Red Dirt Rocker

Red Dirt Rocker
Y/A novel by Jody French--Inspired by the adventures of musician- Forrest French

Monday, April 2, 2012

RED DIRT ROCKER---Excerpt From Chapter One--

The following is an excerpt from my young adult novel, Red Dirt Rocker.  I will be posting excerpts a couple of times a week until the books release on May 1, 2012.  If you're from a small town, big city, if you like football, cheerleading, marching band, or music, chances are you might like my book!  Thank you for reading.

~Excerpt from Chapter One--- Red Dirt Rocker~
by Jody French
Neverland Publishing

Page 2

     My morning ritual always begins with a heartfelt greeting to my well-polished guitars hanging on the bedroom wall.  "Hello Ladies," I greet the axes, patting my favorite, a Les Paul beauty I've named Betty.  She's a looker, with a gorgeous maple finish and a shiny black fret board.  Mom and Dad saved up all year and surprised me on my sixth birthday with the Gibson six-string.  I will treasure it forever.  All my nine guitars hold a special place in my heart---a speck of dust can't be found on any of my babies.
     I grab my iPod and plug it into the homing device in the bathroom.  Dave Grohl and The Foo Fighter's growling vocals and driving sound will help motivate me for the busy day ahead.  Surveying my face in the mirror, I can't help but be proud of the slight fuzzy shadow growing on my chin.  My team mates and I have decided to get a jump on no-shave November and stop shaving in October as well.  After two weeks, I've given up on the hope of more substantial facial hair, but I still think I look at least a year older.  Thanks to outdoor football practice, I still have a tan.  Mama says it seem to make my blue eyes glow.  When I was little I thought my eyes actually did get bluer in the summer.  My sister Megan still teases me about that one.
     I scratch my scalp and shake my unruly, blonde, curly hair.  I've been accused of looking like a surfer dude, but I'm no beach bum.
     Stepping back from the mirror, I strike a wide, tough stance with an imaginary guitar in hand and grimace as I play a silent riff to the Foo Fighter's song, "Pretender" that's blaring in the background.  I jump, my heart thumps and my all-in air guitar performance is sadly interrupted by a hard knock on the bathroom door.

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