Songs About Life
A novel
As a writer for the local newspaper, Alex Hanson is naturally curious. When she crosses paths with Bobby — a bedraggled regular at Wilkins Place — she becomes intrigued. Who was this man, and what was his story? As she works to uncover the mystery surrounding Bobby, Alex realizes the same questions might just apply to her own life.
Who was she, and what was her story?
“I wanted to sing a song about life. My life. Because it was a good life and it was only going to get better. I knew that now.”
Songs About Life is funny, honest, and completely impossible to put down. It follows Alex on a gloriously messy journey of self-discovery — through the people she meets, the friends who save her, and the lovers who absolutely do not. Witty and warm, laugh-out-loud funny and quietly moving, it’s the kind of book you finish and immediately want to press into someone’s hands.
Alex Hanson is every woman — flawed and scarred, haunted by her past, uncertain about her future, and absolutely determined to face whatever comes her way with charm, dignity, and a healthy sense of the ridiculous.
She knows exactly what she wants.
She just has absolutely no idea how to get it.
What Readers Are Saying
“I absolutely loved this book. Trish’s writing style is amazing and I just couldn’t put it down. I can’t count the number of times I laughed out loud and then in the next paragraph was almost brought to tears. Her writing is very real — no fluff or filler. It was an absolute joy to read and honestly, I can’t wait to find out what happens to Alex in the next book! Hurry up Trish! We’re all waiting!” — C. MacDonald
“This book was hilarious, it truly was. I don’t often laugh out loud while reading, but with this book I just couldn’t help myself. But Alex and her adventures also made me think about life and what was important. A great read. Very recommended.” — W. Kampers
Sneak Peeks
Sneak Peek #1
My life was like a giant landscape puzzle, the one with a thousand pieces. I’d spent my childhood finding all the straight edge pieces and putting them together to form the shell of the puzzle. My teens filled in the varying degrees of blue-sky portions, with the occasional grey thunderstorms of teenage angst. My college days were the golden hues of prairie wheat blowing freely, their upright stocks standing tall, fiercely proud of their independence. Now in my early thirties, I was searching for the foundation pieces for the stone century home that would stand as the focal point of the puzzle.
When two perfect pieces are joined, they snap together, their bonds secure. You can try to pound and hammer those two pieces down, but if the shapes don’t match, there’s no connection. At the end of your life, all the pieces have to connect. They all have to match. Hopefully the frame you started building from birth is full, each piece dependent on the other. One cohesive unit that can stand on its own.
I didn’t want my puzzle to end up as a broken mess on someone’s floor. I would wait until I found that matching piece, even if it took a lifetime.
Sneak Peek #2
It was a beautiful morning. The sun was battling the snowflakes for air supremacy, with the snow handily winning out. They were huge flakes, like Christmas snow, except it was January, so the collective grumble I heard from the Sunday shoppers was no surprise. I loved the winter. I wanted to run down the street as fast as I could just to feel the cold on my cheeks and the freshness in my lungs.
Ms. Dennis always taught us that Mother Nature was God’s little sister, and she was in charge of the circle of life and making the world a beautiful place to be. God must be very proud of his little sister. His children though — I think he’s probably downright ashamed of us. We’ve messed things up horribly. Yet under all those charred remains is a new forest, just waiting to grow. All it takes is one seed. One green leaf. If a forest can regenerate itself, why can’t we as human beings? We just need to find that one little seed, that one sign of life. Capture it. Nurture it. Give it hope.
Sneak Peek #3
I closed the living room curtains, lit my candles, and turned off all the lights. I loved to work out in the dark, which is why I never went to the gym. Not only did I hate all the bright lights and waiting for the equipment, I was terrified I would unknowingly break out into song as I listened to my headphones on the treadmill. People start to stare and the situation really does become uncomfortable, especially when the chorus you’re singing happens to be Barry Manilow’s “Copacabana.”
I danced for my make-believe hotties sitting on the sofa drinking shots of tequila. I danced for the high school cheerleaders who would never let me join because they thought I was too clumsy. I danced the tango for my future Latin lover and I danced the twist to help with flexibility issues. But most of all I danced for me — because I could, and it made me happy.
It didn’t matter how stupid I looked, or how many times I almost fell over trying some new move I’d seen on Saturday Night Dance Party. When the music moved me, I was inspired. And this inexplicable energy arose in my body, forcing me to shake what my mama gave me.
After Matt’s phone message I danced for two hours straight. And believe me — I had never felt so good.