy the wife’s mustn’t-gain-weight-husband-rule. The
wall clock says seven. Coffee cups clang on to saucers. Newspaper rustles. She sits expressionless. Hands
fold into a neat lap rest. She sits watching time watch her. She hopes for love between them. Now, she
imagines a lightning bolt crashing through the ceiling and killing him as it did to the priest in The Omen.