Author Guest Post with B. Lynn Carter, Jus Breathe

It started the day she heard Daddy slur, “She ain’t mine. You had the nerve to name her Dawn. Look at her! You shudda named her Midnight!” Then Daddy left… for good. And the loving music that had filled Dawn’s life went silent.

Welcome to one of the October 11th stops on the blog tour for Jus Breathe by B. Lynn Carter with Goddess Fish Promotions. Be sure to follow the rest of the tour for spotlights, reviews, author guest posts, and a giveaway! More on that at the end of this post.

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Author Guest Post

A few of my favorite scenes from the book

I thought I’d give your readers a taste of the book’s flavor by offering a few of my favorite scenes. I’ve tried to choose scenes that give a feel for the times, without necessarily giving away the story.

First, here’s a synopsis:

Their seesaw love affair started when she was five, though they didn’t meet until she was eighteen. It started the day her Daddy slurred, “She Ain’t mine. You dared to name her Dawn. Look at her! You shudda named her Midnight!” Then Daddy left… for good. And the loving music that had filled Dawn’s life went silent. ‘Leaving time,’ it was the last lesson that Daddy ever taught her.

Then, a “Midnight Black” Duckling appeared in Dawn’s mirror and invaded her chest, controlling her ability to breathe.

Couched in speculation, “Jus Breathe” is about Dawn’s journey to defy her inner “Duckling” and embrace her true self. Set in New York City during the turbulent sixties, it’s an improbable love story with precarious impulses, secret pasts, and inner demons.

Dawn, a survivor, flees her stepfather’s violent home. Struggling to attend college, she lives like a nomad, sofa-surfing and employing her “superpower,” her uncanny ability to recognize and act upon ‘leaving time’ when it, inevitably, came around.

But in the mist of the uprising that followed the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, serendipity spins Dawn into Danny’s rollercoaster world.

 Toxically in love, no longer able to summon her  ‘superpower,’ Dawn comes to suspect  that Danny has allied with the Duckling. If she is to survive, she must find a way to leave Danny. But that Duckling who threatens to squeeze the life-breath from her if she dares, that ugly, midnight-black Duckling… she has to kill.

Scenes:

[Here Dawn is caught in the middle of the Harlem uprising that followed the assassination of MLK]

I looked up to see the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse riding large snorting animals, bearing down on me. I swiveled and dodged; everyone swiveled and dodged. Momentarily, I understood they were mounted police, clearing the streets, herding folks like cattle. A collective shriek went up as the horseman headed into the crowd, continuing past me, up 125th Street then turning and storming back in my direction. Overhead, the thunder of a helicopter rumbled the air. Its blinding floodlights targeting the, would be, insurrectionists.

 Suddenly the police were everywhere, chasing down the panicking mob. I turned to run. Pulled in the wake of the crowd, I could not muscle my way back to the safety of the building. Clearly unreliable, ‘Outside Me’ didn’t step in to take my hand and show me the way. That’s when I felt the impact. Someone had shoved me from behind and I was falling forward, unbalanced, out of control, arms flailing, grasping as though thin air could somehow support me. 

Terrified, I went down hard. Pain shot through my wrists and knees. There was a low ache in my ankle, which had twisted underneath me. People were running past me, jumping over me. I couldn’t get up. I tried to hunker down, covering my head with my arms. I felt kicks and blows as panicking people fled, trying not to trip over me. I heard the sound of hoof beats in the distance, closing in fast. My heart raged into a gallop. My lungs contracted… Jus breathe!

[In the late 60’s abortions were illegal. A woman could be jailed for having one. Here Dawn’s best friend Lee and Lee’s boyfriend Jamal have made arrangements with, Miss Luella, the neighborhood ‘back-alley abortionist.’]

We follow Miss Luella down to the basement. The wooden stairs groan under our feet. It is dark. It is damp. It is dusty. The smell of stale blood lingers in the dank air.

Suppressing a gag, I watch the sketchy old woman as she goes about making preparations, her movements slow and labored. She is older than I remember. Deep wrinkles define her eyes and forehead. The lines on her narrow face look like someone has crinkled up a brown paper bag and tried to flatten it out again. Her skin sinks into the hollows of her cheeks, then sags and jiggles off her chin and neck.

Abruptly, she turns to me and Jamal and says, “Y’all gots ta go sit ova dere. Dere’s chairs backa dere.” She motions to a room divider that suddenly appears in the shadows at the far end of the narrow basement. It is tall and wide with four sections of thin white paper-like fabric. “Ah don’t works wit folks standin’ ova me,” she says. “Dis ain’t neva pretty.”

I know we have to comply. Jamal resists, but I pull on him gently and he finally relents.  From where we are sitting off in the shadows, our view is obstructed by the partition. The fact that she even has this seating arrangement is really quite surprising. Nevertheless, I’m thankful. I don’t want to see.

We sit for days, or so it seems, with our eyes glued to the muddy shadows floating across the thin paper wall. Miss Luella is a silhouette in black outlined against the quiver and glow of the Sterno flame. Her fuzzy form looms large, then small.

Suddenly, she is moving faster than I thought her rickety body capable of. She is a series of wispy disjointed stills, a distorted ghostly figure defined by the flickering strobe as the fluorescent fixtures crackle overhead. Like a kung fu abortionist, her shadowy arms are rippling, flying, her feet shuffling, her head bobbing up and down. A beam from what must be a flashlight appears, illuminates the papered wall, alternately casting rays on the ceiling, on the floor. I even think I hear a martial arts howl. But no, it’s a scream… Lee’s scream! 

[In the middle of the MLK uprising, Danny saw Dawn fall, and almost get trampled, in the street. He helped her to her feet. Soon, much to Dawn’s chagrin, it became clear that she was homeless. Danny offered to take her back to his dorm room.

For over a year Dawn had coveted him from afar, but never dared to speak to him. Now, in his room, despite his admonitions, Dawn  desperately craved a bath. She needed to wash the day’s tension from her bones. So, the minute Danny went to get them some food, she hobbled to the bathroom ] 

With only billowy clouds of dishwashing-liquid suds to preserve my modesty, I slouched deeper into his tub. He took a drag and handed the joint to me. I hesitated. Normally, I didn’t indulge. But I steeled myself and took a long, reckless drag. The sharp smoke cut through my windpipe. I coughed and choked. 

“I think that should just about do it,” he said, sounding amused, smiling… that smile. Then, extending his hand, he asked, “May I?” It took me a moment to understand that I needed to surrender my ankle so he could loosen the sprain. Twenty-four hours earlier he didn’t even know that I was alive. I wasn’t sure if he even knew my name.

Suddenly, something in my brain was busy expanding. And there was music. A song hailing the majestic advent of the sun, flared out in the air, like tiny droplets of consciousness.

His outstretched hand summoned. My leg rippled upward through the suds. Taking possession of my swollen ankle, his grip was strong, his touch hotter than the water. Slowly, he rotated the ankle. Lathering his hands with soap, and applying gentle pressure, he slid his hot hands over the sprain, moving halfway up my calf, and down… and up again… and down again. The song’s lyrics were muffled through the closed bathroom door and filtered through the smoke haze in my head.

“Little lover, looks like the ice is surely melting…”

Dual sensations shot up my leg, through my spine, on into my brain and back down again, settling ultimately in some magic place between my legs. The pain was intense… the pleasure exquisite.

About the Book

Jus Breathe
by B. Lynn Carter

Published 11 October 2022
Liminal Books

Genre: Women’s Speculative Fiction
Page Count: 410
Add it to your Goodreads TBR!

Their seesaw love affair started when she was five, even though they didn’t meet until she was eighteen. It started the day she heard Daddy slur, “She ain’t mine. You had the nerve to name her Dawn. Look at her! You shudda named her Midnight!” Then Daddy left . . . for good. And the loving music that had filled Dawn’s life went silent.

That was the day that a “Midnight” Duckling invaded the mirror, took up residence in her chest, and controlled her ability to breathe. That was the day she learned to recognize “leaving time” . . . her superpower.

Couched in speculation, Jus Breathe is the tale of a young Black woman’s struggle to defy her inner “Duckling” and embrace her true self. Set in New York City during the turbulent sixties, it’s an improbable love story with precarious impulses, secret pasts, and inner demons.

Dawn, a survivor, flees her stepfather’s violent home. While struggling to attend college, she perfects sofa-surfing and hones her superpower, her ability to leave a  situation in an instant.

But in the mist of the chaotic uprising that followed the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, serendipity spins Dawn into beautiful Danny’s rollercoaster world.

Toxically in love, no longer a “leaver,” Dawn realizes that in order to survive, she must break free of Danny’s dominance. But that Duckling, who has allied with Danny, threatens to squeeze the life-breath from her if she dares to leave . . . that ugly, midnight-black Duckling, she has to kill.

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Excerpt

With only billowy clouds of soapy suds to preserve my modesty, I slouched deeper into his tub. He took a drag and handed the joint to me. I hesitated. Normally, I didn’t indulge. But I steeled myself and took a drag. The sharp smoke cut through my windpipe. I choked, coughed.

“I think that should just about do it,” he sounded amused. Then, extending his hand, he asked, “May I?”  I understood that I needed to surrender my ankle so he could loosen the sprain. Something in my brain was busy expanding. A Beatles’ song hailing the majestic advent of the sun, flared out like tiny droplets of consciousness in the air.

Danny’s outstretched hand summoned. My leg rippled through the suds. Taking possession of my swollen ankle, his grip was strong, his hands hotter than the water. Slowly, he rotated the ankle, lathering his hands with soap and applying gentle pressure. He slid his hot hands over the sprain, moving halfway up my calf, and down . . . and up again . . . and down again. The song’s lyrics were muffled through the closed bathroom door and filtered through the smoke haze in my head.

Dual sensations shot up my leg, through my spine, on into my brain and back down again, settling ultimately somewhere between my legs. The pain was intense . . . the pleasure exquisite.

Twenty-four hours earlier he didn’t even know that I was alive. I wasn’t even sure he knew my name.

About the Author

Born and raised in the Bronx, NYC, B. Lynn Carter graduated The City College of New York with a degree in creative writing. She’s also studied at the Writing Institute of Sarah Lawrence College.

Her short story “One Wild Ride,” published in Aaduna magazine, was nominated for the Pushcart Award in 2014. She’s had short stories and poetry published in the Blue Lake Review, Drunk Monkeys, Ascent Aspirations, Enhance Magazine, The Story Shack and the Bronx Memoir Project, among others. Besides “Jus Breathe,” Ms. Carter has written two additional full-length novels. She is also listed in Poets & Writers directory of writers.

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Giveaway Alert!

B. Lynn Carter will be awarding $25 Amazon or B&N gift card to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

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