Author Mara Gan had visited Santorini which inspired her to write about her characters ending up on a deserted island. But she'd left them in a precarious situation at the end of Joined... How could she find a way to make the story work?
Misplaced is an amazing story, inspired by the sweet breezes of Santorini. Now Available in ebook and print. Grab a copy for yourself and see how she gets her characters back on track.
I know I had a good life before. If only I could remember it.
I couldn’t sew, I couldn’t fish, I couldn’t hunt, I couldn’t cook, for goodness’ sake I couldn’t even tell the hallucinogenic mushrooms from the non-hallucinogenic ones. The list of Things I Couldn’t Do was uncomfortably long.
There was, however, one pretty big thing I could do: I could heal people with just a touch of my hands.
I didn’t understand it, nor did I know why or how I came by this ability, because here was the other thing: I had no memory.
Nada. Nil. Zero.
I had simply awoken on a beach, about two months ago, with my name rolling around my head, but that was it. My name was all I knew.
Just my name.
Being tied to a post for several hours had given me a lot of time to think.
This wasn’t, strictly speaking, a good thing. Being alone with my thoughts made me worry, often about things that had zero bearings on where I was or what I was doing. Like
whether or not my sandals would make it another week without mending, if eating so many kastania nuts would make my breath smell funny, or if I could get attacked by a shark while pearl diving.
But just now I was beginning to stress that Kakó would get worried and try to come find me. I didn’t need him finding out about this little stunt, as he’d undoubtedly just go off on
another long-winded lecture about safety and yadda, yadda, yadda. Safety, as if that was a concern for two people who regularly risked their lives to thwart a slave-trading ring.
I knew from watching past offenders that no one would cut me loose until the morning, but I wasn’t worried about that. I had my own knife slipped into a hidden sheath at the back of my belt and another strapped to my leg in case the first one was confiscated. But I couldn’t very well cut myself loose and go about my business until it was dark and all the market patrons had gone home. My legs were aching from the hours of standing, and I itched to cut myself loose, finish up, and go home.
Not for the first time, I wondered how I had ended up here. There were so many things wrong with my situation that I didn’t even know where to start. Why did I have no memory? Why did no one seem to miss me or come looking for me? Why did I have precisely zero “normal” skills? And why did I look so different? Why was everyone around me decidedly far more tan than I was? And what was up with my ears?
And of course, there was that other thing, that ability I had that I kept from everyone except Kakó. And he only knew because I’d used it to save his life that first day we’d met.
A Pacific Northwesterner by birth and disposition, Mara has lived in Washington, D.C., Oregon, Japan, and most recently, the beautiful Pacific Grove, California, before returning to her roots in Seattle. By day she teaches history to unsuspecting teenagers, and by night she writes books and travels to far-flung places. A black cat enthusiast, she loves to read, play sports, and drink far more London Fogs than is likely good for her.