Liz Faraim has a new lesbian contemporary thriller out, book 1 in the Vivian Chastain series: “Canopy.”
Vivian Chastain is an adrenaline addicted veteran transitioning to civilian life in Sacramento, California. She settles into a new routine while she finishes up college and works as a bartender, covering up her intense anxiety with fake bravado and swagger. All Vivian wants is peace and quiet, but her whole trajectory changes when she stumbles upon a heinous crime in progress, and has to fight for her life to get away.
While recovering from the fight, she falls in love with someone who is tall in stature but short on emotional intelligence, and this toxic union provides Vivian the relationship that she thinks she needs. Given Vivian’s insecurities and traumatic past, she clings to the relationship even while it destroys her.
Prone to fits of rage, the spiraling of Vivian’s temper creates a turning point for her as she looks within to find the peace she seeks.
Vivian’s alcoholic brother and emotionally devoid mother serve as frequent thorns in her side, prompting her turbulent history to often bubble up to the surface. The bubbling turns to a rolling boil when Vivian’s brother lands himself in jail for drunken indiscretions, and not long afterward her partner is arrested for something so atrocious Vivian cannot even fathom it. She is left pondering whether or not to believe that the person she loves could have committed such an inexcusable crime.
Vivian’s relationships are strained to their breaking points as she continues to seek balance. She turns to her best friend for support, only to be left empty handed and alone until she finds comradery and care from the last person she would have thought.
Publisher | Universal Buy Link | Goodreads
Liz is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour:
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As I approached Road 27, I saw what looked like an old warehouse. It was all closed up, the metal siding rusty, the dirt lot empty and overgrown with Russian Thistle. It was perfect for a bio break.
I backed off the throttle and downshifted. The bike rapidly slowed under me. I pulled into the dirt lot and parked along the side of the structure. I killed the engine and hopped off quickly, yanking off my helmet and gloves.
My bladder was screaming for relief. I grabbed a tissue from my tank bag and jogged around to the east side of the building so I wouldn’t be seen from the road. Dropping trou, I squatted against the side of the building. The heat of the warm metal siding radiated through the back of my shirt. Once I was finished, I stood, buckling my belt as the relief washed over my body.
The building was surrounded by row crops, and a breeze blew across the fields. The distant Sierra Mountains wavered in the hot air.
It occurred to me an abandoned warehouse like that would be a great spot for geocaching and I walked slowly along the side of the building, looking for potential geocache hiding spots.
I rounded the far corner of the building and stopped in my tracks. I was startled to see a car parked about twenty feet away. It was a rusted-out old Honda Accord, its windows rolled down. The burgundy paint was oxidized, and strips of the headliner hung down, fluttering in the hot midday breeze.
Some faint shuffling sounds came from inside the warehouse, and I realized I was standing directly in front of a rusty pedestrian door. I took a few steps back. My hands tingled and I balled them into fists.
It’s just a farm worker getting some tools, dumbass.
But the hypervigilance that had kicked in would not go away. Something was off, and it made me bristle.
I reached down for my M16 sling and came up empty. I looked down at my boots on the dusty cracked ground. They were my scuffed-up riding boots, not military issue jump boots. My pants were denim, not BDU’s.
I slipped away to another hot, dusty day five years prior. A day when RPG’s and bullets filled the air rather than the sound of the breeze rustling crops. A day when blood was shed.
I took another step away from the building and forced myself to breathe. Breathe in the smell of freshly plowed soil, leather, gasoline, and the faint hint of a dung heap.
I slapped myself across the thighs, hard. Even through denim, the sound and sting of it helped bring me back. My thighs and palms burned. I did it again to make the point to myself.
The door to the warehouse opened, and a woman stepped out. She was wearing a tan backpack, whistling, and twirling a key ring on her fingertip as she walked toward a spigot near the door. Her long hair was brown and tightly permed. She was short but solid and moved like an athlete. Scanning her, I noticed that her hands and shirt were bloody. I coiled up inside, ready to fight.
The door closed heavily behind her, and she took a few more steps before looking up and spotting me. She stopped whistling as our eyes met.
I immediately shifted into a fighting stance. With no hesitation the woman charged at me. I got low and opened my arms because I didn’t have time to try a side slip. As soon as the woman plowed into me, I wrapped my arms tightly around her.
We went down hard. I wrapped my legs around her waist. Dust and grit were immediately in the air.
I had a hard time keeping a grip on her torso because of the backpack. I worked my arms up until the crook of my elbow was wrapped around the back of her neck, holding her as close as I could. She bucked and tried to roll out of my grip. I locked my right foot into the crook of my left knee and squeezed the woman’s guts. She grunted as I clamped my thighs down around her, restricting her ability to get a full breath. She was solid and strong, deep down in her core.
Adrenaline and rage surged through my body, and a clear lucidity took over. I was in my element, and apparently so was the woman I was hanging onto.
Liz Faraim is a recovering workaholic who has mastered multi-tasking, including balancing a day job, solo parenting, writing, and finding some semblance of a social life. In past lives she has been a soldier, a bartender, a shoe salesperson, an assistant museum curator, and even a driving instructor.
Liz writes contemporary fiction that highlights queer characters and often includes complex polyamorous relationships. Her writing has a hefty dose of soul searching and emotional turmoil while also taking the reader on fun adventures. She loves spending time in nature and does her best to share nature with her readers.
Author Website: www.lizfarim.com
Author Facebook (Personal): https://www.facebook.com/elizabeth.loud.16
Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/liz.faraim.9
Author Twitter: @FaraimLiz
“Just for Funsies” for Liz Updated 9/15/2020
Do you have any strange writing habits or superstitions?
I cannot write if I don’t have music playing straight into my ears via earbuds. Nothing else will do.
If you could create a new holiday, what would it be?
While not new, I love the concept of Festivus, which originally came from author Daniel O’Keefe and gained more notoriety after appearing on an episode of Seinfeld. Festivus has a theme of non-consumerism, and includes events such as the airing of grievances, feats of strength, and dinner. Sounds like a good time to me.
Coffee or Tea?
Hot peppermint tea.
What action would your name be if it were a verb?
If my name were a verb, it would be deliberate. I know in the dictionary this comes up as an adjective and a verb, but I’m still going with deliberate. I was deliberate in making this choice. 😉
What fantasy realm would you choose to live in and why?
I would choose to live in the New World realm of Terry Goodkind’s series The Sword of Truth. I chose this realm because, while I might get killed off early on by a gar or screeling, Terry does a fantastic job of describing a wonderful and vast land that I would love to explore.
What fictional character would you like to spend an evening with, and why?
I would like to spend an evening with Nina Markova, from Katie Quinn’s novel The Huntress. Throughout the story the reader gets plenty of glimpses into Nina’s very challenging life. I’d like to spend an evening hearing more about her time as a pilot in the World War II all-female bomber group The Night Witches, as well as all of the other harrowing adventures she survived by pure grit.
Which of your own characters would you Kill? Fuck? Marry? And why?
I would fuck and kill Angela (“Ang”), who is in Canopy. Ang is fun and sensual, but also a total asshole and narcissist who makes you hate her a little bit (or maybe a lot). You’ll have to read all the way to the third book of the series, Concussion and Contentment, to see how I resolve the Ang issue. No release date on that book yet.
As for marry, I’d go with Audre, who is introduced in Stitches and Sepsis (due out in early 2021). Audre is independent, fierce, and sexy, while also being incredibly loving and nurturing.
Would you visit the future or the past, and why?
I’d like to visit the past and tell myself to buckle down with my writing sooner.
How does the world end?
I think we are living through that right now. Election day on November 3rd in the US will be our saving grace or our ugly demise.
You have been turned into an adult beverage. What are you?
Who is your favorite author?
What’s your drink of choice?
Water, or an Arnold Palmer when I am feeling adventurous.
What’s in your fridge right now?
Zucchini, left over pizza, chicken and rice, and filtered water.
What food(s) fuel your writing?
Football or Soccer?
Christmas or New Year’s?
Cats or dogs?
Purple or Green?
Shakespeare or Dr. Seuss?
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