I wrote a social thriller. It’s called:
Plink
The story begins with an interaction I had with one of my patients. She was an old white lady dying of pancreatic cancer and she told me about her long career working for law enforcement as a “profiler” or a person that uses psychic ability to help find criminals. Her story got me thinking about my families own experience with clairvoyance and law enforcement. I have many aunts and uncles who could be seen as seers or street prophetesses. They knew things would happen before they did. They saw things as they really were. But they were seen by police officers as offenders and not assets, let alone a colleague like this sweet blonde woman I cared for.
I decided to write a story about a white French immigrant, Christine, and her biracial son, Luc, both of whom share the same psychic gift. They both struggle with issues of identity and of navigating a near future America where race, class and gender are still sharply divisive. They fight to gain control of the psychic power that makes them who they are. Both mother and son end up working with the CIA at some point in their lives and they are faced with social and ethical dilemmas that will change their lives forever.
Along the way, they meet other young psychics and telepaths who have been similarly recruited and used to undermine fledgling governments, locate hostages, and uncover new information. When Christine and Luc are suddenly separated under mysterious circumstances, they must use their unique gifts along with the help of other telepaths to find their way back to one another.
As an afro-futurist ICU nurse, army wife with a degree in Neuroscience and proud mother of biracial children, this story hits all the creative sweet spots for me in a deeply personal way.
“Sins of the abandoning mother are visited upon the entitled son in the most malicious of ways. Sons carry the potential energy of violent, sinking masturbators prepared to disabuse themselves of all kindness towards withholding women at the drop of a festooned hat. There can be no forgiveness from such brutes to the female that won’t nurture, properly feed and clothe, or devote their entire lives to them. Christine could deliver nothing except the whole stinking pile of bloody guts, hopes and wishes, middling talents, and crushed spirit that made up her life at the feet of her husband and child.”